itaa^awpiwBWP^wwaiwwiwwiatwaBMKWMiww^^ 
 
 iMiil«MliMiM^ 
 
 
 
 
 liiiM 
 
 Pv' 
 
 }^-: 
 
 TJJWiiWIyW^^^^^y ■■'■'•■ '.■ '.^ ; . 
 
 wfitimtmiamimmmmt^ 
 
 *i^* ^ > fctf> i ,—.' -j 
 
The person charging this material is re- 
 sponsible for its return to the library from 
 which it was withdrawn on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books 
 are reasons for disciplinary action and may 
 result in dismissal from the University. 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of ....Mn... LIBRARY AT UKBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 APR 2 m 
 
 m 
 
 T.161 — O-1096 
 

 
^ u<oJZi 
 
 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/macleodofdarenov01blac 
 
MACLEOD OF DARE 
 
 i''io)itisi.'lece, vol. i. 
 
MACLEOD OP DARE 
 
 % Maiid, 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM BLACK, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "madcap VIOLET," *'A PRINCESS OF THULE," KTC. 
 
 7.V THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND GO. 
 1878. 
 
 The, Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, 
 
 BREAD STREET HILt,, E.G. 
 
v.i 
 
 -? 
 
 Jt* 
 
 ■ To my good friends J. Pettie, E.A., T. Graham, 
 
 i G. H. Boughton, W. Q. Orchardson, R.A., Colin Hunter^ 
 
 ^J' MacWhirter, C. E. Johnson, J. A. Aitken, T. Faed, R.A., 
 
 -^ J- E. Millais, R.A., F. Powell, and P. Graham, AM. A., 
 
 "^Z have much i^leasure in dedicating this story ; and that 
 
 J not so much in the way of any compliment to them as 
 
 to record my dee}) sense of gratitude to them for Jmving 
 
 ' turned aside from more important labours to give me each 
 
 drawing in illustration of the tale. If the hook were 
 
 better worthy of such distinguished collaboration, I should 
 
 have less scruple — but equal ^jride — in placing their 
 
 ^ names on this page. 
 
 _a 
 
 \^ London, November, 1878. 
 cr 
 
 / 
 
 J 
 
 
 
CONTENTS OP YOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SIX BOYS OF DARE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MENTOR 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FIONAGHAL 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 WONDER-LAND 
 
 23 
 
 39 
 
Vlll CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 IN PARK LANE . 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE . 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LAUREL COTTAGE .... 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PRINCESS RIGHINN 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LAST NIGHTS ..... 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PACK 
 
 85 
 
 102 
 
 126 
 
 lU 
 
 163 
 
 183 
 
 A FLOWER 
 
 200 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHITE HEATHER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 216 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AT HOME ........ 237 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A FRIEND ........ 252 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 272 
 
 A CONFESSION 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS 
 
 TO VOL. I. 
 
 TO FACE 
 
 MACLEOD OF Dare : J. Pettie, R.A Title 
 
 The EivER Thames : T. Graham ....... Page 100 
 
 Laurel Cottage : G. B. Bougliton ,, 144 
 
 MacLeod's Keturn : IF. Q. Orc^«rc?so?i,,i?. .4. . . . „ 236 
 
MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 
 
 The sun had sunk behind the lonely western 
 seas ; Ulva, and Lunga, and the Dutchman's Gap 
 had grown dark on the darkening waters ; and the 
 smooth Atlantic swell was booming along the 
 sombre caves ; but up here in Castle Dare — on 
 the high and rocky coast of Mull — the great hall 
 was lit with such a blaze of candles as Castle 
 Dare had but rarely seen. And yet there were 
 no grand festivities going forward ; for there were 
 only three people seated at one end of the long 
 and narrow table ; and the banquet that the 
 faithful Hamish had provided for them was of 
 the most frugal kind. At the head of the table 
 sat an old lady, with silvery-white hair and proud 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 and fine features. It would have been a keen 
 and hauglity face but for tlie unutterable sadness 
 of tbe eyes — blue-grey eyes under black eye- 
 lashes, that must have been beautiful enough in 
 her youth, but were now dimmed and worn, as if 
 the weig:ht of the world's sorrow had been too 
 much for the proud, high spirit. On the right of 
 Lady Macleod sat the last of her six sons, Keith 
 by name, a tall, sparely-built, sinewy young 
 fellow, with a sun-tanned cheek and crisp and 
 curling hair ; and with a happy and careless look 
 in his clear eyes and about his mouth that rather 
 blinded one to the firm lines of his face. Glad 
 youth shone there ; and the health begotten of 
 hard exposure to wind and weather. AYhat was 
 life to him but a laugh, so long as there was a 
 prow to cleave the plunging seas, and a glass to 
 pick out the branching antlers far away amid the 
 mists of the corrie ? To please his mother, on 
 this the last night of his being at home, he wore 
 the kilt ; and he had hung his broad blue bonnet, 
 with its sprig of juniper — the badge of the clan 
 —on the top of one of the many pikes and 
 halberds that stood by the great fireplace. Oppo- 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 3 
 
 site liim, on tlie old lady's left hand, sat his 
 cousin, or rather half-cousin, the plain-featured 
 but large-hearted Janet, whom the poor people 
 about that neia^hbourhood res^arded as beino- 
 something more than any mere mortal woman. 
 If there had been any young artist amoDg that 
 Celtic peasantry fired by religious enthusiasm to 
 paint the face of a Madonna, it would have been 
 the plain features of Janet Macleod he would 
 have dreamed about and striven to transfer to his 
 canvas. Her eyes were fine, it is true : they were 
 honest and tender; they were not unlike the 
 eyes of the grand old lady who sat at the head 
 of the table ; but, unlike hers, they were not 
 weighted with the sorrow of years. 
 
 " It is a dark hour you have chosen to go away 
 from your home," said the mother ; and the lean 
 hand, resting on the table before her, trembled 
 somewhat. 
 
 " Why, mother," the young man said lightly, 
 
 " you know I am to have Captain 's cabin as 
 
 far as Greenock ; and there will be plenty of time 
 for me to put the kilt away, before I am seen by 
 the people." 
 
 B 2 
 
4 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 *' Oh, Keith ! " his cousin cried — for she was 
 tryiDg to be very cheerful too. " Do you say tha4: 
 you are ashamed of the tartan ? " 
 
 ** Ashamed of the tartan ! " he said, with a 
 laugh. '' Is there any one who has been brought 
 up at Dare who is likely to be ashamed of the 
 tartan ? When I am ashamed of the tartan 
 I will put a pigeon's feather in my cap, as 
 the new suaiclieantas of this branch of Clann 
 Leoid. But then, my good Janet, I would as 
 soon think of taking my rifle and the dogs 
 throuorh the streets of London as of wearincr 
 
 o o 
 
 the kilt in the south." 
 
 The old lady paid no heed. Her hands were 
 now clasped before her. There was sad thinking 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " You are the last of my six boys," said she, 
 " and you are going away from me too." 
 
 " Now, now, mother," said he, *' you must not 
 make so much of a holiday. You would not have 
 me always at Dare ? You know that no good 
 comes of a stay-at-home." 
 
 She knew the proverb. Her other sons had 
 not been stay-at-homes. What had come to them ? 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DALE. 5 
 
 Of Torqiiil, the eldest, the traveller, the dare- 
 devil, the grave is unknown ; but the story of 
 how he met his death, in far Arizona, came years 
 after to England, and to Castle Dare. He sold 
 his life dearly, as became one of his race and 
 name. When his attendants found a band of 
 twenty Apaches riding down on them, the 
 cowards unhitched the mules and galloped off; 
 leaving him to confront the savages by himself. 
 One of these, more courageous than his fellows, 
 advanced and drew his arrow to the barb : the 
 next second he uttered a yell, and rolled from his 
 saddle to the ground, shot through the heart. 
 Macleod seized this mstant, when the savages 
 were terror-stricken by the precision of the white 
 man's weapons, to retreat a few yards and get 
 behind a mesquit tree. Here he was pretty well 
 sheltered from the arrows that they sent in clouds 
 about him ; while he succeeded in killing other 
 two of his enemies who had ventured to approach 
 At last they rode off; and it seemed as though 
 he w^ould be permitted to rejoin his dastardly 
 comrades. But the Indians had only gone to 
 windward to set the tall orrass on fire ; and 
 
6 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 presently he liacl to scramble, burnt and blinded, 
 up the tree, where he was an easy mark for their 
 arrows. Fortunately, when he fell, he was dead : 
 this w^as the story told by some friendly Indians 
 to a party of white men, and subsequently brought 
 home to Castle Dare. 
 
 The next four of the sons of Dare were soldiers, 
 as most of the Macleods of that family had been. 
 And if you ask about the graves of Eoderick and 
 Eonald, what is one to say ? They are known, 
 and yet unknown. The two lads were in one of 
 the Hiohland reoiments that served in the Crimea. 
 They both lie buried on the bleak plains outside 
 Sebastopol. . And if the memorial stones put up 
 to them and their brother officers are falliug into 
 ruin and decay — if the very graves have been 
 rifled — how is England to help that ? England 
 is the poorest country in the world. There was 
 a talk some two or three years ago of putting up 
 a monument on Cathcart Hill to the Enolishmen 
 who died in the Crimea ; and that at least would 
 have been some token of remembrance, even if 
 we could not collect the scattered remains of our 
 slain sons, as the French have done. But then 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. . 7 
 
 that monument would have cost 5,000/. How 
 could England afford 5,000/. '? When a big 
 American city takes fire, or when a district in 
 France is inundated, she can put her hand into 
 her pocket deeply enough ; but how can we 
 expect so proud a mother to think twice about 
 her children who perished in fightiug for her ? 
 Happily, the dead are independent of forget - 
 fulness. 
 
 Olaus the Fair-haired lies buried in a jungle 
 on the African coast. He was only twenty-three 
 when he was killed ; but he knew he had got the 
 Victoria Cross. As he lay dying, he asked 
 whether the people in England would send it 
 to his mother, showing that his last fancies 
 were still about Castle Dare. 
 
 And Hector ? As you cross the river at 
 Sadowa, and pass through a bit of forest, some 
 corn-fields begin to appear, and these stretch 
 away up to the heights of Chlum. Along the ridge 
 tliere, by the side of the wood, are many mounds 
 of earth. Over the grave of Hector Macleod is 
 no proud and pathetic inscription such as marks 
 the last resting-place of the young lieutenant 
 
8 . MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 who perished at Gravelotte — Er ruht sanft in 
 wiedererkampfter Deutscher Erde ; but the 
 young Highland officer was well-beloved by his 
 comrades, and w^hen the dead were being pitched 
 into the srreat holes dus; for them, and when rude 
 hands were preparing the simple record, painted 
 on a w^ooden cross, '' Hier liegen — tapfere. 
 Krieger,'^ a separate memento w^as placed over 
 the grave of Under-Lieutenant Hector Macleod 
 of the th Imperial and Eoyal Cavalry Regi- 
 ment. He was one of the two sons who had not 
 inherited the title. Was it not a proud boast for 
 this white-haired lady in Mull that she had been 
 the mother of four baronets ? What other mother 
 in all the land could say as much ? And yet it 
 was that that had dimmed and saddened the 
 beautiful eyes. 
 
 And now her youngest — her Benjamin — her 
 best-beloved — he was going away from her too. 
 It was not enouorh that the bis; deer-forest, the 
 last of the possessions of the Macleods of Dare, 
 had been kept intact for him, when the letting of 
 it to a rich Englishman would greatly have 
 helped the failing fortunes of the family ; it was 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 9 
 
 not enoiigli that the poor people about, knowing 
 Lady Macleod's wishes, had no thought of keep- 
 ing a salmon-spear hidden in the thatch of their 
 cottages. Salmon and stag could no longer bind 
 him to the place. The young blood stirred. 
 And when he asked her what good thing came 
 of being a stay-at-home, what could she say ? 
 
 Suddenly old Hamish threw wide the oaken 
 doors at the end of the hall ; and there was a 
 low roar like the roariug of lions. And then a 
 young lad, with the pipes proudly perched on 
 his shoulder, marched in with a stately step, 
 and joyous and shrill arose the Salute. Three 
 times he marched round the long and narrow 
 hall, finishing behind Keith Macleod's chair. 
 The young man turned to him. 
 
 ** It was well played, Donald," said he, in the 
 Gaelic, '' and I will tell you that the Skye College 
 in the old times never turned out a better pupil. 
 And will you take a glass of whisky now, or 
 a glass of claret ? And it is a great pity your 
 hair is red ; or they would call you Domdl 
 Dubh, and people would say you were the born 
 successor of the last of the MacCruimins." 
 
10 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 At this praise — imagine telling a piper- lad 
 that lie was a fit successor of the MacCruimins, 
 the hereditary pipers of the Macleods ! — the 
 young stripling blushed hot ; but he did not 
 forget his professional dignity for all that. And 
 he was so proud of his good English that he 
 replied in that tongue. 
 
 " I will take a glass of the claret wine, Sir 
 Keith," said he. 
 
 Young Macleod took up a horn tumbler, 
 rimmed with silver, and having the triple - 
 towered castle of the Macleods engraved on it, 
 and filled it with wine. He handed it to the lad. 
 
 " I drink your health. Lady Macleod," said 
 he, when he had removed his cap, " and I drink 
 your health, Miss Macleod ; and I drink your 
 health, Sir Keith ; and I vrould have a lighter 
 heart this night if I was going with you away 
 to England.*' 
 
 It was a bold demand. 
 
 *' I cannot take you with me, Donald ; the 
 Macleods have got out of the way of taking 
 their piper with them now. You must stay and 
 look after the dogs." 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 11 
 
 '' But you are taking Oscar with you, Sir 
 Keith." 
 
 " Yes, I am. I must make sure of having 
 one friend with me in the south." 
 
 " And I think I would be better than a collie," 
 muttered the lad to himself, as he moved off in 
 a proud and hurt way towards the door, his cap 
 still in his hand. 
 
 And now a great silence fell over these three ; 
 and Janet Macleod looked anxiously towards 
 the old lady, who sat unmoved in the face of 
 the ordeal through which she knew she must 
 pass. It was an old custom that each night a 
 pibroch should be played in Castle Dare in 
 remembrance of her five slain sons ; and yet 
 on this one night her niece would fain have 
 seen that custom abandoned. For was not the 
 pibroch the famous and pathetic Ciimliadh net 
 Cloinne, the Lament for the Children, that 
 Patrick Mor, one of the pipers of Macleod of 
 Sk3^e, had composed to the memory of his seven 
 sons, who had all died within one year 1 And 
 now the doors were opened, and the piper-boy 
 cnce more entered. The wild, sad wail arose ; 
 
12 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 and slow and solemn was the step with which 
 he walked up the hall. Lady Macleod sat calm 
 and erect, her lips proud and firm, but her lean 
 hands were working nervously together ; and at 
 last, when the doors were closed on the slow and 
 stately and mournful *' Lament for the Children/' 
 she bent down the silvery head on those wrinkled 
 hands, and wept aloud. Patrick Mbr's seven 
 brave sons could have been no more to him 
 than her six tall lads had been to her ; and 
 now the last of them was going away from 
 her. 
 
 *' Do you know," said Janet quickly, to her 
 cousin across the table, " that it is said no piper 
 in the west Highlands can play 'Lord Lovat's 
 Lament ' like our Donald ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, he plays it very well ; and he has 
 got a good step," Macleod said. '' But you will 
 tell him to play no more Laments to-night. 
 Let him take to strathspeys if any of the lads 
 come up after bringing back the boat. It will 
 be time enough for him to make a Lament for 
 me when I am dead. Come, mother, have you 
 no messao^e for Norman Ooilvie ? " 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 13 
 
 The old lady had nerved herself again, though 
 her hands were still trembling. 
 
 " I hope he will come back with you, Keith/' 
 she said. 
 
 ** For the shooting ? No, no, mother. He 
 is not fit for the shootino; about here : I have 
 seen that long ago. Do you think he could lie 
 for an hour in a wet bog ? It was up at Fort 
 William I saw him last year ; and I said to him 
 ' Do you wear gloves at Aldershot V His hands 
 were as white as the hands of a woman." 
 
 ''It is no woman's hand you have, Keith," 
 liis cousin said ; '' it is a soldier's hand." 
 
 " Yes," said he, with his face flushing, '' and 
 if I had had Norman Ogilvie's chance " 
 
 But he paused. Could he reproach this old 
 dame, on the very night of his departure, with 
 having disappointed all those dreams of military 
 service and glory that are almost the natural 
 inheritance of a Macleod of the Western Hiofh- 
 lands '? If he was a stay-at-home at least his 
 hands were not white. And yet, when young 
 Ogilvie and he studied under the same tutor 
 — the poor man had to travel eighteen miles 
 
14 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 between the two liouses, many a time in liard 
 weather — all the talk . and aspirations of the 
 bovs were about a soldier's life : and Macleod 
 could show his friend the various trophies and 
 curiosities sent home by his elder brothers from 
 all parts of the world. And now the lily-fingered 
 and gentle-natured Ogilvie was at Aldershot ; 
 while he — what else was he than a mere deer- 
 stalker and salmon -killer ? 
 
 *' Ogilvie has been very kind to me, mother/' 
 he said, laughing. ''He has sent me a list of 
 places in London where I am to get my clothes, 
 and boots, and a hat ; and by the time I have 
 done that he will be up from Aldershot, and 
 will lead me about — with a string round my 
 neck, I suppose, lest I should bite somebody." 
 
 *' You could not go better to London than 
 in your own tartan," said the j^i'oud mother ; 
 ''and it is not for an Ogilvie to say how a 
 Macleod shall be dressed. But it is no matter. 
 One after the other has gone ; the house is left 
 empty at last. And they all went away like 
 you, with a laugh on their face. It was but 
 a trip, a holiday, they said : they would soon be 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 15 
 
 back to Dare. And where are they this 
 night ? " . 
 
 Old Hamish came in. 
 
 "It will be time for the boat now, Sir Keith, 
 and the men are down at the shore." 
 
 He rose, the handsome young fellow, and 
 took his broad blue bonnet with the bads^e of 
 juniper. 
 
 " Good-bye, Cousin Janet," said he lightly. 
 '* Good-bye, mother — you are not going to send 
 me aw^ay in this sad fashion ? What am I to 
 bring you baclv ? A satin gown from Paris ? or 
 a young bride to cheer up the old house ? " 
 ' She took no heed of the passing jest. He 
 kissed her, and bade her good-bye once more. 
 The clear stars were shininsf over Castle Dare, 
 and over the black shadows of the mountains, 
 and the smoothly swelling waters of the Atlantic. 
 There was a dull booming of the waves alono- 
 the rocks. 
 
 He had thrown his plaid around him, and he 
 was wondering to himself as he descended the 
 steep path to the shore. He could not believe 
 that the two women were really saddened by 
 
16 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 his going to tlie south for a while ; he was not 
 o-iven to forebodings. And he had nearly reached 
 the shore when he was overtaken by some one 
 running with a light step behind him. He 
 turned quickly, and found his cousin before him, 
 a shawl thrown round her head and shoulders. 
 
 " Oh, Keith ! " said she, in a bright and 
 matter-of-fact may, " I have a message for you 
 
 from myself — and I did not want auntie to 
 
 hear, for she is very proud, you know, and I 
 hope you won't be. You know we are all very 
 poor, Keith ; and yet you must not want money 
 in London, if only for the sake of the family ; 
 and you know I have a little, Keith — and I 
 w^ant you to take it. You w^on t mind my being 
 frank with you. I have wTitten a letter." 
 
 She had the envelope in her hand. 
 
 *'And if I would take money from any one 
 it would be from you. Cousin Janet ; but I am 
 not so selfish as that. What would all the 
 poor people do if I were to take your money 
 to London and spend it ? '' 
 
 " I have kept a little," said she, '' and it is 
 not much that is needed. It is 2,000/. I would 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 17 
 
 like you to take from me, Keith ; I have written 
 a letter.'' 
 
 *' Why, bless me, Janet, that is nearly all the 
 money you've got ! " 
 
 '' I know it." 
 
 " Well, I may not be able to earn any money 
 for myself, but at least I would not think of 
 squandering your little fortune. No, no ; but 
 I thank you all the same, Janet; and I know 
 that it is with a free heart that you offer it." 
 
 '* But this is a favour, Keith," said she. ** I 
 do not ask you to spend the money. But you 
 might be in trouble ; and you would be too 
 proud to ask any one — perhaps you would not 
 even ask me ; and here is a letter that you can 
 keep till then, and if you should want the 
 money you can open the letter, and it will tell 
 you how to get it." 
 
 " And it is a poor forecast you are making, 
 Cousin Janet," said he cheerfully. *' I am to 
 play the prodigal son, then ? But I will take 
 the letter. And good-bye again, Janet ; and God 
 bless you, for you are a kind-hearted woman." 
 
 She went swiftly up to Castle Dare again, 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
18 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 and lie walked on towards the sliore. By and by 
 he reached a small stone pier that ran out 
 among some rocks, and by the side of it lay a 
 small sailing-launch, with four men in her, and 
 Donald the piper-boy perched up at the bow. 
 There was a lamp swinging at her mast, but she 
 had no sail up, for there was scarcely any 
 wind. 
 
 " Is it time to go out now ? " said Macleod 
 to Hamish, who stood waiting on the pier, 
 having carried down his master's portmanteau. 
 
 *^Ay, it will be time now, even if you will 
 wait a little," said Hamish ; and then the old 
 man added, "It is a dark night. Sir Keith, 
 for your going away from Castle Dare." 
 
 " And it will be the brio-hter mornino^ when 
 I come back," answered the young man, for he 
 could not mistake the intention of the words. 
 
 ''Yes, indeed, Sir Keith; and now you will 
 go into the boat, and you will take care of 
 your footing, for the night it is ferry dark, and 
 the rocks they are always slippery whatever." 
 
 But Keith Macleod's foot was as familiar 
 with the soft seaweed of the rocks as it was 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 19 
 
 with the hard heather of the hills ; and he 
 found no difficulty in getting into the broad- 
 beamed boat. The men put out their oars, and 
 pushed her off. And now, in the dark night 
 the skirl of the pipes arose again ; and it waa 
 no stately and mournful lament that young 
 Donald played up there at the bow, as the four 
 oars struck the sea, and sent a flash of white 
 fire down into the deeps. 
 
 " Donald," Hamish had said to him, on the 
 shore, "when you are going out to the steamer, 
 it is the 79th's Fareivell to Chuhralter that 
 you will play ; and you will play no other thing 
 than that.'' And surely the 79th were not 
 sorry to leave Gibraltar when their piper com- 
 posed for them so glad a farewell. 
 
 At the high, windows of Castle Dare the 
 mother .stood, and her niece ; and as they 
 watched the yellow lamp move slowly out from 
 the black shore they beard this proud and 
 joyous march that Donald was playing to 
 herald the approach of his master. They 
 listened to it as it grew fainter and fainter, and 
 as the small yellow star, trembling over the 
 
 2 
 
20 ' MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 dark waters, became more and more remote. 
 And tlien this other sound : this bio win o: of a 
 steam-whistle, far away in the darkness ? 
 
 " He will be in good time, aunt ; she is a 
 long way off yet," said Janet Macleod ; but the 
 mother did not speak. 
 
 Out there, on the dark and moving waters, 
 the great steamer was slowing drawing near the 
 open boat ; and, as she came up, the vast hull 
 of her, seen against the starlit sky, seemed 
 a mountain. 
 
 "Now, Donald," Macleod called out, "you 
 will take the dog ; here is the string ; and you 
 will see he does not spring into the water." 
 
 " Yes, I will take the dog," muttered the 
 boy, half to himself. " Oh, yes, I will take the 
 dog ; but it was better if I was going with you. 
 Sir Keith, than any dog." 
 
 A rope was thrown out, the boat dragged up 
 to the side of the steamer, the small gangway 
 let down, and presently Macleod was on the 
 deck of the laro-e vessel. Then Oscar was 
 hauled up too, and the rope flung loose ; and 
 the boat drifted away into the darkness. But 
 
THE SIX BOYS OF DARE. 21 
 
 the last good-bye had not been said, for over 
 the black waters came the sound of the pipes 
 once more, the melancholy wail of the Mackin- 
 tosh's Lament. 
 
 " Confound that obstinate brat ! " Macleod 
 said to himself. " Now he will go back to Castle 
 Dare, and make the women miserable." 
 
 "The captain is below at his supper. Sir 
 Keith," said the mate. "Will you go down to 
 him?^' 
 
 "Yes, I will go down to him," said he, and 
 he made his way along the deck of the steamer. 
 
 He was arrested by the sound of some one 
 crying, and he looked down and found a woman 
 crouched under the bulwarks, with two small 
 children asleep on her knee. 
 
 " My good woman, what is the matter with 
 you ? " said he. 
 
 " " The night is cold," she said in the Gaelic, 
 "and my children are cold; and it is a long 
 way that we are going." 
 
 He answered her in her own tong^ue. 
 
 " You will be warmer if you go below ; but 
 here is a plaid for you anyway," and with that 
 
22 MACLEOD OF DABE. 
 
 lie took tlie plaid from round his slionlders and 
 Hung it across the cliildren, and passed on. 
 
 That was the way of the Macleods of Dare. 
 They had a royal manner with them. Perhaps 
 that was the reason that their revenues were 
 now far from royal. 
 
 And meanwhile the red light still burned in 
 the high windows of Castle Dare, and two 
 women were there looking out on the pale stars 
 and the dark sea beneath. They waited until 
 they heard the plashing of oars in the small bay 
 below, and the message was brought them that 
 Sir Keith had got safely on board the great 
 steamer. Then they turned away from the 
 silent and empty night, and one of them was 
 weeping bitterly. 
 
 " It is the last of my six sons that has gone 
 from me," she said, coming back to the old 
 refrain, and refusing to be comforted. 
 
 " And I have lost my brother," said Janet 
 Macleod, in her simple way. ^' But he will 
 come back to us, auntie ; and then we shall 
 have great doings at Hastle Dare." 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 MENTOR. 
 
 It was with a wholly indescribable surprise and 
 delight that Macleod came upon the life and 
 stir and gaiety of London in the sweet June 
 time, when the parks and gardens and squares 
 would of themselves have been a sufficient 
 wonder to him. The change from the sombre 
 shores of Lochs na Keal, and Tua, and Scridain 
 to this world of sunlit foliage — the golden yellow 
 of the laburnum, the cream-white of the chest- 
 nut, the rose -pink of the red hawthorn, and 
 everywhere the keen translucent green of the 
 young lime-trees — was enough to fill the heart 
 with joy and gladness, though he had been no 
 diligent student of landscape and colour. The 
 few days he had to spend by himself — while 
 getting properly dressed to satisfy the demands 
 of his friend — passed quickly enough. He was 
 
24 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 not at all ashamed of his country- made clothes 
 as he watched the whirl of carriages in Picca- 
 -dilly, or lounged under the elms of Hyde Park, 
 with his beautiful silver-white and lemon-coloured 
 collie attracting the admiration of every passer- 
 by. Nor had he waited for the permission of 
 Lieutenant Ogilvie to make his entrance into 
 at least one little corner of society. He was 
 recognised in St. James's Street one morniDg 
 by a noble lady whom he had met once or twice 
 at Inverness ; and she, having stopped her 
 carriage, was pleased to ask him to lunch with 
 herself and her husband next day. To the 
 great grief of Oscar, who had to be shut up by 
 himself, Macleod went up next day to Brook 
 Street, and there met several people whose 
 names he knew as representatives of old High- 
 land families, but who were very English, as it 
 seemed to him, in their speech and ways. He 
 was rather petted, for he was a handsome lad ; 
 and he had high spirits and a proud air. And 
 his hostess was so kind as to mention that the 
 Caledonian Ball was coming off on the 25th ; 
 and of course he must come, in the Highland 
 
MENTOR, 25 
 
 costume ; and, as slie was one of the patronesses, 
 should she give him a voucher ? Macleod 
 answered, laughingly, that he would be glad to 
 have it, though he did not know what it was ; 
 whereupon she was pleased to say that no 
 wonder he laughed at the notion of a voucher 
 being wanted for any Macleod of Dare. 
 
 One morning a good-looking and slim young 
 man knocked at the door of a small house in 
 Bury Street, St. James's, and asked if Sir Keith 
 Macleod was at home. The servant said he 
 was ; and the young gentleman entered. He 
 was a most correctly-dressed person. His hat, and 
 gloves, and cane, and long- tailed frock-coat were 
 all beautiful ; but it was perhaps the tightness of 
 his nether garments or perhaps the tightness of 
 his brilliantly polished boots (which were par- 
 tially covered by white gaiters) that made him 
 go up the narrow little stairs with some precision 
 of caution. The door was opened and he was 
 announced. 
 
 "My dear old boy," said he, "how do you 
 do ? " — and Macleod gave him a grip of the 
 hand that nearly burst one of his gloves. 
 
26 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 But at this moment an awful accident occurred. 
 From behind the door of the adjacent bedroom 
 Oscar the collie sprang forward with an angry 
 growl ; then he seemed to recognise the situation 
 of affairs v/hen he saw his master holding the 
 stranger's hand ; then he began to wag his tail ', 
 then he jumped up with his forepaws to give a 
 kindly welcome. 
 
 " Hang it all, Macleod ! " young Ogilvie cried, 
 with all the precision gone out of his manner. 
 " Your dog's all wet ! "What's the use of keeping 
 a brute like that about the place *? " 
 
 Alas ! the beautiful, brilliant boots were all 
 besmeared, and the white gaiters too, and the 
 liorsy- looking nether garments. Moreover, the 
 Highland savage, so far from betraying com- 
 punction, burst into a roar of laughter. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he cried, *' I put him in 
 my bedroom to dry : I couldn't do more — could 
 I ? He has just been in the Serpentine." 
 
 "I wish he was there now, with a stone and 
 a string round his neck," observed Lieutenant 
 Ogilvie, looking at his boots ; but he repented 
 him of this rash saying, for within a week he 
 
MENTOR. 27 
 
 Iiad offered Macleod twenty pounds for tlie dog. 
 He miglit have offered twenty dozen of twenty 
 pounds, and thrown his polished boots and his 
 gaiters too into the bargain, and he would have 
 had the same answer. 
 
 Oscar was once more banished into the bed- 
 room ; and Mr. Ogilvie sat down, pretending to 
 take no more notice of his boots. Macleod put 
 some sherry on the table and a handful of 
 cio'ars : his friend asked whether he could not 
 have a glass of seltzer-water and a cigarette. 
 
 "And how do you like the rooms 1 got for you?" 
 
 '' There is not much fresh air about them, nor 
 in this narrow street," Macleod said frankly, 
 " but that is no matter, for I have been out 
 all day — all over London." 
 
 '' I thought the price was as high as you 
 would care to go," Ogilvie said, " but I forgot 
 you had come fresh up, with your pockets full 
 of money. If you would like something a 
 trifle more princely, I'll put you up to it." 
 
 " And where have I got the money ? There 
 are no gold mines in the west of Mull. It is 
 you who are Fortunatus." 
 
28 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 *' By Jove, if you knew how hard a fellow is 
 run at Aldershot ! " Mr. Ogilvie remarked con- 
 fidentially. " You would scarcely believe it. 
 Every new batch of fellows who come in have 
 to be dined all round ; and the mess-bills are 
 simply awful. It's getting worse and worse ; 
 and then these big drinks put one off one's 
 work so." 
 
 "You are studying hard, I suppose ?" Macleod 
 said, quite gravely. 
 
 " Pretty well," said he, stretching out his 
 legs, and petting his pretty moustache with his 
 beautiful white hand. Then he added suddenly, 
 surveying the brown-faced and stalwart young 
 fellow before him, " By Jove, Macleod ! I'm glad 
 to see you in London. It's like a breath of 
 mountain air. Don't I remember the awful 
 mornings we've had together — the rain and the 
 mist and the creeping through the bogs ? I 
 believe you did your best to kill me. If I 
 hadn't had the constitution of a horse I should 
 have been killed." 
 
 " I should say your big drinks at Aldershot 
 were more likely to kiU you than going after 
 
MEN TOE. 29 
 
 tlie deer," said Macleod. " And will yon come 
 up with me this autumn, Ogilvie ? The mother 
 will be glad to see you, and Janet too ; though 
 we haven't got any fine young ladies for you 
 to make love to, unless you go up to Fort 
 William, or Fort George, or Inverness. And I 
 was all over the moors before I came away; 
 and if there is anything like good weather, we 
 shall have plenty of birds this year, for I never 
 saw before such a big average of eggs in the 
 nests." 
 
 " I w^onder you don't let part of that shoot- 
 ing," said Ogilvie, who knew well of the 
 straitened circumstances of the Macleods of 
 Dare. 
 
 " The mother wouldn't have it done," said 
 Macleod, quite simply, '' for she thinks it keeps 
 me at home. But a young man cannot always 
 stay at home. It is very good for you, Ogilvie, 
 that you have brothers." 
 
 " Yes, if I had been the eldest of them," said 
 Mr. Ogilvie. "It is a capital thing to have 
 younger brothers ; it isn't half so pleasant when 
 you are the younger brother." 
 
30 MACLEOD OF DARE, 
 
 *^And will you come up, then, and bury 
 yourself alive at Dare ? " 
 
 ''It is awfully good of you to ask me, 
 Macleod ; and if I can manage it I will ; but 
 I am afraid there isn't much chance this year. 
 In the meantime, let me give you a hint. 
 In London, we talk of going down to the 
 Highlands." 
 
 " Oh, do you '? I did not think you were so 
 stupid," Macleod remarked. 
 
 '' Why, of course we do. You speak of going 
 up to the capital of a country, and of going 
 down to the provinces." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right — no doubt you are 
 right ; but it sounds stupid,'' the unconvinced 
 Highlander observed again. " It sounds stupid 
 to say going up to the south, and going down 
 to the north. And how can you go down to the 
 Highlands? you might go down to the Low- 
 lands. But no doubt you are right ; and I will 
 be more particular. And will you have another 
 cigarette ? and then w^e will go out for a walk, 
 and Oscar will get drier in the street than 
 indoors." 
 
MENTOR. 31 
 
 *' Don't imagine that Tm going out to have 
 that dog plunging about amoDg my feet," said 
 Ogilvie. " But I have something else for you 
 to do. You know Colonel Eoss of Duntorme ?" 
 
 " I have heard of him." 
 
 " His wife is an awfully nice woman, and 
 would like to meet you. 1 fancy they think 
 of buying some property — I am not sure it 
 isn't an island — in your part of the country ; 
 and she has never been to the Highlands at all. 
 I was to take you down with me to lunch with 
 her at two, if you care to go. There is her card." 
 
 Macleod looked at the card. 
 
 *'How far is Prince's Gate from here?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " A mile and a half, I should say." 
 
 " And it is now twenty minutes to two," said 
 he, rising. '^ It will be a nice smart walk." 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Ogilvie, '^ if it is all 
 the same to you we will perform the journey in 
 a hansom. I am not in training just at present 
 for your tramps to Ben-an-Sloich." 
 
 " Ah ! your boots are rather tight," said 
 Macleod, with grave sympathy. 
 
32 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 They got into a hansom, and went spinning 
 along throu^^^h the crowd of carriagres on this 
 brilliant morning. The busy streets, the hand- 
 some women, the fine buildings, the bright and 
 beautiful foliage of the parks — all these were a 
 perpetual wonder and delight to the newcomer, 
 who was as eager in the enjoyment of this gay 
 world of pleasure and activity as any girl come 
 up for her first season. Perhaps this notion 
 occurred to the astute and experienced Lieu- 
 tenant Ogilvie, who considered it his duty to 
 warn his youthful and ingenuous friend. 
 
 " Mrs. Eoss is a very handsome woman," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " Indeed." 
 
 " And uncommonly fascinating too, when she 
 likes/' 
 
 **Eeally?'' 
 
 *'You had better look out if she tries to 
 fiTScinate you." 
 
 *' She is a married woman," said Macleod. 
 
 **They are always the worst," said this wise 
 person ; "for they are jealous of the younger 
 women " 
 
MENTOR. 33 
 
 ''Oh, that is all nonsense," said Macleod, 
 bluntly. " I am not such a greenhorn. I have 
 ■read all that kind of talk in books and magfazines 
 — it is ridiculous. Do you think T will believe 
 that married women have so little self-respect as 
 to make themselves the laughing-stock of men ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, they have cart-loads of self- 
 respect. What I mean is, that Mrs. Koss is a bit 
 of a lion-hunter ; and she may take a fancy to 
 make a lion of you " 
 
 '' That is better than to make an ass of me, 
 as you suggested." 
 
 " And naturally she will try to attach you to 
 her set. I don't think you are quite outre 
 enough for her ; perhaps I made a mistake in 
 putting you into decent clothes. You wouldn't 
 have time to get into your kilt now ? But you 
 must be prepared to meet all sorts of queer folks 
 at her house — especially if you stay on a bit and 
 have some tea — mysterious poets that nobody 
 ever heard of, and artists who won't exhibit, 
 and awful swells from the German Universities, 
 and I don't know what besides — everybody who 
 isn't the least like anybody else." 
 
 VOL. L Tt 
 
34 MACLEOD OF DAllE. 
 
 " And what is your claim, then, to go there ? " 
 Macleocl asked. 
 
 *' Oh," said the young lieutenant, laughing at 
 the home-thrust, '' I am only admitted on 
 sufferance, as a friend of Colonel Boss. She 
 never asked me to put my name in her autograph 
 book. But I have done a bit of the jackal for 
 her once or twice, when I happened to be on 
 leave ; and she has sent me wdth people to her 
 box at Covent Garden when she couldn't go 
 herself." 
 
 " And how am I to propitiate her ? What am 
 I to do ? " 
 
 " She will soon let you know how you strike 
 her. Either she will pet you, or she will snuff 
 you out like winking. I don't know a woman 
 who has a blanker stare, when she likes." 
 
 This idle conversation w^as suddenly inter- 
 rupted. At the same moment both young men 
 experienced a sinking sensation, as if the earth 
 had been cut aw^ay from l:)eneath their feet ; then 
 there was a crash, and they were violently 
 thrown against each other; then they vaguely 
 knew that the cab, heeling over, w^as being jolted 
 
MEIsTOR. 35 
 
 along the street by a runaway horse. Fortu- 
 nately the horse could not run very fast ; for 
 the axle-tree, deprived of its wheel, was tearing 
 at the road ; but all the same the occupants of 
 the cab thought they might as well get out, 
 and so they tried to force open the two small 
 panels of the door in front of them. But the 
 concussion had so jammed these together that, 
 shove at them as they might, they would not 
 yield. At this juncture, Macleod, who was not 
 accustomed to hansom cabs, and did not at all 
 like this first experience of them, determined to 
 get out somehow ; and so he raised himself a bit, 
 so as to get his back firm against the back of the 
 vehicle ; he pulled up his leg until his knee 
 almost touched his mouth ; he got the heel of 
 his boot firmly fixed on the top edge of the 
 door ; and then with one forward drive he tore 
 the panel right away from its hinges. The other 
 was, of course, flung open at once. Then he 
 grasped the brass rail outside, steadied himself 
 for a moment, and jumped clear from the cab, 
 alighting on the pavement. Strange to say, 
 Ogilvie did not follow ; tliough Macleod, as ho 
 
 D 2 
 
36 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 rushed along to try to get hold of the horse, 
 momentarily expected to see him jump out. 
 His anxiety was of short duration. The axle- 
 tree caught on the curb ; there was a sudden 
 lurch ; and then, with a crash of glass, the cab 
 went right over, throwing down the horse and 
 pitching the driver into the street. It was all 
 the work of a few seconds, and another second 
 seemed to suffice to collect a crowd, even in 
 this quiet part of Kensington. But after all 
 very little damage was done, except to the 
 horse, which, had cut one of its hocks. When 
 young Mr. Ogilvie scrambled out and got 
 on to the pavement, instead of being grateful 
 that his life had been spared, he was in a 
 towering passion — with whom or what he knew 
 not. 
 
 "Why didn't you jump out 1 " said Mac- 
 leod to him, after seeing that the cabman 
 was all right. 
 
 Ogilvie did not answer ; he was looking at 
 his besmeared hands and dishevelled clothes. 
 
 *' Confound it," said he, *' what's to be done 
 now? The house is just round the corner." 
 
MEJfTOR. 37 
 
 " Let us go in and they will lend you a 
 clothes-brush." 
 
 " As if I had been fighting a bargee 1 No, 
 thank you. I will go along till I find some 
 tavern, and get myself put to rights." 
 
 And this he did, gloomily; Macleod accom- 
 panying him. It was about a quarter of an 
 hour before he had completed his toilet ; aod 
 then they set out to walk back to Prince's 
 Gate. Mr. Ogilvie was in a better humour. 
 
 "What a fellow you are to jump, Mac- 
 leod ! " said he. " If you had cannoned against 
 that policeman, you would have killed him. 
 And you never paid the cabman for destroying 
 the lid of the door ; you prized the thing 
 clean off its hinges. You must have the 
 strength of a giant." 
 
 " But where the people came from, it was 
 that surprised me," said Macleod, who seemed 
 to have rather enjoyed the adventure, " it was 
 like one of our sea-lochs in the Highlands — 
 you look all round and cannot find any gull 
 anywhere — but throw a biscuit or two into 
 the water, and you will find them appearing 
 
38 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 from all quarters at once. As for tlie cloor, 
 I forgot that ; but I gave the man half-a- 
 sovereio-n to console him for his shakino^. Was 
 not that enoug;h ? " 
 
 *'We shall be frightfully late for luncheon," 
 said Mr. Ogilvie, with some concern. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 FIONAGHAL. 
 
 And indeed wlien they entered the house 
 — the balconies and windows were a blaze of 
 flowers all shining in the sun — they found 
 that their host and hostess had already come 
 down stairs and were seated at table with their 
 small party of guests. This circumstance did 
 not lessen Sir Keith Macleod's trepidation ; for 
 there is no denying the fact that the young 
 man would rather have faced an angry bull 
 on a Highland road than this party of |)eople 
 in the hushed and serni-darkened and flower- 
 scented room. It seemed to him that his ap- 
 pearance was the signal for a confusion that 
 was equivalent to an earthquake. Two or 
 three servants — all more solemn than any 
 clergyman — began to make new arrangements ; 
 
40 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 a tall ladj, benign of aspect, rose and most 
 graciously received liim ; a tall gentleman, with 
 a grey moustache, shook hands with him ; and 
 then, as he vaguely heard young Ogilvie, at 
 the other end of the room, relate the incident 
 of the upsetting of the cab, he found himself 
 seated next to this benign lady, and appa- 
 rently in a bewildering Paradise of beautiful 
 lights and colours and delicious odours. Aspa- 
 ragus soup ? Yes, he would take that ; but 
 for a second or two this spacious and dark- 
 ened room, with its stained glass and its 
 sombre walls, and the table before him, with 
 its masses of roses and lilies of the valley, its 
 silver, its crystal, its nectarines, and cherries, 
 and pine-apples, seemed some kind of en- 
 chanted place. And then the people talked 
 in a low and hushed fashion ; and the ser- 
 vants moved silently and mysteriously ; and 
 the air was languid with the scents of fruits 
 and flowers. They gave him some wine in a 
 tall green glass that had transparent lizards 
 crawling up its stem ; he had never drunk out 
 of a thing like that before. 
 
FIONAGHAL. 41 
 
 " It was very kind of Mr. Ogilvie to get 
 you to come ; lie is a very good boy ; he 
 forgets nothiDg/' said Mrs. Eoss to him ; and 
 as he became aware that she was a pleasant- 
 looking lady of middle age, who regarded him 
 with veiy friendly and truthful eyes, he vowed 
 to himself that he would bring Mr. Ogilvie to 
 task for representing this decent and respect- 
 able woman as a graceless and dangerous 
 coquette. No doubt she was the mother of 
 children. At her time of life she was better 
 employed in the nursery or in the kitchen than 
 in flirting with young men ; and could he 
 doubt that she was a good house-mistress 
 when he saw with his own eyes how spick 
 and span everything was, and how accurately 
 everything was served ? Even if his cousin 
 Janet lived in the south, with all these fine 
 flowers and hot-house fruits to serve her pur- 
 pose, she could not have done better. He 
 began to like this pleasant-eyed woman, though 
 she seemed delicate and a trifle languid, and 
 in consequence he sometimes could not quite 
 make out what she said. But then he noticed 
 
42 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 that tlie otlier people talked in this limp fashion 
 too : there was no precision about their words ; 
 frequently they seemed to leave you to guess 
 the end of their sentences. As for the young 
 lady next him, was she not very delicate also ? 
 He had never seen such hands — so small, and 
 fine, and white. And although she talked 
 only to her neighbour on the other side of 
 her, he could hear that her voice, low and 
 musical as it was, was only a murmur. 
 
 *' Miss White and I," said Mrs. Ross to him 
 — and at this moment the young lady turned 
 to them — " were talking before you came in of 
 the beautiful country you must know so well, 
 and of its romantic stories and associations 
 with Prince Charlie. Gertrude, let me intro- 
 duce Sir Keith Macleod to you. I told Miss 
 AVhite you might come to us to-day ; and she 
 was saying what a pity it was that Flora 
 Macdonald was not a Macleod." 
 
 "That was very kind,'' said lie, frankly, 
 turning to this tall, pale girl, with the rip- 
 pling hair of golden-brown and the heavy- 
 lidded and downcast eyes. And then he 
 
FIONAGHAL. 43 
 
 laughed. "We would not like to steal the 
 honour from a woman, even though she was 
 a Macdonald ; and you know the Macdonalds 
 and the Macleods were not very friendly in 
 the old time. But w^e can claim something^, 
 too, about the escape of Prince Charlie, Mrs. 
 Eoss. After Flora Macdonald had got him 
 safe from Harris to Skye, she handed him 
 over to the sons of Macleod of Raasay, and it 
 was owing to them that he got to the main- 
 land. You will find many people up there to 
 this day who believe that if Macleod of Mac- 
 leod had gone out in '45 Prince Charlie would 
 never have had to flee at all. But I think 
 the Macleods had done enough for the Stuarts ; 
 and it was but little thanks they ever got in 
 return, so far as I could ever hear. Do you 
 know, Mrs. Ross, my mother w^ears mourniug 
 every 3rd of September, and will eat nothing 
 from morning till night ? It is the anniversary 
 of the Battle of Worcester ; and then the Mac- 
 leods were so smashed up that for a long time 
 the other clans relieved them from military 
 
 service." 
 
44 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 "You are not much of a Jacobite, Sir 
 Keith ? " said Mrs. Ross, smiling. 
 
 " Only when I hear a Jacobite song sung," 
 said he. " Then who can fail to be a 
 Jacobite ? " 
 
 He had become quite friendly with this 
 amiable lady. If he had been afraid that 
 his voice, in these delicate southern ears, must 
 sound like the first guttural drone of Donald's 
 pipes at Castle Dare, he had speedily lost 
 that fear. The manly, sun-browned face and 
 clear-glancing eyes were full of animation ; he 
 was oppressed no longer by the solemnity of 
 the servants ; so long as he talked to her lie 
 was quite confident ; he had made friends with 
 this friendly woman. But he had not as 
 yet dared to address the pale girl who sat 
 on his right, and who seemed so fragile, and 
 beautiful, and distant in manner. 
 
 ''After all," said he to ]\Irs. Koss, ''there 
 were no more Hio;hlanders killed in the cause 
 of the Stuarts than used to be killed every 
 year or two merely out of the quarrels of the 
 clans among themselves. All about where I 
 
FIONAGHAL. 45 
 
 live there is scarcely a rock or a loch or an 
 island that has not its story. And I think," 
 added he, with a becoming modesty, " that 
 the Macleods were by far the most treacher- 
 ous, and savage, and bloodthirsty of the whole 
 lot of them." 
 
 And now the fair stranger beside him ad- 
 dressed him for the first time ; and as she 
 did so she turned her eyes towards him — 
 clear, large eyes that rather startled one when 
 the heavy lids were lifted, so full of expression 
 were they. 
 
 " I suppose," said she, with a certain demm^e 
 smile, ^' you have no wild deeds done there 
 now { 
 
 " Oh, we have become quite peaceable folks 
 now,'' said he, laughing. " Our spirit is quite 
 broken. The wild boars are all away from the 
 islands now, even from Muick. We have only 
 the sheep. And the Mackenzies, and the Mac- 
 leans, and the Macleods — they are all sheep 
 now." 
 
 Was it not quite obvious ? How could any 
 one associate with this bright-faced young man 
 
46 MACLEOD OF J) ARE. 
 
 the fierce traditions of hate, and malice, and 
 revensfe, that make the seas and islands of 
 the north still more terrible in their loneli- 
 ness ? Those were the days of strong wills 
 and strong passions, and of an easy disregard 
 of individual life when the gratification of 
 some set desire was near. What had this 
 Macleod to do with such scorchinor fires of 
 hate and of love ? He was playing with a 
 silver fork and half-a-dozen strawberries : Miss 
 White's surmise was perfectly natural and 
 correct. 
 
 The ladies went up stairs ; and the men, 
 after the claret had gone round, followed 
 them. And now it seemed to this rude Hierh- 
 lander that he was only going from wonder 
 to wonder. Half-way up the narrow staircase 
 was a large recess, dimly lit by the sunlight 
 falling through stained glass ; and there was 
 a small fountain playing in the middle of this 
 OTotto : and all around was a wilderness of 
 ferns dripping with the spray, while at the 
 entrance two stone figures held up magical 
 globes, on which the sj^ringing and falling 
 
FIONAGHAL. 47 
 
 water was reflected. Then from this partial 
 gloom he emerged into the drawing-room — a 
 dream of rose-pink and gold ; with the air 
 sweetened around him by the masses of roses 
 and tall lilies about. His eves were rather 
 bewildered at first ; the figures of the women 
 seemed dark ao:ainst the white lace of the 
 windows. But as he went forward to his 
 hostess he could make out still further won- 
 ders of colour : for in the balconies outside, in 
 the full glare of the sun, were geraniums and 
 lobelias and golden calceolarias and red snap- 
 dragon ; their bright hues faintly tempered by 
 the thin curtains through which they were 
 seen. He could not help expressing his admi- 
 ration of these thinss that were so new to 
 him; for it seemed to him that he had come 
 into a land of perpetual summer and sun- 
 shine and glowing flowers. Then the luxu- 
 riant greenness of the foliage on the other 
 side of Exhibition Eoad — for Mrs. E^oss's house 
 fiiced westward — was, as he said, singularly 
 beautiful to one accustomed to the windy 
 skies of the western isles. 
 
48 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 " But you have not seen our elm/' said Mrs. 
 Ross, who was arranging some azaleas that had 
 just been sent her. *'We are very proud of our 
 elm. Gertrade, will you take Sir Keith to see 
 our noble elm ? '^ 
 
 He had almost forgotten who Gertrude was ; 
 but the next second he recognized the low and 
 almost timid voice that said — 
 
 " Will you come this way, then, Sir Keith ? '' 
 
 He turned, and found that it was Miss AVhite 
 who spoke. How was it that this girl, who was 
 only a girl, seemed to do things so easily, and 
 gently, and naturally — w^ithout any trace of em- 
 barrassment or self- consciousness 1 He followed 
 her, and knew not which to admire the more — 
 the careless simplicity of her manner, or the 
 singular symmetry of her tall and slender figure. 
 He had never seen any statue or any picture in 
 any book to be compared with this woman, who 
 was so fine and rare and delicate that she seemed 
 only a beautiful tall flower in this garden of 
 flowers. There was a strange simplicity, too, 
 about her dress — a plain, tight-fitting, tight- 
 sleeved dress of unrelieved black : her only 
 
FIONAGHAL. 49 
 
 adornment being some bands of big blue beads 
 worn loosely round tbe neck. The black figure, 
 in this shimmer of rose-pink and gold and 
 flowers, was effective enough ; but even the 
 finest of pictures, or the finest of statues, has 
 not the subtle attraction of a graceful carriage. 
 Macleod had never seen any woman walk as this 
 woman walked, in so stately and yet so simple a 
 way. 
 
 From Mrs. Eoss's chief drawing-room they 
 passed into an ante-drawing-room, which was 
 partly a passage and partly a conservatory. On 
 the windoW'side were some rows of Cape heaths ; 
 on the wall-side some rows of blue and white 
 plates ; and it was one of the latter that was 
 engaging the attention of two persons in this 
 ante-room — Colonel Eoss himself, and a little 
 old gentleman in gold-rimmed spectacles. 
 
 " Shall I introduce you to my father ? '' said 
 Miss White to her companion ; and, after a word 
 or two, they passed on. 
 
 *' I think papa is invaluable to Colonel Eoss," 
 said she ; ''he is as good as an auctioneer 
 at tell in 2: the value of china. Look at this 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 beautiful heath. Mrs. Ross is very proud of 
 her heaths." 
 
 The small white fingers scarcely touched the 
 beatiful blossoms of the plant; but which were 
 the more palely roseate and waxen '? If one 
 were to grasp that hand — in some sudden 
 moment of entreaty — in the sharp joy of recon- 
 ciliation — in the agony of farewell — would it not 
 be crushed like a frail flower ? 
 
 " There is our elm/' said she, lightly. " Mrs. 
 Ross and I regard it as our own ; we have 
 sketched it so often." 
 
 They had emerged from the conservatory into 
 a small square room, which was practically a 
 continuation of the drawing-room, but which 
 was decorated in pale blue and silver, and filled 
 with a lot of knick-knacks that showed it was 
 doubtless Mrs. Ross's boudoir. iVnd out there, 
 in the clear June sunshine, lay the broad green- 
 sward behind Prince's Gate, with the one splendid 
 elm spreading his broad branches into the blue 
 sky, and throwing a soft shadow on the corner of 
 the frarclens next to the house. How sweet and 
 still it wa5 ! as still as the calm clear light in 
 
FIONAGHAL. 51 
 
 this girl's eyes. There was no passion there, and 
 no trouble ; only the light of a June day, and of 
 blue skies, and a peaceful soul. She rested the 
 tips of her fingers on a small rosewood table that 
 stood by the window : surely, if a spirit ever 
 lived in any table, the wood of this table must 
 have thrilled to its core. 
 
 And had he given all this trouble to this perfect 
 creature merely that he should look at a tree ? — 
 and was he to say some ordinary thing about 
 an ordinary elm to tell her hov/ grateful he was ? 
 
 " It is like a dream to me," he said, honestly 
 enough, "since I came to London. You seem 
 always to have sunlight and plenty of fine trees 
 and hothouse flowers. But I suppose you have 
 winter, like the rest of us ? '' 
 
 '' Or we should very soon tire of all this, 
 beautiful as it is," said she, and she looked 
 rather wistfully out on the broad still gardens. 
 " For my part, I should very soon tire of it. 
 I should think there was more excitemcDt 
 in the wild storms and the dark nis^hts of 
 the north. There must be a strano^e fascina- 
 tion in the short winter days among the 
 
 E 2 
 
 y^ OF lU. US. 
 
52 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 mountains, and the long ^vinter nights by 
 the side of the Atlantic." 
 
 He looked at her. That fierce fascination he 
 knew something of : how had she guessed at 
 it ? And as for her talking as if she herself would 
 gladly brave these storms — was it for a foam- 
 bell to brave a storm ? was it for a rose-leaf 
 to meet the drivino; rains of Ben-an-Sloich ? 
 
 '^ Shall we go back, now 1 " said she ; and as 
 she turned to lead the way he could not fail 
 to remark how shapely her neck was, for her 
 rich golden-brown hair was loosely gathered up 
 behind. 
 
 But just at this moment Mrs. Eoss made her 
 appearance. 
 
 " Come," said she, *'' we shall have a chat all 
 to ourselves ; and you will tell me, Sir Keitli, 
 what you have seen since you came to London, 
 and what has struck you most. And you must 
 stay with us, Gertrude ; perhaps Sir Keith will 
 l)e so kind as to freeze your blood with another 
 horrible story about the Highlanders — I am only 
 a poor southerner and have to get up my legends 
 from books — but this wicked girl, Sir Keitli, 
 
FIONAGHAL. 53 
 
 delights as much in stories of bloodshed as a 
 schoolboy does." 
 
 ** You will not believe her/' said Miss White, 
 in that low-toned gravely sincere voice of hers, 
 while a faint shell-like pink suffused her face. 
 " It was only that we were talking of the High- 
 lands, because we understood you were coming ; 
 and Mrs. Eoss was trying to make out" — and 
 here a spice of proud mischief came into the 
 ordinarily calm eyes — '^ she was trying to make 
 out that you must be a very terrible and 
 dangerous person, who would probably murder 
 us all if we were not civil to you." 
 
 " Well, you know, Sir Keith," said Mrs. Eoss, 
 apologetically, "you acknowledge yourself that 
 you Macleods were a very dreadful lot of people 
 at one time. What a shame it was to track the 
 poor fellow over the snow, and then deliberately 
 to put brushwood in front of the cave, and then 
 suffocate whole two hundred persons at once 1 " 
 
 '' Oh, yes, no doubt," said he, '' but the Mac- 
 donalds were asked first to give up the men that 
 had bound the Macleods hand and foot and set 
 them adrift in the boat ; and they would not do 
 
54 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 it. And if the Macdonakls liad got the Macleods 
 into a cave, they would have suffocated them too. 
 The Macdonakls began it." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no ! " protested Mrs. Ross, " I 
 can remember better than that. What were the 
 Macleods about on the island at all when they 
 had to be sent off, tied hand and foot, in their 
 boats V 
 
 *^And what is the difference between tying a 
 man hand and foot and putting him out in the 
 Atlantic, and suffocating him in a cave ? It was 
 only by an accident that the wind drifted them 
 over to Skye." 
 
 '' I shall begin to fear that you have some of 
 the old blood in you," said Mrs. Ross, with a 
 smile, " if you try to excuse one of the cruellest 
 things ever heard of." 
 
 *' I do not excuse it at all," said he, simply. 
 " It was very bad — very cruel. But perhaps the 
 Macleods were not so much worse than others. 
 It was not a Macleod at all, it was a Gordon — 
 and she a woman, too — that killed the chief of 
 the Mackintoshes after she had received him 
 as a friend. ' Put your head down on the table,' 
 
FIONAGHAL. 55 
 
 said she to the chief, 'in token of your sub- 
 mission to the Earl of Huntly/ And no sooner 
 had he bowed his neck, than she whipped out a 
 knife and cut his head off. That was a Gordon ; 
 not a Macleod. And I do not think the Mac- 
 leods w^ere so much w^orse than their neighbours, 
 after aU/' 
 
 " Oh, how can you say that ? " excLaimed his 
 persecutor. "Who was ever guilty of such an 
 act of treachery as setting fire to the barn at 
 Dunvegan ? Macdonald and his men get driven 
 on to Skye by the bad weather ; they beg for 
 shelter from their old enemy ; Macleod professes 
 to be very great friends with them ; and Mac- 
 donald is to sleep in the castle, wdiile his men 
 have a barn prepared for them. You know very 
 well, Sir Keith, that if Macdonald had remained 
 that night in Dunvegan Castle he would have 
 been murdered ; and if the Macleod girl had 
 not given a word of warning to her sw^eetheart 
 the men in the barn would have been burnt to 
 death. I think if I were a Macdonald I should 
 be proud of that scene — the Macdonalds marching 
 down to their boats with their pipes playing, 
 
56 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 while the barn was all in a blaze, fired by their 
 treacherous enemies. Oh, Sir Keith, I hope 
 there are no Macleods of that sort alive now ! '' 
 
 '' There are not, Mrs. Ross,'' said he gravely. 
 ''They were all killed by the Macdonalds, I 
 suppose.'* 
 
 *' I do believe," said she, '' that it was a 
 Macleod who built a stone tower on a lonely 
 island, and imprisoned his wife there " 
 
 " Miss White," the young man said, modestly, 
 " will not you help me ? Am I to be made 
 responsible for all the evil doings of my ances- 
 tors ? " 
 
 "It is really not fair, Mrs. Ross," said she ; 
 and the sound of this voice pleading for him 
 went to his heart : it was not as the voice of 
 other women. 
 
 *' I only meant to punish you," said Mrs. Ross, 
 " for having traversed the indictment — I don't 
 know whether that is the proper phrase, or what 
 it means, but it sounds well. You first acknow- 
 ledged that the Macleods were by far the most 
 savage of the people living up there, and then 
 you tried to make out that the poor creatures 
 
FIONAGHAL. 5 
 
 whom they harried were as cruel as th-em- 
 selves." 
 
 " What is cruel now was not cruel then," he 
 said ; " it was a way of fighting ; it was what 
 is called an ambush now — enticing your enemy, 
 and then taking him at a disadvantage. And if 
 you did not do that to him he would do it to 
 you. And when a man is mad with anger or 
 revenge, what does he care for anything ? " 
 
 " I thought we were all sheep now ? " said 
 she. 
 
 *' Do you know the story of the man who 
 was flogged by Maclean of Lochbuy — that is 
 in Mull," said he, not heeding her remark, 
 " You do not know that old story "? " 
 
 They did not ; and he proceeded to tell it, 
 in a grave and simple fashion which was suffi- 
 ciently impressive. For he was talking to these 
 two friends now in the most unembarrassed 
 way ; and he had, besides, the chief gift of a 
 born narrator — an utter forgetfulness of himself 
 His eyes rested quite naturally on their eyes as 
 he told his tale. But first of all, he spoke of the 
 exceeding loyalty of the Highland folk to the 
 
58 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 liead of their clan. Did tliey know that other 
 story of how Maclean of Duart tried to capture 
 the young heir of the house of Lochbuy, and how 
 the boy was rescued and carried away by his 
 nurse ? And Avhen, arrived at man's estate, he 
 returned to reveno;e himself on those who had 
 betrayed him, among them was the husband of the 
 nurse. The young chief would have spared the 
 life of this man, for the old woman's sake. 
 ''Let the tail go ivith the hide," said she, and 
 he was slain with the rest. And then the nar- 
 rator went on to the story of the flogging. He 
 told them how Maclean of Lochbuy was out 
 after the deer one day ; and his wife, with her 
 child, had come out to see the shooting. They 
 were driving the deer ; and at a particular pass 
 a man w^as stationed so that, should the deer 
 come that wav, he should turn them back. The 
 deer came to this pass ; the man failed to turn 
 them ; the chief was mad with rage. He gave 
 orders that the man's back should be bared, and 
 that he should be flogged before all the people. 
 
 " Very well," continued Macleod. '' It was 
 done. But it is not safe to do anything like 
 
FIONAGHAL. 59 
 
 tliat to a Highlander ; at least it was not safe 
 to do anything like that to a Highlander in 
 those days ; for, as I told you, Mrs. Koss, we 
 are all like sheep now. Then they went after the 
 deer again ; but at one moment the man that 
 had been floo^ged seized Maclean's child from the 
 nurse, and ran with it across the mountain-side, 
 till he reached a place overhanging the sea. And 
 he held out the child over the sea ; and it was 
 no use that Maclean begged on his knees for 
 forgiveness. Even the passion of loyalty was 
 lost now in the fierceness of revenge. This was 
 what the man said — that unless Maclean had his 
 back bared there and then before all the people, 
 and flogged as he had been flogged, then the 
 child should be dashed into the sea below. 
 There was nothing to be done but that — no 
 prayers, no oflers, no appeals from the mother 
 were of any use. And so it was that Maclean 
 of Lochbuy was flogged there, before his own 
 people ; and his enemy above looking on. And 
 then ? When it Avas over, the man called out 
 aloud, ' Eevenged ! Eevenged ! ' and sprang into 
 the air with the child alono- with him ; and 
 
60 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 neither of them was ever seen again after they 
 had sunk into the sea. It is an old story." 
 
 An old story, doubtless, and often told ; bu 
 its effect on this girl sitting beside him was 
 strange. Her clasped hands trembled ; her 
 eyes were glazed and fascinated as if by some 
 spell. Mrs. Eoss, noticing this extreme tension 
 of feeling, and fearing it, hastily rose. 
 
 ^' Come, Gertrude," she said, taking the girl 
 by the hand, *' we shall be frightened to death 
 by these stories. Come and sing us a song — a 
 French song, all about tears, and fountains, and 
 bits of ribbon — or we shall be seeing the ghosts 
 of murdered Highlanders coming in here in the 
 daytime." 
 
 Macleod, not knowing what he had done, but 
 conscious that something had occurred, followed 
 them into the drawing-room, and retired into a 
 sofa while Miss White sat down to the open 
 piano. He hoped he had not offended her. He 
 would not frighten her again with any ghastly 
 stories from the wild northern seas. 
 
 And what was this French song that she was 
 about to sing? The pale slender fingers were 
 
nONAGHAL. 6 1 
 
 wandering over the keys ; and there was a sound 
 — faint and clear and musical — as of the rippling 
 of distant summer waves. And sometimes the 
 sounds came nearer ; and now he fancied he 
 recognised some old familiar strain ; and he 
 thought of his cousin Janet somehow ; and of 
 summer days down by the blue waters of the 
 Atlantic. A French song ? Surely if this air, 
 that seemed to come nearer and nearer, was 
 blown from any earthly land, it had come from 
 the valleys of Locheil and Ardgour and from 
 the still shores of Arisaig and Moidart ? Oh, 
 yes ; it was a very pretty French song that she 
 had chosen to please Mrs. Eoss with. 
 
 " A wee bird came to our ha* door" 
 
 — this was what she sang ; and though, to tell 
 the truth, slie h^id not much of a voice, it 
 was exquisitely trained, and she sang with 
 a tenderness and expression such as he, at 
 least, had never heard before — 
 
 ^^ He warhled sweet and clearly; 
 ArC aye the o''ercome o his sang 
 Was ' Was's me for Prince Charlie I ' 
 
62 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Oh ! when I heard the honnie, honnie bird., 
 The tears carri! drappirC rarely ; 
 
 I took my bonnet off my heady 
 For well I lo'ed Prince Charlie." 
 
 It could not have entered into liis imagination 
 to believe that such pathos could exist apart 
 from the actual sorrow of the world. The 
 instrument before her seemed to speak ; and 
 the low, joint cry was one of injSnite grief 
 and louging and love. 
 
 '' Quoth I, ' My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird. 
 Is that a sang ye borrow ? 
 Are these some words yeve learnt by hearty 
 Or a lilt o' dool an^ sorrow ? ' 
 
 ' Ohy no, no, no ! ' the ivee bird sang, 
 
 ' I've flown sin' mornin' early ; 
 But sic a day o' wind and rain — 
 
 Oh, icae's me for Prince Charlie I ' " 
 
 Mrs. Eoss glanced archly at him when she 
 discovered what sort of French sons: it was 
 that Miss White had chosen ; but he paid 
 no heed. His only thought was — '' If only 
 
FIONAGHAL. 63 
 
 the mother and Janet could hear this strange 
 singing ! " 
 
 When she had ended, Mrs. Eoss came over to 
 him and said — 
 
 " That is a great compliment to you." 
 
 And he answered, simply — 
 
 " I have never heard any singing like that.'* 
 
 Then young Mr. Ogilvie — whose existence, by 
 the way, he had entirely and most ungratefully 
 forgotten — came up to the piano ; and began to 
 talk in a very pleasant and amusing fashion 
 to Miss White. She was turning over the 
 leaves of the book before her ; and Macleod 
 grew angry with this idle interference. Why 
 should this lily-fingered jackanapes — whom a 
 man could wind round a reel and throw out of 
 window — disturb the rapt devotion of this 
 beautiful Saint Cecilia ? 
 
 She struck a firmer chord ; the bystanders 
 withdrew a bit ; and of a sudden it seemed to 
 him that all the spirit of all the clans was 
 ringing in the proud fervour of this fragile girl's 
 voice. Whence had she got this fierce Jacobite 
 passion that thfilled him to the very finger-tips ? 
 
64 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 *' ril to Lochiel, and Apjnn, and kneel to them, 
 Down hy Lord Murray and Roy of Kildarlu : 
 Brave Mackintosh, he shall fly to tlie field wi' them ; 
 Tliese are the lads I can trust wi* my Charlie ! " 
 
 Could any man fail to answer ? Could any man 
 die otherwise than gladly if he died with such 
 an appeal ringing in his ears ? Macleod did not 
 know there was scarcely any more volume in 
 this girl's voice now than when she was singing 
 the plaintive wail that preceded it : it seemed 
 to him that there was the strength of the tread 
 of armies in it ; and a challenge that could rouse 
 a nation. 
 
 " Down through tJie Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamof^e ! 
 Loyal true Highlanders, down tvi* them rarely ! 
 Ronald and Donald, drive on tvi* the broad claymore 
 Over the necks of the foes of Prince Charlie ! 
 
 Follow thee ! Follow thee ! Wha wadna follow thee, 
 King o' the Highland hearts, honnie Prince Charlie 1 " 
 
 She shut the book, with a light laugh, and left 
 the piano. She came over to where jMacleod 
 sat. When he saw that she meant to speak to 
 him, he rose, and stood before her. 
 
FIONAGHAL. 6 5 
 
 ''I must ask your pardon/' said she, smiling, 
 " for singing two Scotch songs ; for I know the 
 pronunciation is very difficult/' 
 
 He answered with no idle compliment — 
 
 " If Tearlach ban og, as they used to call him, 
 were alive now," said he — and indeed there w^as 
 never an}^ Stuart of them all, not even the Fair 
 Youno; Charles himself, who looked more hand- 
 some than this same Macleod of Dare who now 
 stood before her — " you would get him more 
 men to follow him than any flag or standard 
 he ever raised." 
 
 She cast her eyes. down. 
 
 Mrs. Eoss's guests began to leave. 
 
 " Gertrude," said she, " will you drive with 
 me for half an hour ? — the carriage is at the 
 door. And I know the gentlemen want to have 
 a cigar in the shade of Kensington Gardens : 
 they might come back and have a cup of tea 
 with us." 
 
 But Miss White had some engagement ; she 
 and her father left together ; and the young men 
 followed them almost directly — Mrs. Koss saying 
 that she would be most pleased to see Sir Keith 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Macleod any Tuesday or Thursday afternoon he 
 happened to be passing, as she was always at 
 home on these days. 
 
 " I don't think we can do l)etter than take her 
 advice about the cigar," said young Ogilvie, as 
 they crossed to Kensington Gardens. " What do 
 you think of her ? " 
 
 '' Of Mrs. Eoss ? " 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 *' Oh, I think she is a very pleasant woman." 
 
 " Yes, but " said Mr. Ogilvie, " how did 
 
 she strike you ? Do you think she is as fascinat- 
 ing as some men think her ? " 
 
 " I don't know what men think about her," 
 said Macleod. " It never occurred to me to ask 
 whether a married woman was fascinating or 
 not. I thought she was a friendly woman — 
 talkative, amusing, clever enough." 
 
 They lit their cigars in the cool shadow of the 
 ijreat elms : who does not know how beautiful 
 Kensington Gardens are in June ? And yet 
 Macleod did not seem disposed to be garrulous 
 about these new experiences of his ; he was 
 absorbed, and mostly silent. 
 
FIONAGHAL. 67 
 
 ^' That is an extraordinary fancy she has taken 
 for Qertrude White/' Mr. Ogilvie remarked. 
 
 " Why extraordinary 1 " the other asked, with 
 sudden interest. 
 
 *^ Oh, well, it is unusual, you know ; but she 
 is a nice girl enough, and Mrs. Eoss is fond of 
 odd folks. You didn t speak to old WTiite ? — 
 his head is a sort of British Museum of antiqui- 
 ties ; but he is of some use to these people — he 
 is such a swell about old armour, and china, and 
 such things. They say he wants to be sent out 
 to dig for Dido's funeral pyre at Carthage, and 
 that he is only waiting to get the trinkets made 
 at Birmingham." 
 
 They walked on a bit in silence. 
 
 " I think you made a good impression on 
 Mrs. Eoss," said Mr. Ogilvie, coolly. *' You'll 
 find her an uncommonly useful woman, if she 
 takes a fancy to you ; for she knows everybody 
 and goes everywhere, though her own house is 
 too small to let her entertain properly. By the 
 way, Macleod, I don't think you could have hit 
 on a worse fellow than I to take you about ; for I 
 
 F 2 
 
68 MACLEOD OF DAKE. 
 
 am so little in London that I have become a 
 rank outsider. But I'll tell you what I'll do 
 for you if you will go with me to-night to 
 Lord Beauregard's who is an old friend of 
 mine. I will ask him to introduce you to 
 some people — and his wife gives very good 
 dances — and if any Eoyal or Imperial swell 
 comes to town you'll be sure to run against 
 him there. I forget who it is they are receiv- 
 ing there to-night ; but anyhow you'll meet 
 two or three of the fat duchesses whom Dizzy 
 adores ; and I shouldn't wonder if that Irish 
 girl were there — the new beauty : Lady Beau- 
 regard is very clever at picking people up.'' 
 
 "Will Miss White be there?" Macleod 
 asked, apparently deeply engaged in probing 
 the end of his cigar. 
 
 His companion looked up in surprise : then 
 a new fancy seemed to occur to him ; and he 
 smiled very slightly. 
 
 "Well, no," said he slowly, "I don't think 
 she will. In fact, I am almost sure she will be 
 at the Piccadilly Theatre. If you like, we will 
 
nONAGHAL. 69 
 
 give up Lady Beauregard, and after dinner go 
 to tlie Piccadilly Theatre instead. How will 
 that do ? " 
 
 "I think that will do very well/' said 
 Macleod. 
 
CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 WONDER-LAND. 
 
 A COOL evening in June — the club- windows open 
 — a clear twilight shining over Pall Mall — and a 
 tSte-d-tete dinner at a small clean, bright table : 
 these are not the conditions in which a young 
 man should show impatience. And yet the 
 cunning dishes which Mr. Ogilvie, who had a 
 certain pride in his club, though it was only one 
 of the junior institutions, had placed before his 
 friend, met with but scant curiosity : Macleod 
 would rather have handed questions of cookery 
 over to his cousin Janet. Nor did he pay much 
 heed to his companion's sage advice as to the 
 sort of club he should have himself proposed at, 
 with a view to getting elected in a dozen or 
 fifteen years ; a young man is apt to let his life 
 at forty shift for itself. 
 
WONDER-LAND. 71 
 
 *^ You seem very anxious to see Miss White 
 again," said Mr. Ogilvie, with a slight smile. 
 
 ** I wish to make all the friends J can while I 
 am in London/' said Macleod. " What shall I 
 do in this howling wilderness when you go back 
 to Aldershot ? " 
 
 '' I don't think Miss Gertrude White will be of 
 much use to you. Colonel Eoss may be. Or 
 Lord Beauregard. But you cannot expect young 
 ladies to take you about." 
 
 '' No ? " said Macleod gravely, '' that is a great 
 pity." 
 
 Mr. Ogilvie, who, with all his knowledge of 
 the world, and of wines, and cookery, and women, 
 and what not, had sometimes an uneasy conscious- 
 ness that his companion was covertly laughing 
 at him, here proposed that they should have 
 a cigar before walking up to the Piccadilly 
 Theatre ; but as it was now ten minutes to 
 eight, Macleod resolutely refused. He begged to 
 be considered a country person, anxious to see 
 the piece from the beginning. And so they put 
 on their light top-coats over their evening dress 
 and walked up to the theatre. 
 
72 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 A distant sound of music ; an odour of escaped 
 gas ; a perilous descent of a corkscrew staircase ; 
 a drawing aside of heavy curtains ; and then a 
 blaze of yellow light shining within this circular 
 building, on its red satin and gilt plaster, and on 
 the spacious picture of a blue Italian lake, with 
 peacocks on the wide stone terraces. The noise 
 at first was bewildering. The leader of the 
 orchestra was sawing away at his violin as 
 savagely as if he were calling on his company 
 to rush up and seize a battery of guns. What 
 was the melody that was being banged about by 
 the trombones, and blared aloud by the shrill 
 cornets, and sawed across by the infuriated 
 violins ? " When the heart of a man is oppressed 
 ivith care " ? The cure was never insisted on 
 with such an angry vehemence. 
 
 Kecovering from the first shock of the fierce 
 noise, Macleod began to look around this strange 
 place, with its magical colours and its profusion 
 of gilding ; but nowhere in the half- empty stalls 
 or behind the lace curtains of the boxes, could he 
 make out the visitor of whom he was in search. 
 Perhaps she was not coming, then ? Had he 
 
WONDER-LAND. 73 
 
 sacrificed the evening all for notHng? As 
 regarded the theatre, or the piece to be played, 
 he had not the slightest interest in either. The 
 building was very pretty, no doubt ; but it was 
 only, in effect, a superior sort of booth ; and as 
 for the trivial amusement of watching a number 
 of people strut across a stage and declaim — or 
 perhaps make fools of themselves to raise a laugh 
 — that was not at all to his liking. It would 
 have been different had he been able to talk to 
 the girl who had shown such a strange interest 
 in the gloomy stories of the northern seas ; per- 
 haps, though he would scarcely have admitted 
 this to himself, it might have been different if 
 only he had been allowed to see her at some 
 distance. But her being absent altogether ? 
 The more the seats in the stalls were filled — 
 reducing the chances of her coming — the more 
 empty the theatre seemed to become. 
 
 *' At least we can go along to that house you 
 mentioned," said he to his companion. 
 
 " Oh, don't be disappointed yet," said Ogilvie ; 
 *' I know she will be here." 
 
 " With Mrs. Eoss ? " 
 
74 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 " Mrs. Eoss comes very often to this theatre. 
 It is the correct thing to do. It is high art. All 
 the people are raving about the chief actress ; 
 artists painting her portrait ; poets writing 
 sonnets about her different characters ; no end 
 of a fuss. And Mrs. Eoss is very proud that so 
 distinguished a person is her particular friend '' — 
 
 *' Do you mean the actress ? " 
 
 *' Yes ; — and makes her the big feature of her 
 parties at present ; and society is rather inclined 
 to make a pet of her too — patronising high art, 
 don't you know ? It's wonderful what you can 
 do in that way. If a duke wants a clown to 
 make fellows laugh after a Derby dinner, he gets 
 him to his house, and makes him dance ; and if 
 the papers find it out it is only ' raising the moral 
 status of the pantomine.' Of course it is different 
 with Mrs. Eoss's friend — she is all right socially." 
 
 The garrulous boy was stopped by the sudden 
 cessation of the music ; and then the Italian lake 
 and the peacocks disappeared into unknown 
 regions above ; and behold ! in their place a 
 spacious hall was revealed — not the bare and 
 simple hall at Castle Dare with which Macleod 
 
WONDER-LAND. 75 
 
 was familiar — but a grand apartment, filled with 
 old armour, and pictures, and cabinets, and 
 showing glimpses of a balcony and fair gardens 
 beyond. There were two figures in this hall ; 
 and they spoke — in the high and curious falsetto 
 of the stage. Macleod paid no more heed to 
 them than if they had been marionettes. For 
 one thing, he could not follow their speech very 
 well ; but in any case, what interest could he 
 have in listening to this old lawyer explaining 
 to the stout lady that the family affairs were 
 grievously involved 1 He was still intently 
 watching the new comers who straggled in, singly 
 or in pairs, to the stalls : when a slight motion 
 of the white curtains showed that some one was 
 entering one of the boxes, the corner of the box 
 was regarded with as earnest a gaze as ever 
 followed the movements of a herd of red- deer in 
 the misty chasms of Ben-an-Sloich. What 
 concern had he in the troubles of this over- 
 dressed and stout lady, who was bewailing her 
 misfortunes and wringing her bejewelled hands? 
 Suddenly his heart seemed to stand still 
 altogether. It was a light, glad laugh — the 
 
76 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 sound of a voice he knew, — that seemed to have 
 pierced him as with a rifle-ball ; and at the same 
 moment, from the green shimmer of foliage in 
 the balcony, there stepped into the glare of the 
 hall a young girl with life and laughter and a 
 merry carelessness in her face and eyes. She 
 threw her arm round her mother's neck and 
 kissed her. She bowed to the legal person. She 
 flung her garden-hat on to a couch ; and got up 
 on a chair to get fresh seed put in for her canary- 
 It was all done so simply, and naturally, and 
 gracefully, that in an instant a fire of life and 
 reality sprang into the whole of this sham thing. 
 The older woman was no longer a marionette, 
 but the anguish stricken mother of this gay and 
 heedless girl. And when the daughter jumped 
 down from the chair again — her canary on her 
 finger — and when she came forward to pet and 
 caress and remonstrate with her mother — and 
 when the glare of the lights flashed on the merry 
 eyes, and on the white teeth and laughing lips 
 — there was no longer any doubt possible. 
 Macleod's face was quite pale. He took the 
 programme from Ogilvie's hand, and for a minute 
 
WONDER-LAND. 77 
 
 or two stared meclianically at the name of 
 Miss Gertrude White printed on the pink tinted 
 paper. He gave it him back without a word. 
 Ogilvie only smiled ; he was proud of the sur- 
 prise he had planned. 
 
 And now the fancies and recollections that 
 came rushing into Macleod's head were of a 
 sufficiently chaotic and bewildering character. 
 He tried to separate that grave and gentle and 
 sensitive girl he had met at Prince's Gate from 
 this gay madcap ; and he could not at all suc- 
 ceed. His heart laughed with the laughter of 
 this wild creature ; he enjoyed the discomfiture 
 and despair of the old lawyer, as she stood 
 before him, twirling her garden-hat by a solitary 
 ribbon ; and when the small white fingers raised 
 the canary to be kissed by the pouting lips, the 
 action was more graceful than anything he had 
 ever seen in the world. But where was the 
 silent and serious girl who had listened with 
 such rapt attention to his tales of passion and 
 revenge — who seemed to have some mysterious 
 longing for those gloomy shores he came from — 
 who had sung with such exquisite pathos "A 
 
78 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 wee bird cam' to our ha' door " "i Her cheek 
 had turned white when she heard of the fate of 
 the son of Maclean : surely that sensitive and 
 vivid imagination could not belong to this 
 audacious girl, with her laughing, and teasings, 
 and demure coquetry "i 
 
 Society had not been talking about the art of 
 Mrs. Eoss's 2^^^otegee for nothing ; and that art 
 soon made short work of Keith Macleod's doubts. 
 The fair stranger he had met at Prince's Gate 
 vanished into mist. Here was the real woman ; 
 and all the trumpery business of the theatre, that he 
 would otherwise have regarded with indifference 
 or contempt, became a real and living thing ; 
 insomuch that he followed the fortunes of this 
 spoiled child with a breathless interest and a 
 beating heart. The spell was on him. Oh, why 
 should she be so proud to this poor lover, who 
 stood so meekly before her ? " Coquette ! 
 coquette I " (Macleod could have cried to her) 
 " the days are not always full of sunshine ; life 
 is not all youth and beauty and high spirits ; 
 you may come to repent of your pride and your 
 cruelty." He had no jealousy against the poor 
 
WONDER- LAND. 79 
 
 youth who took his leave ; he pitied him — but 
 it was for her sake ; he seemed to know that 
 evil days were coming, when she would long for 
 the solace of an honest man's love. And when 
 the trouble came — as speedily it did — and when 
 she stood bravely up at first to meet her fate, 
 and when she broke down for a time, and buried 
 her face in her hands, and cried with bitter sobs, 
 the tears were running down his face. Could 
 the merciful Heavens see such grief, and let the 
 wicked triumph ! And why was there no man 
 to succour her ? Surely some times arise in 
 which the old law is the good law ; and a man 
 will trust to his own right arm to put things 
 straight in the world ? To look at her — could 
 any man refuse ? And now she rises and goes 
 away ; and all the glad summer-time and the 
 sunshine have gone ; and the cold wind shivers 
 through the trees, and it breathes only of 
 farewell. Farewell, miserable one I the way 
 is dark before you ; and you are alone. Alone, 
 and no man near to help. 
 
 Macleod was awakened from his trance. The 
 act-drop was let down ; there was a stir 
 
80 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 throughout the theatre ; young Ogilvie turned 
 to him. 
 
 ^' Don't you see who has come into that corner 
 box up there ? " 
 
 If he had been told that Miss White, come up 
 from Prince's Gate, in her plain black dress and 
 blue beads, had just arrived and was seated there, 
 he would scarcely have been surprised. As it 
 was, he looked up, and saw Colonel Eoss taking 
 his seat, while the figure of a lady was partially 
 visible behind the lace curtain. 
 
 " I wonder how often Mrs. Eoss has seen this 
 piece ! " Ogilvie said. '* And I think Colonel 
 Eoss is as profound a believer in Miss White as 
 his wife is. Will you go up and see them now ? " 
 
 " No," Macleod said absently. 
 
 " I shall tell them," said the facetious boy, as 
 he rose, and got hold of his crush-hat, '' that you 
 are meditating a leap on to the stage, to rescue 
 the distressed damsel." 
 
 And then his conscience smote him. 
 
 ''Mind you," said he, "I think it is aA^^uUy 
 good myself. I can't pump up any enthusiasm 
 for most things that people rave about ; but I do 
 
W OND ER-LAXD . 8 1 
 
 think this girl is uncommonly clever. And then 
 she always dresses like a lady." 
 
 With this high commendation Lieutenant 
 Ogilvie left, and made his way up stairs to Mrs. 
 Eoss's box. Apparently he was w^ell received 
 there ; for he did not make his appearance again 
 at the beginning of the next act, nor, indeed, 
 until it was nearl}^ over. 
 
 The dream-world opens again ; and now it is a 
 beautiful garden, close by the ruins of an old 
 abbey ; and fine ladies are walking about there. 
 But what does he care for these marionettes 
 uttering meaningless phrases ? They have no 
 more interest for him than the sham ivy on the 
 sham ruins, so long as that one bright, speaking, 
 pathetic face is absent ; and the story they are 
 carrying forward is for him no story at all, for he 
 takes no heed of its details in his anxious watch- 
 ing for her appearance. The sides of this garden 
 are mysteriously divided : by which avenue will 
 she approach ? Suddenly he hears the low voice 
 — she comes nearer — now let the world laugh 
 again ! But alas ! when she does appear, it is in 
 the company of her lover ; and it is only to bid 
 
 VOL. I, G 
 
82 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 him good-bye. Why does the coward hind take 
 her at her word ? A stick, a stone, a wave of the 
 cold sea, would be more responsive to that deep 
 and tremulous voice, which has now no longer 
 any of the arts of a wilful coquetry about it, but 
 is altogether as self-revealing as the generous 
 abandonment of her eyes. The poor cipher ! — 
 he is not the man to woo and win and carry off 
 this noble woman, the unutterable soul-surrender 
 of whose look has the courage of despair in it. 
 He bids her farewell. The tailor's dummy retires. 
 And she ? — in her agony, is there no one to 
 comfort her ? They have demanded this sacrifice 
 in the name of duty ; and she has consented : 
 ouojlit not that to be enousjh to comfort her ? 
 
 Then other people appear, from other parts of 
 the garden ; and there is a Babel of tongues. 
 He hears nothing ; but he follows that sad face, 
 until he coidd imagine that he listens to the 
 throbbinc^ of her achino; heart. 
 
 And then, as the phantasms of the stage come 
 and go, and fortune plays many pranks with these 
 puppets, the piece draws near to an end. And 
 now, as it appears, everything is reversed ; and it 
 
WONDEK-LAND. 83 
 
 is the poor lover who is in grievous trouble, 
 while she is restored to the proud position of her 
 coquetries and wilful graces again, with all her 
 friends smiling around her, and life lying fair 
 before her. She meets him by accident. Suffer- 
 ing gives him a certain sort of dignity ; but 
 how is one to retain patience with the blindness 
 of this insufferable ass ? Don't you see, man, 
 don't you see that she is waiting to throw herself 
 into your arms ? and you, you poor ninny, 
 are giving yourself airs, and assuming the grand 
 heroic ! And then the shy coquetry comes in 
 again. The pathetic eyes are full of a grave 
 compassion, if he must really never see her 
 more. The cat plays with the poor mouse, 
 and pretends that really the tender thing is 
 gone away at last. He will take this half of a 
 broken sixpence back : it was given in happier 
 times. If ever he should marry, he will know 
 that one far away prays for his happiness. And 
 if — if these unwomanly tears . . . and suddenly 
 the crass idiot discovers that she is laughino^ at 
 him ; and that she has secured him and bound 
 him as completely as a fly fifty times wound 
 
 G 2 
 
84 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 round by a spider. The crasli of applause that 
 accompanied the lowering of the curtain stunned 
 Macleod, who had not quite come back from 
 dream-land. And then, amid a confused roar, 
 the curtain was drawn a bit back, and she was 
 led — timidly smiling, so that her eyes seemed 
 to tak^ in all the theatre at once — across the 
 stage by that same poor fool of a lover ; and 
 she had two or three bouquets throw^n her, 
 notably one from Mrs. Boss's box. Then she 
 disappeared ; and the lights were lowered ; and 
 there was a dull shuffling of people getting 
 their cloaks and hats and going away. 
 
 "Mrs. Koss wants to see you for a minute," 
 Ogilvie said. 
 
 " Yes," Macleod answered absently. 
 
 " And we have time yet, if you like, to 
 get into a hansom, and drive along to Lady 
 Beaureo-ard's." 
 
 o 
 
CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 IN PARK LANE. 
 
 They found Mrs. Ross and her husband waiting 
 in the corridor above. 
 
 " Well, how did you like it ? '^ she said. 
 
 He could not answer ofF-hand. He was 
 afraid he might say too much. 
 
 **It is like her singing/' he stammered at 
 length. " I am not used to these things. I 
 have never seen anything like that before." 
 
 *'We shall soon have her in a better piece," 
 Mrs. Eoss said. ** It is beinor written for her- 
 That is very pretty ; but slight. She is capable 
 of greater things." 
 
 " She is capable of anything," said Macleod 
 simply, " if she can make you believe that 
 such nonsense is real. I looked at the 
 others. What did they say or do, better than 
 
86 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 mere pictures in a book ? But she it is like 
 
 masfic/' 
 
 '' And did Mr. Ogilvie give you my message 1 " 
 said Mrs. Eoss. "My husband and I are 
 going down to see a yacht race on the Thames 
 to-morrow — we did not think of it till this 
 evening any more than we expected to find you 
 here. We came along to try to get Miss White 
 to go with us. Will you join our little party ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly — thank you very much,'^ 
 Macleod said eagerly. 
 
 " Then you'd better meet us at Charing 
 Cross, at ten sharp,^' Colonel Eoss said ; "so 
 dont let Ogilvie keep you up too late with 
 brandy and soda. A special will take us down." 
 
 " Brandy and soda ! " Mr. Ogilvie exclaimed. 
 " I am going to take him along for a few 
 minutes to Lady Beauregard's — surely that is 
 proper enough ; and I have to get down by 
 the ' cold-meat ' train to Aldershot, so there 
 won't be much brandy and soda for me. Shall 
 we go now, Mrs. Eoss ? " 
 
 " I am waiting for an answer," Mrs. Eoss 
 said, looking along the corridor. 
 
IN PARK-LANE. 87 
 
 Was it possible, then, that she herself should 
 brings the answer to this messao-e that had been 
 sent her — stepping out of the dream-world in 
 which she had disappeared with her lover ? 
 And how would she look as she came along 
 this narrow passage '? Like the arch coquette 
 of this land of gaslight and glowing colours ? 
 or like the pale, serious, proud girl who was 
 fond of sketchino; the elm at Prince's Gate ? 
 A strange nervousness possessed him as he 
 thought she might suddenly appear. He did 
 not listen to the talk between Colonel Ross 
 and Mr. Ogilvie. He did not notice that this 
 small party was obviously regarded as being in 
 the way by the attendants who were putting out 
 the lights and shutting the doors of the boxes. 
 Then a man came along. 
 
 *' Miss White's compliments, ma'am ; and 
 she will be very pleased to meet you at Charing 
 Cross at ten to-morrow." 
 
 '* And Miss White is a very brave young lady 
 to attempt anything of the kind," observed Mr. 
 Ogilvie confidentially, as they all went down 
 the stairs. " For if the yachts should get 
 
88 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 becalmed off the Nore, or off the Mouse, I 
 wonder how Miss White will get back to London 
 in time 1 " 
 
 '^ Oh, we shall take care of that," said Colonel 
 Eoss. '^ Unless there is a good steady breeze we 
 shan't go at all ; we shall spend a happy day 
 at Eosherville ; or have a look at the pictures 
 at Greenwich. We shan't get Miss White 
 into trouble. Good-bye, Ogilvie. Good-bye, Sir 
 Keith. Eemember — ten o'clock. Charing Cross." 
 
 They stepped into their carriage and drove off. 
 
 *'Now," said Macleod's companion, *'are you 
 tired ? " 
 
 " Tired I I have done nothing all day." 
 
 '' Shall we get into a hansom, and drive along 
 to Lady Beauregard's ? " 
 
 *' Certainly, if you like. I suppose they won't 
 throw you over again ? " 
 
 *'0h, no," said Mr. Ogilvie, as he once more 
 adventured his person in a cab. *'And I can tell 
 you it is much better — if you look at the thing 
 philosophically, as poor wretches like you and me 
 must — to drive to a crush in a hansom than in 
 your own carriage. You don't worry about your 
 
IN PARK-LANE. 89 
 
 horses being kept out in tlie rain ; you can come 
 away at any moment; there is no fussing with 
 servants, and rows because your man has got out 
 of the rank hold up ! " 
 
 Whether it was the yell or not, the horse re- 
 covered from the slight stumble ; and no harm 
 befell the two daring travellers. 
 
 '' These vehicles give one some excitement,'^ 
 Macleod said — or rather roared, for Piccadilly 
 was full of carriages. "A squall in Loch Scri- 
 dain is nothing to them." 
 
 "You'll get used to them in time," was the 
 complacent answer. 
 
 They dismissed the hansom at the corner of 
 Piccadilly, and walked up Park Lane, so as to 
 avoid waiting in the rank of carriages. Macleod 
 accompanied his companion meekly. All this 
 scene around him — the flashing lights of the 
 broughams — the brilliant windows — the stepping 
 across the pavement of a strangely-dressed digni- 
 tary from some foreign land — seemed but some 
 other part of that dream from which he had not 
 quite shaken himself free. His head was still 
 full of the sorrows and coquetries of that wild- 
 
90 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 spirited beroine. Whither had she gone by this 
 time — away into some strange valley of that 
 unknown world ? 
 
 He was better able than Mr. Ogilvie to push 
 his way through the crowd of footmen who stood 
 in two lines across the pavement in front of Beau- 
 regard House, watching for the first appearance 
 of their master or mistress ; but he resignedly 
 followed and found himself in the avenue leading 
 clear up to the steps. They were not the only 
 arrivals, late as the hour was. Two young girls, 
 sisters, clad in cream-white silk with a gold 
 fringe across their shoulders and sleeves, preceded 
 them ; and he was greatly pleased by the manner 
 in which these young ladies, on meeting in the 
 great hall an elderly lady who was presumably a 
 person of some distinction, dropped a pretty little 
 old-fashioned curtsy as they shook hands with 
 her. He admired much less the formal obeisance 
 which he noticed a second after. A Royal per- 
 sonage was leaving ; and as this lady, who was 
 dressed in mourninor, and was leanino; on the arm 
 of a o;entleman whose coat was blazino^ with 
 diamond stars, and whose breast was barred 
 
IN PAKK-LANE. 91 
 
 across with a broad blue ribbon, came along the 
 spacious landing at the foot of the wide staircase, 
 she graciously extended her hand and said a few 
 words to such of the ladies standing by as she 
 knew. That deep bending of the knee he con- 
 sidered to be less pretty than the little curtsy 
 performed by the young ladies in cream- white 
 silk. He intended to mention this matter to his 
 cousin Janet. 
 
 Then, as soon as the Princess had left, the lane 
 through which she had passed closed up again, 
 and the crowd became a confused mass of mur- 
 muring groups. Still meekly following, Macleod 
 plunged into this throng ; and presently found 
 himself being introduced to Lady Beauregard, 
 an amiable little woman who had been a great 
 beauty in her time and was pleasant enough to 
 look at now. He passed on. 
 
 " Who is the man with ' the blue ribbon and 
 the diamond stars 1 " he asked of Mr. Ogilvie. 
 
 *' That is Monsieur le Marquis himself — that is 
 your host," the young gentleman replied — only 
 Macleod could not tell why he was obviously 
 trying to repress some covert merriment. 
 
92 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 " Didn't yon hear ?" Mr. Ogilvie said at length. 
 '^ Don't you know what he called you ? That 
 man will be the death of me — for he's always at 
 it. He announced you as Sir Thief Macleod — I 
 will swear he did." 
 
 " I should not have thought he had so much 
 historical knowledge," Macleod answered gravely. 
 *' He must have been reading up about the clans." 
 
 At this moment, Lady Beauregard, who had 
 been receiving some other late visitors, came up 
 
 and said she wished to introduce him to he 
 
 could not make out the name. He followed her. 
 He was introduced to a stout elderly lady, who 
 still had beautifully fine features, and a simple 
 and calm air which rather impressed him. It is 
 true that at first a thrill of compassion went 
 throuo;h him ; for he thouQ;ht that some accident 
 had befallen the poor lady's costume, and that it 
 had fallen down a bit unknown to herself ; but 
 he soon perceived that most of the other women 
 were dressed similarly, some of the younger ones, 
 indeed, having the back of their dress open 
 practically to the waist. He wondered what his 
 mother and Janet would say to this style. 
 
IN PAFJv-LANE. 93 
 
 ''Don't you tliiiik tlie Princess is lookiog 
 pale 1 " lie was asked. 
 
 *' I tliouglit she looked very pretty — I never 
 saw her before," said he. 
 
 What next ? That calm air was a trifle cold 
 and distant. He did not know who the woman 
 was ; or where she lived ; or whether her husband 
 had any shooting, or a yacht, or a pack of 
 hounds. What was he to say ? He returned to 
 the Princess. 
 
 ''I only saw her as she w^as leaving/' said he. 
 ''We came late. We were at the Piccadilly 
 Theatre." 
 
 " Oh, you saw Miss Gertrude White ? " said 
 this stout lady ; and he was glad to see her eyes 
 light up with some interest. " She is very clever, 
 is she nof? — and so pretty and engaging. I wish 
 I knew some one who knew her." 
 
 " I know some friends of hers," Macleod said, 
 rather timidly. 
 
 " Oh, do you, really ? Do you think she 
 would give me a morning performance for my 
 Fundi" 
 
 This lady seemed to take it so much for 
 
9)4 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 granted that every one must have heard of her 
 Fund that he dared not confess his ignorance. 
 But it was surely some charitable thing ; and 
 how could he doubt that Miss White would 
 immediately respond to such an appeal ? 
 
 "I should think that she would," said he, 
 with a little hesitation — but at this moment 
 some other claimant came forward, and he turned 
 away to seek young Ogilvie once more. 
 
 " Ogilvie," said he, " who is that lady in the 
 green satin ? " 
 
 " The Duchess of Wexford.'' 
 
 " Has she a Fund ? " 
 
 '' A what ? " 
 
 " A Fund — a charitable Fund of some sort." 
 
 *'0h, let me see. I think she is getting up 
 money for a new training-ship — turning the 
 young ragamuffins about the streets into sailors, 
 don't you know ? " 
 
 "Do you think Miss White would give a 
 morning performance for that Fund ? " 
 
 "Miss White! Miss White! Miss White!" 
 said Lieutenant Ogilvie. " I think Miss White 
 has got into your head." 
 
IN PARK-LANE. 95 
 
 *' But that lady asked me." 
 
 " Well, I should say it was exactly the thing 
 that Miss White would like to do — get mixed 
 up with a whole string of Duchesses and 
 Marchionesses — a capital advertisement — and it 
 would be all the more distinguished if it was 
 an amateur performance, and Miss Gertrude 
 White the only professional admitted into the 
 charmed circle." 
 
 "You are a very shrewd boy, Ogilvie," Mac- 
 leod observed. " I don't know how you ever got 
 so much wisdom into so small a head." 
 
 And indeed, as Lieutenant Ogilvie was return- 
 ing to Aldershot by what he was pleased to call 
 the cold-meat train, he continued to play the 
 part of Mentor for a time with great assiduity, 
 until Macleod was fairly confused with the 
 number of persons to whom he was introduced 
 and the remarks his friend made about them. 
 What struck him most, perhaps, was the recur- 
 rence of old Highland or Scotch family names, 
 borne by persons who were thoroughly English 
 in their speech, and ways. Fancy a Gordon 
 who said "lock" for "loch"; a Mackenzie who 
 
96 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 had never seeu tlie Lewis ; a Mac Alpine wh( 
 had never heard the proverb, " The hills, the Mac 
 Alpines, and the devil came into the world at 
 the same time." 
 
 It was a pretty scene ; and he was young, and 
 eager, and curious ; and he enjoyed it. After 
 standing about for half-an-hour or so, he got 
 into a corner from which, in quiet, he could 
 better see the brilliant picture as a whole — the 
 bright, harmonious dresses, the glimpses of 
 beautiful eyes and blooming complexions, the 
 masses of foxgloves w^hich Lady Beauregard had 
 as the only floral decoration of the evening, the 
 pale canary- coloured panels and silver fluted 
 columus of the v^alls, and over all the various 
 candelabra, each bearing a cluster of sparkling 
 and golden stars. But there was something 
 wantins:. Was it the noble and silver-haired 
 lady of Castle Dare whom he looked for in 
 vain in that brilliant crowd that moved and 
 murmured before him ? Or was it the friendly 
 and familiar face of his cousin Janet, whose 
 eyes, he knew, would be filled with a constant 
 wonder if she saw such diamonds and silks and 
 
IN PAEK-LANE. 97 
 
 satins ? Or was it that ignis fatuus — tliat trea- 
 cherous and mocking fire — that might at any 
 time glimmer in some suddenly presented face 
 with a new surprise ? Had she deceived him 
 altogether down at Prince's Gate ? Was her 
 real nature that of the wayward, bright, mis- 
 chievous, spoiled child whose very tenderness 
 only prepared her unsuspecting victim for a 
 merciless thrust ? And yet the sound of her 
 sobbing w^as still in his ears. A true woman's 
 heart beat beneath that idle raillery : challenged 
 boldly, would it not answer loyally and without 
 fear ? 
 
 Psychological puzzles were new to this son of 
 the mountains ; and it is no wonder that long 
 after he had bidden good-bye to his friend 
 Ogilvie, and as he sate thinking alone in his 
 own room, with Oscar lying across the rug at 
 his feet, his mind refused to be quieted. One 
 picture after another presented itself to his 
 imagination — the proud-souled enthusiast long- 
 ing for the wild winter nights and the dark 
 Atlantic seas — the pensive maiden, shuddering 
 to hear the fierce story of Maclean of Lochbuy 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 — the spoiled child, teasing her mamma, and 
 petting her canary — the wronged and weeping 
 woman, her frame shaken with sobs, her hands 
 clasped in despair — the artful and demure co- 
 quette, mocking her lover with her sentimental 
 farewells. Which of them all was she ? Which 
 should he see in the morning ? Or would she 
 appear as some still more elusive vision, retreat- 
 in sf before him as he advanced ? 
 
 Had he asked himself, he would have said 
 that these speculations were but the fruit of 
 a natural curiosity. Why should he not be 
 interested in finding out the real nature of 
 this girl, whose acquaintance he had just made ? 
 It has been observed, however, that vouno; 
 gentlemen do not always betray this frantic 
 devotion to psychological inquiry when the 
 subject of it, instead of being a fascinating 
 maiden of twenty, is a homely-featured lady 
 of fifty. 
 
 Time passed ; another cigar was lit ; the 
 blue light outside was becoming silvery ; and 
 yet the problem remained unsolved. A fire 
 of impatience and restlessness was burning in 
 
IN PARK-LANE. 99 
 
 his heart ; a din as of brazen instruments — 
 what was the air the furious orchestra played ? 
 — was in his ears ; sleep or rest was out of 
 the question. 
 
 " Oscar ! " he called. *' Oscar, mj lad, let 
 us go out." 
 
 When he stealthily went down stairs, and 
 opened the door, and passed into the street, 
 behold ! the new day was shining abroad — 
 and how cold, and still, and silent it was after 
 the hot glare and the whirl of that bewildering 
 night ! No living thing was visible. A fresh, 
 sweet air stirred the leaves of the trees and 
 bushes in St. James's Square. There was a 
 pale lemon-yellow glow in the sky, and the 
 long empty thoroughfare of Pall Mall seemed 
 coldly white. 
 
 Was this a somnambulist, then, who wandered 
 idly along through the silent streets, apparently 
 seeing nothing of the closed doors, and the 
 shuttered windows on either hand ? A police- 
 man, standing at the corner of Waterloo Place, 
 stared at the apparition — at the twin apparition : 
 for this tall young gentleman with the light 
 
 H 2 
 
100 ' MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 top-coat thrown over liis evening dress was 
 accompanied by a beautiful collie that kept 
 close to his heels. There was a solitary four- 
 wheeled cab at the foot of the Haymarket ; 
 but the man had got inside and was doubtless 
 asleep. The Embankment ? — with the young 
 trees stirring in the still morning air ; and the 
 broad bosom of the river catching the gathering 
 glow of the skies. He leaned on the grey stone 
 parapet, and looked out on the placid waters 
 of the stream. 
 
 Placid indeed they were as they went flowing 
 quietly by ; and the young day promised to 
 be bright enough ; and why should there be 
 aught but peace and goodwill upon earth 
 towards all men and women ? Surely there was 
 no call for any unrest, or fear, or foreboding ? 
 The still and shining morning was but emblem- 
 atic of his life — if only he knew, and were 
 content. And indeed he looked contented 
 enough, as he wandered on, breathing the cool 
 freshness of the air, and with a warmer light 
 from the east now touching from time to time 
 his sun-tanned face. He went up to Covent 
 
IN PARK-LANE. 101 
 
 Garden — for mere curiosity's sake. He walked 
 along Piccadilly, and thought the elms in the 
 Green Park looked more beautiful than ever. 
 When he returned to his rooms, he was of 
 opinion that it was scarcely worth while to go 
 to bed ; and so he changed his clothes, and 
 called for breakfast as soon as some one was 
 up. In a short time — after his newspaper had 
 been read — he would have to go down to 
 Charing Cross. 
 
 What of this morning walk ? Perhaps it was 
 unimportant enough. Only, in after times, he 
 once or twice thought of it ; and very clearly, 
 indeed, he could see himself standing there in 
 the early light, looking out on the shining waters 
 of the river. They say that when you see 
 yourself too vividly — when you imagine that 
 you yourself are standing before yourself — that 
 is one of the signs of madness. 
 
CHAPTER YI. 
 
 A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. 
 
 It occurred to Mm as lie walked do^Ti to 
 the station — perhaps he went early on the 
 chance of finding her there alone — that he 
 ought seriously to study the features of this 
 girl's face ; for was there not a great deal of 
 character to be learned, or guessed at, that 
 way ? He had but the vaguest notion of 
 what she was really like. He knew that her 
 teeth were pearly white when she smiled, and 
 that the rippling golden-brown hair lay rather 
 low on a calm and thoughtful forehead ; but 
 lie had a less distinct impression that her nose 
 was perhaps the least thing retroussee ; and 
 as to her eyes ? They might be blue, grey, or 
 green : but one thing he was sure of was that 
 they could speak more than was ever uttered 
 
A SUMMER-DAY OX THE THAMES. 103 
 
 by any speech. He knew besides that she 
 had an exquisite figure : perhaps it was the 
 fact that her shoulders were a trifle squarer 
 than is common with women that made her 
 look somewhat taller than she really was. 
 
 He would confirm or correct these vao:ue 
 impressions. And as the chances were that 
 they would spend a whole long day together, 
 he would have abundant opportunity of getting 
 to know something about the character and 
 disposition of this new acquaintance, so that 
 she should no longer be to him a puzzling and 
 distracting will-o'-the-wisp. What had he come 
 to London for but to improve his knowledge of 
 men and of women, and to see what was going 
 on in the larger world ? And so this earnest 
 student walked down to the station. 
 
 There were a good many people about, mostly 
 in groups chatting with each other ; but he 
 recognised no one. Perhaps he was looking 
 out for Colonel and Mrs. Eoss ; perhaps for a 
 slender figure in black, with blue beads; at all 
 events he was gazing somewhat vacantly around, 
 when some one turned close by him. Then his 
 
104 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 heart stood still for a second. The sudden light 
 that sprang to her face when she recognised him 
 blinded him. Was it to be always so ? "Was she 
 always to come upon him in a flash, as it were 1 
 What chance had the poor student of fulfilling 
 his patient task when, on his approach, he was 
 sure to be met by this surprise of the parted lips, 
 and sudden smile, and bright look ? He was far 
 too bewildered to examine the outline of her 
 nose, or the curve of the exquisitely short upper 
 lip. 
 
 But the plain truth was that there was no 
 extravagant joy at all in Miss AVhite's face ; but 
 a very slight and perhaps pleased surprise ; and 
 she was not in the least embarrassed. 
 
 "Are you looking for Mrs. Eoss," said she, 
 " like myself ? " 
 
 *' Yes," said he ; and then he found himself 
 exceedingly anxious to say a great deal to her, 
 without knowing where to begin. She had sur- 
 prised him too much — as usual. She was so 
 different from what he had been dreaming about. 
 Here was no one of the imaginary creatures that 
 had risen before his mind durinsf the stillness of 
 
A SUMMEE-DAY ON THE THAMES. 105 
 
 the niglit. Even the pale dreamer in black and 
 blue beads was gone. He found before him (as far 
 as he could make out) a quiet, bright-faced, self- 
 possessed girl, clad in a light and cool costume 
 of white — with bits of black velvet about it — and 
 her white gloves and sunshade, and the white 
 silver chain round her slender waist, were im- 
 portant features in the picture she presented. 
 How could this eager student of character get 
 rid of these distressins^ trivialities ? All nig-lit 
 lonor he had been dreaminsr of beautiful sentiments 
 and conflicting emotions : now his first thought 
 was that he had never seen any costume so 
 delightfully cool and clear and summer-like. To 
 look at her was to think of a mountain-spring, 
 icy-cold even in the sunshine. 
 
 " I always come early," said she, in the most 
 matter-of-fact way. " I cannot bear hurry in 
 catching a train." 
 
 Of course not. How could any one associate 
 rattling cabs, and excited porters, and frantic 
 mobs, with this serene creature, who seemed to 
 have been wafted to Charing Cross on a cloud ? 
 And if he had had his will, there would have 
 
106 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 been no special train to disturb her repose. She 
 would have embarked in a noble barge, and lain 
 upon couches of swanks down, and ample awnings 
 of silk would have sheltered her from the sun, 
 while the beautiful craft floated away down the 
 river, its crimson hangings here and there just 
 touching the rippling waters. 
 
 " Ought we to take tickets ? " 
 
 That was what she actually said ; but what 
 those eloquent, innocent eyes seemed to say was, 
 " Can you read ivliat ive have to tell you? 
 Dont you Jcnoiv ivhat a simple and conjiding 
 soul appeals to you? — clear as the daylight in 
 its truth. Cannot you look through us and see 
 the trusting, tender soul within ? " 
 
 " Perhaps we had better wait for Colonel 
 Eoss,'' said he ; and there was a little pronoun 
 in this sentence that he would like to have 
 repeated. It was a friendly word. It estab- 
 lished a sort of secret companionship. It is 
 the proud privilege of a man to know all about 
 railway-tickets ; but he rather preferred this 
 association with her helpless innocence and 
 ignorance. 
 
A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. 107 
 
 " I had no idea you were coming to-day. 
 I rather like those surprise parties. Mrs. Ross 
 never thought of going till last evening, she 
 says. Oh ! by the way, I saw you in the 
 theatre last evening. " 
 
 He almost started. He had quite forgotten 
 that this self-possessed, clear-eyed, pale girl 
 was the madcap coquette whose caprices and 
 griefs had alternately fascinated and moved 
 him on the previous evening. 
 
 " Oh, indeed," he stammered. *' It was a 
 great pleasure to me — and a surprise. Lieu- 
 tenant Ogilvie played a trick on me. He did 
 not tell me before we went that — that you 
 were to appear '' 
 
 She looked amused. 
 
 "You did not know, then, when we met at 
 Mrs. Eoss's, that I was engaged at the Piccadilly 
 Theatre ? " 
 
 " Not in the least," he said, earnestly ; as 
 if he wished her distinctly to understand that 
 he could not have imagined such a thing to 
 be possible. 
 
 **You should have let me send you a box. 
 
108 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 We have anotlier piece in reliearsal. Perliaps 
 you will come to see tliat ? " 
 
 Now if these few sentences, uttered by those 
 two young people in the noisy railway station, 
 be taken by themselves and regarded, they will 
 be found to consist of the dullest commonplace, 
 No two strangers in all that crowd could have 
 addressed each other in a more indifferent 
 fashion. But the trivial nothins^s which the 
 mouth utters may become possessed of awful 
 import when accompanied by the language of 
 the eyes ; and the poor commonplace sentences 
 may be taken up and translated, so that they 
 shall stand written across the memory, in letters 
 of flashing sunlight and the colours of June. 
 *' Ought ive to take tickets ? " There was not 
 much poetry in the phrase ; but she lifted her 
 eyes just then. 
 
 And now Colonel Eoss and his wife appeared, 
 accompanied by the only other friend they could 
 get at such short notice to join this scratch 
 party — a demure little old lady who had a very 
 large house on Campden Hill which everybody 
 coveted. They were just in time to get 
 
A SUMMEE-DAY ON THE THAMES. 109 
 
 comfortably seated in the spacious saloon-carriage 
 tliat had been reserved for them. The train 
 slowly glided out of the station ; and then 
 began to rattle away from the mist of London. 
 Glimpses of a keener blue began to appear. The 
 gardens were green with the foliage of the early 
 summer; martens swept across the still pools, 
 a spot of white when they got into the shadow. 
 And Miss White would have as many windows 
 open as possible, so that the sweet June air 
 swept right through the long carriage. 
 
 And was she not a very child in her enjoy- 
 ment of this sudden escape into the country ? 
 The rapid motion — the silvery light — the sweet 
 air — the glimpses of orchards, and farm houses 
 and mill-streams — all were a delight to her ; and 
 although she talked in a delicate, half-reserved, 
 shy way with that low voice of hers, still there 
 was plenty of vivacity and gladness in her eyes. 
 They drove from Gravesend station to the river- 
 side. They passed through the crowd waiting to 
 see the yachts start. They got on board 
 the steamer ; and at the very instant that 
 Macleod stepped from the gangway on to the 
 
110 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 deck the military band on board — by some 
 strange coincidence — struck up ''A Highland 
 lad my love was born/' Mrs. Koss laughed ; 
 and wondered whether the bandmaster had 
 recoofnised her husband. 
 
 And now they turned to the river ; and there 
 were the narrow and shapely cutters, with their 
 tall spars, and their ensigns fluttering in the 
 sunlight. They lay in two tiers across the river, 
 four in each tier, the first row consisting of 
 small forty-tonners, the more stately craft 
 behind. A brisk north-easterly wind was 
 blowing, causing the bosom of the river to 
 flash in ripples of light. Boats of every size 
 and shape moved up and down and across the 
 stream. The sudden firing of a gun caused 
 some movement among the red-capped mariners 
 of the four yachts in front. 
 
 "They are standing by the halyards," said 
 Colonel Eoss, to his women-folk. " Now watch 
 for the next signal.'' 
 
 Another gun was fired ; and all of a sudden 
 there was a rattling of blocks and chains ; 
 and the four mainsails slowly rose ; and the 
 
A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. Ill 
 
 flapping jibs were run up. The bows drifted 
 round : which would get way on her first ? But 
 now there was a wild uproar of voices. The 
 boom-end of one of the yachts had caught one 
 of the stays of her companion ; and both were 
 brought up head to wind. Cutter No. III. 
 took advantage of this mishap to sail through 
 the lee of both her enemies, and got clear away, 
 with the sunlight playing full on her bellying 
 canvas. But there was no time to watch the 
 further adventures of the forty-tonners. Here 
 and closer at hand were the larger craft ; and 
 high up in the rigging were the mites of men, 
 ready to drop into the air, clinging on to the 
 halyards. The gun is fired ; down they come, 
 swinging in the air ; and the moment they 
 have reached the deck they are off and up 
 the ratlines again, again to drop into the air 
 until the throat is high hoisted, the peak 
 swinging this way and that, and the gray folds 
 of the mainsail lazily flapping in the wind. The 
 steamer begins to roar. The yachts fall away 
 from their moorings ; and one by one the sails 
 fill out to the fresh breeze. And now all is 
 
112 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 silence and an easy gliding motion ; for the 
 eight competitors have all started away, and 
 the steamer is smoothly following them. 
 
 " How beautiful they are — like splendid 
 swans ! '' Miss White said : she had a glass 
 in her hand, but did not use it, for as yet 
 the stately fleet was near enough. 
 
 " A swan has a body," said Macleod. *^ Those 
 things seem to me to be nothing but wings. It 
 is all canvas, and no hull." 
 
 And indeed when the large topsails and big 
 jibs came to be set, it certainly ajDpeared as if 
 there w^as nothing below to steady this vast 
 extent of canvas. 
 
 " If they were up in our part of the world," said 
 he, "I am afraid a puff of wind from the Gribun 
 clijffs miorht send the whole fleet to the bottom." 
 
 " They know better than to try, at least ^itli 
 their present rig," Colonel Eoss said. " Those 
 yachts are admirably suited for the Thames ; and 
 Thames yachting is a very nice thing. It is very 
 close to London. You can take a day's fresh air 
 when you like, without going all the way to Cowes. 
 You can oret back to town in time to dine." 
 
 o 
 
A SUMMEE-DAY ON THE THAMES. 113 
 
 " I hope so/' said Miss White, with emphasis. 
 
 '^ Oh, you need not be afraid/' her host said, 
 laughing. " We only go round the Nore to-day, 
 and with this steady breeze we ought to be 
 back early in the afternoon. My dear Miss 
 White, we sha'n't allow you to disappoint the 
 British public." 
 
 '* So I may abandon myself to complete idle- 
 ness without concern ? " 
 
 '* Most certainly." 
 
 And it was an enjoyable sort of idleness. 
 The river was full of life and animation as they 
 glided along ; fitful shadows and bursts of sun- 
 shine crossed the foliage and pasture-lands of 
 the flat shores ; the yellow surface of the stream 
 was broken with gleams of silver ; and always, 
 when this somewhat tame and peaceful and 
 pretty landscape tended to become monotonous, 
 they had on this side or that the spectacle of 
 one of those tall and beautiful yachts rounding 
 on a new tack or creeping steadily up on one 
 of her opponents. They had a sweepstakes, of 
 course ; and Macleod drew the favourite. But 
 then he proceeded to explain to Miss White that 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 the handicapping by means of time-allowances 
 made tlie choice of a favourite a mere matter of 
 guesswork ; that the fouling at the start was of 
 but little moment ; and that on the whole she 
 ought to exchange yachts with him. 
 
 " But if the chances are all equal, why should 
 your yacht be better than mine 1 " said she. 
 
 The argument was unanswerable ; but she took 
 the favourite for all that, because he wished her 
 to do so ; and she tendered him in return the 
 bit of folded paper with the name of a rival 
 yacht on it. It had been in her purse for a 
 minute or two. It was scented when she handed 
 it to him. 
 
 " I should like to go to the Mediterranean in 
 one of those beautiful yachts/' she said, looking 
 away across the troubled waters ; ^' and lie and 
 dream under the blue skies. I should want no 
 other occupation : that would be real idleness. 
 With a breath of wind now and then to temper 
 the heat ; and an awning over the deck ; and a 
 lot of books. Life would go by like a dream." 
 
 Her eyes were distant and pensive. To fold 
 the bits of paper, she had taken off her gloves : 
 
A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. 115 
 
 he regarded the sraall white hands, with the blue 
 veins, and the pink almond-shaped nails. She 
 was right. That was the proper sort of existence 
 for one so fine, and pale, and perfect even to the 
 finger-tips. Rose-leaf- — Rose-leaf- — ivhat faint 
 ivind will carry yon away to the south ? 
 
 At this moment the band struck up a lively 
 air. What was it ? 
 
 " this is no my ain lassie, 
 Fair though the lassie he ! ''"' 
 
 " You are in great favour to-day, Hugh," 
 Mrs. Eoss said to her husband. " You will have 
 to ask the bandmaster to lunch with us." 
 
 But this sharp alterative of a well-known air 
 had sent Macleod's thoughts flying away north- 
 ward, to scenes far difi'erent from these flat 
 shores, and to a sort of boating very difi'erent 
 from this summer sailing. Janet, too : what 
 was she thinking of — far away in Castle Dare ? 
 Of the wild morning on which she insisted on 
 crossing to one of the Treshnish islands, because 
 of the sick child of the shepherd there ; and of 
 the open herring-smack, and she sitting on the 
 ballast-stones ; and of the fierce gale of wind and 
 
 I 2 
 
116 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 rain that hid the island from their sight ; and 
 of her landing, drenched to the skin, and with 
 the salt water running from her hair and down 
 her face ? 
 
 "Now for lunch,'' said Colonel Eoss ; and 
 they went below. 
 
 The bright little saloon was decorated with 
 flowers ; the coloured glass on the table looked 
 pretty enough ; here was a pleasant break in 
 the monotony of the day. It was an occasion, 
 too, for assiduous helpfulness, and gentle in- 
 quiries, and patient attention. They forgot 
 about the various chances of the yachts. They 
 could not at once have remembered the name 
 of the favourite. And there was a good deal of 
 laughter and pleasant chatting, wMe the band 
 overhead — heard through the open skylight — 
 still played — • 
 
 " this is no niy ain lassie, 
 Kind though the lassie be ! " 
 
 And behold ! when they went up on deck 
 again, they had got ahead of all the yachts, 
 and were past the forts at the mouth of the 
 Medway, and were out on an open space of 
 
A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. 117 
 
 yellowish-green water tliat showed where the 
 tide of the sea met the current of the river. 
 And away down there in the south a long 
 spur of land ran out at the horizon ; and the 
 sea immediately under was still and glassy, 
 so that the neck of land seemed projected 
 into the sky — a sort of gigantic razor-fish 
 suspended in the silvery clouds. Then, to 
 give the yachts time to overtake them, they 
 steamed over to a mighty ironclad that lay 
 at anchor there ; and as they came near her 
 vast black bulk they lowered their flag, and 
 the band played " Eule Britannia ! " The 
 salute was returned ; the officer on the high 
 quarter-deck raised his cap ; they steamed on. 
 
 In due course of time they reached the Nore 
 light-ship ; and there they lay and drifted about 
 until the yachts should come up. Long distances 
 now separated that summer fleet ; but as they 
 came along, lying well over before the brisk 
 breeze, it was obvious that the spaces of time 
 between the combatants would not be great. 
 And is not this Miss White's vessel, the favourite 
 in the betting, that comes sheering through the 
 
118 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 water witli white foam at her bows ? Surely 
 she is more than her time-allowance ahead ? 
 And on this tack will she get clear round the 
 squat little light- ship ; or is there not a 
 danger of her carrying off a bowsprit ? With 
 what an ease and majesty she comes along ! 
 scarcely dipping to the slight summer waves ; 
 while they on board notice that she has 
 put out her long spinnaker boom, ready to 
 hoist a great ballooner as soon as she is 
 round the light-ship and running home before 
 the wind. The speed at which she cuts the 
 water is now visible enough as she obscures 
 for a second or so the hull of the light-ship. 
 In another second she has sheered rouud ; 
 and then the great spinnaker bulges out with 
 the breeze ; and away she goes up the river 
 again. Chronometers are in request. It is 
 only a matter of fifty seconds that her nearest 
 rival, now coming sweeping along, has to 
 make up. But what is this that happens 
 just as the enemy has got round the Nore ? 
 There is a cry of " Man overboard ! " The 
 spinnaker boom has caught the careless. 
 
A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. 119 
 
 skipper and pitclied him clean into tlie 
 plashing waters, where he floats about, not as 
 yet certain, probably, what course his vessel 
 will take. She at once brings her head up 
 to wind, and puts about ; but meanwhile a 
 small boat from the light-ship has picked up 
 the unhappy skipper, and is now pulling hard 
 to strike the course of the yacht on her new 
 tack. In another minute or two he is on 
 board again ; and away she goes for home. 
 
 " I think you have won the sweepstakes, 
 Miss White," Macleod said. ''Your enemy 
 has lost eight minutes.'' 
 
 She was not thinking of sweepstakes. She 
 seemed to have been greatly frightened by the 
 accident. 
 
 " It would have been so dreadful to see a 
 man drowned before your eyes — in the midst 
 of a mere holiday excursion." 
 
 " Drowned ? '' he cried. " There ? If a 
 sailor lets himself gfet drowned in this water 
 with all these boats about he deserves it." 
 
 ^'But there are many sailors who cannot 
 swim at all." 
 
120 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 " More sliame for them/' said lie. 
 
 "Why, Sir Keith," said Mrs. Eoss, laughing, 
 " do you think that all people have been 
 brought up to an amphibious life like yourself? 
 I suppose in your country, what with the rain 
 and the mist, you seldom know whether you 
 are on sea or shore ? '' 
 
 **That is quite true," said he gravely. *' And 
 the children are all born with fins. And we 
 can hear the mermaids singing all day long. 
 And when we want to go anywhere we get 
 on the back of a dolphin." 
 
 But he looked at Gertrude White. What 
 would she say about that far land that she had 
 shown such a deep interest in 1 There was 
 no raillery at all in her low voice as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " I can very w^ell understand," she said, 
 " how the people there fancied they heard 
 the mermaids singing — amidst so much mys- 
 tery — and with the awfulness of the sea around 
 them." 
 
 *' But we have had living singers," said 
 Macleod, ''and that amongst the Macleods 
 
A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. 121 
 
 too. The most famous of all tlie song- 
 writers of the Western Highlands was Mary 
 Macleod that was born in Harris — Mairi 
 nighean Alasdair Euaidh, they called her — 
 that is, Mary the daughter of Eed Alister. 
 Macleod of Dunvegan wished her not to 
 make any more songs : but she could not 
 cease the making of songs. And there was 
 another Macleod — Fionaghal they called her 
 — that is, the Fair Stranger. I do not know 
 why they called her the Fair Stranger — 
 perhaps she came to the Highlands from some 
 distant place. And I think if you were going 
 amongst the people there at this very day, 
 they would call you the Fair Stranger.'' 
 
 He spoke quite naturally and thoughtlessly ; 
 his eyes met hers only for a second ; he did not 
 notice the soft touch of pink that suffused the 
 delicately -tinted cheek. 
 
 The booming of a gun told them that the 
 last yacht had rounded the light-ship ; the 
 band struck up a lively air ; and presently 
 the steamer was steamine^ off in the wake of 
 the procession of yachts. There was now no 
 
122 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 more fear that Miss White should be late. The 
 breeze had kept up well, and had now shifted 
 a point or two to the east ; so that the yachts, 
 with their great ballooners, were running pretty 
 well before the wind. The lazy abandonment 
 of the day became more complete than ever. 
 Careless talk and laughter ; an easy curiosity 
 about the fortunes of the race ; tea in the 
 saloon, with the making up of two bouquets 
 of white roses, sweet-peas, fuchsias, and ferns ; 
 the day passed lightly and swiftly enough. It 
 was a summer day ; full of pretty trifles. Mac- 
 leod, surrendering to the fascination, began to 
 wonder what life Vv^ould be if it were all a 
 show of June colours and a sound of dreamy 
 music : for one thing: he could not imao;ine this 
 sensitive, beautiful, pale, fine creature otherwise 
 than as surrounded by an atmosphere of delicate 
 attentions and pretty speeches, and sweet low 
 lau2[hter. 
 
 They got into their special train again at 
 Gravesend, and were whirled up to London. 
 At Charing Cross he bade good-bye to Miss 
 White, who was diiven ofi' by Mr. and Mrs. 
 
A SUxMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. 123 
 
 Eoss, along with tlieir otlier guest. In tlie 
 light of the clear June evening he walked 
 rather absently up to his rooms. 
 
 There was a letter lying on the table. He 
 seized it and opened it with gladness. It 
 was from his cousin Janet — and the mere 
 sight of it seemed to revive him like a gust 
 of keen wind from the sea. What had she 
 to say ? About the grumblings of Donald, 
 who seemed to have no more pride in his 
 pipes now the master was gone ? About the 
 anxiety of his mother over the reports of the 
 keepers ? About the upsetting of a dog- cart 
 on the road to Loch Buy ? He had half re- 
 solved to go to the theatre again that evening — 
 getting, if possible, into some corner where he 
 might pursue his profound psychological in- 
 vestigations unseen — but now he thought he 
 would not go. He would spend the evening 
 in writing a long letter to his cousin, telling 
 her and the mother about all the beautiful, 
 fine, gay, summer life he had seen in London 
 — so different from anything he had seen 
 in Fort \yilliam, or Inverness, or even in 
 
124 MACLEOD OF BARS. 
 
 Edinburgli. After dinner lie sate down to this 
 asrreeable task. What had he to write about 
 except brilliant rooms, and beautiful flowers, 
 and costumes such as would have made Janet's 
 eyes wide : of all the delicate luxuries of life, 
 and happy idleness, and the careless enjoyment 
 of people whose only thought was about a new 
 pleasure ? He gave a minute description of all 
 the places he had been to see — except the theatre. 
 He mentioned the names of the people who had 
 been kind to him ; but he said nothing about 
 Gertrude White. 
 
 Not that she was altogether absent from his 
 thoughts. Sometimes his fancy fled away from 
 the sheet of paper before him, and saw strange 
 things. Was this Fionaghal, the Fair Stranger, 
 — this maiden who had come over the seas to 
 the dark shores of the isles — this kino-'s dauo-hter 
 clad in white, with her yellow hair down to her 
 waist, and bands of gold on her wrists ? And 
 what does she sincy to the lashino^ waves but 
 
 CD O 
 
 songs of high courage, and triumph, and wel- 
 come to her brave lover comins; home Avith 
 plunder through the battling seas ? Her lips 
 
A SUMMER-DAY ON THE THAMES. 125 
 
 are parted with her singing ; but her glance is 
 bold and keen : she has the spirit of a king^s 
 daughter, let her come from whence she may. 
 
 Or is Fionaghal, the Fair Stranger, this poorly- 
 drest lass, who boils the potatoes over the rude 
 peat-fire — and croons her songs of suffering and 
 of the cruel drowning in the seas — so that from 
 hut to hut they carry her songs, and the old 
 wdves^ tears start afresh to think of their brave 
 sons lost years and years ago ? 
 
 Neither Fionaghal is she — this beautiful, pale 
 woman, with her sweet, modern English speech, 
 and her delicate, sensitive ways, and her hand 
 that might be crushed like a rose-leaf. There 
 is a shimmer of summer around her ; flowers lie 
 in her lap : tender observances encompass and 
 shelter her. Not for her the biting winds of 
 the northern seas ; but rather the soft luxurious 
 idleness of placid waters, and blue skies, and 
 
 shadowy shores Bose-leaf — Rose-leaf- — 
 
 what faint wind will carry you away to the 
 south f 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 Late one night a carefully- dressed elderly 
 gentleman applied liis latch-key to the door 
 of a house in Bury-street, St. James's, and 
 was about to enter without any great circum- 
 spection, when he was suddenly met by a white 
 phantom, which threw him off his legs, and 
 dashed outwards into the street. The lane^uao-e 
 that the elderly gentleman used, as he picked 
 himself up, need not be repeated here. Suffice 
 it to say that the white phantom was the dog 
 Oscar, who had been shut in a minute before 
 by his master, and who now, after one or two 
 preliminary dashes up and down the street, 
 very soon perceived the tall figure of Macleod, 
 and made joyfully after him. But Oscar knew 
 that he had acted wrongly ; and was ashamed 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 127 
 
 to show himself; so he quietly slunk along at 
 his master's heels. The consequence of this was 
 that the few loiterers about beheld the very 
 unusual spectacle of a tall young gentleman 
 walking down Bury-street and into King-street 
 dressed in full Highland costume and followed 
 by a white and lemon collie. No other person 
 going to the Caledonian fancy-dress ball was so 
 attended. 
 
 Macleod made his way through the carriages, 
 crossed the pavement and entered the passage. 
 Then he heard some scuffling behind; and he 
 turned. 
 
 *'Let alone my dog, you fellow!" said he, 
 making a step forward ; for the man had got 
 hold of Oscar by the head, and was hauling 
 him out. 
 
 "Is he your dog, sir ? '' said he. 
 
 Oscar himself answered by wrestling himself 
 free, and taking refuge by his masters legs, 
 though he still looked guilty. 
 
 ** Yes, he is my dog ; and a nice fix he has 
 got me into," said Macleod, standing aside to 
 let the Empress Maria Theresa pass by in her 
 
128 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 resplendent costume. ^' I suppose I must walk 
 home with him again. Oscar, Oscar 1 how dare 
 you i 
 
 " If you please, sir," said a juvenile voice 
 
 behind him, ''If Mr. will let me, I will 
 
 take the dog. I know where to tie him up." 
 
 Macleod turned. 
 
 " Cd an so ? " said he, looking down at the 
 chubby-faced boy in the kilt, who had his 
 pipes under his arm. ''Dont you know the 
 Gaelic ? " 
 
 '* I am only learning," said the young musician. 
 " Will I take the dog, sir '^ " 
 
 "March along, then, phiohaire hhig!" Macleod 
 said. " He will follow me, if he will not foUow 
 you." 
 
 Little Piper turned aside into a large hall 
 which had been transformed into a sort of 
 waiting-room ; and here Macleod found him- 
 self in the presence of a considerable number 
 of children, half of them girls, half of them 
 boys, all dressed in tartan, and seated on the 
 forms along the walls. The children, who were 
 half asleep at this time of the night, woke up 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 129 
 
 with, sudden interest at sight of the beautiful 
 collie ; and at the same moment Little Piper 
 explained to the gentleman who was in charge 
 of these young ones that the dog had to be 
 tied up somewhere, and that a small adjoining- 
 room would answer that purpose. The proposal 
 was most courteously entertained. Macleod, 
 
 Mr. , and Little Piper walked along to 
 
 this side room, and there Oscar was properly 
 secured. 
 
 " And I will get him some water, sir, if he 
 wants it," said the boy in the kilt. 
 
 "Very well," Macleod said. ^^And I will 
 give you my thanks for it ; for that is all that 
 a Highlander, and especially a piper, expects 
 for a kindness. And I hope you will learn 
 the Gaelic soon, my boy. And do you know 
 Cumhadh na Cloinne ? No, it is too dilEicult 
 for you ; but I think if I had the chanter 
 between my fingers myself, I could let you 
 hear Cumhadh na Cloinne" 
 
 " I am sure John Maclean can play it," said 
 the small piper. 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 VOL. 1. K 
 
130 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 The gentleman in charge of the youngsters 
 explained that John Maclean was the eldest of 
 the juvenile pipers, five others of whom were in 
 attendance. 
 
 "I think," said Macleod, "that I am coming 
 down in a little time to make the acquaintance 
 of your young pipers, if you will let me." 
 
 He passed up the broad staircase, and into the 
 empty supper-room, from which a number of 
 entrances showed him the strange scene beinor 
 enacted in the larger hall. Who were these 
 people who were moving to the sound of rapid 
 music ? A clown in a silken dress of many 
 colours, with bells to his cap and wrists, stood 
 at one of the doors ; Macleod became his fellow- 
 spectator of what was going forward. A beauti- 
 ful Tyrolienne, in a dress of black silver and 
 velvet, with her yellow hair hanging in two 
 plaits down her back, passed into the room 
 accompanied by Charles the First in a large 
 wig and cloak ; and the next moment they 
 were whirling along in the waltz, coming into 
 innumerable collisions with all the celebrated 
 folk who ever lived in history. And who 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 131 
 
 were those gentlemen in tlie scarlet collars 
 and cuflfs, who but for these adornments would 
 have been in ordinary evening dress ? He made 
 bold to ask the friendly clown, who was staring 
 in a pensive manner at the rushing couples. 
 
 " They call it the Windsor uniform," said the 
 clown. ^^ I think it mean. I sha'n't come in 
 a fancy dress again, if stitching on a red collar 
 will do." 
 
 At this moment the waltz came to an end ; 
 and the people began to walk up and down 
 the spacious apartment. Macleod entered the 
 throng, to look about him. And soon he per- 
 ceived, in one of the little stands at the side 
 of the hall, the noble lady who had asked him 
 to go to this assembly, and forthwith he made 
 his way through the crowd to her. He was 
 most graciously received. 
 
 " Shall I tell you a secret. Lady ? " said 
 
 he. "You know the children belong-inof to 
 the charity — they are all below — and they are 
 sitting doing nothing, and they are all very tired 
 and half-asleep. It is a shame to keep them 
 there " 
 
 K 2 
 
132 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 " But the Prince hasn't come yet ; and they 
 must be marched round : they show that we 
 are not makinoj fools of ourselves for nothino;." 
 
 A sharper person than Macleod might have 
 got in a pretty compliment here ; for this lady 
 was charmingly dressed as Flora Macdonald ; but 
 he merely said — 
 
 «f Very well ; perhaps it is necessary. But 
 I think I can get them some amusement, if 
 you will only keep the director of them, that 
 
 is Mr. , out of the way. Now shall I send 
 
 him to you ? Will you talk to him ? " 
 
 " What do you mean to do ? " 
 
 '* I want to give them a dance. Why should 
 you have all the dancing up here ? " 
 
 *' Mind, I am not responsible. What shall 
 I talk to him about ? " 
 
 Macleod considered for a moment. 
 
 '' Tell him that I w^ill take the whole of the 
 girls and boys to the Crystal Palace for a day, if 
 it is permissible ; and ask him what it will cost, 
 and all about the arrangements." 
 
 *^ Seriously V 
 
 *' Yes. Why not ? They can have a fine run 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 133 
 
 in the grounds ; and six pipers to play for them. 
 I will ask them now whether they will go." 
 
 He left and went down stairs. He had seen 
 but few people in the hall above whom he 
 knew. He was not fond of dancing, though 
 he knew the elaborate variations of the reel. 
 And here was a bit of practical amusement. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. ," said he, with great serious- 
 ness, '' I am desired by Lady ■ to say that 
 
 she would like to see you for a moment or two. 
 She wishes to ask you some questions about 
 your young people.'' 
 
 **The Prince may come at any moment," said 
 Mr. , doubtfully. 
 
 ''He won't be in such a hurry as all that, 
 surely ! " 
 
 So the worthy man went up stairs ; and the 
 moment he was gone Macleod shut the door. 
 
 " Now, you piper boys ! " he called aloud, " get 
 up, and play us a reel ! We are going to have 
 a dance. You are all asleep, I believe. Come, 
 girls, stand up — you that know the reel, you will 
 keep to this end. Boys, come out ! You that can 
 dance a reel come to this end ; the others will 
 
134 MACLEOD OF DAKE. 
 
 soon pick it up. Now, piper boys, Lave you got 
 the steam up ? What can you give us now ? 
 Monymnsk i* or the Marquis of Huntley's 
 Fling F or Miss Johnston? Nay, stay a bit — 
 don't you know Mrs. Macleocl of Raasay ? " 
 
 " Yes — yes — yes — yes — yes — yes ! " came from 
 the six pipers all standing in a row, with the 
 drones over their shoulders and the chanters in 
 their fingers. 
 
 <« Very well, then — off you go ! Now, boys 
 and girls, are you all ready? Pipers, Mrs. 
 Macleod of Raasay ! " 
 
 For a second there was a confused roaring on 
 the long drones ; then the shrill pipes broke 
 clear away into the wild reel ; and presently the 
 boys and girls, who were at first laughingly shy 
 and embarrassed, began to make such imitations 
 of the reel-figure, which they had seen often 
 enough, as led to a vast amount of scrambling 
 and jollity, if it was not particularly accurate. 
 The most timid of the young ones soon picked 
 up courage. Here and there one of the older 
 boys gave a whoop that would have done justice 
 to a weddinoj-dance in a HiQ;hland barn. 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVOKSHIRE. 135 
 
 ''Put your lungs into it, 2:)ipers!'' Macleod 
 cried. " Well played, boys 1 You are fit to 
 play before a prince ! '' 
 
 The round cheeks of tlie boys were red with 
 their blowing; they tapped their toes on the 
 ground as proudly as if every one of them 
 was a MacCruimin ; the wild noise in this big 
 empty hall grew more furious than ever — when 
 suddenly there was an awful silence. The pipers 
 dropped their pipes ; the children, suddenly 
 stopping in their merriment, cast one awestruck 
 glance towards the door ; and then slunk back 
 to their seats. They had observed not only 
 
 Mr. , but also the Prince himself. Macleod 
 
 was left standing alone in the middle of the floor. 
 
 " Sir Keith Macleod ? " said His Eoyal High- 
 ness, with a smile. 
 
 Macleod bowed low. 
 
 " Lady told me what you were about. 
 
 I thought we could have had a peep unobserved ; 
 or we should not have broken in on the romp of 
 the children.'' 
 
 " I think your Eoyal Highness could make 
 amends for that," said Macleod. 
 
136 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 There was an inquiring glance. 
 
 " If your Eoyal Higliness would ask some one 
 to see that each of the children has an orange, 
 and a tart, and a shilling, it would be some com- 
 pensation to them for being kept up so late." 
 
 " I think that might be done," said the Prince, 
 as he turned to leave. " And I am glad to have 
 made your acquaintance, although in " 
 
 *^In the character of a dancing-master," said 
 Macleod, gravely. 
 
 After having once more visited Oscar, in the 
 company of Piobaire Beag, Macleod went up 
 again to the brilliantly -lit hall ; and here he 
 found that a further number of his friends had 
 arrived. Among them was young Ogilvie, in 
 the tartan of the 93rd Highlanders ; and very 
 smart indeed the boy-officer looked in his uni- 
 form. Mrs. Koss was here too ; and she was 
 busy in assisting to get up the Highland quad- 
 rille. When she asked Macleod if he would 
 join in it, he answered by asking her to be his 
 partner, as he would be ashamed to display his 
 ignorance before an absolute stranger. Mrs. 
 Ross most kindly undertook to pilot him through 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIEE. 137 
 
 the not elaborate intricacies of the dance ; and 
 they were fortunate in having the set made up 
 entirely of their own friends. 
 
 Then the procession of the children took 
 place ; and the fastastically dressed crowd 
 formed a lane to let the homely-clad lads and 
 lasses pass along, with the six small pipers 
 proudly playing a march at their head. 
 
 He stopped the last of the children, for a 
 second. 
 
 " Have you got a tart, and an orange, and a 
 shilling ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " I have got the word of a prince for it," he 
 said to himself, as he went out of the room. 
 " And they shall not go home with empty 
 pockets." 
 
 As he was coming up the staircase again to 
 the ball-room, he was preceded by two figures 
 that were calculated to attract any one's notice 
 by the picturesqueness of their costume. The 
 one stranger was apparently an old man, who 
 was dressed in a Florentine costume of the 
 fourteenth century — a cloak of sombre red, with 
 
138 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 a flat cap of black velvet, one long tail of which 
 was thrown over the left shoulder and hung 
 down behind. A silver collar hung from his 
 neck across his breast : other ornament there 
 was none. His companion, however, drew all 
 eyes towards her as the two passed into the ball- 
 room. She was dressed in imitation of Gains- 
 borough's portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire ; 
 and her symmetrical figure and well-poised head 
 admirably suited the long-trained costume of 
 blue satin, with its Jicliu of white muslin, the 
 bold, coquettish hat and feathers, and the 
 powdered puffs and curls that descended to her 
 shoulders. She had a gay air with her too. 
 She bore her head proudly. The patches on her 
 cheek seemed not half so black as the blackness 
 of her eyes, so full of a dark mischievous light 
 were they ; and the redness of the lips — a trifle 
 artificial, no doubt — as she smiled, seemed to 
 add to the glittering: whiteness of her teeth. 
 The proud, laughing, gay coquette : no wonder 
 all eyes were for a moment turned to her, in 
 envy or in admiration. 
 
 Macleod, following these two, and findino- that 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 139 
 
 liis old companion, tlie pensive clown in cap and 
 bells, was still at his post of observation at the 
 door, remained there also for a minute or two ; 
 and noticed that among the first to recognise the 
 two strangers was young Ogilvie, who, with 
 laughing surprise in his face, came forward to 
 shake hands with them. Then there was some 
 further speech ; the band began to play a gentle 
 and melodious waltz; the middle of the room 
 cleared somewhat ; and presently her Grace of 
 Devonshire was whirled away by the young 
 Highland officer, her broad-brimmed hat rather 
 overshadowing him, notwithstanding the pro- 
 nounced colours of his plaid. Macleod could 
 not help following this couple with his eyes, 
 whithersoever they went. In any part of the 
 rapidly moving crowd he could always make out 
 that one figure ; and once or twice as they passed 
 him it seemed to him that the brilliant beauty, 
 with her powdered hair, and her flashing bright 
 eyes, and her merry lips, regarded him for an 
 instant ; and then he could have imagined that 
 in a bygone century — 
 
 " Sir Keith Macleod, I think ? " 
 
140 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 The old gentleman with the grave and scholarly 
 cap of black velvet and the long cloak of sober 
 red, held out his hand. The folds of the velvet 
 hanging down from the cap rather shadowed his 
 face ; but all the same Macleod instantly recog- 
 nised him — fixing the recognition by means of 
 the gold spectacles. 
 
 '' Mr. White ? '' said he. 
 
 " I am more disguised than you are," the old 
 gentleman said, with a smile. "It is a foolish 
 notion of my daughter's, but she would have 
 me come." 
 
 His daughter ! Macleod turned in a be- 
 wildered way to that gay crowd under the 
 brilliant lights. 
 
 " Was that Miss White ? " said he. 
 
 " The Duchess of Devonshu^e. Didn't you 
 recognise her ? I am afraid she will be very 
 tired to-morrow ; but she would come." 
 
 He caught sight of her again. That woman — 
 with the dark eyes full of fire — and the dashing 
 
 air — and the audacious smile ? He could 
 
 have believed this old man to be mad. Or was 
 he only the father of a witch — of an illusive 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 141 
 
 ignis fatuus — of some mocking Ariel darting 
 into a dozen shapes to make fools of the poor 
 simple souls of earth ? 
 
 " No," he stammered, " I — I did not recognise 
 her. I thought the lady who came with you 
 had intensely dark eyes." 
 
 " She is said to be very clever in making up," 
 her father said, coolly and sententiously. " It is 
 a part of her art that is not to be despised. 
 It is quite as important as a gesture or a tone of 
 voice in creating the illusion at which she aims. 
 I do not know whether actresses, as a rule, are 
 careless about it, or only clumsy; but they 
 rarely succeed in making their appearance homo- 
 geneous. A trifle too much here ; a trifle too 
 little there ; and the illusion is spoiled. Then 
 you see a painted woman ; not the character she 
 is presenting. Did you observe my daughter's 
 eyebrows ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I did not," said Macleod, humbly. 
 
 ** Here she comes. Look at them." 
 
 But how could he look at her eyebrows, or at 
 any trick of making up, when the whole face 
 with its new excitement of colour, its parted 
 
142 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 lips and lambent eyes, was throwing its fascina- 
 tion upon him ? She came forward laughing, 
 and yet with a certain shyness. He would fain 
 have turned away. 
 
 The Highlanders are superstitious. Did he 
 fear being bewitched ? Or what was it that 
 threw a certain coldness over his manner ? The 
 fact of her having danced with young Ogilvie ? 
 Or the ugly reference made by her father to her 
 eyebrows ? He had greatly admired this painted 
 stranger, when he thought she was a stranger ; 
 he seemed less to admire the artistic make-up 
 of Miss Gertrude White. 
 
 The merry Duchess, playing her part admirably, 
 charmed all eyes but his ; and yet she was so 
 kind as to devote herself to her father and him, 
 refusing invitations to dance, and chatting to 
 them — with those brilliant lips smiling — about 
 the various features of the gay scene before 
 them. Macleod avoided looking at her face. 
 
 '' What a bonny boy your friend Mr. Ogilvie 
 is," said she, glancing across the room. 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " But he does not look much of a soldier," she 
 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 143 
 
 continued. " I don't think I should be afraid of, 
 him, if I were a man." 
 
 He answered, somewhat distantly, 
 
 " It is not safe to judge that way — especially 
 of any one of Highland blood. If there is fight- 
 ing in his blood, he will fight when the proper 
 time comes. And we have a good Gaelic saying — 
 it has a great deal of meaning in it ; it says — You 
 do not hioiv ivhat sword is in the scabbard until 
 it is draivn." 
 
 " What did you say was the proverb ? " she 
 asked ; and for a second her eyes met his~but 
 she immediately withdrew them, startled by the 
 cold austerity of his look. 
 
 " You do not hnow what sword is in the 
 scabbard until it is drawn" said he, carelessly. 
 "There is a good deal of meaning in that 
 saying." 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LAUREL COTTAGE. 
 
 A SMALL, quaint, old-fashioned house in South 
 Bank, Eegent's Park ; two maidens in white 
 in the open verandah ; around them the abun- 
 dant foliage of June, unruffled by any breeze ; 
 and down at the foot of the steep garden 
 the still canal, its surface mirroring the soft 
 translucent greens of the trees and bushes 
 above, and the gaudier colours of a barge 
 lying moored on the northern side. The 
 elder of the two girls is seated in a rocking- 
 chair; she appears to have been reading, for 
 her right hand, hanging down, still holds a 
 thin MS. book covered with coarse brown 
 paper. The younger is lying at her feet, with 
 her head thrown back in her sister's lap, and 
 her face turned up to the clear June skies. 
 
LAUREL COTTAGE. 145 
 
 There are some roses about tliis verandah ; 
 and the still air is sweet with them. 
 
 " And of all the parts you ever played in," 
 she says, " which one did you like the best, 
 Gerty?" 
 
 "This one," is the gentle answer. 
 
 "What one?" 
 
 " Being at home with you and papa, and 
 having no bother at all, and nothing to think 
 of." 
 
 " I don t believe it," says the other, with 
 the brutal frankness of thirteen. " You couldn't 
 live without the theatre, Gerty — and the news- 
 papers talking about you — and people praising 
 you — and bouquets " 
 
 "Couldn't 11" says Miss White, with a 
 smile, as she gently lays her hand on her 
 sisters curls. 
 
 " No," continues the wise young lady. " And 
 besides, this pretty, quiet life would not last.. 
 You would have to give up playing that part. 
 Papa is getting very old now ; and he often 
 talks about what may happen to us. And 
 you know, Gerty, that though it is very nice 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 for sisters to say they will never and never 
 leave each other, it doesn't come off, does it ? 
 There is only one thing I see for you — and 
 that is to get married." 
 
 " Indeed.'' 
 
 It is easy to fence with a child's prattle. 
 She might have amused herself by encou- 
 raofinor this chatterbox to o-q throuo;h the list 
 of their acquaintances, and pick out a goodly 
 choice of suitors. She might have encouraged 
 her to give expression to her profound views 
 of the chances and troubles of life, and the 
 safeguards that timid maidens may seek. But 
 she suddenly said, in a highly matter-of-fact 
 manner — 
 
 " What you say is quite true, Carry, and 
 I've thought of it several times. It is a very 
 bad thing for an actress to be left without a 
 father, or husband, or brother as her osten- 
 sible guardian. People are always glad to 
 hear stories — and to make them — about 
 actresses. You would be no good at all, 
 Carry " 
 
 " Very well, then," the younger sister said, 
 
LAUREL COTTAGE. 147 
 
 promptly, "you've got to get married. And 
 to a rich man, too ; who will buy you a 
 theatre, and let you do what you like in it." 
 
 Miss Gertrude White — whatever she may 
 have thought of this speech — was bound to 
 rebuke the shockingly mercenary ring of it. 
 
 " For shame. Carry ! Do you think people 
 marry from such motives as that ? ^' 
 
 "I don't know," said Carry; but she had, 
 at least, guessed. 
 
 " I should like my husband to have money, 
 certainly," Miss White said, frankly ; and here 
 she flung the MS. book from her, on to a 
 neighbouring chair. " I should like to be able 
 to refuse parts that did not suit me. I should 
 like to be able to take just such engagements 
 as I chose. I should like to go to Paris for a 
 whole year — and study hard " 
 
 "Your husband might not wish you to 
 remain an actress," said Miss Carry. 
 
 *' Then he would never be my husband," 
 the elder sister said, with decision. " I have 
 not worked hard for nothing. Just when I 
 begin to think I can do something — when I 
 
 L 2 
 
148 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 think I can get beyond those coquettish, 
 drawing-room, simpering parts that people run 
 after now — ^just when the very name of Mfs. 
 KSiddons, or Eachel, or any of the great ac- 
 tresses makes my heart jump — when I have 
 ambition, and a fair chance, and all that — do 
 you think I am to give the whole thing up, 
 and sink quietly into the position of Mrs. 
 Brown or Mrs. Smith, who is a very nice lady, 
 no doubt, and very respectable, and lives a 
 quiet and orderly life, with no greater excite- 
 ment than scheming to get big people to go 
 to her garden-parties '? " 
 
 She certainly seemed very clear on that 
 point, 
 
 " I don't see that men are so readv to e^ive 
 up their profession, when they marry, in order 
 to devote themselves to domestic life, even 
 when they have plenty of money. Why 
 should all the sacrifice be on the side of the 
 v/oman ? But I know if I have to choose 
 between my art and a husband, I shall con- 
 tinue to do without a husband.'' 
 
 Miss Carry had risen, and put one arm 
 
LAQREL COTTAGE. 149 
 
 round her sister's neck, while with the other 
 she stroked the soft brown hair over the 
 smooth forehead. 
 
 ** And it shall not be taken away from its 
 pretty theatre, it sha'n't 1 '' said she, pettingly ; 
 " and it shall not be asked to go away with 
 any great ugly Bluebeard, and be shut up in 
 a lonely house" • 
 
 '* Go away, Carry," said she, releasing her- 
 self. " I wonder why you began talking such 
 nonsense. What do you know about all those 
 things ? " 
 
 ^' Oh ! very well," said the child, turning 
 away with a pout ; and she pulled a rose, and 
 began to take its petals off, one by one, with 
 her lips. '* Perhaps I don't know. Perhaps I 
 haven't studied your manoeuvres on the stage. 
 Miss Gertrude White. Perhaps I never saw 
 the newspapers declaring that it was all so 
 
 very natural and life-like" She flung two 
 
 or three rose-petals at her sister. " I 
 
 believe you're the biggest flirt that ever lived, 
 Gerty. You could make any man you liked 
 marry you in ten minutes." 
 
150 MACLEOD OF DARF. 
 
 "I wish I could manage to have certain 
 school-girls whipped and sent to bed." 
 
 At this moment there appeared at the open 
 French window an elderly woma.n of Flemish 
 features and extraordinary breadth of bust. 
 
 " Shall I put dressing in the salad, Miss ? " 
 she said, with scarcely any trace of foreign 
 accent. 
 
 **Not yet, Marie," said Miss White. "I 
 will make the dressing first. Bring me a large 
 plate, and the cruet-stand, and a spoon and 
 fork, and some salt." 
 
 Now when these thinecs had been brouorht, 
 and when Miss White had set about preparing 
 this salad-dressing in a highly-scientific manner, 
 a strange thing occurred. Her sister seemed to 
 have been attacked by a sudden fit of mad- 
 ness. She had caught up a light shawl, which 
 she extended from hand to hand, as if she 
 were dancing with some one, and then she 
 proceeded to execute a slow waltz in this 
 circumscribed space, humming the improvised 
 music in a mystical and rhythmical manner. 
 And what were these dark utterances that the 
 
LAUREL COTTAGE, 151 
 
 inspired one gave forth, as she glanced from 
 time to time at her sister and the plate ? 
 
 " ' 0, a Highland lad my love was horn, 
 And the Lowland laws he held in scorn.'" 
 
 " Carry, don't make a fool of yourself ! " 
 said the other, flushing angrily. 
 
 Carry flung her imaginary partner aside. 
 
 "There is no use making any pretence," 
 said she, sharply. "^ You know quite well 
 why you are making that salad-dressing." 
 
 *' Did you never see me make salad-dressing 
 before ? " said the other, quite as sharply. 
 
 "You know it is simply because Sir Keith 
 Macleod is coming to lunch. I forgot all 
 about it. Oh, and that's why you had the 
 clean curtains put up yesterday ! " 
 
 What else had this precocious brain ferreted 
 out? 
 
 "Yes, and that's why you bought papa a 
 new neck-tie," continued the tormentor ; and 
 then she added, triumphantly, " But he hasn't 
 put it on this morning — ha, GertyV 
 
 A cahn and dignified silence is the best 
 
152 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 answer to the fiendishness of thirteen. Miss 
 White went on with the making of the salad- 
 dressing. She was considered very clever at 
 it. Her father had taught her ; but he never 
 had the patience to carry out his own pre- 
 cepts. Besides, brute force is nob wanted for 
 the work ; what you w^ant is the self-denying 
 assiduity and the dexterous light-handedness of 
 a woman. 
 
 A smart young maidservant, very trimly 
 dressed, made her appearance. 
 
 "Sir Keith Macleod, miss," said she. 
 
 "Oh, Gerty, you're caught I " muttered the 
 fiend. 
 
 But Miss White was equal to the occasion. 
 The small white fingers plied the fork without 
 a tremor. 
 
 ''Ask him to step this way, please," she said. 
 
 And then the subtle imaoination of this 
 demon of thirteen jumped to another con- 
 clusion. 
 
 '' Oh, Gerty, you want to show him that 
 you are a good housekeeper — that you can 
 make salad " 
 
LAUEEL COTTAGE. 153 
 
 But the imp was silenced by the appearance 
 of Macleod himself. Pie looked tall as he 
 came through the small drawing-room. When 
 he came out on to the balcony, the languid 
 air of the place seemed to acquire a fresh and 
 brisk vitality : he had a bright smile and a 
 resonant voice. 
 
 "I have taken the liberty of bringing you 
 a little present, Miss White — no, it is a large 
 present — that reached me this morning," said 
 he. " I want you to see one of our High- 
 land salmon. He is a splendid fellow — 
 twenty-six pounds, four ounces, my landlady 
 says. My cousin Janet sent him to me.'' 
 
 " Oh, but. Sir Keith, we cannot rob you," 
 Miss White said, as she still demurely plied 
 her fork. ^' If there is any special virtue in 
 a Highland salmon, it will be better appre- 
 ciated by yourself than by those who don't 
 know.'^ 
 
 '' The fact is," said he, " people are so kind 
 to me that I scarcely ever am allowed to dine 
 at my lodgings ; and you know the salmon 
 should be cooked at once." 
 
154 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Miss Carry had been making a face behind 
 his back, to annoy her sister. She now came 
 forward and said, with a charming innocence 
 in her eyes — 
 
 " I don't think you can have it cooked for 
 luncheon, Gerty ; for that woukl look too like 
 bringing your tea in your pocket and getting 
 hot water for twopence. Wouldn't it ? " 
 
 Macleod turned and regarded this new comer 
 with an unmistakable " Who is this ? " — " Co an 
 so ? " — in his air. 
 
 " Oh, that is my sister Carry, Sir Keith," said 
 Miss White. " I forgot you had not seen her." 
 
 " How do you do ? " said he, in a kindly way ; 
 and for a second he put his liand on the light 
 curls as her ftither might have done. "I 
 suppose you like having holidays ? " 
 
 From that moment she became his deadly 
 enemy. To be patted on the head, as if she 
 were a child, an ini^int — and that in the pre- 
 sence of the sister whom she had just been 
 lecturing ! 
 
 '* Yes, thank you," said she, with a splendid 
 dignity, as she proudly walked off. She went 
 
LAUEEL, COTTAGE. 155 
 
 into the small lobby leading to the door. She 
 called to the little maidservant. She looked at a 
 certain long bag made of matting which lay 
 there, some bits of grass sticking out of one 
 end. "Jane, take this thing down stairs at 
 once ! The whole house smells of it." 
 
 Meanwhile Miss White had carried her salad- 
 dressing in to Marie ; and had gone out again to 
 the verandah, where Macleod was seated. He 
 was charmed with the dreamy stillness and 
 silence of the place — with the hanging foliage 
 all around, and the colours in the steep gardens, 
 and the still waters below. 
 
 " I don't know how it is," said he, " but 
 you seem to have much more open houses 
 here than we have. Our houses in the north 
 look cold, and hard, ajid bare. We should 
 laugh if we saw a place like this near us — it 
 seems to me a sort of a toy-place out of a picture 
 — from Switzerland or some such country. 
 Here you are in the open air — with your own 
 little world around you ; and nobod}^ to see 
 you ; you might live all your life here, and 
 know no thin o: about the storms crossins; the 
 
156 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Atlantic, and tlie wars in Europe, if only you 
 gave up tlie newspapers." 
 
 " Yes, it is very pretty, and quiet," said she, 
 and the small fingers pulled to pieces one of 
 the rose-leaves that Carry had thrown at her. 
 '' But you know one is never satisfied anywhere. 
 If I were to tell you the longiug I have to 
 see the very places you describe as being so 
 
 desolate But perhaps papa will take me 
 
 there some day.'' 
 
 '' I hope so," said he ; " but I would not call 
 them desolate. They are terrible at times ; 
 and they are lonely ; and they make you think. 
 But they are beautiful, too — with a sort of 
 splendid beauty and grandeur that goes very 
 near making you miserable. ... I cannot 
 describe it. You will see for yourself." 
 
 Here a bell rang ; and at the same moment 
 Mr. White made his appearance. 
 
 *'Ho\v do you do, Sir Keith? Luncheon is 
 ready, my dear — luncheon is ready — luncheon 
 is ready." 
 
 He kept muttering to himself as he led the 
 way. They entered a small dining-room ; and 
 
LAUREL COTTAGE. 157 
 
 here, if Macleod had ever heard of actresses 
 having little time to give to domestic affairs, 
 he must have been struck by the exceeding 
 neatness and brightness of everything on the 
 table and around it. The snow-white cover ; 
 the brilliant glass and spoons ; the carefully 
 arranged, if tiny, bouquets ; and the precision 
 with w^hich the smart little maidservant — the 
 only attendant — -waited : all these things showed 
 a household well managed. Nay, this iced 
 claret-cup — was it not of her own composition ? 
 — and a pleasanter beverage he had never 
 drunk. 
 
 But she seemed to pay little attention to 
 these matters ; for she kept glancing at her 
 father, who, as he addressed Macleod from 
 time to time, was obviously nervous and harassed 
 about something. At last she said — 
 
 '* Papa, what is the matter with you? Has 
 anything gone wrong this morning ? " 
 
 ^' Oh, my dear child,^' said he, *' don't speak 
 of it. It is my memory — I fear my memory 
 is going. But we will not trouble our guest 
 about it. I think you were saying, Sir Keith, 
 
158 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 that you had seen the latest additions to the 
 National Gallery'' — 
 
 " But what is it, papa 1 " his daughter in- 
 sisted. 
 
 " My dear, my dear, I know I have the 
 
 lines somewhere ; and Lord ■ says that 
 
 the very first jug fired at the new pottery he 
 is helping shall have these lines on it, and be 
 kept for himself. I know I have both the 
 Spanish original and the Eaglish translation 
 somewhere ; and all the morning I have been 
 hunting and hunting — for only one line. I 
 think I know the other three — 
 
 ' Old wine to drink. 
 Old wrongs let sink. 
 * * * 
 
 Old friends in need.' 
 
 It is the third line that has escaped me — 
 dear, dear me ! I fear my brain is going." 
 
 *' But I will hunt for it, papa," said she ; " 1 
 will get the lines for you. Don't you bother." 
 
 "No, no, no, child," said he, with somewhat 
 of a pompous air. **You have this new cha- 
 racter to study. You must not allow any 
 
LAUREL COTTAGE. 159 
 
 trouble to disturb the serenity of your mind 
 while you are so engaged. You must give 
 your heart and soul to it, Grerty ; you must 
 forget yourself; you must abandon yourself 
 to it — and let it grow up in your mind until 
 the conception is so perfect that there are no 
 traces of the manner of its production left.'' 
 
 He certainly was addressing his daughter ; 
 but somehow the formal phrases suggested 
 that he was speaking for the benefit of the 
 stranger. The prim old gentleman contiuued : 
 
 " That is the only way. Art demands abso- 
 lute self-forgetfulness. You must give yourself 
 to it in complete surrender. People may not 
 know the difi"erence ; but the true artist seeks 
 only to be true to himself. You produce the 
 perfect flower ; they are not to know of the 
 anxious care — of the agony of tears, perhaps 
 — you have spent on it. But then your whole 
 mind must be given to it ; there must be no 
 distracting cares : I will look for the missing 
 line myself.'* 
 
 "I am quite sure, papa," said Miss Carry, 
 spitefully, *' that she was far more anxious 
 
160 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 about these cutlets than about her new part 
 this morning. She was half-a-dozen times down 
 to the kitchen. I didn't see her readicgr the 
 book much.'* 
 
 *' The res angustw c?om^7' said the father 
 sententiously, ^' sometimes interfere, where people 
 are not too well off. But that is necessary. 
 What is not necessary is that Gerty should 
 take my troubles over to herself, and disturb 
 her formation of this new character, which ouo[ht 
 to be growing up in her mind almost insensibly, 
 until she herself will scarcely be aware how 
 real it is. When she steps on to the stage, she 
 ought to be no more Gertrude White than you 
 or I. The artist loses himself. He transfers 
 his soul to his creation. His heart beats in 
 another breast ; he sees with other eyes. You 
 will excuse me, Sir Keith ; but I keep insisting 
 on this point to my daughter. If she ever 
 becomes a great artist, that will be the secret 
 of her success. And she ought never to cease 
 from cultivatino; the habit. She ouo-ht to be 
 ready at any moment to project herself, as 
 it were, into any character. She ought to 
 
LAUEEL COTTAGE. 161 
 
 practise so as to make of her own emotions 
 an instrument that she can use at will. It is a 
 great demand that art makes on the life of 
 an artist. In fact, he ceases to live for himself. 
 He becomes merely a medium. His most secret 
 experiences are the property of the world at 
 large, once they have been transfused and 
 moulded by his personal skill." 
 
 And so he continued talking, apparently for 
 the instruction of his daughter, but also giving 
 his guest clearly to understand that Miss Ger- 
 tude White was not as other women, but rather 
 as one set apart for the high and inexorable 
 sacrifice demanded by art. At the end of his 
 lecture, he abruptly asked Macleod if he had 
 followed him. Yes, he had followed him ; but 
 in rather a bewildered way. Or had he some 
 confused sense of self-reproach, in that he had 
 distracted the contemplation of this pale and 
 beautiful artist, and sent her down stairs to look 
 after cutlets ? 
 
 ** It seems a little hard, sir," said Macleod 
 to the old man, " that an artist is not to have 
 any life of his or her own at aU — that he or 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 she should become merely a — a — a sort of Ten- 
 minutes emotionalist/' 
 
 It was not a bad pbrase for a rude Highlander 
 to have invented on the spur of the moment. 
 But the fact was that some little personal feeling 
 stung him into the speech. He was prepared 
 to resent this tyranny of art. And if he, now, 
 were to see some beautiful, pale slave bound in 
 these iron chains — and being exhibited for the 
 amusement of an idle world — what would the 
 fierce blood of the Macleods say to that debase- 
 ment ? He began to dislike this old man, with 
 his cruel theories, and his oracular speech. But 
 he forbore to have further, or any, argument 
 with him ; for he remembered what the High- 
 landers call '' the advice of the bell of Scoon — 
 the thing that concerns you not, meddle not 
 with," 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PRINCESS EIGHINN. 
 
 The people wtio lived in this land of summer 
 and sunshine and flowers — had they no cares 
 at all ? He went out into the garden with 
 these two girls ; and they were like two young 
 fawns in their careless play. Miss Carry, indeed, 
 seemed bent on tantalising him by the manner 
 in w^hich she petted, and teased, and caressed 
 her sister — scolding her, quarrelling with her 
 and kissing her all at once. The grave, gentle, 
 forbearing manner in w^hich the elder sister 
 bore all this was beautiful to see. And then 
 her sudden concern and pity when the wild 
 Miss Carry had succeeded in scratching her 
 finger with the thorn of a rose-bush I It was 
 the tiniest of scratches ; and all the blood that 
 appeared was about the size of a pin-head. But 
 
 M 2 
 
164 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Miss White must needs tear up her claintj little 
 pocket-handkerchief, and bind that grievous 
 wound, and condole with the poor victim as 
 thouo;h she were sufferinor untold asronies. It 
 was a pretty sort of idleness. It seemed to 
 harmonize with this still beautiful summer dav, 
 and the soft green foliage around, and the quiet 
 air that was sweet with the scent of the flowers 
 of the lime-trees. They say that the Gaelic 
 word for the lower regions, ifvin, is derived 
 from i-hliuirn, the island of incessant rain. To 
 a Highlander, therefore, must not this land of 
 perpetual summer and sunshine have seemed 
 to be heaven itself? 
 
 And even the malicious Carry relented for a 
 moment. 
 
 *'You said you were going to the Zoological 
 Gardens," she said. 
 
 " Yes,'^ he answered, " I am. I have seen 
 everything I want to see in London, but that." 
 
 " Because Gerty and I might walk across the 
 Park with you, and show you the way.'' 
 
 *^I very much wish you would," said he, "if 
 you have nothing better to do." 
 
THE PHINCESS RIGHINN. 165 
 
 " I will see if papa does not want me," said 
 Miss White calmly. She might just as well be 
 walkino^ in Ee^rent's Park as in this small 
 garden. 
 
 Presently the three of them set out. 
 
 '' I am glad of any excuse," she said, with a 
 smile, " for throwing aside that new part. It 
 seems to me insufferably stupid. It is very hard 
 that you should be expected to make a character 
 look natural when the words you have to speak 
 are such as no human being would use in any 
 circumstances whatever." 
 
 Oddly enough, he never heard her make even 
 the slightest reference to her profession without 
 experiencing a sharp twinge of annoyance. He 
 did not stay to ask himself why this should be 
 so. Ordinarily, he simply made haste to change 
 the subject. 
 
 " Then why should you take the part at all ? " 
 said he bluntly. 
 
 " Once you have given yourself up to a par- 
 ticular callicg, you must accept its little annoy- 
 ances," she said frankly. " I cannot have 
 everything my owji way. I have been very 
 
166 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 fortunate in other respects. I have had very 
 little of the drudgery of the provinces, though 
 you know that is the best school possible for an 
 actress. And I am sure the money and the care 
 papa has spent on my training — you see, he has 
 no son to send to college. I think he is far 
 more anxious about my succeeding than I am 
 myself" 
 
 " But you have succeeded," said Macleod. It 
 was, indeed, the least he could say ; with all 
 his dislike of the subject. 
 
 '' Oh, I do not call that success," said she 
 simply. " That is merely pleasing people by 
 showing them little scenes from their own draw- 
 ing-rooms transferred to the stage. They like it 
 because it is pretty, and familiar. And people 
 pretend to be very cynical at present — they like 
 things with ' no nonsense about them.' Still, 
 if you happen to be ambitious — or perhaps it 
 is mei'e vanity ? — if you would like to try what 
 is in you " 
 
 '' Gerty wants to be a Mrs. Siddons ; that's 
 it," said Miss Carry, promptly. 
 
 Talking to an actress about her profession ; 
 
THE PRINCESS RIGHINN. 167 
 
 and not having a word of compliment to say ! 
 Instead, he praised the noble elms and chestnuts 
 of the park — the broad, white lake, the flowers, 
 the avenues. He was greatly interested by the 
 whizzing by overhead of a brace of duck. 
 
 "I suppose you are very fond of animals'?" 
 Miss White said. 
 
 ''I am indeed," said he, suddenly brightening 
 Lip. " And up at our place I give them all a 
 chance. I don't allow a single weasel or hawk 
 or osprey to be killed — though I have a great 
 deal of trouble about it. But what is the 
 result ? I don't know whether there is such a 
 thing as the balance of nature ; or w^hether it 
 is merely that the hawks and weasels and other 
 vermin kill ofi" the sickly birds ; but I do know 
 that we have less disease among our birds than 
 I hear of anywhere else. I have sometimes 
 shot a weasel, it is true, when I have run across 
 him as he was hunting a rabbit — you cannot 
 help doing that if you hear the rabbit squealiug 
 with fright long before the weasel is at him — 
 but it is against my rule. I give them all a 
 fair field and no favour. I even let the hoodie 
 
168 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 crow alone, and he is a desperate villain. But 
 there are two animals I put out of the list — I 
 thought there was only one till this week, now 
 there are two ; and one of them I hate, the 
 other I fear." 
 
 " Fear 1 " she said : the slight flash of surprise 
 in her eyes was eloquent enough. But he did 
 not notice it. 
 
 ''Yes,'^ said he, rather gloomily. ''I suppose 
 it is superstition — or you may have it in your 
 blood — but the horror I have of the eyes of a 
 snake — I cannot tell you of it. Perhaps I was 
 frioiitened when I was a child — 1 cannot re- 
 member ; or perhaps it was the stories of the 
 old women. The serpent is very mysterious to 
 the people in the Highlands — they have stories 
 of water-snakes in the lochs — and if you 
 get a nest of seven adders with one white 
 one you boil the white one, and the man who 
 drinks the broth knows all thiuo-s in heaven 
 and earth. In the Lewis they call the serpent 
 righinn, that is ' a 'princess ' ; and they say that 
 the serpent is a princess bewitched. But that 
 is from fear — it is a compliment" 
 
THE PRINCESS RIGHIXN. 169 
 
 " But surely there are no serpents to be afraid 
 of in the Hif>*Mancls ? ''' said Miss AVhite. She 
 was looking rather curiously at him. 
 
 "No," said he, in the same gloomy way. 
 " The adders run away from you, if you are 
 walking through the heather. If you tread on 
 one, and he bites your boot, what then ? He 
 cannot hurt you. But suppose you are out after 
 the deer, and you are crawling along the heather 
 with your face to the ground, and all at once 
 you see the two small eyes of an adder looking 
 at you and close to you -" 
 
 He shuddered slightly — perhaps it was only 
 an expression of disgust. 
 
 "I have heard," he continued, "that in parts 
 of Islay they used to be so bad that the farmers 
 would set fire to the heather in a circle, and as 
 the heather burned in and in, you could see 
 the snakes and adders twistino^ and curlins^ in 
 a great ball. We have not many with us. But 
 one day John Begg, that is the schoolmaster, 
 went behind a rock to get a light for his pipe ; 
 and he put his head close to the rock to be out 
 of the wind ; and then he thought he stirred 
 
170 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 something witli his cap ; and the next moment 
 the adder fell on to his shoulder, and bit him 
 in the neck. He was half mad with the fright ; 
 but I think the adder must have bitten the 
 cap first and expended its poison ; for the 
 schoolmaster was only ill for about two days, 
 and then there was no more of it. But just 
 think of it — an adder getting to your neck " 
 
 *' I would rather not think of it,'^ she said, 
 quickly. ^' What is the other animal — that 
 you hate ? '^ 
 
 '' Oh ! " he said, lightly, " that is a very 
 different affair — that is a parrot that speaks. I 
 was never shut up in a house with one till this 
 week. My landlady's son brought her home 
 one from the West Indies, and she put the 
 cage on a window recess in my landing. At 
 first it was a little amusing ; but the constant 
 yelp — it was too much for me. ' Fritty j^oal! 
 jpritty jpoal ! ' I did not mind so much ; but 
 when the ugly brute, with its beady eyes and 
 its black snout used to yelp ' Come and kiz me ! 
 come and kiz me ! ' I grew to hate it. And 
 in the morning too, how was one to sleep ? I 
 
THE PRTNCESS RIGHINN. l7l 
 
 used to open my door, and fling a boot at 
 it ; but that only served for a time. It began 
 again. " 
 
 " But you speak of it as having been there. 
 What became of it ? " 
 
 He glanced at her rather nervously — like a 
 schoolboy ; and laughed. 
 
 '' Shall I tell you ? " he said, rather shame- 
 facedly. *' The murder will be out, sooner or 
 later. It was this morning. I could stand it 
 no longer. I had thrown both my boots at it ; 
 it was no use. I got up a third time, and went 
 out. The window, that looks into a back-yard, 
 was open. Then I opened the parrot's cage. 
 But the fool of an animal did not know what 
 I meant — or it was afraid — and so I caught him 
 by the back of the neck and flung him out. I 
 don't know anything more about him.'' 
 
 " Could he fly V said the big- eyed Carry, 
 who had been quite interested in this tragic tale. 
 
 *' I don't know," Macleod said, modestly. 
 '^ There was no use askino^ him. All he could 
 say was, 'Come and hiz me I' and I got tired 
 of that." 
 
172 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 " Then you have murdered him ! " said the 
 elder sister in an awe-stricken voice ; and she 
 pretended to withdraw a bit from him. " I 
 don't believe in the Macleods having become 
 civilised, peaceable people. I believe they would 
 have no hesitation in murdering any one that 
 was in their way.'" 
 
 " Oh, Miss White ! " said he in protest, " you 
 must forget what I told you about the Macleods ; 
 and you must really believe they were no w^orse 
 than the others of the same time. Now I was 
 thinking of another story the other clay, which 
 I must tell you" ■ 
 
 " Oh, pray don t," she said, " if it is one of 
 those terrible legends ! " 
 
 ** But I must tell you," said he, " because it 
 is about the Macdoualds ; and I want to show 
 you that we had not all the badness of those 
 times. It was Donald Gorm Mor ; and his 
 nephew, Hugh Macdonald, who was the heir 
 to the chieftainship, got a number of men to 
 join him in a conspiracy to have his uncle mur- 
 dered. The chief found it out, and forgave 
 him. That was not like a Macleod," he admitted, 
 
THE PRINCESS RIGHIXX. 173 
 
 *'for I never heard of a Macleod of those days 
 forgiving anybody. But again Hugh Mac- 
 donald engaged in a conspiracy ; and then 
 Donald Gorm Mor thought he would put an 
 end to the nonsense. AVhat did he do ? He 
 thrust his nephew into a deep and foul dungeon 
 — so the story says — and left him without food 
 or water for a whole day. Then there was salt 
 beef lowered into the dungeon ; and Macdonald 
 devoured the salt beef ; for he was starving with 
 hunger. Then they left him alone. But you 
 can imag;ine the thirst of a man who has been 
 eating salt beef, and who has had no water for 
 a day or two. He was mad with thirst. Then 
 they lowered a cup into the dungeon — you may 
 imagine the eagerness with which the poor fellow 
 saw it coming down to him — and how he caught 
 it with both his hands. But it ivas empty ! 
 And so, having made a fool of him in that 
 way, they left him to die of thirst. That was 
 the Macdonalds, Miss White ; not the Macleods." 
 "Then I am glad of CuUoden," said she, 
 with decision, " for destroying such a race of 
 fiends." 
 
174 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 " Oh, you must not say that/' he protested, 
 laughing. *' We should have become quiet and 
 respectable folks without Culloden. Even with- 
 out Culloden, we should have had penny news- 
 papers all the same ; and tourist-boats from Oban 
 to lona. Indeed you won't find quieter folks 
 anywhere than the Macdonalds and Macleods 
 are now." 
 
 " I don't know bow far you are to be trusted," 
 said she, pretending to look at bim with some 
 doubt. 
 
 By this time tbey bad reacbed tbe gate of the 
 Gardens. 
 
 '' Do let us go in, Gerty," said Miss Carry. 
 *'You know you always get hints for your 
 dresses from the birds — you would never have 
 thought of that flamingo pink and white if you 
 bad not been walkinor through here " 
 
 ** I will go in for a while if you like. Carry," 
 said she ; and certainly Macleod was nothing 
 loth. 
 
 There were but few people in the Gardens on 
 this afternoon ; for all the world was up at the 
 Eton and Harrow cricket-match at Lord's ; and 
 
THE PRINCESS RIGHTNN. 175 
 
 there was little visible of 'Arry and his pipe. 
 Macleod began to show more than a schoolboy's 
 delight over the wonders of this strange place. 
 That he was exceedingly fond of animals — 
 always barring the two he had mentioned — 
 was soon abundantly shown. He talked to 
 them as though the mute inquiring eyes could 
 understand him thoroughly. When he came 
 to animals with which he was familiar in the 
 north, he seemed to be renewing acquaintance 
 with old friends ; like himself, they were stran- 
 gers in a strange land. 
 
 ''Ah," said he to the splendid stag who was 
 walking about the paddock with his velvety 
 horns held proudly in the air, '* what part of 
 the Highlands have you come from ? And 
 wouldn't you like now a canter down the 
 dry bed of a stream, on the side of Ben-an- 
 Sloich ? " 
 
 The hind, with slow and gentle step, and with 
 her nut-brown hide shining in the sun, came 
 up to the bars, and regarded him with those 
 large, clear, grey-green eyes — so different from 
 the soft dark eyes of the roe — that had long 
 
176 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 eyelashes on the upper lid. He rubbed her 
 nose. 
 
 *^And wouldn't you rather be up on the 
 heather, munching the young grass, and drink- 
 iug out of the burn ? " 
 
 They went along to the great cage of the 
 sea-eagles. The birds seemed to pay no heed 
 to what was passing immediately around them. 
 Ever and anon they jerked their head into an 
 attitude of attention ; and the golden-brown 
 eye, with its contracted pupil and stern upper 
 lid, seemed to be throwing a keen glance over 
 immeasurable leag^ues of sea. 
 
 " Poor old chap," he said to the one perched 
 high on an old stump, ^' wouldn't you like to 
 have one sniff of a sea-breeze, and a look round 
 for a heron or two ? What do they give you 
 here ? — dead fish, I suppose ? " 
 
 The eagle raised its great wings, and slowly 
 flapped them once or twice, while it uttered 
 a succession of shrill yaivps. 
 
 '*0h, yes," he said, ''you could make yourself 
 heard above the sound of the waves. And I 
 think if any of the boys were after your eggs. 
 
THE PEINCESS RIGHINN. 177 
 
 or your young ones, you could make short work 
 of them with those big wings. Or would you 
 like to have a battle-royal with a seal, and try 
 whether you could pilot the seal into the shore, 
 or whether the seal would drag you and your 
 fixed claws down to the bottom and drown you "i " 
 
 There was a solitary kittiwake in a cage 
 devoted to sea-birds, nearly all of which were 
 foreigners. 
 
 " You poor little kittiwake," said he, " this 
 is a sad place for you to be in. I think you 
 would rather be out at Eu-Treshanish, even if 
 it was blowing hard, and there was rain about. 
 There was a dead whale came ashore theie about 
 a month ago ; that would have been something 
 like a feast for you." 
 
 "Why," said he, to his human companion, 
 " if I had only known before ! "Whenever there 
 was an hour or two with nothing to do, here was 
 plenty of occupation. But I must not keep you 
 too long, Miss White — I could remain here days 
 and weeks." 
 
 "You will not go without looking in at the 
 serpents ? '' said she, with a slight smile. 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 He hesitated for a second. 
 
 " No/' said he, " I think I will not go in to 
 see them/' 
 
 *' But you must/' said she, cruelly. '* You 
 will see they are not such terrible creatures 
 when they are shut up in glass boxes." 
 
 He suffered himself to be led along to the 
 reptile house ; but he was silent. He entered, 
 the last of the three. He stood in the middle 
 of the room, and looked around him in rather 
 a strange way. 
 
 " Now come and look at this splendid fellow," 
 said Miss White, who, with her sister, was leaning 
 over the rail. " Look at his sj^lendid bars of 
 colour — do you see the beautiful blue sheen on 
 its scales ? " 
 
 It was a huge anaconda, its body, as thick as 
 a man's leg, lying coiled up in a circle, its flat 
 ugly head reposing in the middle. He came 
 a bit nearer. " Hideous ! " was all he said. 
 And then his eyes were fixed on the eyes of 
 the animal — the lidless eyes, wdtli their per- 
 petual, glassy stare. He had thought at first 
 they were closed ; but now he saw that that 
 
THE PRINCESS RIG FUNIS'. 179 
 
 opaque yellow substance was covered by a glassy 
 coating, wliile in the centre there was a small 
 slit as if cut by a penknife. The great coils 
 slowly expanded and fell again, as the animal 
 breathed ; otherwise the fixed stare of those 
 yellow eyes might have been taken for the 
 stare of death. 
 
 "I don't think the anaconda is poisonous at 
 all/' said she, lightly. 
 
 " But if you were to meet that beast in a 
 jungle," said he, '' what difference would that 
 make ? " 
 
 He spoke reproachfully, as if she were luring 
 him into some secret place, to have him slain 
 with poisonous fangs. He passed on from that 
 case to the others, unwillingly. The room was 
 still. Most of the snakes would have seemed 
 dead, but for the malign stare of the beaded 
 eyes. He seemed anxious to get out ; the at- 
 mosphere of the place was hot and oppressive. 
 
 But just at the door there was a case, some 
 quick motion in which caught his eye ; and 
 despite himself he stopped to look. The inside 
 of this glass box was alive with snakes — raising 
 
 N 2 
 
180 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 their heads in the air — slimily crawling over 
 each other — the small, black-forked tongues 
 shooting in and out, the black points of eyes 
 glassily staring. And the object that had moved 
 quickly was a ^Tetched little yellow frog, that 
 was now motionless in a dish of water — its eyes 
 apparently starting out of its head with horror. 
 A snake made its appearance over the edge of 
 the dish. The shooting black tongue approached 
 the head of the frog ; and then the long, sinuous 
 body glided along the edge of the dish again — 
 the frog meanwhile being too paralyzed with 
 fear to move. A second afterwards the frog, 
 apparently recovering, sprang clean out of the 
 basin ; but it was only to alight on the backs of 
 two or three of the reptiles lying coiled up to- 
 gether. It made another spring, and got into 
 a corner, among some grass. But along that 
 side of the case another of those small, flat, 
 yellow-marked heads was slow^ly creeping along, 
 propelled by the squirming body ; and again the 
 frog made a sudden spring, this time leaping 
 once more into the shallow water, where it stood 
 and panted, with its eyes dilated. And now a 
 
THE PEINCESS RIGHINN. 181 
 
 snake tliat had crawled up the side of the case 
 put out its long neck as if to see whither it 
 should proceed. There was nothing to lay hold 
 of. The head swayed and twisted — the forked 
 tongue shooting out — and at last the snake fell 
 away from its hold, and splashed right into the 
 basin of water, on the top of the frog. There 
 was a wild shooting this way and that — but 
 Macleod did not see the end of it. He had 
 uttered some slight exclamation — and got into 
 the open air, as one being suffocated — and there 
 were drops of perspiration on his forehead, and 
 a trembling of horror and disgust had seized 
 him. His two companions followed him out. 
 
 '* I feel rather faint," said he, in a low voice — 
 and he did not turn to look at them as he spoke 
 — *Hhe air is close in that room." 
 
 They moved away. He looked around — at 
 the beautiful green of the trees, and the blue 
 sky, and the sunlight on the path — God's world 
 was getting to be more wholesome again, and 
 the choking sensation of disgust was going from 
 his throat. He seemed, however, rather anxious 
 to get away from this place. There was a gate 
 
182 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 close by ; lie proposed they should go out by 
 that. As he walked back with them to South 
 Bank, they chatted about many of the animals — 
 the two girls in especial being much interested 
 in certain pheasants, whose colours of plumage, 
 they thought, would look very pretty in a dress 
 — but he never referred, either then or at any 
 future time, to his visit to the reptile house. 
 Nor did it occur to Miss "White, in this idle 
 conversation, to ask him whether his Highland 
 blood had inherited any other qualities besides 
 that instinctive and deadly horror of serpents. 
 
CHAPTEE X. 
 
 LAST NIGHTS. 
 
 " Good-night, Macleod ! — good-night ! — good- 
 niglit ! " The various voices came from the top 
 of a drag. They were addressed to one of two 
 young men who stood on the steps of the Star 
 and Garter at Eichmond — black figures in the 
 blaze of light. And now the people on the drag 
 had finally ensconced themselves ; and the ladies 
 had drawn their ample cloaks more completely 
 round their gay costumes ; and the two grooms 
 were ready to set free the heads of the leaders. 
 *' Good-night, Macleod ! " Lord Beauregard called 
 again ; and then, with a little preliminary 
 prancing of the leaders, away swung the big 
 vehicle through the clear darkness of the sweet- 
 scented summer night. 
 
 " It was awfully good-natured of Beauregard 
 
184 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 to bring six of your people down and take them 
 back again/' observed Lieutenant Ogilvie to bis 
 companion. " He wouldn't do it for most folks. 
 He wouldn't do it for me. But tben you bave 
 the grand air, Macleod. You seem to be con- 
 ferring a favour wben you get one." 
 
 '' The people have been very kind to me," said 
 Macleod, simply. "I do not know why. I 
 wish I could take them all up to Castle Dare, 
 and entertain them as a prince could entertain 
 
 people " 
 
 '' I want to talk to you about that, Macleod," 
 said his companion. '* Shall we go up stairs 
 again ? I have left my hat and coat there." 
 ^ They went up stairs, and entered a long 
 chamber which had been formed by the throwing 
 of two rooms into one. The one apartment had 
 been used as a sort of withdrawing-room ; in 
 the other stood the Ions; banquet-table, still 
 covered with bright- coloured flowers, and dishes 
 of fruit, and decanters and glasses. Ogilvie sat 
 down, lit a cigar, and poured himself out some 
 claret. 
 
 '' Macleod," said he, '' I am going to talk to 
 
LAST NIGHTS. 185 
 
 you like a father. I hear you have been going 
 on in a mad way. Surely you know that a 
 bachelor coming up to London for a season — and 
 being asked about by people who are precious 
 glad to get unmarried men to their houses — is 
 not expected to give these swell dinner parties '? 
 And then, it seems, you have been bringing down 
 all your people in drags. What do those 
 flowers cost you ? I dare say this is Lafitte, 
 now ? " 
 
 *' And if it is, why not drink it, and say no 
 more about it ? I think they enjoyed them- 
 selves pretty well this evening^don't you, 
 Ogilvie ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes — but then, my dear fellow, the 
 cost! You will say it is none of my business; 
 but what would your decent, respectable mother 
 say to all this extravagance ? " 
 
 " Ah," said Macleod, " that is just the thing — 
 I should have more pleasure in my little dinner 
 parties if only the mother and Janet were here 
 to see. I think the table would look a good deal 
 better if my mother was at the head of it. And 
 the cost ? — oh, I am only folio wiDg out her 
 
18G MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 instructions. She would not have people think 
 that I was insensible to the kindness that has 
 been shown me ; and then we cannot ask all 
 those good friends up to Castle Dare — it is an 
 out-of-the-way place — and there are no flowers 
 on the dining-table there " 
 
 He laughed as he looked at the beautiful things 
 before him : they would look strange in the gaunt 
 hall of Castle Dare. 
 
 " Why/' said he, " I will tell you a secret, 
 Ogilvie. You know my cousin Janet — she is the 
 kindest-hearted of all the women I know — and 
 when I was coming away she gave me £2,000 
 just in case I should need it " 
 
 "£2,000!" exclaimed Ogilvie. "Did she 
 think you were going to buy Westminster Abbey 
 during the course of your holidays ? " And then 
 he looked at the table before him ; and a new 
 idea seemed to strike him. " You don't mean to 
 say, Macleod, that it is your cousin's money " 
 
 Macleod's face flushed angrily. Had any other 
 man made the suggestion, he would have received 
 a tolerably sharp answer. But he only said to 
 his old friend Ooilvie — 
 
LAST NIGHTS. 187 
 
 " No, no, Ogilvie ; we are not very ricli folks, 
 but we have not come to that yet. ' I'd sell my 
 kilt, I'd sell my shoon,' as the song says, before I 
 touched a farthing of Janet's money. But I had 
 to take it from her, so as not to offend her. It 
 is wonderful, the anxiety and affection of women 
 who live away out of the world like that. There 
 was my mother, quite sure that something aw^ful 
 was going to happen to me, merely because I was 
 going away for two or three months. And 
 Janet — I suppose she knew that our family never 
 was very good at saving money — she would have 
 me take this little fortune of hers, just as if the 
 old days were come back, and the son of the 
 house was supposed to go to Paris to gamble away 
 every penny " 
 
 '^ By the way, Macleod,^' said Ogilvie, '^ you 
 have never gone to Paris, as you intended." 
 
 *' No," said he, trying to balance three necta- 
 rines one on the top of the other, " I have not 
 gone to Paris. I have made enough friends in 
 London. I have had plenty to occupy the time. 
 And now^, Ogilvie," he added brightly, ''I am 
 going in for my last frolic, before everybody has 
 
188 MACLEOD OF DAKE. 
 
 left London ; and you must come to it, even if 
 you have to go down by your cold-meat train 
 again. You know Miss Kawlinson ; you have 
 seen her at Mrs. Ross's, no doubt. Very well, I 
 met her first when we went down to the Thames 
 yacht race, and afterwards we became great 
 friends ; and the dear little old lady already looks 
 on me as if I were her son. And do you know 
 what her proposal is ? — that she is to give me up 
 her house and garden for a garden-party, and I 
 am to ask my friends ; and it is to be a dance as 
 well, for we shall ask the people to have supper 
 at eight o'clock or so ; and then we shall have a 
 marquee — and the garden all lighted up — do you 
 see ? It is one of the largest gardens on Camp- 
 den Hill ; and the coloured lamps hung on the 
 trees will make it look very fine ; and we shall 
 have a band to play music for the dancers " 
 
 "It will cost you £200 or £300, at least," 
 said Ogilvie sharply. 
 
 " What then ? You give your friends a 
 pleasant evening, and you show them that you 
 are not ungrateful,^' said Macleod. 
 
 Ogilvie began to ponder over this matter. 
 
LAST NIGHTS. 189 
 
 The stories he had heard of Macleod's extra- 
 vagant entertainments were true, then. Sud- 
 denly he looked up and said — 
 
 ** Is Miss White to be one of your guests ? " 
 
 " I hope so," said he. " The theatre will be 
 closed at the end of this week." 
 
 " I suppose you have been a good many times 
 to the theatre ? " 
 
 " To the Piccadilly Theatre ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 **I have been only once to the Piccadilly 
 Theatre — when you and I went together," said 
 Macleod, coldly ; and they spoke no more of 
 that matter. 
 
 By and by they thought they might as well 
 smoke outside ; and so they went down and out 
 upon the high and walled terrace overlooking 
 the broad valley of the Thames. And now the 
 moon had arisen in the south, and the winding 
 river showed a pale grey among the black woods, 
 and there was a silvery light on the stone para- 
 pet on which they leaned their arms. The night 
 was mild, and soft, and clear ; there was an 
 intense silence around ; but they heard the faint 
 
190 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 sound of oars far away — some boating party 
 settino^ liome tlirougli the dark shadows of the 
 river- side trees. 
 
 ^^ It is a beautiful life you have here in the 
 south/' Macleod said, after a time, ''though I 
 can imagine that the women enjoy it more than 
 the men. It is natural for women to enjoy 
 pretty colours, and flowers, and bright lights and 
 music : and I suppose it is the mild air that lets 
 their eyes grow so big and clear. But the men — I 
 should think they must get tired of doing nothing. 
 They are rather melancholy ; and their hands are 
 white. I wonder they don't begin to hate Hyde 
 Park,, and kid gloves, and tight boots. Ogilvie," 
 said he, suddenly straightening himself up, '' what 
 do you say to the 12th "i A few breathers over 
 Ben-an-Sloich would put new lungs into you. I 
 don't think you look quite so limp as most of the 
 London men ; but still you are not up to the 
 mark. And then an occasional run out to Coll 
 or Tiree in that old tub of ours, with a brisk sou'- 
 wester blowing across — that would put some 
 mettle into you. Mind you, you won't have any 
 grand banquets at Castle Dare. I think it is 
 
LAST NIGHTS. 191 
 
 hard on tlie poor old mother that she should have 
 all the pinching, and none of the squandering ; 
 but women seem to have rather a liking for these 
 sacrifices ; and both she and Janet are very proud 
 of the family name — I believe they would live 
 on seaweed for a year if only their representative 
 in London could take Buckingham Palace for the 
 season. And Hamish — don't you remember 
 Hamish ? He will give you a hearty welcome 
 to Dare ; and he will tell you the truth about 
 any salmon or stag you may kill — though he 
 was never known to come within ^ve pounds of 
 the real weight of any big salmon I ever caught. 
 Now then, what do you say ? " 
 
 ''Ah, it is all very well," said Lieutenant 
 Ogilvie. " If we could all get what we want, 
 there would scarcely be an officer in Aldershot 
 Camp on the 12th of August. But I must say 
 there are some capitally good fellows in our mess 
 — and it isn't every one gets the chance you offer 
 me — and there's none of your dog-in-the-manger 
 feeling about them: in short, I do believe, Ogilvie, 
 that I could get off for a week or so about 
 the 20th." 
 
192 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 " The 20tli ? So be it. Then you will have 
 the black-cock added in." 
 
 '^ When do you leave ? " 
 
 " On the 1st of August — the morning after my 
 garden-party. You must come to it, Ogilvie. 
 Lady Beauregard has persuaded her husband to 
 put off their going to Ireland for three days 
 in order to come. And I have got old Admiral 
 Maitland coming — with his stories of the press- 
 gang, and of Nelson, and of the raids on the 
 merchant-ships for officers for the navy. Did you 
 know that Miss Eawlinson was an old sweetheart 
 of his ? He knew her when she lived in Jamaica 
 with her father — several centuries ago, you would 
 think, judging by their stories. Her father 
 got £28,000 from the Government when his 
 slaves were emancipated. I wish I could get 
 the old Admiral up to Dare — he and the mother 
 would have some stories to tell, I think. But 
 you don't like long journeys at ninety- two." 
 
 He was in a pleasant and talkative humour, 
 this bright-faced and stalwart young fellow, 
 with his proud, fine features and his careless 
 air. One could easily see how these old folks 
 
LAST NIGHTS. 193 
 
 had made a sort of pet of him. But while he 
 went on with his desultory chatting about the 
 various people whom he had met, and the 
 friendly invitations he had received, and the 
 hopes he had formed of renewing his acquaint- 
 anceship with this person and the next person, 
 should chance bring him again to London soon, 
 he never once mentioned the name of Miss 
 Gertrude White, or referred to her family, or 
 even to her public appearances, about wdiich 
 there was plenty of talk at this time. Yet 
 Lieutenant Ogilvie, on his rare visits to London 
 had more than once heard Sir Keith Macleod's 
 name mentioned in conjunction with that of 
 the young actress whom society w^as pleased 
 to regard with a special and unusual favour 
 just then ; and once or twice he, as Macleod's 
 friend, had been archly questioned on the sub- 
 ject by some inquisitive lady, whose eyes asked 
 more than her words. But Lieutenant Oo^ilvie 
 was gravely discreet. He neither treated the 
 matter with ridicule nor, on the other hand, 
 did he pretend to know more than he actually 
 knew — which was literally nothing at all. For 
 VOL. I. o 
 
194 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Macleod, wlio was, in ordinary circumstances, 
 anything but a reserved or austere person, was 
 on this subject strictly silent — evading questions 
 with a proud and simple dignity that forbade 
 the repetition of them. ^Tliat ivhich concerns 
 you not, meddle not with ' .* he observed the 
 maxim himself, and expected others to do the 
 
 like. 
 
 It was an early dinner they had had, after 
 their stroll in Eichmond Park ; and it was a 
 comparatively early train that Macleod and his 
 friend now drove down to catch, after he had paid 
 his bill. When they reached Waterloo Station 
 it was not yet eleven o'clock ; when he, having 
 bade good-bye to Ogilvie, got to his rooms in 
 Bury Street, it was but a few minutes after. 
 He was joyfully welcomed by his faithful 
 friend, Oscar. 
 
 "You poor dog," said he "here have we been 
 enjoying ourselves all the day, and you have 
 been in prison. Come, shall we go for a run ? " 
 Oscar jumped up on him with a whine of 
 delight; he knew what that taking up of 
 the hat again meant. And then there w^as a 
 
LAST NIGHTS. 195 
 
 silent stealing down stairs ; and a slight, par- 
 donable bark of joy in the ball ; and a wild dash 
 into the freedom of the narrow street when 
 the door was opened. Then Oscar moderated 
 his transports, and kept pretty close to his mas- 
 ter as together they began to wander through 
 the desert wilds of London. 
 
 Piccadilly ? — Oscar had grown as expert in 
 avoiding the rattling broughams and hansoms 
 as the veriest mongrel that ever led a vagrant 
 life in London streets. Berkeley Square ? — here 
 there was comparative quiet, with the gas- 
 lamps shining up on the thick foliage of the 
 maples. In Grosvenor Square he had a 
 bit of a scamper ; but there w^as no rabbit 
 to hunt. In Oxford Street his master took him 
 into a public-house and gave him a biscuit 
 and a drink of water ; after that his sjDirits rose 
 a bit, and he began to range ahead in Baker 
 Street. But did Oscar know any more 
 than his master why they had taken this 
 direction ? 
 
 Still further north ; and now there were a 
 good mauy trees about ; and the moon, high 
 
 2 
 
196 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 in the heavens, touched the trembling foliage, 
 and shone white on the fronts of the houses. 
 Oscar was a friendly companion ; but he could 
 not be expected to notice that his master glanced 
 somewhat nervously along South Bank when he 
 had reached the entrance to that thoroughfare. 
 Apparently the place was quite deserted ; there 
 was nothing visible but the walls, trees, and 
 houses, one side in black shadow, the other 
 shining cold and pale in the moonlight. After 
 a moment's hesitation Macleod resumed his 
 walk — thouo'h he seemed to tread more 
 softly. 
 
 And now, in the perfect silence, he neared a 
 certain house, though but little of it was visible 
 over the wall and through the trees. Did he 
 expect to see a light in one of those upper 
 windows, which the drooping acacias did not 
 altogether conceal ? He walked quickly by, 
 with his head averted. Oscar had got a good 
 way in front, not doubting that his master 
 was following him. 
 
 But Macleod, perhaps having mustered up 
 further courage, stopped in his walk, and re- 
 
LAST NIGHTS. 197 
 
 turned. This time lie passed more slowly, and 
 turned liis head to the house, as if listening. 
 There was no light in the windows ; there was 
 no sound at all ; there was no motion but that 
 of the tremblin^: acacia-leaA^es as the cold wind 
 of the night stirred them. And then he passed 
 over to the south side of the thoroughfare ; and 
 stood in the black shadow of a high wall ; 
 and Oscar came, and looked up into his face. 
 
 A hansom rattled by; then there was utter 
 stillness again ; and the moonlight shone on 
 the front of the small house, which was to all 
 appearance as lifeless as the grave. Then, far 
 away, twelve o'clock struck, and the sound 
 in this intense quiet seemed distant as the sound 
 of a bell at sea. 
 
 He was alone with the night, and with the 
 dreams and fancies of the night. Would he, 
 then, confess to himself that which he would 
 confess to no other ? Or was it merely some pas- 
 sing whim — some slight underchord of sentiment 
 struck amid the careless joy of a young man's 
 holiday — that had led him up into this silent 
 recrion of trees and moonlis^ht '? The scene 
 
198 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 around him was romantic enough ; but he 
 certainly had not the features of an anguish - 
 stricken lover. 
 
 Again the silence of the night was broken 
 by the rumbling of wheels that came along 
 the road ; and now — whatever may have been 
 the fancy that brought him hither — he turned 
 to leave, and Oscar joyfully bounded out into 
 the road. But this plain little brougham, 
 instead of continuing its route, stopped at the 
 gate of the house he had been watching, and 
 two young ladies stepped out. Pionaghal, the 
 Fair Stranger, had not, then, been wandering 
 in the enchanted land of dreams, but toiling 
 home from the scene of her anxious labours ? 
 He would have slunk away rapidly but for 
 an untoward accident. Oscar, ranging up and 
 down, came upon an old friend, and instantly 
 made acquaintance with her, on seeing which 
 Macleod, with deep vexation at his heart, but 
 with a pleasant and careless face, had to walk 
 along also. 
 
 ** What an odd meeting ! " said he. '* I have 
 been giving Oscar a run. I am glad to have 
 
LAST NIGHTS, 199 
 
 a chance of bidding you good-night. You are 
 not very tired, I hope ? " 
 
 " I am rather tired/' said she, *'but I have only 
 two more nights, and then my holiday begins." 
 
 He shook hands with both sisters, and wished 
 them good - night and departed. As Miss 
 Gertrude White went into her father's house, 
 she seemed rather grave. 
 
 *'Gerty," said the younger sister, as she 
 screwed up the gas, " wouldn't the name of 
 Lady Macleod look w^ell in a play-bill ? " 
 
 The elder sister would not answer ; but as 
 she turned away there was a quick flush of 
 colour in her face— whether caused by anger 
 or by a sudden revelation of her own thought 
 it was impossible to say. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 A FLOWER. 
 
 The many friends Macleod had made in 
 the south — or rather those of them who had 
 remained in town till the end of the season — 
 showed an unwonted interest in this nondescript 
 party of his ; and it was at a comparatively 
 early hour in the evening that the various 
 groups of people began to show themselves in 
 Miss Bawlinson's garden. That prim old lady 
 — with her quick, bright ways and her 
 humorous little speeches — studiously kept her- 
 self in the background. It was Sir Keith 
 Macleod who was the host. And when he 
 remarked to her that he thoudit the most 
 
 o 
 
 beautiful night of all the beautiful time he had 
 spent in the south had been reserved for this 
 very party, she replied — looking round the 
 garden just as if she had been one of his 
 
A FLOWER. 201 
 
 guests — that it was a pretty scene. And it 
 was a pretty scene. The last fire of the sunset 
 was just touching the topmost branches of the 
 trees. In the colder shade below, the banks and 
 bed of flowers, and the costumes of the ladies, 
 acquired a strange intensity of colour. Then 
 there was a band playing ; and a good deal of 
 chatting going on ; and one old gentleman with 
 a grizzled moustache humbly receiving lessons 
 in lawn-tennis from an imperious small maiden 
 of ten. Macleod w^as here, there, and every- 
 where. The Chinese lanterns outside were to 
 be lit Avhile the people were in at supper. 
 Lieutenant Ogilvie was directed to take in 
 Lady Beauregard when the time arrived. 
 
 "You must take her in yourself, Macleod," 
 said that properly- constituted youth. " If you 
 outrage the sacred laws of precedence " 
 
 ^'I mean to take Miss Eawlinson in to 
 supper," said Macleod; "she is the oldest 
 woman here, and I think my best friend." 
 
 " I thought you might wish to give Miss 
 White the place of honour," said Ogilvie out 
 of sheer impertinence ; but Macleod went off to 
 
202 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 order the candles to be lit in tlie marquee, where 
 supper was laid. 
 
 By and by he came out again ; and now the 
 twilight had drawn on apace ; there was a cold 
 clear lisfht in the skies, while at the same moment 
 a red glow began to shine through the canvas of 
 the long tent. He walked over to one little 
 group who were seated on a garden- chair. 
 
 " Well/' said he, " I have got pretty nearly all 
 my people together now, Mrs. Eoss.'^ 
 
 "But where is Gertrude White 1" said Mrs. 
 Eoss, *' surely she is to be here ? '' 
 
 '' Oh, yes, I think so," said he. " Her father 
 and herself both promised to come. You know 
 her holidays have begun now.'' 
 
 " It is a good thing for that girl," said Miss 
 Eawlinson, in her quick, staccato fashion, ^' that 
 she has few holidays. Very good thing that 
 she has her work to mind. The way people run 
 after her would turn any w^oman's head. The 
 
 Grand Duke is said to have declared that 
 
 she was one of the three prettiest women that he 
 saw in England : w^hat can you expect if things 
 like that get to a girl's ear ? " 
 
A FLOWER. 203 
 
 ''But you know Gerty is quite unspoiled," 
 said Mrs. Koss, warmly. 
 
 " Yes ; so far," said the old lady, '' so far, 
 slie retains the courtesy of being hypo- 
 critical '' 
 
 " Oh, Miss Eawlinson ! I won't have you say 
 such things of Gerty White ! '' Mrs. Ross pro- 
 tested. "You are a wicked old woman — isn't 
 she, Hugh ? " 
 
 " T am saying it to her credit," continued the 
 old lady, with much composure. "What I say 
 is, that most pretty women who are much run 
 after are flattered into frankness. When they 
 are introduced to you, they don't take the 
 trouble to conceal that they are quite indifferent 
 to you. A plain woman wiU be decently civil, 
 and will smile, and pretend she is pleased, and 
 talk. A beauty — a recognised beauty — doesn't 
 take the trouble to be hypocritical. Now Miss 
 White does." 
 
 "It is an odd sort of compliment," said 
 Colonel Ross, laughing. " AYhat do you think 
 of it, Macleod ? " 
 
 " These are too great refinements for my 
 
204 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 comprehension/' said he, modestly. *' 1 think if 
 a pretty woman is uncivil to you, it is easy for 
 you to turn on your heel and go away." 
 
 ''I do not say uncivil. Don't you go mis- 
 representing a poor old woman, Sir Keith. I 
 said she is most likely to be flattered into beiDg 
 honest — into showing a stranger that she is quite 
 indifferent, whereas a plain woman will try to 
 make herself a little agreeable. Kow a poor 
 lone creature like myself likes to fancy that 
 people are glad to see her ; and Miss YHiite 
 pretends as much. It is very kind. By and 
 by she will get spoiled like the rest ; and then 
 she will become honest. She will shake hands 
 with me, and then turn off", as much as to say, 
 ' Go away, you ugly old woman, for I can't be 
 bothered with you, and I don't expect any money 
 from you, and why should I pretend to like 
 you?'" 
 
 All this was said in a half-jesting way ; and 
 it certainly did not at all represent — so far as 
 Macleod had ever made out — the real opinions 
 of her neifrhbours in the world held by this 
 really kind and gentle old lady. But Macleod 
 
A FLOWER. 205 
 
 had noticed before that Miss Kawlinson never 
 spoke with any great warmth about Miss 
 Gertrude White's beauty, or her acting, or 
 anything at all connected with her. At this 
 very moment when she was apparently praising 
 the young lady, there was a bitter flavour about 
 what she said. There may be jealousy between 
 sixty-five and nineteen ; and if this reflection 
 occurred to Macleod, he no doubt assumed that 
 Miss EawlinsoD, if jealous at all, was jealous of 
 Miss Gertrude White's influence over — Mrs. 
 Eoss. 
 
 '* As for Miss White's father," continued the 
 old lady, with a little laugh, ** perhaps he 
 believes in those sublime theories of art he is 
 alwa3'S preaching about. Perhaps he does. They 
 are very fine. One result of them is that his 
 daughter remains on the stage — and earns a 
 handsome income — and he ecjoys himself in 
 picking up bits of curiosities " 
 
 " Now that is really unfair," said Mrs. Eoss, 
 seriously. " Mr. White is not a rich man, but 
 he has some small means that render him quite 
 independent of any income of his daughter's. 
 
206 MACLEOD OF DAKE. 
 
 Why, how did they live before they ever thought 
 of letting her try her fortune on the stage ? 
 And the money he spent, when it was at last 
 decided she should be carefully taught " 
 
 '' Oh, very well ! " said Miss Eawlinson, with 
 a smile, but she nodded her head ominously. If 
 that old man was not actually living on his 
 daughter's earnings, he had at least strangled his 
 mother, or robbed the Bank of England, or 
 done something or other. Miss Eawlinson was 
 obviously not well disposed either to ]\Ir. White 
 or to his daughter. 
 
 At this very moment both these persons made 
 their appearance, and certainly, as this slender 
 and graceful figure, clad in a pale summer 
 costume, came across the lawn, and as a smile 
 of recognition lit up the intelligent fine face, 
 those critics sitting there must have acknow- 
 ledged that Gertrude White was a singularly 
 pretty woman. And then the fascination of that 
 low-toned voice ! She began to explain to 
 Macleod why they were so late. Some trifling 
 accident had happened to Carry. But, as the 
 simple, pathetic tones told him the story, his 
 
A FLO WEE. 207 
 
 heart was filled with a great gentleness and pity 
 towards that poor victim of misfortune. He was 
 struck with remorse because he had sometimes 
 thought harshly of the poor child, on account of 
 a mere occasional bit of pertness. His first 
 message from the highlands would be to her, 
 
 *' Willie hrewed a peck o' 7naut " the band 
 played merrily as the gay company took their 
 seats at the long banquet-table, Macleod leading 
 in the prim old dame who had placed her house 
 at his disposal. There was a blaze of light and 
 colour in this spacious marquee. Bands of 
 scarlet cloth took the place of oaken rafters ; 
 there were huge blocks of ice on the table, each 
 set in a miniature lake that was filled with white 
 water-lilies ; there were masses of flowers and 
 fruits from one end to the other ; and by the 
 side of each menu lay a tiny nosegay, in the 
 centre of which was a sprig of bell-heather. 
 This last was a notion of Macleod's amiable 
 hostess ; she had made up these miniature 
 bouquets herself. But she had been forestalled 
 in the pretty compliment. Macleod had not 
 seen much of Miss Gertrude White in the cold 
 
208 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 twiliglit outside. Now, in this blaze of yellow 
 light, he turned his eyes to her, as she sat there 
 demurely flirting with an old admiral of ninety - 
 two, who was one of IMacleod's special friends. 
 And what was that flower she wore in her bosom 
 — the sole piece of colour in the costume of 
 white ? That was no sprig of blood- red bell- 
 heather, but a bit of real heather — of the 
 common lins^ : and it was set amid a few leaves 
 of juniper. Now the juniper is the badge of the 
 Clan Macleod. She wore it next her heart. 
 
 There was laughter, and wine, and merry 
 talking. ' Last May a hraio luooer ' the band 
 played now ; but they scarcely listened. 
 
 " Where is your piper. Sir Keith ? " said Lady 
 BeaureQ:ard. 
 
 " At this moment," said he, " I should not 
 wonder if he was down at the shore, waiting for 
 me.'' 
 
 " You are going away quite soon then ? " 
 
 *' To-morrow. But I don't wish to speak of it. 
 I should like to-nisrht to last for ever." 
 
 Lady Beauregard was interrupted by her 
 neighbour. 
 
A FLOWEH. 209 
 
 *' What has pleased you, then, so much 1 " 
 said his hostess, looking up at him. " London ? 
 Or the people in it ? Or any one person in 
 it?" 
 
 *' Oh ! '^ he said laughingly, " the whole thing. 
 What is the use of dissecting ? It is nothing 
 but holiday-making in this place. Now, Miss 
 Eawlinson, are you brave ? Won t you challenge 
 the admiral to drink a glass of wine with you ? 
 And you must include his companion — just 
 as they do at the city dinners — and I will 
 join too.'' 
 
 And so these old sweethearts drank to each 
 other. And Macleod raised his glass, too ; and 
 Miss White lowered her eyes, and perhaps 
 flushed a little as she touched hers with her 
 lips ; for she had not often been asked to take 
 a part in this old-fashioned ceremony. But 
 that was not the only custom they revived that 
 evening. After the banquet was over ; and the 
 ladies had got some light shawls and gone out 
 into the mild summer night • and when the long- 
 marquee was cleared, and the band installed at 
 the farther end ; then there was a murmured talk 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 of a minuet. Who could dance it ? Should 
 they try it ? 
 
 " You know it ? " said Macleod to Miss White. 
 
 "Yes," said she, looking down. 
 
 *' Will you be my partner ? '^ 
 
 *' With pleasure/' she answered, but there was 
 some little surprise in her voice, which he at 
 once detected. 
 
 " Oh," said he, " the mother taught me when 
 I was a child. She and I used to have grand 
 dances together. And Hamish, he taught me 
 the sword-dance.'' 
 
 " Do you know the sword-dance ? " she said. 
 
 " Any one can know it," said he, "it is more 
 difficult to do it. But at one time I could dance 
 it with four of the thickest-handled dirks instead 
 of the two swords." 
 
 " I hope you will show^ us your skill to-night," 
 she said, with a smile. 
 
 " Do you think any one can dance the sword- 
 dance without the pipes ? " said he, quite simply. 
 
 And now some of the younger people had 
 made bold to try this minuet ; and Macleod led 
 his partner up to the head of the impro^dsed 
 
A FLOWER. 211 
 
 ballroom ; and the slow and graceful music 
 began. That was a pretty sight for those 
 walking outside in the garden. So warm was 
 the nio^ht that the canvas of one side of the 
 marquee had been removed ; and those walking 
 about in the dark outside could look into this 
 gaily -lighted place with the beautifully-coloured 
 figures moving to the slow music. And as they 
 thus walked along the gravel-paths, or under 
 the trees, the stems of which were decorated 
 with spirals of coloured lamps, a new light arose 
 in the south to shed a farther magic over the 
 scene. Almost red at first, the full moon cleared 
 as it rose, until the trees and bushes were 
 touched with a silver radiance, and the few 
 people who walked about threw black shadows 
 on the greensward and gravel. In an arbour at 
 the furthest end of the garden a number of 
 Chinese lanterns shed a dim coloured lis^ht on 
 a table and a few rocking-chairs. There were 
 cigarettes on the table. 
 
 By and by, from out of the brilliancy of the 
 tent, stepped Macleod and Fionaghal herself, 
 she leaning on his arm, a light scarf thrown 
 
 p 2 
 
212 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 round her neck. She uttered, a slight cry of 
 surprise when she saw the picture this garden 
 presented — the coloured cups on the trees, the 
 swinging lanterns, the broader sheen of the 
 moonlight spreading over the foliage, and the 
 lawn, and the walks. 
 
 "It is like fairy-land ! '' she said. 
 
 They walked along the winding gravel- 
 paths ; and now that some familiar quadrille 
 was beino' danced in that brilliant tent, there 
 were fewer people out here in the moonlight. 
 
 " I should begin to believe that romance 
 was possible," she said, with a smile, "if I 
 often saw a beautiful scene like this. It is 
 what we try to get in the theatre ; but I see 
 all the bare boards and the limelio'ht — I don't 
 
 o 
 
 have a chance of believing in it.'' 
 
 " Do you have a chance of believing in 
 anything,'' said he, " on the stage ? " 
 
 " I don't understand you," she said, gently ; 
 for she was sure he would not mean the rude- 
 ness that his words literally conveyed. 
 
 " And perhaps I cannot explain," said he. 
 " But — but your father was talking the other 
 
A FLOWEE. 21 
 
 o 
 
 clay about your giving yourself up altogether 
 to your art — living the lives of other people 
 for the time being — forgetting yourself — sacri- 
 ficing yourself — having no life of your own 
 but that. What must the end of it be ? — that 
 you play with emotions and beliefs until you 
 have no faith in any one — nane left for your- 
 self — it is only the material of your art. Would 
 you not rather like to live your own life ? " 
 
 He had spoken rather hesitatingly ; and 
 he was not at all sure that he had quite con- 
 veyed to her his meaning — though he had 
 thought over the subject long enough and 
 often enough to get his own impressions of 
 it clear. 
 
 At another time, and in a more critical mood, 
 she might have said to herself, " This man hates 
 the stage because he is jealous of its hold on my 
 life" and might have rejoiced over the inad- 
 vertent confession. But just at this moment 
 these hesitatino^ words of his seemed to have 
 awakened some quick responsive thriil in her 
 nature, for she suddenlv said, with an earnest- 
 ness that was not at all assumed — 
 
214 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 ^' Sometimes I have thouglit of that — it is 
 so strange to hear my own doubts repeated. 
 If I could choose my own life — yes, 1 would 
 rather live that out than merely imagining 
 the experiences of others. But what is one 
 to do ? You look around, and take the world 
 as it is. Can anything be more trivial and 
 disappointing ? When you are Juliet in the 
 balcony, or Kosalind in the forest, then you 
 have some better feeling within you, if it is 
 only for an hour or so." 
 
 ** Yes,'' said he, " and you go on indulging 
 
 in those doses of fictitious sentiment until 
 
 But I am afraid the night air is too cold for 
 you. Shall we go back ? " 
 
 She could not fail to notice the trace of 
 bitterness, and subsequent coldness, with which 
 he spoke. She knew that he must have been 
 thinking deeply over this matter ; and that it 
 was no ordinary thing that caused him to speak 
 with so much feeling. But of course, when he 
 proposed that they should return to the marquee, 
 she consented. He could not expect her to 
 stand there and defend her whole manner of life. 
 
A FLOWEPv. 215 
 
 Mucli less could he expect her to give np her 
 profession merely because he had exercised 
 his Tvits in getting up some fantastic theory 
 about it. Aud she began to think that he 
 had no right to talk to her in this bitter 
 fashion. 
 
 When they had got half way back to the 
 tent, he paused for a moment. 
 
 ''I am going to ask a favour of you/' 
 he said in a low voice. "I have spent a 
 pleasant time in England, and I cannot tell 
 you how grateful I am to you for letting 
 me become one of your friends. To-morrow 
 morning I am going back home. I should 
 like you to give me that flower — as some 
 little token of remembrance. 
 
 The small fingers did not tremble at all as 
 she took the flower from her dress. She 
 presented it to him with a charming smile, 
 and without a word. What was the giving 
 of a flower ? There was a cart-load of roses 
 in the tent. 
 
 But this flower she had worn next her 
 heart. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHITE HEATHEB. 
 
 And now, behold ! tlie red flag flying from the 
 summit of Castle Dare — a spot of brilliant 
 colour in this world of whirliog mist and 
 flashing sunlight. For there is half a gale 
 blowing in from the Atlantic ; and gusty clouds 
 come sweeping over the islands, so tint now 
 the Dutchman, and now Lunga, and now Co- 
 lonsay disappears from sight, and then emerges 
 into the sunlight again, dripping and shining 
 after the bath ; while ever and anon the huge 
 promontory of Ru-Treshanish shows a gloomy 
 purple far in the north. But the wind and 
 the weather may do what they like to-day : 
 for has not the word just come down from 
 the hill that the smoke of the steamer has 
 ])een made out in the south ? and old Hamish 
 
WHITE HEATHER. 217 
 
 is flying this way and that, fairly at his wits' 
 end with excitement ; and Janet Macleod has 
 cast a last look at the decorations of heather 
 and juniper in the great hall ; while Lacly 
 Macleod, dressed in the most stately fashion, 
 has declared that she is as able as the young- 
 est of them to walk down to the point to 
 welcome home her son. 
 
 "Ay, your leddyship, it is very bad,'' com- 
 plains the distracted Hamish, *^ that it will be so 
 rough a day this day, and Sir Keith not to 
 come ashore in his own gig, but in a fishing- 
 boat, and to come ashore at the fishing- quay, 
 too ! but it is his own men will go out for 
 him, and not the fishermen at all, though I 
 am sure they will hef a dram whatever, when 
 Sir Keith comes ashore. And will you not 
 tek the pony, your leddyship ? for it is a long 
 road to the quay." 
 
 "No, I will not take the pony, Hamish," 
 said the tall white-haired dame ; " and it is 
 not of much consequence what boat Sir Keith 
 has, so long as he comes back to us. And 
 now I think you had better go down to the 
 
218 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 quay yourself, and see that the cart is waiting 
 and the boat ready." 
 
 But how could old Hamish go down to the 
 quay '? He w^as in his own person skip^Der, head- 
 keeper, steward, butler, and general major-domo, 
 and ought on such a day to be in half-a- 
 dozen places at once. From the earliest morning 
 he had been hurrying hither and thither, in 
 his impatience making use of much voluble 
 Gaelic. He had seen the yacht's crew in their 
 new jerseys. He had been round the kennels. 
 He had got out a couple of bottles of the 
 best claret that Castle Dare could afford. He 
 had his masters letters arranged on the library- 
 table ; and had given a final rub to the guns 
 and rifles on the rack. He had even been 
 down to the quay, swearing at the salmon- 
 fishers for having so much lumber lying about 
 the place where Sir Keith Macleod was to 
 land. And if he was to go clown to the quay 
 now, how could he be sure tJiat the ancient 
 Christina, who was mistress of the kitchen as 
 far as her husband Hamish w^ould allow her to 
 be, would remember all his instructions ? And 
 
WHITE HEATHEE. 219 
 
 then the little grand-daughter, Christina — would 
 she remember her part in the ceremony ? 
 
 However, as Hamish could not be in six 
 places at once, he at length decided to obey 
 his mistress's directions, and went hurriedly off 
 to the quay, overtaking on his way Donald the 
 piper-lad, who was apparelled in all his pro- 
 fessional finery. 
 
 "And if ever you put wind in your pipes, 
 you will put wind in your pipes this day, 
 Donald," said he to the red-haired lad. ''And 
 I will tell you now what you will play when 
 you come ashore from the steamer — it is the 
 Farewell to Chuhralter you will play." 
 
 " The Fareivell to Gibralter ! " said Donald 
 peevishly, for he was bound in honour to 
 let no man interfere with his proper busi- 
 ness. "It is a better march than that I 
 will play, Hamish. It is the Heights of 
 Alma, that was made by Mr. Eoss, the Queen's 
 own piper; and will you tell me that the 
 Heights of Alma is not a better march than 
 the Farewell to Gibralter ? 
 
 Hamish pretended to pay no heed to this 
 
220 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 impertinent boy. His eye was fixed on a 
 distant black speck that was becoming more 
 and more pronounced out there amid the greys 
 and greens of the windy and sunlit sea. Occa- 
 sionally it disappeared altogether, as a cloud 
 of rain swept across towards the giant cliffs 
 of Mull ; and then again it would appear, 
 sharper and blacker than ever, while the masts 
 and funnel were now visible as well as the 
 hull. When Donald and his companion got 
 down to the quay, they found the men already 
 in the big boat, getting ready to hoist the 
 huge brown lug-sail ; and there was a good 
 deal of laughing and talking going on, perhaps 
 in anticipation of the dram they were sure to 
 get when their master returned to Castle Dare. 
 Donald jumped down on the rude stone ballast, 
 and made his way up to the bow ; Hamish, 
 who remained on shore, helped to shove her 
 off ; then the heavy lug-sail was quickly hoisted, 
 the sheet hauled tight, and presently the broad- 
 beamed boat was ploughing its way through 
 the rushing sea, with an occasional cloud of 
 spray coming right over her from stem to stern. 
 
WHITE HEATHER. 221 
 
 '' Fhir a hhata," the men sung; until Donald 
 struck in with his pipes, and the wild skirl of 
 The Barren Rocks of Aden was a fitter sort 
 of music to go with these sweeping winds and 
 plunging seas. 
 
 And now we will board the steamer, where 
 Keith Macleod is up on the bridge, occasionally 
 using a glass, and again talking to the captain, 
 who is beside him. First of all on board he 
 had caught sight of the red flag floating over 
 Castle Dare ; and his heart had leaped up at 
 that sign of welcome. Then he could make 
 out the dark figures on the quay ; and the 
 hoisting of the lug-sail; and the putting off 
 of the boat. It was not a good day for 
 observing things ; for heavy clouds were quickly 
 passing over, followed by bewildering gleams 
 of a sort of watery sunlight; but, as it hap- 
 pened, one of these sudden flashes chanced to 
 light up a small plateau on the side of the hill 
 above the quay, just as the glass was directed on 
 that point. Surely — surely — those two figures ? 
 
 " Why, it is the mother — and Janet ! " he 
 cried. 
 
222 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 He hastily gave tlie glass to his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Look 1 " said he. '' Don't you think that 
 is Lady Macleod and my cousin ? What 
 could have tempted the old lady to come away 
 down there on such a squally day ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, I think it is the ladies," said the 
 captain; and then he added, with a friendly 
 smile, ''and I think it is to see you all the 
 sooner, Sir Keith, that they have come down 
 to the shore.'' 
 
 " Then," said he, *' I must go down and get 
 Ynj gillie, and show him his future home." 
 
 He went below the hurricane- deck to a 
 corner in which Oscar was chained up. Beside 
 the dog, sitting on a camp-stool and wrapped 
 round with a tartan plaid, was the person 
 whom Macleod had doubtless referred to as his 
 gillie. He was not a distinguished-looking 
 attendant to be travelling with a Highland 
 chieftain. 
 
 '* Johnny, my man, come on deck now, and 
 I will show you where you are going to live. 
 You're all right, now, aren't you? And you 
 
WHITE HEATHER. 223 
 
 will be on the solid land again in about ten 
 minutes." 
 
 Macleod's gillie rose — or ratber, got down — 
 from the camp-stool, and showed himself to 
 be a miserable, emaciated child of ten or 
 eleven, with a perfectly colourless face, fright- 
 ened grey eyes, and starved white hands. The 
 contrast between the bronzed and bearded 
 sailors — who were now hurrying about to re- 
 ceive the boat from Dare — and this pallid and 
 shrunken scrap of humanity was striking ; and 
 when Macleod took his hand, and half led 
 and half carried him up on deck, the look of 
 terror that he directed on the plunging waters 
 all around shovfed that he had not had much 
 experience of the sea. Involuntarily he had 
 grasped hold of Macleod's coat as if for pro- 
 tection. 
 
 *^Now, Johnny, look right ahead. Do you 
 see the big house on the cliffs over yonder ? " 
 
 The child, still clinging on to his protector, 
 looked all round with the dull, pale eyes, and 
 at length said — 
 
 '' No." 
 
224 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 " Can't you see that house, poor chap ? Well, 
 do you see that boat over there 1 You must 
 be able to see that/' 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " That boat is to take you ashore. You 
 needn't be afraid. If you don't like to look 
 at the sea, get down into the bottom of the 
 boat, and take Oscar with you ; and you'll 
 see nothing until you are ashore. Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 ^* Come along then." 
 
 For now the wild skirl of Donald's pipes 
 was plainly audible ; and the various packages 
 — the new rifle, the wooden case containing 
 the wonderful dresses for Lady Macleod and 
 her niece, and what not — were all ranged ready ; 
 to say nothing of some loaves of white bread 
 that the steward was sending ashore at Hamish's 
 request. And then the heaving boat came 
 closer to, her sail was hauled down, and a 
 rope thrown and caught ; and then there was 
 a hazardous scrambling down the dripping 
 iron steps, and a notable spring on the part 
 
WHITE HEATHER. 225 
 
 of Oscar, wlio had escaped from the hands of 
 the sailors. As for the new gillie, he resem- 
 bled nothing so much as a limp bunch of 
 clothes as Macleod's men, wondering not a 
 little, caught him up and passed him astern. 
 Then the rope was thrown off, the steamer 
 steamed slowly ahead, the lug-sail was run up 
 again, and away the boat plunged, with Donald 
 playing the Heights of Alma as though he 
 would rend the skies. 
 
 " Hold your noise, Donald ! " his master 
 called to him, laughing. " You will have plenty 
 of time to play the pipes in the evening." 
 
 For he was greatly delighted to be among his 
 own people again ; and he was eager in his 
 questions of the men as to all that had happened 
 in his absence; and it was no small thing to 
 them that Sir Keith Macleod should remember 
 their affairs too, and ask after their families and 
 friends. Donald's loyalty was stronger than his 
 professional pride. He was not offended that 
 he had been silenced ; he only bottled up his 
 musical fervour all the more : and at lenofth , 
 as he neared the land, and knew that Lady 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Macleod and Miss Macleod were within hearing, 
 lie took it that he knew better than any one else 
 what was proper to the occasion, and once more 
 the proud and stirring march strove with the 
 sound of the hurrying waves. Nor was that 
 all. The piper-lad was doing his best. Never 
 before had he put such fire into his work ; but 
 as they got close in shore the joy in his heart 
 got altogether the mastery of him, and away 
 he broke into the mad delight of Lady Mary 
 Ramsay^s Reel. Hamish on the quay heard, 
 and he strutted about as if he were himself 
 playing, and that before the Queen. And then 
 he heard another sound — that of Macleod's 
 voice. 
 
 '^ Stand hy, lads! . . . Doivn with lier!'^ — 
 and the flapping sail, with its swinging yard, 
 rattled down into the boat. At the same 
 moment Oscar made a clean spring into the 
 water, gained the landing-steps, and dashed 
 upwards — dripping as he was — to two ladies 
 who were standing on the c[uay above. And 
 Janet Macleod so far foro-ot what was due 
 to her best gown that she caught his head 
 
WHITE HEATHEE. 227 
 
 in her arms, as lie pawed and whined with 
 delight. 
 
 That was a glad enough party that started off 
 and up the hill- side for Castle Dare. Janet 
 Macleod did not care to conceal that she had 
 been crying a little bit ; and there were proud 
 tears in the eyes of the stately old dame who 
 walked with her ; but the most excited of all 
 was Hamish, who could by no means be got 
 to understand that his master did not all at 
 once want to hear about the trial of the young 
 setters, and the price of the sheep sold the week 
 before at Tobermory, and the stag that was 
 chased by the Carsaig men on Tuesday. 
 
 ^' Confound it ! Hamish," Macleod said, laugh- 
 ing, "leave all those things till after dinner." 
 
 '' Oh ay, oh ay. Sir Keith, we will hef plenty 
 of time after dinner," said Hamish, just as if 
 he were one of the party, but very nervously 
 working with the ends of his thumbs all the 
 time ; " and I will tell you of the fine big stag 
 that has been coming down every night — every 
 night, as I am a living man — to Mrs. Murdoch's 
 corn ; and I wass saying to her, ' Just hold your 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 toDgne, Mrs. Murdoch/ that wass what I will 
 say to her, 'just hold your tongue, Mrs. Murdoch, 
 and be a civil woman, for a day or two days, and 
 when Sir Keith comes home, it iss no more at ahl 
 the stag will trouble you — oh no, no more at ahl 
 — there will be no more trouble about the stag 
 when Sir Keith comes home.' " 
 
 And old Hamish laughed at his own wit — but 
 it was in a sort of excited way. 
 
 " Look here, Hamish — I want you to do this 
 for me," Macleod said ; and instantly the face of 
 the old man — it was a fine face, too, with its 
 aquiline nose, and grizzled hair, and keen, hawk- 
 like eyes — was full of an eager attention. "Go 
 back and fetch that little boy I left with Donald. 
 You had better look after him yourself I don't 
 think any water came over him ; but give him 
 dry clothes if he is wet at all. And feed him 
 up ; the little beggar will take a lot of fattening 
 without any harm." 
 
 " Where is he to go ? " said Hamish, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " You are to make a keeper of him. "When 
 you have fattened him up a bit, teach him to 
 
WHITE HEATHER. 229 
 
 feed the dogs. When he gets bigger, he cau 
 clean the guns.'^ 
 
 " I will let no man or boy clean the guns for 
 you but myself, Sir Keith,'' the old man said, 
 quite simply, and without a shadow of disrespect. 
 *' I will hef no risk of the kind." 
 
 " Yery well, then ; but go and get the boy, 
 and make him at home as much as you can. 
 Feed him up." 
 
 "Who is it, Keith," his cousin said, "that 
 you are speaking of as if he was a sheep or 
 a calf *? " 
 
 " Faith," said he, laughing, " if the philan- 
 thropists heard of it, they would prosecute me 
 for slave-stealing. I bought the boy — for a 
 sovereign." 
 
 " I think you have made a bad bargain, 
 Keith," his mother said ; but she was quite 
 prepared to hear of some absurd whim of his. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I was going into Trafalgar 
 Square, where the National Gallery of pictures 
 is, mother, and there is a cab-stand in the 
 street, and there was a cabman standing there, 
 munching at a lump of dry bread, that he cut 
 
230 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 with a jack-knife. I never saw a cabman do 
 tliat before ; I should have been less surprised 
 if he had been having a chicken and a bottle of 
 port. However, in front of the big cabman, 
 this little chap I have brought with me was 
 standing ; quite in rags ; no shoes on his feet ; 
 no cap on his wild hair ; and he was looking 
 fixedly at the big lump of bread. I never saw 
 any animal look so starved and so hungry ; 
 his eyes were quite glazed with the fascination 
 of seeing the man ploughing away at this lump 
 of loaf. And I never saw any child so thin. 
 His hands were like the claws of a bird ; and 
 his trousers were short and torn, so that you 
 could see his legs were like two pipe-stems. At 
 last the cabman saw him. ' Get out o' the way,' 
 says he. The little chap slunk off, frightened, 
 I suppose. Then the man changed his mind. 
 ' Come here,' says he. But the little chap was 
 frightened, and wouldn't come back ; so he went 
 after him, and thrust the loaf into his hand, and 
 bade him be off. I can tell you the way he went 
 into that loaf was very fine to see. It was like 
 a weasel at the neck of a rabbit ; it was like an 
 
WHITE HEATHER. 231 
 
 otter at tlie back of a salmon. And tliat was 
 how I made liis acquaintance," Macleod added 
 carelessly. 
 
 " But you liave not told us wliy you brought 
 him up here," his mother said. 
 
 " Oh/' said he, with a sort of laugh, '* I was 
 looking at him, and I wondered whether High- 
 land mutton and Highland air would make any 
 difference in the wretched little skeleton ; and so 
 I made his acquaintance. I went home v/itli 
 him to a fearful place — I have got the address, 
 but I did not know there were such quarters in 
 London — and I saw his mother. The poor 
 woman was very ill ; and she had a lot of 
 children ; and she seemed quite glad when I 
 offered to take this one and make a herd or 
 a gamekeeper of him^ I promised he should 
 go to visit her once a year, that she might see 
 whether there was any difference. And I gave 
 her a sovereign." 
 
 *^ You were quite right, Keith," his cousin said 
 gravely ; '' you run a great risk. Do they hang 
 slavers 1 " 
 
 " Mother," said he, for by this time the ladies 
 
232 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 were standing still, so that Hamisli and tlie new 
 gillie should overtake them, '* you mustn't laugh 
 at the little chap when you see him with the 
 plaid taken off. The fact is, I took him to a 
 shop in the neighbourhood to get some clothes 
 for him, but I couldn't get anything small 
 enough. He does look ridiculous ; but you 
 mustn't laugh at him, for he is like a girl for 
 sensitiveness. But when he has been fed up 
 a bit, and got some Highland air into his lungs, 
 his own mother won't know him. And you will 
 get him some other clothes, Janet — a kilt maybe 
 — when his legs get stronger." 
 
 Whatever Keith Macleod did was sure to be 
 right in his mother's eyes ; and she only said, 
 with a laugh — 
 
 '* Well, Keith, you are not like your brothers. 
 When they brought me home presents, it was 
 pretty things ; but all your curiosities, wherever 
 you go, are the halt and the lame and the 
 blind, so that the people laugh at you and say 
 that Castle Dare is becoming the hospital of 
 Mull." 
 
 " Mother, I don't care what the people say." 
 
WHITE HEATHER. 233 
 
 " And indeed I know that," she answered. 
 
 Their waiting had allowed Hamish and the 
 new gillie to overtake them, and certainly the 
 latter — deprived of his plaid — presented a suffi- 
 ciently ridiculous appearance in the trousers 
 and jacket that were obviously too big for him. 
 But neither Lady Macleod nor Janet laughed at 
 all when they saw this starved London waif 
 before them. 
 
 " Johnny/' said Macleod, " here are two ladies 
 who will be very kind to you, so you needn't be 
 afraid to live here." 
 
 But Johnny did look mortally afraid, and 
 instinctively once more took hold of Macleod's 
 coat. Then he seemed to have some notion of 
 his duty. He drew back one foot, and made 
 a sort of curtsey. Probably he had seen girls 
 do this, in mock-heroic fashion, in some London 
 court. 
 
 " And are you very tired ? " said Janet Mac- 
 leod, in that soft voice of hers that all children 
 loved. 
 
 " Yes," said the child. 
 
 ''Kott bless me!" cried Hamish, "I did not 
 
234 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 know that ! " — and tlierewitli the old man caught 
 up Johnny Wickes as if he had been a bit of 
 ribbon, and flung him on to his shoulder, and 
 marched ofl" to Castle Dare. 
 
 Then the three Macleods continued on their 
 way — through the damp -smelling fir- wood ; over 
 the bridge that spanned the brawling brook ; 
 again through the fir-wood ; until they reached 
 the open space surrounding the big stone house. 
 They stood for a minute there — high over the 
 great plain of the sea, that was beautiful with 
 a thousand tints of light. And there was the 
 green island of Ulva, and there the darker rocks 
 of Colonsay, and farther out, amid the windy 
 vapour and sunlight, Lunga, and Fladda, and 
 the Dutchman's Cap, changing in their hue 
 every minute as the clouds came driving over 
 the sea. 
 
 "Mother,'^ said he, "I have not tasted fresh 
 air since I left. I am not sorry to get back to 
 Dare.'' 
 
 " And I don't think we are sorry to see you 
 back, Keith," his cousin said modestly. 
 
 And yet the manner of his welcome was 
 
WHITE HEATHER. 235 
 
 not imposing ; they are not very good at 
 grand ceremonies on the western shores of 
 Mull. It is true that Donald, relieved of 
 the care of Johnny AVickes, had sped by a 
 short-cut through the fir-wood, and was now 
 standing in the gravelled space outside the 
 house, playing the Heights of Alma with a 
 spirit worthy of all the Mac Cruimins that 
 ever lived. But as for the ceremony of 
 welcome, this was all there was of it. When 
 Keith Macleod went up to the hall-door, he 
 found a small girl of five or six standing 
 quite by herself at the open entrance. This 
 was Christina, the grand-daughter of Hamish, 
 a pretty little girl with wide blue eyes and 
 yellow hair. 
 
 "Hallo, Christina," said Macleod, "wont 
 you let me into the house ? " 
 
 " This is for you. Sir Keith," said she in 
 the Gaelic, and she presented him with a 
 beautiful bunch of white heather. Now white 
 heather, in that part of the country, is known 
 to bring great good fortune to the possessor 
 of it. 
 
236 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 ^^And it is a good omen," said he, lightly, 
 as he took the child up and kissed her. 
 And that was the manner of his welcome to 
 Castle Dare. 
 
MACLEODS RETURN. 
 
 To face p. 1:30, vul. i. 
 
CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 AT HOME, 
 
 The two women-folk with, whom he was 
 most nearly brought into contact were quite 
 convinced that his stay in London had in no 
 wise altered the buoyant humour and brisk 
 activity of Keith Macleod. Castle Dare awoke 
 into a new life on his return. He was all 
 about and over the place, accompanied by 
 the faithful Hamish ; and he had a friendly 
 word and smile for every one he met. He 
 was a good master : perhaps he was none the 
 less liked because it was pretty well under- 
 stood that he meant to be master. His good- 
 nature had nothing of weakness in it. *' If 
 you love me, I love you," says the Gaelic 
 proverb ; " otherwise do not come near me J' 
 There was not a man or lad about the place 
 
238 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 who would not have adventured his life for 
 Macleod ; but all the same they were well 
 aware that the handsome young master, who 
 seemed to go through life with a merry laugh 
 on his face, was not one to be trifled with. 
 This John Fraser, an Aberdeen man, dis- 
 covered on the second night after Macleod's 
 return to Castle Dare. 
 
 Macleod had the salmon-fishing on this 
 part of the coast, and had a boat's crew of 
 four men engaged in the work. One of 
 these having fallen sick, Hamish had to hire 
 a new hand, an Aberdeenshire man, who 
 joined the crew just before Macleod's de- 
 parture from London. This Eraser turned 
 out to be a *'dour" man; and his 'discontent 
 and grumbling seemed to be afiecting the 
 others, so that the domestic peace of Dare 
 was threatened. On the night in question, 
 old Hamish came into Macleod's cod joint 
 library and gun-room. 
 
 " The fishermen hef been abking me again, 
 sir," observed Hamish, with his cap in his 
 hand. " What will I sav to them ? '' 
 
AT HOME. 239 
 
 '^Oh, about the wages?" Macleod said, 
 turning round. 
 
 "Ay, sir." 
 
 "Well, Hamisli, I don't object. Tell tbem 
 that what they say is right. This year has 
 been a very good year ; we have made some 
 money ; I will give them the two shillings a 
 week more if they like. But then, look here, 
 Hamish : if they have their wages raised in 
 a good year, they must have them lowered in 
 a bad year. They cannot expect to share the 
 profit without sharing the loss too. Do you 
 understand that, Hamish ? ^' 
 
 " Yes, Sir Keith, I think I do." 
 
 *^Do you think you could put it into good 
 Gaelic for them 1 " 
 
 "Oh ay." 
 
 "Then tell them to choose for themselves. 
 But make it clear." 
 
 "Ay, Sir Keith," said Hamish; "and if it 
 
 was not for that • man, John Fraser, there 
 
 would be no word of this thing at ahl. And 
 there is another thing I will hef to speak to you 
 about, Sir Keith ; and it is John Fraser, too. 
 
240 MACLEOD OF DAllE. 
 
 who is at tlie botton of this, I will know that 
 fine. It is more than two or three times that 
 you will warn the men not to bathe in the 
 bay below the Castle ; and not for many a 
 day will any one do that, for the Cave bay, 
 it is not more as half a mile away. And 
 when you were in London, Sir Keith, it was 
 this man John Fraser, he would bathe in the 
 bay below the Castle in the morning, and he 
 got one or two of the others to join him ; and 
 when I bade him go away, he will say that 
 the sea belongs to no man. And this morn- 
 ing, too '' 
 
 *' This morning ! " Macleod said, jumping 
 to his feet. There was an angry flash in his 
 eyes. 
 
 '^ Ay, sir, this very morning I saw two of 
 them myself — and John Fraser he was one of 
 them — and I went down and said to them, 
 ' It will be a bad day for you,' says I to them, 
 ' if Sir Keith will find you in this bay.' " 
 
 " Are they down at the quay now ? " Macleod 
 said. 
 
 "Ay, they will be in the house now." 
 
AT HOME. 241 
 
 " Come alonof with me, Hamisli. I think we 
 will put this right." 
 
 He lifted his cap and went out into the 
 cool night air, followed by Hamish. They 
 passed through the dark fir-wood until they 
 came in sight of the Atlantic again, which 
 was smooth enouo^h to show the troubled 
 reflection of the bigger stars. They went 
 down the hill-side until they were close to 
 the shore ; and then they followed the rough 
 path to the cpay. The door of the square stone 
 building was open ; the men were seated on rude 
 stools or on spare coils of rope, smoking. Macleod 
 called them out, and thev came to the door. 
 
 " Now look here, lads," said he : " you know 
 I will not allow any man to bathe in the bay 
 before the house. I told you before ; I tell you 
 now for the last time. They that want to bathe 
 can go along to the Cave bay ; and the end of 
 it is this — and there will be no more words 
 about it — that the first man I catch in the bay 
 before the house, I will take a horsewhip to 
 him, and he will have as good a run as ever 
 he had in his life ! " 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Witli that lie was turning away, when lie 
 heard one of the men mutter, "/ ivoidd like 
 to see you do it." He wheeled round instantly 
 — and if some of his London friends could 
 have seen the look of his face at this moment, 
 they might have altered their opinion about 
 the obliteration of certain qualities from the 
 temperament of the Highlanders of our own 
 day. 
 
 " AVho said that '? " he exclaimed. 
 There was no answer. 
 
 " Come out here, you four men ! " he said. 
 "Stand in a line there. Now let the man who 
 said that step out and face me. I will show 
 him who is to be master here. If he thinks he 
 can master me, well : but it is one or the 
 other of us who will be master ! " 
 
 There was not a sound or a motion ; but 
 Macleod suddenly sprang forward, caught the 
 man Fraser by the throat, and shook him 
 thrice — as he might have shaken a reed. 
 
 " You scoundrel ! " he said ; " you coward ! — 
 are you afraid to own it was you ? There has 
 been nothing but bad feeling since ever you 
 
AT HOME. 243 
 
 brouglit your ugly face among us — well^ we've 
 had enough of you ! " 
 
 He flung him back. 
 
 " Hamish/' said he, you will pay this man 
 his month's wages to-nio-ht. Pack him off with 
 the Gometra men in the morning ; they will 
 take him out to the Pioneer. And look you 
 here, sir," he added, turning to Fraser, '^it 
 will be a bad day for you the day that I see 
 your face again anywhere about Castle Dare." 
 
 He walked off and up to the house again, 
 followed by the reluctant Hamish. Hamish 
 had spoken of this matter only that Macleod 
 should give the men a renewed warning ; he 
 had no notion that this act of vengeance would 
 be the result. And where were they to get a 
 man to put in Fraser's place ? 
 
 It was about an hour later that Hamish again 
 came into the room. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon, sir," said he, '' but the 
 men are outside." 
 
 "I cannot see them." 
 
 "They are ferry sorry, sir, about the whole 
 matter, and there will be no more bathing in 
 
 R 2 
 
244 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 the front of the house, and the man Fraser 
 they hef brought him up to say he is ferry 
 sorry too." 
 
 '* They hav^e brought him up ? " 
 
 " Ay, sir," said Hamisli with a grave smile. 
 " It wass for fighting him they were, one after 
 the other, because lie will make a bad speech 
 to you ; and he could not fight three men, one 
 after the other ; and so they hef made him 
 come up to say lie is ferry sorry too ; and will 
 you let him stay on to the end of the season ? " 
 
 " No. Tell the men that if they will behave 
 themselves, we can go on as we did before, in 
 peace and friendliness ; but I mean to be master 
 in this place. And I will not have a sulky 
 fellow like this Fraser stirring up quarrels. He 
 must pack and be off." 
 
 " It will not be easy to get another man, Sir 
 Keith," old Hamisli ventured to say. 
 
 " Get Dougal Black or Coll Black over from 
 Ulva ; or you can bring Duncan from the yacht, 
 surely ? " 
 
 " But you will want the yacht, sir, when Mr. 
 02:ilvie comes to Dare ? " 
 
AT HOME. 245 
 
 " I tell you, Hamish, that I will not have that 
 fellow about the place — that is an end of it. 
 Did you think it w^as only a threat that I meant ? 
 And have you not heard the old saying that 
 * one does not apply plaster to a threat ' ? You 
 will send him to Gometra in the morning in time 
 for the boat." 
 
 And so the sentence of banishment was con- 
 firmed ; and Hamish got one of the numerous 
 Blacks of Ulva to take the place of Fraser ; and 
 from that time to the end of the fishing season 
 perfect peace and harmony prevailed between 
 master and men. 
 
 But if T.ady Macleod and Janet saw no change 
 whatever in Macleod's manner after his return 
 from the south, Hamish, who was more alone 
 with the young man, did. Why this strange 
 indifi'erence to the very occupations that used 
 to be the chief interest of his life ? He w^ould 
 not go out after the deer : the velvet w^ould be 
 on their horns yet. He would not go out after 
 the grouse : what was the use of disturbing them 
 before Mr. Ogilvie came up ? 
 
 " I am in no hurry," he said, almost petulantly. 
 
24 G MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 *^ Shall I not have to be here the whole winter 
 for the shooting^ ? " — and Hamish was amazed to 
 hear him talk of the winter shootino; as some 
 compulsory duty, whereas in these parts it far 
 exceeds in variety and interest the very limited 
 low-ground shooting of the autumn. Until 
 young Ogilvie came up, Macleod never had a 
 gun in his hand. He had gone fishing two or 
 three days ; but had generally ended l)y sur- 
 rendering his rod to Hamish, and going for a 
 walk up the glen, alone. The only thing he 
 seemed to care about, in the way of out-of-door 
 occupation, was the procuring of otter-skins ; 
 every man and boy in his service was ordered 
 to keep a sharp look-out on that stormy coast for 
 the prince of fur-bearing animals. Years before 
 he had got enough skins together for a jacket for 
 his cousin Janet : and that orarment of beautiful, 
 thick, black fur — dyed black, of course — was as 
 silken and rich as when it was made. Why 
 should he forget his own theory of lettiug 
 all animals have a chance in uro[inof a war of 
 extermination against the otter ? 
 This pre- occupation of mind, of which Hamish 
 
AT HOME. 247 
 
 was alone observant, was nearly inflicting a cruel 
 injury on Hamish himself. On tlie morning of 
 the day on which Norman Ogilvie was expected 
 to arrive, Hamish went into his master's library. 
 Macleod had been reading a book ; but he had 
 pushed it aside ; and now both his elbows were 
 on the table, and he was leaning his head on his 
 hands, apparently in deep meditation of some 
 kind or other. 
 
 '' Will I tek the bandage off Nell's foot now, 
 Sir ^ 
 
 " Oh, yes, if you like. You know as much as 
 I do about it." 
 
 '' Oh, I am quite sure," said Hamish brightly, 
 " that she will be ahl quite well to-morrow. I 
 will tek her whatefFer ; and I can send her home 
 if it is too much for her." 
 
 Macleod took up his book again. 
 
 " Very well, Hamish. But you have plenty to 
 do about the house. Duncan and Sandy can go 
 with us to-morrow." 
 
 The old man started, and looked at his master 
 for a second. Then he said, " Whateffer is your 
 will, sir," in a low voice, and left the room. 
 
248 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 But for the hurt, and the wounded, and the 
 sorrowful, there was always one refuge of con- 
 solation in Castle Dare. Hamish went straight 
 to Janet Macleod ; and she was astonished to see 
 the emotion of which the keen, hard, handsome 
 face of the old man was capable. Who before 
 had ever seen tears in the eyes of Hamish 
 Maclntyre ? 
 
 '' And perhaps it is so," said Hamish, with his 
 head hanging down, " and perhaps it is that I am 
 an old man now, and not able any more to go up 
 to the hills ; but if I am not able for that, I am 
 not able for anything ; and I will not ask Sir 
 Keith to keep me about the house or about the 
 yacht. It is younger men will do better as me ; 
 and I can go away to Greenock ; and if it is an 
 old man I am, maybe I will find a place in a 
 smack, for all that " 
 
 " Oh nonsense, Hamish," Janet Macleod said, 
 with her kindly eyes bent on him. " You may 
 be sure Sir Keith did not mean anything like 
 that " 
 
 " A}^, mem," said the old man proudly, '' and 
 who wass it that first put a gun into his hand ; 
 
AT HOME. 249 
 
 and wlio wass it skinned the ferry first seal that 
 he shot in Loch Scridain ; and who wass it told 
 him the name of every spar and sheet of the 
 Umpit^ey and showed him how to hold a tiller ? 
 And if there is any man knows more as me about 
 the birds, and the deer, that is right — let him go 
 out ; but it is the first day I lief not been out 
 with Sir Keith since ever I wass at Castle Dare ; 
 and now it iss time that I am going away ; for I 
 am an old man, and the younger men they will 
 be better on the hills and in the yacht too. But 
 I can make my living whatever.'' 
 
 "Hamish, you are speaking like a foolish 
 man,'' said Janet Macleod to him. " You will 
 wait here now till I go to Sir Keith." 
 
 She went to him. 
 
 ''Keith," said she, "do you know that you 
 have nearly broken old Hamish's heart ? " 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said he, looking up in 
 wonder. 
 
 " He says you have told him he is not to go 
 out to the shooting with you to-morrow ; and 
 that is the first time he has been superseded ; and 
 he takes it that you think he is an old man ; and 
 
250 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 he talks of going away to Greenock to join a 
 smack." 
 
 '' Oh, nonsense," MacleocI said. " 1 was not 
 thinking- when I told him. He may come witli 
 US if he likes. At the same time, Janet, I should 
 think Norman Ogilvie will laugh at seeing the 
 butler come out as a keeper." 
 
 *^ You know cj[uite well, Keith," said his cousin, 
 '^that Hamish is no more a butler than he is 
 captain of the Umpire or clerk of the accounts. 
 Hamish is simply everybody and everything at 
 Castle Dare. And if you speak of Norman 
 Ogilvie — well, I think it would be more like 
 yourself, Keith, to consult the feelings of an old 
 man rather than the opinions of a young one." 
 
 *' You are always on the right side, Janet. 
 Tell Hamish I am very sorry. I meant him 
 no disrespect. And he may call me at one in 
 the mornincj if he likes. He never looked on 
 me but as a bit of his various machinery for 
 killino; things." 
 
 "That is not fair of you, Keith. Old Hamish 
 would give his right hand to save you the scratch 
 of a thorn." 
 
AT HOME. 251 
 
 She went off to cheer the old man ; and he 
 turned to his book. But it "was not to read it ; 
 it was only to stare at the outside of it, in an 
 absent sort of way. The fact is, he had found in 
 it the story of a young aide-de-camp who was 
 entrusted with a message to a distant part of the 
 field while a battle was going forward, and who 
 in mere bravado rode across a part of the ground 
 open to the enemy's fire. He came back laughing. 
 He had been hit, he confessed ; but he had 
 escaped ; and he carelessly shook a drop or two 
 of blood from a flesh-wound on his hand. Sud- 
 denly, however, he turned pale, wavered a little, 
 and then fell forward on his horse's neck, a 
 corpse. 
 
 Macleod was thinking about this story rather 
 gloomily. But at last he got up with a more 
 cheerful air, and seized his cap. 
 
 " And if it is my death-wound I have got," 
 he was thinking to himself, as he set out for the 
 boat that was waitinoj for him at the shore, " I 
 will not cry out too soon." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A FRIEND. 
 
 His death-wound ! There was but little sugges- 
 tion of any death-wound about the manner or 
 speech of this light-hearted and frank-spoken 
 fellow w^ho now welcomed his old friend Ogilvie 
 ashore. He swung the gun- case into the cart as 
 if it had been a bit of thread. He himself would 
 carry Ogilvie's top-coat over his arm. 
 
 " And why have you not come in your hunting 
 tartan ? " said he, observing the very precise and 
 correct shooting costume of the young man. 
 
 " Not likely," said Mr. Ogilvie, laughing. " I 
 don't like walking through clouds with bare 
 knees, with a chance of sitting down on an 
 adder or two. And I'll tell you what it is, 
 Macleod : if the morning is wet I will not go 
 out stalking, if all the stags in Christendom were 
 
A FrvIEND. 253 
 
 there. I know what it is, I have had enough of 
 
 it in my younger days " 
 
 ''My dear fellow," Macleod said seriously, 
 " you must not talk here as if you could do what 
 you liked. It is not what you wish to do, or what 
 you don't wish to do ; it is what Hamish orders 
 to have done. Do you think I would dare to 
 tell Hamish what we must do to-morrow ? And 
 do you think in any case Hamish would allow a 
 kilt to be worn when we go off stalking ? " 
 
 «< Very well, then, I will see Hamish myself ; 
 I dare say he remembers me." 
 
 And he did see Hamish that evening, and it 
 was arranged between them that if the morning 
 looked threatening they would leave the deer 
 alone, and would merely take the lower lying 
 moors in the immediate neighbourhood of Castle 
 Dare. And Hamish took great care to impress 
 on the young man that Macleod had not 3^et 
 taken a gun in his hand, merely that there should 
 be a decent bit of shooting when his guest 
 arrived. 
 
 "And he will say to me, only yesterday," 
 observed Hamish confidentially, *' it was yester- 
 
254 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 day itself lie wass saying to me, ^ Hamish, when 
 Mr. Ogilvie comes liere, it will only be six days 
 or seven days lie will be able to stop, and you 
 will try to get him two or three stags. And 
 Hamish,' this iss what he will say to me, ' you 
 will pay no heed to me, for I hef plenty of the 
 shooting whatever, from the one year's end to 
 the other year's end, and it is Mr. Ogilvie you 
 will look after.' And you do not mind the rain, 
 sir ? It iss fine warm clothes you have got on — 
 fine woollen clothes you have, and what harm 
 w^ill a shower do ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind the rain, so long as I can 
 keep moving — that's the fact, Hamish,'' replied 
 Mr. Ogilvie ; " but I don't like lying in wet 
 heather for an hour at a stretch. And I don't 
 care how few birds there are ; there will be plenty 
 to keep us walking. So you remember me after 
 all, Hamish ? " 
 
 " Oh ay, sir," said Hamish, with a demure 
 twinkle in his eye. " I mind fine the time you 
 will fahl into the water off the rock in Loch na 
 Keal." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," remarked Mr. Ogilvie, " that is 
 
A FEIEND. 255 
 
 precisely what I don't see tlie fun of doing, now 
 that I have got to man's estate, and have a whole- 
 some fear of killing myself. Do you think I 
 would lie down now on w^et seaweed, and get 
 slowly soaked through with the rain for a whole 
 hour, on the chance of a seal coming on the other 
 side of the rock ? When I tried to get up I was 
 as stiff as a stone. I could not have lifted the 
 rifle if a hundred seals had been there. And 
 it was no wonder at all I slipped down into 
 the water." 
 
 *'But the sea-w^ater," said Hamish, gravely, 
 *' there will be no harm come to you of the 
 sea-water." 
 
 " I want to have as little as possible of either 
 sea-water or rain-water," said Mr. Ogilvie, with 
 decision. '^ I believe Macleod is half an otter 
 himself." 
 
 Hamish did not like this, but he only said 
 respectfully — 
 
 ''I do not think Sir Keith is afraid of a 
 shower of rain whatever." 
 
 These gloomy anticipations were surely un- 
 called for ; for during the whole of the past 
 
256 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 week tlie Western Isles had basked in unin- 
 terrupted sunliglit, with blue skies over the 
 fair blue seas, and a resinous warmth exhalinor 
 from the lonely moors. But all the same, next 
 raorFiing broke as if Mr. Ogilvie's forebodings 
 were only too likely to be realised. The sea 
 was leaden-hued, and apparently still, though 
 the booming of the Atlantic swell into the 
 great caverns could be heard ; Stajffa, and 
 Lunga, and the Dutchman were of a dismal 
 black ; the brighter colours of Ulva and 
 Colonsay seemed coldly grey and green ; and 
 heavy banks of cloud lay along the land, 
 running out to Eu-Treshanish. The noise of 
 the stream rushinoj down throuo-h the fir- wood 
 close to the castle seemed louder than usual, 
 as if rain had fallen during the night. It 
 was rather cold, too ; all that Lady Macleod 
 and Janet could say failed to raise the spirits 
 of their guest. 
 
 But when Macleod — dressed in his home- 
 spun tartan — came round from the kennels 
 with the dogs, and Hamish, and the tall 
 red-headed lad, Sandy, it appeared that they 
 
A FRIEND. 257 
 
 considered this to be rather a fine day than 
 otherwise, and were eager to be off. 
 
 *' Come along, Ogilvie," Macleod cried, as he 
 gave his friend^s gun to Sandy, but shouldered 
 his own. " Sorry we haven't a dog-cart to 
 drive you to the moor, but it is not far off." 
 
 " I think a cigar in the library would be 
 the best thiug for a morning like this," said 
 Ogilvie, rather gloomily, as he put up the collar 
 of his shooting-jacket, for a drop or two of 
 rain had fallen. 
 
 " Nonsense, man ; the first bird you kill will 
 cheer you up.'' 
 
 Macleod was right ; they had just passed 
 through the wood of young larches close to 
 Castle Dare, and were ascending a rough stone 
 road that led by the side of a deep glen, when 
 a sudden whirr, close by them, startled the 
 silence of this gloomy morning. In an instant 
 Macleod had whipped his gun from his shoulder 
 and thrust it into Ogilvie's hands. By the 
 time the young man had full cocked the right 
 barrel and taken a quick aim, the bird was 
 half-way across the valley ; but all the same 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
258 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 he fired. For another second the bird con- 
 tinued its flight, but in a slightly irregular 
 fashion ; then down it went like a stone into 
 the heather, on the opposite side of the chasm. 
 
 *' Well done, sir ! " cried old Hamish. 
 
 *' Bravo ! " called out Macleod. 
 
 *' It was a grand long shot ! " said Sandj, as 
 he unslippecl the sagacious old retriever, and 
 sent her down into the glen. 
 
 They had scarcely spoken when another dark 
 object, looking to the startled eye as if it were 
 the size of a house, sprang from the heather 
 close by and went off like an arrow, uttering 
 a succession of sharp cro wings. Why did not 
 he fire ? Then they saw him in wild despair 
 whip down the gun, full-cock the left barrel, 
 and put it up again. The bird was just disap- 
 pearing over a crest of rising ground, and as 
 Ogilvie fired he disappeared altogether. 
 
 *' He's down, sir ! " cried Hamish, in great 
 excitement. 
 
 '' I don't think so," Ogilvie answered, with 
 a doubtful air on his flxce, but with a bright 
 gladness in his eyes all the same. 
 
. A FRIEND. 259 
 
 '' He's down, sir ! " Hamisli re-asserted. 
 ** Come away, Sandy, with the dog ! " he 
 shouted to the red-headed lad, who had gone 
 down into the glen to help Nell in her re- 
 searches. By this time they saw that Sandy 
 was re- crossing the burn with the grouse in 
 his hand, Nell following him eagerly. The 
 tail lad sprang up the side of the glen in a 
 miraculous fashion, catching here and there by 
 a bunch of heather or the stump of a, young 
 larch, and presently he had rejoined the party. 
 
 '" Tek time, sir," said he ; " tek time. 
 Maybe there is more of them about here. 
 And the other one, I marked him down 
 from the other side. We will get him ferry 
 welL" 
 
 They found nothing, however, until they 
 had got to the other side of the hill, where 
 Nell speedily made herself mistress of the other 
 bird — a fine young cock grouse, plump, and 
 in splendid plumage. 
 
 "And what do you think of the morning 
 now, Ogilvie ? " Macleod asked. 
 
 "Oh, I dare say it will clear," said he, 
 
 s 2 
 
260 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 shyly ; and lie endeavoured to make light of 
 Hamish's assertions that they were " ferry 
 pretty shots — ferry good shots ; and it was 
 always a right thing to put cartridges in the 
 barrels at the door of a house, for no one 
 could tell what might be close to the house ; 
 and he was sure that Mr. Ogilvie had not 
 forgotten the use of a gun since he went 
 away from the hills to live in England. '^ 
 
 " But look here, Macleod," Mr. Ogilvie said : 
 " why did not you fire yourself '? " — and he was 
 very properly surprised ; for the most generous 
 and self-denying of men are apt to claim their 
 rights when a grouse gets up to their side. 
 
 " Oh," said Macleod simply, *' I wanted you 
 to have a shot." 
 
 And indeed all through the day he was 
 obviously fav more concerned about Ogilvie's 
 shootins: than his own. He took all the 
 hardest work on himself — taking the outside 
 beat, for example, if there was a bit of un- 
 promising ground to be got over. When one 
 or other of the clogs suddenly showed by its 
 uplifted fore-paw, its rigid tail, and its slow, 
 
A FEIEND. 261 
 
 cautious, timid look round for help and en- 
 couragement, that there was something ahead 
 of more importance than a lark, Macleod would 
 run all the risks of waiting to give Ogiivie 
 time to come up. If a hare ran across with 
 any chance of coming within shot of Ogiivie, 
 Macleod let her go by unscathed. And the 
 young gentleman from the south knew enough 
 about shooting to understand how he was being 
 favoured both by his host and — what was a 
 more unlikely thing — by Hamish. 
 
 He was shooting very well, too ; and his 
 spirits rose and rose until the lowering day 
 was fororotten altosrether. 
 
 *' We are in for a soaker this time," he 
 cried quite cheerfully, looking around at one 
 moment. 
 
 All this lonely world of olive greens and 
 browns had grown strangely dark. Even the 
 hum of the flies — the only sound audible in 
 these high solitudes away from the sea — 
 seemed stilled ; and a cold wind began to 
 blow over from Ben-an-Sloich. The plain of 
 the valley in front of them began to fade from 
 
262 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 view ; then they found themselves enveloped 
 in a clammy fog that settled on their clothes 
 and hung about their eyelids and beard ; while 
 water be2:an to run down the barrels of their 
 o'uns. The wind blew harder and harder : 
 presently they seemed to spring out of the 
 darkness ; and, turning, they found that the 
 cloud had swept onward towards the sea, leaving 
 the rocks on the nearest hill-side all glittering 
 wet in the brief burst of sunlight. It was but 
 a glimmer. Heavier clouds came sweeping 
 over ; downright rain began to pour. But 
 Ogilvie kept manfully to his work. He 
 climbed over the stone walls, gripping on with 
 his wet hands. He splashed through the boggy 
 land, paying no attention to his footsteps. And 
 at last he got to following Maclcod's plan of 
 crossing a burn, which was merely to wade 
 throuo:h the foaminor brown water instead of 
 looking out for big stones. By this time the 
 letters in his breast-pocket were a mass of 
 pulp. 
 
 ''Look here, Macleod," said he, with the 
 rain runnino; down his face, " I can't tell the 
 
A FRIEND. 263 
 
 difference between one bird and another. If 
 I shoot a partridge it isn't my fault." 
 
 " All right," said Macleod. " If a partridge 
 is fool enough to be up here, it deserves it." 
 
 Just at this moment Mr. Ogilvie suddenly 
 threw up his hands and his gun, as if to pro- 
 tect his face. An extraordinary object, — a 
 winged object, apparently without a tail — a 
 whirring bunch of loose grey feathers — a crea- 
 ture resembling no known fowl — had been put 
 up by one of the dogs, and it had flown direct 
 at Ogilvie's head. It passed him at about 
 half-a-yard's distance. 
 
 " What in all the world is that ? " he cried, 
 jumping round to have a look at it. 
 
 " Why," said Macleod, who was roaring 
 with laughter, " it is a baby black-cock, just 
 out of the shell, I should think ! " 
 
 A sudden noise behind him caused him to 
 wheel round, and instinctively he put up his 
 gun. He took it down again. 
 
 " That is the old hen," said he ; " we'll leave 
 her to look after her chicks. Hamish, get in 
 the dogs, or they'll be for eating some of those 
 
264 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 young ones. And you, Sandy, where was it 
 you left the basket? We will go for our 
 splendid banquet now, Ogilvie." 
 
 That was an odd-looking party that by and 
 by might have been seen crouching under the 
 lee of a stone wall, with a small brook run- 
 ning by their feet. They had taken down wet 
 stones for seats ; and these were somewhat in- 
 securely fixed on the steep bank. But neither 
 the rain, nor the gloom, nor the loneliness of 
 the silent moors, seemed to have damped their 
 spirits much. 
 
 '* It really is awfully kind of you, Ogilvie," 
 Macleod said, as he threw half a sandwich to 
 the old black retriever, '''to take pity on a 
 solitary fellow like myself. You can t tell how 
 glad I was to see you on the bridge of the 
 steamer. And now that you have taken all 
 the trouble to come to this place — and have 
 taken your chance of our poor shooting — this 
 is the sort of day you get ! " 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Mr. Ogilvie, who did 
 not refuse to have his tumbler replenished by 
 the attentive Hamish, "it is quite the other way. 
 
A FRIEND. 265 
 
 I consider myself precious lucky. I consider 
 the shooting first-rate ; and it isn't every fellow 
 would deliberately hand the whole thing over 
 to his friend — as you have been doing all day. 
 And I suppose bad weather is as bad elsewhere 
 as it is here 1 " 
 
 Macleod was carelessly filling his pipe — and 
 obviously thinking of something very diiferent. 
 
 " Man, Ogilvie," he said, in a burst of con- 
 fidence, "I never knew before how fearfully 
 lonely a life we lead here. If we were out on 
 one of the Treshnish Islands, with nothing 
 round us but skarts and gulls, we could scarcely 
 be lonelier. And I have been thinking all 
 the morning what this must look like to 
 you." 
 
 He glanced round — at the sombre browns and 
 greens of the solitary moorland — at the black 
 rocks jutting out here and there from the scant 
 grass — at the silent and gloomy hills, and the 
 overhanging clouds. 
 
 " I have been thinkino; of the beautiful 
 places we saw in London — and the crowds of 
 people — the constant change, and amusement, 
 
266 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 and life. And I sliouldn't wonder if you 
 packed up your traps to-morrow morning, and 
 fled." 
 
 " My dear boy," observed Mr. Ogilvie, con- 
 fidentially, " you are giving me credit for a vast 
 amount of sentiment. 1 haven^t got it. I don't 
 know wliat it is. But I know when I'm jolly 
 well off. I know when I am in good quarters, 
 with good shooting, and with a good sort of 
 chap to go about with. As for London — bah ! 
 I rather think you got your eyes dazzled for 
 a minute, Macleod. You weren't lonsf enous^h 
 there to find it out. And wouldn't you get 
 precious tired of big dinners, and garden parties, 
 and all that stufi", after a time ? Macleod, do 
 you mean to tell me you ever saw anything 
 at Lady Beauregard's as fine as that ? " 
 
 And he pointed to a goodly shov/ of birds, 
 with a hare or two, that Sandy had taken out 
 of the bag, so as to count them. 
 
 " Of course," said this wise young man, " there 
 is one case in which that London life is all very 
 well. If a man is awful spoons on a girl, then of 
 course he can trot after her from house to house, 
 
A FRIEND. 267 
 
 and walk his feet off in tllie Park. I remember 
 a fellow saying a very clever thing about the 
 reasons that took a man into society. What 
 was it now ? Let me see — it was either ta 
 look O'Ut for a wife — or — or " 
 
 Mn Ogilvie was trying to recollect the epigram 
 and to light a wax match at the same time ; and 
 he failed in both. 
 
 ''Well/' said he, "I won't spoil it; but don't 
 you believe that any one you met in London 
 w^ouldn't be precious glad to change places with 
 us at this moment ? " 
 
 Any one ?. AVhat was the situation ? Pouring; 
 rain, leaden skies, the gloomy solitude of the 
 high moors, the sound of roaring waters. And 
 here they were crouching under a stone wall,, 
 with their dripping fingers lighting match after 
 match for their damp pipes, with not a few- 
 midges in the moist and clammy air, and with 
 a faint halo of steam plainly arising from the 
 leather of their boots. When Pionaghal the 
 Fair Stranger came from over the blue seas to 
 her new home, was this the picture of Highland 
 life that was presented to her ? 
 
268 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 "Lady Beauregard, for example?'' said Mac- 
 leod. 
 
 " Oil, I am not talking about women," observed 
 tlie sagacious boy ; " I never could make out a 
 woman's notions about anything. I dare say 
 they like London life well enough ; for there 
 they can show off their shoulders and their 
 diamonds." 
 
 '* Ogilvie," Macleod said, with a sudden earnest- 
 ness, " I am fretting my heart out here — that is 
 the fact. If it were not for the poor old mother 
 — and Janet — but I will tell you another 
 time." 
 
 He got up on his feet, and took his gun from 
 Sandy. His companion — wondering not a little, 
 but saying nothing — did likewise. Was this the 
 man who had always seemed rather proud of 
 his hard life on the hills ? who had reo\arded 
 the idleness and effeminacy of town-life with 
 something of an unexpressed scorn ? A young 
 fellow in robust health and splendid spirits — 
 an eager sportsman and an accurate shot — out 
 for his first shooting-day of the year : was it 
 intelligible that he should be visited by senti- 
 
A FRIEND. 269 
 
 mental regrets for London drawing-rooms and 
 vapid talk'? The getting up of a snipe inter- 
 rupted these specukxtions ; Ogilvie blazed away, 
 missing with both barrels; Macleod, who had 
 been waiting to see the effect of the shots, then 
 put up his gun, and presently the bird tumbled 
 down some fifty yards off. 
 
 " You haven't warmed to it yet," Macleod said, 
 charitably. *' The first half hour after luncheon 
 a man always shoots badly." 
 
 *' Especially when his clothes are glued to his 
 skin from head to foot," said Ogilvie. 
 
 " You will soon walk some heat into your- 
 self." 
 
 And again they went on, Macleod pursuing 
 the same tactics, so that his companion had the 
 cream of the shooting. Despite the continual 
 soaking rain, Ogilvie's spirits seemed to become 
 more and more- buoyant. He was shooting 
 capitally ; one very long shot he made, bringing 
 down an old black-cock with a thump on the 
 heather, causing Hamish to exclaim — 
 
 " Well done, sir ! It is a glass of whisky 
 you will deserve for that shot." 
 
270 MACLEOD OF BARE. 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Ogilvie stopped and modestly 
 hinted that he would a^ccept of at least a moiety 
 of the proffered reward. 
 
 " Do you know, Hamish," said he, '' that it 
 is the greatest comfort in the world to get 
 wet right through, for you know you can't be 
 worse, and it gives you no trouble ? " 
 
 "And a whole glass will do you no harm, 
 sir," shrewdly observed Hamish. 
 
 " Not in the clouds." 
 
 '' The what, sir ? " 
 
 " The clouds. Don't you consider we are 
 going shooting through clouds ? " 
 
 "There will be a snipe or two down here, 
 sir," said Hamish, moving on ; for he could not 
 understand conundrums — especially conundrums 
 in English. 
 
 The day remained of this moist character 
 to the end ; but they had plenty of sport ; 
 and they had a heavy bag on their return to 
 Castle Dare. Macleod was rather silent on 
 the way home. Ogilvie was still at a loss to 
 know why his friend should have taken this 
 sudden dislike to living in a place he had 
 
A FRIEND. 271 
 
 lived in all liis life. Nor could he under- 
 stand why Macleod should have deliberately 
 surrendered to him the chance of bagging the 
 brace of grouse that got up by the side of the 
 road. It was scarcely, he considered, within 
 the possibilities of human nature. 
 
CHAPTER XY. 
 
 A CONFESSION. 
 
 And once aofain the bio: dinino'-liall of Castle 
 Dare was ablaze with candles ; and Janet was 
 there, gravely listening to the garrulous talk of 
 the boy-officer ; and Keith Macleod, in his dress 
 tartan ; and the noble-looking old lady at the 
 head of the table, who more than once expressed 
 to her guest, in that sweetly-modulated and 
 gracious voice of hers, how sorry she was he 
 had had so bad a day for the first day of his 
 visit. 
 
 "It is different with Keith," said she, *'for 
 he is used to be out in all weathers. He has 
 been brought up to live out of doors.'' 
 
 " But you know, auntie," said Janet Maclcod, 
 " a soldier is much of the same thing. Did you 
 ever hear of a soldier with an umbrella ? " 
 
A CONFESSION. 273 
 
 " All I know is," remarked Mr. Ogilvie — • 
 who, in his smart evening dress, and with 
 his face flushed into a rosy warmth after the 
 cold and the wet, did not look particularly 
 miserable — "that I don't remember ever 
 enjoying myself so much in one day. But 
 the fact is. Lady Macleod, your son gave 
 me all the shooting ; and Hamish was sound- 
 ing my praises all day long, so that I almost 
 got to think I could shoot the birds without 
 putting up the gun at all ; and when I made 
 a frightful bad miss, everybody declared the 
 bird was dead round the other side of the 
 hill.'' 
 
 "And indeed you were not making many 
 misses," Macleod said. "But we will try 
 your nerve, Ogilvie, with a stag or two, I 
 hope." 
 
 "I am on for anything. What with 
 Hamish's flattery and the luck I had to-day, 
 I begin to believe I could bag a brace of 
 tigers if they were coming at me fifty miles 
 an hour." 
 
 VOL. T. T 
 
274 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Dinner over, and Donald liaving played 
 his best (no donbt he had learned that the 
 stranger was an officer in the 93rd), the 
 ladies left the dining-hall, and presently 
 Macleod proposed to his friend that thej 
 should go into the library and have a smoke. 
 Ogilvie was nothing loth. They went into 
 the odd little room, with its guns and rods, 
 and stuiFed birds, and, lying j^i^oJ^i^^^^tb^ ^^^ 
 the writing-table, a valuable little heap of 
 dressed otter-skins. Although the night was 
 scarcely cold enough to demand it, there was 
 a log of wood burning in the fireplace ; there 
 were two easy- chairs, low and roomy ; and on 
 the mantelpiece were some glasses and a big, 
 black, broad-bottomed bottle, such as used to 
 carry the still vintages of Champagne even 
 into the remote wilds of the Highlands, before 
 the art of making sparkling wines had been 
 discovered. Mr. Ogilvie lit a cigar ; stretched 
 out his feet towards the blazing: lop- ; and 
 rubbed his hands — which were not as white 
 as usual. 
 
A CONFESSION. 275 
 
 " You are a lucky fellow, Macleod," said 
 he, "and you don't know it. You have 
 everything about you here to make life 
 enjoyable." 
 
 "And I feel like a slave tied to a galley-oar," 
 said he quickly. " I try to hide it from the 
 mother — for it would break her heart — and 
 from Janet too ; but every morning I rise, the 
 dismalness of being alone here — of being caged 
 up alone — eats more and more into my heart. 
 When I look at you, Ogilvie — to-morrow 
 morning you could go spinning off to any 
 quarter you liked — to see any one you wanted 
 to see " 
 
 '^ Macleod," said his companion, looking up, 
 and yet speaking rather slowly and timidly, 
 " if I were to say what would naturally occur 
 to any one — you won't be offended ? What you 
 have been telling me is absurd, unnatural, 
 impossible, unless there is a woman in the case." 
 
 "And what then ? " Macleod said quickly, as 
 he reo^arded his friend with a watchful look. 
 " You have guessed '? " 
 
 T 2 
 
276 MACLEOD OF DAEE. 
 
 '* Yes," said tlie other—'' Gertrude White." 
 
 Macleod was silent for a second or two. Then 
 he sate down. 
 
 " I scarcely care who knows it now," said he 
 absently, " so long as I can't fight it out of my 
 own mind. I tried not to know it. I tried not 
 to believe it. I argued with myself — laughed at 
 myself — invented a hundred explanations of this 
 cruel thing that was gnawing away at my heart 
 and giving me no peace night or day. Why, 
 man, Ogilvie, I have read ' Penclennis ' ! Would 
 you think it possible that any one who has read 
 ' Pendennis ^ could ever fall in love with an 
 actress ? " 
 
 He jumped to his feet again — walked up and 
 down for a second or two — twisting^ the while 
 a bit of a castino-line round his fi nwr so that 
 it threatened to cut into the flesh. 
 
 " But I will tell you now, Ogilvie — now that 
 I am speaking to any one about it," said he — and 
 he spoke in a rapid, deep, earnest voice, obviously 
 not caring much what his companion might 
 think, so that he could relieve his overburdened 
 
A CONFESSION. 277 
 
 mind — "that it was not any actress I fell in 
 love with. I never saw her in a theatre but that 
 once. I hated the theatre whenever I thought 
 of her in it. I dared scarcely open a newspaper, 
 lest I should see her name. I turned away from 
 the posters in the streets : when I happened by 
 some accident to see her publicly paraded that 
 way, I shuddered all through — with shame, I 
 think ; and I got to look on her father as a sort 
 of devil, that had been allowed to drive about 
 that beautiful creature in vile chains. Oh ! I 
 cannot tell you. When I have heard him talking 
 away in that infernal, cold, precise way, about 
 her duties to her art — and insisting that she 
 should have no sentiments or feelings of her own, 
 and that she should simply use every emotion as 
 a bit of something to impose on the public — 
 a bit of her trade — an exposure of her own 
 feelings to make people clap their hands — I have 
 sat still and wondered at myself that I did not 
 jump up and catch him by the throat and shake 
 the life out of his miserable body." 
 "You have cut your hand, Macleod." 
 
278 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 He shook a drop or two of blood off. 
 
 " Why, Ogilvie, when I saw you on the bridge 
 of the steamer, I nearly w^nt mad with delight. 
 I said to myself, ^ Here is some one Avho has seen 
 her, and spoken to her ; w^ho will know when 
 I tell him.' And now that I am telliDg you 
 of it, Ogilvie, you will see — you will understand 
 — that it is not any actress I have fallen in love 
 with — it was not the fascination of an actress 
 at all — but the fascination of the w^oman her- 
 self ; the fascination of her voice, and her sweet 
 ways, and the very w^ay she w^alked too, and the 
 tenderness of her heart. There Avas a sort of 
 wonder about her ; whatever she did, or said, 
 w^as so beautiful, and simple, and sweet ! And 
 day after day I said to myself that my interest 
 in this beautiful w^oman was nothino-. Some one 
 told me there had been rumours : I lauohed. 
 Could any oue suppose I was going to play 
 * Pendennis ' over again ? And then as the time 
 came for me to leave, 1 was glad and I was 
 miserable at the same time. I despised myself 
 for being miserable. And then I said to myself, 
 
A CONFESSION. ' 27i) 
 
 * This stupid misery is only the fancy of a boy. 
 Wait till you get back to Castle Dare, and the 
 rough seas, and the hard work of the stalking. 
 There is no sickness and sentiment on the side 
 of Ben-an-Sloich.' And so I was glad to come 
 to Castle Dare ; and to see the old mother, and 
 Janet, and Hamish ; and the sound of the pipes, 
 Ogilvie, when I heard them away in the steamer, 
 that b?ought tears to my eyes ; and I said to 
 myself, ^Now you are at home again, and 
 there will be no more nonsense of idle thinking.'* 
 And wlat has it come to ? I would give every- 
 thing I possess in the w^orld to see her face once 
 more — ay, to be in the same town where she 
 is. I reid the papers, trying to find out where 
 she is. Mornino[ and nip^ht it is the same — 
 a fire, kirning and burning — of impatience, 
 and misery, and a craving just to see her face 
 and hear ber speak." 
 
 Ogilvic did not know what to say. There was 
 something in this passionate confession — in the 
 cry wrun^ from a strong man — and in the rude 
 eloquence that here and there burst from him — 
 
280 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 that altogether drove ordinary words of counsel 
 or consolation out of the young man's mind. 
 
 " You have been hard hit, Macleod," he said, 
 with some earnestness. 
 
 '*That is just it," Macleod said almost bitterly. 
 " You fire at a bird. You think you have missed 
 him. He sails away as if there was nothing the 
 matter, and the rest of the covey no doubt think 
 lie is as well as any one of them. But 
 suddenly you see there is something wrong. 
 He gets apart from the others ; he tower.= ; then 
 down he comes, as dead as a stone. Hon did 
 not guess anything of this in London ? " 
 
 " Well," said Ogilvie, rather inclined to beat 
 about the bush, " I thought you were pa^'ing her 
 a good deal of attention. But then — she is very 
 popular, you know — and receives a goal deal of 
 attention — and, and, the fact is, she is a|i uncom- 
 monly pretty girl, and I thought }0U were 
 flirting a bit with her, but nothing riore than 
 that. I had no idea it was sometling more 
 serious than that.'' ' 
 
 "Ay," Macleod said, "if I myself had only 
 
A CONFESSION. 281 
 
 known ! If it was a plunge — as people talk 
 about falling in love with a woman — why the 
 next morning I would have shaken myself free 
 of it, as a Newfoundland dog shakes himself free 
 of the water. But a fever — a madness — that 
 slowly gains on you — and you look around and 
 say it is nothing — but day after day it burns 
 more and more. And it is no lono^er somethinor 
 that you can look at apart from yourself — it is 
 your very self ; and sometimes, Ogilvie, I wonder 
 whether it is all true, or whether it is mad I am 
 altogether. Newcastle — d o you know Newcastle ? " 
 
 " I have passed through it, of course," his 
 companion said, more and more amazed at the 
 vehemence of his speech. 
 
 "It is there she is now — I have seen it in the 
 papers ; and it is Newcastle — Newcastle — New- 
 castle — I am thinking of from morning till 
 night ; and if I could only see one of the 
 streets of it I should be glad. They say it is 
 smoky and grimy ;] I should be breathing sun- 
 light if I lived in the most squalid of all 
 its houses ! And they say she is going to 
 
282 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Liverpool, and to Manchester, and to Leeds ; 
 and it is as if my very life were being drawn away 
 from me. I try to think what people may be 
 around her ; I try to imagine what she is doing 
 at a particular hour of the day ; and I feel as 
 if I were shut away in an island in the middle 
 of the Atlantic, with nothing but the sound of 
 the waves around my ears. Ogilvie, it is enough 
 to drive a man out of his senses." 
 
 " But look here, Macleod," said Ogilvie, pulling 
 himself together ; for it was hard to resist the 
 influence of this vehement and uncontrollable 
 passion — '' look here, man : why don't you 
 think of it in cold blood ? Do you expect 
 me to sympathise with you, as a friend ? Or 
 would you like to know what any ordinary 
 man of the world would think of the whole 
 case ? 
 
 '' Don't give me your advice, Ogilvie," said 
 he, untwining and throwing away the bit of 
 casting-line that had cut into his finger. "It 
 is far beyond that. Let me talk to you — that 
 is all. I should have gone mad in another week, 
 
A CONFESSION. 283 
 
 if I had had no one to speak to ; and as it is, 
 what better am I than mad ? It is not anything 
 to be analysed and cured : it is my very self; 
 and what have I become ? " 
 
 *' But look here, Macleod — I want to ask you 
 a question : would yom marry her ? " 
 
 The common-sense of the younger man was 
 re-asserting itself. This was what any one 
 — looking at the whole situation from the 
 Aldershot point of view — would at the outset 
 demand ? But if Macleod had known all that 
 was implied in the question, it is probable that 
 a friendship that had existed from boyhood 
 would then and there have been severed. He 
 took it that Ogilvie was merely referring to the 
 thousand and one obstacles that lay between 
 him and that obvious and natural goal. 
 
 " Marry her ! " he exclaimed. " Yes — you are 
 right to look at it in that way — to think of what 
 it will all lead to. When I look forward, I see 
 nothing but a maze of impossibilities and trouble. 
 One might as well have fallen in love with one 
 of the Eoman maidens in the temple of Yesta. 
 
284 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 She is a white slave. She is a sacrifice to the 
 monstrous theories of that bloodless old Pagan, 
 her father. And then she is courted and flattered 
 on all sides ; she lives in a smoke of incense : do 
 you think, even supposing that all other dijfi- 
 culties were removed — that she cared for no one 
 else, that she were to care for me, that the 
 influence of her father was gone — do you think 
 she w^ould surrender all the admiration she pro- 
 vokes and the excitement of the life she leads, to 
 come and live in a dungeon in the Highlands ? 
 A single day like to-day would kill her — she 
 is so fine, and delicate — like a rose-leaf, I have 
 often thought. No, no, Ogilvie, I have thought 
 of it every way. It is like a riddle that you 
 twist and twist about, to try and get the answer ; 
 and I can get no answer at all, unless wishing 
 that I had never been born. And, perhaps 
 that would have been better." 
 
 " You take too gloomy a view of it, Macleod," 
 said Ogilvie. " For one thing, look at the 
 common- sense of the matter. Suppose that 
 she is very ambitious to succeed ii] her profession, 
 
A CONFESSION. 285 
 
 that is all very well ; but mind you, it is a 
 very hard life. And if you put before her the 
 chance of being styled Lady Macleod — well, 
 I may be wrong, but I should say that would 
 count for something. I haven^t known many 
 actresses myself " 
 
 " That is idle talk," Macleod said ; and then 
 he added proudly, " You do not know this 
 woman as I know her." 
 
 He put aside his pipe ; but in truth he had 
 never lit it. 
 
 " Come," said he, with a tired look, " I have 
 bored you enough. You won't mind, Ogilvie ? 
 The whole of the day I was saying to myself 
 that I would keep all this thing to myself, if 
 my heart burst over it ; but you see I could not 
 do, it; and I have made you the victim after 
 all. And we will go into the drawing -room 
 now ; and we will have a song. And that was 
 a very good song you sang one night in London, 
 Ogilvie — it was about ' Death's black wine ' — 
 and do you think you could sing us that song 
 to-ni^ht ? " 
 
28 G MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 Ogilvie looked at him. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by the way 
 you are talking, jMacleod," said he. 
 
 " Oh," said he, with a laugh that did not 
 sound quite natural, *' have you forgotten it ? 
 AYell, then, Janet w^ill sing us another song — 
 that is, 'Farewell, Manchester.' And we w^ill 
 go to bed soon to-night ; for I have not been 
 having much sleep lately. But it is a good 
 song — it is a song you do not easily forget — 
 hat about ' Death's black wine.' " 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : R. CLAY, SOKS, AKD TAYLOR, FRITTERS, BREAD STREET HILL, EC. 
 
NOVELS BY WILLIAM BLACK. 
 
 MACLEOD OF DARE. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 3 vols. Crown 8vo. 31s. (jd. 
 
 THE STEANGE ADVENTUEES OF A 
 
 PHAETON. 
 
 THIRTEENTH THOUSAND. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 "Also, I have had it long on my mind to name 'The Adventures 
 of a Phaeton ' as a very delightful and wise book of its kind ; very full 
 of pleasant play, and deep and pure feeling ; much interpretation of 
 some of the best points of German character ; and, last and least, 
 with pieces of description in it which T should be glad, selfishly, to 
 think inferior to what the public praise in ' Modern Painters,' — I can 
 only say they seem to me quite as good." — Mr. RusMn in *'Fors 
 Clavigera,'' March, 1878. 
 
 A PEINCESS OF THULE. 
 
 THIRTEENTH THOUSAND. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 " Pour gouter dans tout ce quelle a d'exquis Ihistoire des amours 
 da peintre de Londres et de la fille des Hebrides, il faut la lire au 
 grand air ; c'est un roman d'ete, et I'illusion est plus complete si Ton 
 y pent aj outer le bruit du vent a travers les feuilles et les parfums d'une 
 foret ou d'un champ. Une autre condition, c'est de ne point etre presse. 
 M. "William Black ne Test jamais. II ne se lasse pas de promener son 
 lecteur dans le monde inconnu qu'il a decouvert, et Ton n'eprouve 
 aucune envie de s'en plaindre, tant ces descriptions ont de charme, 
 tant sont originales dans leur mplicite les figures qu'on y rencontre." 
 " Un Romancier Ecossais," Revue des Deux Mondes, October 1, 1877. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Art at Home Series — co7itinucd. 
 
 THE DRAWING ROOM ; ITS DECORATIONS AND FUR- 
 NITURE. By Mrs. Orrinsmith. Illustrated. Fifth Thousand. 
 Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 THE DINING ROOM. By Mrs. Loftie. Illustrated. Fourth 
 Thousand. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 THE BED ROOM AND BOUDOIR. By Lady Barker. 
 Illustrated. Fourth Thousand. Crown Svo. 2s. 6d, 
 
 rOther vols, in preparation. ] 
 
 Atkinson. — an art TOUR TO THE NORTHERN 
 CAPITALS OF EUROPE. By J. Beavington Atkinson. 
 
 Svo. 12S. 
 
 *' We can highly recommend it ; 7iot only for the valuable informa- 
 tion it gives 071 the special subjects to which it is dedicated, but also 
 for the interesting episodes of travel zvhich are interwoven with, ana 
 lighten, the weightier matters of Judicious and vari£d criticism on 
 art and artists in no7'thern capitals.'^ — Art JOURNAL. 
 
 Atkinson (J. P.) — a week at the lakes, and what 
 
 CAME OF IT ; or, THE ADVENTURES OF MR. DOBBS 
 AND HIS FRIEND MR. POTTS. A Series of Sketches by 
 J. P. Atkinson. Oblong 4to. '^s. 6d. 
 
 Baker.— CAST up by the SEA; or, the ADVEN- 
 TURES OF NED GREY. By Sir Samuel Baker, Pasha, 
 F.R.G.S. With Illustrations by Huard. Sixth Edition. Crown 
 Svo. cloth fi:ilt. 6s. 
 
 *■*■ An adjnirable tale of adventure, of marvellous incidents, wild 
 exploits, and terrible denoueme}itsr — Daily News. ^' A story of 
 adventure by sea and land in the good old style." — Pall Mall 
 Gazette. 
 
 Barker(Lady). — a YEAR'S HOUSEKEEPING IN SOUTH 
 AFRICA. With Illustrations. Crown Svo. Qj. 
 '* We doubt whether in any of her previous books she has written 
 more pleasantly than in this. . . . The great charm of these 
 letters is that she is always natjtral, and tells of what she sees and 
 hears in a strange cotuitry, just as if she were quietly chatting to 
 her friends by their oi.u7iJircside.^^ — Standard. 
 
 Besant.— STUDIES in early french poetry. By 
 
 Walter Besant, M.A. Crown Svo. 8j. 6d. 
 
BELLES L.ETTRES. 
 
 Betsy Lee ; a FO'C'S'LE YARN. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3^. ed. 
 " There is gj-eat vigour and much pathos /« this poefn." — Morning 
 
 Post. 
 " We can at least say thai it is the work of a true poet.'''' — Athe- 
 
 Ni^UM. 
 
 Black (W.) — Works by W. Black, Author of "A Daughter of 
 Heth." 
 
 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. 
 
 Eleventh Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 *' The book is a really charining description of a thousand English 
 lajidscapes and oj the emergencies and the fun and the delight of a 
 picnic journey thiough them by a party deter7nined to ejijoy them- 
 selves, and as well matched as the pair of horses which drew the 
 phaeton they sat in. " — Times. 
 
 A PRINCESS OF THULE. Twelfth Thousand. Crown 8vo. 
 
 The Saturday Review says : — "■A novel which is both romantic 
 and natural, tvhich has mtich feeling, zvithojit any touch of 
 mawkishness, which goes deep into character without any sugpcstion 
 of painful analysis — this is a rare gem to find amongst the debris of 
 current literature, and this, or nearly this, Mr. Black has given 
 us in the ' Princess of Thtile.'" " A beautiful and nearly perfect 
 story. ''^ — Spectator. 
 
 THE MAID OF KILLEENA, and other Stories. Cheaper Edition. 
 
 Crown 8vo. ds. 
 
 ' ' A collection of pretty stories told in the easiest and pleasantesi manner 
 imaginable.^'' — Times. "/if was with something akin to Joy 
 that we drew our chair closer to the fire as the weary work of the 
 novel critic gave place to the smile of satisfaction aiid pleasure, 
 when, in the very first page of our book, we discovered that we had 
 come again to those Western Isles in the quiet summer sea in the 
 far North, and to those simple people atnidst whose loving alle- 
 giance the Princess of Thule — Sheila — held her modest Court . . . 
 We shall not be satisfied till ' The Maid of Killeena ' rests on our 
 shelves.''^ — Spectator. 
 
 MADCAP VIOLET. Eighth Thousand. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' ' Pi the very first rank of Mr. Black's heroines ; proud as Sheila,, 
 and sweet as Coquette, stands Madcap Violet. The true, proud, 
 tender nature of her, her beauty, her mischief her self-sacrifice^ 
 endear her to the reader.'''' — Daily News. 
 
 GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. Cheaper Edition. 
 Fourth Thousand. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 Blackie.— THE WISE MEN OF GREECE. In a Series 
 Dramatic Dialogues. By J. E, Blackie, Professor of Greek in 
 the University of Edinburgh. Crown Svo. 9^. 
 
 A 2 
 
BELLES LETT RES. 
 
 Blakiston. — MODERN SOCIETY IX ITS RELIGIOUS AND 
 SOCIAL ASPECTS. By Peyton Blakiston, M.D., F.R.S. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 5^. Contents : — The Race for Riches. Luxurious 
 Extravagance. Commercial Morality. Insincerity. Slander. 
 Influence of Scientific Research on Religious Thought. Relief 
 of the Destitute and Friendless, etc. etc. 
 
 Borland Hall. — By the Author of " Olrig Grange." Cr. 8vo. 7.^ 
 
 Bramston.— RALPH and ERUNO. a Novel. By M. 
 Bramston. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 2.\s. 
 
 Brooke. — the fool of quality; or, the HISTORY 
 OF HENRY, EARL OF MORELAND. By Henry Brooke. 
 Newly revised, with a Biographical Preface by the Rev. Charles 
 KiNGSLEY, M.A., Rector of Eversley. Crown 8vo. 6j. 
 
 Buist. — BIRDS, THEIR CAGES AND THEIR KEEP : Being 
 a Practical Manual of Bird-Keeping and Bird-Rearing. By K. A. 
 Buist. With Coloured Frontispiece and other Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo. 5j-. 
 
 Burnand. — MY TIME, AND WHAT I'VE DONE WITH IT. 
 By F. C. Burnand. Crown 8vo. 6^. 
 
 Cameron.— LIGHT, SHADE, AND TOIL. Poems by W. C. 
 Cameron, with Introduction by the Rev. W. C. Smith, D.D. 
 Extra fcap, 8vo. ds. 
 
 Carroll. — Works by ** Lewis Carroll : "— 
 ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. With Forty- 
 two Illustrations by Tenniel. 55th Thousand. Crown Svo. 
 cloth. 6j. 
 
 '■'■An excellent piece of nonsense. " — Times. * ' Elegant and delicious 
 
 nonsense." — Guardian. " That most delightful of children s 
 stories." — Saturday Review. 
 
 A GERMAN TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. With Ten- 
 niel's Illustrations. Cro\\Ti Svo. gilt. 6j-. 
 
 A FRENCH TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. With Ten- 
 niel's Illustrations. Cro\\Ti Svo. gilt. 6j. 
 
 AN ITALIAN TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. By T. 
 P. Rossette. With Tenniel's Illustrations. Crown Svo. 6^. 
 
 THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS, AND WHAT ALICE 
 FOUND THERE. With Fifty Illustrations by Tenniel. Qxown 
 Svo. gilt. 6i-. 44th Thousand. 
 " Will fairly rank loith the tale of her prez^ious expe7-i£nces." — 
 
 Daily Telegraph. "Many of Mr. TennieVs designs ar£ 
 
 masterpieces of wise absurdity.'" — Athen.^UM. 
 
BELLES LE TTERS. 5 
 
 Carroll (Lewis). — coniinued. 
 
 THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK. An Agony in Eight Fits. 
 With Nine IHustrations by H. Holiday, Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 
 Gilt edges, ^s. 6d. 17th Thousand. 
 
 " This glorious piece of nonsense Everybody ought to read it 
 
 — nearly roerybody zoill — and all zuho deserve the treat zvill scream 
 zvith laughter. " — GRAPHIC. 
 
 Cautley. — a century of emblems. By G. S. Cautley, 
 Vicar of Nettleden, author of "The After Glow," etc. With 
 numerous Illustrations by Lady Marion Alford, Rear- 
 Admiral Lord W. Compton, the Ven. Lord_A, Compton, R. 
 Barnes, J. D, Cooper, and the author. Pott 4to. cloth elegant, 
 gilt edges. 10^. 6c/. 
 
 Christmas Carol (A). Printed in Colours from Original 
 Designs by Mr. and Mrs. Trevor Crispin, with Illuminated 
 Borders from MSS. of the 14th and 15th Centuries. Imp. 4to. cloth 
 elegant. Cheaper Edition, 2.\s. 
 *' A most exquisitely got-up volume.'^ — TiMES. 
 
 Church (A. J.) — HOR^ TENNYSONIAN^, Sive Eclogae 
 e Tennysono Latine redditae. Cura A. J. Church, A.M. 
 Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Clough (Arthur Hugh).— the poems and PROSE 
 
 REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. With a 
 Selection from his Letters and a Memoir. Edited by his Wife. 
 With Portrait. Two Vols. Crown 8vo. 21s. 
 ^^ Taken as a whole," the Spectator says^ ^^ these volumes cannot 
 
 fail to be a lasting monument of one of the most oHginal men of 
 
 our a^e.'^ 
 
 THE POEMS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, sometime FeUow 
 of Oriel College, Oxford. Fifth Edition. Fcap. Svo. 6^. 
 " Frojti the higher ?nind 0/ cultivated, all-questiontng, but still conser- 
 vative England, in this our puzzled generation, we do not know 
 of afiy utterance i7i literature so characteristic as the poems of 
 Arthur Hus^h Clough" — Eraser's Magazine. 
 
 CluneS. — THE STORY OF PAULINE: an Autobiography. 
 By G. C. Clunes. Crown Svo. 6j. 
 
 Coleridge. — HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. A Novel. 
 By Christabel R. Coleridge. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6^. 
 " We have read it ivith mo7-e than average interest." — Saturday 
 Review. " IVe can heartily commend this very charjninq book.'" — 
 Standard. 
 
BELLES LETT RES. 
 
 Collects of the Church of England, with a beautifully 
 
 Coloured Floral Desigai to each Collect, and Illuminated Cover. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 12^. Also kept in various styles of morocco. 
 
 " This is beyond question,^' the Art Journal says, ^^ the most 
 beautiful book of the season.^' The Guardian thinks it "a suc- 
 cessful attempt to associate in a natural and unforced rnanner the 
 flowers of our fields atid gardens with the course of the Christian 
 year,^^ 
 
 Colquhoun. — rhymes and CHIMES. By F. S. Colqu- 
 HOUN (nee F. S. Fuller Maitland), Extra fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Cooper. — SEBASTIAN. A Novel. By Katherine Cooper. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Day.— GOVINDA SAMANTA; or, THE HISTORY OF A 
 BENGAL RAIYAT. By the Rev. Lal Behari Day. Crown 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 " The book presents a careful, minute, and well-drawn picture of 
 Hindoo peasant life." — Daily News. 
 
 Days of Old ; stories from old English history. 
 
 By the Author of ' ' Ruth and her Friends. " New Edition, 
 
 i8mo. cloth, extra. 2s. 6d. 
 
 ^^ Full of truthful and charf?iing historic pictures, is everywhere vital 
 with 7?i07'al and religious principles, and is written with a brightness 
 of description, and with a dramatic force in the representation of 
 character, that have made, ajzd will always make, it one op the 
 greatest favourites with reading boys." — NONCONFORMIST. 
 
 Doyle (Sir F. H.) — lectures ON POETRY, delivered 
 before the University of Oxford in i868. By Sir Francis 
 Hastings Doyle, Professor of Poetry in the University of 
 Oxford. Crown 8vo. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Elsie. — A LOWLAND SKETCH, By A. C M. Crown Svo. 
 6s. 
 
 Estelle Russell. — By the Author of ''The Private Life of 
 
 Galileo." New Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Full of bright pictures of French life. The English family, whose 
 fortunes form the 7nai7i drift of ihe sto?y, reside mostly in Fratice, but 
 tha'e are also majiy English characters and scenes of great interest. 
 It is certainly the zvork of a fresh, vigorous, a)td vwst interesting 
 writer, with a dash of sarcastic humottr zvhich is refreshing and 
 not too bitter. " IVe can send our readers to it zoith confidetice.^^ 
 — Spectator. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Evans. — Works by Sebastian Evans. 
 
 BROTHER FABIAN'S MANUSCRIPT, AND OTHER 
 POEMS. Fcap. 8vo. cloth. 6s. 
 
 ** In this volutne we have full assurance that he has ^ the vision and 
 the faculty divine.'' . . . Clever and full of kindly humour," — 
 Globe. 
 
 IN THE STUDIO : A DECADE OF POEMS. Extra fcap. 
 8vo. 5^. 
 
 " The f nest thing in the book is ^Dudman in Paradise,^ a wonderfitlly 
 vigorous and beautiful story. The poe77i is a most remarkable one^ 
 full of beatUy, hzmiour, and pointed satire.^' — Academy. 
 
 Evans.— THE curse of immortality. By A. EUBULE 
 Evans. Crown 8vo. 6^. 
 
 ' ' Never ^ probably , has the legend of the Wandering yew been m.ore 
 ably and poetically handled. The author writes as a true poet, and 
 with the skill of a true artist. The plot of this remarkable drama 
 is jiot only well contrived, but worked out with a degree of simplicity 
 and truthful vigour altogether unusual in modern poetry. In fact, 
 since the date of Byron^ s ^ Cain,' we can scarcely recall any verse 
 at once so terse, so powerful, and so masterly. ''' — Standard. 
 
 Farrell. — the lectures of a certain professor. 
 
 By the Rev. Joseph Farrell. Crown Svo. "js. 6d. 
 
 Fawcett. — tales in political economy. By Mil- 
 
 LiCENT Fawcett, Author of " PoHtical Economy for Beginners." 
 
 Globe Svo. T^s. 
 
 " The idea is a good one, and it is quite wonderful what a mass of 
 economic teaching the author manages to compress into a small 
 space. . . The true doctrines of international trade, currency, 
 and the ratio between production and population, are set before us 
 and illustrated itt a ftiasterly manner,^' — Athen/EUM. 
 
 Fleming. — Works by George Fleming. 
 
 A NILE NOVEL. Third and Cheaper Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 MIRAGE. A Novel. 3 Vols. Crown Svo. 31^-. 6d. 
 
 Fletcher. — thoughts from a girl'S life. By Lucy 
 
 Fletcher. Second Edition. Fcap. Svo. 4J. 6d. 
 
 Freeman. — HISTORICAL AND ARCHITECTURAL 
 SKETCHES ; CHIEFLY ITALIAN. By E. A. Freeman, 
 D.C.L., LL.D. With Illustrations by the Author. Crown Svo. 
 los. 6d. 
 
 '* Those who kncrv Italy well will retrace their steps with delight in 
 Mr. Freeman^ s company, and find him a most interesting quide 
 ajid instructor." — Examiner. 
 
8 BELLES LETT RES. 
 
 Garnett. — idylls and epigrams. Chiefly from the Greek 
 Anthology. By Richard Garnett. Fcap. 8vo. 2j. ()d. 
 "A charming little book. For English readers, Mr. Garnett'' s 
 translations will open a new world of thought^ — Westminster 
 Review. 
 
 Gilmore. — storm warriors ; or, life-boat work 
 
 ON THE GOODWIN SANDS. By the Rev. John Gilmore, 
 M.A., Rector of Holy Trinity, Ramsgate, Author of "The 
 Ramsgate Life-Boat," in Macmillan' s Magazifie. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 " The stories, which are said to be literally exact, are more thrilling 
 
 than anything in fiction. Mr. Gihnore has done a good work as 
 
 well as written a good book. '^^ — Daily News. 
 
 Gray. — the poetical works of DAVID gray. New 
 and Enlarged Edition. Edited by Henry Glassford Bell, late 
 Sheriff of Lanarkshire. Crown 8vo. 6j-. 
 
 Graham. — Works by Ennis Graham. 
 TELL ME A STORY. Illustrated by Walter Crane. Globe 
 8vo. gilt. 4J". 6d. Second Edition. 
 
 '■^ So delightful that we are inclined to join iji the petition, and we 
 hope she may soon tell us more stories.'^ — Athen^UM. 
 
 " CARROTS " : JUST A LITTLE BOY. Illustrated by Walter 
 
 Crane. Seventh Thousand. Globe Svo. gilt. a^s. (yd. 
 
 " One of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our g 
 
 fortune to meet with for some time. ' Carrots ' and his sister 
 
 delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to be be 
 
 very Jond of. — Examiner. 
 
 THE CUCKOO CLOCK. Illustrated by Walter Crane. Eighth 
 Thousand. Globe Svo. gilt. 4x. 6d. 
 
 ' ' A beautiful little story. . . . It will be read with delig ht by 
 every child into zvhose hands it is placed. . . . Ennis Graham 
 deserves all the praise that has been, is, and will be, besto^ced on 
 ' 7 he Cuckoo Clock. ChildraCs stories are plentiful, but one like 
 this is not to be met %i<ith tvery day.'' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 Guesses at Truth. — By Two Brothers. With Vignette 
 Title and Frontispiece. New Edition, with Memoir. Fcap. Svo. 
 6j. Also see Golden Treasury Series. 
 
 Hamerton. — a painter's camp. Second Edition, revised. 
 
 Extra fcap. Svo. 6^. 
 
 *'' These pages, written with infinite spirit and hujnoiir, bring into 
 close rooms, back upon tired heads, the breezy airs of Lancashire 
 moors and Highland lochs, icith a freshness which no recent 
 novelist has succeeded in preserving.'" — NONCONFORMIST. 
 
BELLES LETT RES. 
 
 Harry. A POEM. By the Author of " Mrs. Jerningham's 
 Journal." Extra fcap. 8vo. 3^, 6d. 
 
 HigginSOn. — MALBONE: An Oldport Romance. By T. W. 
 HiGGiNSON. Fcap. 8vo. 2S. 6d. 
 
 Hill. — OUR COMMON LAND, AND OTHER SHORT ESSAYS. 
 By OcTAViA Hill. Extra fcap. 8vo. y. 6d. 
 Contents : — Our Common Land — District Visiting — A Word on 
 Good Citizenship— Open Spaces; etc. 
 
 Hillside Rhymes. — Extra fcap. Svo. 5^. 
 
 Hobday. — COTTAGE GARDENING; or, FLOWERS, 
 FRUITS AND VEGETABLES FOR SMALL GARDENS. 
 By E. Hobday. Crown Svo. is. 6d. 
 " A sensible and useful Utile book.'''' — Athen/EUM. 
 
 Home. — BLANCHE LISLE, and other Poems. By Cecil 
 Home. Fcap. Svo. 4J. (>d. 
 
 Hood (Tom). — the pleasant tale of puss and 
 
 ROBIN AND THEIR FRIENDS, KITTY AND BOB. 
 
 Told in Pictures by L. Frolich, and in Rhymes by ToM HoOD. 
 
 Crovni Svo. gilt. 3^. 6^. 
 
 ** The volume is prettily got up, and is sure to be a favourite in the 
 nursery.''^ — SCOTSMAN. ^^ Herr Frolich has outdone himself in 
 his pictures of this dramatic chasef^ — MoRNiNG PoST. 
 
 Hooper and Phillips.— a manual of marks ON 
 
 POTTERY AND PORCELAIN. A Dictionary of Easy Refer- 
 ence. By W. H. Hooper and W. C. Phillips. With numerous 
 Illustrations. Second Edition, revised. i6mo. &^s. 6d. 
 ^' It is one of the fnost complete, and beyond all comparison, the 
 handiest volume oj the kind.'" — Athen^um. 
 
 Hopkins. — ROSE TURQUAND, A Novel. By Ellice 
 Hopkins. Cheaper Edition. Crown Svo. 6j-. 
 " Rose Ttirqtiand is a noble heroine, and the story of her sufferings 
 
 and oJ her sacrifice is most touching. A tale oJ rare excellence." — 
 
 Standard. 
 
 Horace. — WORD FOR WORD from HORACE. The Odes 
 literally versified. By W. T. Thornton, C.B. Crown Svo. 
 7i-. ()d. 
 
 Hunt. — TALKS ABOUT ART. By William Hunt. With 
 a Letter by J. E. MiT-LAis. Crown Svo. y. 6d. 
 
 " They are singularly racy and suggestive.^^ Pall Mall 
 
 Gazette. 
 
lo BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Irving. — Works by WASHINGTON Irving. 
 
 OLD CHRISTMAS. From the Sketch Book. With upwards 
 of loo Illustrations by Randolph Caldecott, engraved by J. D. 
 Cooper, Second Edition, Crown 8vo. cloth elegant. 6s. 
 " This little volume is indeed a gem.'''' — Daily News, " One of the 
 
 best and prettiest "volu^nes ive have seen this year All the 
 
 illustrations are equally charming and equally worthy of the im- 
 vioj'tal zvords to "which they are tvedded.'^ — SATURDAY Review. 
 
 BRACEBRIDGE HALL, With 120 iUustrations by R, Caldecott, 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s. 
 
 ' * A^o one zaho has seen ' Old Christmas,^ issued last year with 
 charming illustratiojis by Mr. Caldecott, is likely to forget the 
 pleasure he derived fro77i turning over its pages. Text and illus- 
 trations, both having a flavour of quaint, old-fashioned humour, 
 fit into each other to perfection, and leave an impression absolutely 
 unique. . . . This work is in no respect behind its pre- 
 decessor. " — Globe. 
 
 James.— FRENCH poets and novelists. By Henry 
 
 James, jun. Crown 8vo, Sj-. 6d. 
 
 Contents :— Alfred de Musset — Theophile Gautier — Baudelaire — 
 Honore de Balzac — George Sand — Turgenieff, etc. 
 ' ' There has of late years appeared nothing upon French literature 
 so intelligent as this book — so acute, so full of good sense, so free 
 from affectation and pretence.^'' — Athen.^um. 
 
 Joubert.— PENSEES OF 'JOUBERT, Selected and Translated 
 with the Original French appended, by Henry Attwell. Knight 
 of the Order of the Oak Crown, Crown 8vo. 5^. 
 
 Keary (A.) — Works by Annie Keary :— 
 
 CASTLE DALY : THE STORY OF AN IRISH HOME 
 THIRTY YEARS AGO. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 *' Extremely touching, and at the sa7ne time thoroughly amusing." — 
 Morning Post. 
 
 JANET'S HOME. New Edition. Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 CLEMENCY FRANKLYN. New Edition. Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 ''^ Full of wisdom and goodness, simple, truthful, and artistic. . . It 
 is capital as a sto7y ; better still i7i its pure tone atid wholesoim 
 influence. " — Glo be. 
 
 OLDBURY. New and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ^^ This is a very powe7 fully W7itte7i story.'''' — Globe. "This is a 
 really excellent 7tovel." — Illustrated London News. " 7>5<; 
 sketches of society iti Oldbury are excelle7it. The picttires of child 
 life are full of truth?'' — Westminster Review. 
 
 A YORK AND A LANCASTER ROSE. Cro^^^l Svo. 6s. 
 " A very pleasa7it a7id thoroughly i7iteresti7ig book." — JOHN BuLL. 
 
BELLES LETT RES. ii 
 
 Keary (E.) — the magic valley ; or, patient 
 
 ANTOINE. With Illustrations by E. V. B. Globe 8vo. gilt. 
 "y4 very pretty, tender, qiMint little tale."" — Times, 
 
 Keary (A. and E.) — Works by A. and E. Keary:— 
 
 THE LITTLE WANDERLIN, and other Fairy Tales. i8mo. 2j. (>d. 
 *' The tales are fanciful and well written, and they are sure to win 
 favour amongst little readers." — Athen^UM. 
 
 THE HEROES OF ASGARD. Tales from Scandinavian 
 Mythology. New and Revised Edition, Illustrated by Huard. 
 Extra fcap. 8vo. 4-5'. 6d. 
 
 ** Told in a light and amusing style, which, in its drollery and 
 quaintness, reminds us of our old favourite Grimm." — TiMES. 
 
 Kingsley. — Works by the Rev. Charles Kingsley, M.A., 
 Rector of Eversley, and Canon of W^estminster : — 
 
 WESTWARD HO ! or, The Voyages and Adventures of Sir 
 Amyas Leigh. Thirty-eighth Thousand. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 TWO YEARS AGO. Eighth Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 HYPATIA ; or, New Foes with an Old Face. Ninth Edition. 
 Crown Svo. 6^. 
 
 HEREWARD THE WAKE— LAST OF THE ENGLISH. 
 Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 YEAST : A Problem. Eighth Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ALTON LOCKE. New Edition. With a Prefatory Memoir by 
 Thomas Hughes, Q.C, and Portrait of the Author. Crown 
 Svo. 6s. 
 THE WATER BABIES. A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. With 
 Illustrations by Sir NoEL Paton, R.S.A., and P. Skelton. 
 New Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ^'' In fun, in hu77iour, and in innocent imagination, as a child's 
 book we do not know its equal." — LONDON Review. ^^ Mr. 
 Ki7igsley must have the credit of revealing to us a new order of life. 
 . . . There is in the * Water Babies ' an abundance of wit, fun^ 
 good huniour, geniality, elan, go." — Times. 
 
 THE HEROES ; or, Greek Fairy Tales for my Children. With 
 
 Illustrations. New Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ** We do not think these heroic stories have ever been more attractively 
 told. . . There is a deep under-current of religious feeling traceable 
 throughout its pages which is sure to itifluence young readers power- 
 fully." — London Review. " One of the children's books that 
 will surely become a classic." — Nonconformist. 
 
12 BELLES LETT RES. 
 
 KingSley (C.) — continued. 
 
 PHAETHON ; or, Loose Thoughts for Loose Thinkers. Third 
 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. 
 
 *' The dialogue of * Phaethon ' has striking beauties^ and its sugges' 
 tions may meet half-way 77iany a latent doubt, and, like a light 
 breeze, lift from the soul clouds that are gathering heavily, and 
 threatening to settle down in misty glootn on the summer of many 
 a fair and pro77iisi7tg young life.'''' — Spectator. 
 
 POEMS ; including The Saint's Tragedy, Andromeda, Songs, 
 
 Ballads, etc. Complete Collected Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6j. 
 
 77/<? Spectator (TaZ/j '■'■ Andromeda'''' '■'■ the finest piece of English 
 
 hexameter verse that has roer been written. It is a volume 
 
 which many readers will be glad to possess.'^ 
 
 PROSE IDYLLS. NEW AND OLD. Fourth Edition. Crown 
 
 8vo. ()s. 
 
 Contents : — A Charm of Birds ; Chalk-Stream Studies ; The 
 Fens ; My Winter- Garden ; From Ocean to Sea ; North Devon. 
 
 ^^ Altogether a delightful book // exhibits the author'' s best 
 
 traits, and cannot fail to infect the reader with a love of nature 
 and of out-door life and its enjoyments. It is well calculated to 
 bring a gleam of su7n77iei' with its pleasaiii associatiofis, itito tht 
 bleak winter-ti77ie ; zuhile a better co77ipa7tion for a su77imer ranible 
 could hai'dly be fou7id." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 GLAUCUS ; or, THE WONDERS OF THE SEA-SHORE. 
 W^ith Coloured Illustrations. Sixth Edition. Crown Svo. 6j. 
 
 Kingsley (H.) — Works by Henry Kingsley :— 
 TALES OF OLD TRAVEL. Re-narrated. With Eight full-page 
 Illustrations by Huard. Fifth Edition. Cro-v^m Svo. clotli, 
 extra gilt. 5^. 
 
 ^^VVe k7iow no better book for those who wa7it kriowledge or seek to 
 7'efresh it. As for the '' se7isatio7ial,^ 77iost 7iovels are ta77ie C077i- 
 pared with these narratives.'^ — Athen^UM. '■^ Exactly the book 
 to htterest and to do good to i7itelligent a7id high-spi7~ited boys." — 
 Literary Churchman. 
 
 THE LOST CHILD. With Eight Illustrations by Frolich. 
 Crown 4to. cloth gilt. 3^. 6d. 
 
 ** A pathetic story, and told so as to give children an interest in 
 A2ist7'alian ways a7id sce7iery. " — GLOBE. ' ' Very char77iingly atid 
 very touchingly told." — Saturday Review. 
 
 KnatchbuU-Hugessen. — Works by E. H. Knatchbull. 
 
 Hugessen, M.P. : — 
 
 Mr. K7iatchbull- Hugessen has won for hi77iself a reputation as 
 a teller of fai7y-tales. '■^ His potuas,'' rays the Times, 
 ^^ are of a very high order ; light arid b7-illia7it tiarrative flows 
 
BELLES LETT RES. 
 
 Knatchbull-Hugessen (E. H.) — continued. 
 
 frotft his pen, and is fed by an invention as graceful as it is inex- 
 haustible.''^ " Childrett readiitg his stories,^^ ^/^^ SCOTSMAN says, 
 "or hearing the^n read, will have their minds refreshed and in- 
 vigorated as much as their bodies would be by abundance of fresh 
 air and exercise.^' 
 
 STORIES FOR MY CHILDREN. ^With Illustrations. Sixth 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 5-^' 
 
 *' The stories are charfning, and full of life and fun." — STANDARD. 
 ** The author has an imagination as fanciful as Grimm himself, 
 while some of his stories are superior to anything that Hans Chris- 
 tian Andersen has written.''^ — NONCONFORMIST. 
 
 CRACKERS FOR CHRISTMAS. More Stories. With lUustra- 
 tions by Jellicoe and Elwes. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. <,s. 
 * ' A fascinating little volume, which will make hitn friends in every 
 household in which there are children.''^ — Daily News. 
 
 MOONSHINE: Fairy Tales. With Illustrations by W. Brunton. 
 
 Seventh Edition. Crown 8vo. cloth gilt. 5^. 
 
 ** A volume of fairy tales, written not only for ungrown children^ 
 but for bigger, and if you are nearly worn out, or sick, or sorry ^ 
 you will find it good reading. " — GRAPHIC. ' * The most charming 
 volume of fairy tales which we have ever read. . . . We cannot quit 
 this very pleasant book without a word of praise to its illustrator. 
 Mr. Brunton from first to last has done admirably." — Times. 
 
 TALES AT TEA-TIME. Fairy Stories. With Seven Illustra- 
 tions by W. Brunton. Fifth Edition. Crown^Svo. Cloth gilt. 5^. 
 ' ' Capitally illustrated by W. Brunton. . . . In frolic and fancy they 
 are quite equal to his other books. The author knaivs how to wj-ite 
 fairy stories as they should be zvritten. The whole book is full of 
 the most delightful drolleries." — Times. 
 
 QUEER FOLK. FAIRY STORIES. Illustrated by S. E. 
 Waller. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth gilt. 5j-. 
 ^^ Decidedly the author s happiest effoj-t. . . , One oj the best story 
 books of the year." — Hour. 
 
 Knatchbull-Hugessen (Louisa). — the HISTORY OF 
 PRINCE PERRYPETS. A Fairy Tale. By Louisa Knatch- 
 bull-Hugessen. With Eight Illustrations by Weigand. 
 New Edition. Crown 4to. cloth gilt. 3J-. ()d. 
 "A grand and exciting fairy tale." — Morning Post. "A delicious 
 piece of fairy nojisense."— Illustrated London News. 
 
 Knox.— SONGS OF CONSOLATION. By Isa Craig Knox. 
 
 Extra fcap. Svo. Cloth extra, gilt edges. ^. 6d. 
 
 " The vey-ses are truly sweet ; the7'e is in them not only much genuine 
 
 poetic quality, but an ardent, flowing devotedncss, and a peculiar 
 
 skill in propounding theological tenets i^i the most graceful way, 
 
 which any divine might envy." — Scotsman. 
 
14 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Leading Cases done into English. By an Apprentice of 
 
 Lincoln's Inn. Third Edition. Crown 8vo, is. 6d. 
 
 " The versifier of these ' Leading Cases ' has been most successfiil. 
 He has surrounded his legal distinctions ivith a halo of mock 
 jf)assion which is in itself in the highest degree e7itertaining, especi- 
 ally when the style of the differoit modern poets is so admirably 
 hit off that the cloud of associations which hangs round one of 
 Mr. Sivinbicrnis, or Mr. Rossetti's, or Mr. Bi'owning^s^ or Mr. 
 Clough^s, or Mr. Teniiyson^ s poems, is summoned up to set o§ 
 the mock tendej'uess or mock patriotism of the strain itself^''' — 
 Spectator. 
 
 Leland. — ^johnnykin and the goblins. By C. G. 
 
 Leland, Author of " Hans Breitmann's Ballads." With numerous 
 
 Illustrations by the Author. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ^^ Mr. Leland is rich iit fantastic conceptioii and full of rollicking 
 
 fun, and youngsters will amazingly enjoy his book.'''' — BRITISH 
 
 Quarterly Review. 
 
 Life and Times of Conrad the Squirrel. A Storv 
 
 for Children. By the Author of "Wandering WiUie," "Efi&e's 
 Friends," &c. With a Frontispiece by R. Farren. Second 
 Edition. Crown 8vo, 3J. 6d. 
 *^ Having commenced on the first page, we were compelled to go on to 
 
 the conclusion, and this we predict will be the case with every one 
 
 who opens the book'' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 Little E Stella, and other FAIRY TALES FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 iSmo, cloth extra. 2s. 6d. 
 
 * ' This is a fine story, and we thank heaven for not being too wise to 
 enjoy it J" — Daily News. 
 
 Lome. — Works bv the Marouis of Lorxe : — 
 
 GUIDO AND LITA : A TALE OF THE RIVIERA. A Poem. 
 Third Edition. Small 4to. cloth elegant, with Illustrations, 'js. 6d. 
 ^' Lord Lome has the gifts of expression as zuell as the feelings of a 
 poet.''' — Times. *' A volume of graceful and harffionious verse." — 
 Standard. " We may congratulate t/ie Marquis on something 
 more than a ??iere stuces d'estime." — Graphic. ^^ Lucidity of 
 thought and gracefulness of expression abound in this attractive 
 poem''' — Morning Post. 
 
 THE BOOK OF THE PSALMS, LITERALLY RENDERED 
 IN VERSE. With Three Illustrations. Third Edition. Crown 
 Svo. 7^. 6(/. 
 
 ** His version is such a great improveme7it upon Rous that it will be 
 surprising should it not supplant the old version in the Scottish 
 churches. . . . on the whole, it would not be rash, to call Lord 
 Lome's the best rhymed Psalter we have." — Athen/EUM. 
 
BELLES LETT RES. 
 
 Lowell.— COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS of James Russell 
 Lowell. With Portrait, engraved by Jeens. i8mo. cloth extra. 
 4^. td. 
 
 ^^ All readers xvho are able to recognise and appreciate genuine verse 
 will give a glad zvelcome to this beautiful little voluiJie^ — Pall 
 Mall Gazette. 
 
 Lyttelton. — Works by Lord Lyttelton : — 
 
 THE "COMUS" OF MILTON, rendered into Greek Verse. 
 Extra fcap. 8vo. ^s. 
 
 THE "SAMSON AGONISTES" OF MILTON, rendered into 
 Greek Verse. Extra fcap. 8vo. ds. 6d. 
 
 Macdonell.— FOR THE KING'S DUES. By Agnes Mac- 
 donell, Author of "Martin's Vineyard." Cheaper Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Mackinlay. — POEMS. By James M. Mackinlay,'_M. A., Extra 
 fcap. 8vo. 3^-. 6d. 
 
 Maclaren. — THE FAIRY family, a series of Ballads and 
 Metrical Tales illustrating the Fairy Mythology of Europe. By 
 Archibald Maclaren. With Frontispiece, Illustrated Title, 
 and Vignette. Crown 8vo. gilt. 5^. 
 
 ** A successful atte??ipt to translate into the vernacular some of the 
 Fairy Mythology of Europe. The verses are very good. There is 
 no shirking difficulties of rhyme, and the ballad metre which is 
 oftenest employed has a great deal of the kind of ^go^ which we find 
 so seldom outside the pages of Scott. The book is of permanent 
 value.''' — Guardian. 
 
 Macmillan's Magazine. — Published Monthly. Price IS. 
 Volumes I. to XXXVII. are now ready. 7j. dd. each. 
 
 Macquoid. — patty. By Katharine S. Macquoid. Third 
 and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. ds. 
 
 "A book to be read." — Standard. "A powerful and fascinating 
 story. "—Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Maguire, — YOUNG PRINCE marigold, AND OTHER 
 
 FAIRY STORIES. By the late John Francis Maguire, M.P. 
 
 Illustrated by S. E. Waller. Globe 8vo. gilt. 4J. 6d. 
 
 " The author has evidently studied the ways and tastes of children and 
 
 got at the secret of amusing them ; and has succeeded in what is not 
 
 so easy a task as it may seem — in producing a really good children's 
 
 book."—DMi:^ Telegraph. 
 
1 6 BELLES LETT RES. 
 
 Mahaffy. — Works by J. P. Mahaffv, M.A., Fellow of Trinity 
 College, Dublin. 
 SOCIAL LIFE IN GREECE FROM HOMER TO MENAN- 
 DER. Third Edition, enlarged, with New Chapter on Greek 
 Art. Crown 8vo. 9^. 
 
 *^ Should be in the hands of all who desire thoroughly to understand 
 and to enjoy Greek literature, and to get an intelligent idea of the 
 old Greek ///^."—Guardian. 
 RAMBLES AND STUDIES IN GREECE. Illustrated. Second 
 Edition, revised and enlarged, with Map. Crown 8vo. \os. 6d. 
 " A singularly instructive and agreeable volume.'^ — AtheX/EUM. 
 " This charmingly picturesque and lively volume^ — Examiner. 
 
 Massey. — SONGS OF the NOONTIDE REST. By LucY 
 Massey, Author of "Thoughts from a Girl's Life." Fcap. 8vo. 
 cloth extra. 4^. 6:/. 
 
 Masson (Mrs.)— three CENTURIES OF ENGLISH 
 POETRY : being selections from Chaucer to Herrick, with Intro- 
 ductions and Notes by Mrs. Masson and a general introduction by 
 Professor Masson. Extra fcap. Svo. 35. dd. 
 '■^ Most excellently done. The selections are ??iade with good taste 
 and discrimination. The notes, too, are to the point. We can 
 most strongly recommend the book.'" — WESTMINSTER Review. 
 
 Masson (Professor). — Works by David Masson, M.A., 
 Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature in the University 
 of Edinburgh. 
 
 WORDSWORTH, SHELLEY, KEATS, AND OTHER 
 
 ESSAYS. Crown Svo. 5^. 
 CHATTERTON : A Story of the Year 1770. Crown Svo. 5^. 
 TPIE THREE DEVILS : LUTHER'S, MILTON'S, and 
 
 GOETHE'S ; and other Essays. Crown Svo. 5^-. 
 
 Mazini. — in the golden shell ; a story of Palermo. By 
 Linda Mazini. With Illustrations. Globe Svo. cloth gilt. 4J. dd. 
 " As beautiful and bright and fresh as the scenes to which it wafts 
 us over the blue Mediterraneayi, and as pure and innocent, but 
 piquant and sprightly as the little girl who plays the part of its 
 heroine, is this admirable little (J^^/&."— Illustrated London 
 News. 
 
 Merivale. — KEATS' HYPERION, rendered into Latin Verse. 
 By C. Merivale, B.D. Second Edition. Extra fcap. Svo. 
 y. 6d. 
 
 Milner. — THE LILY OF LUMLEY. By Edith Milnkr. 
 Crown Svo. "js. Gd. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 17 
 
 Milton's Poetical Works.— Edited with Text collated from 
 the best Authorities, with Introduction and Notes by David 
 Masson. Three vols. 8vo. 42^-. With Three Portraits engraved by 
 C. H. Jeens. (Uniform with the Cambridge Shakespeare.) 
 " An edition of Milton which is certain to be the standard edition 
 for many years to come, and which is as complete and satisfactory 
 as ca7i be conceived.'''' — Examiner. 
 
 Golden Treasury Edition. By the same Editor. With Twa 
 Portraits. 2 vols. iSmo. 91. 
 
 Mistral (F.) — MIRELLE, a Pastoral Epic of Provence. Trans- 
 lated by H. Crichton. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6^. 
 
 Mitford (A. B.)— TALES OF OLD JAPAN. By A. B, 
 
 MiTFORD, Second Secretary to the British Legation in Japan. 
 
 With Illustrations drawn and cut on Wood by Japanese Artists. 
 
 New and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. ds. 
 
 *' They tvill always be interesting as memorials of a most exceptional 
 society ; tuhile, regarded simply as tales, they are sparkling, sensa- 
 tional, and dramatic, and the originality of their ideas and the 
 quaintness of their language give ihem a most captivating piquancy. 
 The illustrations are extre77iely interesting, and for the curious in 
 such matters have a special and particular value. " — Pall Mall 
 Gazette. 
 
 Morgan. — BARON BRUNO ; or, THE UNBELIEVING 
 
 PHILOSOPHER, AND OTHER FAIRY STORIES. By 
 
 Louisa Morgan. Illustrated by R. Caldecott. Crown Svo. gilt. 5^-. 
 
 " The prettiest collection of stories we have seen for a long time. 
 
 One and all are graceful and dreamy little prose-poems with some-^ 
 
 thing of the bewitching pathos of Hans Christian Andersen s 
 
 '■Little Mermaid,' and ''Eleven Swans.' " — Examiner. 
 
 Moulton. — SWALLOW FLIGHTS. Poems by Louisa Chand 
 
 LER Moulton. Extra fcap. Svo. 4^. 6d. 
 
 The Athen^um says : — " Al7's. Moulton has a real clai7ii to atten- 
 tion. It is 7iot too 77iiich to say of these poei7is that they exhibit 
 delicate a/id ra7-e beauty, 7narked origi/iality, and pe7fectio7i oj 
 style. What is still better, they i77ip7'ess us with a sense of vivia 
 a7id subtle i77iagi7iatioii, and that spo7ita7ieous feeling ivhich is the 
 esse/ice of lyrical poetry.^' 
 
 Moultrie.— POEMS by John Moultrie. Complete Edition. 
 
 2 vols. CroAvn Svo. ']s. each. 
 Vol. I. MY BROTHER'S GRAVE, DREAM OF LIFE, &c 
 
 With iNIemoir by the Rev. Prebendary Coleridge. 
 Vol. IL LAYS OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH, and other Poems. 
 
 With notices of the Rectors of Rugby, by ]NI. H. Bloxham, 
 
 F.RA.S. 
 
 B 
 
1 8 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Mrs. Jerningham's Journal, a Poem purportm^ to be the 
 
 Journal of a newly -married Lady. Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 
 
 ^^ It is nearly a perfect gem. We have had nothing so good /or a 
 long time, and those ivho neglect to read it are neglecting one of 
 the jewels of contemporary history. ^^ — EDINBURGH Daily Re- 
 view. * ' One quality ifi the piece, sufficient of itself to claim a 
 mo?nenfs attention^ is that it is u?tique — original, indeed, is not too 
 strong a word — in the manner of its conception and execution. ' 
 — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 Mudie. — STRAY LEAVES. By C. E. Mudie. New Edition. 
 
 Extra fcap. 8vo. 3^. 612'. Contents: — **His and Mine" — 
 
 "Night and Day"— "One of Many," &c. 
 
 This little volume consists of a number of poe77is, mostly of a genuinely 
 devotional character. * ' They are for the most part so exquisitely 
 sweet end delicate as to be quite a marvel of composition. They are 
 worthy of being laid up in the recesses of the heart, and recalled to 
 me7}iory from tijne to ti7?ie." — Illustrated London News. 
 
 Myers (Ernest).— Works by Ernest Myers :— 
 THE PURITANS. Extra fcap. 8vo. cloth. 2s. 6d. 
 
 POEMS. Extra fcap. 8vo. 4^. 6d. 
 
 ' ' The diction is excellent, the rhythm falls pleasantly on the ear, 
 there is a classical flavour in the verse which is eniinently grateful, 
 the thought and imagery are poetical in character.^' — Pall Mall 
 Gazette. 
 
 Myers (F. ^A^. H.) — POEMS. By F. W. H. Myers. Con- 
 taining "St. Paul," "St. John," and others. Extra fcap. 8vo. 
 4^. 6d. 
 ^*2t is rare to find a writer who combines to such aji extent the faculty 
 
 of communicating feelings with the faculty of euphonious expreS' 
 
 sion. " — Spectator. 
 
 Nichol. — HANNIBAL, A HISTORICAL DRAMA. By John 
 NiCHOL, B.A. Oxon., Regius Professor of English Language and 
 Literature in the University of Glasgow. Extra fcap. 8vo. 7^. 61/. 
 
 Nine Years Old.— By the Author of "St. Olave's," "\Mien I 
 was a Little Girl," &c. Illustrated by Frolich. Fourth Edition. 
 Extra fcap. 8vo. cloth gilt. 4X. dd. 
 
 It is belirued that this story, by the favourably known author of 
 " St. Olav^s," will be fouttd both highly interesting and instructive 
 to the young. The volume contains eight graphic illusti'cUions by 
 Mr. L. Frolich. The Examiner says: ^^ Whether the readci's 
 are nine years old, or tzui^c, or seven tii7us as old, they must emoy 
 this pretty volu me. ' ' 
 
 Noel.— BEATRICE AND OTHER POEMS. By the Hon. 
 Roden Noel. Fcap. Svo. 6^. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 19 
 
 Noel (Lady Augusta). — owEN GWYNNE'S GREAT 
 
 WORK. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6j". 
 
 Norton. — Works by the Hon. Mrs. Norton : — 
 
 THE LADY OF LA GARAYE. With Vignette and Frontispiece. 
 Eighth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. \s. 6d. 
 
 ' ' 1^7^/1 of thought well expressed, and may be classed among her best 
 efforts.^' — Times. 
 
 OLD SIR DOUGLAS. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 *' This varied and lively Jtovel — this clever novel so full of character, 
 and of fine incidental remark.'' — Scotsman. ^^ One of the 
 pleasantest and healthiest stories of modern fiction.''' — Globe. 
 
 Oliphant. — Works by Mrs. Oliphant : — 
 
 AGNES HOPETOUN'S SCHOOLS AND HOLIDAYS. New 
 
 Edition with Illustrations. Royal i6mo. gilt leaves. 4^. 6^. 
 
 ' * There are few books of late years 7}iore fitted to touch the heart, 
 purify the feeling, and quicken and sustain right principles." — 
 Nonconformist. ^^ A more gracefully written story it is impos- 
 sible to desire." — Daily News. 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. New Edition. Crown Svo. ds. 
 
 ^^ It is a very different work from the ordinary run of novels. 
 The whole life of a man is portrayed in it, worked out with subtlety 
 and insight." — Athenaeum 
 
 THE CURATE IN CHARGE. Crown Svo. 6s. Sixth Edition 
 " We can pronou7ice it one of the happiest of her recent efforts." — 
 Times. 
 
 THE MAKERS OF FLORENCE : Dante, Giotto, Savonarola, 
 and their City. With Illustrations from Drawings by Professor 
 Delaniotte, and a Steel Portrait of Savonarola, engraved by C. H. 
 Jeens. Second Edition with Preface. Medium Svo. Cloth extra. 
 
 2IJ-. 
 
 The Edinburgh Review says " We cannot leave this subject 
 without expressing our admiration for the beautiful vohmie which 
 Mrs. Oliphant has devoted to the ^ Makers of Floreftce' — one of 
 the most elegant and interesting books which has been inspired in 
 our time by the arts and annals of that celebrated Republic." 
 
 YOUNG MUSGRAVE. Cheaper Edition. Crown Svo. 6.'. 
 
 Olrig Grange. Edited by Hermann Kunst, Philol. Professor. 
 Extra fcap. Svo. 6s. 6d. 
 
 Our Year, a Child's Book, in Prose and Verse. By the Autho 
 of "John Halifax, Gentleman." Illustrated by Clarence 
 DOBELL. Royal i6mo. 3^. 6d. 
 
 *^ It is Just the book we could wish to see in the hands of every child. 
 — English Churchman. 
 
 B 2 
 
20 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Palgrave. — Works by Francis Turner Palgrave, M.A., late 
 Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford : — 
 
 THE FIVE DAYS' ENTERTAINMENTS AT WENTWORTH 
 GRANGE. A Book for Children. With Illustrations by Arthur 
 Hughes, and Engraved Title-page by Jeens. Small 4to. cloth 
 extra. 6s. 
 
 ^^ If you want a really good book for both sexes and all ageSy buy 
 this, as handsome a volume of tales as yoii'll find in all the 
 market. " — Athen^UM. * ^Exquisite both in/or?n and substance. " 
 — Guardian. 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 "A volume of pure quiet verse, sparkling with tender melodies, and 
 alive with thoughts of genuijie poetry. . . . Turn whei'e we will 
 throughout the vohwie, we find traces of beauty, tender Jiess, and 
 truth ; true poet's work, touched and refined by the master-hand oj 
 a real artist, who shows his genius even in trifles,^'' — STANDARD. 
 
 ORIGINAL HYMNS. Third Edition, enlarged, i8mo. is. 6d. 
 *' So choice, so perfect, and so refined, so tender in feeling, and so 
 scholarly in expression, that we look with special interest to every- 
 thing that he gives us.'' — Literary Churchman. 
 
 GOLDEN TREASURY OF THE BEST SONGS AND LYRICS. 
 Edited by F. T. Palgrave. i8mo. 4^-. 6</. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS AND SONGS. Edited by F. T. 
 Palgrave. Gem Edition. With Vignette Title by Jeens. 3^.6^. 
 ^^ For minute elegance no volume could possibly excel the * Gem 
 Edition.' " — SCOTSMAN. 
 THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY OF LYRICAL POETRY. 
 Selected and arranged with Notes by F. T. Palgrave. iSmo. 
 2s. 6d., and in Two Parts, is. each. 
 HERRICK : SELECTIONS FROM THE LYRICAL POEMS. 
 With Notes. iSmo. 41. 6d. 
 
 Pater.— THE renaissance. Studies in Art and Poetiy. By 
 Walter Pater, Fellow of Brasenose College, Oxfoid. Second 
 Edition, Revised, with Vignette, engraved by C. II. Jeens. Crown 
 Svo. IOJ-. 6d. 
 
 " Mr. Pater's Studies in the history of the Renaissance, constitute 
 the ??iost refuaj-kable example of this younger movement towards a 
 fresh and inner criticism, and they are in themselves a singular 
 and interesting addition to literature. The subjects are of the very 
 kind iii tvhich zve need instrticiion and gitidance, and thej'e is a 
 moral in the very choice of them. From the point of view of form 
 a7id lite7'ary comtosition they are strikijig in the highest degree. 
 They introduce to English readers a tieiv a7td distinguished master 
 in the great ana dificult art of writing prose Their style is 
 marked by a flavour at once full and exquisite, by a quality that 
 mixes richness with delicacy a)id a firm coherency with infnitc 
 subtlety. '' — FORTNIGHTLY Review. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 21 
 
 Patmore. — the children's garland, from the Best 
 Poets. Selected and arranged by Coventry Patmore. New 
 Edition. With Illustrations by J. Lawson. Crown 8vo. gilt. 6j. 
 Golden Treasury Edition. i8mo. 4^. dd. 
 
 *' The charming illustrations added to many of the poems will add 
 greatly to their value in the eyes of children.^' — Daily News. 
 
 Peel. — ECHOES FROM HOREB, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 By Edmund Peel, ' Author of " An Ancient City/' etc. Crown 
 8vo. 3^. (id. 
 
 Pember. — the tragedy of LESBOS. a Dramatic Poem. 
 By E. H. Pember. Fcap. Svo. 4^. dd. 
 
 Founded upon the story of Sappho. ' 'J/e tells his story with dramatic 
 force, and in language that often rises almost to grandeur." — 
 Athen^um. 
 
 Phillips. — BENEDICTA. a Novel. By Mrs. Alfred Phillips. 
 3 "Vols. Crown Svo. 31J. dd. 
 
 Philpot. — A POCKET OF PEBBLES, WITH A FEW 
 SHELLS ; Being Fragments of Reflection, now and then with 
 Cadence, made up mostly by the Sea-shore. By the Rev. W. B. 
 Philpot. Fcap. Svo. 5^". 
 
 Poole.— PICTURES OF COTTAGE LIFE IN THE WEST 
 OF ENGLAND. By Margaret E. Poole. New and Cheaper 
 Edition. With Frontispiece by R. Farren. Crown Svo. 3^. 6^. 
 
 Population of an Old Pear Tree. From the French 
 
 of E. Van Bruyssel. Edited by the Author of " The Heir of 
 Redclyffe." With Illustrations by Becker. Cheaper Edition. 
 Crown Svo. gilt, ^^s, 6d. 
 " A whimsical and charming little book.^^ — Athen^um. 
 
 Prince Florestan of Monaco, The Fall of. By 
 
 Himself. New Edition, with Illustration and Map. Svo. cloth. 
 Extra gilt edges, 5J-. A French Translation, ^s. Also an Edition 
 for the People. Crown Svo. is. 
 
 Quin, — GARDEN RECEIPTS. Edited by Charles Quin. 
 Crown Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 " The J7iost useful book for the garden that has been published for 
 sometime.'''' — Florist and Pomologist. 
 
 Rankine. — SONGS AND fables. By W. J. McQuoRN 
 Rankine, late Professor of Civil Engineering and Mechanics at 
 Glasgow. With Illustrations. Crown Svo. (is. 
 
 Realmah. — By the Author of "Friends in Council." Crown 
 Svo. 6j. 
 
 Rhoades. — poems. By James Rhoades. Fcap. Svo. 4J. dd. 
 
22 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Richardson. — the ILIAD OF THE EAST. A Selection of 
 
 Legends dra^m from Valmiki's Sanskrit Poem, "The Ramayana." 
 
 By Frederika Richardson. Crown 8vo. yj. 6^. 
 
 " It is impossible to read it without recognizing the value and interest 
 
 of the Eastern epic. It is as fascinating as a fairy tale^ this 
 
 romantic poem of India.^^ — GLOBE. *^ A charming volume, which 
 
 at once enmeshes the reader in its snares.^'' — Athen^^um. 
 
 Rim mer.— ANCIENT STREETS AND HOMESTEADS OF 
 ENGLAND. By Alfred Rimmer. ^Yith Introduction by the 
 Very Rev. J. S. Howson, D.D., Dean of Chester. Royal 8 vo. 
 with 150 Illustrations by the Author. Cloth elegant, 2ij. 
 *' All the illustrations are clear and good, and they are eminently 
 
 truthful. . . . A book which gladdens the eye while it instructs 
 » and improves the mind.'^ — Standard. " One of the most 
 
 interesting and beautiful boohs zue have seen this season. . . . 
 
 It is full of knowledge, the result of exact and faithful study, most 
 
 readable and interesting ; the illustrations are simply exquisite^^ 
 
 — Nonconformist. 
 
 Robinson.— GEORGE LINTON ; or, THE FIRST YEARS 
 OF AN ENGLISH COLONY. By John Robinson, F. R.G. S. 
 Crown 8vo. *js. 6d. 
 
 ^^ If one viay speak confidently on such a matter frovi oni s own 
 experience, it must be a rare thing for a C7'itic to put down a 7iovel, 
 having read ruejy word of it, and find himself at the end asking 
 for more. Yet this is what happened to us with George Li7iton." 
 — Spectator. 
 
 Roby.— STORY OF A HOUSEHOLD, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 By Mary K. Roby. Fcap. 8vo. 5^. 
 
 Rossetti. — YVorks by Christina Rossetti : — 
 
 POEMS. Complete Edition, containing " Goblin Market," "The 
 Prince's Progress," &c. With Four Illustrations. Extra fcap. 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 SPEAKING LIKENESSES. Illustrated by Arthur Hughes. 
 Crown 8vo. gilt edges. 45'. 6d. 
 
 *' Certain to be a delight to many a juvenile fireside circle,''^ — 
 Morning Post. 
 
 Runaway (The), a Story for the Young. By the Author of 
 •' Mrs. Jemingham's Journal." With Illustrations by J. Lawson. 
 Globe 8vo. gilt. 4^. 6</. 
 
 * ' This is one of the best, if not indeed the very best, of all the stories 
 that has co77ie before us this Ch7istfnas. The heroines are both 
 char7ni7ig, atid, U7ilike heroi7ies, they are as full of fu7i as of charms. 
 It is an ad77ii7'able book to read aloud to the young folk whe7i they 
 a7'e all gathe7'ed i-ou7id the fi7-e, a7id jiurses and other apparitions 
 a7-e still far away.''* — Saturday Review. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Ruth and her Friends, a Story for Girls. With a Frontis- 
 piece. SeventlvEdition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 4J. 6d. 
 *' We Tvish all tJie school girls and ho77ie-taught girls in the land had 
 the opportunity of reading it." — Nonconformist. 
 
 Scouring of The White Horse; or, the Long 
 
 VACATION RAMBLE OF A LONDON CLERK. Illustrated 
 by Doyle. Imp. i6mo. Cheaper Issue. 3^. 6d. 
 
 Shairp (Principal).— KILMAHOE, a Highland Pastoral, with 
 
 other Poems. By John Campbell Shairp, Principal of the 
 
 United College, St. Andrews. Fcap. 8vo. $s. 
 
 ^'' Kilniahoe is a Highland Pastoral^ redolent of the warm soft air 
 
 of the western lochs and moors, sketched otit with remarkable 
 
 grace and picturesqueness.^^ — Saturday Review. 
 
 Shakespeare. — The Works of William Shakespeare. Cam- 
 bridge Edition. Edited by W. George Clark, M.A. and W. 
 Aldis Wright, M.A. Nine vols. 8vo. cloth. 
 The Guardian calls it an ^^ excellent, and, to the student, almost 
 
 indispejtsable edition ;" and the Examiner calls it ^^ an unrivalled 
 
 edition. " 
 
 Shakespeare's Plays. — An attempt to determine the Chrono- 
 logical Order. By the Rev. H. Paine Stokes, B.A. Extra 
 fcap. 8vo. 4^-. 6d. 
 
 Shakespeare Scenes and Characters. — a Series of 
 
 Illustrations designed by Adamo, Hofmann, Makart, Pecht, 
 Schwoerek, and Speiss, engraved on Steel by Bankel, Bauer, 
 Goldberg, Raab, and ScH:\nDT ; with Explanatory Text, 
 selected and arranged by Professor Dowden. Royal 8vo. Cloth 
 elegant. 2/, 12s. 6d. 
 
 Also a LARGE PAPER EDITION, India Proofs. Folio, half- 
 morocco elegant. 4/. 14s. 6d. 
 
 Shakespeare's Tempest. Edited with Glossarial and Ex- 
 planatory Notes, by the Rev. J. M. Jephson. New Edition. 
 i8mo. is. 
 
 Slip (A) in the Fens. — ^^Illustrated by the Author. Crown 
 8vo. 6s. 
 
 " An artistic little volu?}ie, for every page is a picture.^'' — Times, "/if 
 ^uill be read with pleasure, and with a pleasure that is altogether 
 imioceiit. " — Saturday Review. 
 
 Smedley — two dramatic poems. By Menella Bute 
 Smedley, Author of " Lady Grace," &c. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6^. 
 ^^ May be read zuith enjoyment and p7'ofit." — Saturday Review. 
 
24 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Smith. — POEMS. By Catherine Barnard Smith. Fcap. 
 8vo. 5 J. 
 
 Smith (Rev. Walter).— hymns OF CHRIST AND THE 
 CHRISTIAN LIFE. By the Rev. Walter C. Smith, M.A. 
 Fcap. 8vo. ds. 
 
 Southesk.— THE MEDA MAIDEN : AND OTHER POEMS. 
 By the Earl of Southesk, K.T. Extra fcap. 8vo. ']s. 
 *' // is pleasant in these days, when ihei'e is so much artificial and 
 sensuous verse published, to come across a book so thoroughly fresh 
 and healthy as Lord Southesk' s. . . . There is an infinite charm, 
 about them in tJieir spontaneity and their heaWiful philosophy, in 
 the fervent love for nature luhicJi is tJieir distinguishing character- 
 istic, and the manly and wJulesomi tone w/iicfi pervades every 
 page.''' — Scotsman. 
 
 Stanley, — true to life.— A SIMPLE STORY. By Mary 
 Stanley. Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6j. 
 ^^ For many a long day we have not met with a 77iore simple, healthy , 
 and unpretending story y — STANDARD, 
 
 Stephen (C. E.) — the service of the POOR; being 
 an Inquiry into the Reasons for and against the Establishment of 
 Religious Sisterhoods for Charitable Purposes. By Caroline 
 Emilia Stephen. Crown 8vo. 6j. dd. 
 
 ' ' It touclies incidentally and with much wisdom and tenderness on 
 so many of tJie relations of women, particularly of single women, 
 with society, that it may be read with advantage by viany who 
 have never thougJit of entering a Sisterfiood.'^ — Spectator. 
 
 Stephens (J. B.)— convict once. a Poem. By J. 
 Brunton Stephens. Extra fcap. 8vo. y. ()d. 
 " // is as far more interesting tfian ninety-nine novels out of a 
 
 fiundred, as it is superior to them in power, xvorth, and beauty. 
 
 We should most strons^ly advise everybody to read ' Cotivict Once.'' " 
 
 — Westminster Review. 
 
 Streets and Lanes of a City : Being the Reminiscences 
 
 of Amy Dutton. With a Preface by the Bishop of Salis- 
 bury. Second and Cheaper Edition. Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 *^One of tJie most really striking booJis that lias ever come before us. ''^ 
 — Literary Churchman. 
 
 Thompson. — a HANDBOOK TO THE PUBLIC PICTURE 
 GALLERIES OF EUROPE. With a brief sketch oi the 
 History of the various schools of Painting from the thirteenth 
 century to the eighteenth, inclusive. By Kate Thompson. 
 Second Edition, Revised and Enlarged. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6^. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 25 
 
 " A very remarkable memoir of the several great schools of painting, 
 and a singularly lucid exhibition of the principal treasures of all 
 the chiej and some of the smallej' picture galleries of Europe. 
 This unpretending book which does so much for the history of art 
 is also a traveller's guide-book ; a guide-book, moreover, so con- 
 venient in arrangement ajid comprehensive in design that it zvill 
 not fail to become the companioji of the majority of English 
 tourists. . . . The large crotud of ordinary connoissmrs who 
 vnly care to know a little about pictures, and the choicer body of 
 intelligent students of all artistic objects that fall in their way, will 
 extol the compact little volume as the model of zuhat an art 
 explorer'' s vade mecum should be. It will also be found in the 
 highest degree serviceable to the more learned connoisseurs and 
 erudite authorities on the ^natter of art.'''' — Morning Post. 
 
 Thring. — school SONGS. A Collection of Songs for Schools. 
 With the Music arranged for four Voices. Edited by the Rev. E. 
 Thring and H. Riccius. Folio. 71. dd. 
 
 Tom Brown's School Days. — By An Old Boy. 
 Golden Treasury Edition, 4^. dd. People's Edition, 2s. 
 With Seven Illustrations by A. Hughes and Sydney Hall. 
 Crown 8vo. ds. 
 ** The most famous boy's book in the language.''^ — Daily News. 
 
 Tom Brown at Oxford. — New Edition. With Illustrations 
 Crown 8vo. 6j. 
 
 ^^ In no other work that we can call to mind are the finer qualities of 
 the English gentleman more happily portrayed^ — DAILY News. 
 "yi book of great power and truth'' — National Review. 
 
 Tourguenief. — VIRGIN SOIL. By I. Tourguenief. Trans- 
 lated by AsHTON W. DiLKE. Crown 8vo. \q>s. 6d. 
 
 Trench. — Works by R. Chenevix Trench, D.D., Archbishop 
 of Dublin. (For other Works by this Author, see Theological, 
 Historical, and Philosophical Catalogues.) 
 POEMS. Collected and arranged anew. Fcap. Svo. 'Js. 6d. 
 HOUSEHOLD BOOK OF ENGLISH POETRY. Selected and 
 arranged, with Notes, by Archbishop Trench. Second Edition. 
 Extra fcap, Svo. 5^. 6d. 
 
 * ' The A rchbishop has conferred in this delightful volume an important 
 
 gift on the whole English-speaking population of the world. " — 
 
 Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 SACRED LATIN POETRY,' Chiefly Lyrical. Selected and 
 
 arranged for Use. By Archbishop Trench. Third Edition, 
 
 Corrected and Improved. Fcap. Svo. ^s. 
 
26 BELLES T^ETTRES. 
 
 Turner. — Works by the Rev. Charles Tennyson Turner : — 
 SONNETS. Dedicated to his Brother, the Poet Laureate. Fcap. 
 
 8vo. 4-5". ()d. 
 SMALL TABLEAUX. Fcap. 8vo. 4^. U. 
 
 Tyrwhitt — our sketching club. Letters and Studies 
 on Landscape Art. By Rev. R. St. John Tyrwhitt, M.A. 
 With an Authorized Reproduction of the Lessons and Woodcuts 
 in Professor Ruskin's "Elements of Drawing." Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. *]$. 6d. 
 
 Under the Limes.— By the Author of "Christina North." 
 Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 * ' Ojte of the prettiest and best told stories which it has been our 
 good fortune to read for a longtime.'''' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 Veitch. — THE TWEED, AND OTHER POEMS. By J. 
 Veitch, LL.D., Professor of Logic and Rhetoric in Glasgow 
 University. Extra fcap. Svo. ds. 6d. 
 
 Villari. — in CHANGE UNCHANGED. By Linda Villari. 
 Author of " In the Golden Shell," &c. Two vols. Crown Svo. 
 
 2IJ-. 
 
 Waller. — six weeks in the saddle : A Painter's journal 
 in Iceland. By S. E. Waller. Illustrated by the Author. 
 Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ''^ An exceedingly pleasant and naturally written little book. . . Mr. 
 Waller has a clever feiuil, and the text is well illustrated with his 
 own sketches. " — Times. 
 
 Wandering Willie. By the Author of " Effie's; Friends," and 
 "John Hatherton." Third Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 *' This is an idyll of rare truth and beauty. ... The story is simple 
 and touching, the style of extraordinary delicacy, precision, ana 
 picturesqueness. . . . A charming gift-book for young ladies not 
 yet promoted to novels, and will amply repay those of tJieir elders 
 who may give an hour to its perusal." — Daily News. 
 
 W^ebster. — Works by Augusta Webster : — 
 
 " // Mrs. Webster only remains true to herself, she will assuredly 
 take a higher rank as a poet than any tuotnan has yet done" — 
 Westminster Review. 
 
 DRAMATIC STUDIES. Extra fcap. Svo. 5 J. 
 
 "A volume as strongly marked by perfect taste as by poetic power " — 
 Nonconformist. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 27 
 
 ^Vebster (Augusta) — contimied, 
 A WOMAN SOLD, AND OTHER POEMS. Crown 8vo. Is. 6d. 
 ** Mrs. Webster has shown us that she is able to draw admirably 
 from the lije ; that she can observe with subtlety, and render her 
 observations with delicacy ; that she can impersonate complex con' 
 ceptions and venture where fruo liviii^ writers can follow her. " — 
 Guardian. 
 
 PORTRAITS. Second Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3^. 6d. 
 
 '^ Mrs. IVebster's fioems exhibit simplicity and tenderness . . . her 
 taste is perfect . . . This simplicity is combined with a subtlety of 
 thought, feeling, and obse^'vation zvhich de77iand that attention which 
 only real lovers of poetry are apt to bestow.''' — WESTMINSTER 
 Review. 
 
 PROMETHEUS BOUND OF ^SCHYLUS. Literally translated 
 
 into English Verse. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3^. dd. 
 
 " Closeness and simplicity combined with literary skill.^' — Athe- 
 N^UM. ''Mrs. IVebster's ' Drajnatic Studies'' and * Trajislation 
 of Prometheus^ have won for her an honourable place ajtiong our 
 female poets. She writes with remarkable vigour and dramatic 
 realization, and bids fair to be the most successful claimant of Mrs. 
 Browning's mantle.'''' — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. Literally translated into English 
 Verse. Extra fcap. Svo. 3j". dd. 
 
 " Mrs. Webster s translation surpasses our utmost expectations. It is 
 a photograph of the original withotit any of that harshness which 
 so often accompanies a photograph ^ — ^ Westminster Review. 
 
 THE AUSPICIOUS DAY. A Dramatic Poem. Extra fcap. Svo. ^s. 
 *' The 'Auspicious Day"* shows a marked advance, not only in art, 
 but, in what is of far more importance, in breadth of thought and 
 intellectual grasp. ''^ — WESTMINSTER Review. ''' This drama is 
 a manifestation of high dramatic power on the part of the gifted 
 writer, and entitled to our zvarmest admiration, as a worthy piece 
 of work. " — Standard. 
 
 YU-PE-YA'S LUTE. A Chinese Tale in English Verse. Extra 
 fcap. Svo. 3^. dd. 
 
 "A very charming tale, charmingly told in dainty verse, with 
 occasional lyrics of tender beauty. ^^ — Standard. " We close the 
 book with the renewed conviction that in Mrs. Webster we have a 
 profound and original toet. The book is marked not by mere 
 sweetness of melody — rare as that gift is — but by the infinitely 
 rarer gifts of dramatic power, of passion, a7id sympathetic insight.'^ 
 — Westminster Review. 
 
 When I was a Little Girl, stories FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 By the Author of "St. Olave's." Fifth Edition. Extra fcap. 
 Svo. 4^. dd. With Eight Illustrations by L. Frolich. 
 
28 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 ^^ At the head, and a long way ahead, of all books for girls, we 
 place ' When I was a Little Girl.'' " — Times. ^^ It is one of the 
 choicest morsels of child-biography which we have met %uith." — 
 Nonconformist. 
 
 White. — RHYMES BY WALTER WHITE. 8vo. ^s. 6d. 
 
 Whittier.— JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER'S POETICAL 
 WORKS. Complete Edition, with Portrait engraved by C. H. 
 Jeens. iSmo. 4^. 6d. 
 " Mr. Whittier has all the smooth melody and the pathos of the author 
 
 of ' Hiazvatha,' with a greater nicety of description and a 
 
 quainter fancy. " — GRAPHIC. 
 
 Willoughby. — FAIRY GUARDIANS. A Book for the Young. 
 By F. Willoughby. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, gilt. 5j-. 
 "^ dainty and delicious tale of the good old-fasliioned type.'' — 
 Saturday Review. 
 
 Wolf.— THE LIFE AND HABITS OF WILD ANIMALS. 
 
 Twenty Illustrations by Joseph Wolf, engraved by J. W. and E. 
 
 Whymper. With descriptive Letter-press, by D. G. Elliot, 
 
 F.L.S. Super royal 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges. 2\s. 
 
 This is the last series of drawijtgs which will be made by Air. Wolf, 
 either upon wood or stone. The Pall Mall Gazette says : 
 " The fierce, untamable side of bi'ute nature lias never received a 
 more robust and vigorous intcrpretatio7i, and the various incidents 
 in tvhich particular character is shown are setfortfi witJi rare dra- 
 matic power. For excellence that will endure, we incline to place 
 this very near the top of the list of C/iristmas books. ''^ And the 
 Art Journal observes, ^''Rarely, if eve); Jiave we seat animal 
 life more forcibly and beautifully depicted than in this really 
 splendid volume. " 
 
 Also, an Edition in royal folio, handsomely bound in Morocco 
 elegant, Proofs before Letters, each Proof signed by the Engravers. 
 
 Woolner.— MY BEAUTIFUL LADY. By Thomas Woolner. 
 
 Witha Vignette by A. Hughes. Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo. i-^s. 
 
 " No man cati read tliis poem witJiout being struck by the fitness a?id 
 
 finish of the worhnanship, so to speak, as well as by the chastened 
 
 and unpretending loftiness of tJiougJit wfiich pervades the ivfwle." 
 
 — Globe. 
 
 Words from the Poets. Selected by the Editor of " Rays 
 of Sunlight." With a Vignette and Frontispiece. iSmo. limp., \s. 
 •* The selection ai?ns at popularity, and deserves ity — Guardian. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 29 
 
 Yonge (C. M.) — Works by Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 
 THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE. Twenty-third Edition. With 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 6^-. 
 
 HEARTSEASE. Fifteenth Edition. With Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo. ds. 
 
 THE DAISY CHAIN. Sixteenth Edition. With Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo. 6j-. 
 
 THE TRIAL: MORE LINKS OF THE DAISY CHAIN. 
 Fourteenth Edition. With Illustrations. Crown Svo. 6^. 
 
 DYNEVOR TERRACE. Seventh Edition. Crown Svo. 6j. 
 
 HOPES AND FEARS. Sixth Edition. Crown Svo. 6j. 
 
 THE YOUNG STEPMOTHER. Sixth Edition. Crown Svo. 6j. 
 
 CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY. Fifth Edition. Crown 
 Svo. 6s. 
 
 THE DOVE IN ' THE EAGLE'S NEST. Seventh Edition. 
 Crown Svo. 6i". 
 
 " We think the authoress of ' The Heir of Redely ffe'' has surpassed 
 her previous efforts in this illuminated chronicle of the olden time J'"' 
 — British Quarterly. 
 
 THE CAGED LION. Illustrated. Fourth Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 " Prettily and tenderly written, and will with young people especially 
 be a great favourite.'''' — DAILY NEWS. ^^ Everybody should read 
 this." — Literary Churchman. 
 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS; or, THE WHITE AND 
 BLACK RIBAUMONT. Crown Svo. 6s. Sixth Edition. 
 ^^ Miss Yojtge has brought a lofty aim as well as high art to the con- 
 struction of a story zuhich may claim a place among the best efforts 
 in historical romance." — MORNING Post. " The plot, in truth, 
 is of the very first order of me-^it." — Spectator. *' We have 
 seldom read a inore charming story." — Guardian. 
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE. A Tale of the Last Crusade. 
 Illustrated. Third Edition. iSmo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 " A tale which, we are sure, will give pleasure to many others besides 
 the young people for whom it is specially intended. . . . This 
 extremely prettily-told story does not require the guarantee afforded 
 by the natJie of the author of ' The Heir of Redely ffe ' on the title' 
 ' P'^g^ ^0 ensure its becoming a universal favourite." — Dublin 
 Evening Mail. 
 
30 BELLES LETTRES. 
 
 Yonge (C. M.) — conti?med. 
 
 . THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD. New Edition, with Coloured 
 Illustrations, i8mo. 4J. 6d. 
 
 " The illustrations are ve^y spirited and ri^h in colour, and the 
 story can hardly fail to charm the youthful reader.^'' — Manchester 
 Examiner. 
 
 THE LITTLE DUKE : RICHARD THE FEARLESS. Sixth 
 Edition. Illustrated. i8mo. is. 6d. 
 
 A STOREHOUSE OF STORIES. First and Second Series. 
 Globe 8vo. 3J. 6d. each. 
 
 Contents of First Series : — History of Philip Quarll— 
 Goody Twoshoes — The Governess — ^Jemima Placid — The Perambu- 
 lations of a Mouse— The Village School — The Little Queen — 
 '] History of Little Jack. 
 
 * ' Miss Yonge has done great service to the infantry of this generation 
 
 by putting these eleven stories of sage simplicity within their reach.'^ 
 
 — British Quarierly Review. 
 
 Contents of Second Series : — Family Stories — Elements of 
 Morality — A Puzzle for a Curious Girl — Blossoms of Morality. 
 
 A BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS OF ALL TIMES AND ALL 
 COUNTRIES. Gathered and Narrated Anew. Golden 
 Treasury Series). 4^^. 6d. Cheap Edition, is. 
 *' We have seen no prettier gift-book for a long time, and none which, 
 
 both for its cheapness and the spirit in which it has been compiled, 
 
 is more deservi^tg of praise.^' — Athen^UM. 
 
 LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE. Pictured by 
 Frolich, and narrated by Charlotte M. Yonge. Second 
 Edition. Crown 4to. cloth gilt. 6s. 
 " * Lucy's Wondeiful Globe ' is capital, and will give its youthful 
 
 readers more idea op foreign countries and customs than any number 
 
 of books of geography or traveW'^ — Graphic. 
 
 CAMEOS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY. From Rollo to 
 Edward II. Extra fcap. Svo. 5^. Third Edition, enlarged. 5^. 
 
 Second Series. THE WARS IN FRANCE. Third Edition. 
 Extra fcap. Svo. 5-^' 
 
 ''^Instead oj dry details,^'' says the Nonconformist, '■'■we have 
 living pictures, faiihful, vivid, and striking. ^^ 
 
 Third Series. THE WARS OF THE ROSES. Extra fcap. 
 Svo. 5j. 
 
 P's AND Q's ; OR, THE QUESTION OF PUTTING UPON. 
 With Illustrations by C. O. MURRAY. Third Edition. _ Globe 
 Svo. cloth gilt, 4J. 6a. 
 
BELLES LETTRES. 31 
 
 Yonge (C. M.) — continued. 
 
 *' One of her most successful little pieces .... just what a narrative 
 should be, each incident simply and naturally related, no preaching 
 or mo7'alizing, and yet the moral cotning out most powerfully, and 
 the whole story not too long, or with the least appearance of being 
 spun out.'''' — Literary Churchman. 
 
 THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE; or, UNDER WODE, 
 UNDER RODE. Fourth Edition. Two vols, crown 8vo. \2.s. 
 * ' A do?nestic story oj English professional life, which for szueetness 
 of tone and absorbing interest from first to last has never been 
 rivalled."" — Standard. ''^ Miss Yonge has certainly added to 
 her already high reputation by this charming book, which keeps the 
 reader's attention fixed to the end. Indeed we are only sorry there is 
 not another volume to come, and part with the Underwood family 
 with sincere regret.''^ — Court Circular. 
 
 LADY HESTER; or, URSULA'S NARRATIVE. Third 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 6j". 
 
 '* We shall not anticipate the interest by epitomizing the plot, but we 
 shall only say that readers will find in it all the gracefulness^ right 
 feeling, and delicate perception which they have been long accustomed 
 to look for in Miss Yonge's writings," — Guar.dian. 
 
 MY YOUNG ALCIDES; OR, A FADED PHOTOGRAPH. 
 
 Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ^''Marked by all the perfect a?id untiring freshness that always 
 charm us in Miss Yongis navels.''^ — Graphic. " The story is 
 admirably told, and extremely interesting.''' — STANDARD. 
 
 THE THREE BRIDES. Eighth Edition. 2 vols. Crown 8vo, 
 izs. 
 
32 GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES. 
 
 MACMILLAN'8 GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES, 
 
 Uniformly printed in i8mo., with Vignette Titles by Sir 
 Noel Paton, T. Woolner, W. Holman Hunt, J. E. 
 MiLLAis, Arthur Hughes, &c. Engraved on Steel by 
 Jeens. Bound in extra cloth, 45. dd. each volume. Also 
 kept in morocco and calf bindings. 
 
 ** Messrs. Macmillan have, in their Golden Treasury Series, especially 
 provided editions of standard works , volumes of selected poetry, and 
 original compositions, which entitle this series to be called classical. 
 Nothing can be better than the literary execution, nothing more 
 elegant than the material workmanship." — 'British Quarterly 
 Review. 
 
 The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 Selected and arranged, with Notes, by Francis Turner 
 
 Palgrave. 
 
 ^^ This delightful little volume, the Golden Treasury ^ which contains 
 many of the best original lyrical pieces ajid songs in our language, 
 grouped with care and skill, so as to illustrate each other like the 
 pictures in a well-arranged gallery .'''' — Quarterly Review. 
 
 The Children's Garland from the best Poets. 
 
 Selected and arranged by Coventry Patmore. 
 
 ** It includes specimens of all the great masters in the art of poetry ^ 
 selected with the matured judgment of a man co7ice7itrated on 
 obtaining insight into the feelifigs and tastes of childhood, and 
 desirous to awaken its finest impulses, to cultivate its keenest sensi- 
 bilities.'^ — Morning Post. 
 
 The Book of Praise. From the Best English Hymn Writers. 
 Selected and arranged by Lord Selborne. A New and En- 
 larged Edition. 
 
 *'' All previous compilations of this kind must undeniably for the 
 present give place to the Book of Praise. . . . The selection has 
 been made throughotit with soiuid judgment and critical taste. The 
 pains involved in this compilation must have been immense, em- 
 bracing, as it does, every writer oj note in this special province op 
 English literature, and ranging over the most widely divergent 
 tracks of religious thought.'" — Saturday Review. 
 
GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES. 33 
 
 The Fairy Book ; the Best Popular Fairy Stories. Selected 
 and rendered anew by the Author of " John Halifax, 
 Gentleman. " 
 
 "^ delightful selection, in a delightful external form ; full of the 
 physical splendour and vast opulence of proper fairy tales.^^ — 
 Spectator. 
 
 The Ballad Book, a Selection of the Choicest British Ballads. 
 
 Edited by William Alltngham. 
 
 ' * His taste as a judge of old poetry will be found, by all acquainted with 
 the various readings oj old English ballads, true enough to justify 
 his undertaking so critical a tasky — Saturday Review. 
 
 The Jest Book. The Choicest Anecdotes and Sayings. Selected 
 and arranged by Mark Lemon. 
 
 ** The f til lest and best Jest book that has yet appeared^ — Saturday 
 Review. 
 
 Bacon's Essays and Colours of Good and Evil. 
 
 "With Notes and Glossarial Index. By W. Aldis Wright, 
 
 M.A. 
 
 *' The beautiful little edition of Bacon'' s Essays, now before us, does 
 credit to the taste and scholarship of Mr. Aldis Wright. . . . It 
 puts the reader in possession of all the essejttial literary facts and 
 chronology necessary for readijtg the Essays in connection with 
 Bacon's life and times.'" — Spectator. 
 
 The Pilgrim's Progress from this World to that which is to 
 
 come. By John Bunyan. 
 
 *• A beautiful and scholarly reprint.^'' — Spectator. 
 
 The Sunday Book of Poetry for the Young. 
 
 Selected and arranged by C. F. Alexander. 
 
 " ^ well-selected volume of Sacred Poetry.''^ — SPECTATOR. 
 
 A Book of Golden Deeds ot All Times and All Countries 
 Gathered and narrated anew. By the Author of " The Heir of 
 Redclyffe." 
 
 "... To the young, for whom, it is especially intended, as a 7?ios 
 interestifig collection of thrilling tales well told ; and to their elders, 
 as a useful handbook of reference, and a pleasafit 07ie to take tip 
 when their wish is to while away a weary half-hour. We have 
 seen no prettier gift-book for a long timef — Athenaeum. 
 
 The Poetical Works of Robert Burns. Edited, with 
 
 Biographical Memoir, Notes, and Glossary, by Alexander 
 Smith. Two Vols. 
 
 *^ Beyond all question this is the most beautiful edition of Burns 
 j/e'/c7«/."— Edinburgh Daily Review. 
 
 C 
 
GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES. 
 
 The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Edited from 
 
 tlie Original Edition by J. W. Clark, M.A. Fellow of Trinity 
 
 College, Cambridge. 
 
 *' Mutilated and modified editions of this English classic are so much 
 the rule, that a cheap and pretty copy of it, rigidly exact to the 
 original, will be a prize to many book-buyers." — EXAMINER. 
 
 The Republic of Plato. Translated into English, with 
 Notes by J. LI. Davies, M.A. and D. J. Vaughan, M.A. 
 *^ A datntv and cheap little edition.^'' — Examiner. 
 
 The Song Book. Words and Tunes from the best Poets and 
 Musicians. Selected and arranged by John Hullah, Professor 
 of Vocal Music in King's College, London. 
 
 ** A choice collection of the sterling songs of England, Scotland, and 
 Ireland, with the m.usic of each prefixed to the Words. How muck 
 true wholesome pleasure such a book can dijfuse, and will diffuse, 
 we trust through manv thousand families y — Examiner. 
 
 La Lyre Francaise. Selected and arranged, with Notes, by 
 GusTAVE Masson, French Master in Harrow School. 
 A selection of the best French songs and lyrical pieces. 
 
 Tom Brown's School Days. By An Old Boy. 
 
 " A perfect gem of a book. The best and most healthy book about 
 boys for boys that ever was written.^'' — Illustrated Times. 
 
 A Book of Worthies. Gathered from the Old Histories and 
 written anew by the Author of " The Heir of Redclyffe." 
 With Vignette. 
 
 ** A7t admirable addition to an ad^nirable sa-ies." — WESTMINSTER 
 Review. 
 
 A Book of Golden Thoughts. By Henry Attwell, 
 
 Knight of the Order of the Oak CroMTi. 
 *^ Mr. Attwell has produced a book of rare value . . . - Happily it 
 is small enough to be carried about in the pocket, and of such a com- 
 panion it woidd be difficult to zueary.'' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 Guesses at Truth. By Two Brothers. New Edition. 
 
 The Cavalier and his Lady. Selections trom the Works 
 of the First Duke and Duchess of Newcastle. With an Intro- 
 ductory Essay by Edward Jenkins, Author of "Ginx's Baby," &c. 
 ^*A charmmg little volume.'" — Standard. 
 
 Theologia Germanica. — Which setteth forth many fair Linea- 
 ments of Divine Truth, and saith very lofty and lovely things 
 touching a Perfect Life. Edited by Dr. Pfeiffer, from the only 
 complete manuscript yet known. Translated from the German, 
 by Susanna Winkworth. With a Preface by the Rev. Charles 
 Kingsley, and a Letter to the Translator by the Chevalier 
 Bunsen, D.D. 
 
GOLDEN TREASURY SERIES. 35 
 
 Milton's Poetical Works.— Edited, with Notes, &c., by 
 Professor Masson. Two vols. i8mo. 9J. 
 
 Scottish Song, a Selection of the Choicest Lyrics of Scotland. 
 
 Compiled and arranged, with brief Notes, by Mary Carlyle 
 
 Aitkin. 
 
 *' yJ/m Aitkin^ s exquisite collection of Scottish Sojtg is so alluring, 
 and suggests so many topics, that we find it di(ficult to lay it down. 
 The book is one that should find a place in every library, we haa 
 alniost said in eveiy pocket, and the summer tourist zvho zuishes to 
 carry with him into the country a volume of genuine poetry, will 
 find it difficult to select one containing within so S7nall a compass 
 so viuch of rarest value." — Spectator. 
 
 Deutsche Lyrik. — The Golden Treasury of the best German 
 Lyrical Poems, selected and arranged with Notes and Literary 
 Introduction, By Dr. Buchheim. 
 
 *' Tfiis collection of German poetry is compiled zvitfi care and con- 
 scientiousness Tfie result of fiis labours is satisfactory. 
 
 Almost cdl the lyrics dear to Englisfi readers of German will be 
 found in tfiis little volume." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 Robert Herrick. — SELECTIONS FROM THE LYRICAL 
 POEMS OF. Arranged with Notes by F. T. Palgkaye. 
 " A delightfid little book. Herrick, tfie Englisfi Catulhis, is simply 
 one of tfie most exquisite of poets, and fiis fame and memory are 
 foriutiate in fiaving Jound one so capable of doing fionour to them 
 as tfie present editor ; who contributes a cfiarniing dedication and 
 a preface full of delicate and sensitive criticism to a volume tfian 
 wfiich one would fiardly desire a cfioice:' companion for a jour ney 
 or for houj's of ease in the country. "^^ — Daily News. 
 
 Poems of Places. — Edited by H. W. Longfellow. England 
 and Wales. Two Vols. 
 
 " After a careful perusal zve ?7iust pronounce his work an excellent 
 collection. . . . In this compilation we find not only a guide- 
 book for future travels, but a fund of reminiscences of tfie past. 
 To many of tis it will seem like a biograpfiy of otir bdst and 
 fiappiest e?notions. . . . Eor those zvho knozu not all these places 
 tfie book will be an excellent travelling companion or guide, or may 
 even stand some in good stead in place of travel." — Times. 
 
 Matthew Arnold's Selected Poems. — Large Paper 
 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 
 
36 GLOBE LIBRARY. 
 
 IViACMILLAN'8 GLOBE LIBRARY. 
 
 ■Beautifully pri7ited on toned paper and bound in cloth extra, gilt 
 edges, price i^s. 6d, each ; in cloth plain, 3J. ()d. Also kept in a 
 variety oj calf and inorocco bindings at moderate prices. 
 
 Books, Wordsworth says, are 
 
 "the spirit breathed 
 By dead men to their kind ; " 
 
 and the aim of the publishers of the Globe Library has 
 been to make it possible for the universal kin of English- 
 speaking men to hold communion with the loftiest " spirits 
 of the mighty dead ; " to put within the reach of all classes 
 complete and accurate editions, carefully and clearly printed 
 upon the best paper, in a convenient form, at a moderate 
 price, of the works of the master-minds of English 
 Literature, and occasionally of foreign literature in an 
 attractive English dress. 
 
 The Editors, by their scholarship and special study of 
 their authors, are competent to afford every assistance to 
 readers of all kinds : this assistance is rendered by original 
 biographies, glossaries of unusual or obsolete words, and 
 critical and explanatory notes. 
 
 The publishers hope, therefore, that these Globe Editions 
 may prove worthy of acceptance by all classes wherever the 
 English Language is spoken, and by their universal circula- 
 tion justify their distinctive epithet ; while at the same time 
 they spread and nourish a common sympathy with nature's 
 most " finely touched " spirits, and thus help a little to 
 '' make the whole world kin." 
 
 The Saturday Review says : " The Globe Editions are admirable 
 for their scholarly editing, their typogi-aphical excellence, their com- 
 pendious form, and their cheapness ^ The British Quarterly 
 Review says: ^^ In compendiousness, elegance, and scholarliness, 
 the Globe Editions of Messrs. Macmillan surpass any popular series 
 of our classics hitherto given to the pniblic. As near an approcLch 
 to jfiiniature pe?fection as has ever been made.*' 
 
 Shakespeare's Complete Works. Edited by W. G. 
 Clark, M. A., and W. Alois Wright, M. A., of Trinity College, 
 
GLOBE LIBRARY. yj 
 
 Cambridge, Editors of the "Cambridge Shakespeare," With 
 
 Glossary. Pp. 1,075. 
 
 77^^ Athen^um says this edition is "a marvel of beauty, cheapness, 
 and compactness. . . . For the busy man, above all for the 
 working student, this is the best of all existing Shakespeares.^^ 
 And the Pall Mall Gazette observes : " To have produced 
 the complete works of the world's greatest poet in such a form., 
 and at a price within the reach of every one, is of itself almost 
 stifficietit to give the publishers a claim to be considered public bene- 
 factors." 
 
 Spenser's Complete Works. Edited from the Original 
 Editions and Manuscripts, by R. Morris, with a Memoir by J. 
 W. Hales, M.A. With Glossary, pp. Iv., 736. 
 ' ' Worthy — and higher praise it needs not — of the beautiful ' Globe 
 
 Series.'' The work is edited with all the care so noble a poet 
 
 deserves." — Daily News. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works. Edited with a 
 
 Biographical and Critical Memoir by Francis Turner Palgrave, 
 
 and copious Notes, pp. xliii., 559. 
 
 " We can almost sympathise with a middle-aged grum,bler, who, after 
 readhtg Mr. Palgrave^ s memoir and introduction, should exclaim. 
 — * Why was the^'e not such an edition of Scott when I was a school- 
 boy ? ' " — Guardian. 
 
 Complete Works of Robert Burns. — the poems, 
 
 SONGS, AND LETTERS, edited from the best Printed and 
 Manuscript Authorities, with Glossarial Index, Notes, and a 
 Biographical Memoir by Alexander Smith, pp. Ixii., 636. 
 *^ Admirable in all respects." — Spectator. " The cheapest, the 
 
 most perfect, and the most interesting edition which has ever been 
 
 pMished. " — Bell's Messenger. 
 
 Robinson Crusoe. Edited after the Original Editions, with a 
 
 Biographical Introduction by Henry Kingsley. pp. xxxi., 607. 
 
 "^ most excellent and in every way desirable edition." — Court 
 
 Circular. ^^ Macmillan' s ' Globe' Robinson Crusoe is a book to 
 
 have and to keep." — Morning Star. 
 
 Goldsmith's Miscellaneous Works. Edited, with 
 
 Biographical Introduction, by Professor Masson. pp. Ix., 695. 
 ''^ Such an admirable compendium of the facts of Goldsmith's life, 
 and so ca7'eful and minute a delineation of the mixed traits of his 
 Peculiar character as to be a very model of a literary biography 
 in little." — Scotsman. 
 Pope's Poetical Works. Edited, with Notes and Intro- 
 ductory Memoir, by Adolphus William Ward, M.A., Fellow 
 of St. Peter's College, Cambri Ige, and Professor of History in 
 Owens College, Manchester, pp. lii., 508. 
 
 The Literary Churchman remarks : *' The editor's own notes 
 and introductory memoir are excellent, the memoir alone would be 
 cheap and well worth buying at the price of the whole volume." 
 
38 GLOBE LIBRARY. 
 
 Dryden's Poetical Works. Edited, with a Memoir, 
 
 Revised Text, and Notes, by W. D. Christie, M.A., of Trinity 
 
 College, Cambridge, pp. Ixxxvii., 662. 
 
 *' y^« admirable edition, the result of great research and 0/ a careful 
 revision of the text. The memoir prefixed contains, within less 
 tha7i 7iinety pages, as much sound criticism and as comprehensive 
 a biography as the student of Dry den need desire. " — Pall Mall 
 Gazette. 
 
 Cowper's Poetical Works. Edited, with Notes and 
 Biographical Introduction, by William Benham, Vicar of 
 Addington and Professor of Modern History in Queen's College, 
 London, pp. Ixxiii., 536. 
 
 *'Jlfr. Benham' s edition of Cozvper is one of permanent value. 
 The biographical introduction is excellent, full of information, 
 singularly neat ajtd readable and modest — indeed too modest in 
 its com77ients. The notes are co7icise and accu7'ate, and the editor 
 has been able to discover and i7itroduce so77ie hitherto unprinted 
 viatter. Altogether the book is a very excellent otie." — Saturday 
 Review. 
 
 Morte d'Arthur. — SIR THOMAS MALORY'S BOOK OF 
 KING ARTHUR AND OF HIS NOBLE KNIGHTS OF 
 THE ROUND TABLE. The original Edition of Caxton, 
 revised for Modern Use. With an Introduction by Sir Edward 
 Strachey, Bart. pp. xxxvii., 509. 
 
 ' ^Jt is "With perfect corifide7ice that we reco77imend this edition of the ola 
 romance to every class of reade7's.'^ — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 The Works of Virgil. Rendered into English Prose, with 
 Introductions, Notes, Running Analysis, and an Index. By James 
 Lonsdale, M.A,, late Fellow and Tutor of Balliol College, 
 Oxford, and Classical Professor in King's College, London ; and 
 Samuel Lee, M.A., Latin Lecturer at University College, 
 London, pp. 288. 
 
 ' ' A i7iore co77iplete edition of Vi7'gil in English it is scat'cely possible 
 to conceive thafi the scholarly work before ics." — GLOBE. 
 
 The Works of Horace. Rendered into English Prose, with 
 
 Introductions, Running Analysis, Notes, and Index. By John 
 
 Lonsdale, M.A., and Samuel Lee, M.A. 
 
 The Standard says, " To classical and tion-classical readers it 
 
 will be i7ivaluable as a faithful i7tte7pretation of the mind and 
 
 mea7iing of the poet, en7'iched as it is with notes and dissertations 
 
 of the highest value in the way of criticist7i, illustration, and 
 
 explanatio7i. " 
 
 Milton's Poetical Works. — Edited with Introductions by 
 
 Professor Masson. 
 
 " A wo7'thy addition to a valuable series.'''' — Athen^UM. 
 
 " In fc'cn' "^'i^y on odndrable book." — Pall Mall Gazette." 
 
MACMILLAN'S POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 In Crotvn ^vo. cloth, price 6s. each Volume. 
 
 BY WILLIAM BLACK. 
 A PRINCESS OF THULE. 
 MADCAP VIOLET. 
 
 THE MAID OF KILLEENA; and other Tales. 
 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. 
 GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY. 
 
 BY CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 TWO YEARS AGO. 
 "WESTWARD HO!" ■ 
 ALTON LOCKE. With Portrait. 
 HYPATIA. 
 YEAST. 
 HEREWARD THE WAKE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN." 
 THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY. Illustrated. 
 THE OGILVIES. Illustrated. 
 AGATHA'S HUSBAND. Illustrated. 
 OLIVE. Illustrated. 
 
 BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 
 
 THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE. With Illustrations. 
 
 HEARTSEASE. Wim Illustrations. 
 
 THE DAISY CHAIN. With Illustrations. 
 
 THE TRIAL : More Links in the Daisy Chain. With Illus- 
 trations. 
 
 HOPES AND FEARS. 
 
 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 MY YOUNG ALCIDES. 
 
 THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE. 2 Vols. 
 
 CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY. 
 
MACMILLAN'S POPULAR NOVELS-^^///^^///^.v. 
 
 THE YOUNG STEPMOTHER. 
 
 THE DOVE IN THE EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 THE CAGED LION. Illustrated. 
 
 THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS. 
 
 LADY HESTER ; or, Ursula's Narrative, 
 
 THE THREE BRIDES. 2 Vols. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 
 YOUNG MUSGRAVE. 
 
 THE CURATE IN CHARGE. 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 BY ANNIE KEARY 
 CASTLE DALY. 
 OLDBURY. 
 A YORK AND A LANCASTER ROSE. 
 
 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. 
 
 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 PAULINE. By G. C. Clunes. 
 
 THE FOOL OF QUALITY. By H. Brooke. 
 
 UNDER THE LIMES. 
 
 CHRISTINA NORTH. 
 
 ELSIE. By A. C. M. 
 
 REALM AH. By the Author of "Friends in Council." 
 
 PATTY. By Mrs. Macquoid. 
 
 HUGH CRICHTON'S ROMANCE. By C. R. Coleridge. 
 
 OWEN GWYNNE'S GREAT WORK. By Lady Augusta 
 
 NOEL. 
 A SLIP IN THE FENS. Illustrated. 
 MY TIME, AND WHAT I'VE DONE WITH IT. By F 
 
 C. BURNAND. 
 
 ROSE TURQUAND. By Ellice Hopkins. 
 
 A NILE NOVEL. By George Fleming. 
 
 OLD SIR DOUGLAS. By the Hon. Mrs. Norton. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON. 
 
■;v- ^ 
 
 i 
 
 
 f 
 
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 041406767