CHAPTER XV
A PLEDGE REDEEMED
Mr. Hodson could by no means get to understand the half-expressed reluctance, the trepidation almost, with which Ronald seemed to regard this visit to Inver-Mudal. It was not a matter of time; for his studies for the examination were practically over. It was not a matter of expense; for he was being paid a guinea a day. It was not debt; on that point Mr. Hodson had satisfied himself by a few plain questions; and he knew to a sovereign what sum Ronald had still in the bank. Nor could he believe, after the quite unusual terms in which Lord Ailine had written about the young man's conduct and character, that Ronald was likely to have done anything to cause him to fear a meeting with his former friends. And so, having some little experience of the world, he guessed that there was probably a girl in the case; and discreetly held his peace.
But little indeed was he prepared for the revelation that was soon to be made. On the afternoon of one of these cold February days they were driving northward along Strath-Terry. A sprinkling of snow had fallen in the morning; the horses' hoofs and the wheels of the waggonette made scarcely any sound in this prevailing silence. They had come in sight of Loch Naver; and the long sheet of water looked quite black amid the white undulations of the woods and the moorland and the low-lying hills. Now at this point the road leading down to the village makes a sudden turn; and they were just cutting round the corner when Ronald, who had been anxiously looking forward, caught sight of that that most he longed and that most he feared to see. It was Meenie herself – she was walking by the side of the way, carrying some little parcel in her hand; and they had come upon her quite unexpectedly, and noiselessly besides; and what might she not betray in this moment of sudden alarm? He gripped the driver's arm, thinking he might stop the horses; but it was now too late for that. They were close to her; she heard the patter of horses' hoofs; she looked up, startled; and the next moment – when she saw Ronald there – she had uttered a quick, sharp cry, and had staggered back a step or so, until in her fright she caught at the wire fence behind her. She did not fall; but her face was as white as the snow around her; and when he leapt from the waggonette, and seized her by both wrists, so as to hold her there, she could only say, 'Ronald, Ronald,' and could seek for no explanation of this strange arrival. But he held her tight and firm; and with a wave of his hand he bade the driver drive on and leave them. And Mr. Hodson lowered his eyes, thinking that he had seen enough; but he formally raised his hat, all the same; and as he was being driven on to the inn, he returned to his surmise that there was a girl in the case – only who could have imagined that it was the Doctor's daughter?
Nor was there a single word said about this tell-tale meeting when Ronald came along to the inn, some few minutes thereafter. He seemed a little preoccupied, that was all. He rather avoided the stormy welcome that greeted him everywhere; and appeared to be wholly bent on getting the preparations pushed forward for the fishing of the next day. Of course everything had to be arranged; for they had had no thought of coming to Inver-Mudal when they sailed from Glasgow; there was not even a boat on the loch, nor a single gillie engaged.
But later on that evening, when the short winter day had departed, and the blackness of night lay over the land, Ronald stole away from the inn, and went stealthily down through the fields till he found himself by the side of the river. Of course, there was nothing visible; had he not known every foot of the ground, he dared not have come this way; but onward he went like a ghost through the dark until he finally gained the bridge, and there he paused and listened. 'Meenie!' he said, in a kind of whisper; but there was no reply. And so he groped his way to the stone dyke by the side of the road, and sate down there, and waited.
This was not how he had looked forward to meeting Meenie again. Many a time he had pictured that to himself – his getting back to Inver-Mudal after the long separation – the secret summons – and Meenie coming silently out from the little cottage to join him. But always the night was a moonlight night; and the wide heavens calm and clear; and Loch Naver rippling in silver under the dusky shadows of Ben Clebrig. Why, he had already written out that summons; and he had sent it to Meenie; and no doubt she had read it over to herself more than once; and wondered when the happy time was to be. The night that he had looked forward to was more like a night for a lovers' meeting: this was the message he had sent her —
O white's the moon upon the loch,
And black the bushes on the brae,
And red the light in your window-pane:
When will ye come away,
Meenie,
When will ye come away?
I'll wrap ye round and keep ye warm,
For mony a secret we've to tell,
And ne'er a sound will hinder us
Down in yon hidden dell,
Meenie,
Down in yon hidden dell.
O see the moon is sailing on
Through fleecy clouds across the skies,
But fairer far the light that I know,
The love-light in your eyes,
Meenie,
The love-light in your eyes.
O haste and haste; the night is sweet,
But sweeter far what I would hear;
And I have a secret to tell to you,
A whisper in your ear,
Meenie,
A whisper in your ear.
But here was a bitter cold winter night; and Meenie would have to come through the snow; and dark as pitch it was – he would have to guess at the love-light in her eyes, so cruelly dense was this blackness all around.
Then his quick ear detected a faint sound in the distance – a hushed footfall on the snow; and that came nearer and nearer; he went out to the middle of the road.
'Is that you, Meenie?'
The answer was a whisper —
'Ronald!'
And like a ghost she came to him through the dark; but indeed this was no ghost at all that he caught to him and that clung to him, for if her cheeks were cold her breath was warm about his face, and her lips were warm, and her ungloved hands that were round his neck were warm, and all the furry wrappings that she wore could not quite conceal the joyful beating of her heart.
'Oh, Ronald – Ronald – you nearly killed me with the fright – I thought something dreadful had happened – that you had come back without any warning – and now you say instead that it's good news – oh, let it be good news, Ronald – let it be good news – if you only knew how I have been thinking and thinking – and crying sometimes – through the long days and the long nights – let it be good news that you have brought with you, Ronald!'
'Well, lass' (but this was said after some little time; for he had other things to say to her with which we have no concern here), 'it may be good news; but it's pretty much guess-work; and maybe I'm building up something on my own conceit, that will have a sudden fall, and serve me right. And then even at the best I hardly see – '
'But, Ronald, you said it was good news!' And then she altered her tone. 'Ah, but I don't care! I don't care at all when you are here. It is only when you are away that my heart is like lead all the long day; and at night I lie and think that everything is against us – and such a long time to wait – and perhaps my people finding out – but what is it, Ronald, you had to tell me?'
'Well, now, Meenie,' said he.
'But that is not my name – to you,' said she; for indeed she scarce knew what she said, and was all trembling, and excited, and clinging to him – there, in the dark, mid the wild waste of the snow.
'Love-Meenie and Rose-Meenie, all in one,' said he, 'listen, and I'll tell you now what maybe lies before us. Maybe, it is, and that only; I think this unexpected coming to see you may have put me off my head a bit; but if it's all a mistake – well, we are no worse off than we were before. And this is what it is now: do you remember my telling you that Mr. Hodson had often been talking of buying an estate in the Highlands? – well, he has just been looking at one – it's over there on the Ross-shire coast – and it's that has brought us to the Highlands just now, for he would have me come and look at it along with him. And what would you think if he made me the factor of it? Well, maybe I'm daft to think of such a thing; but he has been talking and talking in a way I cannot understand unless some plan of that kind is in his head; ay, and he has been making inquiries about me, as I hear; and not making much of the forestry certificate, as to whether I get it or no; but rather, as I should guess, thinking about putting me on this Balnavrain place as soon as it becomes his own. Ay, ay, sweetheart; that would be a fine thing for me, to be in a position just like that of Mr. Crawford – though on a small scale; and who could prevent my coming to claim my good wife then, and declaring her as mine before all the world?'
'Yes, yes, Ronald,' she said eagerly, 'but why do you talk like that? Why do you speak as if there was trouble? Surely he will make you factor! It was he that asked you to go away to Glasgow; he always was your friend; if he buys the estate, who else could he get to manage it as well?'
'But there's another thing, sweetheart,' said he, rather hopelessly. 'He spoke about it yesterday. Indeed, he put it plain enough. He asked me fairly whether, supposing somebody was to offer me the management of an estate, I could get guarantees – securities for my honesty, in fact; and he even mentioned the sum that would be needed. Well, well, it's beyond me, my girl – where could I find two people to stand surety for me at £500 apiece?'
She uttered a little cry, and clung closer to him.
'Ronald – Ronald – surely you will not miss such a chance for that – it is a matter of form, isn't it? – and some one – '
'But who do I know that has got £500, and that I could ask?' said he. 'Ay, and two of them. Maybe Lord Ailine might be one – he was always a good friend to me – but two of them – two of them – well, well, good lass, if it has all got to go, we must wait for some other chance.'
'Yes,' said Meenie bitterly, 'and this American – he calls himself a friend of yours too – and he wants guarantees for your honesty!'
'It's the usual thing, as he said himself,' Ronald said. 'But don't be downhearted, my dear. Hopes and disappointments come to every one, and we must meet them like the rest. The world has always something for us – even these few minutes – with your cheeks grown warm again – and the scent of your hair – ay, and your heart as gentle as ever.'
But she was crying a little.
'Ronald – surely – it is not possible this chance should be so near us – and then to be taken away. And can't I do something? I know the Glengask people will be angry – but – but I would write to Lady Stuart – or if I could only go to her, that would be better – it would be between woman and woman, and surely she would not refuse when she knew how we were placed – and – and it would be something for me to do – for you know you've married a pauper bride, Ronald – and I bring you nothing – when even a farmer's daughter would have her store of napery and a chest of drawers and all that – but couldn't I do this, Ronald? – I would go and see Lady Stuart – she could not refuse me!'
He laughed lightly; and his hands were clasped round the soft brown hair.
'No, no, no, sweetheart; things will have come to a pretty pass before I would have you exposed to any humiliation of that sort. And why should you be down-hearted? The world is young for both of us. Oh, don't you be afraid; a man that can use his ten fingers and is willing to work will tumble into something sooner or later; and what is the use of being lovers if we are not to have our constancy tried? No, no; you keep a brave heart: if this chance has to be given up, we'll fall in with another; and maybe it will be all the more welcome that we have had to wait a little while for it.'
'A little while, Ronald?' said she.
He strove to cheer her and reassure her still further; although, indeed, there was not much time for that; for he had been commanded to dine with Mr. Hodson at half-past seven; and he knew better than to keep the man who might possibly be his master waiting for dinner. And presently Meenie and he were going quietly along the snow-hushed road; and he bade her good-bye – many and many times repeated – near the little garden-gate; and then made his way back to the inn. He had just time to brush his hair and smarten himself up a bit when the pretty Nelly – who seemed to be a little more friendly and indulgent towards him than in former days – came to say that she had taken the soup into the parlour, and that the gentleman was waiting.
Now Mr. Hodson was an astute person; and he suspected something, and was anxious to know more; but he was not so ill-advised as to begin with direct questions. For one thing, there was still a great deal to be talked over about the Balnavrain estate – which he had almost decided on purchasing; and, amongst other matters, Ronald was asked whether the overseer of such a place would consider £400 a year a sufficient salary, if a plainly and comfortably built house were thrown in; and also whether, in ordinary circumstances, there would be any difficulty about a young fellow obtaining two sureties to be responsible for him. From that it was a long way round to the Doctor's daughter; but Mr. Hodson arrived there in time; for he had brought for her a present from his own daughter; and he seemed inclined to talk in a friendly way about the young lady. And at last he got the whole story. Once started, Ronald spoke frankly enough. He confessed to his day-dreams about one so far superior to him in station; he described his going away to Glasgow; his loneliness and despair there; his falling among evil companions and his drinking; the message of the white heather; his pulling himself up; and Meenie's sudden resolve and heroic self-surrender. The private marriage, too – yes, he heard the whole story from beginning to end; and the more he heard the more his mind was busy; though he was a quiet kind of person, and the recital did not seem to move him in any way whatever.
And yet it may be doubted whether, in all the county of Sutherland, or in all the realm of England, there was any happier man that night than Mr. Josiah Hodson. For here was something entirely after his own heart. His pet hobby was playing the part of a small beneficent Providence; and he had already befriended Ronald, and was greatly interested in him; moreover, had he not promised his daughter, when she lay apparently very near to death, that Ronald should be looked after? But surely he had never looked forward to any such opportunity as this! And then the girl was so pretty – that, also, was something. His heart warmed to the occasion; dinner being over, they drew their chairs towards the big fireplace where the peats were blazing cheerfully; Ronald was bidden to light his pipe; and then; the American – in a quiet, indifferent, sententious way, as if he were talking of some quite abstract and unimportant matter – made his proposal.
'Well, now, Ronald,' said he, as he stirred up some of the peats with his foot, 'you seemed to think that £400 a year and a house thrown in was good enough for the overseer of that Balnavrain place. I don't know what your intentions are; but if you like to take that situation, it's yours.'
Ronald looked startled – but only for a moment.
'I thank ye, sir; I thank ye,' he said, with rather a downcast face. 'I will not say I had no suspicion ye were thinking of some such kindness; and I thank ye – most heartily I thank ye. But it's beyond me. I could not get the securities.'
'Well, now, as to that,' the American said, after a moment's consideration, 'I am willing to take one security – I mean for the whole amount; and I want to name the person myself. If Miss Douglas will go bail for you – or Mrs. Strang, I suppose I should call her – then there is no more to be said. Ronald, my good fellow, if the place is worth your while, take it; it's yours.'
A kind of flash of joy and gratitude leapt to the younger man's eyes; but all he could manage to say was —
'If I could only tell her!'
'Well, now, as to that again,' said Mr. Hodson, rising slowly, and standing with his back to the fire, 'I have got to take along that present from my daughter – to-morrow morning would be best; and I could give her the information, if you wished. But I'll tell you what would be still better, my friend: you just let me settle this little affair with the old people – with the mamma, as I understand. I'm not much of a talkist; but if you give me permission I'll have a try; I think we might come to some kind of a reasonable understanding, if she doesn't flatten me with her swell relations. Why, yes, I think I can talk sense to her. I don't want to see the girl kept in that position; your Scotch ways – well, we haven't got any old ballads in my country, and we like to have our marriages fair and square and aboveboard: now let me tell the old lady the whole story, and try to make it up with her. She can't scold my head off.'
And by this time he was walking up and down the room; and he continued —
'No; I shall go round to-morrow afternoon, when we come back from the fishing. And look here, Ronald; this is what I want you to do; you must get the other boat down to the lake – and you will go in that one – and get another lad or two – I will pay them anything they want. I can't have my overseer acting as gillie, don't you see – if I am going to talk with his mother-in-law; you must get out the other boat; and if you catch a salmon or two, just you send them along to the Doctor, with your compliments – do you hear, your compliments, not mine. Now – '
'And I have not a word of thanks!' Ronald exclaimed. 'My head is just bewildered – '
'Say, now,' the American continued quietly – in fact, he seemed to be considering his finger-nails more than anything else, as he walked up and down the room – 'say, now, what do you think the Doctor's income amounts to in the year? Not much? Two hundred pounds with all expenses paid?'
'I really don't know,' Ronald said – not understanding the drift of this question.
'Not three hundred, anyway?'
'I'm sure I don't know.'
'Ah. Well, now, I've got to talk to that old lady to-morrow about the prospects of her son-in-law – though she don't know she has got one,' Mr. Hodson was saying – half to himself, as it were. 'I suppose she'll jump on me when I begin. But there's one thing. If I can't convince her with four hundred a year, I'll try her with five – and Carry shall kiss me the difference.'
CHAPTER XVI
THE FACTOR OF BALNAVRAIN
Well, now, some couple of months or so thereafter, this same Miss Carry was one of a party of four – all Americans – who set out from Lairg station to drive to Inver-Mudal; and very comfortable and content with each other they seemed to be when they were ensconced in the big waggonette. For a convalescent, indeed, Miss Hodson appeared to be in excellent spirits; but there may have been reasons for that; for she had recently become engaged; and her betrothed, to mark that joyful circumstance, had left for Europe with her; and it was his first trip to English shores; and more especially it was his first trip to the Highlands of Scotland; and very proud was she of her self-imposed office of chaperon and expounder and guide. Truth to tell, the long and lank editor found that in many respects he had fallen upon troublous times; for not only was he expected to be profoundly interested in historical matters about which he did not care a red cent, and to accept any and every inconvenience and discomfort as if it were a special blessing from on high, and to be ready at all moments to admire mountains and glens and lakes when he would much rather have been talking of something more personal to Miss Carry and himself, but also – and this was the cruellest wrong of all – he had to listen to continued praises of Ronald Strang that now and again sounded suspiciously like taunts. And on such occasions he was puzzled by the very audacity of her eyes. She regarded him boldly – as if to challenge him to say that she did not mean every word she uttered; and he dared not quarrel with her, or dispute; though sometimes he had his own opinion as to whether those pretty soft dark eyes were quite so innocent and simple and straightforward as they pretended to be.
'Ah,' said she, as they were now driving away from the village into the wide, wild moorland, 'ah, when you see Ronald, you will see a man.'
She had her eyes fixed on him.
'I suppose they don't grow that kind of a thing in our country,' he answered meekly.
'I mean,' she said, with a touch of pride, 'I mean a man who is not ashamed to be courteous to women – a man who knows how to show proper respect to women.'
'Why, yes, I'll allow you won't find that quality in an American,' he said, with a subtle sarcasm that escaped her, for she was too obviously bent on mischief.
'And about the apology, now?'
'What apology?'
'For your having published an insulting article about Ronald, to be sure. Of course you will have to apologise to him, before this very day is over.'
'I will do anything else you like,' the long editor said, with much complaisance. 'I will fall in love with the young bride, if you like. Or I'll tell lies about the weight of the salmon when I get back home. But an apology? Seems to me a man making an apology looks about as foolish as a woman throwing a stone: I don't see my way to that. Besides, where does the need of it come in, anyhow? You never read the article. It was very complimentary, as I think; yes, it was so; a whole column and more about a Scotch gamekeeper – '
'A Scotch gamekeeper!' Miss Carry said proudly. 'Well, now, just you listen to me. Ronald knows nothing at all about this article; if he did, he would only laugh at it; but he never heard of it; and it's not to be spoken of here. But I mean to speak of it, by and by. I mean to speak of it, when I make the acquaintance of – what's his distinguished name? – '
But here Miss Kerfoot – who, with her married sister, occupied the other side of the waggonette – broke in.
'You two quarrelling again!' And then she sighed. 'But what is the good of a drive, anyway, when we haven't got Doctor Tom and his banjo?'
'A banjo – in Strath-Terry?' Miss Carry cried. 'Do you mean to say you would like to hear a banjo tinkle-tinkling in a country like this?'
'Yes, my dyaw,' said Miss Kerfoot coolly: she had been making some studies in English pronunciation, and was getting on pretty well.
'I suppose you can't imagine how Adam passed the time without one in the Garden of Eden – wanted to play to Eve on the moonlight nights – a cake-walk, I suppose – pumpkin-pie – why, I wonder what's the use of bringing you to Europe.'
For answer Miss Kerfoot began to hum to herself – but with the words sounding clearly enough —
'I'se gwine back to Dixie,
I'se gwine back to Dixie,
I'se gwine where the orange blossoms grow;
O, I'd rather be in Dixie,
I'd rather be in Dixie,
For travelling in the Highlands is so – '
But here remorse of conscience smote her; and she seized Carry's hand.
'No, I won't say it – you poor, weak, invalid thing. And were they worrying you about the Highlands, and the slow trains, and the stuffy omnibus at Lairg? Well, they shan't say anything more to you – that they shan't; and you are to have everything your own way; and I'm going to fall in love with Ronald, just to keep you company.'
But alas! when they did eventually get to Inver-Mudal, there was no Ronald to be found there. Mr. Murray was there, and Mrs. Murray, and the yellow-haired Nelly; and the travellers were told that luncheon was awaiting them; and also that Mr. Hodson had had the second boat put in readiness, lest any of them should care to try the fishing in the afternoon.
'But where is Ronald?' said Miss Carry, not in the least concealing her vexation.
'Don't cry, poor thing,' Miss Kerfoot whispered to her. 'It shall have its Ronald!'
'Oh, don't bother!' she said angrily. 'Mr. Murray, where is Ronald? Is he with my father on the loch?'
'No, no; it's the two gillies that's with Mr. Hodson on the loch,' the innkeeper said. 'And do not you know, Miss, that Ronald is not here at ahl now; he is away at the place in Ross-shire.'
'Oh yes, I know that well enough,' she said, 'but my father wrote that he was coming over to see us for a day or two; and he was to be here this morning – and his wife as well. But it is of no consequence. I suppose we had better go in and have lunch now.'
Miss Kerfoot was covertly laughing. But there was a young lad there called Johnnie – a shy lad he was, and he was standing apart from the others, and thus it was that he could see along the road leading down to the Mudal bridge. Something in that direction attracted Johnnie's attention; he came over and said a word or two to Mr. Murray; the innkeeper went to the gable of the house, so that he could get a look up Tongue way, and then he said —
'Oh yes, I think that will be Ronald.'
'Don't you hear?' said Miss Kerfoot, who was following the others into the inn. 'They say that Ronald is coming right now.'
Miss Carry turned at once, and went to where the inn-keeper was standing. Away along there, and just coming over the bridge, was a dog-cart, with two figures in it. She watched it. By and by it was pulled up in front of the Doctor's cottage; she guessed that that was Meenie who got down from the vehicle and went into the house; no doubt this was Ronald who was now bringing the dog-cart along to the inn. And then the others were summoned; and presently Ronald had arrived and was being introduced to them; and Miss Carry had forgotten all her impatience, for he looked just as handsome and good-natured and modest-eyed as ever; and it was very clear that Miss Kerfoot was much impressed with the frankness and simplicity of his manner; and the editor strove to be particularly civil; and Mrs. Lalor regarded the new-comer with an obviously approving glance. For they all had heard the story; and they were interested in him, and in his young wife; besides, they did not wish to wound the feelings of this poor invalid creature – and they knew what she thought of Ronald.
And how was he to answer all at once these hundred questions about the Ross-shire place, and the house that was building for them, and the farm where he and his wife were temporarily staying?
'Come in and have lunch with us, Ronald,' said Miss Carry, in her usual frank way, 'and then you will tell us all about it. We were just going in; and it's on the table.'
'I cannot do that very well, I thank ye,' said he, 'for I have to go back to the Doctor's as soon as I have seen the mare looked after —
'Oh, but I thought you were coming down to the loch with us!' she said, with very evident disappointment.
'Yes, yes, to be sure!' said he. 'I'll be back in a quarter of an hour at the furthest; and then I'll take one of the lads with me and we'll have the other boat got out as well.'
'But you don't understand, Ronald,' she said quickly. 'The other boat is there – ready – and two gillies, and rods, and everything. I only want you to come with us for luck; there's always good luck when you are in the boat. Ah, do you know what they did to me on Lake George?'
'Indeed, I was sorry to hear of it, Miss,' said he gravely.
'Miss!' she repeated, with a kind of reproach; but she could not keep the others waiting any longer; and so there was an appointment made that they were all to meet at the loch-side in half an hour; and she and her friends went into the house.
When it came to setting out, however, Mrs. Lalor begged to be excused; she was a little bit tired, she said, and would go and lie down. So the other three went by themselves; and when they got down to the loch, they not only found that Ronald was there awaiting them, but also that Mr. Hodson had reeled up his lines and come ashore to welcome them. Of course that was the sole reason. At the same time the gillies had got out three remarkably handsome salmon and put them on the grass; and that was the display that met the eyes of the strangers when they drew near. Mr. Hodson was not proud; but he admitted that they were good-looking fish. Yes; it was a fair morning's work. But there were plenty more where these came from, he said encouragingly; they'd better begin.
Whereupon Miss Carry said promptly —
'Come along, Em. Mr. Huysen, will you go with pappa, when he is ready? And Ronald will come with us, to give us good luck at the start.'
Miss Kerfoot said nothing, but did as she was bid; she merely cast a glance at Mr. Huysen as they were leaving; and her eyes were demure.
However, if she considered this manoeuvre – as doubtless she did – a piece of mere wilful and perverse coquetry on the part of her friend, she was entirely mistaken. It simply never would have entered Miss Carry's head that Ronald should have gone into any other person's boat, so long as she was there – nor would it have entered his head either. But besides that, she had brought something for him; and she wished to have time to show it to him; and so, when the boat was well away from the shore, and when he had put out both the lines, she asked him to be so kind as to undo the long case lying there, and to put the rod together, and say what he thought of it. It was a salmon-rod, she explained; of American make; she had heard they were considered rather superior articles; and if he approved of this one, she begged that he would keep it.
He looked up with a little surprise.
'Ye are just too kind,' said he. 'There's that beautiful rug that you sent to my wife, now – '
'But isn't it useful?' she said, in her quick, frank way. 'Isn't it comfortable? When you were coming along this morning, didn't she find it comfortable?'
'Bless me!' he cried. 'Do you think she would put a beautiful thing like that into a dog-cart to be splashed with mud, and soiled with one's boots? No, no; it's put over an easy-chair at the Doctor's, until we get a house of our own, and proud she is of it, as she ought to be.'