Black_A_Daughter_of_Heth.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
CHAPTER I.
COQUETTE'S ARRIVAL.
THE tide of battle had flowed onward from the vil-
lage to the Manse. The retreating party, consisting of
the Minister's five sons, were driven back by fair force of
numbers, contesting every inch of the ground. Hope
had deserted them ; and there now remained but one
chance to reach the fortress of the Manse in safety,
and seek the shelter of its great stone wall.
The enemy numbered over a dozen, and the clangor
and clamor of the pursuit waxed stronger as they pressed
on the small and compact body of five. The weapons
on both sides were stones picked up from the moorland
road : and the terrible aim of the Whaup* the eldest
of the Minister's sons had disfigured more than one
mother's son of the turbulent crowd that pursued. He
alone a long-legged Herculean lad of eighteen kept
in front of his retreating brothers, facing the foe boldly,
and directing his swift, successive discharges with a
deadly accuracy of curve upon the noses of the fore-
most. But his valor was of no avail. All seemed over.
*Anglice, the Lapwing or Green Plover, a wild and shy bird, loving up-
lying lands near the sea.
f A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
Their courage began to partake of the recklessness of
despair. Nature looked as though she sympathized with
this disastrous fate j and to the excited eyes of the fugi-
tives', i't appeaYeck 'tjKat- the sun was overcast that the
moor arqund.was blacker and more silent than ever
and -thafche foir^ stretch* of the sea, with the gloomy
Kills of Arran, had grown dark as with a coming storm.
Thus does the human mind confer an anthropomorphic
sentiment on all things, animate and inanimate ; a pro-
found observation which occurred to Mr. ^Eneas Gilles-
pie, the schoolmaster, who, being on one occasion in the
town of Ayr, when horse-racing or s ome such godless
diversion was going forward, and having meekly inquired
for some boiled eggs in a very small and crowded hos-
telry, the young woman in charge indignantly exclaimed
" Losh bless me ! Do you think the hens can remem-
ber to lay eggs in all this bustle and hurry ? "
Finally, the retreating party turned and ran igno-
miniously, pell-mell until they had gained the high
stone wall surrounding the Manse. They darted into
the garden, slammed the door to, and barricaded it ; the
Whaup sending up a peal of defiant laughter that made
the solemn echoes of the old-fashioned house ring again.
Outside this shriek of joy was taken as a challenge, and
the party on the other side of the wall returned a roar
of mingled mockery and anger which was not pleasant
to hear. It meant a blockade and bombardment, with
perhaps a fierce assault when the patience of the be-
seigers should give way. But the Whaup was not of a
kind to indulge in indolent security when his enemies
were murmuring hard by. In an incredibly short space
of time he and his brothers had wheeled up to the wall
a couple of empty barrels, and across these was hurriedly
thrown a broad plank. The Whaup filled his hands with
the gravel of the garden walk, and jumped up on the
board. The instant that his head appeared above the
wall there was a yell of execration. He had just time
to discharge his two handfuls of gravel upon the be-
siegers, when a shower of stones was directed at him,
and he ducked his head.
A DAUGHTER OF ITE TIT. 3
" This is famous ! " he cried. " This is grand ! It
beats Josephus ! Mair gravel, Jock mair gravel, Jock ! "
Now in the Manse of Airlie there was an edition of
Josephus's works, in several volumes, which was the
only profane reading allowed to the boys on Sunday.
Consequently it was much studied especially the plates
of it ; and one of these plates represented the siege of
Jerusalem, with the Romans being killed by stones thrown
from the wall. No sooner, therefore had the Whaup mount-
ed on the empty barrels, than his brothers recognized the
position. They were called upon to engage in a species
of warfare familiar to them. They swiftly formed them-
selves into line, and handed up to the Whaup successive
supplies of stones and gravel, with a precision they could
not have exceeded had they actually served in one of
the legions of Titus.
The Whaup, however, dared not discharge his ammu-
nition with regularity. He had to descend to feints ; for
he was in a most perilous position, and might at any
time have had his head rendered amorphous. He there-
fore from time to time showed his hand over the wall ;
the expected volley of stones followed, and then he sprang
up to return the compliment with all his might. Howls
of rage greeted each of his efforts ; and, indeed, the
clangor rose to an extraordinary pitch. The besiegers
were furious. They were in an open position, while their
foe was well intrenched ; and no man or boy can get a
handful of gravel pitched into his face and also preserve
his temper. Revenge was out of the question. The
sagacious Whaup never appeared when they expected
him ; and when he did appear, it was an instantaneous
up and down, giving them no chance at all of doing him
an injury. They raved and stormed, and the more
bitterly they shouted names at him, and the more fiercely
they heaped insults upon him, the more joyously he
laughed. The noise, without and within, was appalling ;
never, in the memory of man, had such an uproar re-
sounded around the quiet Manse of Airlie.
Suddenly there was a scared silence within the walls,
4 . A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
and a rapid disappearance of the younger of the be-
seiged.
" Oh, Tarn, here's our faither ! '' cried one.
But Tarn elsewhere named the Whaup was too
excited to hear. He was shouting and laughing, hurlmg
gravel and stones at his enemies, when,
When a tall, stern-faced, gray-haired man, who wore
a rusty black coat and a white neckcloth, and who bore
in his hand, ominously, a horsewhip, walked firmly and
sedately across the garden. The hero of the day was
still on the barrels, taunting his foes, and helping him-
self to the store of ammunition which his colleagues had
piled upon the plank.
" Who's lang-leggit now ? Where are the Minister's
chickens now ? Why don't you go and wash your noses
in the burn ? "
The next moment the Whaup uttered what can only
be described as a squeal. He had not been expecting
an attack from the rear ; and there was fright as well
as pain in the yell which followed the startling cut
across the legs which brought him down. In fact, the
lithe curl of the whip around his calves was at once a
mystery and a horror, and he tumbled rather than jumped
from the plank, only to find himself confronted by his
father, whose threatening eye and terrible voice soon
explained the mystery.
" How daur ye, sir," exclaimed Mr. Cassilis " how
daur ye, sir, transform my house into a Bedlam ! For
shame, sir, that your years have brought ye no more
sense than to caper wi' a lot of schoolboys. Have ye no
more respect for yourself have ye no respect for the
college you have come home from than to behave your
self like a farm -Gallant, and make yourself the by word of
the neighborhood ? You are worse than the youngest
in the house "
" I didn't know you were in the ' Manse," said the
Whaup, wondering whither his brothers had run.
" So much the worse so much the worse," said the
Minister, severely, " that ye have no better guide to your
conduct than the fear o' being caught. Why, sir, when
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 5
I was your age I was busier with my Greek Testament
than with flinging names at a wheen laddies ! "
" It was mair than names, as ye might hae observed
from their noses, had ye seen them," remarked the
Whaup, confidentially.
Indeed, he was incorrigible, and the Minister turned
away. His eldest son had plenty of brains, plenty of
courage, and an excellent physique ; but he could not be
brought to acquire a sense of the proper gravity or duties
of manhood, nor yet could he be prevailed on to lay
aside the mischievous tricks of his youth. He was the
terror of the parish. It was hoped that a winter at
Glasgow University would tame down the Whaup ; but
he returned to Airlie worse than ever, and formed his
innocent brothers into a regular band of marauders, of
whom all honest people were afraid. The long-legged
dare-devil of the Manse, with his boldness, his cunning
and his agility, left neither garden nor farmyard nor
kitchen alone. Worthy villagers were tripped up by
bits of invisible twine. Mysterious knocks on the win-
dow woke them up at the dead of night. When they
were surprised that the patience of their setting hen did
not meet with its usual reward, they found that chalk
eggs had been substituted for the natural ones. Their
cats came home with walnut-shells on their feet. Stable
doors were mysteriously opened. Furious bulls were
found lassoed, so that no man dare approach them. The
work of the Whaup was everywhere evident it was
always the Whaup. And then that young gentleman
would come quietly into the villagers' houses, and chat
confidentially with them, and confide to them his great
grief that his younger brother Wattie notwithstanding
that people thought him a quiet, harmless, pious, and
rather sneaking boy was such a desperate tiand for
mischief. Some believed him ; others reproached him
for his wickedness in blaming his own sins upon the only
one of the Minister's family who had an appearance of
Christian humility and grace.
When the Minister had gone into the house, the
Whaup in nowise downcast by his recent misfortune,
6 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
although he still was aware of an odd sensation about
the legs mounted once more upon the barrels to re-
connoitre the enemy. He had no wish to renew the
fight, for Saturday was his father's day for study and
meditation ; no stir or sound was allowed in the place
from morning till night ; and certainly, had the young
gentlemen of the Manse known that their father was
indoors, they would have let the village boys rave out-
side in safety, Cool and confident as he was, the
Whaup did not care to bring his father out a second
time ; and so he got up on the barricades merely for the
sake of information.
The turmoil outside had quieted down, partly through
the ignominious silence of the besieged, and partly
through the appearance of a new object of public at-
tention. The heads of the dozen lads outside were now
turned towards the village, whence there was coming
along the road the Minister's dog-cart, driven by his an-
cient henchman, Andrew Bogue. Beside the driver
sat some fair creature in fluttering white and blue an
apparition that seldom met the vision of the inhabitants
of Airlie. The Whaup knew that this young lady was
his cousin from France, who was now, being an orphan,
and having completed her education, coming to live at
the Manse. But who was the gentleman behind, who
sat with his arm flung carelessly over the bar, while he
smiled and chatted to the girl, who had half turned
around to listen to him ?
" Why, it is Lord Earlshope," said the Whaup, with
his handsome face suddenly assuming a frown. " What
business has Earlshope to talk to my cousin ?"
Presently the gentleman let himself down from the.
dog-cart, took off his hat to her who had been his com-
panion, and turned and went along the road again. The.
dog-cart drove up to the door. The Whaup, daring his
enemies to touch him, went out boldly, and proceeded
to welcome the new-comer to Airlie.
" I suppose you are my cousin," he said,
" I suppose I am," said the young girl, speaking
with an accent so markedly French that he looked at
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 7
her in astonishment. But then she, in turn, regarded
him for a moment with a pair of soft dark eyes, and he
forgot her accent. He vaguely knew that she had
smiled to him and that the effect of looking at her
eyes was rather bewildering as he assisted her down
from the dog-cart, and begged her to come in through
the garden.
CHAPTER II.
COQUETTE'S RELIGION.
THE Whaup was at once convinced that he had
never seen upon earth, nor yet in his Sunday morning
dreams of what heaven might be like, any creature half
so beautiful and bewitching and graceful as the young
girl who now walked beside him. Yet he could not
tell in what lay her especial charm ; for, regarding her
with the eye of a critic, the Whaup observed that she
was full of defects. Her face was pale and French
looking ; and, instead of the rosy bloom of a pretty
country lass, there was a tinge of southern sun-brown
over her complexion. Then her hair was in obvious
disorder some ragged ends of silky brown being scat-
tered over her forehead, and surmounted, in Sir Peter
Lely fashion, by a piece of dark blue silk ribbon ; while
there were big masses behind that only partially revealed
a shapely sunburnt neck. Then her eyes, though they
were dark and expressive, had nothing of the keen and
merry look of your bouncing country belle. Nor was
there anything majestic in her appearance; although,
to be sure, she walked with an ease and grace which
gave even to an observer a sense of suppleness and
pleasure. Certainly it was not her voice which had
captivated him, for when he at first heard her absurd
accent he had nearly burst out laughing. Not with-
8 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
standing all which, when she turned the pale, pretty,
foreign face to him, and said, with a smile that lit up
the dark eyes and showed a glimpse of pearly teeth,
''It, rains not always in your country, then ? "he re-
marked no stiffness in her speech, but thought she spoke
in music. He could scarcely answer her. He had al-
ready succumbed to the spell of the soft eyes and the
winning voice that had earned for this young lady, when
she was but four years of age, the unfair name of Co-
quette.
"Do you know Lord Earleshope ?" he said abruptly.
She turned to him with a brief glance of surprise.
It seemed to him that every alteration in her manner
and every new position of her figure was an improve-
ment.
" That gentleman who did come with us ? No ; I do
not know him."
" You were talking to him as if you did know him
very well," said the Whaup, sternly. He was beginning
to suspect this cousin of his of being a deceitful young-
person.
" I had great pleasure of speaking to him. He speaks
French he is very agreeable."
" Look here," said the Whaup, with a sudden knit-
ting of his brow, " I won't have you talk to Earlshope,
if you live in this house. Now, mind ! "
" What ! " she cried, with a look of amused wonder ;
" I do think you are jealous of me already. You will
make me what is it called ? vaniteuse. Is it not a
lark ! "
She smiled as she looked with rather a surprised air
at her new cousin. The Whaup began to recall German
legends of the devil appearing in the shape of a beautiful
woman.
" Ladies in this country don't use expressions like that,"
said he ; adding scornfully, " If that is a French custom,
you'd better forget it."
" Is it not right to say ' a lark ?' " she asked gravely.
" Papa used to say that, and mamma and I got much of
A DAUGHTER OF UETH. g
our English from him. I will not say it again, if you
wish."
" Did you call it English ? " said the Whaup, with
some contempt.
At this moment the Minister came out from the door
of the Manse, and approached his niece. She ran to him,
took both his hands in hers, and then suddenly, and some-
what to his discomfiture, kissed him ; while in the excite-
ment of the moment she forgot to speak her broken
English, and showered upon him a series of pretty phrases
and questions in French.
" Dear me ! " he observed, in a bewildered way.
" She is a witch," said the . Whaup to himself, stand-
ing by, and observing with an angry satisfaction that
this incomprehensible foreigner, no matter what she did
or said, was momentarily growing more graceful. The
charm of her appearance increased with every new look
of her face, with every new gesture of her head. And
then when she seemed to perceive that her uncle had
not understood a word of her tirade and when, with a
laugh and blush, she threw out her pretty hands in a
dramatic way, and gave ever so slight a shrug with her
shoulders the picture of her confusion and embarrass-
ment was perfect.
" Oh, she is an actress I hate actresses ! " said the
Whaup.
Meanwhile his cousin recovered herself and began to
translate into stiff and curious English ( watching her
pronunciation carefully ) the rapid French she had been
pouring out. But her uncle interrupted her, and said,
" Come into the house first my bairn, and we will have
the story of your journey afterwards. Dear me, I began
to think ye could speak nothing but that unintelligible
Babel o' a tongue."
So he led her into the house, the Whaup following ;
and Catherine Cassilis, whom they had been taught by
letter to call Coquette, looked around upon her new home.
She was the only daughter of the Minister's only bro-
ther a young man who had left Scotland in his teens,
and never returned. He had been such another as the
10 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
Whaup in his youth, only that his outrages upon the de
corum of his native village had been of a somewhat more
serious kind. His family were very glad when he went
abroad ; and when they did subsequently hear of him,
they heard no good. Indeed, a very moderate amount
of wildishness became something terrible when rumored
through the quiet of Airlie ; and the younger Cassilis
was looked on as the prodigal son, whom no one was an-
xious should return. At length the news came that
he had married some foreign woman and this put a
climax to his wickedness. It is true that the captain of
a Greenock ship, having been at St. Nazaire, had there
met Mr. Cassilis, who had taken his countryman home
to his house, some few milles farther along the banks of
the Loire. The captain carried to Greenock and to Airlie
the news that the Minister's brother was the most fortu-
nate of men. The French lady he had married was of
the most gracious temperament and had the sweetest
looks. She had brought her husband a fine estate on the
Loire, where he lived like a foreign prince, not like the
brother of a parish minister. They had a daughter an
elf, a fairy, with dark eyes and witching ways who
lisped French with the greatest ease in the world. Old
Gavin Cassilis, the minister, heard, and was secretly re-
joiced. He corresponded, in his grave and formal fash-
ion, with his brother ; but he would not undertake a voy-
age to a country that had abandoned itself to infidelity.
The Minister knew no France but the France of the
Revolution time ; and so powerfully had he been im-
pressed in his youth by the stories of the worship of the
Goddess of Reason, that, while the ancient languages
were as familiar to him as his own, while he knew enough
of Italian to read the " Inferno," and had mastered even
the technicalities of the German theologians, nothing
would ever induce him to study French, It was a lan-
guage abhorred it had lent itself to the most monstrous
apostasy of recent times.
The mother and father of Coquette died within a few
hours of each other, cut off by a fever which was raging
over the south of France ; and the girl, according to
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. sl
their wish, was sent to a school in the neighborhood,
where she remained until she was eighteen. She was
then transferred to the care of her only living relative
Mr. Gavin Cassilis, the parish minister of Airlie. She
had never seen anything of Scotland or of her Scotch
relations. The life that awaited her was quite unknown
to her. She had no dread of the possible consequences
of removing her thoroughly southern nature into the
chillier social atmosphere of the north. So far, indeed,
her journey had been a pleasant one ; and she saw noth-
ing to make her apprehensive of the future. She had
been met at the railway station by the Minister's man,
Andrew ; but she had no opportunity of noticing his
more than gloomy temperament, or the scant civility he
was inclined to bestow on a foreign jade who was dressed
so that all the men turned and looked at her as though
she had been a snare of Satan. For they had scarcely
left the station, and were making their way upward to
the higher country, when they overtook Lord Earlshope,
who was riding leisurely along. Andrew much as he
contemned the young nobleman, who had not the best of
reputations in the district touched his cap, as in duty
bound. His lordship glanced with a look of surprise
and involuntary admiration at the young lady who sat on
the dog-cart ; and then rode forward, and said,
" May I have the pleasure of introducing myself to
Mr. Cassilis's niece ? I hope I am not mistaken."
With a frankness which appalled Andrew who con-
sidered this boldness on the part of an unmarried wo-
man to be indicative of the licentiousness of French
manners, whereas it was but the natural expression of
that happy and audacious freedom from restraint which
the girl was now glad to experience the young lady re-
plied ; and in a few minutes Lord Earlshope had suc-
ceeded in drawing her into a pleasant conversation in
her own tongue. Nay, when they had reached Earlshope
nothing would do for the fair-haired young gentleman
but that Miss Cassilis must enter the gate and drive
through the park, which ran parallel with the road. He
himself was forced to leave his horse with the lodge-
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A DAUGllTl.R 01' //A/7/. , 3
tiling sliorl of license ; and his " dour " imagination had
already perceived in her sonic stiaii",e rr.srmbiancc to
the Scarlet Woman, the Mother of Abominations, who
sat on the seven hills and mocked at. the saints. Andiew
was a norbid and morose man, of Seeeder descent ; and
he had inherited a tinge of the old Cameronian f-elin;.';,
not often nel with nowadays. lie- fell it incumbent on
him to be a sort of living protest in the Manse against
the temporizing and feeble condition of thrologn ,d
opinion he found there. He looked upon Mr. ( !a:;:;ilis
as little else than a " Moderate, " and even made bold,
upon rare occasions, to confront the Minister himself.
"Andrew," said Mr. Cassilis one day, "you are a re-
bellions servant, and one that would intemperately dis-
turb the peace o' the Church."
" In nowise, Minister, in nowise," retorted Andrew,
with firmness. "But in maittcrs spiritual 1 Will yield
obedience to no man. There is but one King in Sion,
sir, for a' that a dominant and Erastian Estayblishment
may say."
" Toots, toots," said the Minister, testily. " Let the
Establishment alone, Andrew. It docs more good than
harm, surely."
" Maybe, maybe," replied Andrew (with an uncom-
fortable feeling that the Establishment had supplied him
with the carnal advantages of a good situation) ; "but I
am not wan that would rub out the ancient landmarks
o' the faith which our fathers suffered for, and starved
for, and bled for. The aukKrcligion ks dying out owre
fast as it is, but there is still a remnant o' Jacob among
the Gentiles, and they are not a' like Nicodemu., that
was ashamed o' the truth that was in him, and bided until
the nicht."
It was well, therefore, that this fearless denouncer
did not hear the following conversation which took place
between the Minister and his niece. The latter had been
conducted by Leczibeth to see the rooms prepared for
her. With these she was highly delighted. A large
chamber, which had served as a dormitory for the boys,
was now transformed into a sitting-room for her, and
14 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
the boys' beds had been carried into a neighboring hay
loft, which had cleared out for the purpose. In this sit-
ting-room she found her piano, which had been sent on
some days before, and a number of other treasures from
her southern home. There were two small square
windows in the room, and they looked over the garden,
with its moss-grown wall, and beyond that over a corner
of Airlie moor, and beyond that again over the sloping
and wooded country which stretched away downward to
the western coast. A faint gray breadth of sea was
visible there, and the island of Arran, with its peaked
mountains grown a pale, transparent blue, lay along the
horizon.
" Ye might hae left that music-box in France," said
Leezibeth. " It's better fitted for there than here."
" I could not live without it," said Coquette, with
some wonder.
" Then I'd advise ye no to open it to-day, which is a
day o' preparation for the solemn services o' the Sabbath.
The denner is on the table, miss."
The young lady went downstairs and took her place
at the table, all the boys staring at her with open mouth
and eyes. It was during her talk with the Minister that
she casually made a remark about " the last time she
had gone to mass."
Consternation sat upon every face. Even the Mini-
ster looked deeply shocked, and asked her if she had
been brought up a Roman.
" A Catholic ? Yes," said Coquette, simply, and yet
looking strangely at the faces of the boys. They had
never before had a Catholic come among them unawares.
" I am deeply grieved and pained," said the Minister,
gravely. " I knew not that my brother had been a per-
vert from the communion of our Church "
" Papa was not a Catholic/' said Coquette. " Mamma
and I were. But it matters nothing. I will go to your
church it is the same to me."
" But," said the Minister, in amazement and horror,
" it is worse that you should be so indifferent than that
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. j 5
you should be a Catholic. Have you never been in-
structed as to the all-importance of your religious faith ? "
" I do not know much but I will learn, if you
please," she said. " I have only tried to be kind to the
people around me that is all. I will learn if you will
teach me. I will be what you like."
" Her ignorance is lamentable, " muttered the Minister
to himself ; and the boys looked at her askance and with
fear. Perhaps she was a secret friend and ally of the Pope
himself.
But the Whatip, who had been inclined to show
an independent contempt for his new cousin, no sooner
saw her get into trouble than he startled everybody by ex-
claiming warmly,
" She has got the best part of all religions, if she does
her best to the people around her."
" Thomas, " said the Minister, severely, "you are not
competent to judge of these things. "
But Coquette looked at the lad, and saw that his face
was burning, and she thanked him with her expressive
eyes. Another such glance would have made the Whaup
forswear his belief in the Gunpowder Plot ; and, as it was,
he began to cherish wild notions about Roman Catholicism,
That was the first result of Coquette's arrival at Airlie.
CHAPTER III.
A PENITENT.
WHEN, on the Sunday morning, Coquette, having risen,
dressed, and come into her sitting-room, went foward to
one of the small windows, she uttered a cry of delight.
She had no idea that the surroundings of her new home
were so lovely. Outside the bright sunlight of the morning
fell on the Minister's garden and orchard a somewhat
tangled mass, it is true, of flower-beds and roses and
apple-trees, with patches of cabbage, pease, and other
i6 A DAUGHTER OF UETir.
kitchen stuff filling up every corner. A white rose-tree
nearly covered the wall of the Manse, and hung its leaves
round the two windows ; and when she opened one of these
to let the fresh air rush in, there was a scent of roses
that filled the room in a second.
But far beyond the precincts of the Manse stretched
a great landscape, so spacious, so varied, that her eye ran
over it with increasing delight and wonder, and could not
tell which part of it was the more beautiful. First, the
sea. Just over the mountains of the distant island of
Arran a spectral blue mass lying along the horizon
there was a confusion of clouds that let the sunlight fall
down on the plain of water in misty, slanting lines. The
sea was dark, except where those rays smote it sharp and
clear, glimmering in silver ; while a black steamer slowly
crept across the lanes of blinding light, a mere speck.
Down in the south there was a small gray cloud, the size
of a man's hand, resting on the water ; but she did not
know that that was the rock of Ailsa. Then, nearer
shore the white waves and the blue sea ran into two long
bays, bordered by a waste of ruddy sand ; and above the
largest of these great bays she saw a thin line of dark
houses and gleaming slates, stretching from the old-world
town of Saltcoats up to its more modern suburb of
Ardrossan, where a small fleet of coasting vessels rocked
in the harbor. So near were these houses to the water
that, from where Coquette stood, they seemed a black
fringe or breastwork to the land ; and the spire of Salt-
coats church, rising from above the slates, was sharply
defined against the windy plain of tumbling waves.
Then inland. Her window looked south ; and before
her stretched the fair and fertile valleys and hills of Ayr-
shire undulating squares and patches of yellow, inter-
sected by dark green lines of copse running down to the
sea. The red flames of the Stevenston iron-works flick-
ered in the daylight ; a mist of blue smoke hung over
Irvine and Troon ; and, had her eyes known whereto look,
she might have caught the pale gray glimmer of the houses
of Ayr. As the white clouds sailed across the sky, blue
shadows crept across this variegated plain beneath
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT. ! 7
momentarily changing its many hues and colors ; and
while some dark wood would suddenly deepen in gloom,
lo ! beside it some hitherto unperceived cornfield would
as suddenly burst out in a gleam of yellow, burning like
gold in the cleat light.
So still it was on this quiet Sunday morning that she
could hear the 4 ' click " of a grasshopper on the warm
gravel outside, and the hum of a passing bee as it buried
itself in one of the white roses, and then flew on. As
she looked away to the south, it seemed to her she could
hear more. Her eyes refused to recognize the beautiful
scene before her, and saw another which was very differ-
ent. Was not that the plashing of the sea on the sunny
coast of France ? Was not that the sound of chanting in
the small chapel at Le Croisic, out there at the point of
land that runs into the sea above the estuary of the Loire ?
Her mental vision followed the line of coast running
inward passing the quaint houses and the great build-
ing-yards of St. Nazairc and then, as she followed the
course of the broad blue river, she came to her own home,
high up on the bank, overlooking the islands on the stream,
and the lower land and green woods beyond.
" If I had a pair of wings," she said, with a laugh,
" I would fly avay." She had determined she would
always speak English now, even to herself.
She went to her piano and sat down and began to
sing the old and simple air that rhe had sung when she
left her southern home. She sang of " Normandie, ma
Normandie ; " and the sensitive thrill of a rich and soft
contralto voice lent a singular pathos to the air, although
she seemed to sing carelessly, and, indeed, from light-
ness of heart. Now it happened that the Whaup was
passing the foot of the stair leading up to her room.
At first he could not believe his ears that any one was
actually singing a profane song on the Sabbath morn-
ing ; but no sooner had he heard " O Normandie, ma
Normandie ! " than he flew up the stairs, three steps at
a bound, to stop such wickedness.
She did not sing loudly, but he thought he had never
heard such singing. He paused for a moment at the
1 8 A DAUGHTER OF II E TIL
top of the stair. He listened, and succumbed to the
temptress. The peculiar penetrating timbre of the deep
contralto voice pierced him and fixed him there, so that
he forgot all about his well-meant interference. He
listened breathlessly, and with a certain amount of awe,
as if it had been vouchsafed to him to hear the singing
of angels. lie remembered no more that it was sinful ;
and when the girl ceased singing, it seemed to him
there was a terrible void in the silence, which was al-
most misery.
Presently her ringers touched the keys again. What
was this now that filled the air with a melody which had
a strange distance and unearthliness about it ? She
had begun to play Mozart's sonata in A sharp, and was
playing it carelessly enough ; but the Whaup had never
heard anything like it before. It seemed to him to open
with the sad stateliness of a march, and he could almost*
hear in it the tread of aerial hosts ; and then there was
a suggestion of triumph and joy, falling back into that
plaintive and measured cadence. It was full of dreams
and mystery to him ; he knew no longer that he was in
a Scotch Manse. But when the girl inside the room
broke into the rapidity of the first variation, and was in-
deed provoked into giving some attention to her playing,
and lending some sharpness to her execution, he was re-
called to himself. He had been deluded by the devil.
He would no longer permit this thing to go on un-
checked. He would at once have opened the door and
charged her to desist, but from a sneaking hope that
she might play something more intelligible to him than
these variations, which he regarded as impudent and
paganish the original melody playing hide-and-seek
with you in a demoniac fashion, and laughing at you
from behind a corner, when you thought you had secured
it. He was lingering in this uncertain way when Lcezi-
beth dashed up the stairs. She saw him standing there,
listening, and threw a glance of contempt at him. She
banged the door open, and advanced into the room.
" Preserve us a', lassie, do ye ken what ye're doing ?
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. jg
Do ye no ken that this is the Sabbath, and that you're
in a respectable house ? "
The girl turned around with more wonder than alarm
in her face.
* r ls it not right to play music on Sunday ? "
is Sunday ! Sunday ! " exclaimed Leezibeth, who was
nearly choking, partly from excitement and partly from
having rushed upstairs ; " your heathenish gibberish
accords weel wi' sic conduct. There is nae Sunday for
us. We are no worshippers o' Bel and the Draugon ;
and dinna ye tell me that the dochter o' the Minister's
brither doesna ken that it is naething less than heathen-
ish to turn a sober and respectable house into a Babel o'
a theatre on a Sabbath morning "
At this moment the Whaup made his appearance,
with his eyes aflame.
" Plenty, plenty, Leezibeth ! " said he, standing out
in the middle of the floor.
" Ma certes," said Leezibeth, turning on her new
enemy, " and this is a pretty pass ! Is there to be nae
order in the house because ye are a' won ower by a
smooth face and a pretty pair o' een ? Is the Manse to
be tumbled tapsalteery, and made a by-word o' because
o' a foreign hussy ? "
" Leezibeth," said the Whaup, " as sure's death, if
ye say another word to my cousin, ye'll gang fleein'
down that stair quicker than ever ye came up. Do ye
hear ? "
Leezibeth threw up her hands, and went away. The
Manse would soon be no longer fit for a respectable
woman to live in. Singing and dancing and play-acting
on the Sabbath morning ; after all, Andrew was right.
It would have been a merciful dispensation if the boat
that brought this Jezebel to the country had foundered
in sight of its shores.
Then the Whaup turned to Coquette. " Look here,"
said he, " I don't mean to get into trouble more nor I
can help. Leezibeth is an authority in the Manse, and
ye'll hae to make friends wi' her. Don't you imagine
you can play music here or do what ye like on the Sab-
20 4 DAUGHTER OF HETH.
bath, for you'll have to be like the rest, gudeness
gracious ! what are ye crying for ? "
" I do not know," she said, turning her head aside.
" I thank you for your kindness to me."
" Oh," said he, with a tremendous flush of red to his
face for her tears had made him valiant, " is that all ?
Look here, you can depend on me. When you get into
trouble, send for me. If any man or woman in Airlie
says a word to you, by jingo ! I'll punch their head ! "
With that she turned and looked at him with laugh-
ter like sunshine struggling through the tears in her
eyes.
" Is it English -ponche sare Jtade ? "
11 Not as you pronounce it," he said, coolly. " But
as I should show them, if they interfered wi' you, it's
very good English, and Scotch, and Irish all put to-
gether."
On Sunday morning Mr. Cassilis had his breakfast
by himself in his study. The family had theirs in the
ordinary breakfast-room, Leezibeth presiding. It was
during this meal that Coquette began for the first time
to realize the fact that there existed between her and
the people around her some terrible and inexplicable
difference which shut her out from them. Leezibeth
was cold and distant to her. The boys, all except the
Whaup, who manfully took her part, looked curiously at
her. And with her peculiar sensitiveness to outward im-
pressions, she began to ask herself if there was not
some cause for this suspicion on their part. Perhaps,
she was, unknown to herself, more wicked than others.
Perhaps her ignorance, as in this matter of music,
which she had always regarded as harmless had blinded
her to the fact that there was something more demanded
of her than the simple and innocent and joyous life she
believed herself to have led. These doubts and anxie-
ties grew in proportion to their vagueness. Was she,
after all, a dangerous person to have come among these
religious people ? Andrew would have been rejoiced to
know of these agitating thoughts : she was awakening
to a consciousness of sin.
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL 21
Scarcely was breakfast over than a message was
brought that Mr. Cassilis desired to see his niece pri-
vately. Coquette rose up, very pale. Was it now
that she was to have explained to her the measure of
her own godlessness, that seemed to be a barrier be-
tween her and the people among whom she was to live ?
She went to the door of the study and paused there,
with her heart beating. Already she felt like a leper
that stood at the gates, and was afraid to talk to any
passer-by for fear of a cruel repulse. She opened the
door, with downcast look, and entered. Her agitation
prevented her from speaking. And then, having raised
her eyes, and seeing before her the tall gray-haired Min-
ister seated in his chair, she suddenly went forward to
him and flung herself at his feet, bursting into a wild fit of
weeping, and burying her face in his knees. In broken
speech, interrupted by wild sobbing and tears, she im-
plored him to deal gently with her if she had done
wrong.
" I do not know," she said " I do not know. I do
not mean to do wrong. I will do what you tell me,
but I am all alone here and I cannot live if you are
angry with me. I will go away, if you like ; perhaps it
will be better if I go away, and not vex you any more.''
" But you have not vexed me, my lassie, you have
done no wrong that I know of," he said, putting his
hand on her head. " What is all this ? W r hat does it
mean ? "
She looked up to see whether the expression of his
face corresponded with the kindness of his voice. She
saw there nothing but kindliness in the rugged gray
lines, and the ordinary sternness of the deep-set eyes
was replaced by a profound pity.
" I cannot tell you in English, in French I could,"
she said. " They speak to me as if I was different from
them, and wicked, and I do not know m what. I
thought you wished to reproach me. I could not bear
that. If I do wrong without knowing, I will do better,
if you will tell me, but I cannot live all by myself, and
think that I am wicked, and not know. If it is wrong
5W A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
to play music, I will not play any more music. I will
ask Leesiebess to pardon me my illness of this morning,
which I did not know at all."
The Minister smiled.
"So you have been playing music this rooming, and
Leezibeth has stopped you. I hope she was not to blame
in her speech, for to her it would seem very heinous to
hear profane music on the Sabbath. Indeed, we all of
us in Scotland consider that the Sabbath should be de-
voted to meditation and worship, not to idleness or amuse-
ment; and ye will doubtless come to consider it no great
hardship to shut your piano one day out o' the seven.
But I sent for ye this morning wi' quite another purpose
than to scold ye for having fallen through ignorance into
a fault, of which, indeed, I knew nothing."
He now began to unfold to her the serious perplexity
which had been caused him by the fact of her having
been brought up a Roman Catholic. On the one hand,
he had a sacred duty to perform to her as being almost
her sole surviving relation; but, on the other hand, was
he justified in supplanting with another faith that faith
in which her mother had desired her to remain ? The
Minister had been seriously troubled about this matter,
and wished to have it settled before he permitted her to
go to church with the rest of his family. He was a
scrupulously conscientious man. They used to say of
him in Airlie that if Satan, in arguing with him, were
to fall into a trap, Mr. Cassilis would scorn to take ad-
vantage of any mere slip of the tongue ; a piece of recti-
tude not invariably met with in religious disputes. When,
therefore, the Minister saw placed in his hands a willing
convert, he would not accept of the conversion without
explaining to her all the bearings of the case, and point-
ing out to her clearly vvhat she was doing.
Coquette solved the difficulty in a second.
" If mamma were here," she said, " she would go at
once to your church. It never mattered to us the
church. The difference, or is it differation you do say
in English ? was nothing to us ; and papa did not mind.
I will go to your church, and you \vill tell me all what it
A DAUGHTER OF HETIL\
is right. I will soon know all your religion," she added,
more cheerfully, " and I will sing those dreadful slow
tunes which papa used to sing, to make mamma laugh."
"My brother might have been better employed," said
the Minister, with a frown ; but Coquette ran away,
light-hearted, to dress herself to go with the others.
The Whaup was a head taller when he issued out of
the Manse, by the side of his new cousin, to go down to
the little church. He was her protector. He snubbed
the other boys. To one of them, Wattie the sneak, he
had administered a sharp cuff on the side of the head,
when the latter, on Coquette being summoned into the
study, remarked confidentially, " She's gaun to get her
licks ; " * and now, when the young lady had come out
in all the snowy brightness of her light summer costume,
Wattie revenged himself by murmuring to his com-
panions,
" Doesna she look like a play-actress ? "
So the small procession passed along the rough moor-
land road until they drew near the little gray church and
its graveyard of rude stones. Towards this point con-
verged the scattered twos and threes now visible across
the moor and down in the village, old men and women,
young men and maidens, all in their best Sunday " braws."
The dissonant bell was sounding harshly ; and the boys,
before going into the gloomy little building, threw a last
and wistful glance over the broad moor, where the bronzed
and the yellow butterflies were fluttering in the sunlight,
and the bees drowsily humming in the heather.
They entered. Every one stared at Coquette, as they
had stared at her outside. The boys could not under-
stand the easy self-composure with which she followed
the Whaup down between the small wooden benches,
and took her place in the Minister's pew. There was
no confusion or embarrassment in her manner on meet-
ing the eyes of the lot of strangers.
" She's no feared," said Wattie to his neighbor.
When Coquette had taken her seat, she knelt down
* Anglice a whipping.
2 4 A DAUGHTER OF HE TH.
and covered her face with her hands. The Whaup
touched her arm quickly.
" Ye maunna do that," said he, looking around anx-
iously to see whether any of the congregation had wit-
nessed this piece of Romish superstition.
That look around dashed from his lips the cup of
pleasure he had been drinking. Looking at both him-
self and Coquette, he met the eyes of Lord Earlshope ;
and the congregation had not seen anything of Coquette's
kneeling, for they had turned from her to gaze on the
no less startling phenomenon of Lord Earlshope occupy-
ing his family pew, in which he had not been seen for
many years.
CHAPTER IV.
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.
COQUETTE did not observe the presence of Lord
Earlshope for some time. She was much engaged in the
service, which was quite new to her. First of all, the
Minister rose in his pulpit and read out a psalm ; and
then, under him, the precentor rose, and begun, all by
himself, to lead off the singing in a strong, harsh voice,
which had but little music in it. The tune was " Drum-
clog ; " and as Coquette listened, she mentally grouped
its fine and impressive melody with chords, and thought
of the wonderful strength and sweetness that Mendels-
sohn could have imparted to that bare skeleton of an air.
The peop ] e groaned rather than sung, there was not
even an attempt at part singing. The men merely followed
the air an octave lower, except when they struck into
quite a different key, and produced such dissonances as
are indescribable. If the use of the piano were not en-
tirely proscribed, she promised to herself that she would
show the Whaup next morning the true character of that
A DAUGHTER OF HETfL 25
simple and noble air which was being so cruelly ill-
treated.
There followed a long extempore prayer, and another
psalm, sung to the me.lancholy " Coleshill," and then
there came the sermon. She tried hard to understand
it, but she could not. It was an earnest and powerful
appeal ; but it was so clothed in the imagery of the
Jewish prophets, so full of the technical phrases of the
Scotch preachers, that she could not follow it. Her
English had been chiefly gathered from the free and
easy conversation of her father, and even that had been
modified by the foreign pronunciation of her mother ;
so that such phrases as " the fulfilment of the covenant,"
" girding up the loins," " awakening unto grace," and so
forth, conveyed no meaning to her whatever. In spite
of her best endeavors, she found herself dreaming of the
Loire, of St. Nazaire, of Guerande, of the salt plains
that lie between that town and Le Croisic, and of the
Breton peasants in their white bragousbras and wide
hats, making their pilgrimages to the church of Notre
Dame de Murier.
The sight of Lord Earlshope had made the Whaup
both savage and wicked. He proposed to Wattie to
play " Neevie, neevie, nick-nack " ; an offer which Wat-
tie looked upon as the direct instigation of the devil,
and refused accordingly.
When, at last, Coquette caught the eyes of ford
Earlshope fixed upon her, she was surprised to see him
so intently regarding her. There was something wist-
ful, too, in his look ; his face bearing an expression of
seriousness she did not expect to find in it. During the
brief period in which he talked to her he had left upon
her the impression of his being merely a light-hearted
young man, who had winning ways, and a good deal of
self-confidence. But the fact is, she had paid no very
great attention to him, and even new she was not dis-
posed to look upon his fixed gaze as anything beyond a
mere accident. She turned her eyes aside ; tried once
more to follow the sermon ; and again subsided into
dreaming of Bourg de Batz and the square pools of the
2 6 A DAUGHTER OF HETff.
salt plains, with the ancient walls of Guerande filling up
the horizon of her imagination.
When the service was over, and they had got out-
side, the Whaup bundled them off on the road towards
the Manse with but little ceremony, taking care that
Coquette should be in front.
"What has changed you?" she said, in some sur-
prise. " I did think you were good friends with me on
coming to the church."
" Never mind," he said abruptly ; and then he added,
sharply, " Did you see Lord Earlshope there ? "
" Yes, I did see him."
"What business had he there ? "
" People go not to the church for business," she said,
with a laugh.
" He has not been in that pew for years," said the
Whaup, gloomily.
" Perhaps he is becoming a good man," she said,
lightly, making a careless effort to catch a butterfly that
fluttered before her face.
" He has plenty to alter, then," said the Whaup,
bitterly.
" Quel drole de grand enfant ! Wattie," she said
turning to the Whaup's brother, " will you run with me
to the house ? "
She held out her hand.
" No, I'll no/' said Wattie. " Ye are a Roman, and
can get absolution for a' the ill ye dae."
"I will, an' ye like," said the youngest of the brothers,
Dougal, timidly.
" Come along, then ! "
She took his hand, and, before Leezibeth or Andrew-
could interfere, they were fleeing along the rough road
towards the Manse, far in front of the others. Dougal,
young as he was, was a swift runner ; but the foreign
lassie beat him, and was evidently helping him. All at
once Dougal was seen to stumble and roll forward. Co-
quette made a desperate effort to save him, but in vain ;
and while he fell prone upon the ground, she was brought
nearly on her knees. The little fellow got up, looking
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL 2J
sadly at one of his hands, which was badly scratched
with the gravel. He looked at her, too, dumbly ; clench-
ing his lips to keep himself from crying, although the
tears would gather in his eyes. In an instant she had
overwhelmed him with pitying caresses and soft French
phrases of endearment, while she carefully smoothed his
torn hand with her handkerchief.
" You will come with me to my room, and I will heal
it for you."
She carried him off before the others had arrived,
and washed his hand, and put cold cream on it, and gave
him a whole box of French chocolate, a dainty which
he had never seen before, but which he speedily appre-
ciated. Then she said,
" Come along, now, and I will sing you something.
Alas ! no, I must not open my piano any more/'
It was the first time Dougal had ever heard anybody
say "alas!" a word which Coquette had picked up
from her English books. He began to distrust all this
kindness and all these fascinating ways. What Coquette
knew of English was more English than Scotch in pro-
nunciation. Now everybody in Airlie was aware of the
curious fact that all actors and public singers, and such
people generally as live by their wits, were English ; and
an English accent was therefore in itself suspicious. If
this young lady in the white muslin dress, with the blue
ribbons in her black hair, was not actually French, she
was English, which was only a shade less deplorable.
Dougal accepted the brown and sweet, little balls of
chocolate with some compunction, and hoped he was do-
ing no mortal sin in eating them.
After the "interval," as it was technically called,
they had to go to church again, and here Coquette's pa-
tience nearly gave way. Nor was the situation rendered
less grievous by the Whaup informing her severely that
in Airlie there was no such thing as idle walking about
on the Sabbath, that the whole of the afternoon she
would not even be permitted to go into the garden, but
would have to sit indoors and read a " good book." The
Whaup was not ill-pleased to have to convey this infor-
2 3 A DA UGIJ TER OF HE TIL
ination ; he fancied Lord Earlshope might be prowling
about.
There was a " tea dinner " at four o'clock, consisting
exclusively of cold meats, with tea added. Thereafter
the whole family sat down in solemn silence to their
books, the list being the Bible, the Shorter and Longer
Catechisms, Hutcheson's Exposition, Dr. Spurstow on
the Promise, the Christian's Charter, Bishop Downham
on the Covenant of Grace (these last printed for Ralph
Smith, at the Bible in CornJdll "), and Josephus. By
this copy of Josephus there hangs a tale.
Dougal, remembering that business of the chocolate,
came over to Coquette and whispered,
" If ye are friends wi' the Whaup, he'll show ye the
third volume of Josephus."
Indeed the boys manifested the most lively curiosity
when the Whaup appeared bearing the third volume of
Josephus in his hand. They seemed to forget the sun-
light outside, and the fresh air of the moor, in watching
this treasure. The Whaup sat down at the table, the
Minister was seated at the upper end of the room in his
arm-chair, and the third volume of Josephus was opened.
Coquette perceived that some mystery was abroad.
The boys drew more and more near to the Whaup, and
were apparently more anxious to see the third volume
of Josephus than anything else. She observed also that
the Whaup, keeping the board of the volume up, never
seemed to turn over any leaves.
She, too, overcome by feminine curiosity, drew near.
The Whaup looked at her, suspiciously at first, then he
seemed to relent.
" Have ye read Josephus ? " he said aloud to her.
"No/ paid Coquette.
" It is a most valuable work." said the Minister from
the upper end of the room (the Whaup started), " as
giving corroboration to the sacred writings from one who
was not an advocate of the truth."
Coquette moved her chair in to the table. The
Whaup carefully placed the volume before her. She
looked at it, and beheld two white mice !
A DA UGH TER OF HE TH. 2 9
The mystery was solved. The Whaup had daringly
cut out the body of the volume, leaving the boards and
a margin of the leaves all round. In the hole thus formed
reposed two white mice, in the feeding and petting of
which he spent the whole Sunday afternoon, when he
'was supposed to be reading diligently. No wonder the
ooys were anxious to see the third volume of Josephus ;
: and when any one of them had done a particular favor
to the Whaup, he was allowed to have half an hour of
the valuable book. There were also two or three leaves
left in front ; so that, when any dangerous person passed,
these leaves could be shut down over the cage of the
mice.
They were thus engaged when Leezibeth suddenly
opened the door, and said,
" Lord Earlshope would speak wi' ye, sir."
Astonishment was depicted on every countenance.
From time immemorial no visitor had dared to invade
the sanctity of Airlie Manse on a Sabbath afternoon.
" Show him into my study, Leezibeth," said the Min-
ister.
" By no means," said his Lordship, entering ; " I
would not disturb you, Mr. Cassilis, on any account. I
have merely called in to say a passing word to you, al-
though I know it is not good manners in Airlie to pay
visits on Sunday."
" Your Lordship is doubtless aware," returned Mr.
Cassilis, gravely, " that it is not the consideration of good
manners gars us keep the Sabbath inviolate from customs
which on other days are lawful and praiseworthy."
" I know, I know," said the young gentleman, good-
'naturedly, and taking so little notice of the hint as to ap-
propriate a chair ; " but you must blame my English ed-
ucation if I fall short. Indeed, it struck me this morning
that I have of late been rather remiss in attending to my
duties, and I made a sort of resolve to do better. You
would see I was at church to-day."
" You could not have been in a more fitting place,"
said the Minister.
Mr. Cassilis, despite the fact that he was talking tc
30 A DAUGHTER OF HE TH.
the patron of the living, Lord Earlshope's father had
presented him to the parish of Airlie, was not disposed
to be too gracious to this young man, whose manner of
conduct, although in no way openly sinful, had been a
scandal to the neighborhood.
" He'll have a heavy reconin' to settle i' the next
woiT," Andrew used to say, "be he lord or no lord.
What think ye, sirs, o' a young man that reads licht books
and smokes cigaurs fraethe rising o' the sun even till the
ganging doon o' the same ; and roams about on the Lord's
day breaking in a wheen pointers ? "
The boys looked on this visit of Lord Earlshope as a
blessed relief from the monotony of the Sunday after-
noon ; and while they kept their eyes steadily directed
on their books, Kstened eagerly to what he had to say.
This amusement did not last long. His Lordship,
scarcely taking any notice of Coquette in his talk, though
he sometimes looked at her by chance, spoke chiefly of
some repairs in the church which he was willing to aid
with a subscription ; and, having thus pleased the Minis-
ter, mentioned that Earlshope itself had been undergoing
repairs and redecoration.
" And I have no neighbors but yourselves, Mr Cas-
silis, to see our new grandeur. Will you not pay Earls-
hope a visit ? What do you say to coming over, the
whole of you, to-morrow forenoon, and seeing what I have
done ? I dare say Mrs. Graham will be able to get some
refreshment for you ; and I should like your niece,
whom I had the pleasure of seeing on her way here, to
give me her opinion about an organ sent me from abroad.
What do you say ? I am sure the boys will enjoy a holi-
day in the grounds, and be able to find amusement for
themselves."
If the Whaup dared to have spoken, he would have
refused in indignant terms. The other boys were de-
lighted with the prospect, although they were still sup-
posed to be reading. Coquette merely looked at Mr.
Cassilis, apparently without much interest, awaiting his
answer.
Mr. Cassilis replied, in grave and dignified terms cf
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT. 31
courtesy, that he would be proud to avail himself of his
Lordship's invitation ; and added that he hoped this re-
establishment of the relations which had existed between
Earlshope and the Manse in the time of his Lordship's
father meant that he, the present Lord Earlshope, in-
tended to come oftener to church than had been his wont
of late. The hint was conveyed in very plain language.
The young gentleman, however, took it in good part, and
speedily bade them good-evening. He bowed to Co-
quette as he passed her, and she returned his obeisance,
with her eyes fixed on the ground.
CHAPTER V.
COQUETTE'S MUSIC.
WHAT ^as this great rushing and whistling noise
that filled the girl's ears as the light of the morning,
entering by a small window, which had no sort of blind
or shutter, fell on her face and opened her confused
eyes to its glare ? She had been dreaming of Earleshope.
Dreams are but rechauffees of past experiences ; and
this ghostly Earlshope that she visited in her sleep was
a French Earlshope. The broad, blue Loire ran down a
valley in front of it. There were hills for a background
which had long terraces of vines on them. From the win-
dows she could see the steamers, mere dots with a long
serpent train of smoke behind them, creep into the
haven of St. Nazaire ; and far over the sea lay the calm
summer stillness of a southern sky.
She awoke to find herself in Scotland. The Manse
shook in the wind. There was a roaring of rain on the
slates and the window panes, and a hissing outside of
the deluge that was pouring a red stream down the
moorland road. Fierce gusts from the southwest flew
about the house, and howled in the chimney overhead ;
3 2
A DAUGHTER OF HETff.
and great gray masses of cloud, riven by the hurricane,
came up from over the sea and swept across the moor.
The room was cold and damp. When she had got up
and partly dressed, she went to the window. Along the
horizon there was a thin black line, dull as lead, which
was all that was visible of the sea. The mountains of
Arran had entirely disappeared, and in their place was a
wall of gray vapor. Flying before the blast came huge
volumes of smoke-like cloud, and everv now and again
their lower edges would be torn down by the wind and
thrown upon the moor in heavy, slanting torrents of rain ;
while there was a sound of rushing streams everywhere,
and the trees and shrubs of the garden stood bent and
dark in the gleaming wet.
" No Earlshope for ye to-day," said the Whaup,
with ill-disguised glee, when she went downstairs to
breakfast.
" I am not sorry. What a dreadful chill country ! "
said Coquette, who was trembling with cold.
" Would you like a fire ? " said the Whaup, eagerly.
"A fire, indeed!" cried Leezibeth, as she entered
with the tray. " A fire in the middle o' summer ! We
have na been brought up to sic luxuries in this pairt o'
the country."
" I am not very cold," said Coquette, sitting down in
a corner, and trying to keep herself from shivering.
The Whaup walked out of the room. He was too
angry to speak. He looked once at Leezibeth on going
out, and there was a blaze of anger in his eyes.
The Minister came in to breakfast, and they all sat
down ; all but true Whaup.
" Where is Thomas ? " said Mr. Cassi-lis.
The reply was a shrill scream from Leezibeth, who
was apparently at the door. At this moment a wild
crackling and sputtering of fire was heard overhead, and
as everybody rushed to the passage, dense volumes of
smoke came rolling down the stairs, blown by the cur-
rents above. Leezibeth had flown upstairs on first per-
ceiving this smell of burning. There, in Coquette's
parlor, she caught sight of the Whaup working like a
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL 33
demon within clouds of heavy and pungent smoke which
had filled the room, blown outward by the fierce currents
coming down the chimney. With another cry of alarm
Leezibeth darted into the nearest bedroom, and brought
out a ewer of water, which she discharged at the blazing
mass of newspapers and lumps of wood that the Whaup
had crammed into the small grate.
" Would ye set fire to the house ? Would ye set fire
to the house ? " she cried, and, indeed, it looked as if
the house were on fire.
" Yes, I would," shouted the demon in the smoke,
" rather than kill any body wi' cold."
" Oh, it's that lassie, it's that lassie ! " cried Leezibeth,
" that'll be the ruin o' us a."
When assistance came, and the fire was finally sub-
dued, both the Whaup and Leezibeth were spectacles to
nave awakened the ridicule of gods and men. The ef-
fect of the deluge of water had been to send up a cloud
of dust and ashes with the smoke ; and their faces were
tattooed so that even Mr. Cassilis, for the first time
these many years, burst into a fit of laughter. Even
Wattie laughed, seeing which the Whaup charged at
him caught him by the waist, and carried him bodily
downstairs and out through the rain to the yard, where
he made him work the iron handle of the pump. When
the Whaup made his appearance at the breakfast-table
he was clean, but both himself and his brother were
rather damp.
Mr. Cassilis severely reprimanded his eldest son ;
but he ordered Leezibeth to light a fire in Miss Cassilis's
room nevertheless. The wind had somewhat abated,
and the clouds had gathered for a steady downpour.
Leezibeth went to her appointed task with bitterness of
heart, but she comforted herself with texts. As she
stuffed the unconsumed remnants of the Whaup' s bon-
fire into the grate, she uttered a denunciation of the
luxury and idleness which were appearing for the first
time in that godly house.
" But we," she muttered to herself, " who are the poor
o' this world, rich in faith, and heirs o' the kingdom,
34
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
maun bide and suffer. We maun e'en be the servants
o' such as this woman that has come among us ; such as
lie upon beds of ivory, and stretch themselves upon their
couches, and eat the lambs out of the flock, and the calves
out of the midst of the stall ; that chant to the sound of
the viol, and invent to themselves instruments of music,
like David ; that drink wine in bowls, and anoint them-
selves wi' the chief ointments ; but they are not grieved
for the affliction of Joseph."
Yet even these consolations did not quite allay the
irritation of her mind ; for a big tom-cat that belonged to
the house having approached her elbow too confidently,
suddenly received a " skelp" that sent him flying across
the room and down the stairs as if the spirits of a legion
of dogs were pursuing him.
Airlie Manse was destined that day to be given up
to the sound of the viol and other heathenish rejoicings.
All thought of getting to Earlshope was abandoned ;
and shortly after breakfast Coquette invited Mr. Cassilis
and the boys to her sitting-room, promising to play
something for them. Custom made the Minister hesi-
tate for a moment.. Was not dance music very near
dancing, which he regarded as a profane and dangerous
amusement ?
"I wish to play for you, what you call it? the tune
of the church yesterday, as it should be sung. Will you
hear it from me ? "
No objection could be taken to sacred music. The
Minister led the way to the room, and the boys sat down
silently, looking around with curiosity and awe upon the
strange bits of foreign adornment and luxury which
Coquette had already placed about the room. The fire
was burning brightly, the rain pattering on the panes
outside. Coquette sat down to the piano.
The Minister did not know at first that he was listen-
ing to the old and familiar air of " Drumclog." It seemed
to him the cry of a great supplication, sad, yearning,
and distant, as if it came from a far moor half hidden in
mist. It sounded like the softened and various voices of
a great multitude made harmonious and pathetic by dis-
A DAUGHTER OF HETIf. 35
tance. But when she smote firmer chords, and with a
resonant and powerful bass let the clear treble ring out
triumphantly, he recognized " Drumclog." It was a song
of victory now, the war-cry of a host moved by intense
religious enthusiasm ; there was a joyous thanksgiving
in it, and the clear voices of women and children. It
seemed to him to represent a tumult of rejoicing, set in
measured and modulated music, that rose like one sweet,
strong voice. Then again the chords were softened,
and the air changed to a wail. He could almost see the
far moor, and the dead lying on it, and women wringing
their hands, and yet thanking God for the victory.
" It is wonderfu', wonderfu'," he said, when Coquette
had ceased playing, " the power o' a dumb instrument to
speak such strange things.''
He was surprised to find that this carnal invention
of music had awoke such profound emotion within him.
He waited to see if the girl herself were affected as she
had affected him ; but Coquette turned around and
said, lightly, " It is a good air, but your church people
they do not sing it. They groan, groan, groan all the
same air : no counter-singing, no music."
" But you would make any tune, however bad, sound
well," said the Whaup, warmly. " To every one note
you give four or five other notes, all in harmony. No
wonder it sounds well. It is no test. Play us some of
your foreign music, that we may compare it."
The boys looked at the Whaup with astonishment :
he was becoming an orator.
So she played them the Cujus animam, and for the first
time in its history the Manse of Airlie was flooded with
that sonorous and brilliant music that has charmed the
hearts of multitudes. She played them the mystic melo-
dies of the Hockzitemarsch, and they thought that these
also were the expiession of a sublime devotional exalta-
tion. Indeed, the boys regarded those pieces with some-
thing of awe and fear. There was an unholy smack of
organ-playing and Romanism about Coquette's perform-
ances. Had she not transfomed the decent and sober
tune of " Drumclog " into a mass or chant, or some such
3 6 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
vague portion of Catholic ordinances ? Wattie was in
possession of an ingenious little book on " Various Forms
of Idolatry ;" and, the first plate representing the burn-
ing at the stake of a " popish witch/' he had pointed out
to his brothers that the black and profuse hair of the
young woman in the flames very much resembled the
hair of Coquette. It was but a suggestion, yet Rabbie,
another of the brothers, expressed the belief that there
were witches in these days also, that they were emissaries
of the " deevil," and that it behooved every one who wished
to save his soul to guard against such fiends in disguise,
and, above all, never to repeat any charm after them to-
wards twelve of the night.
Coquette rose from the piano.
" Who is going to play for me now ? " she said, look-
ing at the boys.
A loud guffaw ran down the line of them ; the notion
of a boy being able to play on the piano was irresistibly
ludicrous.
" Have you not learned at the school ? " she asked.
" You must know some pieces to play."
" Frenchmen may learn to play the piano/' said the
Whaup, with an air of calm superiority, " but men in
this country have something else to do."
" What is it you do ? " said Coquette, simply, having
quite misunderstood the remark. " You play not the
piano : is it the violin the the flute one learns here
at the school?"
" We dinna learn music at the schule, ye gowk, "said
one of the boys.
" Nor manners either," said the Whaup, firing up at
the last word.
At this juncture the Minister gravely thanked Co-
quettet for the pleasure her music had given him, and
left the room. No sooner had he gone than the Whaup
ordered his brothers to follow They seemed inclined to
show a spirit of insubordination.
" Out every one o* ye ! " he cried, " or I'll leather ye
in a lump ! "
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL 37
This autocratic proceeding left him master of the field.
So he turned to Coquette, and said,
" Ye said ye wanted to hear some music. There
is but one musician in Airlie forbye the precentor. I
mean Neil the Pensioner, He's a famous player on the
fiddle an out-and-out player, ye may take my word for'L
Will I go and bring him to ye ?''
" Perhaps he will not come/*
" Oh, I'll bring him," said the Whaup, confidently.
" But it rains much," said Coquette, looking out on
the disconsolate gray landscape, the dripping trees, and
the lowering sky.
The Whaup laughed aloud, as his long legs carried
him down the soft red road over the moor towards the
village. He was no timid French creature, brought up
under fair skies, that he should dread a temporary wetting.
When he arrived at Neil Lament's cottage the rain was
running down his face, and he only blew it from his
mouth and flung it from his fingers as he burst into the
astonished Pensioner's presence, and bade him bundle
up his fiddle and come along.
The Pensioner, as he was called, was a tall, spare old
Highlandman, somewhat bent now, with scanty gray hair,
and dazed, mild gray eyes, who had been at Waterloo.
He represented at once the martial and musical aspects of
Airlie. His narra ive of the event of Waterloo had grad-
ually, during many years, become more and more full of
personal detail, until the old man at last firmly believed
that he himself, in his own proper person, had witnessed
the whole of the battle, and been one of the chief heroes
of the hour. Napoleon, whom he had never seen, he de-
scribed minutely, and the inhabitants of Airlie had learned
to picture the rage and mortification visible on the face
of the great commander when he saw Neil rushing on to
victory over the dead bodies of three French grenadiers,
whom the hardy Highlander had overcome. Waterloo
had grown to be a great panorama for him ; and he would
unroll it at any moment, and name you every object and
person in the picture.
He was the village musician, too, and was in much
2 3 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
request at balls, marriages, and other celebrations. The
old man was singularly sensitive to music, and the wicked
boys of the village used to practise on his weakness. When
they saw the Pensioner out walking, they would begin
to whistle some military march, " The Campbells are
coming," " The girl I left behind me," or " What's a' the
steer, kimmer,''and you could see the Pensioner draw
himself up, and go on with a military swagger, with his
head erect. As for his own musical efforts, was there
anybody in all the breadth of Ayreshire who could play
" TheEast Neuk o' Fife " with such tremendous "spunk ? *
When the Pensioner was told that he had to play to
a young French lady, he was a proud man.
" Ye will na sink," he observed to the Whaup in his
curious jumble of Lowland and Highland pronunciation,
4 sat I will hurt sa leddy's feelins. No. Our prave re-
giments sent sa French fleein' at Waterloo ; but I will
speak jist nae word apoot it. I sweer till't she will not
even pe sinkin I wass at Waterloo."
Coquette received him graciously ; the old High-
lander was respectful, and yet dignified, in return. He
gently declined to show her his medal, fearful that the
word " Waterloo " would pain her. He would not utter
a syllable about his soldiering ; was it good manners to
insult a beaten foe ?
But he would play for her. He took his riddle from
its case, and sat down, and played her all manner of reels
and strathspeys, but no military music.
"Wha will ken," he whispered significantly to the
Whaup, " put sat she will have heard o' our victorious
tunes ? Na, na. Neil Lamont kens how to pehave
himsel' to a leddy."
And, in return, Coquette sat down to the piano.
There was one Scotch air, " Wha'll be King but Charlie "
which her father was particularly fond of. When she
struck into that bold and stirring piece of music, with all
the agencies of harmonious chords, the old Highlander
sat at first apparently stupefied. He had never known
the majesty and the power that could be lent to the tune
which boys played on penny whistles. But as he became
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT.
39
familiar with the rich and splendid sounds, he became
more and more excited. He beat time with his foot ;
he slapped his thigh with his hand ; he kept his head
erect, and looked defiance. Suddenly he seemed to for-
get the presence of the Whaup, wno was seated in a
corner, he started to his feet, and began pacing up and
down the room, waving the bow of his violin as if it
were a sword. And all at once Coquette heard behind
her the shrill and quavering notes of an old man's
voice,
" Come ower sa heather! come a' tagetherf
Come Ronald, an' Tonald, an' a' tagether ! "
and when she turned around, the old Highlandman, as
one possessed, was marching up and down the chamber
with his head high in the air, and tears running down
his withered gray cheeks,
" Thug thu braigh-gJiill air na chualadh mi riamh"
he cried, as he sank shamefacedly into a chair. " 1 have
never heard sa like o' sat not since sa day I will pe
porn ! "
CHAPTER VI.
EARLSHOPE.
How sweet and bright and grc^n looked the grounds
of Earlshope on the next day, wiien Mr. Cassilis and
Coquette drew near ! The warm sun had come out
again, and the air was fragrant with the scent of the wet
trees. Masses of white cloud still came up from the
south, sweeping over the dark, clear blue of the sky ; and
the peaks of Arran, set far amid the sea, were pale and
faint in a haze of yellow light.
Coquette was merry-hearted. The sunshine seemed
to please her as it pleased the butterflies and the bees
4 o A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
that were again abroad. As she went down the moor-
land road she laughed and chatted with the Minister,
and was constantly, out of pure lightness of heart, break-
ing into merry exclamations in her native tongue ; on
which she would suddenly recall herself with a pout of
impatience and resume her odd and quaint English talk.
The Whaup had been ill-tempered on setting out ;
but the sunlight and the bright life around him thawed
his sulkiness, and he became merely mischievous. His
brothers perceived his mood, and kept out of his way.
He was in the humor for rather rough practical jokes ;
and no one of them wished to be tripped up and sent
into the red-colored " burn " that still ran down between
the moor and the road to the little stream in the hollow
When they had passed the keeper's lodge, and gone
under a winding avenue of trees, they came in sight of
the big stone building and the bright green lawn in front
of it. They also saw their host seated beside a stone
lion, smoking a cigar, and watching the operations of a
lad who, mounted on the pedestal of a statue of Venus,
was busily engaged in giving that modest but scantily
clad young woman a coating of white paint.
" Did you ever see anything so curious ? " he said,
when he had bade them welcome. " Look at the rude
indifference with which he comes over her nose, and
gives her a slap on the cheek, and tickles her neck with
his brush ! I have been wondering what she would do
if she were alive whether she would scream and run
away, or rise up in indignant silence, or give him a sound
box on the ears."
" If she were to come alive," said Coquette, " he
would be made blind with fear, and she would fly up into
the skies."
" Et procul in tenuem ex oculis evanuit auram" said
the Minister, graciously, with a smile. He had not aired
so much Latin for years.
They had a walk round the grounds, skirting the not
very extensive park, before they turned into the garden.
Here everything was heavy with perfume in the sweet,
warm air. They went into the hot-house and vineries *
A DAUGHTER OF Il7'ff. 4,
and Lord Earlshope found a bunch of muscatel grapes
ripe enough to be cut for Coquette. No sooner had she
placed one between her lips than she cried out,
" Oh, how like to the wine ! I have not tasted "
She looked at the Minister, and hastily stopped hei
speech.
" You have not tasted muscatel grapes in this coun-
try," said Lord Earlshope, coming to her relief ; and he
looked at her with a peculiar smile, as much as to say,
" I know you meant wine."
The boys preferring to remain in the garden (the
Whaup walked off by himself into the park, under pre-
tence of seeking a peculiar species of Potentilld], Lord
Earlshope led his two principal guests back to the house,
and proceeded to show them its curiosities in the way
of pictures, old armor, old furniture, and the like. Co-
quette got so familiarized to his voice and look that she
forgot he was but a distant acquaintance. She did not
know that she stared at him while he was talking, or that
she spoke to him with a pleasant carelessness which was
oddly out of keeping with the Minister's grave and for-
mal courtesy. She was not even aware that she was
taking note of his appearance ; and that, after they had
left, she would be able to recall every lineament in his
face and every tone of his voice.
Lord Earlshope was a fair-haired, gentlemanly look-
ing young man, of some twenty-six or twenty-eight years
of age. He was rather over the middle height, slirnly
built, and inclined to lounge carelessly. The expression
of his eyes, which were large, gray, and clear, varied
singularly at one time being full of a critical and some-
what cold scrutiny, and at other times pensive and dis-
tant. He said he had no politics and no prejudices un-
less a very definite belief in " blood " could be considered
a prejudice.
" It is no superstition with me," he said to the Min-
ister, as the latter was examining a s-trange old family
tree hung up in the library. " I merely think it impru-
dent for a man of good family to marry out of his own
class. I have seen the experiment made by some of my
2 A -DAUGHTER OF UETII.
own acquaintances ; and, as a rule, the result has been
disastrous. The bad breeding comes out sooner or later.
Look at the family. The late Duke married in
Paris a woman nobody had heard of. She was appar-
ently a respectable sort of person but you see that every
one of the sons has gone to the dogs, and there isn't a
tree belonging to the family. A man who inherits an
historical name owes something to his forefathers, and
has no right to risk the reputation of his family by hu-
moring his own whims. I do not think I shall ever
marry ; for I am too poor to marry a woman of my own
station, and too proud to marry a woman who may turn
out to have inherited bad qualities from her ancestors."
Coquette came back at this moment from the book-
shelves, with a large thin quarto in her hands.
" Look what I have found," she said. " A volume of
curious old chants."
"It is treasure-trove," said Lord Earlshope. "I had
no idea there was such a book in the place. Shall we
go and try some of them ? You know you promised to
give me your opinion of the organ I have fitted up."
" I did not promise it, but I will do it," said Coquette.
He led the way downstairs to the drawing-room which
they had not yet visited. The tall chamber-organ, a
handsome and richly decorated instrument, stood in a
recess in the middle of the long apartment, and therefore
did not seem so cumbrous an appanage to a room as it
might otherwise have done.
" The defect of the organ," said Lord Earlshope, as
he placed the music for her, " is that the operation of
blowing the bellows is performed in sight of the public.
You see, I must fix in this handle, and work it while you
are playing."
" You must get a screen," she said, " and put a ser-
vant there."
" While you are playing," he said, " I could not let
anybody else assist you even in so rude a fashion."
Coquette laughed and sat down. Presently the sol-
emn tones of the organ were pealing out a rich and beau-
tiful chant, full of the quaint and impressive harmonies
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT.
43
which the monks of old had pondered over and elaborated.
If Mr. Cassilis was troubled by a suspicion that this
noble music was of distinctly Roman Catholic or idola-
trous origin, that doubt became a certainty when, at the
end of the chant, there came a long and wailing "Amen ! "
rolled out by the organ's deep voice.
" You play excellently , you must be familiar with
organ-playing," said Lord Earlshope. " It is not every
one who knows the piano who can perform on an organ,"
"At home the old cute used to let me play in the
church/' she said, with her eyes grown suddenly distant
and sad. She had remembered that her home no longef
lay away down there in the south, where life seemed so
pleasant.
" Come," said Lord Earlshope, " I hear my hench-
man Sandy about to ring the bell for luncheon. Shall
we go into the f oom at once, or wait for the boys ? "
" They will have their luncheon off your fruit-trees,
I am afraid," said Mr. Cassilis.
Nevertheless the boys were sent for, and arrived,
looking rather afraid. The Whaup was not with them ;
no one knew whither he had gone.
Lord Earlshope's household was far from being an
extensive one ; and Mr. Cassilis's boys found themselves
waited on by two maid-servants who were well known to
them as having been made the subject of many tricks ;
while Sandy, his lordship's valet, butler, courier, and
general factotum, a tall and red-headed Scotchman,
who, by reason of his foreign travels, had acquired a pro-
found contempt for everything in his own country,
approached Miss Cassilis with a lofty air, and, standing
behind her at a great distance from the table, extended
a bottle of Chablis so as to reach her glass.
"Miss Cassilis," said Lord Earlshope, "what wine
will remind yo i most of the Loire ?"
It had been her own thought, and she looked up with
a quick and grateful smile.
" My father left me a fair assortment of Bordeaux
wines "
44 A DAUGHTER OF IIETIf.
" But no vin ordinaire'^ she said with another bright
look.
" I must go myself to get you that," he said, laugh-
ing ; " Sandy does riot know how to manufacture it."
Before she could protest he had left the room, and in
a few minutes he had returned with a bottle in his hand,
and with the air of a conjurer on his face. He himself
filled her glass, and Coquette drank a little of it.
"Ah ! " she said, clasping her hands, " I think I can
hear old Nanette talking outside, and the river running
underneath us ; it is like being at home as if I were at
home again ! "
She fondled the glass as if it were a magical talisman
that had transported her over the sea, and would have to
bring her back.
" I must taste some of that wizard wine," said the
Minister, with a humorous smile, and the boys stared
with wonder to hear their father talk about drinking
wine.
"Pray don't, Mr. Cassilis," said their host, with a
laugh. " It is merely some new and rough claret to
which I added a little water ; the nearest approximation
to vin ordinaire I could think of. Since your niece is so
pleased with the Earl sh ope vintage, I think I must ask
you to let me send her a supply to the Manse. It is
quite impossible you can get it elsewhere, as I keep the
recipe in my own hands."
"And this is French bread ! " said Coquette, startled
out of her good manners by perceiving before her along,
narrow, brown loaf.
" Have I been so fortunate as to create another sur-
prise ? " said Lord Earlshope. " I telegraphed for that
bread to Glasgow, if I must tell you all my housekeeping
secrets."
Tt soon became clear that the indolent young man,
having nothing better to do, had laid his plans to get a
thoroughly French repast prepared for Coquette. Every
little dish that was offered her the red mullet, the bit
of fowl, the dry boiled beef and thick sauce, the plate of
salad was another wonder and another reminiscence of
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT.
45
the south. Why, it was only a few days since she had
arrived in Scotland, and yet it seemed ages since she had
sat down to such another pretty French breakfast as this
practically was. She sipped her vin ordinaire, and toyed
with the various dishes that were offered her accepting
all, and taking a little bit of each for the very pleasure of
" thinking back " with such evident delight that even Mr.
Cassilis smiled benignantly. The boys at the Manse,
like other boys in Scotland, had been taught that it was
rather ignominious to experience or exhibit any enjoy-
ment in the vulgar delights of eating and drinking ; but
surely in the pleased surprise with which Coquette re-
garded the French table around her there was little of
the sensuous satisfaction of the gourmand.
She was fairly charmed with this visit to Earlshope.
As they went back to the Manse, she was in the most
cheerful of moods, and quite fascinated the grave Minis-
ter with her quaint, broken talk. She never ceased to
speak of the place, of its grounds and gardens and books,
and what not, even to the brightness of the atmosphere
around it ; until Mr. Cassilis asked her if she thought
the sky was blue only over Earlshope.
" But I hope he will not send the wine ; it was a
what you call it ? joke, was it not ? " she said.
" A joke, of course," said Mr. Cassilis. " We are
very proud in this country, and do not take presents from
rich people."
" But I am not of your country," she said, with a
laugh. " If he sends his stupid vin ordinaire, he sends
it to me ; and I will not drink it ; you shall drink it all.
Did he say he is coming over to see you soon ? "
"Well, no," replied the Minister; "but since the ice
is broken, nothing is more likely."
The phrase about the ice puzzled Coquette much :
when it had been explained to her, they had already
reached the Manse. But where was the Whaup ? No*
body had seen him.
4.6 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
CHAPTER VII.
THE CRUCIFIX.
" I AM going to sea," said the Whaup, suddenly pre-
senting himself before Coquette. She looked up with
her soft dark eyes, and said
" Why you go to sea ? "
" Because," said the Whaup, evidently casting about
for an excuse, " because the men of this country should
be a. seafaring race, as their forefathers were. We can-
not all be living in big towns, and becoming clerks. I
am for a hardier life. I am sick of staying at home. I
cannot bear this idling any more. I have been down to
the coast, and when I smell the salt air, and see the
waves come tumbling on the coast, I hate to turn my
face inland."
There was a sort of shamefaced enthusiasm in the
lad's manner ; and Coquette, as she again looked up at
him, perceived that, although he believed all that he had
said, that was not the cause of his hasty determination.
Yet the boy looked every inch a sailor ; the sun-brown
hair thrown back from his handsome face, and the clear
moorland light shining in his blue eyes.
" There is something else," said the girl. " Why you
say nothing of all this before ? Why you must wish to
become a sailor all at once ? "
" And, if I must tell you," said he, with a sudden
fierceness, " I will. I don't choose, to stay here to see
what I know will happen. You are surprised, perhaps ?
But you are a mere child. You have been brought up
in a French convent, or some such place. You think
everybody in the world is like yourself, and you make
friends with anybody. You think they are all as good
and as kind as yourself ; and you are so light-hearted,
you never stop to think or to suspect. Enough ; you
A DAUGHTER OF HETIL 47
may go on your way, in spite of warning ; but I will not
remain here to see my family disgraced by your becom-
ing the friend and companion of a man like Lord Earls-
hope."
He spoke warmly and indignantly, and the girl
rather cowed before him, until he uttered the fatal word
disgrace."
" Disgrace ! " she repeated, and a quick light sprang
to her eyes. " I have disgraced no one, not any time in
my life. I will choose my own friends, and I will not
be suspicious. You are worse than the woman here :
she wants me to believe myself bad and wicked. Per-
haps I am, I do not know, but I will not begin to sus-
pect my friends of being bad. If he is so bad, why
does your father go to his house ?"
" My father is as simple as you are," said the Whaup,
contemptuously.
" Then it is only you are suspicious ? I did not
think it of you."
She looked hurt and vexed, and a great compunc-
tion filled the heart of the Whaup.
" Look here," he said, firmly (and in much better
English than was customary with him), "you are my
cousin, and it is my business to warn you when you are
likely to get into trouble. But don't imagine I'm going
to persecute you. No. You may do as you like. Per-
haps you are quite right. Perhaps it is only that I am
suspicious. But, as you are my cousin, I don't wish to
stand by and see what is likely to come, and so I am
going off. The sea will suit me better than a college
life, or a doctor's shop, or a pulpit."
Coquette rose from her seat, and began to walk up
and down the room in deep distress.
" I must go," she said ; " it is I who must go away
from here. I bring wretchedness when I come here ;
my friends are made miserable ; it is my fault, I should
not have come. In France I was very happy, they
used to call me the peacemaker at school and all the
people there were cheerful and kind. Here I am wicked,
I do not know how, and the cause of contention and
48 A DAUGHTER OF UETH.
pain. Ah, why you go away because of me ! " she sud-
denly exclaimed, as she took his hand, while tears
started to her eyes. " It does not matter to me if I go ;
I am nobody ; I have no home to break up. I can go
away, and nobody be the worse."
" Perhaps it is the best thing you can do," he said
frankly. "But if you go, I will go with you to take
care of you."
Coquette laughed.
" You are incomprehensible," she said. " Why not
take care of me here ? "
" Will you give me that duty ? " he asked, calmly.
"Yes," she said, with a bright smile, "you shall
take care of me as much as much as you can."
" Mind, it is no joke," said he. " If I resolve to
take care of you, I will do it ; and anybody interfer-
ing "
He did not finish the sentence.
" You will fight for me ? " she said, putting her
hand on his arm, and leading him over to the window.
" Do you see those clouds away over the sea ; how they
come on, and on, and go away ? These are the moods
of a man, his promises, his intentions. But overhead
do you see the blue sky ? that is the patience of a wo-
man. Sometimes the clouds are dark, sometimes white,
but the sky is always the same : is it not ? "
" H'm ! '' said the Whaup, with a touch of scorn,
" that is the romantic stuff they teach you at your
French school, is it ? It is very pretty, but it isn't true.
A man has more patience and more steadfastness than
a woman. What you meant was, I suppose, that what-
ever I might be to you, you would always be the same
to me. Perhaps so. We shall see in a few years.
But you will never find any difference in me, after any
number of years, if you want somebody to take your
part. You may remember what I say now afterwards."
"I think I could always trust you," she said, looking
rather wistfully at him with those dark eyes that he had
almost ceased to regard as foreign and strange. " You
have been very good to me since I came here.''
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
49
" And I have found out something new for you," he
said, eagerly ; so glad was he to fix and establish those
amicable relations. " I hear you were pleased because
Lord Earlshope had French things for you to eat and
drink ? ?r
" Yes, I was pleased," she said, timidly, and look-
ing down.
" But you don't know that there is a town close ty
here as like St. Nazaire as it can be : wouldnaye like to
see that ? "
" It is impossible," she said. 1
" Come and see," he replied.
Coquette very speedily discovered that the Whaup
refusing to accept of Lord Earlshope's invitation, had
gone off by himself on a visit to Saltcoats ; that he had
fallen in with some sailors there : that he had begun
talking with them of France and of the French seaports;
and that one of the men had delighted him by saying
that on one side the very town he was in resembled the
old place at the mouth of the Loire. Of course Miss
Coquette was in great anxiety to know where this
favored town was situated, and would at once have
started off in quest of it.
" Let us go up to your parlor, and I will show it to
you," said the Whaup.
So they went upstairs, and went to the window. It
was getting towards the afternoon, and a warm light
from the southwest lay over the fair yellow country,
with its dark lines of hedge and copse, its ruddy streaks
of sand, and the distant glimmer of a river. Seaward
there was a lowering which presaged a storm ; and the
black line of the Saltcoats houses fronted a plain of water
which had a peculiar light shining along its surface.
"That is the town," said the Whaup, pointing with
a calm air of pride to Saltcoats.
" I see nothing but a line of slates, and a church
that seems to stand out in the sea," said Coquette, with
some disappointment.
" But you must go near to see the old stone wall,
and the houses built over it, and the pier and harbor."
50 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
" Ah. is it like that ? " cried his companion, clasping
her hands. " Is it like St. Nazaire ? Are there boats ?
and an old church ? and narrow streets ? Oh, do let
us go there now ! "
" Would you rather see that than drink Lord Earls-
hope's vin ordinaire?" said the Whaup, with a cold
severity.
" Pah ! " she cried, petulantly. " You do give me no
peace with your Lord Earlshope. I wish you would
fight him, not frighten me with such nonsense. I will
believe you are jealous you stupid boy. But if you
will take me to St. Nazaire, to this place, I will for-
give you everything, and I will what can I do for you !
I will kiss you, I will sew a hankerchief for you, any-
thing."
The Whaup blushed very red, but frowned all the
same.
" I will take you to Saltcoats," said he ; " but we in
this country don't like young ladies to be so free with
their favors "
Coquette looked rather taken down, and only ven-
tured to say, by way of submissive apology,
" You are my cousin, you know."
They were about to slip out of the house unper-
ceived, when Leezibeth confronted them.
" Beg your pardon, Miss, but I would like to hae a
word wi' ye," she said, in a determined tone, as she
blocked up their way.
The Whaup began to look fierce.
" It is seventeen years come Michaelmas," said
Leezibeth, in set and measured tones, "since I cam' to
this house, and a pious and God-fearing house it has
been, as naebody, will gainsay. We who are but ser-
vants have done our pairt, I hope, to preserve its chai-
acter ; though in His sight there are nae servants and
nae masters, for He poureth contempt upon princes,
and causeth them to wander in the wilderness, and yet
setteth the poor on high from affliction, and maketh
Him families like a flock. I wouldna distinguish be-
tween master and servant in the house ; but when the
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. ^
master is blind to the things of his household, then it
would ill become an honest servant, not afraid to give
her testimony "
" Leezibeth," said the Whaup, " your talk is like
a crop o' grass after three months' rain. It's good
for neither man or beast, being but a blash o water"
" As for ye, sir," retorted Leezibeth, angrily, " it was
an ill day for ye that ye turned aside to dangle after an
idle woman "
" As sure as daith, Leezibeth," said the Whaup, in
his strongest vernacular, " I'll gar ye gang skelpin'
through the air like a splinter, if ye dinna keep a civil
tongue in your head."
" But what is it all about ? " said Coquette, in deep
dismay. " What have I done ? Have I done any more
wrong ? I know not ; you must tell me "
" And is it not true, Miss," said Leezibeth, fixing
her keen gray eye on the culprit, " that ye daur to keep
a crucifix, the symbol of the woman that sits on seven
hills, right over your head in your bed ; and have in-
troduced this polluting thing into an honest man's house,
to work wickedness wi', and set a snare before our
feet?"
" I do not know what you mean by seven hills, or a
woman," said Coquette, humbly. " I thought the cross
was a symbol of all religion. If it annoys you, I will
take it down ; but my mother gave it to me ; I cannot
put it away altogether. I will hide it, if it annoys you ;
but I cannot, surely you will not ask me to part with
it altogether "
" You shall not part with it," said the Whaup, draw-
ing himself up to his full height. " Let me see the man
or woman who will touch that crucifix, though it had on
it the woman o' Babylon herself ! "
Leezibeth looked dazed for a moment. It was almost
impossible that such words should have been uttered
by the eldest son of the Minister, and for a moment she
was inclined to disbelieve the testimony of her ears. Yet
there before her stood the lad, tall, proud, handsome, and
with his eyes burning and his teeth set. And there be-
5 2
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
side him stooa the witch-woman who had wrought this
perversion in him ; who had come to work destruction
in this quiet fold.
" I maun gang to the Minister," said Leezibeth, in des-
pair. " Andrew and I maun settle this maitter, or else
set out, in our auld age, for a new resting-place."
"And the sooner the Manse is rid of two cantanker-
ous old idiots the better ! " said the Whaup.
Leezibeth bestowed upon him a glance more of wonder
and fear than of anger, and then went her way.
" Come ! " said the Whaup to his companion. " We
maun run for it, or we shall see no St. Nazaire this
night."
Then Coquette, feeling very guilty, found herself
stealing away from the Manse, led by the Minister's
dare-devil son.
CHAPTER VIII.
SALTCOATS.
THE two fugitives fled from the Manse, and crossed
over the moor, and went down to the road leading to
Salteoats, in very diverse moods. The Whaup made
light of the affair of the crucifix, and laughed at it as a
good joke. Coquette was more thoughtful, and a trifle
angry.
" This is too much," she said. " I am not in the
habit to make enemies, and I cannot live like this ; to be
looked at as something very bad. If I do not know the
feelings of your country about music, about Sunday, about
religion, and it seems even a crime that I shall be cheer-
ful and merry at times, why not tell me instead of scold ?
I will do what they want, but I will not be treated like
a child. It is too much this Leesibess, and her harsh
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. c,
voice and her scolding. It is too much, it is not bear-
able,it is a beastly shame !"
" A what ? " said the Whaup.
" A beastly shame," she repeated, looking at him
rather timidly.
The Whaup burst into a roar of laughter.
" Is it not right ? v she said. " Papa did use to say
that when he was indignant."
" Oh, it is intelligible enough," said the Whaup,
"quite intelligible ; but young ladies in this country do
not say such things."
" I will remember," said Coquette, obediently.
The Whaup now proceeded to point out to his com-
panion that, after all, there was a good deal to be said on
the side of Leezibeth and her husband, Andrew. Co-
quette, he said, had given them some cause to complain.
The people of the Manse, whom Coquette took to rep-
resent the people of the country, were as kindhearted
as people anywhere else ; but they had their customs,
their beliefs, their prejudices, to which they clung tena-
ciously (just like people elsewhere ) ; and especially in
this matter of the crucifix she had wounded their feel-
ings by introducing into a Protestant manse the emblem
of a religion which they regarded with horror.
" But why is it that you regard any religion with hor-
ror ? " said Coquette. " If it is religion, I think it cannot
be much wicLed ? If you do bring some Protestant em-
blem into my Catholic church I shall not grumble ; I
would say, we all believe in the one God ; you may have
a share of my pew ; you may pray just beside me ; and
we all look to the one Father who is kind to us/'
The Whaup shook his head.
" That is a dangerous notion ; but I cannot argue
with you about it. Everything you say, everything you
do, is somehow so natural and fitting and easy that it
seems it must be right. It is all a part of yourself, and
ail so perfect that nobody would have it altered, even if
you were wrong."
" You do say that ? " said Coquette, with a blush of
pleasure.
54 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
" That sort of vague religious sentiment you talk o|
would be contemptible in anybody else, you know," said
the Whaup, frankly, "it would show either weakness of
reasoning, or indifference ; but in you it is something
that makes people like you. Why, I have watched you
again and again in the parlor at the manse ; and whether
you let your hand rest on the table, or whether you look
out of the window, or whether you come near the fire,
you are always easy and graceful. It is a gift you have
of making yourself, without knowing it, a picture. When
you came out, I thought that gray woolly shawl round
your shoulders was pretty ; and now you have put it round
your head it is quite charming. You can't help it. And
so you can't help that light and cheerful way of looking
at religion, and of being happy and contented, and of
making yourself a pleasure to the people round about
you."
Coquette began to laugh ; and the Whaup came to an
uncomfortable stop in the midst of his rapid enthusiasm.
" When you talk like that," she said, " I think I am
again in France, I am so light-hearted. You approve of
me, then ? " she added, timorously.
Approve of her ! Was it possible that she could care
for his approval ? And in what language could he ex-
press his opinion of her save in the only poetry familiar
to Airlie Manse ? " The King's daughter is all glorious
within : her clothing is of wrought gold. She shall be
brought unto the King in raiment of needlework : the
virgins her companions that follow her shall be brought
unto thee. With gladness and rejoicing shall they be
brought : they shall enter into the King's palace." Only
this King's daughter was without companions, she was
all alone ; and the Whaup wondered how this pure and
strange jewel came to be dropped in the centre of a
Scotch moor.
The wind was blowing hard from the southwest ; the
region of rain. Arran was invisible ; and in place of the
misty peaks there was a great wall of leaden-gray sky,
from the base of which came lines and lines of white
waves, roaring in to the shore. Coquette drew her thick
A DA UGH'l K OF HE 777. 5 5
gray plaid more closely around her, and pressed on, for
St. Nazaire now lay underneath them, a dark line of
houses between the sea and the land.
" What is that woman," said Coquette, looking along
the road, " who stands with the flowers in her hand, and
her hair flying ? Is she mad ? Is she Ophelia come to
Scotland ? "
Mad enough the girl looked ; for as they came up to
her they found her a bonnie Scotch lass of sixteen
or seventeen, who sobbed at intervals, and kept cast-
ing tearful glances all around her. She carried in one
hand her bonnet, in the other a bunch of flowers ; and
the wind that had scattered the flowers, and left but a
remnant in her hand, had also unloosed her nut-brown
hair, and blown it in tangled masses about her face and
neck. She stood aside, in a shamed way, to let the
strangers pass ; but the Whaup stopped.
" What is the matter wi' ye, my lass ? " said he.
" I had my shoon and stockings in my bundle," she
said, while the tears welled up in her blue eyes, " and
I hae dropped them out : and I canna gang back the
road to look for them, for I maun be in Saltcoats afore
kye-time."
" What does she say ? " asked Coquette.
" She has only lost her shoes and stockings, that's all,"
said the Whaup. " But it is bad enough for her, I dare
say.".
In an instant Coquette had out her purse, a dainty
little Parisian thing, in mother-of-pearl, with filagree work
round, and taken therefrom two Napoleons.
"Here/' she said, going forward to the girl, "you
must not cry any more about that. Take my little
present, and you will buy more shoes and more stockings
for yourself."
The girl eyed the money with some dismay, and prob-
ably wondered if this were not a temptress who had
suddenly appeared to offer her gold, and who spoke with
a strange sound in her voice.
" Dinna be a sumph ! " said the Whaup, who could
talk sufficiently broad Scotch when occasion demanded.
5 6 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
" Take the money the leddy offers ye, and thank her
for't."
The girl accepted the foreign-looking coins, and
seemed much distressed that, like the peasantry of Scot-
land in general, she did not know how to express the
gratitude she felt. Her thanks were in her eyes, and
these spoke very eloquently. But, j ust as her benefactors
were moving on, a man came along the road with some-
thing dangling from his hands. Great was the joy of
the girl on perceiving that he had found her lost prop-
erty ; and when he had come up, and delivered the
things to her, she advanced with the money to Coquette.
" Thank ye, mem," said she.
" Won't you keep the money, and buy something for
your little brothers and sisters, if you have any?"
This offer was declined, with just an inkling of pride
in the girl's manner ; and the next instant she was
hurrying to Saltcoats as fast as her bare feet could carry
her.
Now this incident had delayed the two runaways much
longer than they suspected ; and when they had got
down to Saltcoats they were much later than they
dreamed. Indeed, they never looked at the town clock
in passing, so satisfied were they that they had plenty
of time.
" This is not like St. Nazaire," said Coquette, decid-
edly.
" You have not seen it yet," returned the Whaup,
just as confidently.
A few minutes afterwards Coquette and he stood upon
the shore. The long bay of Saltcoats, sweeping round
from the far promontory of Troon, fronted a heaving,
tumbling mass of white-crested waves, that came rolling
onward from under a great leaden breadth of sky ; and
as they gazed out on this wintry-looking sea they had on
their right hand the curve of the bay, ending in the gray
stone wall of the town, which projected into the water,
with here and there a crumbling old house peeping over
it. The church spire rose above the tallest of the houses
on the side of the land, and aided the perspective of the
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. ^
lines, which ran out to a point at the end of the wall
so much so that one would almost imagine the site of the
building had been chosen by one who had studied the
picturesque opportunities of the bay.
" It is St. Nazaire in winter ! " cried Coquette, her
voice half lost in the roar of waves.
" Didn't I tell you," shouted the Whaup, triumph-
antly, who had never seen St. Nazaire, but only knew
that, on this side, Saltcoats looked singularly like a little
French walled town. " Now will you come and see the
harbor ? "
But she would not leave. She stood there, with her
shawl fluttering in the fierce wind, and with her slight
form scarcely able to withstand the force of the hurri-
cane, looking out on the rushing white crests of the
waves, on the black line of the town perched above the
rocks and the ruddy sand, and on the lowering western
sky, which seemed to be slowly advancing with its gloom.
There was no sign of life near them ; not even a sailor
on the watch, nor a ship running before the wind ; noth-
ing but the long and level shore, and the great wild mass
of waves, which had avoice like thunder far out beyond
the mere dashing on the beach.
" Imagine what it would be," she said, " to have one
you loved out on that fearful sea, and to come down here
at night to hear the savage message that the waves
bring. It would make me mad. You will not go to
sea ? " she added, suddenly, turning to him with an ur-
gent pleading in her face and her voice.
" No, of course not," he said, looking strangely at
her.
Was it possible, then, that this vague determination
of his had lingered in her mind as a sort of threat ? Did
she care to have him remain near her ?
" Come," said he, " we must hurry, if you mean to
see the harbor and the old ruins at the point. Besides,
I want you to rest for a minute or two at an inn here,
and you shall see whether there is no vin ordinaire in
the country except at Earlshope."
58 A DAUGHTER OF PIETIf.
" Earlshope Earlshope," she said. " Why do you
talk always of Earlshope ? "
The Whaup would not answer, but led her back
through the town, and stopped on their way to the har-
bor at the Saracen's Head. Here Coquette had a biscuit
and a glass of claret, and was further delighted to per-
ceive that the window of the room they were in looked
out upon a very French-looking courtyard of stone, sur-
rounded by a high wall which appeared to front the sea.
"It is St. Nazaire in winter," she repeated: "the
gray stones, the windy sea, the chill air. Yet how dark
it becomes ! "
Indeed, when they had resumed their journey, and
gone out to the point beyond the little harbor, on which
stand what looked like the remains of an ancient for-
tress, the storm had waxed m\ich more fierce. They
passed through the ruins on to the rocks, and found
themselves alone in front of the sea, which had now be-
come of a lurid green. It wa.% in fact, much lighter in
color than the gloomy sky above ; and the gray green
waves, tumbling in white, could be seen for an immense
distance under this black canopy of cloud. The wind
whistled around them, and dashed the spray of the sea
into their blinded eyes. The wildness of the scene,
the roaring of wind and sea around, produced a strange
excitement in the girl ; and while she clung to the
Whaup's arm to steady herself on the rocks, she laughed
aloud in defiance of the storm. At this moment a glare
of steel-blue light flashed through the driving gloom in
front of them, and almost shnultaneously there was a
rattle of thunder overhead, which reverberated among
the Arran hills. Then came the rain, and they coul'd
hear the hissing of it on the sea before it reached them.
" Shall we make for the town," cried the Whaup,
" or shelter ourselves in the ruins ? "
He had scarcely spoken when another wild glare burst
before their eyes, and made them stagger back, while
the rattle of the thunder seemed all around their ears.
" Are you hurt ? " said Coquette, for her companion
did not speak.
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. ^
" I think not/' said the Whaup, " but my arm tingles
up to the elbow, and I can scarcely move it. This is
close work. We must hide in the ruins, or you will be
wet through."
They went inside the old building, and crept down
and sat mute and expectant under Coquette's outstretched
plaid. All around them was the roaring of the waves,
with the howling of the gusts of wind and rain; and
ever and anon the rough ston-e walls before them would
be lit up by a flash of blue lightning, which stunned their
eyes for several seconds.
"This is a punishment for our running away/' said
Coquette.
"Nonsense!" said the Whaup. "This storm will
wreck many a boat ; and it would be rather hard if a lot
of sailors should be drowned merely to give us a drouk-
ing."
" What is that ? "
" A wetting, such as we are likely to get. Indeed I
don't think there is much use in stopping here, for it will
soon be so dark that we shall not see to gang along the
rocks to the shore."
This consideration made them rise and leave at once ;
and sure enough it had grown very dark within the past
half-hour. Night was rapidly approaching as they made
their way through Saltcoats to gain the road to Airlie.
Nor did the storm abate one jot of its fury ; and long
before they had begun to ascend towards the moorland
country the Whaup was as wet as though he had been
lying in a river. Coquette's thick plaid saved her some-
what.
" What shall we do ? " she said. " They will be very
angry, and this time with reason."
" I shouldn't care whether they were angry or not,"
said the Whaup, " if only you were at home and in dry
clothes."
" But you are wetter than I am."
" But I don't care," said the Whaup, although his
teeth were chattering in his head.
So they struggled on, in the darkness and wind and
Co A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
driving rain, until it seemed to Coquette that the way
under foot was strangely spongy and wet. She said
nothing, however, until the Whaup exclaimed, in a
serious voice,
" We are off the road, and on the moor somewhere.'
Such was the fact. They had got up to the high
land only to find themselves lost in a morass, with no
means of securing the slightest guidance. There was
nothing for it but to blunder on helplessly through the
dark, trusting to find some indication of their where-
abouts. At last they came to an enclosure and a foot-
path ; and as they followed this, hoping to reach the
Airlie road, they came upon a small house, which had a
light in its windows.
" It is Earlshope Lodge," said the Whaup. " And
there are the gates."
" Oh, let us go in and beg for some shelter," said
Coquette, whose courage had forsaken her the moment
she found they had lost their way.
"You may," said a voice from the mass of wet gar-
ments beside her, " you may go in, and get dry clothes,
if you like ; but I will not."
CHAPTER IX.
COQUETTE'S PROMISE.
" GOOD-MORNING, Miss Cassilis," said Lord Earlshope.
as he met Coquette coming over the moorland road,
" I hear you had an adventure last night. But why did
not you go into the lodge and get dried ?"
" Why ? " said Coquette, " why, because Cousin
Tom and I were as wet as we could be, and it was better
to go on straight to the Manse without waiting. Have
you seen him this morning ? "
" Your cousin ? No."
A DAUGHTER OF HETH, 6 t
" I am looking for him. I think he believes he is in
disgrace at the Manse, and has gone off for some wild
mischief. He has taken all his brothers with him ; and
I did hear him laughing and singing as he always does
when he, how do you call it ? when he breaks o-ut."
" Let me help you to look for him," said Lord Earls-
hope. " I am sure he ought to be proud of your solici-
tude, if anything is wanted to make him happier than he
is. How thoroughly that handsome lad seems to enjoy
the mere routine of living ! "
" You talk as if you were an old man," said Coquette,
with one of her bright laughs. " Do not you enjoy liv-
ing?"
" Enjoy it ? No. If the days pass easily, without
much bother, I am contented ; but happiness does not
visit a man who looks upon himself as a failure at twenty-
seven."
" I do not understand you," said Coquette, with a
puzzled air.
" You would provoke me into talking about myself,
as if I were a hypochondriac. Yet I have no story,
nothing to amuse you with."
" Oh, I do wish you to tell me all about yourself,"
said Coquette, with a gracious interest. " Why you re-
main by yourself in this place ? Why you have no com-
panions, no occupation ? You are mysterious."
" I am not even that," he said, with a smile. " I
have not even a mystery. Yet I will tell you all about
myself, if you care to hear, as we go along. Stop me
when I tire you."
So her companion began and told her all about him-
self and his friends, his college life, his relations, his ac-
quaintances, his circumstances ; a rather lengthy narra-
tive, which need not be repeated here. Coquette learned
a great deal during that time, however, and saw for the
first time Lord Earlshope in a true light. He was no
longer to her a careless and light-hearted young ^ man,
who had made her acquaintance out of indolent curiosity,
and seemed inclined to flirt with her for mere amuse-
ment. He was, in his own words, a failure at twenty-
62 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
seven ; a man whose extremely morbid disposition had
set to work years ago to eat into his life. He had had
his aspirations and ambitions ; and had at length con-
vinced himself that he had not been granted the intellect
to accomplish any of his dreams. Whiat remained to
him ?
" I was not fit to do anything," he said, " with those
political, social, and other means that are meant to se-
em e the happiness of multitudes. All I could do was
to try to secure my own happiness, and help the philan-
thropists by a single unit."
" Have you done that ? " said Coquette.
" No," he rejoined, with a careless shrug. " I think
I have failed in that, too. All my life I have been cut-
ting open my bellows to see where the wind came from ;
and if you were to go over Earlshope you would discover
the remains of twenty different pursuits that I have at-
tempted and thrown aside. Do you know, Miss Cassilis,
that I have even ceased to take any interest in the prob-
icm of myself ; in the spectacle of a man physically as
strong as most men, and mentally so vacillating that he
has never been able to hold an opinion or get up a preju-
dice to swear by. Even the dullest men have convic-
tions about politics ; but I am a Tory in sympathy and
a Radical in theory, so that I am at war with myself on
pretty nearly every point. Sometimes I have fancied
that there are a good many men in this country more or
less in my condition ; and then it has occurred tome
that an invasion of England would be a good thing."
" Ah, you would have something to believe in then ;
something to fight for ! " said Coquette.
" Perhaps. Yet I don't know. If the invaders should
happen to have better educational institutions than Eng-
land, as is very likely, oughtn't I to fight on their side,
and wish them to be successful, and give us a lesson ?
England, you know, owes everything to successive inva-
sions ; for the proper test of the invader's political insti-
tutions was whether they could hold their own in the
country after he had planted his foot there. But I have
really to beg your pardon. I must not teach you the
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. ^
trick of following everything to the vanishing point
You have the greatest of earthly blessings ; you enjoy
life without asking yourself why."
" But I do not understand," said Coquette, " how I
can enjoy more than you. Is it not pleasant to come
out in the sunshine like this, after the night's rain, and
see the clear sky, and smell the sweet air ? You enjoy
that "
" I cannot help wondering what appetite it will give
me."
Coquette made an impatient gesture with her hands.
" At least you do enjoy speaking with me here on
this pleasant morning ? "
" The more we talk," he said, "the more I am puz-
zled by ih(. mystery of the difference between you and
me. Why, the passing of a bright-colored butterfly is
an intense pleasure to you. I have seen you look up to
a gleam of blue sky, and clasp your hands, and laugh
with delight. Every scent of a flower, every pleasant
sound, every breath of sunshine and air, is a new joy to
you ; and you are quite satisfied with merely being alive.
Of course, it is an advantage to be alive; but there are
few who make so much of it as you do."
"You think too much about it," said Coquette.
" When you marry some day, you will have more prac^
tical things to think of, and you will be happier."
At the mention of the word marriage a quick look
of annoyance seemed to pass across his face, but she did
not notice it, and he replied lightly,
" Marriages are made in heaven, Miss Cassilis, and I
am afraid they won't do much for me there."
"Ah ! do not you believe in heaven ? " she said, and
the brown eyes were turned anxiously to his face.
" Do not let us talk about that," said he, indifferently.
"I do not wish to alienate from me the only companion
I have ever found in this place. Yet I do not disbelieve
in what you believe, I know. What were you saying
about marriage ? " he added, with an apparent effort
"Do you believe that marriages arc made in heaven ? "
C 4 ^ DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
" I do not know," replied Coquette ; " the people
say that sometimes.''
" I was only thinking," remarked Lord Earlshope,
with an apparently careless laugh, " that if the angels
employ their leisure in making mairiages, they some-
times turn out a very inferior article. Don't you think
so?"
Coquette was not a very observant young person,
she was much too occupied with her own round of inno-
cent little enjoyments ; but it did strike her that her
companion spoke with a touch of bitterness in his tone.
However, they did not pursue the subject further, for,
much to their surprise, they suddenly stumbled upon
the Whaup and his brothers.
The boys were at a small bridge crossing the stream
that ran down from Airlie moor ; and they were so
much occupied with their own pursuits that they took
no notice of the approach of Coquette and her com-
panion. Lord Earlshope, indeed, at once motioned to
Coquette to preserve silence ; and, aided by a line of
small alder and hazel bushes which grew on the banks
of the rivulet, they drew quite near to the Minister's
sons without being perceived.
Coquette was right : the Whaup had " broken out,"
Feeling assured that he would be held responsible for
all the crimes of yesterday ; the affair of the crucifix ;
the clandestine excursion to Saltcoats, and the mishaps,
that accrued therefrom ; the Whaup had reflected thai
it was as well to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. When
Coquette and her companion came in sight of him he
was fulfilling the measure of his iniquities.
What had moved him to vent his malignity on his
younger brother Wattie, unless it was that Wattie was
the " best boy " of the Manse, and, further, that he had
shown an enmity to Coquette, must remain a. mystery ;
but at this moment Wattie was depending from the
small bridge, his head a short distance from the water,
his feet held close to the parapet by the muscular arms
of the Whaup, while one of the other boys had beea
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 65
made an accomplice to the extent of holding on to Wat-
tie's trousers.
" Noo, Wattie," said the Whaup, " ye maun say a
sweer afore ye get up. I'm no jokin', and unless ye be
quick, ye'll be in the water."
But would Wattie, the paragon of scholars, the ex-
emplar to his brothers, imperil his soul by uttering a
" bad word ? " Surely not. Wattie was resolute. He
knew what punishment was held in reserve for swearers,
and preferred the colder element.
" Wattie," said the Whaup, " say a sweer, or ye'll
gang into the burn, as sure as daith."
No ; Wattie would rather be a martyr. Whereupon,
the bridge being a very low one, the Whaup and his
brothers lowered Wattie a few inches, so that the ripples
touched his head. Wattie set up a fearful howl, and his
brothers raised him to his former position.
" Now will ye say it ? "
" Deevil! " cried Wattie. " Let me up ; I hae said
a sweer."
The other brothers raised a demoniac shout of
triumph over this apostasy ; and the Whaup's roars of
laughter had nearly the effect of precipitating Wattie
into the stream in downright earnest. But this back-
sliding on the part of their pious brother did not seem
to the tempters sufficiently serious.
" Ye maun say a worse sweer, Wattie. " Deevil' is
no bad enough."
" I'll droon first ! " said Wattie, whimpering in his
distress, "and then ye'll get your paiks,* I'm thinking."
Down went Wattle's head into the burn again ; and
this time he was raised with his mouth sputtering out
the contents it had received.
" I'll say what ye like, I'll say what ye like ! D n,
is that bad enough ? "
With another unholy shout of derision, Wattie was
raised and set on the bridge.
" Noo," said the Whaup, standing over him, " let me
tell you this, my man. The next time ye gang to my
* Anglice a thrashing.
56 A DAUGHTER OF IIETIf.
faithcr, and tell a story about any one o' us, or the next
time ye say a word against the French lassie, as ye ca'
her, do ye ken what I'll do ? I'll take ye back to my
faither by the lug, and I'll tell him ye were swearin' like
a trooper down by the burn ; and every one o' us will
testify against ye. Ma certes, my man, I'm thinking it
will be your turn to consider pai'ks. My faither has a
bonnie switch, Wattie, a braw switch, Wattie ; and what
think ye he'll do to his well-behaved son that gangs about
the countryside swearin' just like a Kilmarnock ? "
Coquette held out her hand to her companion.
" Good-bye," she said, " and I do thank you for
bringing me here."
Lord Earlshope perceived that he was dismissed,
but did not know why. He was not aware that Co-
quette was trembling lest she should be seen in his for-
bidden company.
" Shall I see you to-morrow ? " he said, as he took
her hand.
" When it is fine I do always go out for a walk after
breakfast/' she said, lightly ; and so they parted.
CHAPTER X.
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
COQUETTE would have given much to have recalled
these words. She felt that they implied a promise; and
that if she kept her promise she would find herself ham-
pered by the weight of a secret. Now the girl abhorred
every sort of restraint that interfered with the natural
cheerfulness and lightness of her heart ; and no
sooner had Lord Earlshope disappeared than she began
to dread this thing that she had done. Why had he
asked her to meet him ? Why did not he come to the
Manse ? And while she stood irresolute, wondering
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIf 6 ;
how she could free herself from the chains that seemed
likely to bind her, the Whaup and his brothers made a
dash at the place of her concealment.
" Hillo ! " cried her cousin Tom, " how did you come
here ? "
" I came in search of you," she said, glancing ner-
vously around to see that Lord Earlshope was out of
sight.
" And you were spying on us, were you ? " said the
Whaup, with a laugh.
" Why do you ill-treat your brother so ? " she said.
" It is no ill-treatment," he said, in his best English.
" It is the execution o' a sentence passed on him last
night by the whole of us. We are the Vehmgericht of
this neighborhood, Miss Coquette, and when any one
injures you, appeal to us. You have only to name him,
and we hamstring his cattle, set fire to his barn, and
seize himself and pull out his teeth. Eh, Boys ? "
There was a general chorous of assent.
" But you must not call me by that name any more,"
said the young lady, with a blush.
" Not Coquette any more ? I shall withdraw the
name when I see you don't deserve it," said the Whaup,
with cool insolence. It was clear he had " broken out."
The Whaup now dismissed his brothers, and pro-
ceeded to escort Coquette back across the moor. He
explained, however, that he did not think it advisable
for him to go into the Manse just then.
" Why? "said Coquette. "I told Mr. Cassilis all
about it ; he does not think you to blame."
" That means," said her companion, " that you took
the blame on yourself. But you only know the half."
With which the Whaup broke into another fit of
laughter. When he had recovered, he told her the story.
That morning, on issuing out, he heard Andrew and
Leezibeth talking about his cousin in a not very com-
plimentary fashion, and at once determined on revenge.
There was an outhouse, in which were kept garden
utensils, coal, and various other things, and this out-
house had a door which was occasionally obstinate.
68 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
Now the Whaup seeing Andrew at the far end of the
garden, informed him that Mr. Cassilis wanted a spade
brought to him ; and Andrew muttered " by and by."
Meanwhile the Whaup made his way to the outhouse,
opened the door, and shut himself in. Two or three
minutes afterwards Andrew came and lifted the latch.
The door would not open. He shoved and shook ; it
would not open, the reason being merely that the
Whaup, who could see through a chink, had his foot
against it.
At last Andrew, obviously very angry, retired a few
yards, made a race, and threw the whole of his weight
upon the door. There was a crash, a stumble, a cry, and
then a great pealing shriek of merriment as the Whaup
jumped out of the place, leaving Andrew lying among a
heap of tumbled pitchforks and handbarrows. The
door had yielded so easily that Andrew had precipitated
himself upon the floor of the outhouse, and now lay
groaning.
" I don't know what he said," remarked the Whaup,
as he recounted the adventure with great glee, " but it
didna sound to me like the Psalms of David."
" Tom," said his cousin, "you area wicked boy. Why
don't you give up these school jokes ? You are tall and
strong enough to be a man : why, you behave as if you
were at school."
The Whaup was not in a repentant mood.
" I'm only half and between," said he. " I am a man
some days a boy others. You can't expect me to change
all at once, Miss Coquette."
" You must not call me that name," said she. " It is
not fair; I am not Coquette."
" Oh, indeed," said he. " When did you see Lord
Earlshope ? "
" This morning," said she, with a pout.
The Whaup was instantly sobered.
" Was Lord Earlshope at the Manse ? " he asked,
coldly.
Now was the time for Coquette to make a full con-
fession. Indeed, she had admitted having seen Lord
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
69
Earlsbope that morning for the very purpose of telling
the Whaup all about her half-promise, and so relieving
her mind from its burden of secrecy. But as she looked
at him she saw that his face had grown very implacable.
She had not the courage to tell him. She said, in a
timid way,
" He met me as I was coming to look for you, and
walked a bit of the way with me."
" How far ? "
Coquette drew herself up a bit.
" You have not the right to ask me such questions."
" I understand now," said the Whaup, calmly, " how
you looked caught when I found } ou at the bushes, and
why you turned to look over the moor. I daresay he had
come there with you, and sneaked away "
" Sneaked ! sneaked ! " said Coquette, warmly (al
though she only guessed at the meaning of the word). "I
do not know what it is ; but Lord Earlshope is not afraid
to be seen. Why should he be ? What is wrong in his
going with me there ? And you think I do not know
what is right for me to do."
" Ah well," said the Whaup, with an air of resigna-
tion. " I give you up. I see you are just like other
women."
" What do you mean ? " said Coquette, angrily, though
she kept her eyes down.
" Nothing of any importance," said the Whaup, with
a forced carelessness. " You profess you were doing
what was right and fitting ; but you have not explained
why you should have sent Earlshope away ; after all, he
is a man, and would not have sneaked away but at your
bidding ; or why you carefully hid from the whole of us
that you had just left him. What was the reason of all
that concealment and hypocrisy ? " he added, with a
touch of indignation. " I know you were doing no
wrong, I have no fear in that way for one that bears the
name of Cassilis. But why make the pretence of having
done wrong? Why try to hide it? Isn't that very
woman-like, isn't that very deceitful ? And I thought you
were something different from other women."
;o A DAUGHTER OF HETIL
She was nearly confessing the truth to him, that she
had resorted to this unfortunate bit of concealment
merely because she was afraid of him. But she knew
that if she made this admission she would probably
break down ; and, as she would not show any such
symptom of weakness, she merely replied to him, with
an air of proud indifference,
" I cannot help it, if I am a woman."
Thereafter, dead silence. The two walked across
the moor, some little distance apart, without uttering a
word. When they reached the Manse, Coquette went
to her own room and shut herself up, feeling very stern,
determined, and wretched.
The Whaup, on the other hand, rendered desperate,
resolved to deliver himself up into the hands of justice.
He walked into his father's study, in order to impeach
himse'f and demand punishment (the Whaup felt that
banishment from Airlie would almost have been wel-
come then), but Mr. Cassilis was outside in the garden.
When the Whaup at length perceived his father, and ap-
proached him, he found that the Schoolmaster was seek-
ing an audience.
The Schoolmaster was a short, stout, red-haired man,
with horn-rimmed spectacles. He had a bushy red beard,
and held his head well drawn back : so that, but for his
deefctive stature, he would have looked a man of impor-
tance. However, Nature, not generous as regards inches,
had been kinder to him in his voice, which was deep and
sonorous ; and it was the especial pride of Mr. ^Eneas
Gillespie, Schoolmaster, Parish Clerk, and Grand Al-
moner of Airlie, that he spoke a species of idiomatic
English superior to the talk of the common people his
neighbors. It was only on rare occasions that he forgot
himself, and relapsed into the familiar and expressive
phraseology of the district.
" It is a fine, I might even say a beautiful, morning,
he observed to Mr. Cassilis, as he came up.
" A beautiful morning, indeed," said the Minister.
At this moment the Whaup made his appearance,
and was at once saluted by the Schoolmaster,
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 7 l
" Come along, young man/' he said, in his stately
tones. " We may ask your aid, or, as I may say, your
assistance, in this matter. Mr. Cassilis, may I inquire
of you what is your opinion of the present Lord Earls-
hope ; by which I mean, do you think him a fit compan-
ion for one o' your household ? "
The Schoolmaster planted himself before the Minister,
and fixed the glare of his horn-rimmed spectacles on him.
" The question is a wide one, Mr. Gillespie " said the
Minister, with a smile. " I do not think we ought to set
ourselves up in judgment upon our neighbors who may
have been brought up under different lights from ours,
and may surprise us at times, I admit, by their conduct.
Nor would it be fitting for them who try to walk accord-
ing to the Word to cut themselves off from all commun-
ication with people who are less particular, for these
might benefit by example and the kindly teaching of ac-
quaintanceship."
Mr. Gillespie shook his head.
" I would not interfere with your section of the pub-
lic duties of this parish," observed the Schoolmaster.
" You are the arbiter of morals and conduct, while I do
my humble best, my endeavor, as I may say, with the
education of our joint charge. But if ye will let me re-
mark, sir, that we may be too easy with our judgment,
and encourage ungodliness by association 'therewith.
For I would ask ye, Mr. Cassilis, if we are to draw no
line between the good and the bad, what is the good,
as I may say, of being good ? "
The Whaup grew very red in the face, and " snirted "
with laughter.
" There are, Mr. Cassilis," continued the Schoolmas-
ter, without pausing for an answer, "there are those who
err knowingly' and should not be encouraged ; there are
those who err in ignorance, and should be informed. Of
these last, by way of example, is Mrs. Drumsynie, the
wife of a carter in Dairy, who was taken home on Tues-
day last with a broken leg. Now this woman had so far
misconstrued the workings of Providence, as I may say,
that when her husband was brought in to her on a shut
7 2 A DA UGHTER OF HE 777.
ter, she exclaimed, ' I thank the Lord we will get some-
thing out o' the Society at last ' meaning the Benefit
Society, of which I am the secretary. This woman, as
I judge, was not to be taken as an irreverent or wicked
woman, but as one suffering from, or laboring under, as
I may say, a misapprehension."
" I perceive, Mr. Gillespie," said Mr. Cassilis, gravely ;
" but ye were observing ? "
" I am coming to the point, sir. And I think I can-
not do better than premise with a simple statement of
fact. At this moment, or instant, as I may say, your
niece is out walking alone with Lord Earlshope."
The Whaup's face flushed with something else than
laughter this time, when he saw the object of the School-
master's visit.
" Ye may premise with what ye like," said the lad,
indignantly, "but that's a daggont lee!" *
" Thomas ! " cried the Minister, " ye shall answer for
this afterward."
But the Whaup was determined to have it out with
his enemy.
" At this moment, or instant, as I may say," he re-
marked (and the Schoolmaster dared scarcely believe he
was listening to such insolence from a boy whom he had
many a time thrashed), " Mr. Cassilis's niece is in this
house, and not wi' Lord Earlshope at all. And suppose
she had been, what then ? Is it a sin for a girl even to
speak to him if she meets him ? Is it worse than for an
auld man to come spying and telling tales ? And if an
honest woman must not walk with Earlshope, would an
honest man sit down at his table ? And who was it, Mr.
Gillespie, proposed Lord Earlshope's health at the last
tenantry dinner ? "
This was a deadly thrust, and, having delivered it,
the Whaup walked off. He was angry that he had been
goaded into defending Lord Earlshope ; but his zeal in
the cause of Coquette had carried him beyond such con-
* Anglke " a confounded lie 1 " Daggont is apparently a corruption of
' Dog on it!"
A DAUGHTER OF IIETH. 73
siclerations. He looked up at her window rather sadly
as he passed.
" I suppose that I shall be sent to Glasgow for this,"
he said to himself ; " and she does not know it was done
for her sake."
The Schoolmaster and the Minister were left looking
at each other.
41 1 am apprehensive of that lad's future," remarked
the Schoolmaster, " if he gives way to such unruly gusts
of passion, and betrays the symptoms, the evidences, I
might even say, of a lawless and undisciplined mind."
"We will leave aside that for the present, Mr. Gilles-
pie," said the Minister, rather impatiently. " I will ex-
amine his conduct later on. In the mean time you have
something to say about my niece."
" She may be in the house," began the School-
master.
" She is in the house," said the Minister, decisively.
" None of my boys has ever been known to tell a lie."
" At all events, Mr. Cassilis, with my own eyes did I
see her walking with that young man. That is all I
have to say. I leave it to you to judge whether such
conduct is becoming to one who may be regarded, or
considered, as your daughter ; or, indeed, whether it is
safe for herself. We have a duty, an obligation, I might
even call it, to consider how our actions look in the eyes
of our neighbor, so as not to offend, but to walk decently
and uprightly "
" Mr. Gillespie," said the Minister, interrupting him
somewhat rudely, " you may depend on it that my niece
has no clandestine relations with Lord Earlshope. It is
not many days since they saw each other for the first
time, I have no doubt that when you saw them together
it was but a chance meeting. You would not have them
fly from each other ? "
The Schoolmaster shook his head. He was begin-
ning a serious discourse on the duties of " professors,"
when the Minister was forced to remind his visitor that
this was the morning on which he began his studies for
74
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
the succeeding Sabbath, and that he would be obliged
to postpone further mention of the matter at present.
" We may return to it again at a more convenient
season," said the Schoolmaster, as he took his leave,
"seeing the importance of one in your position, Mr.
Cassilis, being above reproach in all your ways and ac-
tions in this parish."
All that day and all that evening Coquette was very
silent, proud, and miserable. Once only she saw the
Whaup, but he went away from her in another direction.
It was understood in the Manse that something serious
in regard to the Whaup was in the wind. For more
than an hour in the afternoon he was in his father's
study ; and when he came out he spent the rest of the
day in looking over his live pets, he supported a consid-
erable stock of animals, and visiting his favorite haunts
in the neighborhood, just as if he were going away.
Next morning Coquette met him at breakfast ; he
did not speak to her. If he had even said good-morning
she fancied she would have burst into tears and begged
his forgiveness, and told him all that oppressed he-.
But again, as she saw him silent and reserved, grave,
indeed, far beyond his wont, she put it down to pride ;
and the dainty little woman closed her lips with an in-
flexible air, and felt supremely wretched.
Some little time after they had dispersed from the
breakfast table the Whaup saw Coquette cross the court-
yard, with her small hat and shawl on. When she per-
ceived him, she walked rather timidly to him, and said,
" I am going for a walk ; I shall be glad if you will
come with me."
" Where are you going ? " he asked, coldly.
" In the direction I went yesterday. I promised
to go ; I do think it likely that I shall meet Lord Earls-
hope, that is why I want you to come with me."
" You promised to meet him, and now ask me to join ;
no, thank you. I should be the third wheel of the cart."
He turned and walked away. She looked after him
A few minutes before she had resolved she would not
go for this walk ; she would rather break that scarcely
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
given promise. But when she saw him go away like
that, her lips were again pressed proudly and determin-
edly together, and she raised the latch of the green gate
and passed out into the moorland road.
CHAPTER XI.
A MEETING ON THE MOOR.
" I AM very miserable, " said Coquette, struggling
bravely to retain her tears.
" You miserable ? " cried Lord Earlshope, whom
she had met before she had gone five hundred yards
from the Manse. " It is impossible ! I do not think
you have the capacity to be miserable. But what is the
matter ? Tell me all about it."
It was a dangerous moment for the exhibition of
this kindness. She felt herself an exile from the Manse,
and receiving comfort and sympathy from a stranger.
She told him her story, rapidly, and in French. To
have the burden of a foreign tongue removed was in
itself a consolation to her, and she found inexpressible
relief in being able to talk fully and freely about all her
surroundings at the Manse ; about her relations with a
number of people so unlike her in temperament and
bringing up ; about these present circumstances which
seemed to be conspiring to goad her into some des-
perate act.
Lord Earlshope listened patiently and attentively,
deeply interested, and yet inclined to smile sometimes.
" I should laugh at all that," said he, when she had
finished, because I am a man; and men are in-
different to these delicate considerations chiefly because
they can avoid them. If a man dislikes the people he
is among, he has merely to go away. But a woman is
very dependent on the temper and disposition of those
76 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
around her ; and you especially seem almost without re
source. You have no other relatives ? "
" No, " said Coquette.
" No lady friend with whom you could stay ?
" Many many with whom I should like to stay,"
said the girl, " but they are all in France ; and I have
been sent here. Yet you must not misunderstand what
I do say. I do not dislike my relatives. My uncle is
a very good man, and very kind to me. My cousin, I
do think, is more than kind to me, and ready to incur
danger in defending my faults. The other people can-
not be angry with me, for I have done them no harm.
Yet everything is wrong ; I do not know how. At this
moment I know myself very guilty in coming to see
you ; and I should not have come but that Cousin Tom
would not speak to me."
" I think Cousin Tom has been quarrelling with you
about me," said Lord Earlshope.
He spoke very quietly, and with rather an amused
air; but Coquette was startled and a little alarmed.
She did not wish her companion to know that he had
anything to do with what had occurred.
" Now" said Lord Earlshope, " it would be a great
pity if I were the cause of your troubles. You see I
have no companions here you have not many. It
seemed to me that we might often have a very pleasant
chat or walk together ; but I must not be selfish. You
must not suffer anything on my account ; so, if your
friends at the Manse are inclined to mistake our brief
acquaintanceship, let it cease. I do not like to see you
as you are. You are evidently out of sorts, for you
have never laughed this morning, yet, nor run off the
road, nor paid the least attention to the sunlight or the
colors of the sea out yonder. I should far prefer look-
ing at you from a distance as an entire stranger, if I could
see you as you usually are, fluttering about like a butter-
fly, enjoying the warmth and colors and light around
you, without a care, and quite unconscious how perfectly
happy you are."
As Coquette heard these words, uttered in a cruelly
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. ^
calm and kindly voice, she became afraid. What was
this strange aching sense of disappointment that filled
her heart ? Why was it that she contemplated with dis-
may a proposal which he had clearly shown would
secure her happiness and peace ? She was miserable
before ; she was ten times more wretched now.
He did not seem to notice any alteration in her ex-
pression or manner. They had got to the crest of a
hill from which the line of the coast was visible, with
a plain of green sunlit sea beyond, and Arran lying
like a great blue cloud on the horizon. A white haze
of heat rilled the south, and the distant Ailsa Craig was
of a pearly gray.
Coquette's companion uttered an exclamation.
" Do you see that yacht ? " said he, pointing to a boat
which the distance rendered ; very small a schooner
yacht with her two masts lying rakishly back, and her
white sails shining in the sun, as she cut through the
green water with a curve of white round her prow.
" It is a stunning little boat," said Coquette, simply,
returning to the English which she had picked up from
her father.
Lord Earlshope did not laugh at her blunder as the
Whaup would have laughed. He merely said,
" She has been lying at Greenock to be repainted and
set to rights ; and I telegraphed to have the name altered
as well. The first time you go down to Ardrossan you
will find lying there a yacht bearing the name
' COQUETTE.' '
" Do you know," said Coquette, breaking at last into
a smile, " everybody did use to call me that ? "
" So I heard from one of your cousins the other day/'
said her companion.
" And you called the boat for me ? " she said, with a
look of wonder.
" Yes ; I took the liberty of naming it after your pet
name, I hope you are not angry with me ? "
" No," she said, " I am very well pleased, very much,
it is a very kind compliment to do that, is it not ? But
you have not told me you had a yacht."
78 A DAUGHTER OP HETH.
" It is one of my abandoned amusements. I wanted
to surprise you, though ; and I had some wild hope of
inveigling Mr. Cassilis, yourself, and your cousin into
going for a day or two's cruise up some of the lochs,
Loch Fyne, Loch Linnhe, or some of these. It would
have been pleasant for you, I think, as you don't know
anything of the West Highland lochs and mountains.
The scenery is the most varied of any I have ever seen
and more picturesque in the way of color. You can have
no idea of the weirdness and wildness of the northern
sunsets ; and of late I have been picturing you to my-
self sitting on deck with us after the sun had gone down
behind a line of hill, and I have read in your face the
wonder with which you saw the mountains become a
great bank of purple, with a pale-green light spreading
up and over the sky, and spreading all over the sea, the
stillness of the place, the calling of the wild-fowl, the
dense and mysterious darkness of the mountains in the
glow of cold, clear light. Do you think Mr. Cassilis
would have gone ? "
" I do not know," said Coquette.
She was becoming hard and obdurate again. He had
spoken of this project as a thing of the past. It was no
longer possible ; but the mere mention of it had filled
Coquette with a wistful longing. It would have been
pleasant, indeed, to have gone away on this dream-like
excursion; and wandered round the lonely islands, and up
the great stretches of sea-lochs of which her father had
many a time spoken to her when she was a child. Never-
theless, since her companion had chosen to give up the
proposal, she would not ask him to reconsider his re-
solve. They were about to become strangers : well and
good.
"I must go back now," she said.
He looked at her with surprise.
" Have I offended you by telling you what I had been
dreaming about ? After all, it was but a fancy, and I
beg your pardon for not saying first of all that I was far
from sure that you yourself would go, even had I per-
suaded Mr. Cassilis."
A DA UGHTER OF HE 77 f. 7 y
" No, you have not offended me," said Coquette.
" Your thought was very kind. But I am sorry it is all
over."
" I see I have not brought you peace of mind yet," he
said gently. " You are not Miss Cassilis, may I say that
you are not Coquette ? this morning. What can I do
for you ? I wish you would talk to me as if I were your
elder brother, and tell me if there is anything in which
I can help you. Shall I go up to the Manse and hint to
Mr. Cassilis that, that, well, to tell you the truth, I should
be at a loss to know what to hint."
He smiled, but she was quite grave.
" There is nothing," she said. " They are very good
to me, what more ? Do not let us talk of it any more.
Let us talk of something else. Why do you never go in
your yacht ? "
" Because I lost interest in it, as I lost interest in a
dozen other things. Steeple-chasing was my longest-
lived hobby, I think, for I used to be rather successful.
Riding nine stone six, with a five-pound saddle, I have
won more than one race."
" And now you only read books and smoke, and fell
trees in the cold weather to make you warm. What
books ? Romances ? "
" Yes ; and the more improbable the better."
" You get interested ? "
M Yes ; but not in the story. I read the story, and
try to look at the brain of the writer all the time. Then
you begin to wonder at the various notions of the world
these various heads have conceived. If I were a physi-
ologist, I should like to read a novel, and draw a picture
of the author gathered from the coloring and sentiments
of his book."
" That is all so very morbid," she said. " And in
your poetry, too, I suppose you like the ah, I cannot
say what I mean."
" But I understand all the same," he said, laughing,
" and I am going to disappoint you, if you have formed
a theory. I like old-fashioned poetry, and especially the
lyrics of the old dramatists. Then poetry was wide as
go A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
life itself, and included everything that could interest a
man. A writer was not afraid to talk of everyday ex-
periences, and was gay, or patriotic, or sarcastic, just as
the moment suited. But don't you think the poetry of
the present time is only the expression of one mood, that
it is permeated all through with sadness and religious
melancholy ? What do you say, Mr. Cassilis ? "
The abrupt question was addressed to the Minister.
Coquette had been walking carelessly onward, with her
eyes bent on the ground, and had not perceived the ap-
proach of her uncle. When she heard the sudden ter-
mination of Lord Earlshope's disquisition on poetry, she
looked up with a start, and turned pale. The Minister's
eyes she found fixed upon her, and she dared not return
that earnest look.
" I beg your pardon, Lord Earlshope," said Mr. Cas-
silis, looking calmly at both of them.
" I was victimizing your niece, whom I had the good
fortune to meet, with a sermon on modern poetry," said
Lord Earlshope, lightly ; " and as she seemed to pay no
attention to me, I appealed to you. However, the sub-
ject is not an enticing one, as Miss Cassilis apparently
discovered. Which way are you walking'? Shall we
join you ?"
The deep-set eyes of the Minister, under the gray
eyebrows, were closely regarding the speaker during the
utterance of these words. Mr. Cassilis was satisfied, so
far as Lord Earlshope was concerned. No actor could
have been so obviously and wholly at ease, the fact being
that the young man did not even suspect that he had
become an object of suspicion. He had not inveigled
the Minister's niece into a secret interview ; on the con-
trary, he had, mainly by chance, met a pleasant and
pretty neighbor out for her morning walk, and why should
he not speak to her ?
But when the Minister turned to Coquette he found
a different story written on her face a story that caused
him some concern. She appeared at once embarassed
and distressed. She said nothing, and looked at neither
of ttrem ; but there was in her eyes (bent on a bit of
A DAUGHTER OF HETff- $ t
heather she was pulling to pieces) an expression of con-
straint and disquiet, which was plainly visible to him, if
not to Lord Earlshope.
" If you will relieve me from the duties of escort,"
said the latter to Mr. Cassilis, "I think I shall bid you
both good morning, as I have to walk over to Altyre
Farm and back before luncheon."
So he parted from them, Coquette not daring to look
up as he shook hands with her. She and the Minister
were left alone.
For a minute or two they walked on in silence, and
it seemed to Coquette that the hour of her deepest trib-
ulation had come. So bright and happy had been the
life of this young creature, that with her to be downcast
was to be miserable, to be suspected was equivalent to
being guilty. Suspicion she could not bear, secrecy
seemed to suffocate her ; and she had now but one de-
spairing notion in her head to escape and fly from this
lonely northern place whither she had been sent, to get
away from a combination of circumstances that appeared
likely to overwhelm her.
14 Uncle," she said, " may I go back to France ? "
" My child ! " said Mr. Cassilis, in amazement, " what
is the matter ? Surely you do not mean that your short
stay with us has been disagreeable to you ? I have no-
ticed, it is true, that you have of late been rather out of
sorts, but judged it was but some "temporary indisposi-
tion. Has anything annoyed you have you any cause
of complaint?
" Complaint ! " she said ; "when you have been so
kind to me ? No, no complaint. But I do think I am
not good enough for this place. I am sorry I cannot
satisfy, although I put away all my pictures and books,
and the crucifix, so that no one can see. But I am sus-
pected, I do hear them talk of me as dangerous. It is
natural, it is right, perhaps, but not pleasant to me.
Just now," she added, desperately, "you think I did
promise to meet Lord Earlshope, and you did come to
take me home."
8 2 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
" Had you not promised ? " said the Minister, looking
steadily and yet affectionately at her.
For a second the girl's lip trembled : but the next
moment she was saying rapidly, with something of wild-
ness in her tone and manner,
" I did not promise ; no. But I did expect to see him,
I did hope to see him when I came out ; and is it wrong ?
Is it wrong for me to speak to a stranger, when I do see
him kind to me, in a place where there are not many
amiable people ? If it is wrong it is because Lord Earls-
hope is not suspicious and hard and illjudging like the
others. That is why they do say ill of him ; that is why
they persuade me to think ill of him. I do not ; I will not.
Since I left France I did meet no one so courteous, so
friendly, as he has been. Why can I talk to him so
easily ? He does not think me wicked because I have a
crucifix that my mother gave me, that is why we are
friends ; and he does not suspect me. But it is all over.
We are not to be friends again ; we may see each other
to-morrow; we shall not speak. Shall I tell Leesiebess?
perhaps it will please her ! "
She spoke with angry and bitter vehemence that was
strangely out of consonance with her ordinary serenity
of demeanor. The Minister took her hand gently in his,
saying nothing at all and led her back to the Manse.
CHAPTER XII.
COQUETTE'S CONQUESTS.
THERE ensued a long period of rain, day after day
breaking sullen and cold, and a perpetual drizzle falling
from a gray and cheerless sky. There were none of the
sharp and heavy showers which a southwest gale brings,
with dashes of blue between ; but a slow, fine, wetting
rain that rendered everything humid and limp, and hid
A DAUGHTER OF 12 'E TIL 83
the far-off line of the sea and the mountains of Arran be-
hind a curtain of gray mist.
Perhaps it was the forced imprisonment caused by
the rain which made Coquette look ill ; but, at all events,
she grew so pale and listless that even the boys noticed
it. All her former spirits were gone. She was no longer
interested in their sports, and aught them no more new
games. She kept much to her own room, and read at
a window. She read those books which she had brought
with her from the sunny region of the Loire ; and when
she turned from the open page to look out upon the wet
andmisty landscape-all around, she came back again with
a sigh to the volume on her knee.
Lord Earlshope never came near the Manse ; perhaps,
she thought he had left the country. The only communi-
cation she had with him was on the day following their
last meeting. She then sent him a note consisting of
but one line, which was, " Please do not call your boat
' Coquette.' " This missive she had intrusted to her
Cousin Wattie, who delivered it, and returned with the
answer that Lord Earlshope had merely said " All right.''
Wattie, however, broke the confidence reposed in him,
and told his brothers that he had been sent with a
message to Earlshope. The Whaup profited by this in-
telligence, but punished Wattie all the same ; for on that
night Coquette heard murmurings and complainings un-
derneath her window. She looked out. There was some
starlight, and she could indistinctly see a figure in white
moving in the garden underneath that building the upper
story of which, originally a hayloft, had been transformed
into a dormitory for the boys. The cause of the disturb-
ance soon became apparent. After the boys had un-
dressed, the Whaup had wheedled or compelled Wattie
into making a rush to the garden for some fruit. He had
then taken advantage of his position to pull the laeder into
the loft, by which mean device his brother was left stand-
ing below in his night-shirt. In vain Wattie petitioned
to be let up to his bed. With his teeth chattering in his
head, he entreated that at least his trousers might be
flung down to him ; but he was not relieved from punish-
S 4 A DAUGHTER OF HETff.
ment until the Whaup had administered a severe lectur.
to him on the shabbiness of betraying a lady's confidence
" I'll never do't again, as sure's I'm here ? " said
Wattie, who was feebly endeavoring to mitigate his suffer-
ings by balancing himself on his toes, a feat in which he
naturally failed.
" Since it won't rain," said the Whaup, looking spite
fully at the clear starlit sky, " there is no much use of
keeping you there, so ye may hae the ladder."
The Whaup never spoke to Coquette about the letter,
but it was the occasion of his prolonging the blockade
which he had declared. He deliberately ignored her pres-
ence. He would not complain of her keeping up what
he imagined to be a clandestine correspondence : neither
would he take any steps to put an end to it, He con-
tented himself with thinking that if ever there should be
necessity for confronting Lord Earlshope personally,
and altering matters that way, there would be one per-
son in the Manse ready to adventure something for the
sake of Coquette.
Nevertheless, it was at this time, and it was through
the Whaup's instrumentality, that Coquette achieved her
first great victory in Airlie, a success which was but the
beginning of a strange series of successes, and fraught
with important consequences to her. It all fell about
in this way. First, the Whaup relented. When the
rain began, and he saw his French cousin mope and
pine indoors, when he saw how she was growing languid
and listless, and still strove to be cheerful and amiable
to those around her, his reserve broke down. By insen-
sible degrees he tried to re-establish their old relations.
He showed her little attentions, and performed towards
her small acts of thoughtfulness and kindness, which she
was not slow to acknowledge. He was not impudently
and patronizingly good to her, as he had been, there was
a certain restraint over his approaches ; but she met
them all with that simplicity of gratitude which the dark
eyes and the sweet face could so readily and effectually
express when her imperfect English failed her. And
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 85
the Whaup no longer corrected her blunders with his
old scornful impatience.
One morning there was a temporary cessation of
ain.
" Why don't you go down and return the Pensioner's
visit ? " said the Whaup to Coquette.
" If you please, I will go."
For the first time for many a day these two went
out of the Manse together. It was like a revival of the
old times, though the Whaup would not have believed
you had you told him how short a space Coquette had
actually lived in Airlie. The cold and damp wind brought
a tinge of color to the girl's cheeks ; the Whaup thought
he had never seen her look so pleasant and pretty.
While Coquette lingered in the small garden of the
cottage, the Whaup went up to the door and told the
Pensioner who had come to see him.
" Cot pless me ! " he hastily exclaimed, looking down
at his legs. " Keep her in sa garden till I change my
breaks."
"What for?" said the Whaup.
" Dinna ye see sey are tartan ! " cried Neil, in an
excited whisper, " and sa French canna stand sa tartan."
" Nonsense," said the Whaup. " She won't look at
your trousers."
" It is no nonsense, but very good sense whatever,"
said the Highlandman. " It wass two friends o' mine,
and they went over to France sa very last year, and one
o' them, sey took his bags and his luggage, ard sey pulled
sis way and sat way, and sey will sweer at him in French,
but he will not know what it wass said to him, and sey
will take many things from him, mirover, and he will
not know why. But, said I to him, ' Tonald, will you
have on your tartan plaid round your shoulders ? ' And
says he, ' I had.' And said I to him, ' Did you will no ken
how sa French canna stand sa tartan ever since Water-
loo ? ' "
The Pensioner ran inside, and speedily reappeared in
plain gray. Then he came out, and bade Coquette wel-
come with a dignified courtesy that surprised her.
86 A DAUGHTER OF HETH. *
" You would not come to see me, so I have come to
see you," she said to the old man.
" It wasna for the likes o' me to visit a leddy," said
Neil.
He dusted a chair with his sleeve, and asked her to
sit down. Then he put three glasses on the table, and
brought out a black bottle. He rilled one of the glasses
and offered it to Coquette.
" She can't drink whiskey ! " said the Whaup, with
a rude laugh.
" It is sa rale Lagavulin," said Neil, indignantly, " and
wouldna harm a flea."
Coquette put the glass to her lips, and then placed it
on the table.
" Ye may drink it up, mem," said Neil. " Do ye ken
that ye can drink sa goot whiskey until ye stagger, and
it will do ye no harm in sa morning ? I do pelieve it is
sa finest sing in the world's universe, a gran' good
stagger as ye will go home in sa night."
" You have been in battle ? " said Coquette, by way
of changing the conversation.
" Oh, yes, mem," said Neil, looking desperately un-
comfortable. " It wass it wass it wass in a war."
" Have you been in more than one war ? " she asked.
" No, mem yes, mem," stammered Neil, in great
embarrassment, as he glanced to see that his tartan
trousers were well shoved under the bed ; " but it is no
matter how many wars. It will pe all over pefore you
were porn, never mind about sa wars."
" I hear you were at Waterloo," said Coquette, inno-
cently.
The Pensioner jumped to his feet.
"Who wass it tellt you of Waterloo?" said he, in
great indignation. " I never heard sa like. It wass a
shame and I would not take a hundred pounds and for-
get mysel' like sat. And you will be blaming us Hie-
landers for what we did, and we did a goot teal there,
but there wass others too. There wass English there too.
And the French, sey fought well, as every one o' us
will tell ye ; and I wouldna sink too much o't, for maype
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 87
it isna true sat Napoleon died on sa island. Diclna he
come pack pefore ? "
Having offered Coquette this grain of comfort, Neil
hastily escaped from the subject by getting his violin
and beginning to screw up the strings.
" I have been learning a lot of your Scotch airs," said
Coquette, " and I have become very fond of some of them ;
the sad ones especially. But I suppose you prefer the
lively ones for the violin."
" I can play sem all every one together," said Neil
proudly. " I do not play sem well, but I know all our
music every one."
" You play a great deal ? "
" No," said Neil, fondling his violin affectionately
" I do not play sa fiddle much, but I like to be aye play-
ing."
There was a touch of pathos in the reply which did
not escape the delicate perception of his guest. She
looked at the old man, at his scanty gray hair and dazed
eyes, and was glad that he had this constant companion
to amuse and interest him. He did not like to play much,
to make a labor of this recreation ; but he liked to have
the tinkle of the tight strings always present to his ear.
He played her a selection of his best airs, with many
an apology. He chatted about the tunes, too, and told
tales concerning them, until he was as familiar with the
young lady as though he had known her a lifetime, and
she was laughing at his odd stories more than she had
laughed for many a day. At last she said,
" That ' Flower of the Forest' is a beautiful air, but
you want it harmonized. Will you come up to the Manse
now, and I will try to play it for you ? I have been try-
ing it much lately."
So the Pensioner walked up to the Manse with them,
and soon found himself in Coquette's parlor. His host-
tess remembered how she had been received, and went
into the room adjoining for a second or two. When she
returned there was a small bottle in her hand.
" This is some French brandy which my old nurse
88 * DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
gave me when I left, in case I should be ill at sea ; you
see I have not even opened the bottle."
The Whaup got a corkscrew and a glass, and soon
had half a tumblerful of the brandy to offer Neil. The
Pensioner looked at it, smelt it, said " Deoch slainte ! "
and, to the horror of Coquette, gulped it down. The
next moment his face was a mass of moving muscles,
twisting and screwing into every expression of agony,
while he gasped and choked, and could only say, " Wa-
ter ! water ! " But when the Whaup quickly poured him
out a glass of water, he regarded it at arm's-length for a
second, and then put it away.
" No," he said, with his face still screwed up to
agony pitch, " I can thole."
Coquette did not understand what had happened ;
but when her cousin, with unbecoming frankness, ex-
plained to her that the Pensioner would rather " thole"
(or suffer) the delicious torture in his throat than spoil
it with water, she was nearly joining in the Whaup's im-
pudent laughter.
But the brandy had no perceptible effect on Neil.
He sat and listened sedately to the music she played ;
and it was only when his enthusiasm was touched that
he broke out with some exclamation of delight. At
length the old man left ; the Whaup also going away to
those exceptional studies which had been recently im-
posed on him as a condition of his remaining at Airlie.
Coquette sat alone at the piano. The gray day was
darkening to the afternoon, and the rain had begun again
its wearisome patter on the pane. She had French
music before her, bright and laughing songs of the by-
gone and happy time, but she could not sing them. Al-
most unconsciously to herself, she followed the wander
ings of her fancy in the dreamland of that old and plain-
tive music that she had recently discovered. Now it
was " Bothwell Bank," again it was " The Land o' the
Leal " that filled the room with its sadness, until she
came back again to "The Flowers of the Forest." She
sang a verse of it, merely out of caprice, to see if
A DAUGHTER OF HRTH. 89
she could master the pronunciation, and just as she had
finished, the door opened, and Leezibeth stood there.
Coquette turned from the piano with a sigh : doubt-
less Leezibeth had come to prefer some complaint.
The woman came up to her and said, with the most
painful shamefacedness clouding her look,
" Will ye sing that again, miss, if it is no much trou-
ble to ye ? Maybe ye'll no ken that me and Andrew
had a boy, a bit laddie that dee'd when he was but seven
years auld and and he used to sing the ' Flowers o'
the Forest ' afore a' the other songs ; and ye sing it that
fine that if it didna mak' a body amaist like to greet "
She never finished the sentence ; but the girl sang
the rest of the song, and the woman stood, with her
eyes turned to the gray evening outside, silent. And
from that day Leezibeth was the slave of Coquette.
CHAPTER XIII.
A HOROSCOPE.
EVENTS were marching on at Airlie. Leezibeth
came to Coquette, and said,
" Sir Peter and Lady Drum, came back frae Edin-
burgh last night."
Coquette remained silent, and Leezibeth was aston
ished. Was it possible the girl had never heard of Sir
Peter and Lady Drum ?
"And I saw my lady this morning, and she is com-
ing to see you this very afternoon," said Leezibeth,
certain she had now effected a surprise.
"Who are they?" said Coquette. "Are they Scotch?
I do not wish to see any more Scotch."
" Ma certes ! " said Leezibeth, firing up suddenly ;
but presently she said, in a voice more gentle than Co-
quette had ever heard her use, " Ye'll maybe like
90 A DAUGHTER OF HE Til.
the Scotch folk yet, miss, when ye hae time to under-
stand them ; and Lady Drum is a grand woman, just an
extraordinar' woman ; and I told her a' about ye, miss,
and she was greatly interested, as I could see ; and I
made bold, miss, to say that ye were a bit out o' sorts
the now, and if my lady would but ask ye ower to Cas-
tle Cawmil, and let ye hae some company mair fitted to
ye than us bodies about the Manse, it might cheer ye
up a bit, and bring a bit color to your cheek."
Coquette was really surprised now. Could it be
Leezibeth her enemy, who was speaking in this timidly
solicitous fashion ?
" It is very good of you "
" Oh, we are no so bad as ye think us," said Leezi-
beth, plucking up courage. "And there is Scotch
blood in your ain veins, miss, as anybody can see for
the way ye sing they Scotch songs is just past be-
lievin' ! "
From Coquette's sitting-room Leezibeth went
straight to the Minister's study.
" I hae come to speak to ye, sir. about Miss Cas-
silis."
" Dear me ! " said the Minister, impatiently, " I wish
ye would let my niece alone, Leezibeth."
But the Minister was no less astonished than Co-
quette had been when Leezibeth unfolded her tale, and
made it apparent that she had come to intercede for the
young French girl. Leezibeth stood at the door, and
announced it as her decision that the Minister was
bound to see to his niece's health and comfort more ef-
fectually than he had done. She spoke, indeed, as if
she dared the Minister to refuse.
" And Sir Peter and my lady are coming here," con-
tinued Leezibeth, " for I met them as they were going
over to Earlshope ; and my lady spoke to me about Miss
Cassilis, and will doubtless ask her to visit her. Not
only maun she visit Castle Cawmil, but she maun stay
there, sir, until the change has done the lassie good."
" What is the meaning of all this, Leezibeth ? " said
the Minister. " Has she bewitched you ? Yesterday
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. g l
you would have said of her, ' She is a Samaritan, and
hath a devil.' Now she has become your Benjamir, as
it were. What will Andrew say ? "
" Let the body mind his pease and his pittawties,
and no interfere wi' me," said Leezibeth, with a touch
of vigorous contempt.
Nevertheless, Leezibeth had a conversation with her
husband very shortly after, and was a good deal more
cautious in her speech than was her wont. When An-
drew came into the kitchen to have his dinner, she said,
" Andrew, my man, I'm thinkin' we dinna under-
stand they Romans. Could ye but see the gude books
that that lassie has wi' her, and see her read a bit o' one
o' them every night and every mornin' indeed, I'm
thinkin', Andrew, the Romans maun be a kind o' reli-
gious folk, after a 1 ."
Andrew said " Hm ! " and went on with his broth.
"I wonder," continued Leezibeth, regarding her hus-
band with some apprehension, " whether there is ony
harm in the bit pictures, she has. It's my opeenion she
doesna worship them, as if they were a graven eemage,
but has them, maybe, to jog her memory. Ye ken, An-
drew, that there was a gran' difference atween the gow
den calf that the children o' Israel made and the brazen
serpent that the Lord commanded Moses to lift up in tkt
wilderness."
" Whatever is the woman at ? " muttered Andrew to
himself, over his plate.
"The serpent was only a sign and a symbol, the
foreshadowin' o' what was to come ; and surely Moses
kenned what he was doin' and didna, transgress. Now,
Andrew, if the Romans, children o' wrath as they are,
have a bit cross or a crucifix only as a sort o' remem-
brance, there is mayhap no so muckle harm in it."
Andrew dropped his spoon into the broth, and sat
bolt upright in his chair.
" Am I listenin', or dreamin' woman ? What evil
spirit is it that has put these things into your mouth, and
linked ye wi' them whaus feet are set in hell ? Are ye
clean daunert, woman, that ye should come as an apolo-
9 2 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
gist for such tolk, and tread the blood o' the covenant
under foot ? Nae wonder they have their crucifixes and
their pictures, for it is their judgment that they maun
look upon Him whom they have pierced, and mourn their
lost condition. And it is this lassie that has done it a',
as I said frae the first. 'Tvvas a sad day for us that she
came to Airlie ; the Manse has never been itsel' since
then. Yet never did I think to hear such words from a
woman well brought up as ye have been ; and it fears
me to think what will be the end o't."
" Bless me ! " said Leezibeth, tesrily, " I only asked
for your opeenion."
" And my opeenion is." said Andrew, " that the time
is coming when ye will see this woman in her true colors,
and she will no longer be a snare to the feet o' them that
would walk decently and uprightly. Ye hae been led
awa' by the tempter, Leezibeth, and the fair things o 'the
world hae been set before ye, and the kingdoms thereof,
and your eyes are blinded. But there will come a day,
and that soon, when this Manse will see a change, and
her that has entered it will be driven forth to seek another
people. Dinna be beguiled in the meantime, Leezibeth.
The end is comin', and her pictures and her crucifixes
will not save her then."
" What do you mean, Andrew ? " said his wife, who
was nearly in tears. " I am sure the lassie has done no
wrong. I declare my heart feels for her when I see her
sittin' by the window, a' by herself, looking out at nae-
thing, and a fair wecht o' weariness and patience on her
face. If she had a mother, now, to look after her and
speak to her "
"And how long is it," said Andrew, "since ye hae
taen this interest in her ? How did she cast her wiles
ower ye ? "
Leezibeth did not answer. She was thinking of the
vague and dreadful future which Andrew had been proph-
esying.
" Let her alone, leave her to hersel'," said Andrew.
" I warn ye against this woman, Leezibeth, as I hae
warned the Minister, though he would take nae heed,
A DAUGHTER OF HE Til. 93
and leaves her wi' a' her idolatrous implements free to
work destruction in the midst o' a decent and God-fear-
ing house. Yet in time this will be changed, and we
will have to cast out the serpent. ' I will hedge up thy
way with thorns, and make a wall, that she shaM-not find
her paths. And she shall follow after her lovers, but she
shall not overtake them ; and she shall seek them, but
shall not find them.' "
" Who is that you are talking about ? Is it my
cousin?" said the Whaup, haughtily, as he suddenly
stood before them. He had come into the kitchen hur-
riedly, in order to get some glue for a " dragon " which
he was making for a younger brother, and had heard the
latter end of Andrew's bitter forecast.
As for Leezibeth she had turned aside in deep dis-
tress. Her newly awakened sympathy for the girl was
rudely troubled by those sinister anticipations of her
husband, and she did not know what to think of them,
but Andrew, who had for the moment forgotten his broth,
was looking up, when he saw the Whaup suddenly
appear. The old man's face, which was severe enough
as he spoke, assumed a deep frown on seeing his enemy.
He was evidently annoyed at being " caught," and yet
determined to brave it cut.
" Why, you canna eat your dinner without stopping
to talk spite and scandal, " said the Whaup, with a curl
of his lip. " Canna you leave that to women ? And a pretty
Daniel you are, wi' your prophecies and your judgments
and your warnings ? But if you will be a Daniel, by jingo
I'll make this house worse to you than any den of lions
ever ye were in in your life ! "
The Whaup went out and summoned a secret conclave
of his brothers. The VeJimgericJit met in the hayloft.
A DAUGHTER OF HETtt
CHAPTER XIV.
SIR PETER AND LADY DRUM.
COQUETTE, sitting quietly in the general parlor, the
Minister being busy with his reading, heard voices in the
hall, and one of them startled her. Indeed she suddenly
put her hand to her heart, having felt a quick flutter, as
of pain, there, and a tinge of color came to her pale face.
The next moment Leezibeth announced Sir Peter and
Lady Drum, and Lord Earlshope ; and these three en-
tered the room.
Sir Peter was a little, stout, rosy-cheeked, and fair-
haired man, who wore a suit of light gray, and had a big
diamond ring on his ringer. There was a pleasant ex-
pression in his face, a look of gayety in his eyes, and
his laugh, which was heard rather too often, passed be-
yond all the bounds of decorum in its long shrill peals.
He laughed as he went briskly forward to shake hands
with the Minister ; he laughed and made a feeble joke
when he was introduced to Coquette ; he laughed and
made another feeble joke when he led forward his wife to
young girl.
Coquette found herself confronted by a most strik-
ing-looking woman, one who might have sat for a picture
of a grande dame of the last generation. Lady Drum
was a tail, elderly, upright person, with a massive face,
which was yet kindly in the severity of its features, and
with a fine head of gray hair, elaborately arranged. Lacly
Drum was widely known in the neighborhood for her in-
flexible judgments on people's conduct, her generous but
scrupulously calculated aid to all who were in need,
and Iier skill in medicine, which she loved to practice ;
3 ad it was a popular mystery how this stately and impos-
ig lady could have married the gay little gentleman whc
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 95
was now her husband. Yet they agreed remarkably
well, and seemed to have a mutual esteem for each other.
She bore with great equanimity his perpetual jokes, his
ceaseless and rambling talk, and loud laughter ; while he
was fond of addressing her as his " jewel, " declaring that
she had saved his life twenty times with her physic. Of
all the people in the country the Drums were the only
people whom Lord Earlshope was ever known to visit ;
and his regard and liking for the grave and noble-looking
lady of Castle Cawmil had even led him to permit him-
self to be dosed and doctored upon occasions. Some-
times they corresponded ; and the contents of Lady
Drum's letters chiefly consisted in motherly advice about
the use of flannel in spring-time, and the great virtues of
some new herb she had discovered. As for Sir Peter,
Lord Earlshope seldom saw him when he visited Castle
Cawmil. Sir Peter was anywhere, everywhere, but in
his own house. He flitted about the country, enjoying
himself wherever he went, for the number of his friends
was legion ; while Lady Drum attended to her poultry-
yard and her patients at home,
Coquette found fixed upon her a pair of severe and
scrutinizing eyes ; but there was something in the appear-
ance of the tall grayhai red woman which she could not
help admiring and even liking. When she spoke, which
she did in a grave and deliberate fashion, with a consider-
ably marked Scotch accent, her voice had all the soft-
ness which her features lacked.
" I hope you will find Airlie a pleasant place, " said
Lady Drum, still retaining Coquette's hand.
''Dull dull dull, " said Sir Peter, looking out of
the window and humming to himself. " Very dull, very
dull very dull. Ha, ha ! Hm, hm ! Ha, ha ! "
"And we shall hope to see you often at Castle
Cawmil," said Lady Drum.
" I thank you, " said Coquette, simply, but making
no promise.
" Pleasanter for you than for her, " said Sir Peter,
gayly, " My dear young lady, if you come to Castle
Cawmil, we shall all be very grateful ; but you mustn't
9 6 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
expect to have much amusement, you know. Lectures
on typhus lectures on typhus, you know ; pills, draughts-,
blisters, hm, hm ! ha, ha ! ha, ha ! "
Lady Drum paid no attention to the small playful-
nesses of her husband, but turned to the Minister.
"Your worthy housekeeper has been telling me that
your niece is very much in want of a change. I can
see it. The wet weather has' shut her up. She wants
to be let out into the air, with companions and amuse-
ment ; and I would even recommend a little tansy, or,
perhaps gentian root. If she were with me for a week
or two I might try the Caribbean cinchona, which has
proved an excellent tonic within my own experience ;
but as for horse-chestnut bark, which some prefer to
use, I do not hold wi' that in any case. Lord Earls-
hope will tell ye, Mr Cassilis, that the Caribbean cin-
chona "
" Did me a world of good," said Lord Earlshope.
" Indeed, I was quite ashamed to get well so rapidly,
and deprive my amiable physician of the chance of
watching the effects of her cure. In fact, I got so ridic-
ulously well that I had no occasion to drink any of the
coltsfoot wine that Lady Drum was good enough to
send me. Shall I transfer it to you, Miss Cassilis, when
you become one of Lady Drum's patients ? "
'* I will take it, if it is nice," said Coquette.
Lady Drum did not like this way of treating the
subject, especially as her husband was moving about the
room from place to place, joking about everybody all
around in a somewhat impudent way, and humming a
series of reflections on physic generally, which inter-
fered with the dignity of the situation.
" Fine thing, physic, grand thing, physic, hm ! hm !
old woman -comes and gets her physic, and sixpence,
ha, ha ! drinks the sixpence and flings away the physic,
with a ' God bless all doctors, if possible.' Capital gar-
den that of yours, Mr. Cassilis, capital! too much like a
wilderness, perhaps. Got the old ponies in the stables
yet, old Bess with the swallow tail ? Remember how
A DAUGHTER OF BETH. 97
the Hielandman thought the flicht o' a swallow was like
a squint him ? "
" What is that ? " said Lord Earlshope,
"Untranslatable, untranslatable," carolled Sir Peter
" ' Bekass it wass a crookit flue.' More untranslatable
still, isn't it ? We must be going, my lady."
But my lady- had got into a very confidential chat
with Coquette, and had even aired a few French phrases,
to show that she had been used to polite accomplish-
ments in her youth. She had been to Paris, also ; had
seen the Place de la Bastille ; and considered herself
profound in the history of the capital. Their talk,
nevertheless, was chiefly of Airlie, and of Coquette's ex-
periences there.
" I did like the place better when I came here," said
the girl. " Much better. Yet, it is pretty, you know,
when there is sun, and it is not cold. It is always the
same thing at Airlie, the same place, the same people,
the same things to do each day. That is tiresome when
one is indoors in the rain, when one is out in good days
there is variety. If you will let me visit you, I shall be
joyous, joyful no, I mean I shall be glad visitoty uo
and see you. And will you come to Airlie often ? I
have no lady friend in this country, you know, only my
uncle and the boys, and if you will be pleased to come
and see me, it will be a great pleasure to me."
" But I am an old woman," said Lady Drum. " I
should be a poor companion for you.
" But I have always lived with old people," said
Coquette, somewhat too bluntly. " I do like old people
better than young."
Lady Drum was puzzled. Why did this young crea-
ture talk so sadly, and show none of the liveliness and
hope natural to her age ? Surely, with her graceful
and well-formed figure, her clear dark eyes, and the
healthy red of her lips that were obviously meant to
laugh, she ought to have plenty of spirit and life ? Lady
Drum had never seen the true Coquette ; the Coquette
to whom every day was a holiday, and every incident in
it a joyous experience ; but she half divined that the
9 8 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT.
pale, pretty, dark-eyed girl who sat beside her, and who
had an ease of manner which was the perfection of sim-
plicity, was not strung up to her natural pitch of health
and enjoyment. Lady Drum had never heard Coquette
laugh in the open air, or sing to herself in the garden ;
but she had a suspicion that the beauty of the girl's
face was paler than it ought to be.
" Quassia ! " said Lady Drum, suddenly, and Co-
quette started ; but presently her elderly friend said,
" No. We must try something else first. Castle Caw-
mil would be tiresome just now, with an old woman like
me in it. By and by, my lassie, you must come and see
me when I have got together some young folks ; and
we shall have half the gentlemen in Ayrshire fighting
for the first quadrille."
" Is there dancing at your house ? " said Coquette,
with interest.
" Dancing ! Yes, as much dancing as young lassocks
like you should have, who will not be persuaded to take
any other sort o' exercise."
" I was told it was evil here," said Coquette, remem-
bering certain of Leezibeth's orations.
" Evil ! evU ! " said Lady Drum, " If there was
much of evil in it, it wouldna set its foot within my doors.
But then, ye see, Miss Cassilis, this is a minister's house
and a minister must be discreet, no to give offence, as it
were, Doubtless your uncle, being a reasonable man,
knows that what was used as a pairt of the worship of
the Lord may surely be used without harm as an inno-
cent and usefu' recreation ; but he has to mind a lot o'
strict and suspicious bodies, that see the image of Satan
himsel' whene'er they look beyond the rim o' their own
porridge-pot."
" Now, my lady," cried St. Peter, " sorry to interrupt
your chat with Mr. Cassilis's charming niece ; but I
know she will thank me for getting her away from your
tansy and coltsfoot wine. Come along, come along,
come along, ha, ha ! hm, hm ! ha, ha ! "
" Not before I have arranged this little matter/' said
Lady Drum, with dignity, as she turned to Lord Earls
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
99
hope, who had been conversing with the Minister.
" Lord Earlshope, do ye mind that you pressed me to
make use o' your yacht when occasion suited ? "
" Certainly I do," said Lord Earlshope. " She is quite
at your service, always : and just at present she is in
capital cruising order, with all the men on board. Do
you propose to take Miss Cassilis for a run up some of
the lochs ? "
" Indeed, it was the very thing I was thinking of, '
said Lady Drum.
" Then you have only to drive to Ardrossan any day
you choose, and give Maxwell his sailing orders. He is
a steady old fellow, and will take every care of you."
Coquette listened mutely, with her eyes fixed on the
ground. Lord Earlshope then proposed that she and
Lady Drum should go by themselves: she did not think
it very civil.
" I had some notion of asking Mr. Cassilis to form
a party and go for a short cruise, hut I dismissed it as
chimerical. Perhaps you will be more successful if you
try."
" Now tell me," said Lady Drum, with a business-
like air, " how many you can take on board."
" Why, half the population of Airlie, or thereabouts,
But there is one very grand state-room, which you ladies
could share between you ; and as for your gentlemen
friends, you might ask as many as had been accustomed
to the exigencies of yachts, myself among the number, I
hope, As for Sir Peter "
" No, no, no ! " cried Sir Peter, gaily. " No yachting
for me, sleeping in a hole, washing out of a tea-cup, wet
to the skin all day, ha, ha! hm, hm ! ha, ha! No yacht-
ing for me, off to Peebles on Tuesday, then back to Ed-
inburgh the week after ; my lady may go if she likes."
" Mr. Cassilis, may we reckon on you ? " said Lady
Drum, severely ignoring her husband's volatility. "Your
niece demands some change of the kind , and I have
entered into a contract long ago with Lord Earlshope
about the yacht."
" You need not be frightened by what Sir Peter
J00 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
says," observed Lord Earlshope, with a laugh. " On
board a sixty-ton yacht you are not put to such dreadful
inconveniences, indeed, you may be as much at home in
the ' Caroline ' as in a steamer. Shall I add my entreat-
ies to those of Lady Drum ? If you could get away from,
your duties for a week or two, it would be a pleasant
holiday at this season ; and, if you like, I will go with
you for a day or two, to see you all comfortably settled."
There was positively a blush on the pale gray face
of the Minister. The notion of taking a holiday for the
mere purpose of pleasure was quite startling to him,
had, in fact, something dangerous about it. Had the
proposal, indeed, not been made in the first instance by
Lady Drum, whose decision as to matters of propriety
was law throughout the district, he would not even have
considered it for a moment.
" I cannot give an answer out of hand/ he said,
gravely, and yet with some hesitation. " Doubtless it
is a tempting and a kind offer ; but there are other obli-
gations binding on us than our own wishes."
" Now Mr. Cassilis," said Lady Drum, "have you
not mentioned to me that you greatly desired some op-
portunity should occur to permit you to give young Mr.
M'Alister your pulpit for the day, an honor that he has
fairly set his heart on ? "
" But I should like to be present to witness his trial,"
said the Minister, fighting against himself.
" Ye may trust him ye may trust him," said Lady
Drum, decisively. " He is as safe as an old horse wi
blinders on. No fear o' him alarmin' the congregation
wi' new doctrine, he hasna spunk enough to be danger-
ous."
This somewhat doubtful testimony to the intellectual
" safety " of the young man carried some weight, evidently,
and Mr. Cassilis then turned to his niece.
4 Catherine," said he, solemnly, " you have heard Lady
Drum's proposal, would it please you to go ? "
" Oh, very much," said Coquette, " if if my cousin
could also go."
A DA UGH TER OF HE 777. l o i
The Minister stared ; how had the Whaup come to
be of such consequence ? ; . . . . . .
" Do you mean my friend Tom ? * said' Lord Claris-
hope. " Why, of course he can go. There is nothing
to hinder him."
Coquette was very grateful, but said nothing. There
was a brighter look on her face, however, than had been
there for many a day. The Minister said he would con-
sider the matter ; and, if he saw that his duties to his
parishioners would not suffer, he hoped to be able to
take his niece on this voyage of health.
When the visitors had gone, Coquette went outside
to look for the Whaup. She found him in the garden ; in-
clined to be more reserved than ever on account of this
appearance of Lord Earlshope at the Manse.
" Tom," she said, " I do wish to speak to you, to ask
why you avoid me, when you were my good companion
for a long time. Why should we quarrel ?"
" Quarrel ? " said the Whaup, as if he laughed at the
idea of his bothering himself to quarrel with anybody,
" I haven't quarrelled ; I haven't time to quarrel. But I
suppose you are come to be penitent and all that ; and
probably you will cry. I don't like to see you cry, so I'll
make friends at once, if you like."
" Is that how you do make friends in Scotland ? "
said Coquette, with a laugh in her eyes, "standing a
yard off, looking fierce, and speaking harsh."
" Oh, I will kiss you, if you like." said the Whaup,
bluntly, and he advanced for that purpose.
" No," said Coquette, with the least change of man-
ner ; and yet that delicate alteration in her tone and
look protected her as though with a wa-ll of iron. " I
did not ask you. But I have something to ask of very
much importance, oh ! such great importance ! And I
wish you to be kind as you once were, but I am afraid
on this day. It is too cold, too dull. On a clear day you
would say, yes."
"Don't talk so much, but tell me what it is," said the
Whaup. He was warding off, rudely, the insidious
attacks of his too pretty cousin.
/02 A DAUGHTER OF IIETH,
" It is proposed we all go with Lord Earlshope's
yacht or, a loh'g vpyagc around the Islands, your papa
and Lady Drum, and me, too; and it depends if you will
go that I will go."
" I go ! " said the Whaup, with a burst of laughter.
" In Lord Earlshope's yacht ! You must be mad ! "
" If you do not go, I will not go," said Coquette,
simply.
"Perhaps it is better you shouldn't go," said the
Whaup.
" Perhaps it is," said Coquette, turning away towards
the house.
The Whaup looked after her for a moment, then he
followed her.
" Look here, what do you want to go for ? " he asked.
4 I thought it would be pleasurable, the amusement,
the going away from this place a few days, the whole of us
together. But I am not anxious, I can stay at home."
" Why can't you go with outme " said he.
" I wanted you for a companion," said Coquette, look-
ing down. " There will be nobody but your papa and
Lady Drum, Lord Earlshope only comes for a day or
two, to see us off."
He looked at her downcast face in a scrutinizing
way ; he was not sure about her.
" You know, I don't believe in you as I did at one
time. People who deceive you once will deceive you
again," he said.
She looked up with an angry glance, and bitter tears
sprang to her eyes.
" How can you say that ? " she said, indignantly.
" You are too hard, you have no mercy, you expect every
one to be as rude as yourself. If you do not believe me,
it is no matter to me ; I can believe myself, that is
enough."
With these words, she was again turning proudly
away, when he caught her by the hand, and stopped
her.
" You are a very peculiar young woman," he said,
" You are always firing off somehow or other, always
A DAUGHTER OF HE Tit. IO 3
very delighted or else very miserable. Why don't you
take things coolly, as I do ? I don't say you're very bad
because you went in for little trifling useless bits of
deceit. I suppose every woman does that, it's their
nature, and it's no use grumbling. If you had any sense,
you'd dry your eyes, get something on your head, and
come and see us dig up a bee's nest that I have found."
"Yes, I will do that," she said; adding, timidly,
" and about the yacht, I am not to go ? "
He looked in her eyes just then, and, oddly enough,
that glance somehow made him aware that he was hold-
ing her hand, a little white hand, that had a couple of
tiny rings on one of the fingers. He dropped the hand
at once, was uncomfortable and shy for a moment, and
then said, desperately* " Yes, I will go."
There was a flush of color and gladness passed over
the pale face, and she lifted his hand suddenly and
pressed it to her lips. Then she ran into the house,
and presently reappeared with her hat and some loose
white thing that she hurriedly flung around her neck.
Her eyes were so bright and joyous that the Whaup
looked at her with amazement.
In a secret corner the Whaup found his brothers,
armed with large boughs. All set out for the moor
where the bees' nest had been discovered ; and the
Whaup revealed to Coquette that his object in storming
the nest was not merely to secure the little underground
nuts of honey. A deed of vengeance had to be accom-
plished, and the captured bees were to aid in the task.
Now Sir Peter and Lady Drum had driven back to
Earlshope for luncheon, and were returning along the
moorland road, their host accompanying them. On their
way they saw in the distance a small procession of
figures on the moor, carrying branches of trees.
" Why, yonder is Coquette running and laughing,"
said Lord Earlshope.
" Running and laughing ? " said Lady Drum. " Has
that dark-eyed little witch been cheating me ? "
I04 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
CHAPTER XV.
A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE.
" WHAT is the matter with you ? " said the Whaup
to Coquette. " For a few minutes you are alive, and in
the world ; and the next minute you are looking away
over there at the sea, as if you could look through the
Arran hills, and see something miles and miles away
on the other side."
Coquette started, and recalled herself; but there
was no tinge of embarrassment on the pale, clear, foreign-
looking face. She said,
" I was thinking whether your papa would let us all
go with Lady Drum."
"Then he has not promised to go ?" said the Whaup,
sharply.
The dark eyes of Coquette began to look afraid.
" It is a strange thing," said the Whaup, " that wo-
men will not tell you all the truth at once. They must
keep back things, and make mysteries, and try to de-
ceive you. Why didn't you say to me, 'There is a
talk of our going a trip in Earlshope's yacht. Will you
come, if \ve are all allowed to go ? ' instead of hinting
that you were all fixed on going, and I might as well
join you ? Well, there, I am not going to say another
word. You can't help it. You are only a woman.'*
" And you are only a boy," she said, looking up to
the tall, handsome lad beside her, " very kind, and very
generous, and very stupid."
" I am older than you, at least," said the Whaup,
who did not like to be called a boy. " And, if it was
any use, I'd give you the advice to drop these little
tricks, and be honest with one."
"If my honesty were equal with your rudeness, I
A DAUGHTER OF HETH IO5
should please you," said Coquette, witli a smile. She
was disinclined just then to take umbrage.
"It will be a bold thing for my father to go away
anywhere in the company of Lord Earlshope," observed
the Whaup. "It will be only his regard for your
health which will force him."
" Why ? " said Coquette, with a touch of asperity.
" Well, you know the reputation he has in the parish,"
remarked the Whaup coolly. " Perhaps everybody is
wrong ; but, at all events, Earlshope gives them every
reason to think ill of him. He never comes to church ;
he walks about on Sundays with his dogs ; or else he
reads novels and smokes cigars. If I go with you, it is
not to be friends with him ; it is to protect you. Do you
know, either he is mad or one of these novels has taken
his head ; for he has got a place built at the end of the
grounds like a wizard's cave, with trickling water run-
ning over a lot of rocks, and he sits there at night to
read, and in the rocks he has blue lights, that make the
place look as if it was haunted."
" That is stuff and humbug," said Coquette.
" What did you say ? "
" I do mean it is nonsense, if that is better. It is an
old woman's story of the village, it is a fable, it is fool-
ish."
" Very well, very well," said the Whaup. " But if
you have the courage to slip out of the house to-night
when it is dark, and run all the way there, I will take
you in by a way that I know, and show you the place."
" Suppose he were there ? " said Coquette.
" No fear. The nights are getting too cold. Will
you go ? "
" Perhaps," said Coquette*
By this time they had arrived at the spot on the moor-
where the Whaup had discovered the bees' nest. He
pointed out to his companion a small hole in a piece of
mossy ground which was uncovered by the heather; and
as she looked at it, a large bumblebee came crawling out,
paused for a second, and then flew away with a lew buz-
jo6 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
zing noise into the distance. The Whaup threw off his
jacket, and took his spade in hand.
" Here," said he to Coquette, "protect yourself w h
this branch. Knock them down when they come near
you."
" Why ? " she said. " They will not harm me, I am
not harming them,"
" That may be the case wi' bees in France," ouserved
the Whaup, with a sneer, " where they've better man-
ners ; but ye'll find Scotch bees have different habits."
So he ordered one of the boys to stand by Coquette
and beat down any bees that might come her way ;
threatening him with pains and penalties dire if one
should touch her. Then he struck the spade into the
ground near the entrance to the nest, and raised a large
" divot." The channel to the subterranean caves was
now laid bare, antl one or two bees that had been coming
ap were seen extricating themselves from the loose earth.
These Dougal laid straightway hold of, by means of his
handkerchief, and popped them into a large paper bag
which he held.
" What for you put them in a bag ? " said Coquette ;
at which all the boys burst out laughing. But they did
not tell her the secret.
The excitement of this work of destruction now be-
gan. Out came the bees in dozens, buzzing up from the
ruddy earth only to be struck down by great branches of
alder borne by the boys ; while the intrepid Dougal, with
his face and hands quite unguarded, stood over the hole,
and picked up whichever of them looked only stunned.
It was a dangerous occupation ; for those inside the bag,
which had partially recovered, began to hum their dis-
content, and tried to escape by the small opening which
admitted their companions in misfortune. Sometimes,
indeed, the other boys assisted, although it was no easy
matter to beat back the winged host that flew round and
round their ears.
Suddenly Wattie uttered a loud shriek, and set off
running as hard as he could. His companions perceived
to their dismay that about twenty or thirty bees had
A DAUGHTER OF HETfl.
107
clustered around his head, and were now following him,
and hovering over him as he ran.
" He's got the queen bee on his bonnet," said the
Whaup. " Throw down your bonnet ye idiot ! throw
down your bonnet ! "
Wattie was still within hearing, and had sufficient
nerve left him to do as he was bid. He snatched at his
cap, pitched it on the heather, and again made off ; but
it was soon apparent that he was out of danger. The
bees had lit upon the cap, and from a safe distance he
stood and regarded it with rather a rueful countenance.
The issue of bees had ceased. The boys laid down
their branches, and began to dig out with their fingers,
from among the red and sandy earth, the small brown
combs of honey, which were speedily transferred, sand
and all, to their mouths. The Whaup, of course, would
not condescend to such vulgar and childish practices ;
but he produced a penknife, and extracted some honey
from one of the combs, which Coquette was pleased to
taste.
" What for you have bees in the bag ? " said Co-
quette, as they prepared to go home a simultaneous
charge of branches having cleared Wattie's cap.
" I told you," said the Whaup, " there was a deed
of vengeance to be done. In the stable there is a bag
of corn, which Andrew opens twice a day to get some
for the pony. We are going to put the bees in the bag
I suppose there's near a hundred of them. When
Andrew plunges his hand into the bag "
" Oh you wicked boy ! " cried Coquette.
" You are the cause of it," said the Whaup.
" I ? "
" I heard him calling ye all sorts o' name out of the
Bible, Satan quoting Scripture, ye know, and I have
warned him before ; and now he'll get it."
" The bees, they will kill him," said Coquette.
" So much the better," retorted the Whaup ; " he
is a nuisance."
" But what is that on your hand , that is a sting, is
i
IO S A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
it not ? " she said, looking at a considerable swelling
which was visible on the Whaup' s forefinger.
" Oh, one is nothing," he said, carelessly, sting.
" unless it's a wasp or a hornet. Did you ever burn out
a nest of hornets ? If you haven't, don't try it."
" No," said Coquette, simply, " I' m not such a
gowk."
" Well, that K pretty English ! " observed the Whaup,
with a stare.
" Isn't it right ? I did hear you say it yesterday,"
remarked Coquette, without any notion that she was
turning the tables on her critic.
So they drew near home again, and the Whaup fan-
cied a shade came over his companion's face as they ap-
proached the Manse. Perhaps it was the dull, gray day
which made the old-fashioned little place look dull and
solitary, that made the moor look unusually bleak, and
the long stretch of country sombre and sad.
" I hope you are not tired,' 1 said the Whaup.
" Tired ? No," she said, somewhat languidly. "Do
you think your papa will take us away from here for a
little while?"
" How you harp on that yacht?" said the Whaup,
good-naturedly. " I must go and persuade my father
on your behalf, I think."
" Will you do that ? " she said, eagerly,
" Yes," he said, " and just now. Isn't he there in
the garden ? I hear him talking. Oh, it is the School-
master, who is delivering a lecture. Now, I will wager
he is talking about you."
" About me ? "
" Yes ! Don't you know you are a dangerous
character to the whole village ? "
" I should like to know what he says about me,"
said Coquette, proudly, advancing towards the wall which
surrounded the garden.
" But not that way," said the Whaup, taking her
hand and leading her off. " If you wish to know, you
mustn't hide and listen, although I suppose that is a
woman's way. You go into the Manse ; I will go into
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
109
the garden, and bring you word what the new ground
of complaint is."
Leaving Coquette, therefore, the Whaup went around
the house, and boldly walked up to the place where
Mr. Gillespie and the Minister stood together.
" It is Earlshope who is catching it this time," said
the Whaup to himself, overhearing the name.
His father looked with some surprise on the ap-
proach of his eldest son, who had rather a pugnacious
look on his face, by the way, but the Schoolmaster was
too intent upon his choice phrases to heed.
..." than which, sir, nothing could be more deplorable,
or mortifying, as I may say," observed Mr, Gillespie.
" But I would give every man the due of his actions ;
for, although works are not in themselves saving, they
may be a sign, or, as some would term it, a symptom,
of the presence o' grace, even among the Gentiles who
know not the law, yet do the things that are written or
inscribed in the law."
" Yes, yes, Mr, Gillespie ! " said the Minister, with
an impatient twitch at his bunch of seals ; " but ye said
ye had come to tell me "
" Yes, sir, to inform ye of a circumstance which
deserves, or is entitled to, some remark. I have been
made the means, or, I may say, the humble instrument,
of conveying to the people of this parish no less a sum
than one hundred pounds sterling, to be expended, sir, as
those who have authority among us may direct, for the
good, or benefit, of such as are such as are such as are,
in fact, here. Ware it, or, as I ought to say, expend it, as
we best may on the educational or worldly wants of the
parish, it is all the same ; and while I would observe,
sir, that the money cannot heighten in value the ser-
vices which you give, or rather render to this parish, it
being your duty, as I may express it, to expou-nd the
prophecies and dig up spiritual gold and silver for them
that are of Zion, I would take your advice wi' all humil-
ity as to how this sum is to be granted to, or bestowed
upon, the parish."
Mr. Gillespie paused, with the air cf a man who had
1IO A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
been up to the occasion. He raised his large spectacles
towards the Minister's face, and proudly awaited the
reply.
" Where got ye this money ? " said the Minister.
" Sir, from Lord Earlshope, some three days ago,
with a letter dated some place in the north, in which his
Lordship was pleased to say that it was but a whim of his.
A noble and a praiseworthy whim, said I to Mrs. Gilles-
pie, on receiving the money ; and as I am one, Mr. Cassilis
that would argue from facts rather than from idle hear-
say or, as I might call it rumor, I am bold to observe
that there are in this very parish those who would look
back at his Lordship, and yet no bestow a bawbee on
the education o' the poor. I wouldna, sir, cast, or, in
other words, fling, the first stone ; and if some would do
as they see Lord Earlshope do, I am thinking, sir, they
would not they would not do as as, in fact, they do
do."
Feeling that his eloquence was beginning to halt, the
Schoolmaster pulled out the identical letter and check
which had effected so extraordinary a change in his sen
timents towards the owner cf Earlshope. These he
handed to Mr. Cassilis, who took them and scanned
them with equal surprise and pleasure. The Minister
even hinted that since his Lordship was so well-disposed
to the parish, and apparently inclined to make up for
past forgetfulness, it would be unbecoming of the parish
not to meet his advances in a similar friendly spirit.
" Precisely and exactly as I observed to Mrs. Gilles-
pie this morning, sir, not ten minutes, nay, when I recol-
lect, not above five minutes, indeed, I am sure three
minutes could not have elapsed, after the reading of the
letter, or communication I might call it, seeing what it
holds. And Mrs. Gillespie, sir, made an observation,
couched in homely phrase, yet pertaining, or, as I might
say, bearing upon this point. She remarked that the
test of a man's fair words was when he put his hand in
his pocket."
" It is sometimes so," said the Minister ; adding, with
a sly glance at the Schoolmaster, "perhaps, after all Mr.
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL TIT
Gillespie, when my parishioners hear of Lord Earlshope's
generosity, they will not wonder at my receiving him at
the Manse, nor yet will they object to his speaking to
my niece."
The Schoolmaster looked rather uncomfortable ; and
the Whaup, behind his back, performed some derisive
and delighted antics of a vulgar nature.
" I maun e'en take a man as I find him, Mr. Cassi-
lis/' said the Schoolmaster, forgetting his English in the
warmth of his self-defence. " If he alters for the better,
what for should I stick to my old opeenion, like a flea to
the wa'?"
" Certainly, certainly," said the Minister ; " but
sometimes it is our judgment that is mistaken in the
first case, and it behooves us to be cautious and charit-
able."
" No man ever accused me o' being without charity,
in moderation in moderation," said the Schoolmaster,
with his spectacles glaring fiercely. " But I am no for
that charity that lets ye be led by the nose. I have my
opeenions, charity is a good thing, a very good thing, but
it needna make a fool o' ye, and make people believe that
ye are as blind as Eli. No, sir, wi' due deference to you,
I still consider Lord Earlshope to be
In his excitement the Schoolmaster had unconsciously
unfolded the check he held in his hands, and he now
suddenly found himself looking at it. He did not finish
the sentence. He waved his hand, as though to say,
" These are bygones ; I was right, but it is no matter ;
and Lord Earlshope has mended."
" And what do ye propose to do with the money ?
not that there will be any difficulty in finding suitable
directions," said the Minister.
" That," replied the Schoolmaster, with grave im-
portance, " is a matter for serious, and, I may add,
patient, consideration, in which, sir, I would earnestly
desire your assistance and advice. In the meantime, it
is but fitting (such is my humble opeenion) that ac-
knowledgment of his Lordship's bounty should be made
and that not in a formal manner, but in a friendlv, a con-
H2 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIf.
ciliatory manner, as I may say, in which I will show his
Lordship that we of this parish recognize, appreciate, and
commend these approaches, or overtures they might, I
think, be properly called, on his part ; and who knows,
sir, but that encouragement of this kind might have the
effect of stimulating or exciting his Lordship to renew,
I may say, in short, to repeat, these attentions of a gen-
erous nature "
Mr. Gillespie stopped here, not sure whether he
had got to the end of his sentence or not. He then con-
tinued,
" I hope, sir, in your capacity of private friend of this
young gentleman, and public and spiritual overseer of
this parish, you will convey to him our sense of what he
has done; and if you could bring him and the parish
closer together "
l At this present moment, on the contrary," said the
Minister, with a hesitating smile, " Lord Earlshope pro-
poses to carry me away from the parish. I have received
an invite, with some members of my household, to goon
a small voyage in his Lordship's yacht, Lady Drum be-
ing the instigator of the project, as I believe."
The spectacles of the Schoolmaster seemed to wax
bigger.
" How do you think the parish would receive the
proposal ? " asked the Minister, rather timidly.
" I will make it my business to ascertain," replied the
Schoolmaster, with an air of authority. " Nay, further,
Mr. Cassilis, I will even go the length of advising your
parishioners to acquiesce. Why, sir, it is their duty.
Lord Earlshope, Mr. Cassilis, is a man to be encouraged,
he must be encouraged."
This was all that was wanted to confirm the Minister's
decision. He had for some time back seen fit to abandon
the suspicions that had been suggested by his meeting
Lord Earlshope and Coquette on the moor ; and the
only question now was whether Coquette's health
would be greatly benefited by his accepting the invita-
tion.
A DAUGHTER OF HRTH.
The Whaup made off at this moment, and went to
Coquette.
" You owe Gillespie a good turn for once," said he
to her. "The old fool has persuaded my father to go."
CHAPTER XVI
COQUETTE LEAVES AIRLTE
How brightly shone the sun on the welcome morn-
ing of their departure ! when Coquette, as she looked out
to catch a glimpse of the fair blue sea and the sunny
hills of Arran, could scarce take time to curb the wild-
ness of her dark hair. Already the open window let her
drink in the fresh morning air, and she felt the warmth
of the sun on her cheek. Generally, at her toilette, she
sang, or rather hummed to herself, snatches of French
songs, or even, I regret to say, endeavored to imitate
the Whaup's whistling of a Highland reel ; but on this
morning she was far too excited for any such amuse-
ments. The face that had been getting tired and wan
of late was now flushed with happiness ; and when at
last she came running downstairs, and out into the
garden, her white dress fluttering in the sun, and her
hair getting rather the better of the dark blue band in-
terwoven with it, she fairly overwhelmed the boys with
her demonstrations of affection and kindness.
The Whaup's brothers were practical young persons,
and, though they still regarded this foreigner and
Catholic as a dangerous companion, as somebody who
had to be approached with caution, they had discovered,
at an early period, that certain gold coins of French
origin could be transformed at Ardrossan into an honest
and respectable mintage. The amount of pocket-money
which the reckless young woman lavished upon her
eousins (excepting the W-haup, of course) was appalling ;
i ! 4 A DA LIGHTER OF HE TH.
nor could the observant Leezibeth make out whence
came all the new pocket-knives, tools, and similar boyish
luxuries which she discovered about the house. The
boys themselves had an uneasy impression that there
was something desperately wicked in having so much
money ; and, indeed, had many private conversations
among themselves about the specious arguments with
which they might cheat the devil if he happened to put
in a claim for them on account of extravagance.
" You must all be very good till I come back," she
said, now, " for I am going to bring you all presents. I
will buy you, what shall I buy you ? "
The boys begin to laugh, but rather in a disap-
pointed way.
" There is but wan thing ye'll get to buy in the Hie-
lands," said Dougal, " and that's a herrin'."
" And too good for you," said the Whaup coming up,
" you greedy young pigs. If I hear you bargaining about
presents any more I'll present ye with a bottle o' hazel
oil, if ye ken what that is. Come along, Miss Coquette,
and get your breakfast, and then show me what luggage
you have. I dare say it's twice as big as I can allow."
" You allow ? Are you the master of the luggage ? "
"I am, as you'll find out," said he. " I have just
taken half the pile of things that Leezibeth had packed
up for my father, and shunted them into a drawer. We
don't mean to go to the Sandwich Islands."
" Do we go to the Sandwich Islands ? " said Coquette,
simply.
" I said we don't mean to go there," repeated the
Whaup, with asperity ; but I suppose you don't know
where that is, the French are so precious ignorant."
" Worse luck/' said Coquette, with an expression of
sincere penitence which made the Whaup burst out
laughing.
At length, some two hours afterwards, Coquette found
herself seated in the little dog-cart which had brought
her to Airlie. A sou : man was Andrew Bogue that day ;
and sourer was he now. Nor word nor syllable would
he utter ; and the more vivacious and talkative Coquette
A DAUGHTER OF HETtf. 115
became, speaking to her uncle, who sat behind, the
Whaup having been sent off on foot, the deeper and
sterner became the gloom of his face. Perhaps he
was none the less disposed to predict evil of this
appalling departure from the sober and respectable rou-
tine of the Manse, because of a severe encounter he had
had with Leezibeth that morning. He saw that Leezi-
beth had now wholly gone over to the enemy.
When they reached the harbor, and saw the shapely
vessel lying out at anchor, with her sails shining in the
sunlight, they perceived that both the Whaup and Lady
Drum had gone on board. Presently the pinnace was
put off from the yacht, and in a few minutes Coquette
and her uncle were being pulled out by the four blue-
jackets. Lord Earlshope was at the gangway to receive
them.
" Why does he not wear a sailor's uniform ? " said
Coquette to Mr. Cassilis, as they drew near. " He does
not seem to care about anything."
When they stepped on board,and Coquette had looked
around with wonder on the whiteness of the deck, and
the scrupulous neatness everywhere visible, Lady Drum
came forward, and kissed her, and said,
" My dear child, I hope you know about yachts, for I
don't, and I feel most uncomfortably in the way of every-
body."
" Yes, I know very well," said Coquette.
" Why, all you have to do," said Lord Earlshope,
coming forward, " is to sit in the cockpit there, an inno-
vation I introduced for the very purpose of getting ladies
out of the way during a race. You need have no fear ot
getting hit on the head by a boom, or of being washed
overboard either ; and if a wave should come over the
stern "
" I hope there will be nothing of the kind," said Lady
Drum, looking indignantly out towards the sea.
The prospect there was sufficiently reassuring.
There was a light breeze from the southwest, which was
just enough to ruffle the water and make it a dark blue.
Overhead the sky was, clear and calm, and the bluish-
! x 6 A DA UGHTER OF HE Tff.
gray peaks of Arran were faint and aerial in the midday
mist. Everything promised a pleasant run up to Loch-
fyne, if only the breeze would last.
While the men were getting the vessel under way.
Lord Earlshope's visitors went down below. If Coquette
had been pleased with the prettiness of the yacht abcve,
she was now charmed with the decorations of the state-
rooms and saloon. The transparent flowers painted on the
skylights ; the ornamentation and gilding of what she
called the walls ; the innumerable little arrangements
for comfort ; all these were matters for praise ; but the
climax of her delight was found in a small harmonium
which was placed in the saloon.
" I should have got a piano for you," said Lord Earls-
hope, making no secret of his having studied her pleas-
ure in the matter, " but they don't stand the sea so well.
Now, Lady Drum, will you take Miss Cassilis into your
little state-room, and when you have made yourselves
thoroughly at home, and got out some wrappers for the
sea-breezes, you know, you will find luncheon awaiting
you here ? Mr. Cassilis, you will take a glass of sherry,
won't you ? You will always find it there. Mr. Tom,
do you shoot ? "
" Should think so ! v said the Whaup, who had appar-
ently forgotten his sentiments of antagonism to Lord
Earlshope.
" I thought you would. You will find my breech-
loader in your cabin, and the skipper will give you cart-
ridges if you ask him. Now, I must go on deck."
" I never thought he had so much go in him," said
the Whaup familialy to his father.
" So much what ? " said the Minister severely.
"Why, life, energy. I thought he was rather a muff
with his white fingers, and his lazy lounge and that.
But he's not half as bad a fellow as people say."
" Lord Earlshope would be pleased to know that you
approve of him," said his father ; but the Whaup lost the
sarcasm, for he had already run up the companion, to see
what was going on above. His father, following, found
that the Whaup had clambered half-way up the rattlings;
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. H 7
to get a view of the surrounding scenery as the yacht
stood out to sea.
When, some time after, the luncheon-bell was rung,
and Lady Drum and Coquette made their appearance, the
latter was heard to say,
" Why don't we go away ? I do not like to remain
in harbor."
But the moment she entered the saloon, and saw the
table apparently heeling over in an alarming manner, she
said,
" We are at sea ? "
" Yes," said Lord Earlshope ; " and missing a pretty
part of the coast. So you ought to hasten your lunch-
eon." 9
" But what is the matter with the table ? " said Lady
Drum, making an effort to put it at right angles to her-
self. Coquette screamed, and caught her hand.
" If you put it straight," said Lord Earlshope, laugh-
ing, " you will see everything fly to the ground." It was
days, indeed, before Lady Drum could believe that this
tumbling table was safe, and many a time she had to
check herself from instinctively " putting it straight."
Pleasant, indeed, on that bright and quiet afternoon
was their run up the broad channel between Bute and
Arran. Far away the coast of Ayrshire, which they had
left, became paler in the light ; while on before them
successive bays opened out, with silent hills overlooking
them, and here and there the white glimmer of a sea-bird
in their shadows. Down in the south the mountains
that rise from the lovely Loch Ranza had caught some
clouds about their peaks, and were black, as the moun-
tains of Arran generally are ; but all in front of them,
the smooth hills of Bute and Inch Marnoch, the craggy
wonders of the Kyles, the still shores of Cowal and Can-
tire, lay steeped in a soft autumnal haze, with the rich
colors of heather and fern only half glimmering through
the silver veil. It was like a voyage into dreamland, so
beautiful was the land and sea and sky around them, and
so still.
..Such. was the manner of their setting out. And in
!i8 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
the evening they drew near the little harbor of Tarbert,
and all the west was aglow as if with fire. Even after
they had dropped anchor, and the mountains of Cowal
were black as night, there was a pale glare over the sky
and out on the broad bosom of the loch. Then through
the pallor of the twilight came the stars, growing and
burning in the darkness, until Coquette thought they
seemed just above the points of the tall masts. She stil*
lingered on deck, when all the others had gone below.
The sails were down, lights run up, and through the sky-
lights of the cabin came a dull yellow glow, and a sound
of voices which spoke of a comfortable and happy party
beneath. Why was it that she was so sad ? She had
had her heart's wish, she was setting out on the excur-
sion which had hung before her longing eyes for many
a day, and yet here she sat in the stern of the boat, look-
ing up to the throbbing wonders of the heavens, or down
into the starry plain of the sea, and feeling very lonely
and miserable.
Lord Earlshope came in search of her.
% Why do you sit here alone ? " he said.
" I do not know," said Coquette, rising wearily.
" They want you down below."
" I will go down ; but it is very beautiful up here. I
have never seen the stars so near. They seem to be just
over the top of the hill there."
" You will have many opportunities of admiring the
wonderful sunsets and the clear nights of these high
latitudes. You may make the cruise as long as you
please, you know."
" But you do not go with us ? " she asked, with some
little embarrassment.
" For a day or two, to give you a start. Unless I am
found to be so useful that you all ask me to stay."
" Perhaps, then, you will come all the way with us ? "
said Coquette, somewhat too eagerly.
" Perhaps I may."
Coquette went down into the cabin then, and every-
body was struck during the evening by her extreme
amiability and cheerfulness. She quite won the heart
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
119
of Lady Drum, who said that the effects of the sea-air
on the young lady were surprising and gratifying, and
needed only to be supplemented by a little gentian.
CHAPTER XVII.
LOCHFYNE.
" IT is Eden ; it is the garden of the Lord ! " said
the Minister ; and the sad and sunken eyes that had
grown dim over many books, that had grown weary, too,
perhaps, with the bleakness of the upland moor, looked
abroad over one of the fairest scenes in the world, and
drank in the quiet and the clear sunshine of it. Far in
front of him stretched the pale blue of Lochfyne, that
was as still and smooth and glass-like as the pale-blue
sky sbove. From this point of the Knapdale shore
away up to the fork of Loch Gilp there was not a rip-
ple on the calm surface ; but over at the opposite shore
of Kerry a slight breeze was bearing up from the south,
and there the blue of the water was intense and almost
dark. Beyond this plain of blue lay the brown and ruddy
colors of the Kerry hills, soft and smooth in the mist of
the heat, while along them moved great dashes of shadow
thrown by the slowly passing clouds above. Through
the stillness of the sunshine they heard the soft whistle
of the curlew, and saw the solan flap his heavy white
wings far down towards Arran, and watched the solitary
heron standing among the brown weeds out at the point of
the shore, while now and again a salmon-trout would leap
a foot into the air, and fall with a splash again into the
clear water. Then all around them, where they sat on
the pebbly beach, was the drowsy warmth of the sun
glittering on the birch and hazel bushes by the road,
gleaming on the great gray boulders, and falling mistily
on the bushes and heather and rocks of the hillside. And
120 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
all this was so still that it scarcely seemed to be of this
world ; and the murmurs of a stream coming down from
the hillside through the trees, trickling coolly and unseen
beneath the tall ferns, had a far and mournful sound,
like the sound of distant music in a dream.
The stillness was broken by Coquette trying to
whistle " The Last Rose of Summer." Then she uttered
a little cry of delight as she saw Lord Earlshope and
Lady Drum coming along the road underneath the trees;
and when at length they had drawn near, and had come
down to the shore, Coquette said,
" Please, Lady Drum, will you tell me why my uncle
becomes sad when he sees a pretty day and a pretty
place. The good weather does not cheer him "
" It cheers you, at all events," said Lady Drum, with
a kindly scrutiny of the girl's face. " It gives you a
color and a brightness that makes an old woman like me
feel young again only to look at ye. How have you been
employing yourself ? '
" I ? I have been trying to whistle as my cousin
whistles, but I cannot do it like him, perhaps because I
have no pockets. He never is able to whistle unless he
puts his hands in his pockets, and looks careless, and
stands so. Then I have watched the gray heron out at
the rocks there, and I have been wishing he would get a
fish.
" I have been wishing I had a gun," said the practi-
cal Whaup, with obvious discontent.
" And my uncle, he has been sitting and looking far
away, looking tired, too, and weary, just as if he were
still in church."
" Listening to one of my own sermons, I suppose ? "
said the Minister, taking his niece by the ear. " I hope
I have not been oppressing you with my dulness ? "
" Ah, no, no !" she said. "But I did not speak to
you ; you were thinking of old years gone away, were
you not ? "
The Minister looked at the girl, and her eyes seemed
to have divined what he was thinking of. But presently
she turned to Lord Earlshope, and said,
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. j 2 1
" We go not to-day ? We do not perhaps to-morrow
either ? "
" Why," said Lord Earlshope, with a smile, " you
might turn your newest accomplishments to some use.
Could you whistle a breeze to us ? We are helpless you
see, until we get wind."
" I thought an English milord never wanted for any-
thing that he did not get," she said, with a look of grave
surprise.
The Whaup began to think that his cousin was a
deal to clever to be safe.
" Would it grieve you so much to stay here a few
days ? " said Lord Earlshope.
" Not at all," said Coquette ; " I should prefer to stay
here always."
" I have had the yacht taken round to Maol-Darach
Bay, that little shingly creek west of the harbor, since
you complained of the smell of herring this morning.
And when you wish to go into the village you must
ask the captain to send a boat with you. By the way,
there will be a boat here presently for you. I thought
you might be too tired to care about walking back."
" It was very kind of you to think of all that," said
Coquette, timidly, and looking to the ground.
It had already come to be regarded as a matter of
course that everybody should consider Coquette as of
first importance, and obey her slightest whim, and an-
ticipate her smallest wishes. But the most systematic
and persistent of her slaves was Lord Earlshope himself,
who seemed to have discovered a new method of pass-
ing the time in trying to please this young person by
small attentions ; and these he offered in a friendly and
familiar way, which robbed them of any significance,
they might otherwise have had. The small tyrant, with
the dark eyes, and the delicate, finely formed face, ac-
cepted these ministrations in that spirit of careless amia-
bility which was natural to her. Sometimes, but rarely,
she would appear to be struck by this or that act of
kindness, and seem almost disturbed that she could not
convey a sense of her gratitude in the broken tongue
! 2 2 A DA UGHTER OF HE TH.
she spoke ; but ordinarily she passed from hour to hour
in the same happy unconsciousness and delight in the
present, glad that all her friends were around her, and
comfortable, glad that she could add to their enjoyment
by being cheerful and merry. Selfish she certainly was
not ; and there was no sort of trouble or pain she would
not have endured to give pleasure to those who were
her friends ; but she would have been blind, indeed, had
she not perceived that to give pleasure she had only to
allow herself to be pleased, that her mere presence dif-
fused a sense of satisfaction through the small meetings
that were held in the cabin of the yacht, when the swing-
ing lamps were lit, and the stars overhead shut out, and
the amusements of the evening commenced. TheWhaup
used to say that she was continually making pretty pic-
tures ; and he even condescended at times to express
approval at the neatness of her dress, or to suggest
alterations in the disposal of her big masses of dark-
brown hair.
"And in time, you know," be remarked to her, "you
\vi-ll get to talk like other people.'
" I do not wish to talk like you," said Coquette.
" I can at least make myself intelligible," he re-
torted.
" Do not I become intelligible ? " asked Coquette,
meekly ; and then, of course, the least symptom of doubt
on her part disarmed the Whaup's criticism, and made
him declare that she spoke very well indeed.
The measured splash of oars was now heard, and the
heron slowly rose into the air with a few heavy flaps of
his wings, and proceeded to settle on a farther promon-
tory. The boat, with its four rowers, came round the
point ; and in a few minutes the heavily laden boat was
on its way back to the yacht.
Coquette was delighted with Naol-Daroch Bay, she
insisted upon landing at once ; and she and the Whaup
accordingly ran up the white shingle, and made for the
hillside. Coquette stood upon a rock that was perched
high among the heathery roughnesses of the hill, and
waved her handkerchief to those who had by this time
A VA UGHTER OF HF 777. 1 2 3
gone on board the yacht % , Lord Earlshope waved his
cap and Mr. Cassilis his walkingstick ; Lady Drum had
gone below.
" Now we shall go up this hill, and round and round,
and back by the rocks of the shore," said Coquette.
" What's the use ? " said the Whaup. " I haven't a
gun ; and if I had, I daren't shoot up here."
" Why must you kill something wherever you go ? "
said Coquette.
" Why must you scramble along a hill, all for nothing,
like a goat ?" said the Whaup.
" Because it is something to do," said Coquette.
" You are a pretty invalid ! " remarked the Whaup.
" But here, give me your hand, if you want climbing, I'll
give you enough of it."
" No," said Coquette, planting her foot firmly. " I
like you when you are gentle, like Lord Earlshope ; but
I am not going to be pulled by a big rough boy."
" I have a great mind to carry you against your will,"
said the Whaup, with the demon of mischief beginning
to grin in his eyes.
" I would kill you if you tried," said Coquette, with
a frown.
He came forward and took her hand quite gently.
" Have I vexed you ? Are you really angry, Co-
quette ? You didn't think I was serious, did you ? You
know I wouldn't vex you, if I got the world for it."
A certain quivering of the lip, fora moment uncer-
tain, resolved itself into a smile, and that into a laugh,
and then Coquette said,
" You are a very good boy, Tom, when you like.
Somebody will get very fond of you some day."
The Whaup grew more serious then ; and, indeed, it
seemed to Coquette that ever after that time her cousin's
manner towards her was more reserved and grave than
it had been before. He did not try to drag her into his
boyish pranks, as he had been wont to do. On the con-
trary, he himself seemed somewhat altered, and at times
she caught him in a deep reverie. He began to talk
more about his coming winter studies at the Glasgow
124
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
University ; and was even found, on rare occasions, ab-
sorbed in a book,
He did not cease to exhibit those frank and manly
ways which she had always liked, nor did he even put
any marked restraint on his relations with her. He was
as impertinently straightforward as ever, if the neatness
of her wristbands called for commendation, or if the
streak of dark-blue ribbon did not sufficiently curb the
wildness of her hair. But he was more serious in his
ways ; and sometimes she caught him looking at her from
a distance in a cold way, as if she were a stranger, and
he was desirous to impress her appearance on his
memory.
That evening he said to her briefly,
" Lord Earlshope and I are going to start at two to-
morrow morning, to go along the coast and see if we can
shoot some seals."
" But why should you take the trouble to kill them ?
Is it a pleasure to kill them ? "
" Bah ! " he said. " Women don't understand these
things. You wouldn't hear a man ask such a question
except, perhaps, Earlshope himself, he might, he seems
to think in lots of things exactly as you do."
This was said with no particular intention ; and yet
the girl looked apprehensive as though the Whaup had
been making some complaint.
Then some time after he remarked to her,
" I don't think wicked people seem so wicked when
you come to know them."
Coquette was looking over the taffrail ; she turned
towards him and said, calmly,
" Do you mean me or Lord Earlshope ? "
" Why should you always think of him ? " said the
Whaup. " Would you be very angry if what I said ap-
plied to both of you ? "
With that he laughed and walked away, leaving Co-
quette to wonder whether her cousin, too, regarded het
as a wicked person.
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
125
CHAPTER XVIII.
COQUETTE SAILS TO THE NORTH.
IN the darkness the yellow lights of the yacht were
shining on the spars and the rigging the water that
lapped against her side sparkled with stars of phosphor-
escent fire, and a slight wind, coming through the gloom,
told of the rustling of the ferns and bushes on the hill-
side, when certain dusky figures appeared on deck, and
began to converse in whispers. The Whaup was yawn-
ing dreadfully, and perhaps wishing there was not a seal
in the world ; but he had proposed the adventure, to
which Lord Earlshope had good naturedly acceded, and
so he felt himself bound in honor not to retract.
With their guns in their hands they got down into
the little boat which was waiting for them, and the two
men began to pull away gently from the yacht. The
blades of their strokes struck a flash of light deep into
the water ; and the white stars of the waves burned even
more keenly than the other reflected stars which, farther
away, were glittering on the black surface of the sea.
Towards the land some vague and dusky forms that were
scarcely visible were known to be the iron-bound coast ;
and in uncomfortable proximity the Whaup could hear
the waves splashing in upon the rocks. There was no
other sound but that and the measured fall of the oars.
All overhead the innumerable stars burned white and
clear ; there were flickerings of the reflected light on the
moving plain of the sea; and in there at the shore a
vague darkness, and the dashing of unseen waves.
When they had thus proceeded a certain distance
along the coast, the bow of the boat was turned shore-
ward, and the men pulled gently in towards the rocks.
In the starlight the outlines of the hills above now be-
came dimly visible ; but down at the shore, whither they
j 2 6 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
were tending, blackness universal seemed to hide both
shore and sea. The noise all around them, however,
told the Whaup that they must be near land ; and in a
few minutes the boat was cautiously run in, one of the
men jumping out and holding her bow. With a double-
barrelled gun as a balancing-pole, the Whaup now found
himself struggling over a series of rocks that were
treacherously covered with sea-weed; while, as he got
on to higher ground, the rocks increased in size, and
the gaps between them were plunged in even profounder
darkness. Presently he heard Lord Earlshope calling
on him to halt ; and shortly thereafter the sailor, who
had landed, appeared clambering over the boulders in
order to take the lead.
Their course was now a sufficiently perilous one.
The great masses of tumbled rock that here form the
coast-line appeared to go precipitately down into the
sea, a great black gulf which they could hear splashing
beneath them ; while ever and anon they came to deep
ravines in the sides of the hill, down which small stream-
lets could be heard trickling. Their progress along
this rough coast, generally some fifty or a hundred feet
above the sea, was picturesque but uncomfortable. The
Whaup found that, in spite of all his wild plunges and
daring leaps, the sailor distanced him considerably ; and
ahead of him he could only indistinctly see a black
figure which sometimes rose up clear and defined against
the starlit sky, and at other times was vaguely seen to
crawl along the surface of a gray shelf of rock like some
dusky alligator. Now he found himself up to the neck
among immense brakens ; again he was plunged into
some mossy hole, in which his boots were like to re-
main. Not unfrequently he had to go on hands and
knees across some more than usually precipitous shelf,
the barrels of his gun making sore work of his knuckles
as he clung to the rough surface.
Another halt was called. When the small bay
around Battle Island, where the seals were expected to
be found, had nearly been reached, it was determined,
to prevent noise, that they should take off their boots,
A DA VGHTER OF HE TIT- ! 2 7
and creep along the rocks on their stocking-soles. The
stars were now paling ; and, as the faint light of dawn
would soon appear, every precaution was necessary that
the seals should not become aware of their approach.
No sooner, indeed, had the Whaup removed his boots
than he danced a wild dance of exultation, so delighted
was he to find that the soles of his stockings caught so
easily and surely on the surface of the boulders. There
was now far less risk of a sudden tumble headlong into
the sea, although, to be sure, even up here among the
rooks, it was not pleasant, in the cold of the night, to
find one's feet go down into a pool of mossy water.
"Do you regret having come? "said Lord Earls-
hope.
" Regret it !" said the Whaup. " I'd wade a mile
up to my neck to shoot a seal."
Then he added, with his usual frankness,
" I didn't expect you'd have been able to keep up
with us."
" Why ? "
" Well," said the Whaup, seeing before him the out-
line of a tall, lithe, slim figure, " I didn't think you were
much god for this sort of rough work."
Earlshope laughed, not very loudly.
" Perhaps not," he said. He did not think it worth
while to astonish Master Tom with tales of what he had
clone in the way of muscular performances. " But you
should not be severe on me. I rather fancy this is a
piece of folly ; but I have undertaken it merely to in-
terest you."
The Whaup noticed at this moment that his com-
panion held the heavy rifle which he carried in a very
easy and facile manner.
" You may be stronger than you look," observed the
Whaup, throwing out this qualification from mere good-
humor. He still retained an impression that Earlshope,
with his lady-like fingers, and his pretty mustache, and
his delicate jewelry, was something of a milksop
Absolute silence was now the watchword as they
advanced. There was no scraping of heels on the grit
1 2 8 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
of the rocks, no clink of a trigger-guard in putting down
the hand for safety's sake. In a thief-like fashion they
stole along the high and rugged coast, now clambering
over huge blocks of stone, and again righting their way
through fern and bush, with their heads low and their
footfalls light. At length the sailor stopped, and mo-
tioned to Lord Earlshope and the Whaup to descend.
Great was the joy of the latter on perceiving that at
last there was a level bit of shore towards which they
were making their way. Having gone down, in a snake-
like fashion, over the great boulders, they now crept
downward towards the shore, and at length took up
their position behind two pieces of rock, from which
they could see the channel in front of them, lying be-
tween the land and the dusky object which they knew
to be Battle Island.
Very still and weird was this place in the dark of
the morning, with the cold air from the sea stirring in
the brushwood overhead, and with the ceaseless plash
of the waves echoing all along the solitary coast. A faint
film of cloud had come over the sky and hid the stars ; but
in the east there seemed to be a pale wan gray, far ever
the dark water towards Ardlamont Point. And, by and
by, as they sat on the cold rocks, and waited, there became
visible, whence it had come no one could say, a brilliant
planet, burning like gold in the gray mist above the
eastern sea, and they knew that it was the star of the
morning. Very slowly the gray light grew ; very slowly
the dark outline of Battle Island became more defined ;
and the black hollows of the waves that came in towards
the shore had now a pale hue between them, that scarcely
could be called light.
Patiently they waited, scanning the outline of the is-
land rocks, and watching all the water around for the
rolling of the seals. There was no sign of life. Perhaps
the gray in the east was waxing stronger, it was impossi-
ble to tell, for their eyes had grown bewildered with the
constant motion of the tumbling waves and the eager
scrutiny of these black lines and hollows.
Suddenly there was a quick chirp just beside them
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. I2 Q
and the Whaup's heart leaped with surprise. He turned,
to find a sealark hopping quite near him ; and at the same
moment that he perceived this first symptom of the
awaking life of the dawn, he became aware that it had
grown lighter out by Ardlamont Point.
And now, with a strange and rapid transition, as if the
world had begun to throb with the birth of the new day,
there arose in the eastern sky a great smoke of red, a
pink mist that rose and spread as if from some great
conflagration beyond the line of the sea. All in the west,
by the far shores of Knapdale and up the great stretch
of Lochfyne, lay a dense gray fog, in which hills and is-
lands lay like gloomy clouds ; but out there at the eastern
horizon there was a glow of rose-colored smoke, which as
yet had no reflection on the sea. And while they looked
on it, half forgetting the object of their quest in the
splendor of this sight, the perpetual wonder and mystery
of the dawn, the red mist parted, and broke into long
parallel lines of cloud, which were touched with sharp,
jewel-red lines of fire ; and as the keenness of the crim-
son waxed stronger and stronger, there came over the
sea a long and level flush of dull salmon-color, which
bathed the waves in its light, leaving their shadows an in-
tense and dark green. The glare and the majesty of this
spectacle lasted but fora few minutes. The intensity of
the colors subsided ; the salmo-n-colored waves grew gray
and green ; a cold twilight spread over the sky ; and with
the stirring of the wind came in the new life of the day,
the crowing of some grouse far up in the heather, the
chirping of the birds in the bushes, the calling of some
solitary goat on the hill, and the slow flapping of a pair
of herons coming landward from the sea.
Suddenly Lord Earlshope, who had been peering over
the edge of the rock before him, touched his companion's
arm. The Whaup went forward on his knees, and
stealthily looked over in the direction pointed out. He
could see nothing but the dark rocks of Battle Island, in
the midst of the grayish-green water. He was about to
express his disappointment, when it seemed to him that
the outline of a bit of rock at the end of the island was
!3o A DAUGHTER OF IIZT1L
moving. Could it be the undulations of the waves whichj
were surging all around ; or was that motion of the blackj
line the motion of an animal that had got up on it from]
the water ?
Lord Earlshope handed his rifle to the Whaup, with'
a hurried gesture. But the arrangement had been that,
while the one had a rifle and the other a double-barrelled
fowling-piece loaded with heavy shot, the distance of the
seal was to decide which should fire. Accordingly the
Whaup refused to take the rifle.
" It is your shot," he whispered.
" I don't want to kill the brute : why should I ? " said
Lord Earlshope, carelessly.
Even as the Whaup was in the act of putting the
rifle cautiously over the rock he remembered what Co-
quette had said, and also that he had made the haphazard
guess that Earlshope would probably say the same. But
there was little time to think of such things. His breath
was coming and going at double-quick time, and he held
his teeth tight as he brought the sight of the barrel
up to the line of rock. It rested there for a moment, and
there was a spurt of fire, a bang that echoed and re-echoed
up among the rocky hills, and then Lord Earlshope rose,
glad to be able to stretch his limbs at last.
" You have either missed altogether or shot him dead ;
there was no movement whatever when you fired."
" By Jove, then ! " said the Whaup, with tremendous
eagerness, " I have shot him dead if there was a seal
there at all, for I know the muzzle of the rifle was as
steady as a rock when I fired."
" We shall see presently," said his companion. " They
will bring the boat up now/'
Presently the two men were seen pulling round the
point, and then Lord Earlshope and the Whaup went
out to the edge of the water, got into the boat, and were
pulled out to the island. Very anxiously did one of
them, at least, regard that small, dark promontory ; but
there was nothing visible. They drew nearer, they now
saw the surface of the rocks clearly, there was nothing
lying there.
A DAUGHTER OF IIETH. ! 3l
" Very sorry," said Lord Earlshope, " but you seem
to have missed."
" I didn't miss ! " the Whaup insisted. " Let us
land, and see."
So at a convenient spot they ran the boat in and got
out on the rocks, and then made their way along to the
end of the island. Suddenly the Whaup uttered a pierc-
ing yell of delight, and began to clamber along the rocks
in the most reckless fashion. Lord Earlshope, follow-
ing after him, found him grasping with both his hands
a. round-headed, fat, and limp-looking animal, which he
was endeavoring to drag up to the higher platform.
"There, did I miss ? " he cried.
" Well, since you have got him, what do you mean
to do with him ? " said Lord Earl-shope, with a smile.
4 You have had the satisfaction of killing him, and the
much rarer satisfaction of getting him after killing him,
but what then ? "
The Whaup dropped the seal on the rocks again,
and looked at the unfortunate beast with some disap-
pointment mingled with his pride.
" What do they make of these beasts ? You can't
make sealskin waistcoats out of that soapy-looking
stuff ? "
" You may eat him, if you like, I suppose he is not
much oilier than a solan. However, we may as well lug
him into the boat, and get back to Maol-Daroch. It is
singular we have seen none of his companions, though."
The men approached the slippery animal with much
more caution than the Whaup had displayed, they were
evidently not quite sure that the whiskered mouth might
not open and proceed from a bark to a bite. He was
got into the boat at last, Lord Earlshope and the Whaup
following ; and again the fall of the oars was heard
along the lonely coast. It was now broad daylight ; and
when they reached Maol-Daroch Bay the sun was shin-
ing on the green hillside, and on the white beach, and
on the far blue plain of the sea.
Coquette was standing at the stern of the yacht as
they approached, with the sunlight coloring her cheefc
132
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
and gleaming on the white handkerchief she waved to
them.
" Have you had a success ? " she said. " Oh, how
very miserable you look ! "
" It isn't half as meeserayble as we feel," remarked
the Whaup, who was sleepy and hungry and stiff.
" You have not shot nothing ! " said Coquette, clap,
ping her hands, " or you would come home proud and
fierce, like the old north warriors when they did come
home from the sea. What is that in the boat ? Ah !
You shoot one ? yes ! It is a beastly looking, I mean it
is hideous, horrid ! "
The seal was allowed for the present to remain in
the small boat, and Lord Earlshope and the Whaup
came on deck. To the sleepy eyes of the Whaup, who
was cold and wretched in spite of hi-s triumph, his cousin
seemed quite offensively cheerful and bright and com-
fortable.
" Have you had breakfast yet ? '' said Lord Earlshope.
" No," she said. " I have made friends with your
captain, and he has given me two apples and a big
bunch of grapes. I am sorry I have eaten all I can-
not give you one."
" Thank you," said Lord Earlshope. " I suppose
your cousin will follow my example, get downstairs and
have a -sleep. Good bye till luncheon-time, Miss Cassilis,
I presume by then we shall be up at Ardrishaig."
So they went below, and Coquette sat down, and
took up a book she had been carrying with her. But
she could not read, for there was sunlight abroad, and
the fluttering of wind through the thin ropes that
stretched up into the blue, and the ripple of the bright
water all around. They were about to set out now on
their voyage northward, that far wandering into the un-
known Western Isles of which she had dreamed, and
he had spoken no word of his leaving them. Would he
go all the way, then, forgetting the half-promise that
had been made, and spend all this happy time with them,
afar from the dull routine-life and the harsh-thinking
people of the land ? As she thought of the fair prospect
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 133
that was thus opened out before her, the pages of the
book that lay in the sunshine were filled with pictures,
wonderful landscapes that burned in the brightest of
colors, and had the stirring of wind and of light in them,
Lady Drum came on deck, and was surprised to find the
girl sitting all alone, looking so wonderfully bright and
happy.
" To-day we set sail," said Coquette, almost laughing
with pure gladness, " and go away, away beyond all you
can think of, among the hills and mountains and the sea."
" Perhaps you would be glad not to come back ? "
said Lady Drum, looking into the happy face, and hold-
ing both the girl's hands.
" Yes, I should be glad not to come back, it is so
pleasant here, and where we are going, will not that be
far more pleasant ? "
" That is what young folks always think," said Lady
Drum ; " always looking forward with hope in their eyes.
But we who have got older, and have gone farther on the
voyage, we look back."
And while these two and Mr. Cassilis were at break-
fast they heard the sails being hoisted above ; and when
they went on deck they found the great breadths of white
canvas lying over before a southerly breeze ; and there
was a hissing of water at the bow and along the bulwarks ;
and, while Maol-Darock Bay and Tarbert, and all the
rocks about were slowly receding to the south, before
them there opened up the great blue breadth of Lock-
fyne, with the far, faint hills shining whitely in the sun.
CHAPTER XIX.
COQUETTE DISCOURSES.
"I THINK your cousin is very fond of you," said Lady
Drum, with a good-natured smile, to Coquette. They
were running up the blue water of Lochfyne, with a light
breeze keeping the Caroline s canvas as tight as a drum.
r4 A DAUGHTER OF HE Til.
The Whaup was up at the bow, lying prone on the deck,
with the barrels of his breech-loader peeping over the
bulwarks.
4 Oh, yes, I am sure he is," said Coquette, seriously.
" He will do anything for me ; he has dared to fight dis-
agreeable people for me ; he has got into danger for me ;
he is very kind, and just now, look ! he is trying to get
for me some wild bird, I do not know its name, which
has beautiful feathers."
" All that is nothing," said Lady Drum, taking Co-
quette's hand in hers. ' Don't you think that some day
or other he may ask you to marry him ? ''
The elderly lady who was now looking at Coquette's
face expected, as elderly ladies do expect when they be-
gin to tease girls about love affairs, that her companion
would blush and protest and be pleased, and affect to be
indignant. On the contrary, Coquette said, simply and
gravely,
" Yes, I have thought of that. But he is too young."
" And you also, perhaps. In a year or two he will
be a man, and you will be marriageable."
" Then," said Coquette, dubiously, " it may be. I
do not know, because my uncle has not spoken to me of
any such thing ; but he may think it a good marriage,
and arrange k."
" Bless me, lassie! " exclaimed Lady Drum, in amaze-
ment. " Is it true that "folks make slaves of their chil-
dren in that way in Frai Ice ? I have heard of it ; I did
not believe it. In this country girls arrange their own
marriages."
" That, too, is very good," said Coquette, " when i-t
is with their parents' wish. It is of more consequence
that a girl pleases her parents than herself, is it not ? "
" And make herself miserable all her life ? '' said
Lady Drum, startled to find herself arguing, in defiance
of all precedent, on the side of youth against age."
" But that does not happen," said Coquette. " Now
one of my good friends at Nantes she was told by her
parents that she had to marry a young gentleman who
was coming home from the Martinique, and had never
A DA UGHTER OF HE 77/. I 3 5
been to France before. I remember she and her parents
did go down by the railway to St. Nazaire when they
heard the boat had come ; and a week or two after I did
see Babiche, that is Isabella, you know, and oh, how-
proud and happy she was. And they are married, and
live at Paimbceuf, just across the river; and Babiche is
as'happy as she can be, but then," added Coquette, wist
fully, " the young gentleman was very good-looking. "
They were interrupted by a loud " bang ! " at the bow.
The Whaup had fired at some divers which were some
distance off on the water; but they "ducked the flash,"
and Coquette was not enriched with any of their plumage.
Then she resumed :
" What I do think very good is this," said Coquette :
" when your parents speak of a marriage, and it is left
fixed, so that, if they die, and you are left alone, and you
have no friends, there is one person who comes to you
and says, ' Now I will take care of you.' And the same
it is if you have got into trouble, suppose that you did
become miserable through making an attachment for some
one who does not care for you, there is always this good
friend who likes you, and you can marry, and forget all
that is past, and be like other people for the rest of your
life."
Lady Drum could scarcely believe her ears. Had
she been called upon to argue on the usual side, she
could have repeated those admirably wise maxims which
elderly ladies have at their command (and which they
never thought of obeying in their youth) ; but surely
things were ordered differently in France, when this
young creature, whose soft dark eyes were apparently
made to steal men's hearts away, could be found gravely
arguing a business-like view of love affairs which even
a shrewd and able Scotch-woman would have scrupled to
advance.
" You mean," said Lady Drum, " that French girls
like their parents to choose a husband, so that if they
have an unfortunate love affair, they can still fall back on
this substitute ? "
" Oh, no," said Coquette ; " you do say things
!3o * DAUGHTER OF HETfT.
harshly. But who knows what might happen ? and if
your old fianct is still faithful, and would like to marry,
you make him happy, do you not ? "
" And is that the role you have sketched out for your
good-natured cousin ? " asked Lady Drum, rather vexed
with this plain enunciation of a theory which, although
it was based upon filial submission, seemed to her to have
dangerous elements in it.
" Ah, no," said Coquette, gravely. " I hope I shall
never have to go to him and say that I am willing to be-
come his wife only because I am miserable and unhappy.
He deserves something better than that, does he not ? "
" And so do you," said Lady Drum, in kindly fashion.
" You must not go anticipating misfortune for yourself
in that way. You must forget the notions these French
people put into your head. You will take to our simple
Scotch habits, and you will marry the man you love best,
and not any substitute at anybody's bidding. A pleas-
ant courtship, a happy marriage, and an even, comfort-
able, respectable life, that is the custom here."
Indeed, Lady Drum's notions of romance had been
derived chiefly from the somewhat easy and confident
overtures made by Sir Peter while he was yet a young
man, and had a waist. The gay and rotund Sir Peter at no
time would have looked well in the character of Man,
fred ; and his performance on a guitar under his mis-
tress's window would have been but indifferent. Lady
Drum knew she was as happy as most married women,
and hoped that these dangerous French ideas about wild
love affairs being condoned by an after marriage with a
substitute chosen by relatives would not be translated
into the uncongenial and highly matter-of-fact atmos-
phere of Western Scotland.
" I thought," said Coquette, " that the Scotch people
were very hard in their obedience to duty, and against
pleasure and comfort. Then I said to myself, ' Alas ! I
shall never become Scotch.' But now I do think on one
point I am more dutiful than you. I would marry any-
body that my uncle and all of you considered I ought to
marry."
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT.
'J7
" And make love to somebody else, as is the fashion
in France ! " said Lady Drum, with a touch of anger.
" It is no such fashion in France," said Coquette.
" It is only that the Scotch are ignorant of all people but
themselves, and think nobody so good as themselves,
and are suspicious."
Lady Drum's anger broke into a smile at the pretty
vehemence with which Coquette fought for her country-
women; and at this moment Lord Earlshope came on
deck and asked what was the matter in dispute. Co-
quette caught Lady Drum's hand, and pressed it. The
old Scotchwoman looked at the girl, and saw that she
was quite pale, a circumstance that puzzled her not a
little in after moments of reflection.
" Well," said Lady Drum, obeying Coquette's un-
spoken entreaty, " we were talking about about French
schools for the most part."
Further inquiry was rendered impossible, for at this
moment the yacht was running into the harbor of Ardris-
haig, and there was a good deal of bustle on board. The
Whaup came aft also, taking the cartridges out of his
gun, and began to make vague suggestions about lunch.
Finally, it was resolved that, so soon as Mr. Cassilis
could be prevailed on to remove his books and writing
materials from the table of the saloon, they should go
down to have that meal which was troubling the mind of
the Whaup, and so escape the tedium of the preparations
necessary for going through the canal.
Why was Coquette so silent and distiaite when, after
a long and solemn grace from the Minister, they began
the French-looking repast which had been served for
them ?
" You are still thinking of the pension, are you not,
Miss Cassilis ? " said Lord Earlshope. " You should
give us some initiation into the mysteries of so sacred a
place. Was there anything romantic about it ? "
" Our pension was full of mystery and romance,"
said Coquette, brightening up, " because of two German
young ladies who were there. They introduced, what
shall I call it ? exaltation. Do you know what it is ?
138 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
When one girl makes another exaltee, because of her
goodness or her beauty, and worships her, and kisses
her dress when she passes her, and serves her in all
things, yet dare not speak to her ? And the girl who is
cxaltee, she must be proud and cold, and show scorn
for her attendant, even although she has been her friend
It was these German young ladies from the Bohemian-
Wald who introduced it, and they were tall and dark,
and very beautiful, and many would have wished to make
them exaltees ; but they were always the first to seek
out some one whom they admired very much, and no one
was so humble and obedient as they were. All the
pension was filled with it, it was a religion, an enthusi-
asm, and you would see girls crying and kneeling on the
floor, to show their love and admiration for their friend."
" /vnd you, were you ever exaltee ? " asked Lord Earls-
hope.
" No," said Coquette, with a little shrug, " One or
two of my friends did wish to make me exaltee, but I
did laugh at them, and they were angry. I did not
wish to be cruel to my friends. I did prefer to go about
and be friends with everybody in the middle of so much
distraction."
" And did you ever exalt anybody?"
" No, it was too troublesome," said Coquette. At
which Lady Drum smiled.
" It seems to me," observed the Whaup, coolly, " that
it was a clever device to let a lot of girls make love to
each other, for want of anybody else. It was keeping
their hand in, as it were."
" It is a pity you were not there," said Coquette,
graciously. " We should have been charmed to make
you exalt &."
" Arid do you think I'd have treated any of you with
scorn ? " said the Whaup, with a grin, and quite ignor-
ing Coquette's retort. " No. Far from it. I should
have "
The Whaup glanced at his father, and paused, in-
deed, his father was calmly regarding him.
" You would have gone from one to the other," said
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
Lord Earlshope, gravely, " and persuaded her that she
was the victim of a hallucination."
" In worshipping me ? " said the Whaup. " Well,
now, I call that a very good bit of sarcasm. There is
no spite in it, as in women's sarcasm, but a clean, sharp
sword-thrust, straight from the shoulder, skewering you
as if you were an eel, and as if you had nothing to do
but wriggle."
" Thomas," said the Minister, severely, " you are not
accustomed to take so much claret."
" That, sir," replied the Whaup, with perfect sang
froid, " is why I am helping myself so liberally at pres-
ent, with Lord Earlshope's kind permission."
Lady Drum shook her head ; but Coquette
laughed in her low, quiet fashion ; and the Whaup famil-
iarly nodded to Lord Earlshope, as much as to say,
" Gave it to the old boy that time."
Then, having fetched hats and shawls from their re-
spective state-rooms, they went above and got on shore,
setting out to walk along the banks of the Crinan until
the Caroline should get clear of the locks.
CHAPTER XX.
LETTERS FORM AIRLIE.
" OH," said Coquette, as they walked along the wind-
ing path, with the beautiful scenery of the district con-
tinually opening up before them, " I did get two letters
for you, uncle, at Tarbert, and forgot all about them.
Here they are ; shall I read them ? "
The two letters which she produced from her pocket
had the Airlie stamp on them ; and Mr. Cassilis at once
bade her do as she pleased. So she broke the seal of the
first, and began to read aloud :
" * Honored Sir and master in the Lord : I tak up my
l ;o A LAUGHTER OF HETH.
pen to let you know that I have been ' what is this?"
said Coquette.
The Minister took it from her, and continued him-
self :
" that I have been stung. Atweel I wat no man
ever heard me complain unnecessary-wise about my
poseetion in life, which I accept with gratitude and
humeelity from the Giver of all Good, to wit, the Dis-
penser of all Mercies at present and to come ; but I
maun tak the leeberty o' saying, honored Sir, that I can-
not bide in this house any langer to be treated worse
than the beast that perisheth. From the fingers to the
elbows, and my face and neck likewise, and I covered
wi' the venomous stings o' bees, and do suffer a pain
grievous, and like unto the plagues which were put on
the people ot Egypt for their sins. Honored Sir, I canna
tear wi' they callants any longer, as I chanced upon one
o* them laughing like to split, and am aware it was a
skeem to inflict this wrong and injury upon me, which
I howp will cause you to inquire into, and begging the
favor of a reply to say when ye are coming back, an I
what sore punishment will be meeted out to them tha .
richly deserve the same, I am, your humble and obedient
servant in the Lord,
" ANDREW BOGUE. '
"Can it be," said the Minister, when he had read
this letter aloud, "can it be that those mischievous boys
have conspired to set a lot of bees to sting him ? "
Coquette looked somewhat frightened,but the Whaup
observed, cheerfully,
" Indeed, sir, those brothers of mine are fearful. I
have done my best with them to keep them out of mis-
chief ; but it is no use. And to go and set a bees' bike
at an aukl man ! "
The Whaup shook his head disconsolately. His
brothers were incorrigible, even he had been compelled
to desist from his efforts to improve them.
" Do you hear him ? " said Coquette, in a low voice,
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
141
to Lord Earlshope. " And it was he himself who did
plan all that about the bees, and got them, and put
them in a bag."
" And then," said Lord Earlshope, aloud, to the
Whaup, " the worst of it is that they go and blame you
for what they do themselves; so that the whole district
has got to dread you, whereas you have been trying to
put down these pranks."
The Whaup turned towards Lord Earlshope, and
slowly winked one of his eyes. By this time the Minis-
ter had opened the other letter, and was perusing it in
silence. It ran as follows :
" Dear and Reverend Sir : It behooves me to accom-
plish, or, in other words, to fulfil the promise which I,
as an. elder in your church, made to you, on your setting
forth, to make you acquaint, or familiarize you with, the
events and occurrences, the state of feeling, and general
condition of this parish. Towards yourself, their spirit-
ual governor, leader, and guide, the people do show
themselves most loyal and friendly, hoping you will con-
tinue your voyages abroad to the benefiting of your
health, and that you may be saved from the perils of
the waters, or, as I might have said, from the dangers
that encompass them who go down to the sea in ships.
As for the young man who is to take your pulpit, God
willing, next Sabbath, report speaks well of his forbears;
but divers persons who have heard him in Arbroath,
Greennock, and elsewhere, do fear that he is not severe
enough in defining the lines and limits of doctrine, hold-
ing rather to the admonitory side, which does not give
his hearers sufficient chance, or opportunity, to use a
less pagan word, to get at his own standpoint, which is
a grave, or, it might be said with safety, a serious matter.
For, whereas those ministers who have been long with
us, and who have given proofs of their doctrinal sound-
ness, may be permitted to deal more with reproof and
exhortation, it is for the younger generation of preachers
to declare themselves clearly and sharply, that the church
universal may not be ensnared ami entrapped in the
I4 2 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
dark, there being, I grieve to hear, a dangerous leaven
of looseness in the colleges and other places where
young men congregate, or, as I might say, come to-
gether. The only news of importance, besides this
subject, which I have to communicate, is that Pensioner
Lamont did once more, on the night of Tuesday, be-
come most abnormal drunk, and did dance and play his
fiddle in an uproarious and godless manner in the house
of Mrs. Pettigrew ; and likewise that Lauchie, who is
vu.garly called Field Lauchie, Macin tyre's wife's bairn
has been visited with the rash, which I hope will be
taken as a sign of the warning finger of Providence,
and cause the said Lauchie to give over, or, as I may
say, abandon, his abominable and reckless conduct of
walking to the town of Ardrossan every Sabbath day,
and remaining there until the evening, I fear in no good
company. This, dear and reverend Sir, from yours to
command, u -^XEAS GILLKSPIK."
" Good news from Airlie ? " asked Lady Drum.
" Yes in a manner, yes," replied the Minister, with
dreamy eyes. It was a new thing for him to hear only
the distant echo of his parish.
" Your boys seem to want their elder brother to con-
trol them ? " continued Lady Drum.
" Yes," said the Minister. " He prevails on them to
leave the Manse quiet when he is there, though it may
be only to lead them into greater mischief elsewhere.
But they will have to look after themselves now for the
rest of the autumn and winter."
" Why ? "
" Because Tom is returning to his studies at Glas-
gow," observed the Minister.
Coquette had been standing to watch some water-hens
which, on the opposite bank, were scrambling about in
the rushes, and she came up only in time to hear these
last words.
" You are going to Glasgow ? " she said to the Whaup.
" Yes," he replied, with some gravity. " I mean to
work hard this winter."
A DAUGHTER OF JIETlf. 143
" And you will not be at Airlie all the time ? "
" Does that distress you ? " he asked.
" Nobody but Leesiebess and her husband," said Co
quette, wistfully. " It will not be pleasurable, the Manse,
in the dark time of the winter, with the cold of the hiH.
But I am glad you do go. You will work hard ; you
will forget your games of mischief ; you will come back
more like a man ; and when you tell me you have studied
n-cll, and have got what is it called? your certification,
J will come out to meet you at the Manse, and I will have
a wreath of laurel leaves for you, and you will be the
great hero of the hour."
" It is something to look forward to," said the Whaup,
almost sadly. " And when I come back, will you be just
the same Coquette ? as quiet and happy and pretty as
you always are ? "
" I do not know that I am quiet or happy or pretty,
more than any one else," said Coquette ; " but I hope I
shall always be the same to you, if you come back in one
year two years ten years."
The Whaup did not reply to that, but he said to him-
self : If she would only wait tivo years ! In two years
time I ivould Jiave worked to some purpose, and 1 would
come home and ask Jtcr to marry me"
All the rest of their walk along the pretty and pic-
turesque bank he was restless and impatient in manner,
speaking to nobody, thinking much. He cut with his
stick at the rushes in the water or at the twigs of the
hedge, as if they were the obstacles that lay in his way
towards the beautiful goal he was dreaming of. At last
he got into the yacht again and went below. When the
others followed, some time after, they found him busy
with his books
Coquette went to him and said,
" Why do you read ? Have I offended you ? Are
you angry with me ? "
" No, no," he said, rising and going away ; "you are
a deal too kind towards me, and towards all those people
who don't understand how good you are."
Coquette stood by in blank astonishment ; she let
144
A DAUGHTER OF HETtf.
him pass her, and go up on deck without uttering a word.
By this time the Caroline was lying at anchor in Loch
Crinan, and the afternoon was drawing on apace. The
day had dulled somewhat, and far out among the western
isles that lay along the horizon there was a faint still
mist that made them shadowy and vague. Nevertheless
the Whaup would have the skipper to give him the pin-
nace for a run out in quest of the guillemot plumage
that Coquette had desired ; and when, indeed, that young
lady appeared on deck, she beheld the tiny boat, with its
spritsail catching a light breeze, running far out beyond
the sharp island rocks that crowd the entrance to the
natural harbor.
" It is so small a boat to go out to sea," she said to
Lord Earlshope, who was following the pinnace with his
glass.
Meanwhile the Whaup had stationed himself at the
prow of the small craft, steadying himself with his gun
as she began to dip to the waves ; while all in front and
around there opened out the great panorama of lochs
and islands, between Luingand Scarba on the north, and
the three dusky peaks of Jura in the south. The gloomy
Sound of Corrievreckan was steeped in mist, and Dubh-
chamus Point was scarcely visible ; but nearer at hand,
in the middle of the gray and desolate sea, lay Maoile
Rock and Ris an Valle, with Ruisker and the Ledge,
apparently under the shadow of the Paps. The bright
little boat, despite her ballast and her cargo, went lightly
as a feather over the waves ; and the Whaup, whose head
was far too clear to grow giddy with the heave of the bay,
kept his eyes alert There were plenty of birds about,
the heron calling from out of the twilight that hung over
the distant rocks, but in vain he scanned the great heav-
ing plain of gray waves for the special object of his quest.
At last, however, they heard the cry of the birds down
towards the south, and thither the small boat was directed.
The sound came nearer and nearer, apparently there
were dozens or hundreds of them all about, yet nofeather
of one of them could be seen. Then there was a swift
lustle out beyond the boat, a dark moving line, rapidly
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
'45
crossing the waves, and the pink flame leaped from the
two barrels of the Whaup's gun. The pinnace was put
about, and run towards a certain dark speck that was
seen floating on the waves ; while at the same moment
over all the west there broke a great and sudden fire of
yellow, streaming down from the riven clouds upon the
dusky gray of the sea. In this wild light the islands
grew both dark and distant ; and near at hand there was
a glare on the water that dazzled the eyes and made all
things look fantastic and strange. It lasted but for a
moment. The clouds slowly closed again, the west grew
gray and cold, and over all the sea there fell the leaden-
hued twilight again, while the bow of the boat, going
this way and that in search of the dead bird, seemed to
move forward into the waste of waters like the nose of a
retriever.
They picked up the bird ; there was but one. The
Whaup was not satisfied. They could still hear the
distant calling, and so they stood out a bit farther to sea,
none of them, perhaps, noticing how rapidly the dark-
ness was descending.
" There is a breeze coming," said the man at the
tiller, looking far down to the southwest.
TheWhaup saw nothing but a strangely black line along
the misty horizon, a mere speck of deep purple. He was
unwilling to go back then. Besides, both sea and sky
were sufficiently calm ; the coming Lreeze would just
suffice to run them back to Loch Crina.i.
" We had better make for the yacht, sir," said the
man nearest to him. " It looks bad down there."
Unwilling as he was to give up, the Whaup perceived
that the thin line of black had become a broader band.
He was still looking far over the mystic plain of the
waves towards that lurid streak, when he seemed to
hear a strange sound in the ah. It was not a distant
sound, but apparently a muttering as of voices all around
and in front, hoarse and low and ominous. And while
he still stood watching, with a curiosity which dulled all
sense of fear, the slow widening of the blackness across
the sea, a puff of wind smote his cheek, and brought
146 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
the message that those troubled voices of the waves
were deepening into a rpar. Near the boat the sea was
calm, and the darkening sky was quite still ; but it
seemed as though a great circle were enclosing them,
and that the advancing line of storm could be heard rag-
ing in the darkness without being itself visible. In the
intense stillness that reigned around them, this great,
hoarse, deepening tumult of sounds seemed to find a
strange echo ; and then, while the men were getting
the boat put about and made ready for the squall, the
water in the immediate neighborhood became power-
fully agitated, a hissing of breaking waves was all
around, and the first blow of the wind struck the boat
as if with a hammer.
By this time the sail had been brailed up, and the
tempest that now came roaring along the black surface
of the sea smote nothing but spars and oars as it hur-
ried the pinnace along with it. Running before the
wind, and plunging into the great hollows of the waves
that seemed to be racing towards the shore, the light
boat shipped but little water, except when a gust of
wind drove the crest of a breaking wave across the
rowers ; but there came torrents of rain sweeping along
with the gale, and presently they found themselves shut
out from sight of land by the driving clouds. The
Whaup still kept outlook at the bow, but he had long
ago laid by his gun.
It was now a question of making the entrance to the
Loch without running on the rocks with which it was
studded ; and as the boat rose and sank with the waves,
and reeled and staggered under the tearing wind, the
Whaup, dashing back the salt water from his eyes and
mouth, and holding on to the prow, peered into the
gloom ahead, and was near shouting joyously aloud from
the mere excitement and madness of the chase. It was
a race with the waves, and the pinnace rolled and stag-
gered down in a drunken fashion into hugh black depths,
only to rise clear again on the hissing masses of foam ;
while wind and water alike, the black and riven sky, the
plunging and foaming sea, and the great roaring gusts
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. I .-j 7
of the gale that came tearing up from the south, seemed
sweeping onward for those dusky and jagged rocks which
formed the nearest line of land.
Coquette was standing on deck, her one small hand
clinging to the cold steel shrouds, while her face, terror-
stricken and anxious, was fixed on the blackness of the
storm that raged outside the troubled stillness of the
harbor. Lord Earlshope begged her to go below from
the fierce torrents of the rain, and when she paid no
heed to him, he brought a heavy mantle, and covered
her with it from head to foot. She spoke not a word ;
and only trembled slightly when the wind came in with
a fierce cry from that angry warring of the elements
that was going on beyond the islands.
The darkness fell fast, and yet as far as they could
see there was no speck of a boat coming in from the wild
and moving waste of gray. To the girl standing there
and gazing out it seemed that the horizon of the other
world, that mystic margin on which, in calmer moments,
we seem to see the phantoms of those who have been
taken from us passing in a mournful procession, speech-
less and cold-eyed, giving to us no sign of recognition,
had come close and near, and might have withdrawn be-
hind its shadowy folds all the traces of life which the
sea held. Could it be that the black pall of death had
fallen just beyond those gloomy islands, and hidden for-
ever from mortal eyes that handful of anxious men who
had lately been struggling towards the shore ? Was the
bright young life that she had grown familiar with, and
almost learned to love, now snatched away without one
mute pressure of the hand to say farewell ? She stood
there as if in a dream, and the things that passed before
her eyes had become spectral and ghastly. She scarcely
knew that she heard voices. She clung to the steel
ropes, and there was something like a faint " hurrah ! "
wafted in with the tumult of the sea, and then the vision
of a face gleaming red and joyous with the salt spray
and the rain, and then she knew that she was sinking,
with a sound as of the sea closing over her head.
j 4 3 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
CHAPTER XXI.
COQUETTE IS TROUBLED.
THE gale blew hard all that evening, but towards
midnight the sky cleared, and the large white moon rose
wild and swift into the luminous violet vault, that was
still crossed by ragged streaks of gray cloud hurrying
over from the sea. All along the dark islands the
mournful wash of the waves could be heard ; and here,
in the quiet of the bay, the wind brought a fresh and
salt flavor with it, as it blew in gusts about, and swept
onward to stir the birches and brackens of the hills. The
. Whaup sat up on deck with Lord Earlshope, who was
smoking, and spoke in whispers, for all was quiet below.
" You will get up to Oban to-morrow ? " asked the
Whaup, after some profound meditation.
" I hope so," said Lord Earlshope.
"I shall leave you then and go back by coach or
steamer."
" Has your adventure, of this afternoon frightened
you ? "
" Faith, no ! My only fright was when my cousin
fainted ; and I wished, when I saw that, that every guil-
lemot that ever lived was at the bottom of the sea. But
I am getting sick of idleness."
Lord Earlshope laughed.
" You may laugh," said the Whaup, "but it is true.
You have earned the right to be idle, because you are a
man. For a young fellow like me, with all the world
before him, it is miserable to be dawdling away time,
you know."
"I quite agree with you," said his companion ; " but
it seems to me this discovery has come to you rathei
suddenly."
" All the more reason/' returned the Whaup, with
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
149
confidence, " that it should be acted upon at once. I am
going to Glasgow. I shall live in lodgings with some
fellows I know, and work up my studies for the next
session. There is a tremendous deal of work in me, al-
though you might not think it, and I may not see Airlie
for two years."
" Why so ? "
" Because then I shall be nearer twenty-one than
twenty."
" And what will you do then ? "
" What shall I do then ? Who knows ? " said the
Whaup, absently.
Next morning the weather was fine, and the wind had
calmed. The sea was of a troubled, dark, and shining
blue ; and the far hills of the islands were of a soft and
velvet-like brown, with here and there a tinge of red or
of gray. The Caroline was soon got under way, and
began to open out the successive headlands and bays as
she stood away towards the north.
Coquette came on deck, and looked out on the sea
with an involuntary shudder. Then she turned, to find
the Whaup regarding her with rather a serious and
thoughtful look.
" Ah, you wicked boy, to make me so fearful yester-
day evening ! " she said
" But you are quite well this morning ? " he asked,
anxiously.
" Oh, yes, I am quite well," she said ; and the bright-
ness of her face and of her soft dark eyes was sufficient
evidence.
" And I got you the guillemot after all," said the
Whaup, with some pride. " One of the sailors is prepar-
ing both the breast and the pinions for you, and you can
wear either you like."
" For your sake, when you are away in Glasgow," she
said, with a smile. " I did hear what you said last night
to Lord Earlshope. I could not sleep with thinking of
the black water, and the wind, and the cry of the waves.
And will you go away from us now altogether ? "
" I must go away sooner or later," said the Whaup.
150 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
" But it is a little time until we all go back. Your
father, he cannot remain long."
" But I have become restless," said the Whaup, with
some impatience.
" And you are anxious to go away ? " said Coquette.
" It is no compliment to us ; but no, I will not speak like
that to you. I do think you are right to go. I will hear
of you in Glasgow ; I will think of you every day ; and
you will work hard, just as if I could see you and praise
you for doing it. Then, you know, some day a long way
off, it may be a rainy morning at Airlie, or perhaps even
a bright day, and we shall see you come driving up in
the dog-cart "
" Just as you came driving up a few months ago.
Does it not seen a long time since then ? "
" Yes, a long time," said Coquette ; " but I do think
this is the best part of it."
The attention of everybody on deck was at this
luoment directed to the strange currents through which
the Caroline had now to force herself, long stretches and
whirls in an almost smooth sea, with here and there a
boiling-up into a miniature whirlpool of the circling
waters. These powerful eddies caught the bow of the
boat, and swung it this way or that with a force which
threatened to jibe the sails ; while now and again she
would come to a dead stop, as though the sea were of
lead. And far away on their left, between the misty
hills of Jura and Scarba, lay the treacherous Corriev-
reckan, dreaded of fishermen, whose wild legends seem
scarcely in consonance with the apparent quietude of
those long and curling tides. But here at hand there
was sufficient evidence of the power of those glassy
swirls, the outline of which was marked with streaks of
foam. Slowly but steadily the Caroline made head
through those fierce currents, drawing away from the still
breadth of Loch Shuna, and getting further into Scarba
Sound, with the desolate island of Luing on her right.
How strangely still lay the long, lone bays, and the soli-
tary stretches of shore in the sunlight ! There was not
even a fisherman's boat to be seen along those bleak
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 1 5 1
coasts, that seemed to have grown gray and mournful
with looking out on the sadness of the sea. There was
no sign of life abroad but the hovering in mid-air of the
white gannet, or the far and rapid flight of a string of
wild ducks sinking down towards the southern horizon.
But as they drew near the mouth of Scarba Sound, with
the great stretch of Loch Linnhe opening up before
them, and the mighty shoulders of the Mull mountains
lying faint and gray in the northwest, the solitude grew
less absolute. Here and there a boat became visible.
They passed the Slate, and drew near the quarries of
Easdale ; while a long streak of smoke beyond told them
that the great steamer from the North was coming down
with her cargo of English tourists from the moors and
lojhs of Inverness.
" We shall get the waves of that dreadful steamer
as she passes," said Lady Drum.
" Why, you don't know what a good sailor you are,"
said Lord Earlshope. " We had bigger waves in coming
into Lochfyhe, and you were quite comfortable."
" To tell the truth, I must praise the Caroline for
being the most humane and delightful of yachts," said
Lady Drum. " One would think, to judge by the way
in which she avoids those frisky and unpleasant tricks
of many boats, that she was a grave and elderly person
like myself, instead of being a young thing like Miss
Cassilis here."
" I see a very good opening for a compliment,"ob-
served the Whaup, looking from Lord Earlshope to his
father, but neither took the hint ; and so the Caroline
sped on her way, and the great steamer, with its throb-
bing paddles and its volumes of smoke, came out from
Easdale Bay and bore down upon them.
They were all on deck when the steamer passed ;
and doubtless the people who crowded the larger vessel
regarded the little group in the stern of the graceful,
white-sailed yacht as sufficiently picturesque, the tall and
gray-haired lady, who had her hand Hside the arm of
the young girl ; the elderly Minister, looking grave and
dignified ; Lord Earlshope, seated carelessly on one of
j 5 2 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
the hatchways ; the Whaup, waving a handkerchief in
reply to more than one signal of the same kind.
* 4 To-morrow morning," said the Whaup to Lady
Drum, " I shall be on board that steamer, going straight
down for Crinan ; and you you will be turning towards
Skye, I suppose, or Staff a, or Lewis ? "
" What do you mean ? " said his father.
" Has nobody told you ? I am going back to Airlie
to-morrow, and on to Glasgow, to prepare for the classes.
I have had enough idling."
" I am glad to hear it/' said the Minister, in a tone
which did not betray any strong assurance that the
Whaup was to be trusted in these his new resolves.
But Coquette believed him. All the rest of that
day, as the Caroline glided through the dark-blue plain
of the waves, on past Ardencaple and Barnacaryn, and
the steep hills above Loch Feochan, until she had got
through the Sound of Kerrara, and was nearing the
calm expanse of Oban Bay, the Whaup perceived that
his cousin was almost elaborately kind and attentive to
him, and far more serious and thoughtful than was her
wont. He himself was a trifle depressed. Having defi-
nitely stated his intentions, he would not show weak-
ness at the last moment, and draw back from his prom-
ised word ; but it was with rather a heavy heart that he
went below to gather together his books and put them
in order for the last time on board.
"I think I shall sleep to-night on shore," said he,
when he reappeared.
u Why ? " asked Coquette.
" Because I don't wish to have you all up by seven
to-morrow morning. The boat goes at eight."
" And must we not see you off, and say good-bye ? "
" What's the use ? " said the Whaup.
Coquette put her hand on his arm, and said, rathei
shyly,
" I think you would rather come with us. Why not
do that ? It is very sad and miserable your going all
away b^.ck by yourself, and I am sorry to think of it,
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 1 5 3
far more for you than if it were for myself. It is very
hard lines.'*
The Whaup laughed in spite of his wretchedness.
" I told you ever so long ago not to say that," he
said, "and you promised not to forget. Never mind.
It's very good of you to concern yourself about me, but
I mean to go to-morrow morning. And look there !
there is Oban."
" I do hate the place ! " said Coquette, petulantly.
She would scarcely look at the semicircle of white
houses stretching around the blue bay, nor yet at the hills
and the villas upon them, nor yet at the brown and deso-
late old castle built high on the rocks beyond.
" It is a town," she said, " that row of bare and ugly
houses, and the hotels and shops. It is not fit for these
Highlands mountains ; it shames them to look down on
it it is so so dirty-white and shabby."
"What ails ye at the town ?" said Lady Drum, who
did not like to hear her favorite Oban disparaged.
" A little while ago you would have found Oban quite
a grand place," said Lord Earlshope, " quite a gay and
fashionable place."
"Fashionable !" said Coquette, with that slight eleva-
tion of the eyebrows and the almost imperceptible shrug
to which they had all got accustomed. " Fashionable ?
Perhaps. It is a good promenade before the grocers,
shops, and do the ladies who make the fashions live in
those dirty-white houses ? What is that they say ? Qui
n'est fas difficile, trouve bientot un asile"
" You know the other French proverb ? " said Lord
Earlshope, " Jeune femme, pain tendre, et bois vett,
mettent la maison en desert"
"That is possible," said Coquette, "but it is not
fashion. You should see Biarritz, Lady Drum, with its
sands, and the people, and the music, and the Bay of
Biscay, and the Spanish mountains not far. Even 1
think our little Le Croisic better, where mamma and I
lived at the Etablissement. But as for this town here,
if it is more pleasant-looking than Ardrossan, I will
blow me tight ! "
1 5 4 A DAUG:I TER OF HE TH.
The Whaup shrieked with laughter, and Coquette
looked puzzled, knowing she had made some dreadful
blunder, but not very certain what it was. Lady Drum
rescued her from confusion by carrying her off to dress
for dinner, and explained to her in their common state-
room that she must be careful not to repeat colloquial-
isms which she had overheard without being quite sure
of their propriety. Indeed, when the meaning of the
phrase was explained to her, she laughed as much as
the Whaup had done, and entered the saloon, where the
gentlemen were waiting, with a conscious look on her
face which considerably heightened its color.
" It was you to blame," she said to the Whaup. " I
did often hear you say that."
" Propria qua maribus" said he, and they sat down
to dinner.
It was felt to be a farewell celebration. The Whaup
looked grave and determined, as if he feared he would
be moved from his resolution. Coquette stole furtive
glances at him, and wondered what she could give him
to take with him as a keepsake. The Minister fur-
nished him with directions about certain things to be
done at Airlie ; Lady Drum made him promise to come
and see her when she went to Glasgow ; and Lord
Earlshope persuaded him to remain on board that night,
and go ashore in the morning.
When they went on deck after dinner, it was a beau-
tiful clear night, with the moonlight throwing a great
flood of silver across the bay from over the dusky island
of Kerrara. The windows of the houses on shore were
burning yellow in this cold white radiance ; and here and
there in the bay the green or red lights of a dark-hulled
boat flickered on the smooth water beneath. Over the
town the great shoulders of the hills were touched with
a pale and sombre gray, but a keener light shone along
the white fronts of the houses close by the shore ; while
nearer at hand it touched the masts and spars of the
various boats, and threw black shadows on the white
deck of the Caroline when any one moved across the
cold steel-blue glare.
A DAUGHTER OF IIETIf. !^
" Where is Miss Cassilis ? " said Lady Drum, when
she had taken her accustomed seat.
At the same moment they heard the first soft notes
of the harmonium, and presently there rose into the still
night the clear and sweet and melancholy cadence of Men-
delssohn's gondola song. The empty silence of the bay
seemed to grow full of this rich and harmonious music,
until one scarcely knew that the sounds were coming from
the open cabin skylight which gleamed an oblong patch
of yellow fire in the dusk. The night seemed to be as
full of music as of moonlight, it was in the air all around,
a part of the luminous loveliness of the sky, and scarcely
to be distinguished from the lapping of the water along
the side of the boat. Far away there was a murmur of
the sea upon the shores of Kerrara ; but that, too, be-
came part of the sweet and distant and sad music that
they heard. But suddenly she changed the key, and
with sharp and powerful chords struck out the proud and
ringing melody of " Drumclog." The old Scotch psalm-
tune stirred the Whaup, as a trumpet might stir the
heart of a dragoon. He rose to his feet, and drew a
long breath, as if the plaintive gondola-music had been
stifling him.
" What a grand tune that ' Drumclog ' is," he said.
" It means business. I dare say the old troopers sang it
with their teeth set hard, and their hand on their musket-
barrels. But did you ever hear it played like that ? "
" It is wonderful, wonderful ! " said the Minister,
and his sad gray eyes were fixed upon the far white sea,
and the shadows of the lonely island.
You should have seen the Whaup the next morning,
bustling about with a determined air, and making from
time to time, a feeble effort to whistle. Coquette had
been up before any one on board, and now sat, mute
and pale, watching his preparations. Sometimes she
turned to look towards the quay, where the vessels lay
under the ruddy and misty sunlight of the autumn
morning.
Then the great steamer came around the point. The
l s 6 A DA UGHTER OF HE TH.
Whaup jumped into the pinnace, after having shaken
hands with everybody, and the boat was pushed off.
4 Stop a moment," said Coquette, " I do wish to go
with you to the steamer."
So she, also, got into the small boat ; and together
they went in to the quay, and got ashore. The steamer
arrived, and the Whaup, still trying at times to whistle
got on board. The first bell was rung.
" Good-bye," said Coquette, holding one of his hands
in both of hers. " You will write to me often, often ;
and when I go back to Airlie I will write to you every
week, and tell you what is going on with all the people,
even with Leesibess also. And I will go to see you at
Glasgow, if you will not come to Airlie before you have
become a great man."
A few minutes afterwards the Whaup was waving
his handkerchief to her as the steamer steamed away
down by Kerrara, and Coquette stood on the quay, look-
ing wistfully after the boat, even until the trailing cloud
of smoke from the funnel had become a luminous brown
in the morning sunlight.
CHAPTER XXII.
ON THE SEA-SHORE.
" I WISH to speak to you a great secret," said Co-
quette to Lord Earlshope that morning, " when we shall
have the chance. It is very important."
" I shall remember to make the chance," said he,
" especially as Lady Drum wants to go round and see
Dunstaffnage. You must come with us."
The Minister preferred to remain in the yacht. The
fact is, he was composing a sermon on the judgment that
befel Jonah, and was engaged in painting a picture of
A DAIGIITER OF HE TIL ! 5 y
the storm, with powerful colors borrowed from his ex-
periences in Crinan Bay. He was very busy with the
task, for he hoped to be able to preach the sermon next
day, being Sunday, to the small congregation on board.
So it was that the others started without him, and drove
over in a hired trap by the road which leads past the
pretty Lochaw. In time they arrived at Dunstaffnage,
and made their way on to the rocks which there rise over
the blue sea, and look across to the far mountains of
Lismore and Morven and Mull
Lady Drum was a brisk and active woman for her
age, but she did not care to exert herself unnecessarily.
When they had gone up and looked at the ruins of the
old castle, when they had passed through the small wood,
and reached the line of alternate rock and beach fronting
the sea, she placed herself upon an elevated peak, and
allowed the young folks to scramble down to the white
shingle below. There she saw them both sit down on
the beach, Lord Earlshope beginning to pitch pebbles
carelessly into the sea. She could hear the murmur of
their talk, too, but could not distinguish what they said.
Apparently there was nothing very important engag-
ing their attention, for they did not even look at each
other, and Lord Earlshope was evidently more inter-
ested in trying to hit apiece of seaweed which the tide
had drifted in to the shore.
" My secret is this." said Coquette. " Do you know
that papa and mamma did leave me a good deal of
money ? "
" I was not aware of it," said Lord Earlshope, mak-
ing another effort to hit the sea-weed.
" Oh, I am very rich, that is to say, not what you
English would call rich, but rich in my country. Yet I
cannot use the money. What good is it to me ? Mamma
gave me more jewelry than I need, what am I to do with
my money ? "
" I don't know much about ladies' expenses," said
Lord Earlshope. " But if you want to get rid of this
burden of wealth, why not keep a yacht, or buy a theatre,
15 8 A DAUGHTER OF HETII.
" No, no, no," she said. " You do not understand.
I mean I have nothing to do with my money for myself.
Now, here is my cousin who goes to Glasgow to live by
himself in lodgings, perhaps not very pleasant. His fa-
ther is not rich. He must work hard ; and your north-
ern winters are so cold. Bien \ How I am to give
him money ? "
"That is the problem, is it ? " said Lord Earlshope.
" I might have guessed you did not wish to spend the
money on yourself. Well, I don't know. I give it up.
If he were a boy, you see, you might send him a 20
note now and again, which most of us have found very
acceptable at college. But you would insult your cousin
if you sent him money bluntly like that. Besides, you
would destroy the picturesqueness of his position. Our
Scotch colleges are sacred to the poor student ; they are
not seminaries for the teaching of extravagance and
good manners, like the English universities.''
" Then you cannot help me ? " said Coquette.
" Oh, there are a hundred indirect ways in which
you could be of service to him ; but you must be care-
ful, and consult with Lady Drum, who is going to
Glasgow, and will probably see him there. How for-
tunate you are to have no care whatever on your mind
but the thought of how to do other people good. You
are never anxious about yourself ; you seem to be sur-
rounded by a sort of halo of comfort and satisfaction ;
and annoyances that strike against the charmed circle
are blunted and fall to the ground."
" That is a very nice and pretty speech," said Co-
quette, with a smile. " I will soon believe the English
are not a barbarous nation if you make such long
compliments."
" I wonder," said Lord Earlshope, looking away
over the sea, and apparently almost talking to himself,
" whether, if I were to tell you another secret, it would
annoy you in the least. I do not think it would. How
could it matter to you ? "
" But what is it ? " said Coquette,
i " Suppose," said he, throwing another pebble at the
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL ! S9
bit of seaweed, " that I were to tell you, first, that you
had no need to be alarmed,that I did not mean to fright
en you with a proposal, or any nonsense of that kind ;
and then tell you that I had fallen in love with you ?
Suppose I were to do that, and tell you the history of
the thing, it would not trouble you in the least, would
it ? Why should it, indeed ? You are not responsible ;
you are not affected, by the catastrophe ; you might be
curious to know more about it, even, as something to
pass the time."
He spoke with the most absolute indifference, and
so preoccupied was he that he did not even look at his
companion. The first start of surprise had given way
to a mute and apprehensive fear ; her face was quite
pale, and she did not know that her two hands were tightly
clasped in her lap, as if to keep them from trembling.
" Such is the fact, however," he continued, just as
rf he were describing to her some event of yesterday,
of which he had been an interested spectator. " You
cannot be nearly so surprised as I am ; indeed, I don't
suppose you would think anything about it, unless you
considered it as a misfortune which has happened to
me, and then you will, I hope without laughing, give me
the benefit of your sympathy. Yet I am not very
wretched, you see ; and you you are no more affected
by it than if you were the moon, and I, according to
the Eastern saying, one of the hundred streams looking
up to you. I am afraid I have been experimenting on
myself, and deserve the blow that has fallen. I have
been flying my kite too near the thunder-cloud ; and
\vhat business had a man of my age with a kite ? "
He shrugged his shoulders, quite without bitterness
of spirit. It was a misfortune, and to be accepted.
" I am very sorry," she said, in a low voice.
" No ! why sorry ? " he said. " I fancied I was
more philosophical than I am. I think my first senti-
ment towards you was merely idle curiosity. I wished
to see how so rare an exotic would flourish when trans-
planted to our bleak Scotch moors. Then yoa allowed
me to make your acquaintance ; and I believed myself
160 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
filled with the most paternal solicitude about your wel-
fare. Sometimes I had doubts, sometimes I made ex-
periments to solve them. If I were to tell you how I
fought against the certainty that I had become the
victim of an affection foolish, hopeless, unreasoning,
you would, perhaps, understand why I think it better
to tell you frankly so much as I have done, by way of
explanation. You might also be amused, perhaps, if
you cared for recondite studies. To me it has been very
odd to find that, after I had dissected every sensation
and analyzed every scrap of emotion I experienced,
another being has sprung into existence by the very
side of my lecture-table. That other being is also, I
looking with contempt at my own anatomical experi-
ment. And there is yet a third I, now talking to you,
who looks as a spectator upon both the anatomist and
the spectral being who has escaped his knife. Do you
understand all this ? "
A stone fell close beside them, and Coquette's heart
leaped up at the sound. It had been pitched down by
Lady Drum, as a signal that she was impatient.
" Yes, I understand it all," said Coquette, still in
the same low voice ; " but it is very dreadful."
" Then it is not amusing," said Lord Earlshope,
offering his hand to raise her up. " I beg your pardon
for boring you with a psychological conundrum. You
are not vexed about my having mentioned it at all ? M
" Oh, no," said Coquette ; but the beach and the sea
and the far mountains seemed insecure and wavering,
and she would fain have had Lady Drum's arm to lean
upon.
" How could you be vexed, indeed, except by the
d ulness of the story ? " said Lord Earlshope cheerfully.
" You may consider, if you like, that you never heard
my confession. It cannot affect you ; nor need it, indeed,
in the slightest degree affect our relations with each
o-ther. Do you agree with me ? "
" OKI, yes, I mean ; it will be quite the same between
us as before." said Coquette.
44 You will not find me torture you with the jealous-
A DAUGHTER OF HETH ^i
ies of a lover. I shall not scowl when you write a letter
without showing me the address. I shall not even be
angry if you enclose flowers in it. We shall be to each
other, I hope, the friends we have always been, until I
have quite recovered my equanimity. And you will not
make me the butt of your ridicule during the process ?"
" I shall always be very sorry that this has happened,"
said Coquette.
" Why, of coarse," said her companion. " Didn't I
say so? You are sorry, because it is my misfortune.
Had it been your own, you would not have cared. In
return, when you fall in love, perhaps with your hand-
some cousin, let us say, who means, I know, to come
back crowned with laurels in order to win for himself a
pretty wife somewhere down in Ayrshire, I will do my
best to become sorry for you. But then, in your case,
why should anybody be sorry ? To fall in love is not
always a misfortune, at least, I hope there are some who
do not find it so."
For the first time he spoke sadly, and the expression
of his face conveyed that he was thinking of some dis-
tant time. When Coquette and her companion rejoined
Lady Drum they were both unusually silent. As for the
young girl, indeed, she was anxious to get once more
into the wagonette, and have the horses' heads turned
towards Oban. In the rumble of the wheels along the
road there was not much occasion to talk ; and very
little indeed of the beautiful scenery, on that calm and
bright autumn morning, did Coquette see as they passed
over the neck of land towards Qban Bay.
X 6 2 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
CHAPTER XXIII.
COQUETIE BEGINS TO FEAR.
" UNCLE," said Coquette, directly they had returned
to the yacht, "when shall we go back to Airlie ? "
The Minister looked up in a surprised and dazed way
from his manuscripts and said,
" Go back ? yes, I have been thinking of that too,
for it is not fitting that one should be away from the
duties to which one has been called. But you, don't
you understand that it is for your sake that we are here ?
Are you so much better ? What does Lady Drum say ? "
The Minister had now so far brought himself back
from the sermon on Jonah that he could attentively scan
his niece's face.
" Why," said he, " you are more pale, more languid,
now than I have seen you for many days. Will not a
little more of the sea air make you feel strong ? "
" I am not unwell," said Coquette, with the same air
of cold restraint ; " but if it will please you to go farther
with the boat, then I will go too."
So she went away to her own cabin, fearing to go on
deck and meet Lord Earlshope. In their common state-
room she encountered Lady Drum.
" You two were deeply occupied," she said, with a
grave and kindly smile, " when ye foregathered on the
beach."
" Yes," said Coquette, with an anxious haste, " I did
speak to Lord Earlshope about my cousin in Glasgow."
"It must have been an interesting subject, for ye
never took your eyes from watching the toe of your
boot, which was peeping from under your dress : and he,
I am sure, would not have noticed a man-of-war had it
come around the point. Dear, dear me ! I willna scold
you ; but to come so soon, ye know, after your poor
cousin left ye "
A DAUGHTER OF HETH 163
" No, no, no ! " said Coquette, hurriedly, as she took
her friend's hand in hers ; " you must not talk like that.
You do not know that I have just been to my uncle to
ask him to go home."
Lady Drum began to look more serious. She had
been bantering the young girl in that fashion which most
elderly people love, but she had no idea that she was ac-
tually hitting the mark. This sudden wish on the part
of Coquette to return to Airlie, what could it mean ?
Considerably startled, the old lady saw for the first time
that there was real danger ahead ; and she asked Coquette
to sit down and have a talk with her, in a voice so solemn
that Coquette was alarmed, and refused.
" No," she said, " I will not talk. It is nothing. You
imagine more than is true. All that I wish is to leave
this voyage when it pleases you and my uncle."
But Lady Drum was not to be gainsaid ; she felt it
to be her duty to warn Coquette. Lord Earlshope, she
said, was a man whom it was necessary to understand.
He had been accustomed to luxurious indolence all his
clays, and might drift into a position which would com-
promise more than himself. He had a dangerous habit
of regarding himself as a study, and experimenting on
himself, without reflecting what others might suffer.
Then, again, he had so resolutely avoided introductions
to rich and charming young ladies who had visited Cas-
tle Cawmil, that she Lady Drum, was convinced he had
some rooted aversion to the consideration of marriage,
that he would never marry.
" Have ye never heard him talk about marriage, and
the mistakes that young men make ? He is as bitter
about that as if he was an old man of sixty, or as if he
had made a foolish marriage himself. Perhaps he has,"
she continued, with a smile ; " but his success in con-
cealing it all these years must be a credit to him."
"All that does not concern me," said Coquette, with
a sort of piteous deprecation in her tone. " Why do you
speak to me about Lord Earlshope's marriage ? I do
not care if he has been in fifty marriages. 1 ''
" Will you tell me why you are suddenly anxious to
T 64 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
go home ? " said Lady Drum, bending her grave and
kind eyes upon the girl.
" I have told you," said Coquette, with a touch of
hantcur in her voice, as she turned abruptly away and
walked out.
She stood at the foot of the companion-steps.
Which way should she choose ? Overhead she heard
Lord Earlshope talking to the skipper, who was getting
the yacht under canvas to resume the voyage. In the
saloon sat her uncle, deep in the intricacies of Scotch
theology. Behind her was the elderly lady from whom
she had just broken away with a gesture of indignant
pride. For a minute or two she remained irresolute,
though the firmness of her lips showed that she was still
smarting from what she had considered an unwarrantable
interference. Then she went gently back to the state-
room door, opened it, walked over to where Lady Drum
sat, and knelt down penitently and put her head in her
lap.
" I hope you are not angry or offended with me," she
said, in a low voice. " I am very sorry. I would tell
you what you ask, but it is not my secret, Lady Drum, I
must not, indeed, tell you. It is because you are so good
a friend that you ask ; but but but it is no matter ;
and will you help me to go back soon to Airlie ? "
" Help you ? yes, I will," said Lady Drum, in the
same kindly way, although it was but natural she should
feel a little hurt at having her curiosity baffled. She put
her hand in a gracious and stately fashion on the young
girl's head, and said; "You have a right to keep your
own secrets if you choose ; far be it from me to ask you
to give them up. But should you want to confide ia a
person who has some experience o' life, and is anxious
to do ye every service, you have but to come to me."
" Oh, I am sure of that," said Coquette, gratefully.
" I will be as your own daughter to you."
" And about this going back," continued Lady Drum.
" It would look strange to turn at this point, just after
letting your cousin go home by himself. We shall hae
the best part o' the thing over in a couple o' days, when
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 165
we get up to Skye ; and then, if ye like, we can go back
by the steamer."
" Two more days ! " said Coquette, almost wildly, as
she started to her feet " two more days ! How can I
bear "
She caught herself up, and was silent.
" There is something in all this that ye keep back,"
said Lady Drum. " I dinna blame ye ; but when it suits
ye to be more frank wi' me ye will no find yourself wi'
a backward friend. Now we will go upon the deck and
see what's to the fore."
Coquette was glad fo go on deck under this safe-con-
duct. Yet what had she to fear ? Lord Earlshope had
made a certain communication to her with the obvious
belief that she would treat it as a matter of no impor-
tance to herself. Was she not, according to his own ac-
count, surrounded by a halo of self-content which made
her independent of the troubles which afflicted others ?
" But I am not selfish," she had bitterly thought to
herself, as they were driving back to Oban. " Why
should he think I have no more feeling than a statue or
a picture ? Is it that the people of this country do not
understand it if you are comfortable and careless for the
moment ? "
When they now went on deck, Lord Earlshope came
forward as though he had utterly forgotten that conver-
sation on the beach at Dunstaff nage, and placed Coquette
and her companion in a position so that they could
see the bay and the houses, and the rocks of Dunolly,
which they were now leaving behind. Coquette bade
good-bye to Oban with but little regret. Perhaps she
was chiefly thinking that in a few minutes they would
come in sight of that curved indentation of the coast
which would remind Lord Earlshope of what had oc-
curred there. And, indeed, as they opened out Loch
Etive, and stood over towards the Sound of Mull, with
the dark mountains of Appin in the north, and the blue
waters of the Atlantic stretching far into the south, they
actually came in sight of those tiny bays which they had
visited in the morning.
1 66 A DAUGHTER OF IIETH.
" Do you recognize the place ? " asked Lord Earls-
hope, carelessly, of Lady Drum.
Then he turned to Coquette, and bade her admire
the beautiful and soft colors of the Morven mountains,
where the sunlight brought out the warm tints of the
rusty breckan and the heather, through the pearly gray
of the mist and the heat. Very lovely, too, were the
hills of Lismore and Lome, dappled with cloud-shadows
moving across their great shoulders and deep valleys,
while over on their left rose the darker mountains of
Mull, bare and blue and solitary. All around them, in-
deed, lay this great panorama of jagged mountain and
smoother hill, with dark stretches of forest here and
there, and at their, base the great and breezy plain of
the sea, with its white line of foam along the rocks, and
the monotonous cry of its breaking waves.
" It is very lonely," said Coquette, looking wistfully
around the far shores. " I do not see any sign of life
among those mountains or near the sea."
" You would not enjoy a long visit to these places,"
said Lord Earlshope, with a smile. " I imagine that the
constant sight of the loneliness of the mountains would
make you miserable. Does not the sea look sad to you ?
I have fancied I noticed a sense of relief on your face
when we have settled down in the evening to a comfort-
able chatter in the cabin, and have shut out for the night
the sea and the solitary hills and the sky."
She did not answer, nor could she understand how
he spoke to her thus, with absolute freedom of tone and
manner. Had she dreamed all that had happened under
the ruined walls of Dunstaffnage ? She only knew that
he was looking at her with his accustomed look of min-
gled curiosity and interest, and that he was, as usual,
telling her of his speculations as regarded herself. Or
was he only assuming this ease of manner to dissipate
her fears and restore their old relations ? Was he only
feigning indifference, in order to remove her constraint ?
It was not until the afternoon, when they had gone
up through the Sound of Mull, and were drawing near
to their anchorage in Tobermory Bay, that he had an
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIT. ! 6 7
opportunity of speaking to her alone. Lady Drum had
gone below, and Coquette suddenly found herself de-
fenceless.
" Come, Miss Cassilis," he said, " have it out with me
now. You have been avoiding me all day, to punish me
for my foolish disclosure of this morning. Is that the
case ? Did I commit a blunder ? If I did, you must
pardon me ; I did not fancy you would have wasted a
second thought on the matter. And, indeed, I cannot
afford to have you vexed by my indiscretion ; it is not
natural for you to look vexed."
" If I am vexed," she said, looking down, and yet
speaking rather warmly, " it is to hear you speak of me.
so. You do seem to think me incapable of caring for
anyone but myself ; you think I should not be human ; not
interested in my friends, but always thinking of myself ;
always pleased ; always with one look, like a picture. It
is not true. I am grieved when my friends are grieved,
I cannot be satisfied and pleased when they are in
trouble.''
" Surely you have no need to tell me that," he said.
" When your face is clouded with cares, I know they are
not your cares, and that you are far too ready to accept
the burden of other people's trouble. But I maintain
you have no right to do so. It is your business, your
duty, to be pleased, satisfied, contented ; to make other
people happy by looking at your happiness. It is natural
to you to be happy. Why, then, should you for a mo-
ment suffer yourself to be annoyed by what I told you
this morning ? I see 1* made a mistake. You must for-
get it. I fancied I might talk to you about it without its
troubling you more than the looking at a new vessel on
the horizon would trouble you "
" And you believe me, therefore," she said, with some
indignation in her voice, " a mere doll, a baby, to be
pleased with a rattle, and incapable of understanding
the real human trouble around me ? Perhaps you are
right. Perhaps I do not care for anything but my own
pleasure, but it is not flattery to tell me so."
With that she walked away from him and rejoined
j68 A DAUGHTER OF I1ETIL
Lady Drum, who had again come on deck. Lord Earls-
hope had no further chance of speaking a word to her.
At dinner, in the evening, Coquette was silent, and her
face was downcast and troubled. When she spoke it was
to Lady Drum, towards whom she was obediently and
almost anxiously attentive.
CHAPTER XXIV.
TOUCHING CERTAIN PROBLEMS.
VERY singular in appearance was the small congrega-
tion grouped on the deck of the Caroline, to listen to Mr.
Cassilis's sermon on that quiet Sunday morning. The
Minister himself stood erect and firm, with his gray hair,
for he was bareheaded, and his sunken face touched with
the misty glow of the early sunlight. Almost at his feet
sat Lady Drum and Coquette, the latter sometimes wist-
fully looking away over the calm sea, towards the Calve
Island or the distant shores of Loch Sunart. Lord
Earlshope sat by himself still farther aft, where he could
catch the outline of Coquette's face as she turned to look
up at the Minister. And then forward were the sailors,
a small group of bronzed and sturdy men, lying about
in a listless and picturesque fashion, with their scarlet
caps gleaming in the sun. The background was the
smooth waters of the bay, with a faint blue smoke rising
mistily into the still air from over the scattered houses of
Toiermory.
Coquette had begged hard to be allowed to preface
or assist the service with her harmonium, but her prayer
was explicitly refused. Indeed, there might not have
been much in the music to harmonize with the stern and
matter-of-fact exhortation which the Minister had pre-
pared. It is true that, as he warmed to his subject, he
indulged in the rare license of breaking away from his
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. ^9
preconceived plan of argument and illustration. He was
dealing with things which were now before his eyes ; and
as his rude and homely eloquence became more and more
touched with enthusiasm, it seemed as though the in-
spiration of the sea had fallen on him. " What meanest,
thou, O sleeper ? " was his text ; and the cry with which
the sailors awakened Jonah seemed the Minister's own
cry to the men who now lived along these lonely coasts.
Indeed, there was a singular and forcible realism about
the address which surprised Coquette ; it was so differ-
ent from the long and weary sermons on doctrine to
which she had of late been accustomed. The Minister
had borrowed all his imagery from his recent experi-
ences. He described the storm, the rushing of the water,
the gloom of the hills, the creaking of cordage, until you
could have fancied that Jonah was actually trying to
make for Crinan Bay. The sailors were thoroughly
aroused and interested. It was to them a thrilling and
powerful, narrative of something that had actually hap-
pened, something far more real and human than the
vague stories and legends of the Western Isles, those
faintly colored and beautiful things that happened so far
away and so long ago that the sound of them now is like,
the sound of a sea-shell.
Of course there came the application, which was
equally practical, if less picturesque. The fishermen,
who were now lazily lying on the grassy slopes above
the Tobermory cottages, satisfied with the drowsy
warmth and the sensation of rest, the sailors themselves,
who were busy from day to day with the mysteries f the
elements, fighting with the accidents of the present
world, regarding only the visible horizon around them,
they were but as sleepers asleep in a storm. For out-
side of this visible horizon, lay another and more myste-
rious horizon, which was daily drawing closer to them,
bearing with it the doom of humanity. Hour by hour
the world was being narrowed by this approaching bank
of cloud ; and when at last it 'burst, and the lightning
of death gleamed out from its sombre shadows, would
there then be time to seek for the Jonah who must. be
1 70 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
thrown overboard ? The old man, with his bared head
and his eager manner, seemed himself a prophet sent up
to denounce Nineveh and all her iniquities ; and so im-
pressive and resonant was his voice, heard over the
strange calm of the sea, that more than one of the
sailors had unconsciously turned to gaze far out towards
the western horizon, as though expecting to find there
the gathering storm-clouds of which he spoke.
After this forenoon service had been finished, a
dilemma occurred. The Minister had been furnished
with no rules for the observance of the Sabbath on
board a vessel. He had no precedents for his guidance.
He could not simply request everybody to come indoors
and take a book. Coquette, indeed, resolutely remained
on deck.
"Well," said Lady Drum, "we are out o' doors as
much as we can be, and it would be no worse, surely, if
we went on shore."
Not even Lord Earlshope had thought of continu-
ing their voyage ; that was a thing which, on the face
of it, could not be permitted. But when the Minister
was confronted by the difficulty which Lady Drum had
discovered, he did not know well what to do. He was
averse to their going ashore and walking about on the
Sabbath morning, to the scandal of all decent folk ; on
the other hand, there was little difference between that
and sitting on deck to look at the sea and the houses,
while going below and immuring themselves all day was
out of the question. At last his natural good-sense
triumphed. He gave his consent to their leaving the
boat for a certain time, in fact, until the hour for after-
noon service on deck, if they chose, but he would re-
main on board.
" You will come ashore, will you not ? " said Lord
Earlshope to Coquette.
"No, I wish to remain with my uncle," said Co-
quette, hurriedly.
" Nonsense, nonsense ! " said Lady Drum " Would
you have an old woman like me stravaiging about the
shore by myself ? "
A DA UGHTER OF HE Tff- 1 7 1
" But Lord Earlshope will go with you," said Co
quette, timidly.
" That does not matter. He is no a companion for
me ; so get on your hat and come away at once."
Coquette did so, and got into the pinnace, deter-
mined to cling closely to Lady Drum's side. As they
neared the shore, the latter remarked that the village
seemed quite deserted.
" The fishermen spend their Sundays either indoors
or up on the hills, 5 ' said Lord Earlshope. " I believe
the married ones prefer the hills."
Perhaps that haphazard allusion to marriage remained
in his mind ; for, after they had landed and walked
some distance around the shore, until they discovered a
pleasant place from which to sit and watch the sea-birds
over the Sound, he said, rather indolently,
" I wonder how many of those poor men have a pleas-
ant home to return to after the fatigue and discom-
fort of a night out at the fishing."
As this was a problem which neither of the ladies
with him could readily solve, the only answer was the
plashing of the clear sea-water on the stones. Presently
he said, in the same careless way,
" Do you know, Lady Drum, that physiologists say
we become quite differant people every seven years ?
Don't look surprised, I am going to explain. They say
that every atom and every particle of us have in that
time been used up and replaced ; so that we are not the
same persons we were seven years before. It is but
natural to suppose that the mind changes with the body,
if not so completely. You, for example, must find that
you have not the same opinions on many subjects that
you had seven years ago. And in the case of young
people especially, they do positively and actually change
the whole of their mental and physical structure in even
less time than that. You follow" this introductory dis-
course ? " he added, with a laugh.
" Quite," said the elderly lady, " though I am no
sure it is a proper one for a Sabbath morning."
" You must hear me out, and with attention.. The
172
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
subject is profound. If I am a different person at the
end of seven years, why should I be bound by promises
I made when I was my former self ? "
" Mercy on us ! " said Lady Drum. " Is it a rid
die?"
" Yes. Shall I help you to solve it by an illustra-
tion ? Suppose one of those sturdy young fishermen
here, when he is a mere boy of nineteen, undeveloped
and quite vacant as to experience, i-s induced to marry
some woman who has a bad nature and a hideous tem-
per. He is a fool, of course. But seven years after-
wards he is not so great a fool, indeed he has become
another person, according to the physiological theory,
and the new fisherman hates and abhors his wife, per-
ceives the deformity of her character, is revolted by her
instead of attracted to her. Now why should he be
bound by the promise of the former fisherman ? Indeed,
she too is another woman. Why should the old mar-
riage bind together these two new persons ? It has
gone away as the mark on your finger-nail goes away,
they have outgrown it."
Lady Drum began to look alarmed, and Lord Earls-
hope, catching sight of her face, laughed lightly.
" No," he said, " don't imagine me a monster. I
don't want to un marry anybody ; it is only a theory.
Yet why shouldn't there be a Statute of Limitations
with regard to other matters than money ? "
" You mean," said Lady Drum, solemnly, " that I,
Margaret Ainslie Drum, wife of Sir Peter of that name,
am no longer a married woman, but free to marry whom
I please ? "
" Precisely," said Lord Earlshope, apparently with a
sincere joy that she had so thoroughly understood his
argument. " You might marry me, or anybody, ac
cording to the theory, you know."
" Yes, according to the theory," remarked Lady
Drum, endeavoring to repress her virtuous wrath ; " of
course, according to the theory."
With that he fairly burst out laughing.
" I do believe I have shocked you," he. said, " in my
A DAUGHTER OF I1ETH. 173
endeavor to find out an argument why that imaginary
poor fisherman should be released from his bonds. It
was only a joke, you know, Lady Drum ; for of course one
could not unsettle all the marriages in England merely
to benefit one or two people. Yet it does seem hard
that when a man is a fool and marries, then ceases to be
a fool and wishes to be free from his blunder, there is
no hope for him. You don't seem to care to speculate
about those matters, do you ? " he added, carelessly, as
he tried to twine two bits of grass. " Have you ever
looked around the whole circle of your acquaintances,
and wondered, supposing all present marriages were
dissolved, what new conbinations they would form in a
week's time ? "
" I confess," said Lady Drum, with some sarcasm,
" that I have never amused myself in so ingenious a way.
Pray, Lord Earlshope, what was it in Mr. Cassilis's ser-
mon that provoked these meditations of yours ? "
" Oh, they are not of recent date," said his lordship,
with a fine indifference. " It is no new thing for me to
discover that some of my friends would like to be un-
married. My notion of their right to do so is only a
phantasy of course, which is not to be taken au grand
set ienx.
" I should think not," said Lady Drum, with some
dignity.
Indeed, it was not until they had strolled along the
shore some distance on their way back to the boat that
the frown left her face. Her natural good-sense came
to her aid, and showed her that Lord Earlshope had
merely been amusing himself, as was his wont, with
idle and morbid fancies. He had obviously no reason
to advance anything so horrible and dangerous as a free
criticism on the rights of marriage. What was it to him
if all the fishermen in Tobermory, or in a dozen Tober-
mories, remained up on the hills during the Sundays in
order to get away from their wives ? So the grave and
handsome face of the old lady gradually recovered its
urbane and benignant expression, and she ever! ventured
o rebuke Lord Earlshope, in a good-humored way,
'74
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
about the inappropriate occasion he had chosen for his
lecture on physiology.
Coquette had said nothing all this time. She walked
by Lady Drum's side, with an absent look in her face
and eyes, not paying much attention to what was said,
She seemed somewhat relieved to get into the pinnace
again, so that Lady Drum expressed a hope that her
duties of companion had not been irksome to her.
" Oh, no ! " she said ; " I am ready to go with you
whenever you please."
But later on in the day they had another quiet chat
to themselves, and Coquette became more confidential.
" I do not understand it ; there is something wrong
in it, surely," said the girl, with a thoughtful look in her
eyes, " when a young man like Lord Earlshope seems to
have nothing more in the world to do, to have lost in-
terest in everything, and at times to be gloomy, and as
if he were angry with the world. Have you not noticed
it, Lady Drum ? Have you not seen it in his face when
he is talking idly ? And then he says something in a
bitter way, and laughs, and it is not pleasant to hear.
Why has he lost interest in everything ? Why does he
spend his time at home, reading books, and anxious to
avoid seeing people ? "
Lady Drum regarded her with astonishment.
"Well, well," she said, "who would have thought
that those dreaming black eyes of yours were studying
people so accurately ; and that beneath that knot of rib-
bon in your wild lumps of hair the oddest notions were
being formed ? And what concern have ye wi, Lord
Karlshope's idle habits, and his restlessness and dissatis-
faction ?"
" I ? " said Coquette, calmly. " It is not my concern
but it is sad to see a man whose life is wasted, who has
no longer any object in it."
" He enjoys himself," said Lady Drum.
" He does not enjoy himself," said Coquette, with de-
cision. " He is very polite, and does not intrude his
troubles on any one. You might think he passed the
time pleasantly, that he was content with his idleness. I
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL x 7 s
do not believe it, no, I do believe there is not a more
wretched man alive."
Lady Drum elevated her eyebrows. Instead of hav-
ing one problem in humanity before her, she had now
two. And why had this young lady taken so pathetic
an interest in Lord Earlshope's wretchedness ?
CHAPTER'XXV,
COQUETTE'S PRESENTIMENTS.
IT was impossible this condition of affairs could last/
A far less observant man than Lord Earlshope was bound
to perceive the singular change which had fallen over
Coquette's manner. Hitherto she had appeared to him
to be the very personification of joyousness, to live a
graceful, happy, almost unthinking life, in an atmosphere
of tender emotions and kindly sentiments, which were
as the sunshine and the sea-breezes to her. Why should
this young creature, with the calm and beautiful face,
whose dark eyes showed a perfect serenity and placidity
of soul, be visited with the rougher passions, the harsher
experiences, which befal less fortunate people ? That
was not her tole. It was her business to be happy, to
be waited upon, to be pleased. She had but to sit on
deck, in her French costume of dark green tartan and
black lace, with a book lying open but unread on her
knee, with her hand inside Lady Drum's arm, with the
clear light of the sea and the clouds shining in her face
and in the darkness of her eyes, and leave troubles and
cares and vexations to those born under a less fortunate
star.
All that was over. Coquette was distraite, restless,
miserable. The narrow limits of the yacht were a prison
to her. She was silent and reserved, and seemed merely
to wait with a resigned air for the end of the voyage.
J7 6 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
Had the Whaup been there, she would probably have
entered into confidences with him, or even relieved the
blank monotony by quarrelling with him. As it was,
she listened to Lady Drum and Lord Earlshope talking,
without adding a syllable to the conversation ; and, while
she dutifully waited on her uncle, and arranged his books
and papers for him, she went about in a mute way, which
he took as a kindly observance of his wish not to be dis-
turbed during his hours of study.
" What ha,s become o' your blithe spirits, Catherine ? "
he asked on the Monday morning, as they were leaving
Tobermory Bay. " I do not hear ye sing to yourself
now ? Yet I am told by Lady Drum that the voyage
has done ye a world o' good."
" Oh, I am very well, uncle," she said, eagerly. " I
am very well, indeed ; and whenever you please to go
back to Airlie, I shall be glad to go too."
" That is good news," said the Minister, cheerfully,
" good news. And we maun see about getting home
again ; for I am anxious to hear how young Mr. M'Alis-
ter acquitted himself yesterday, and I would fain hope
there is no dissension among my people this morning,
such as the enemy is anxious to reap profit by."
" Have you an enemy, uncle ? " said Coquette.
"We have all an enemy," said the Minister, so im-
pressively that his niece looked alarmed, "an enemy who
is ever watchful to take advantage o' our absence or our
thochtlessness ; who goeth about like a raging lion, seek-
ing whom he may devour/'
" But is he in Airlie ? " asked Coquette, who was still
puzzled
" Why, your uncle means the devil," said Lady Drum,
gayly, as she entered the saloon, " who is in Airlie as
elsewhere, espaycially when there's whiskey afoot, and
the Pensioner is asked to bring out his fiddle. Come up
the stairs, both o' ye, and see the wonderfu' places we
are passing. I'm thinking we have got to the end o' the
lochs and the islands at last and there is nothing left for
us but to go straight out into the sea. I hope it'll deal
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL 177
gently wi' us," added Lady Drum, with an involuntary
shiver.
When they went on deck, Coquette keeping close by
her uncle, as if she feared being addressed by a stranger,
it was clear that the good weather which had so far accom-
panied them showed no signs of breaking. Over the
blue western sea there was but the roughness of a slight
breeze, which Was only sufficient to fill the Caroline 's
sails ; while the jagged coast of the mainland, with the
mountains of Ardnamurchan and Moidart, lay steeped in
a faint mist under the morning sunlight. The yellow
light, too, from the east gleamed along the peaked hills
of the islands on their left, a drowsy and misty light that
blurred the horizon line where the gray-blue sky and the
gray-blue water faded into each other.
Lord Earlshope was surprised to hear the Minister
talk of returning immediately.
" We must, at all events, show Miss Cassilis the
wonders of Loch Scavaig and Coruisk." he said, " even
though you should have to go over to-morrow by Torren
to Broadford, and catch the steamer there. We shall make
Loch Scavaig this evening if the wind does not fail us."
"1 hope the wind will play no tricks with us," said
Lady Drum. " I shall never forget what I suffered in
this very place when I first went to Skye many years ago,
indeed, when Sir Peter and I were just married."
" You might wait a couple of months without catch-
ing such a chance as we have to-day," said Lord Earls-
hope. u But to return to this question of your stay.
Don't you mean to visit the Spar Cave, and go up Glen
Sligachan, and ascend the Quiraing ? "
It was with a dull sense of pain that Coquette heard
the reply. The Minister said there was no absolute hurry,
that his niece would probably like to visit those wild and
romantic scenes of which she must have heard and read.
Coquette accepted her fate mutely ; but she took the op-
portunity of saying, a few minutes afterwards, to Lady
Drum.
" I hope we shall not stay long in this place, this wild
1 7 8 A DA UGHTER OF HE TH.
island. It must be horrible and ghastly, from what the}
say."
" It is the most desolate and awful place it is possi-
ble to imagine," said Lady Drum ; " a place that reminds
you o' a world that had long ago suffered a judgment-day,
and been burned up wi } fire. For days after I saw it first
I used to dream about it, the black and still water, and
the twisted rocks and the stillness o' the place. It would
be fearfu' to be left alone there at night, wi' the sound
o' the burns running in the darkness."
Coquette shuddered.
" I will not go ashore," she said. " There is no reason
for our going ashore, if we must get back at once to
Airlie."
So the day wore on, and the stately Caroline, with her
bow coquettishly dipping to the waves, drew gradually to-
wards the north, passing the broad mouth of the Sound of
Sleat, and coming in view of the sharp rocks of Canna, be-
yond the mountains of Rum Island. They were now close
by the southern shores of Skye. Coquette became more
and more disturbed. It seemed to her that she was being
taken to some gloomy prison, from which no escape was
possible. Lady Drum continued to describe the sombre
and desolated appearance of the place they were going
to, until these pictures produced the most profound effect
on the girl's imagination. The Caroline seemed to go
forward through the water with a relentless persistency,
and Coquette, as the afternoon approached, and she saw
far in the north the misty outlines of the shore towards
which they were tending, gave way to an unreasoning,
despairing terror.
Lady Drum was amazed.
" You are not afraid o' rocks and water ? " she said.
" Afraid of them ? No," said the girl. " I am afraid
of the place, I know not why, and of our remaining there.
I would rather be away ; I would rather be going back.
It is a presentiment I have. I cannot understand it, but
it makes me tremble."
" That is foolish/' said Lady Drum. " You have not
been yourself since your cousin left."
A DAUGHTER OF HETlf.
179
" I wish he were here now," murmured Coquette.
" He would laugh you out of your fears," said the
elderly lady, in a cheerful way. " Come, rouse yourself
up, and dismiss those gloomy fancies of yours. We
shall see you to-morrow on a little Highland pony, going
around such precipices as are fit to take your breath
away ; and you will be as light-hearted and as careless as
if you were in my drawing-room at Castle Cawmil, with
an open piano before you. By the way, you have not
played us anything since your cousin left us at Oban."
" I cannot play just now," said Coquette, sitting calm
and cold, with her eyes fixed with a vague apprehensive-
ness on the coast they were drawing near.
" What a strange creature you are," said Lady Drum,
affectionately. " You are either all fire and sunshine,
or as deep and morose as a well on a dark day. There
is Lord Earlshope, who, I am certain, thinks he has
offended you ; and he keeps at a distance, and watches
ye in a penitent fashion, as if he would give his ears- to
see you laugh again. I think I maun explain to him
that it is no his fault "
" No, no, no, Lady Drum ! " exclaimed Coquette, in
a low voice. " You must not speak to him."
" Hoity toity ! Is he to believe that I have quar-
relled wi' him as well ; and are we a' to put the man in
irons in his own yacht? "
" Please don't tell him anything about me," pleaded
Coquette.
" But look at him at this moment," said Lady Drum,
with sudden compassion ; " look at him up at the bow
there, standing all by himself, without a human being
taking notice o' him, looking helplessly at naething,
and doubtless wondering whether he will get a word ad-
dressed to him at dinner. Is it fair, rny young lady, to
serve a man in that fashion in his own boat? "
" You may go and speak to him," said Coquette,
eagerly. " Yes, you must speak to him, but not about
me. He does not want to talk about me ; and you
would only put wrong things into his head. Please go,
Lady Drum, and talk xo him,"
jgo A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
" And what for should it rest on an old woman like
me to amuse a young man ! What for am I to talk to
him, and ye sitting here as mute and as mum as a
mouse ? "
" Because, because," said Coquette, with hesitation,
" because I think I am afraid of this island. I am not
angry with him, with anybody, but I I Oh, Lady
Drum ! '' she suddenly exclaimed, "won't you persuade
them to come away from this place at once, instead of re-
maining for days? I cannot do it I cannot remain. I
will go away by myself, if they will let me take the
steamer."
She spoke quite wildly, and Lady Drum looked at
her with some alarm.
4 I cannot understand a bit o' this," she said gravely.
" What for have ye a fear o' an island ? Or is it that
ye are so anxious to follow your cousin ? "
" I cannot tell you what it is," said Coquette, " for I
cannot explain in your language. It is a presentiment,
a terror, I do not know ; I only know that if we remain
in this island long "
She trembled so violently as she spoke that Lady
Drum feared the girl had been attacked by some nerv-
ous fever. Her face, too, was pale ; and the dark and
beautiful eyes were full of a strange lustre, obviously
the result of great excitement.
At this moment some order of the skipper recalled
the eyes of Coquette from looking vaguely over the sea
towards the south ; and as she turned her face to the
bow, Lady Drum felt the hand that held hers, tighten
its grasp, for the Caroline was slowly creeping in and
under the gloom of the weird Cuchullin Hills.
A DA UGIfTER OF HE 7 Y/. 1 8 1
CHAPTER XXVI.
CONFESSION AT LAST.
SUNSET in the wild Loch Scavaig. Far up amid the
shoulders and peaks of Garsven there were flashes of
flame and the glow of the western skies, with here and
there a beam of ruddy and misty light touching the sum-
mits of the mountains in the east ; but down here, in
the black and desolate lake, the bare and riven rocks
showed their fantastic forms in a cold gray twilight.
There was a murmur of streams in the stillness, and the
hollow silence was broken from time to time by the call
of wild-fowl. Otherwise the desolate scene was as
silent as death, and the only moving thing abroad was
the red light in the clouds. The Caroline lay motion-
less in the dark water. As the sunset fell the moun-
tains seemed to grow larger ; the twisted and precipitous
cliffs that shot down into the sea grew more and more
distant ; while a pale blue vapor gathered here and
there, as if the spirits of the mountains were advancing
under a veil.
Oddly enough, the terror of Coquette had largely
subsided when the Caroline had cast anchor. She re-
garded the gloomy shores with aversion and distrust ;
but she no longer trembled. Indeed, the place seemed
to have exercised some fascination over her ; for,
while all the others were busy with their own affairs, she
did not cease to scan with strange and wondering eyes
the sombre stretch of water, the picturesque and desolate
shore, and the mystic splendors of the twilight overhead.
She kept apart from her friends, and seemed even to re-
gard Lady Drum with a distant and apprehensive look.
Lady Drum resolved that she would speak to the
Minister when occasion offered. She was afraid that
jS2 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
this niece of his was an incomprehensible young person,
given over to visions and dreams, and requiring to be
kept well in hand.
Dinner was rather a gloomy affair. Lord Earlshope
seemed to consider that, for some reason or other, a con-
spiracy had been formed against him. He was very
courteous and quiet, but spoke chiefly to the Minister,
and that somewhat formally. Lady Drum in vain en-
deavored to be lively.
Suddenly the Minister seemed to perceive that there
was something wrong. He looked from one to the other ;
and at last he said,
" This wild scenery has had its effect upon us. We
have grown very grave, have we not, Lady Drum ? "
" I think we are downright solemn," said Lady Drum,
waking herself up as if from a nightmare. " I cannot
understand it. Miss Coquette, as I am told they some-
times ca' ye, what does it all mean ? "
Coquette looked up with a start.
" I do not know," she said. " To me these hills look
dreadful I am afraid of them. I should be glad to be
away."
Lord Earlshope did not reply to her, or endeavor to
reason her out of her vague impressions. On the con-
trary, he regarded her, when no one else was looking,
with a watchful and rather wistful scrutiny, which
seemed to leave rather a sad impression on his own face.
The night was cold, and, after dinner, no one pro-
posed to go on deck. Indeed, the autumn was rapidly
closing in upon them ; and there was comfort in the yel-
low light of the lamps, the warmth, and the open books
down below. Lord Earlshope and Lady Drum proceeded
to engage in a game of cribbage ; the Minister took up
a bundle of manuscripts ; Coquette receded into a
corner.
Then she stole out of the place, and went upon deck
How wonderful was the darkness now ! for it seemed to
burn with all manner of weird and fanciful lights. There
were white stars dancing on the water, one great planet
quivering on the dark plain as if it were a moon. The
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 183
moon itself was a thin sickle down in the south, far a-
way in a mystic world of green. Then over the peaks
of the Cuchullins there still lay the lambent traces of
the twilight, a pale, metallic, yellow glow, which was far
too faint to show on the black surface of the sea. A
wind had sprung up, too, and it brought with it the sound
of the mountain streams from out of the solemn stillness
of the night.
There came into her head the refrain of a song which
she used to hear the sailors sing in St. Naziire,
" Apres tro r s ans d' absence
Loin de France,
Ah ! quel beau jour,
Que le jour du retour ! "
"Why cannot I go back there ?" she murmured to
herself. " where there was no miserable days, no miser-
able nights ? I am terrified of this place, of the people,
of what I have become myself. If I could only fly away
down to the South, and hear them singing that on the
Loire,
' Ah ! quel beau jour,
Que le jour de retour J' K
that is what I would say also, when I saw old Nanette
come out running to see me, and she would laugh and
she would cry to see me."
The tears were running down her cheeks. Suddenly
there stood by her a tall figure in the darkness, and she
started to hear her own name pronounced.
" Why do you sit up here alone, Miss Cassilis ? "
said Lord Earlshope.
She could not answer. He took a seat beside her,
and said,
" There is another question I want to ask you. Why
have you avoided me these two days, and made me as
though I were a stranger to you ? Let us be frank with
each other. Are you vexed with me because, in a mo-
ment of foolishness which I deeply regret, I revealed
to you a secret which I ought to have kept to myself ? "
1 8 4 A DA UG HTER. OF HE TIT.
4 I atn not vexed,'' she said, in a low voice. " You
must not suppose that."
" But I must suppose something," he said. " Why
should I be your bete noire, from whom you must fly at
every conceivable moment ? If I appear on deck, you
seek refuge with Lady Drum or go feelow. If I go be-
low, you come on deck. If I join in a conversation, you
become silent. Why should this be so ? I proposed this
excursion, as you know, for your especial benefit. The
whole thing was planned merely because it might proba-
bly amuse you, and yet you are the only one on board
who seems unhappy. Why ? I broke my compact about
returning to Airlie after seeing you a day or two on the
voyage, partly through indolence, and partly because I
fancied I might make matters smooth and pleasant for
you if you went farther. I find, on the contrary, that I
have become a sort of bogey a kill-joy."
" Oh, no, it is not so ! " she said, hurriedly. " There
is no one in fault no one but myself."
"But you are not in fault," he protested. "There
has been no fault committed, and I want to know how
the old condition of affairs is to be restored. I cannot
bear to see you suffering this restraint from morning till
night. Rather than have you pass such another day as
I know you have passed to-day, I would row ashore this
moment, and take my chance of getting lodgings or
walking over to Broadford, so that you should have no
fear of to-morrow."
*' Oh, no, no ! " she said, in despair ; "you must not
do that. And you must not suppose that I am angry
with you. But after what you did say the other day "
" That is it," he said, in a tone of profound disap-
pointment. " I had already fancied my careless talk was
a blunder, but I see only now how irretrievable it is.
Well, I cannot help it. You shall not suffer the penalty
of my stupidity, however. To-morrow morning you shall
be free."
So he went away ; and she sat still, silent and im-
movable, with a great pain at her heart. She listened
to the murmur of the water along the shore, and it seemed
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. ^5
to have taken up the refrain that had been running in
her memory, only that it was more vague and more sad.
" Trots ans d 'absence. . . . loin de Fiance. . . .jourdu re-
tour ! " Again she was startled by the approach of some
one. She knew that Lord Earlshope had returned. He
brought with him a thick shawl, and he said in a some-
what formal and courteous way,
" Lady Drum asks you to put this around you, if you
prefer to remain on deck. But the night is chilly, and
you ought to go below, I think."
" I do not know why you should speak to me in that
tone," she said, with some slight touch of reproach in
her voice. " If all this unfortunate thing has happened,
why make it worse ? I hope you will not make us
strangers to each other, or think me ungrateful for all
the kindness that you did show to me."
For an instant he stood irresolute, and then he said
to her in so low a voice that it was scarcely heard in
the murmur of the sea,
" And I have to thank you for something also. You
have given me back a little of my old belief in the sweet-
ness and innocence of good women, and in the noble-
ness and the mystery of human life. That is not a light
matter. It is something to have some of one's old faith
back again, however dearly it may be bought. The price
has been perhaps heavier than you may have imagined.
I have striven this day or two back to make you believe
that I had almost forgotten what I told you. I shall
never forget it nor do I wish to. I may tell you that
now, when I am about to ask you to say good-bye. It
is not for you to be annoyed or troubled with such
matters. You will go back to Airlie. You will scarcely
remember that I ever told you my wretched and foolish
story. But I shall not go back to Airlie at least not
for a while ; and when we do meet again, I hope you will
have forgotten all this, and will not be afraid to meet me.
So good-bye now, for I shall not see you in the morn-
ing."
He held out his hand, but she made no response.
What was it he heard in the stillness of the night ?
! 8 6 A DA UGHTER OF HE TH
Moved by a great fear, he knelt down beside her, and
looked into her face. Her eyes were filled with tears,
and the sound he" had heard was that of a low and bitter
sobbing. There broke upon him a revelation far more
terrible than that which had informed him of his own
sorrow, and it was with a new anxiety in his voice that
he said to her,
" Why are you distressed ? It is nothing to you my
going away ? It cannot be anything to you, surely ? "
" It is very much your going away," she said, with
a calmness of despair which startled him. " I cannot
bear it. And yet you must go and never see me again.
That will be better for you and for me."
He rose to his feet suddenly, and even in the star-
light her tearful and upturned eyes saw that his face
was ghastly pale.
" What have I done ? What have I done ? " he ex-
claimed, as if accusing himself to the still heavens that
burned with their countless stars above him. " My
own blunders, my own weakness, I can answer for, I
can accept my punishment ; but if this poor girl has
been made to suffer through me, that is more than I
can bear. Coquette Coquette, tell me you do not
mean all this. You cannot mean it, you do not under-
stand my position, you tell me what it is madness to
think of ! What you say would be to any other man a
joy unspeakable, the beginning of a new life to him ;
but to me "
He shuddered only, and turned away from her.
She rose, and took his hand gently, and said to him, in
her low, quiet voice, ,
" I do not know what you mean, but you must not
accuse yourself for me, or give yourself pain. I have
made a confession, it was right to do that, for you were
going away, and you might have gone with a wrong
thought of me, and have looked back and said I was
ungrateful. Now you will go away knowing that I am
still your friend, that I shall think of you sometimes,
and that I shall pray never, never to see you any more
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. jS;
until we are old people, and we may meet and laugh
at the old stupid folly."
There was a calm sadness in her tone that was very
litter to him, and the next moment he was saying to
her, in a most a wild way, ,
" It shall not end thus. Let the past be past, Co-
quette, and the future ours. Look at the sea out there,
far Tway beyond that you and I may begin a new life ;
and the sea itself shall wash out all that we want to
forget. Will you come, Coquette ? Will you give up
all your pretty ways, and your quiet home, and your
amiable friends, to link yourself to a desperate man,
and snatch the joy that the people in this country
would deny us ? Let us seek a new country for our-
selves. You love me, my poor girl, don't you? and
see my hand trembles with the thought of being able
to take you away, and fight for you, and make for you
a new world, with new surroundings, where you would
have but one friend and one slave. What do you say,
Coquette ? Why should we two be forever miserable ?
Coquette ! "
She drew back from him in fear.
" I am afraid of you now," she said, with a strange
shudder. " You are another man. What are you ?
what are you ? Ah ! I do see another face "
She staggered backward, and then, with a quick,
wild cry, fell insensible. He sprang forward to catch
her, and he had scarcely done so when the Minister
hastily approached.
" What is the meaning of this ? " he said.
" She has been sitting too long alone," said Lord
Earlshope, as Lady Drum came quietly forward to
seize the girl's hands. " The darkness had got hold of
her imagination, and that wild light up there "
For at this moment there appeared over the black
peaks of the Cuchullins a great shifting flush of pink,
that shone up the dark skies and then died out in a circle
of pale violet fire. In the clear heavens this wild glare
gleamed and faded, so that the sea also had its pallid
colors blotting out the white points of the stars. Mr.
1 88 A DAUGHTER OF 11ETH.
Cassilis paid little attention to the explanation, but
it seemed reasonable enough ; for the girl, on com-
ing to herself, looked all around at this strange glow
of rose-color overhead, and again shuddered violently.
" She has been nervous all day," said Lady Drum ;
" she should not have been left alone."
They took her down below, but Lord Earlshope
remained above. In a little while he went down into
the saloon, where Mr. Cassilis sat alone, reading.
" Miss Cassilis will be well in the morning, I hope,"
he said, somewhat distantly.
" Oh, doubtless, doubtless. She is nervous and
excitable, as her father was, but it is nothing serious."
" I hope not," said Lord Earlshope.
He took out writing materials, and hastily wrote a
few lines on a sheet of paper, which he folded up and
put in an envelope. Then he bade Mr. Cassilis good-
night, and retired.
But towards midnight Coquette, lying awake, heard
cautious footsteps on deck, and the whispering voices
of the men. In the extreme silence her sense of hear-
ing was painfully acute. She fancied she heard one of
the boats being brought round. There was a moment's
silence, then the words, " Give way !'' followed by a
splash of oars.
She knew that Lord Earlshope was in the boat
which was now making for the shore through the dark-
ness of the night. All that had occurred on deck
seemed now but a wild dream. She knew only that he
had left them, perhaps never to see her again in this
world ; she knew only that her heart was full of sorrow,
and that her fast-flowing tears could not lessen the
aching pain.
A DAUGHTER OF HETIl- 189
CHAPTER XXVII.
"LOIN DE FRANCE.'*
A DULL gray day lay over Loch Scavaig. A cold,
wind came in from the sea, and moaned about the steep
rocks, the desolate hills, and the dark water. The wild
fowl were more than usually active, circling about in
flocks, restless and noisy, There were signs of a change
in the weather, and it was a change for the worse.
Mr. Cassilis was the first on deck.
" Please, sir," said the skipper, coming forward to
him, " his Lordship bade me say to ye that he had to
leave early this morning to catch the steamer, and didna
want to disturb ye. His Lordship hoped, sir, you and
my lady would consider the yacht your own while ye
stayed in it, and I will take your orders for anywhere
you please."
" What a strange young man ! " said the Minister to
himself, as he turned away.
He met Lady Drum, and told her what he had
heard.
" He is fair daft," said the elderly lady, with some
impatience. " To think of bringing us up nere to this
outlandish place, and leaving us without a word o*
apology ; but he was never to be reckoned on. I have
seen him get into a frightful temper, and walk out o' my
house, just because a young leddy friend o' mine would
maintain that he looked like a married man."
" How is my niece ? " said the Minister.
" I was about to tell ye, sir," returned Lady Drum,
in a cautious and observant way, " that she is still a little
feverish and excited. I can see it in her restlessness
and her look. It must have been coming on ; and last
night, -\vi' the darkness and the wildness o' this fearsome
place, and the red Northern Lights in the sky, it is no
wonder she gave way."
190
A DAUGHTER OF HE Th.
" But I hope it is not serious," said the Minister
hastily. " I know so little of these ailments that I must
ask ye to be mindful o' her, as if she were your ain bairn
and do with her what ye think proper. Is she coming
on deck ? "
" No,'' said Lady Drum, carefully watching the effect
of her speech as she proceeded. " She will be better to
lie quiet for the day. But we maun guard against her
having another shock. We must get away from here,
sir, directly."
" To be sure, to be sure," said the Minister, almost
mechanically. " Where shall we go ? "
" Let us go straight back to Oban, and from there
perhaps Miss Cassilis would prefer to go back to Green-
ock by way of the steamer/'
The skipper received his orders. Fortunateiy, al-
though the day was lowering and dismal, the wind did
not rise, and they had a comparatively smooth passage
southward. The Minister remained on deck, anxious
and disturbed ; Lady Drum was in attendance on Co-
quette.
The Minister grew impatient and a trifle alarmed
when no news came from his niece. At last he went
below and knocked at the door of her state-room. Lady
Drum came out, shut the door behind her, and went
with the Minister into the saloon.
" But how is she ? " said he. " Why does she keep
to her room if she can come out ? "
Lady Drum was evidently annoyed and embarrassed
by these questions, and answered them in a hesitating
and shuffling way. At length she said somewhat in-
sidiously,
" Ye do not understand French, Mr. Cassilis ? "
" No," said the Minister ; " I have never studied the
language of a nation whose history is not pleasant to
me."
" I once knew plenty of French," said Lady Drum,
" and even now manage to get through A letter to my
friends in Paris ; but her xapid talk, "
" Whose rapid talk?" said the Minister.
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. j Q i
" Why, your niece-
" Does she talk French ? " said he.
Lady Drum bit her lip and was silent ; she had blurted
out too much.
" You do not mean to say that Catherine is deliri-
ous ? " said the Minister, suddenly standing up with a
pale face, as if to meet and defy the worst news that
could reach him.
Lady Drnm hurriedly endeavored to pacify him. It
was nothing. It was but a temporary excitement. She
would recover with a little rest. But this tal-l, sad-faced
man would hear none of these explanations. He passed
Lady Drum, walked along and entered the state-room,
and stood by the little bed where his niece lay.
She saw him enter, and there was a smile of welcome
on her pale face. Perhaps it was the twilight, or the ex-
ceeding darkness and lustre of the eyes which were
fixed upon him, which made her look so pale ; but her
appearance then, with her wild dark hair lying loosely
on the white pillow, struck him acutely with a sense of
vague foreboding and pain.
" Is it you, papa ? " she said, quietly, and yet with a
strange look on her face. " Since I have been ill, I have
been learning English to speak to you, and I can speak
it very well. Only Nan-ette does not seem to understand,
she tires me, you must send her away "
With a weary look she let her face sink into the pil-
low.
" Catherine," said the Minister, with a great fear at
his heart, " don't you know me ?"
She did not answer or pay any attention for a. few
seconds, and then she said,
" Yes, of course I know. But you must teach me
how to sleep, papa, for there is a noise all around me,
and I cannot sleep. It is like waves, and my head is
giddy, and rocks with it and with the music. You must
keep Nanette from singing, papa, it vexes me, and it is
always the same tiois ans a' absence loin de France
a/i, qnel beau j out / and I hear it far away always
Nanette singing "
I9 2 A DAUGH7^ER OF HETH.
Lac.y Drum stole in behind the Minister, and laid her
hand on his arm.
"You must not be alarmed," she whispered. "This
is nothing but the excitement of yesterday, and she may
have caught a cold and made herself subject to a slight
fever."
The Minister said nothing, but stood in a dazed way,
looking at the girl with his sad gray eyes, and apparently
scarcely able to realize the scene before him.
"When shall we reach Tobermory?" he asked, at
length.
" In about two hours," said Lady Drum.
The girl had overheard, for she continued to murmur,
almost to herself,
" Shall we be home again, papa, in two hours, and go
up past St. Nazaire ? It is a long time since we were
there, so long ago it seems a mist, and we have been in
the darkness. Ah ! the darkness of last night out on the
sea, with the wild things in the air, the wild things in
the air, and the waves crying along the shore. It is
three years of absence, and we have been away in dreadful
places, but now there is home again, papa, home, and
Nannette is singing merrily now in the garden and my
mamma does come to the gate. Why does she not speak ?
Why does she go away ? Does she not know me any
more not know her little Coquette ? But see ! papa, it
is all going away : the garden is going back and back,
my mamma has turned her face away, and I can scarcely
see her for the darkness, have we not got home, not yet,
after all? for it is away now in the mist, and I can see
nothing, and not even hear Nanette singing."
The Minister took the girl's hand in his ; great tears
were running down his cheeks, and his voice was broken
with sobs.
" My girl, we shall be home presently. Do not dis
tress yourself about it ; lie still, the boat is carrying you
safely home."
He went on deck ; he could not bear to look any
more on the beautiful, wistful eye$ that seemed to him
full of entreaty. They carried a cruel message to him,
A DAUGHTtt VF HE Til.
193
like the dumb look of pain that is in an animal's eyes
when it seeks relief and none can be given. Impatiently
he watched the yacht go down through the desolate
waste of gray sea, the successive headlands and bays
slowly opening out as she sped on. He paced up and
down the narrow strip of deck, wearing for the boat to
get around Ardnamurchan. It was clearly impossible
for them to reach Oban that night ; but surely there
would be a doctor in Tobermory, who could give Lady
Drum sufficient directions.
The evening was getting dusk as they bore down
upon the Sound of Mull. Coquette had fallen into a
deep sleep, and her constant nurse and attendant was re-
joiced. The Minister, however, was not a whit less anx-
ious, and it was with eager eyes that he scanned the
narrowing distance between the prow of the yacht and
Tobermory Bay. At length the Caroline reached her
berth for the night, and the anchor was scarcely let go
when the Minister got into the pinnace and was rapidly
rowed ashore. A few minutes afterwards he was again
in the boat, carrying with him the doctor ; while Lady
Drum had gone on deck to see that the sailors postponed
the more noisy of their operations until Coquette should
have awoke from her slumbers.
The Minister's first notion that was his niece should
be taken ashore as soon as they got near a habitable
house. But, apart from the danger of the removal, could
she be better situated in a Tobermory cottage than in
this little cabin, where she could have the constant care
of Lady Drum ? The present consultation afforded him
some relief. It was probably only a slight fever, the re-
sult of powerful nervous excitement and temporary weak-
ness of the system. She was to remain where she was,
subject to the assiduous attentions of her nurse ; a phy-
sician was to be consulted when they reached Oban
and, if circumstances then warranted it, she might be'
gently taken south in the yacht to her own home.
Next day, however, the fever had somewhat increased,
and the wild imaginings, the pathetic appeals, and the
incoherent ramblings of the girl's delirium grew in in-
l g 4. A DA UGHTER OF HE TH.
tensity. The bizarre combinations of all her recent ex-
periences were so foreign to all probability that her
nurse paid but little attention to them, although she was
sometimes deeply affected by the pathetic reminiscences
of her charge, or by the lurid descriptions of dark sea
scenes which were apparently present to the girl's imag-
ination with a ghastly distinctness. Yet through all
these fantastic groupings of mental phenomena there
ran a series of references to Lord Earlshope, which
Lady Drum was startled to find had some consistency.
They occurred in impossible combinations with other
persons and things ; but they repeated, with a strange
persistency,the same impressions, On the afternoon of
the day on which they arrived at Oban, the physician
having come and gone, Coquette beckoned her companion
to sit down by her. She addressed her as Nanette, as
she generally did, mistaking her elderly friend for her
old nurse.
" Listen, Nanette. Yesterday I did see something
terrible. I cannot forget it," she said, in a low voice,
with her dark eyes apparently watching something in
the air before her. " It was Lord Earlshope coming
over the sea to me, walking on the water, and there
was a glare of light around him ; and he seemed an
angel that had come with a message, for he held some-
thing in his hand to me, and there was a smile on his
face. You do not know him, Nanette, it is no matter.
All this happened long ago, in another country, and now
that I am home again it is forgotten, except when I
dream. Are you listening, poor old Nanette ? As he
came near the boat, I held out my hand to save him
from the waves. Ah ! the strange light there was. It
seemed to grow day, although we were up in the north,
under the black mountains, and in the shadow of the
night-clouds. I held out my hand to him, Nanette ; and
he had almost come to me, and then and then there
was a change, and all the light vanished, and he dropped
down into the sea, and in place of Lord Earlshope there
was a fearful thing, a devil, that laughed in the water,
and swam around, and I ran back for fear. There was
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
'95
a red light around him in the sea, and he laughed, and
stretched up his hands. Oh, it was dreadful dreadful,
Nanette ! " the girl continued, moaning and shuddering.
" I cannot close my eyes but I see it, and yet, where is
the letter I got before he sank into the water ? "
She searched underneath her pillow for the note
which Lord Earlshope had left for her on the night be-
fore he went. She insisted on Lady Drum reading it.
The old lady opened the folded bit of paper, and read
the following words, " / was mad last night. I do not
know what I said. Forgive me, for I cannot forgive my-
self
What should she do with this fragment of corres-
pondence which now confirmed her suspicions ? If she
were to hand it back to the girl it was probable she might
in her delirium give it to Mr. Cassilis, who had enough
to surfer without it. After all, Lady Drum reflected,
this note criminated no one ; it only revealed the fact
that there was some connection between Lord Earls-
hope's sudden departure and the wild scene of the night
before. She resolved to retain that note in her posses-
sion for the meantime, and give it back to Coquette
when the girl should have recovered.
" May I keen this message for a little whil^ "* " sb"
asked, gently
Coquette looked at it, and turned away her heaa ana
murmured to herself,
" Yes, yes, let it go, it is the last bit of what is now
all past and gone. Why did I ever go away from
France, up to that wild place in the north, where the
night has red fire in it, and the sea is full of strange
faces ? It is all past and gone. Nanette, Nanette, have
1 told you of all that I saw in Scotland, of the woman
who did take my mother's crucifix from me, and the old
man I used to fear, and the Highlander, and my brave
Cousin Tom, and my uncle, and and another who has
got no name now ! I should not have gone there, away
from you, my poor, old Nanette, but now it is all over,
and 1 am come home again. How pleasant it is to be in
the warm south again, Nanette ! I shall never leave
, 9 6 A DAUGHTER OF IIETtL
France any more, I will stay here, under the bright skies,
and we shall go down to the river, as we used to do, and
you will sing to me. Nanette, Nanette, it is a pretty song,
but so very sad ; do you not know that this is the day of
our return to France, that we are at home now, at
home ? "
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AFTER MANY DAYS.
IT was a Sunday morning in winter. For nearly a
fortnight Airlie Moor had been lying under a " black
frost/' The wind that whistled through the leafless
woods, and swept over the hard ground, was bitterly
cold ; the sky was gray and cheerless ; the far stretch
of the sea was more than usually desolate. The frost
had come soon on the heels of autumn, and already all
the manifold signs of life which had marked the summer
were nipped off and dead. The woods were silent ; the
murmur of the moorland rivulet had been hushed, for
its narrow channel contained a mass of ice ; and the
stripped and bare fields over which the wintry wind
blew were hard as iron.
Then there was one night's snow, and in a twinkling
the whole scene was changed. On the Saturday night
a certain stranger had arrived in Ardrossan, and put up
at an inn there. He had come down from Glasgow in
a third-class carriage, and had a sufficiently cheerless
journey. But now, on this Sunday morning, when he
got up and went out, lo ! there was a new world all
around him. The sun was shining brightly over the
great white fields, the trees hung heavy with the snow,
the straggling groups of men and women coming in
from the country to church moved ghostlike and silent
along the white roads, and the sea outside had caught
A DAUGHTER OF If E 777.
'97
a glimmer of misty yellow from the sunlight, and was al-
most calm. The bright and clear atmosphere was ex-
hilarating, although yet intensely cold ; and as this soli-
tary adventurer issued forth from the town, and took his
way to the high country, the frosty air brought a glow
of color into his young and healthy face. The frost had
evidently neither stiffened his limbs nor congealed his
blood ; and yet even when the brisk exercise had made
him almost uncomfortably warm, he still kept his Scotch
cap well down over his forehead, while the collar of his
top-coat was pulled up so as to conceal almost the whole
of the rest of his face.
His light and springy step took him rapidly over the
ground, and his spirits rose with the clear air and the
joyous exercise. He began to sing " Drumclog," Sun-
day morning as it was. Then, when he had gained a
higher piece of country, and turned to look around him
on the spacious landscape, when he saw the far hills and
the valleys shining white in the sunlight, the snow lying
thick and soft on the evergreens, and the sea grown
blue and silvery around the still whiteness of the land,
he drew a long breath, and said to himself,
" Isn't it worth while to live twenty years in Glas-
gow to catch a glimpse of such a picture as that, and
get a mouthful of the clear air ? "
By and by he came in sight of Airlie, and then he
moderated his pace. Over the silence, of the snow he
could hear the sharp clanging of the church bell. A
dark line of stragglers was visible on the whiteness of
the moor, leading over to the small church, the roof of
which sparkled in the sunlight. Beyond that again,
and higher up, was the dusky wall of the Manse, over
which looked some of the windows of the small house.
One of the panes caught the sun at an angle, and sent
out into the clear atmosphere a burning ray of light,
which glittered over the moor like a yellow star.
At last he came to a dead stop, by the side of a
piece of coppice. He heard voices behind him, and,
turning, saw two or three people coming up the road.
Evidently wishing to avoid them, he jumped over the
I9 8 A DAUGHTER OF HTH.
low hedge by the side of the path, and made his way a
little distance into the wood. The thickness and - -
ness of the feathery snow deadened every sound
But when he looked towards the road again, he saw
that down through the leafless trees it might be possible
for any one to descry him ; and so he went on again,
gradually going down into a slight hollow, until sud-
denly, he found himself confronted by a man. The two
looked at each other ; the one alarmed, the other an-
noyed. At last the elder of the two called out,
" Cot pless me, is it you, indeed and mirover ! :
The younger of the two men did not answer, but
went past the other, and, after a brief search, picked up
a bit of string and wire which lay plainly marked on the
snow.
" Neil, Neil, is this how ye spend the Sabbath morn-
ing ? " said he.
" And wass ye thinking sat bit o' string wass mine ? '
said Neil, indignantly, "when it is John M'Kendrick
will ask me to go out and watch sa men frae the iron-
works sat come up to steal sa rabbits ! "
" Oh ! ye were sent out to watch the poachers ? "
" Jist sat," said Neil the Pensioner, looking rather
uncomfortably at the snare in the other's hands.
" Do ye ken where leears gang to ? " said the Whaup,
for he it was.
"Toots, toots, man ! " said the Pensioner, insidiously,
" what is sa harm if a body rins against a bit rabbit.
There is mair o' them san we can a' eat ; and when ye
stand in sa wood, wi' your legs close, sey rin jist clean
against your feet, and it will pe no human man could
keep sa fingers aff. And what for are ye no at sa kirk
yersel', Maister Tammas ? "
" Look here, Neil," said the Whaup, decisively. " I
have come down from Glasgow for an hour or, so, and
nobody in Airlie maun ken anything about it. Do ye
understand ? As soon as the folk are in church, I am
going up to the Manse, and I will make Leezibeth swea/
not to tell. As for you, Neil, if ye breathe a word o't,
I'll hae ye put in Ayr gaol for poaching."
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 199
" It wassna poaching," said Neil, in feeble protest.
" Now tell me all about the -Airlie folk," said the
Whaup. " What has happened ? What have they been
doing ? "
" Ye will ken sat nothing ever happens in Airlie,"
said Neil, with a slight touch of contempt. "There
hassna been a funeral or any foregatherin' for a lang
time, and there is mair change in you, Maister Tammas
than in Airlie. You will have pecome quite manly-like,
and it is only sa short while you will pe away. Mir-
over, sare is more life going on in Glasgow, eh, Maister
Tammas?"
The old Pensioner spoke wistfully about Glasgow,
which he knew had plenty of funerals, marriages, and
other occasions for dram-drinking.
" Is my cousin as much better as they said ? "
" Oh, she will pe much petter, but jist as white as
the snaw itsel'. I wass up to see her on sa Wednesday
nicht, and she will say to me, 'Neil, where iss your
fiddle ? ' but who would ha' socht o' taking up sa fiddle ?
And I did have a dram, too."
" Probably," said the Whaup. " Lord Earlshope,
what has become of him ? "
" Nobody will know what hass come to him, for he
is not here since sey all went away in sa yacht. I tit
hear, mirover, he wass in France, and sare is no know-
ing what will happen to a man in sat country, ever
since Waterloo. But Lord Earlshope will pe safer if
he will tell them sat he is English. Sey canna bear sa
Scotch ever since what we did at Waterloo, as I will
have told you often ; but sa English, I do not sink it
will matter much harm to them in France."
" I should think not, Neil. It was the Highlanders
settled them that day, wasn't it ? " .
" I will tell you," said Neil, drawing himself up to
his full height. " It wass Corporal Mackenzie said to
me, at six o'clock in sa morning, ' Neil/ said he, ' sare
will be no Bonypart at the end o' this day, if I can get
at him wis my musket.' Now Corporal Mackenzie was
a strong, big man "
200 * DAUGHTER OF HETtl.
" Neil, you have told me all that before/' said the
Whaup. " I know that you and Corporal Mackenzie took
a whole battery captive, men, horses, and guns. You
told me before."
"And if a young man hass no pride in what his
country hass done ; if he will not hear it again and
again," said Neil, with indignation, " it is not my fault.
" Another time, Neil, we will go over the story from
end to end. There, the bells have just stopped. I must
get on now to the Manse. Remember, if you let a hu-
man being know you saw me in Airlie this day, it will
be Ayr gaol for ye."
The Pensioner laughed, and said,
" You wass always a goot hand at a joke, Maister
Tarn mas."
" Faith, you won't find it any joke, Neil," said the
Whaup, as he bade good-bye to the old man, and went
off.
As he crossed the moor, the white snow concealing
deep ruts filled with crackling ice, into which he fre-
quently stumbled, he saw the beadle come out and
shut the outer door of the church. Not a sign of life
was now visible as far as the eye could see, only the
white heights ind hollows with dark lines of hedges,
and the gray twilight of the woods. The sun still shone
on the Manse windows, and, as he drew near, a thrush
flew out of one of the short firs in front of the house,
bringing down a lot of snow with the flutter of its
wings.
He lifted the latch gently, and walked into the front
garden. A perfect stillness reigned around the small
building. Everybody was evidently at church unless,
indeed, Leezibeth might have been left with Coquette
The Whaup looked over the well-known scene of many
an exploit. He slipped around the house, too, into the
back garden. A blackbird flew out of one of the bushes
with a cry of alarm. A robin came hopping forward on
the snow, and cocked up its black and sparkling eye to
get a look at the intruder. There were two or three
round patches of snow on the walls of the stable, and
A DA UGHTEK OF HE Tlf. 2 O I
the Whaup, recognizing these traces, knew that his
brothers must have been having high jinks there that
morning before the Manse had awoke.
Then he went back and cautiously entered the hall.
What was this low and monotonous sound he heard issu-
ing from the parlor ? He applied his ear to the door,
and heard Leezibeth reading out, in a measured and
melancholy way, a chapter of Isaiah.
" What does that mean ? " thought the Whaup.
" She never used to read to herself. Can she be reading
to Coquette ? and is that the enlivening drone with which
she seeks to interest an invalid ? "
It seemed to him, also, that if Leezibeth were read-
ing to Coquette, she was choosing passages with a sin-
ister application. He heard the monotonous voice go
on : " Come down, and sit in the dust, O virgin daugJitcrof
Babylon ; sit on the gtound ; thete is no throne, O daughter
of the Chaldeans ; for than sJialt no more be called tender
and delicate" The cheeks of the Whaup began to burn
red with something else than the cold. He knew not that
Leezibeth had altogether overcome her old dislike for the
girl, and waited on her with an animal-like fondness and
submissiveness. The Whaup took it for granted that
these texts were chosen as a reproof and admonition
part of the old persecution and so, without more ado,
he opened the door brusquely and walked in.
A strange scene met his eyes. Coquette, pale and
deathlike, lay on a sofa, with her large dark eyes fixed
wistfully on the fire. She evidently heard nothing.
Leezibeth sat on a chair at the table, with a large Family
Bible before her. There was no trace of a sick room in
this hushed and warm apartment, in which the chief light
was the red glow of the fire ; and yet it was so silent,
save for the low murmuring of these texts, and the girl
looked so sad and so phantom-like, that a great chill laid
hold of his heart. Had they been deceiving him in their
Betters ?
202 .A DA CGHTER OF HE 777.
CHAPTER XXIX.
COQUETTE'S DREAMS.
TB Whaup went over to the sofa, and knelt down
on one knee, and took Coquette's hand.
" Coquette," said he, forgetting to call her by any
other name, " are you ill yet ? Why are you so pale ?
Why did they tell me you were almost better ? "
She was pale no longer. A quick flush of surprise
and delight sprang to her face when she saw him enter,
and there was a new life and pleasure in her eyes as she
said rapidly,
" You are come all the way from Glasgow to see me ?
I was thinking of you, and trying to make a picture of
Glasgow in the coal and flames of the fire, and I had
begun to wonder when you would come back, and whether
it would be a surprise and and I did think I did hear
something in the snow outside, and it was really you ?
And how well you look, Tom," she added, with her dark
eyes full of a subtle tenderness and joy, regarding the
young man's handsome and glowing face. " How big
and strong you seem ; but, do you know, you seem to be
a great deal older ? You have been working very hard,
Tom ? Ah, I do know ! And you have come to stay
for awhile ? And what sort of a house have you been
living in ? And what sort of a place is Glasgow ? Sit
down on the hearth-rug and tell me all about it ! "
She spoke quite rapidly, and, in her gladness and ex-
citement, she tried to raise herself up a bit. The Whaup
instantly offered her his assistance, and propped up the
cushions on which her head rested. But why did he not
speak ? He did not answer one of her questions. He
looked at her in a vague and sad way, as if she were
some object far away, and she fancied she saw a tremor
about his lips. Then he said suddenly, with a sharpness
which startled her,
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 203
"Why was I not told? Wh^ did they make light
of it ? What have they been doing to let you get as ill
as this ? "
He rose and turned with a frown on his face, as if to
accuse Leezibeth of being the cause of the girl's illness.
Leezibeth had quietly slipped out of the room.
" What does that woman mean by persecuting you
with her texts ? " he asked.
Coquette reached out her hand, and brought him
down to his old position beside her.
" You must not say anything against Leesiebess ;
she is my very good friend, and so kind that she does not
know how to serve me. And you must not look angry
like that, or I shall be afraid of you ; you seem so much
greater and older than you were, and I have no longer
any control over you, as I did use to have when you
were a boy, you know."
The V/haup laughed, and sat down on the hearth-rug
beside her. The fire heightened the warm glow of his
face, and touched here and there the brown masses of
curling hair ; but it was clear that some, firmness, and
perhaps a touch of sadness, had been added to the lad's
expression during those few months he had been away
from home. There was a gravity in his voice, too, which
had replaced the buoyant carelessness of old.
" It is comfortable to be near one's own fire, and to
see you again, Coquette," said he.
" It is miserable away in Glasgow ? " she said. " This
morning, when I saw the snow, I thought of you in the
di ear town, and did wonder what you were doing. ' It
is Sunday,' I said. ' He will go to church in the morn-
ing, and then he will go outside the town for a walk all
by himself. He will go through the great gate, and under
the big walls. All the trees on the side of the
fortifications will be bare and heavy with snow; and
the people that pass along the boulevards outside the
walls will be muffled up and cold. In the gardens of the
cafes the wooden benches will be wet and deserted. Then
I see you walk twice around the town, and go in again by
the gate. You go home, you have dinner, you take a
2-04
A DAUGHTER OF HETlf.
book, perhaps it is the French Testament, I gave you, and
you think of us here at Airlie. And when you sit like
that do you think of the sea, and the old church up here
and the moor ? and do you see ^s as clearly as I can see
you ? and could you speak to me if only the words would
carry ? "
He listened as if he were listening to the record of a
dream ; and strangely enough, it coincided with many a
dream that he had dreamed by himself in the solitude
of his Glasgow lodging.
" What a curious notion of Glasgow you have," he
said. " You seem to think it is like a French town. There
are no fortifications. There are no walls, no boulevards
around the place, nor public gardens with benches.
There is a close network of streets in the middle, and
these lose themselves on the one side in great masses of
public works and chimneys that stretch out into dirty
fields that are sodden with smoke, and on the other side
into suburbs where the rich people have big houses.
There is nothing in the way of ramparts or moats or for-
tifications ; but there is a cannon in the West-End
Park."
" There is a park, then ? It is not all houses and
chimneys?"
"There are two parks that let you see nearly down to
Airlie. On the clear days I go up to the highest point
and look away down here, and wonder if I could call to
Coquette, and if she would hear."
"You do think of me sometimes, then ? " said she
with the dark eyes grown wistful and a trifle sad.
Had he not thought of her ! What was it that seemed
to sweeten his life in the great and weary city but ten-
der memories of the girl away down in that moorland
nook ? In the time of constant rain, when the skies
were dark, and the roaring traffic of the streets ploughed
its way through sludge and mud, he thought of one spot
over which, in his imagination, there dwelt perpetual sun-
shine and a blue sky. When he was sick of the noise
and the smoke sick, too, of the loneliness of the great
city- he could think of the girl far away, whose face
A DAUGHTER OF HE1IL 205
was as pure and sweet as a lily in springtime, and the
very memory of her seemed to lighten his dull little room,
and bring a fragrance to it. Did not Airlie lie in the direc-
tion of the sunsets ? Many a time, when he had gone
^ut from the city to the heights of Maryhill or Hillhead,
the cloudy and wintry afternoon broke into a great mass
of fire away along the western horizon ; and he loved to
think that Coquette was catching that glimmer of yellow
light, and that she was looking over the moor towards
Arran and the sea. All the sweet influences of life
hovered around AirJie ; there seemed to be always sun-
shine there. And when he went back into the gloom of
the city, it was with a glad heart, for he had got a glimpse
of the favored land down in the west ; and if you had
been walking behind a tall and stalwart lad, whose
shoulders were as flat as a board, and whose brown
hair was in considerable profusion around a face that
was full of courage and hope and health, you would have
heard him sing, high over the roar of the carts and the
carriages, the tune of " Drumclog " heeding little
whether any one was listening to his not very melodious
voice.
" You must have been much worse than they told
me," he said, gravely.
" But I am getting very well now," said Coquette,
with a smile ; " and I am anxious to be quite better, for
they did spoil me here. I do not like to be an invalid."
" No," said the Whaup. " I suppose you'd rather
be scampering about like a wild pony over the moor,
flinging snowballs, and shouting with laughter."
" I did not know that the wild pony was good at
snowballs or at laughing," said Coquette. " But you
have not told me anything about Glasgow yet. What
you do there ? Have you seen Lady Drum since she
went away from here, after being very kind to me ?
How do you like the college ? "
"All that is of no consequence," said the Whaup.
" I did not come here to talk about myself. I came to
see you, and find out why you were remaining so long
indoors."
2o5 A DAUGHTER OF HETIT.
if But I do desire you to talk about yourself," said
Coquette, with something of her old imperiousness of
manner.
" I sha'n't," said the Whaup. " I have grown older
than you since I went to Glasgow, and I am not to be
ordered about. Besides, Coquette. I haven't above half
an hour more to stay."
" You do not go away to-day ? " said Coquette, with
alarm in her face.
" I go away in less than half an hour, or my father
will be home. Not a human being must know that I
have come to Airlie to-day. I mean to exact a solemn
vow from Leezibeth."
" It is wicked, it is wrong," said Coquette.
" Why not say it is a beastly shame, as you used to
do ? '' asked the Whaup.
" Because I have been reading much since I am ill,
and have learned much English," said Coquette ; and
then she proceeded with her prayers and entreaties that
he should remain at least over the day.
But the Whaup was inexorable. He had fulfilled
the object of his mission, and would depart without any-
body being a bit the wiser. He had seen Coquette
again ; had listened to her tender voice, and assured
himself that she was really convalescent and in good
spirits. So they chattered in the old familiar fashion,
as if they were boy and girl together. But all the time
Coquette was regarding him, and trying to say to her-
self what the inexpressible something was which had
made a difference in the Whaup's manner. He was
not downcast, on the contrary he talked to her in the
frank, cheerful, abrupt way which she knew of old ; and
yet there was a touch of determination, of seriousness
and decision, which had been quite recently acquired.
In the mere outward appearance of his face, too, was
there not some alteration ?
" Oh, Tom ! " she cried, suddenly, " you have got
whiskers."
" What if I have ? " he said, coolly. " Are you sorry
Miss Coquette, that nature has denied to woman that
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 2 o 7
and he stroked with satisfaction the
dusky golden down which was on his cheeks and chin.
" I do believe," said Coquette, " you did come from
Glasgow to show me your whiskers."
" You don't seem to admire them as much as you
ought to," he remarked. " Yet there are many men
who would give something for these, though they are
young as yet."
" Oh, you vain boy ! " said Coquette. " I am
ashamed of you. And your fashionable cuffs, too, you
are not a proper student. You ought to be pale and
gloomy, with shabby clothes and a hungry face. But
you have no links in your cuffs, Tom," she added,
rather shyly. " Would you let me would you accept
from me as a present a pair I have got ? "
" And go back to college with a pair of girl's links
in my sleeves ! " said the Whaup.
" But they are quite the same," said Coquette. " It
will give me great pleasure if you will take them."
She rang for Leezibeth, and bade her go up to her
room and fetch those bits of jewelry ; and when Leezi-
beth came back with them Coquette would herself put
them in her cousin's sleeves, an operation which, from
her recumbent position, she effected with a little diffi-
culty. As the Whaup looked at these pretty ornaments,
four small and dark-green cameos set in an old-fashioned
circle of delicately twisted gold wire, he said,
" I wonder you have left yourself anything, Coquette.
You are always giving away something or other. I
think it is because you are so perfect and happy in your-
self that you don't need to care for anything else."
The girl's face flushed slightly with evident pleasure ;
but she said,
" If you do call me, ' Coquette,' I will call you ' The
Whaup.'
" Who told you to call me that ? "
" I have heard it often. Yet it is not fair. You are
not any more a wild boy, but a student and a man.
Neither am I ' Coquette.' "
Yet at this very moment the deceitful young creature
2 o8 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
was trying her best to make him forget the peril he was
in. She knew that if the people returning from church
were to find him in the house, his secret would be lost,
and he would be forced to remain. So she talked and
questioned him without ceasing, and had made him alto-
gether forget that time was passing rapidly, when
suddenly there was a noise without.
" By Jove ! " said the Whaup, 4 they have come back.
I must bolt out by the garden and get down the wall.
Good-bye, Coquette, get well soon, and come up to see me
in Glasgow."
He darted out, and met Leezibeth in the passage.
He had only time to adjure her not to say he had been
there, and then he got quickly through to the back-door.
In rushing out he fairly ran against his brother Wattie,
and unintentionally sent him flying into an immense
heap of soft snow which Andrew had swept along the
path. The Whaup did not pause to look at his brother
wriggling out, blinded and bewildered, from the snow
drift. He dashed through the garden, took hold of a
pear-tree, clambered on to the wall, and dropped into the
snow-covered meadow outside. He had escaped.
But Wattie, when he came to himself, was struck
with a great fear. He ran into the house and into the
parlor, almost speechless between sobbing and terror,
as he blurted out,
" Oh, Leezibeth ! oh, Leezibeth ! the deil has been
in the house. It was the deil himsel' and he was fleeing
out at the back-door, and he flung me into the snaw, and
then gaed up into the air, wi' a crack like thunder.
It was the deil himsel,' Leezibeth, what'll I dae ? what'll
I dae ? "
" Havers, havers, havers ! " cried Leezibeth, taking
him by the shoulders and bundling him out of the room.
" Do ye think the deil would meddle wi' you,? Gang butt
the house, and take the snaw off your clathes, and let
the deil alane ! Ma certes, a pretty pass if we are to be
frightened out o' our senses because a laddie tumbles
in the snaw !"
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
209
CHAPTER XXX.
ON THE WAV.
THE Whaup got clear away from the people coming out
of church by striking boldly across the moor. His back
was turned to the sea, his face to the east ; he was on
his way to Glasgow. Briskly and lightly he strode over
the crisp, dry snow, feeling but little discomfort, except
from some premonitory qualms of hunger ; and at length
he got into the broad highway which follows the chan-
nel of the Ayrshire lochs from Dairy on by the valley
of the Black Cart towards Paisley.
It was a bright, clear day, and he was in th.e best of
spirits. Had he not talked for a brief while with Co-
quette, and seen for himself that there was a glimpse of
the old tenderness and sauciness and liveliness in her soft
and merry black eye ? He had satisfied himself that she
was really getting better ; and that on some distant day
of the springtime, when a breath of the new, sweet air
would come in to stir the branches of the trees in the
West-End Park, he would have the -honor and delight of
escorting his foreign cousin towards that not very ro-
mantic neighborhood, and pointing out to her the spot
in the horizon under which Arlie was supposed to lie.
When would the springtime come ? he thought, as
he began to munch a biscuit. Was it possible that his
imaginative picture would come true ? Would Coquette
actually be seen in Glasgow streets, crossing over in
front of the Exchange, walking down Buchanan Street,
and perhaps up on the little circle around the flag in the
South-Side Park ? Would Coquette really and truly walk
into that gloomy square inside the old College, and look
at the griffins, and perhaps shyly steal a glance at the
210 A DA UGHTEK OF HE TV/.
red-coated young students lounging around ? Glasgow
began to appear less dull to him. A glamour fell over
the gray thoroughfares, and even the dinginess of the
High Street became picturesque.
" Why, all the sparrows in the street will know that
Coquette has come ; and the young men in the shops
will brighten themselves up ; and Lady Drum will take
her to the theatre, in spite of my father ; and all the
bailies will be asking Sir Peter for an introduction.
And Coquette will go about like a young princess, hav-
ing nothing in the world to do but to be pleased ! "
So he struck again with his stick at the snow on the
hedge, and quickened his pace, as though Glasgow were
now a happy end to his journey. And he lifted up his
voice, and sang aloud, in his joy, the somewhat desola-
ting tune of " Coleshill " even as the Germans, when at
their gayest, invariably begin to sing,
" Ich \veiss nicht was soil es bedeuten,
Dass ich so traurig bin."
The Whaup had not the most delicately modulated
voice, but, such as it was he had plenty of it.
Presently, however, he stopped, for right in front of
him there appeared a solitary horseman. There was
something in the rider's figure familiar to him. Who was
this that dared to invade the quiet of these peaceful dis-
tricts by appearing on horseback on a Sunday morning ?
As he drew near the Whaup suddenly remembered that
not a word had been said by Coquette of Lord Earlshope.
The sunlight faded utterly out of the landscape. All
the joyous dreams he had been dreaming of Coquette
coming to Glasgow grew faint and vanished. He had
quite forgotten Lord Earlshope ; and now, it became
evident, here he was, riding along the main road in the
direction of Airlie.
As Lord Earlshope came near, he drew up his horse.
He was clad, the Whaup observed, in a large Russian-
looking overcoat, which had plenty of warm fur around
the neck of it. He looked, indeed, more like a foreigner
A DA UGHTER OF HE TJf. 2 . l
than a country gentleman riding along an Ayrshire
toward his own estates.
No less surprised was Lord Earlshope to meet his
boon companion of old.
" Why," he said, " I thought you had left Airlie."
" I thought the same of you," said Mr. Tom.
Lord Earlshope laughed.
" I am obeying a mere whim " he said, " in riding down
to Earlshope. I shall probably not stay an hour. How
are all the people in Airlie ? "
" I don't know," said the Whaup ; "J have myself
been there for about an hour, and no more."
" At least you know how your cousin, Miss Cassilis,
is ? '' said Lord Earlshope, in a grave tone of voice.
" Yes," said the Whaup, '* she is still an invalid, you
know, but she is on the fair way to a complete recovery."
" I am glad of that," said Lord Earlshope, hastily.
" I am glad of that, for I may not be able to call to see
how she is. In fact, I am rather pressed for time this
morning. You are sure she is getting well ? "
" Yes, I hope so," said the Whaup.
" And will soon be about again ? "
' Yes, I hope so,' J said the Whaup, regarding with
some curiosity the engrossed and absent way in which
the other put his rapid questions.
Lord Earlshope turned around his horse.
" Look here, 5 ' he said, " I don't wish to be seen about
this place and I don't think I shall go on to Airlie. I
only wanted to make some inquiries about your cousin.
What you tell me has satisfied me that she is not so ill
as I had feared. Where are you going ? "
" I am walking to Glasgow," said the Whaup.
" To Glasgow," said the other. " You won't be there
before night ! "
" That is not of much consequence."
" I will go to Glasgow with you, if you like. We can
take the horse alternately."
" The horse would think you were mad if you were to
walk him all the way up to Glasgow in this snow," said
the Whaup.
2 j 2 A DA UGHTER OF HETH.
" True, true," said Lord Earlshope, absently. :( I
shall strike across country for Largs, and put up there.
You saw your cousin to-day ? "
" Yes."
" And she is not very much of an invalid ? "
" Well, I hope she is getting better," said the Whaup.
" Thank you, thank you," said Lord Earlshope.
" You need not say you have seen me. Good -day to
you ! "
So he turned his horse once more, and rode on, with
an obviously preoccupied air.
" There goes a man," said the Whaup, watching him
disappear, " as mad as a March hare, and madder."
Yet, as he walked on, he found that this brief inter-
view had strangely disquieted him. What business had
Lord Earlshope to be asking so particularly about Co
quette ? Why was he riding down on this Sunday morn
ing for the professed purpose of making inquiries about
her? Nay, why should he not wish to be seen? It
was evident that in Airlie, where no one had seen his
lordship for many a day, there was no expectation of
him. The more Tom Cassilis considered the matter,
the more profound became his annoyance over the whole
affair.
It now seemed to him, "looking back over the brief
time that he had spent with Coquette, that the most
grateful feature of the interview was the fact that Lord
Earlshope had not been mentioned. He had been quite
forgotten, indeed. There might have been no Lord
Earlshope in the world, so thoroughly had he been ig-
nored in that quiet and confidental chat which took place
in the Minister's parlor. Yet here he was, riding down
by himself within a few miles of Airlie, and with his
professed object the wish to see or hear something of
Coquette.
The rest of that long walk was not pleasant to the
young man. The whole day seemed to have become
sombre and gloomy. Why was he compelled to return
like a slave to the labor and the loneliness of a strange
town, when others had the free country before them, tc
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 2 1 3
choose their place of rest as they liked ? It seemed to
him that he was turning his back now on all that was
beautiful and pleasant in the world, and that Lord Earls-
hope had been left there with such intentions in his
heart as were still a mystery. The Whaup began to for-
get that he had fraternized with Lord Earlshope on
board the Caroline. He remembered no longer that he
had satisfied himself of that gentleman's being a far
more agreeable and honest person than the popular
voice of the district would admit. Lord Earlshope's
kindness to them all, his excessive and almost distant
courtesy to Coquette and her uncle, were effaced from
his recollection ; and he knew only that before him lay
the long and winding and dreary road to Glasgow, while
behind him were the pleasant places about Airlie, and
Coquette, and the comfort of the Manse, towards which
Lord Earlshope was perhaps now riding.
It was late at night when the Whaup, footsore and
tired, reached his lodgings in George Street, Glasgow.
His landlady had not returned from evening service ;
the solitary domestic of the house was out ; there was
no one in the gaunt and dismal house, which he entered
by means of a latch-key. He set to work to kindle a
fire ; but the fire went out, and in the middle of his
labors he dropped into a chair and fell fast asleep. The
fatigues of the day caused him to sleep on in the dark-
ness and the cold ; and the other people of the house,
coming in later, knew nothing of his being in his room.
In the middle of the night he awoke. He was stiff
with cold. He sought for matches, and could not find
them ; so he tumbled into bed in the dark, with his whole
frame numbed and his heart wretched. Nor did he for-
get his miseries in sleep ; there was no sleep for him.
He lay through the night and tossed about ; and if for
a moment he fell into a sort of doze, it was to start up
again with a great fear that something had happened
at Airlie. In these periods of half-forgetfulness, and
during the interval when he lay broadly awake, the
nightmare that haunted him was the figure of the soli-
tary rider he had met on the Dairy Road. What was
214 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
the meaning of those anxious inquiries Lord Earlshope
had then made ? Why was he disinclined to go on to
his own place, and be seen by the people of Airlie ?
Why go to Largs ? Largs, as the Whaup lay and re-
membered, was not more than fifteen miles from Airlie ?
Would Lord Earlshope loiter about there in the hope of
seeing Coquette by stealth ? And why should he wish
to see her? So the weary hours of the night passed,
and the gray and wintry dawn began to tell upon the
window of his room. The questions, with all their anx-
ieties and doubts, remained unanswered , and there had
come another gloomy day, demanding its quota of work.
CHAPTER XXXI.
AN AWFUL VISITOR
IT becar..e noised abroad that the devil had been scca
in Airlie. The Minister's sons not only took up the
story which had been told them by their brother Wattie.
but added tc it and embellished it until it assumed quite
dramatic proportions, and was picturesquely minute in de-
tail. The rumor that grew and widened in the village was
that, on the Sabbath forenooon,a black Something had
been seen wandering about in the snow around the Manse.
The boys,on returning from church, had heard mysterious
voices in the deep silence of the small garden. Then
Wattie, drawing near to the back-door, had suddenly been
blinded by a rush of wind ; flames darted out from the
house and surrounded him ; the current of air drove him
into a snowdrift ; and the awful Something, with a shriek
of fiendish laughter, had gone past him and disappeared,
and there was a low rumble as of distant thunder echo-
ing along the hollow stillness of the sky.
That was the rumor of Sunday night and the follow-
ing morning ; but during the day of Monday there were
A DA UGIITER OF 11 'E TH. 2 \ 5
bruited around some strange stories of mysterious foot-
prints which had been perceived in the snow. A track had
been observed leading over the moor towards the garden-
wall, and suddenly stopping there. Now, not only was it
impossible for any being of mortal shape and limbs to
leap that high wall, but there was this further peculiarity
remarked, that the footprints formed but one line. A
slight fall of snow, it is true, during the morning had
somewhat blurred the outline of these marks, but it was
confidently asserted that they were not such as had ever
been made by the impress of a human foot.
Towards "nightfall Mr. Gillespie, having finished off
some parochial business, deemed it his duty to go up to
the Manse to communicate these disturbing stones to the
Minister. The Schoolmaster had a visitor that evening,
Mr Cruikshanks, the Tailor, who sometimes dropped in
to have a glass of toddy and a chat over public affairs.
The Tailor was a small, thin.'black-a-viced man, of highly
nervous temperament, who was suspected of having been
a Chartist, and who had been known at a public meeting
in Saltcoats, for he was a great orator, to express views
which were of a wild and revolutionary nature. Never-
theless, up here in Airlie he conducted himself in a fitting
manner, went regularly to church, observed the Com-
munion, never failed to have the mended pair of breeks
or the new coat home in good time ; and, if he did sym-
pathize with the French Republicans, said little about it.
Indeed, it was not to be controverted that the Pensioner
knew far more about France and the French than the
excitable little Tailor ; for the former had driven whole
regiments of prisoners before him like sheep, and could
tell you how the contemptible and weakly things asked
for water and bread, using language of their own for want
of a better education.
Mr. Cruikshanks had also heard the ugly rumors
current in the village, and quite agreed that the School-
master should go up to the Manse.
" Not," said he, with an oratorical gesture, "because
ye believe in them, sir ; but because the Minister maun
be warned to set his face against the superstitions o' the
B 1 6 A DA UGHTEK. OF HE TH.
vulgar. The dawn o' leeberty, Mr. Gillcspie, though oft
delayed, is never won ; and the triumph o' the great
principles o' rationalism that is progress! n' faurand wide."
" Rationalism ! rationalism ! " said the Schoolmaster
in dismay. " Do ye ken what ye'cr saying,' man ? "
" Which is not the rationalism o' the vulgar, sir,"
observed the Tailor, calmly. "Tis of another complexion
and pale cast of thought. It has naething to do wi' relec-
gion. It is the new spirit, the blawin' up o' the auld
fossils and formations, the light that never was in
poet's dream. But I will gang \vi' ye, sir to the Minister's,
if ye are so minded."
The two went out together. By the help of the red
light from the small windows they picked their way
through the muddy and half-melted snow of the village
streets. When they had got clear of the small houses,
they found the thick snow lying crisp and dry on the
highway, and it needed all their watchfulness to decipher,
by the aid of the starlight, the line of the moorland road.
There was no one abroad at that honr. The villagers
had been glad to get into their warm homes out of the
cold and frosty wind that blew along the white surface
of the snow. From over the broad moor there came not
the least sound ; and the only living thing visible seemed
the countless myriads of stars, which shone coldly and
clearly through the frosty atmosphere. The School-
master and his companion spoke but little ; they were too
much engaged in finding the path through the snow.
Suddenly the Tailor stopped, and involuntarily laid
his hand on his neighbor's arm.
" What is it ? " said the Schoolmaster, with a stait.
But he had scarcely uttered the words when he saw
what had caused his companion to stand still, with his
face looking over the moor. Before them, a dark mass
in the starlight, stood Airlie Church, and at one end of
it that farthest from the door the windows seemed to
be lighted up with a dull red glow.
" Wha can be in the kirk at this time o' night ? " said
the Schoolmaster, forgetting to choose proper English
phrases.
A DA UGHTER OF HE Tff. 217
The Tailor said nothing. He was thinking of Allo-
way Kirk and the wild revels that had been celebrated
there. His talk about the superstitions of the vulgar
had gone from his memory ; he only saw before him,
over a waste of snow and under a starlit sky, a church
which could for no possible reason be occupied, but which
had its windows touched from the inside with a glow of
light.
" Man and boy," said the Schoolmaster, " I have lived
in Airlie these twenty years, and never saw the like. It
is a fearsome licht that. It would be our duty to go and
see what it means "
" There I dinna agree wi' ye," said the Tailor, quite
fiercely. " What business is it o' ours ? Folks dinna
sweeten their ain yill by meddlin' wi' other folk's barrels.
I am for lettin' the kirk alane. Doubtless it is lichted
up for some purpose. Why, dinna ye ken that the Min-
ister's niece was brought up as a Roman ; and th it the
Catholics like to hae a' manner o' mysterious services in
the dead o' nicht ? "
This explanation seemed to afford the Tailor very
great relief. He insisted upon it even to the point of
losing his temper. What right had the Schoolmaster to
interfere with other people's religion ? Why didn't he
do as he would be done by ?
" But we ought to see what it is," said the School-
master.
"Ye may gang if ye like," said the Tailor, firmly.
" Deil the bit o' me '11 steer ! "
The Schoolmaster drew back. He was not going to
cross the moor alone especially with those rumors of
mysterious footprints about.
" Perhaps ye are right, Mr. Cruikshanks," he said.
" But we maun gang on and tell the Minister."
" Surely, surely," said the Tailor, with eagerness.
" We hae a sacred duty to perform. We maun get lights
to see our way, and the keys o' the kirk, and the Minister
and Andrew Bogue will come wi' us. The notion o' its
being witches ha ! ha ! it is quite rideeklous. Such
superstitions, sir, have power wi' the vulgar, but wi' men
2 1 S A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
like you and me, Mr. Gillespie, wha have studied such
things, and appeal to the licht o' reason, it is not for us
to give way to idle fears. No ; we will go up to the door
o' the kirk, and we will have the matter explained on
rationalistic principles "
" I wish, Mr. Cruikshanks," said the Schoolmaster,
with a sort of nervous anxiety and anger, "ye wouldna
talk and talk about your rationalism and your rationalistic
principles. I declare, to hear ye, ane would think there
wasna a heeven above us."
But the Tailor continued his discourse on the sub-
lime powers of reason, and waxed more and more buoy-
ant and eloquent, until, the two having reached the gate
of the Manse, the Tailor turned upon his companion,
and with scorn hinted that he, the Schoolmaster, had
succumbed to childish fears on seeing the kirk windows
lit up.
" What more simple," said the Tailor, in his grandest
manner, "than to have walked up to the door, gone in,
and demanded to know what was the reason o' the licht ?
That is what common sense and reason would dictate ;
but when fears and superstitions rise and dethrone the
monarch from his state, the lord of all is but a trumpery
vassal, the meanest at his gate."
The Schoolmaster was too indignant, and perhaps
too much relieved on finding himself within the shelter
of the Manse wall, to reply. The two neighbors walked
up to the door of the Manse, looking rather supiciously
at the gloomy corners around them, and the black shad-
ows of the trees, and knocked. The door was opened
half an inch.
" Who's there ? " said Leezibeth.
"Me," said the Schoolmaster.
"Who's me?" said the voice from within, the door
being still kept on the point of shutting.
" Bless my life and body ! " cried the Schoolmaster,
provoked out of all patience. " Is this a night to keep
a human being starving in the snaw ? Let us in,
woman ! "
With which he drove the door before him and entered
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
219
the passage, confronting the terrified Leezibeth, who
dropped her candle there and then, and left the place
in darkness.
The Minister opened the parlor door, and the light
streamed out on the strangers. Without being asked,
the Schoolmaster and the Tailor stumbled into the
room, and stood, with eyes dazed by the light, alter-
nately looking at the Minister and at Coquette, who lay
on the sofa with an open book beside her.
" What is the matter? what is the matter?" said
the Minister; for both the men seemed speechless
with fear.
" Has she no been at the kirk the nicht?" said the
Tailor.
"Who?" said the Minister, beginning to think
that both of his visitors must be drunk.
" Her," said the Tailor, "your niece, sir, Miss
Cassilis."
" At the kirk ? She has not been out of the house
for months."
" But but but there is somebody in the kirk at
this present meenute," said the Tailor, breathlessly.
" Nonsense ! " said the Minister, with some im-
patience. " What do you mean ? "
" As sure as daith, sir, the kirk's in a lowe ! " blurted
out the Tailor again, though he still kept his eyes
glaring in a fascinated way on Coquette.
To tell the truth, Coquette began to laugh. The
appearance and talk of the two strangers, whether the
result of drink or of fright, were altogether so abnormal
and ludicrous that, for the life of her, she could not keep
from smiling. Unfortunately, this conduct on her part,
occurring at such a moment, seemed to confirm the
suspicions of the two men. They regarded her as if
she were a witch who had been playing pranks with
them on the moor, had whipped herself home, and was
now mocking them. Vague recollections of " Tam o'
Shanter" filled their minds with forebodings. Who
knew but that she was connected with these mysterious
things of which the village had been talking ? Why
220 A DAUGHTER OF HE Til.
should the stories have centred upon the Manse ? Was
she not a Roman and a foreigner, a creature whose dark
eyes were full of concealed meaning, of malicious mis-
chief, of unholy laughter ? No wonder there were
strange footprints about, or that the kirk was " in a
lowe" at midnight.
The Minister abruptly recalled them from their
dazed and nervous speculations by demanding to know
what they had seen. Together they managed to pro-
duce the'story in full ; and the Minister said he would
himself at once go over the moor to the kirk.
" Micht not Andrew Bogue come wi' a lantern ? "
said the Tailor ; and the Minister at once assented.
With that the spirits of the two heroes rose. They
would inquire into this matter. They would have no
devilish cantrips going on in the parish, if they could
help it. And so they once more sallied out into the
cold night air, and, with much loud talking and con-
fident suggestion struck across the snow of the moor.
As they drew near to the srhall church the talking
died down. The red light was clearly seen in the
windows. Andrew Bogue, who had been a few steps
ahead of the party, inorder to show them the way,
suggested that he should fall behind, so that the light
would shine more clearly around their feet. Against
this both the Schoolmaster and the Tailor strongly
protested ; and the discussion ended by the Minister
impatiently taking the lamp into his own hand and go-
ing forward. The posse comitatus followed, close, and
in deep silence. Indeed, there was not a sound
heard, save the soft yielding of the crisp snow ; and in
the awful stillness, under the great canopy of sparkling,
stars, the red windows of the small and dark building
glimmered in front of them.
The Minister walked up to the door, the others
keeping close behind him. He endeavored to open it;
it was locked.
" The keys, Andrew," he said.
" I I I dinna bring any keys," said Andrew, testily.
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 2 2 1
He was angry with his tongue for stammering, and
with his throat for choking.
" And how did ye expect us to get in ? " said the
Minister.
" Why, I thocht I thocht that if there was any-
body in the kirk, the door would be open," said An-
drew, in a querulous whisper.
" Go back to the Manse and get them," said the
Minister, perhaps with concealed irony.
" By mysel' " said Andrew. " Across the moor by
mysel' ? What for does any human being want to get
into the kirk ? Doubtless there are some bits o' wan-
derm' bodies inside ; would ye turn them out in the
could ? If ye do want to look into the kirk, there is a
ladder 'at ye can pit against the waV
Andrew was ordered to bring the ladder ; but he
professed his inability to carry it. The Schoolmaster
and the Tailor went with him to a nook behind some
back-door, and presently reappeared walking stealthily
and conversing in whispers, with the ladder, which they
placed against the wall. The Schoolmaster, with a
splendid assumption of bravery, clambered up the steps,
and paused when the tip of his nose received the light
from the panes. The others awaited his report breath-
lessly.
" I canna see anything," he whispered, coming down
rather rapidly.
But where the Schoolmaster had gone the Tailor
would go. Mr. Cruikshanks went bravely up the ladder,
and peered in at the window. What could be the mean-
ing of this ghastly stillness, and the yellow light burn-
ing somewhere in the church ? He had heard of awful
scenes, in which corpse-lights had come forth all over a
churchyard, and vague forms flitted about, in the midst
of peals of demoniac laughter. But here was no sound,
no movement, only the still glare of a ruddy light,
coming from whence he knew not.
But what was that echoed along the empty church ?
The Tailor grasped the top rung of the ladder. He
would have given worlds to have got down, but if he had
222 ' A DAUGHTER OF HE Til
let go his trembling legs would have thrown him back-
ward. Something was moving in the dim and solitary
church ; his breath came and went, his head swam around,
the ladder trembled with his grasp. Suddenly there
was a startling cry, an awful and appalling shriek from
the Schoolmaster, as he turned to find, in the darkness,
a figure approaching him. Andrew fell back from the
foot of the ladder ; and the next moment down came the
ladder and the Tailor together with a crash upon Andrew
and his lamp, burying the one in the snow and smashing
the other to pieces. A succession of piercing cries from
the Tailor broke the silence of the moor ; until the Min-
ister, dragging him out of the snow, bade him cease his
howling. The Schoolmaster had abruptly retreated ;
until the group of explorers, partly on the ground and
partly upright, was approached by this dusky figure.
" What is that ? " said the Schoolmaster, in an agon-
ized whisper. " Oh, what is't ? what is't ? What can
it be, sir ? Speak till't ! "
The Minister, having put the Tailor on his legs,
though they were scarcely able to support him, turned
to the new-comer, and said,
" Well, who are you ? "
" Me, sir ? Me ? " said a deep bass voice, in rather
an injured tone, " I'm Tammas Kilpatrick."
"What! Kilpatrick the joiner?" said the School-
master.
" Well, I hope sae," said the man, " and I dinna ken
what for ye should run away frae a man as though he
was a warlock."
" But how came ye in. the kirk at this time o' night ?"*
said the Minister.
" Deed, ye may well ask," said the worthy joiner, "for
it's little my maister allows me for overtime ; and if he
will put me to jobs like this after my day's work is done,
I hope he'll gie me some fire and better company than a
wheen rats and mice. Will Mr. Bogue take hame the
keys that my maister got frae his wife this afternoon ? "
But Mr. Bogue was still in the snow, groaning.
When they picked him up they found the lantern had
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 223
severely cut his nose, which was bleeding freely. Where-
upon the Schoolmaster waxed valiant, and vouchsafed to
the joiner an explanation^ of the panic, which, he said,
was the work " o' that poor body, the Tailor. And, mark
me, Mr. Kilpaitrick," he added, " it is not every man that
would have insisted on seeing to the bottom o' this maitter,
as I did this night. It was our duty to investigate, or,
as I might say, to examine, into what might have raised
superstitious fears in Airlie, especially as regards the
stories that have been about. It shames me that, as we
were proceeding in a lawful, or, I might say, legitimate,
manner to inquire, that poor body, the Tailor, should have
set up an eldritch screech, as if he was possessed. He
is a poor body, that Tailor, and subject to the fears of
the vulgar. If ye hear the neighbors talk o' this night's
doings, ye will be able, Mr. Kilpaitrick, to say who be-
haved themselves like men ; and I'm thinking that we
will be glad o' your company across the moor, and ye will
then come in and hae a glass o' toddy wi' us, Mr. Kil-
paitrick. As for the Tailor there, the poor craytur has
scarcely come to his senses yet ; but we maun take him
safe hame."
CHAPTER XXXII
JN THE SPRINGTIME.
WHY was there no mention of Lord Earlshope in
the letters from Airlie which reached the Whaup in his
Glasgow lodging ? The lad was too proud to ask ; but
he many a time wondered whether Lord Earlshope was
now paying visits to the Manse, as in the bygone time
and watching the progress of Coquette's 'restoration to
health. Indeed, the letters that came up from the moor-
land village were filled with nothing but Coquette, and
Coquette, and Coquette. The boys now openly called
224
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
her by this familiar name ; and her sayings and doings,
the presents she made them, and the presents she prom-
ised to give them when she should go to Glasgow oc-
cupied their correspondence almost to the exclusion of
stories of snow-battles with the lads of the village.
At last the Whaup wrote and asked what Lord Earls -
hope was doing.
The reply came that he had not been in Airlie since
the previous autumn.
44 Why, he must be mad ! ' said the Whaup to himself.
" Not go on to his own house when he was within two
or three miles of it ! These French novels have turned
his head ; we shall have him presently figuring as the
hero of a fine bigamy case, of poisoning himself with
charcoal fumes, or doing something equally French.
Perhaps he has done something desperate, in his youth,
and now reads French novels to see what they have to
say on the subject."
Among other intelligence sent him by his correspon-
dents during the winter was that on the morning of
New-year's Day there had arrived at the Manse, directed
to that young lady, a large and magnificent volume of
water-color sketches of the Loire. The grandeur of this
book, its binding and its contents, was all a wonder at
the Manse ; and the youngest of the Whaup's brothers
expressed his admiration in these terms :
"It is most wonderful. The boards is made oftortis-
shell, with white saytin and wreaths of silk roses and
flowers in different colors all around it. There is a back
of scaurlet marrocca leather, with gilt. And she put it
on the table, and when she began to turn it over she
laughed, and clapped her hands thegither, and was fair
daft with looking at it ; but, as she went on, she stopped,
and we all saw, that she was greetin'. I suppose it was
some place she kenned.
No one knew definitely who had sent this gorgeous
book, not even Coquette herself ; but the popular opinion
of the Manse settled that it must have been Lady Drum
There were only two people, widely apart, who had an-
other suspicion in the matter and these two were Co-
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. 225
quelte and the Whaup. Meanwhile, if the book had
come from Lord Earlshope, it was accompanied by no
sign or token from him ; and, indeed, his name was now
scarcely ever mentioned in the Manse.
And so the long and hard winter passed away ; and
there came at last a new light into the air, and soft and
thawing winds from over the sea. The spring had ar-
rived, with its warm and sweet breezes ; and over all the
countryside there began to peep out tiny buds of brown
and green, with here and there, in many a secret nook
and corner, the pale yellow wonder of a flower. And at
last, too, Coquette got out of the house, and began to
drink in new life from the mild breezes and the clear
blue-white air. Her eyes were perhaps a trifle wistful,
or even sad, when she first got abroad again ; for the
springtime revives many memories, and ij not always a
glad season ; but in a little while the stirring of new
health and blood in Coquette's pale cheeks began to re-
call her to her usual spirits. The forenoon was her
principal time for going out ; and, as the boys were then
at Mr. Gillespie's school, she learned to wander about
alone, discovering all manner of secret dells about the
woods where the wild flowers were sure to be found.
Many and many a day she came home laden with hya-
cinths and violets and anemones, and the white stars of
the stitchwort ; and she brought home, too, a far more
valuable and beautiful flower in the bloom which every
one saw gathering on her cheek. Sometimes she pre-
vailed on her uncle to accompany her ; and she would
take the old man's arm and lead him into strange wood-
land places of which he had but little knowledge. Leezi-
beth was so delighted to see the girl become her former
self that she was more than usually pugnacious towards
Andrew, as if that worthy but sour-tempered man had
been harboring dark projects against the girl's health.
Leezibeth, indeed, had wholly gone over to the enemy ;
and Andrew sadly shook his head and comforted himself
with prophecies of evil and lamentation.
One day Coquette had wandered down to the very wood
in which the Whaup had caught Neal Lament poaching.
2 2 b A DA UGHTEK. OF HE TIL
She had been exceptionally lucky in her quest for new
flowers ; and had got up a quite respectable bouquet for
the study mantelpiece. Then she had that morning re-
ceived from France a little song of Gounod's, which was
abundantly popular there at the time. So, out of mere
lightness of heait, she came walking through the wood,
and sang to herself carelessly as she went,
" La voile ouvre son aile
La brise va souffler er er er ,"
when suddenly her voice died down. Who was that
coming along the road in the direction of Arlie. A faint-
ness came over her, she caught hold of a branch of a fir,
and then, with a half-instinctive fear, she drew back with-
in the shelter of a few tall stems. It was Lord Earls-
hope who was passing along the road, walking slowly
and idly, and apparently taking no notice of the objects
around him.
Her heart beat quickly, and her whole frame trem-
bled, as she remained cowering until even the sound of
his footsteps had died away. Then she stole out of the
wood, and hurriedly followed a circuitous route which
landed her breathless, and yet thankful, within the safety
of the Manse. He had not observed her.
But he was in the neighborhood. He had returned
from abroad. Perhaps he would go away again without
even seeing her and speaking to her for a moment, un-
less, indeed, she happened to be out the next forenoon
and meet him.
" You must not fall back into any of your dull moods,
Catherine," said the Minister, in a cheerful way, to her
that evening, as he happened to perceive her unwonted
silence, and the pensive look of her eyes.
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 227
CHAPTER XXXIII.
OVER THE MOOR.
COQUETTE'S sleep that night was full of dreams of a
meeting with Lord Earlshope ; and in the morning she
awoke with a confused sense of having been -wandering
with him in a strange land, which had a sombre sky over
it, and all around it the moaning of the sea. She seemed
to have a notion that the place was familiar to her ; and
gradually out of her memory she was able to recall the
features of a certain gloomy bay, overshadowed by tall
mountains.
" I will remember no more of it," she said to her-
self, dreamily. " That island, is it always coming back ? "
Yet those dreams left a troubled impression behind
them ; and she began to think with some foreboding and
fear of a possible meeting with Lord Earlshope if she
went out for her accustomed walk. Dared she meet
him ! Or what if he were here only for a brief time, and
went away without a word ? As she calculated anxiously
the probabilities of his going, and tried to decide whether
she should avoid meeting him, a great dash of rain
smote on the windows of the Manse, aglimmerof morn-
ing sunlight also struck the panes, and a blustering
April wind blew about the chimneys.
4 Rain ! " she cried, as though she were glad of any-
thing to resolve her anxious doubts. " Then I do not
go."
She got up and dressed quickly. There were no blinds
needed for the small windows that looked across the
moor. During the progress of her toilette she could see
the wild glare of the spring sunshine that chased the
rapid and riven clouds which the wind was blowing over
the sea. On they came in thunderous masses and filmy
streaks, here dark and rainy, there struck into silver by
the sunlight : while from time to time there was a period
22 8 A DAUGHTER OF HE TH.
of threatening gloom, followed by the heavy pattering
of a shower on the window and slates, and then the wild
yellow light again shining out on the dripping trees, on
the wet moor, and on the far blue plain that lay around
Arran.
" You are in much better spirits this morning," said
the Minister at breakfast, after Coquette had been lectur-
ing the boys in a very grand and mock-heroic fashion.
" Yes, in spite of your abominating weather," she re-
plied. " Last night, still and clear, this morning a hurri-
cane ! Why is your weather so wild, and your Scotch
people so quiet ? They are not stormy, no bad temper,
no fits of passion, all smooth and serious and solemn, as
if they did go to a churchyard.''
" And that is where we all of us are going, whether
in Scotland or France," said the Minister, with a serious
smile.
" Yet why always think of it ? " said Coquette, lightly.
4 Why you make the road to the churchyard a church-
yard also ? No, it is not reasonable. We shall be pleas-
ant, and amuse ourselves in the meantime. Ah ! now do
look at the faces of all those boys ; do they think me
wicked ? "
Indeed, the row of solemn and awestruck faces which
listened to Coquette's Sadduceeism provoked her into a
fit of laughter, which Leezibeth checked by coming into
the room and asking abruptly if more tea were wanted.
Coquette had apparently forgotten that she had been
troubled that morning about Lord Earlshope. The bois-
terous weather had prevented her going out, so that no
choice remained to her. But when, after the boys had
been despatched to school, she was left to herself and
her solitary employment at the piano, her vivacity of the
morning died away. Without any intention she wan-
dered into melancholy strains, and played half -forgotten
ballad-airs which she had heard among the peasantry of
Mcrbihan. She began to cast wistful glances towards
the windows and the changeable landcape outside. At
last she gave up the piano, and went to one of the win-
dows and took a seat there. The intervals of sunlight
4 DAUGHTER OF HRTH. 229
were growing lavger. The clouds seemed more light
and fleecy. There was a gray mist of rain down in the
south, over Ayr ; but all around her the wet landscape
was shining in its young spring greens and blues, and the
gusty west wind, blowing a warm and moist fragrance
about the garden, could not quite drown the music of the
thrushes and blackbirds. The sky cleared more and
more. Even in the south the rain mist lifted, and the
sunlight played around the far promontory. Finally the
wind died away, and over all the land there seemed to
reign the fresh, clear, brightness and sweetness cf an
April morning.
Coquette put on her small hat ( with its dash of sea-
bird plumage) and a warm gray woollen shawl, and went
out. Her light foot was not heard leaving the house ;
and in a few minutes she was out on the moorland road,
all around her the shining beauty of the spring day and
the glistening of the recent rain. At another time she
would have rejoiced in the clear sunshine and the genial
warmth of the western breezes ; to-day she seemed
thoughtful and apprehensive, and dared scarcely look
over the moor. She wandered on, her head somewhat
downcast, and when she paused it was merely to pick up
some tiny flowers from among the wet grass. It was
only by a sort of instinct that she avoided the red pools
which the rain had left in the road ; she seemed to walk
on, in the opposite direction from Airlie, as if she were
in a dream.
She became aware that there was some one crossing
over the moor on her right ; still she did not look up.
Indeed, before she could collect herself to consider how
she should speak to Lord Earlshope, supposing he weie
to meet her, the stranger had overtaken her, and pro-
nounced her name.
She turned, a trifle pale, perhaps, but quite self-pos-
sessed, and regarded him for one brief second. Then
she stepped forward and offered him her hand. During
that instant he, too, regarded her, in a somewhat strange
way, before meeting her advances and then he said,
" Have you really forgiven me ? "
23C
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
" That is all over," she said, in a low but quite dis-
tinct voice, " all over and forgotten. It does do no good
to bring it back. You, have you been very well ? ' 9
He looked at her again, with something of wonder
in the admiration visible in his eyes.
" How very good you are ! I have been wandering
all over Europe, feeling as though I had the brand of
Cain on my forehead. I come back to hear that you
have been dangerously ill, without my having any knowl
edge of it. I hang about, trying to get a word of ex
planation said to you personally before calling at the
Manse, and now you come forward, in your old straight-
forward way, as if nothing had happened, and you offer
me your hand just as if I were your friend. '
" Are you not my friend ? "
" I do not deserve to be anybody's friend."
" That is nonsense," said Coquette. " Your talk of
Cain, your going away, your fears, I do not understand
it at all."
" No," said he. " Nor would you ever understand
how much I have to claim forgiveness for without a
series of explanations which I shall make to you some
day, I have not the courage to do it now. I should
run the risk of forfeiting the right ever to speak another
word to you."
Coquette drew back, and regarded him steadfastly.
" There," said he, " didn't I tell you what would
happen ? You are becoming afraid of me. You have
no reason."
" I believe you," she said ; " but I do not understand
why all this secrecy, all this mystery. It is very strange
to me, all your actions ; and you should be more frank,
and believe I will not make bad interpretation. You
wish to be my friend ? I am well pleased of that, but
why you make so many secrets ? "
4 1 cannot tell you now," he said, hurriedly. " I am
too anxious to believe that you have forgiven me for
what happened on that hideous night. I was mad, I
\vas beside myself, I don't know what possession I
labored under to make a proposal "
A DAUGHTER OF HRTH. 231
" Ah, why bring it all back ? " said Coquette. " Is
it not better to forget it ? Let us be as we were before
we went away in the yacht. You shall meet me. I
shall speak to you as usual. We shall forget the old
misfortunes. You will come to the manse sometimes,
as you did before. You must believe me, it will be very
simple and natural if you do try ; and you shall find your-
self able to be very good friends with all of us, and no
more brands of Cain on your forehead."
He saw in her soft eyes that she faithfully meant
what she said ; and then, with a sort of effort, he said,
" Come, let us walk along, and I will talk to you as you
go. There is a path along here by which you can cross
the moor, and get back to the Manse by Hechton
Mains."
How glad she was to walk by his side in this fashion !
It was so pleasant to hear his voice, and to know that
the grave kindliness of his eyes sometimes met hers,that
she did not stop to ask whether it were merely as friends
they were walking together. Nor did she notice, so
glad was she, how constrained was his talk ; how he
was sometimes, in moments of deep silence, regarding
her face with a look which had the blackness of despair
in it. She chatted on, pleased and happy ; breaking
imperiously away from all mention of what had hap-
pened in the North whenever that became imminent.
She did not even perceive where she was going ; she
submitted to be led, and even lost sight of the familiar
features of the landscape surrounding her own home.
" I wonder if there was ever a woman as unselfish
as you are," he said, abruptly and morosely. " I know
that you are pretending to be glad only to make our
meeting pleasant and spare me the pain of self-accusa-
tion."
" How can you think such morbid things on such
a beautiful morning ? " she asked. " Is it not a pleasure
to be in the open air ? Is it not a pleasure to meet an
old friend ? And yet you stop to pull it all to pieces,
and ask why and what and how. You, who have been
32 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
abroad, are not thankful for this bit of sunshine, per-
haps that is the reason."
* There is something almost angelic, if we know any-
thing about angels, in the way you have of forgetting
yourself in order to make people feel at ease."
" And if you are not cheerful this morning, you have
not forgotten how to pay compliments," she said, with
a smile.
Presently he said, with a shrug,
" You must consider me a very discontented fellow,
I fancy. You see, I don't wish just at present to inter-
rupt our new friendliness by explaining why I am not
cheerful, why I owe you more contrition than you can
understand, why your kindness almost makes me sus-
picious of your good faith. You don't know "
" I know enough," she said, with a pretty gesture of
impatience. " I wish not to have any more, whys, and
whys, and whys. Explanations, they never do good be-
tween friends. I am satisfied of it if you come to the
Manse, and become as you were once. That is all ; that
is sufficient. But just now, when you have the pleasant
morning before you, it is not good to torment yourself
by doubts and suspicions and questions."
" Ah, well," he said, " I suppose I must suffer you
to consider me discontented without cause. It will be
of little consequence a hundred years hence."
Coquette laughed.
" Even in your resignation you are gloomy. Why
you say that about a hundred years ? I do not care
what happens in a hundred years ; but just now, while
we are alive, we ought to make life pleasant to each
other, and be as comfortable as we can."
So they wandered on, Coquette not paying particular
heed to the direction of their walk. Her companion
was not very talkative ; but she was grateful for the new
interest that had been lent to her life by his arrival at
Airlie, and was in very good spirits. All her fears of
the morning had vanished. It seemed a comparatively
easy thing for her to meet him ; there could apparently
be no recurrence of the terrible scene which was now
A DAUGHTER OF HETIL 233
as a sort of dream to her. Suddenly, however, her com-
panion paused ; and she, looking up, saw that they were
now at the corner of the Earlshope grounds, where these
joined the moor. There was a small gate in the wall
fronting them.
" Will you come into the grounds ? " he said, produc-
ing a small key; "you need not go up to the house.
There is a sort of grotto or cavern, which I constructed
when I was a lad, at this end of the copse. Will you go
in and see it ? "
Coquette hesitated only for a moment, and then she
said, " Yes." He opened the small gate ; they both
passed through ; and Coquette found herself at the ex-
tremity of a small path leading through a strip of fir-
wood.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
LORD EARLSHOPE'S CAVE.
SHE now recollected that long ago the Whaup had
spoken of some mysterious place which Lord Earlshope
had built within his grounds ; and when her companion,
begging her to excuse him for a few minutes, passed in-
to what was apparently a cleft in a solid mass of earth or
rock, and when she heard the striking of a match, she
concluded that he was lighting up the small theatrical
scene for her benefit. Nor was she mistaken, for pres-
ently he came out and asked her to return with him
through this narrow aperture. He led the way ; she fol-
lowed. If the cavern into which they entered were
of artificial construction, considerable pains had been
taken to make it look natural. At first the cleft was
open above, and the sides of the passage were covered
with ferns and weeds growing in considerable profusion.
By and by she came in front of a large recess, apparently
dug out of the side of a rock, and involuntarily a cry of
234 A DAUGHTER OF HET1L '
wonder escaped her. The sides of this tolerably spacious
cave were studded here and there by curiously shaped
and pendent lamps of various colors ; and right at the
back was a Chinese stove, on the polished surface of
which the colored lights threw faint reflections. Down
one side of the cave a stream trickled, dropping over
bits of rock, and wetting the masses of fern which grew
in their clefts. The space in front of the stove was per-
fectly dry; and there stood two cane easy-chairs, fitted
with small reading-desks and candles. The whole place
looked a bit cut out of a pantomine ; and Coquette, sud-
denly finding herself in this strange place, with its dusky
corners and its colored lamps, wholly forgot that outside
there reigned the brightness of a spring day.
" What do you think of my boyish notions of the
marvellous ? " he said, with a smile.
" It is wonderful," said Coquette, who fancied she
had been transferred to a fairy palace.
"There are incongruities in it," said he, "for I
changed my hobbies then as rapidly as now. It was
begun in imitation of a cavern I had read of in a novel ;
it was continued as a mandarin's palace, and finally
finished up in imitation of the Arabian Nights. But you
can imagine it to be what you like, once you have taken
off your boots, which must be damp, and put on that
pair of Russian slippers which you will find in front of
the stove. I shall leave you to complete your toilette,
while I go up to the house for some biscuits and wine."
With which he left, before Coquette could utter a
word of protest. She now found herself alone in this
extraordinary place. Had he brought her there inten-
tionally ? vShe had looked at the slippers they were
lady's slippers,and new. He had evidently, then, antici-
pated that he would meet her, walk, with her, and bring
her thither. She knew not what to do. Yet the slip-
pers were very pretty curiously wrought with colored
beads, and deeply furred all around. They were seduc-
tively warm, too, from having been lying before the
stove. So, with a certain defiant air, she sat down,
pulled off her tiny boots, and placed them before the
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 235
stove ; and presently her small feet were encased in the
warm and furred slippers, which had apparently been left
for her by the genii of the cave.
Then she sat down in one of the easy-chairs, pulled
off her gloves, and put out just so much of the slippers
lhat she could admire their rose-colored tips. All this
conduct on her part she knew to be dreadfully and des-
perately wrong; but she was very comfortable, and the
place was very pretty. As for the slippers, they were
simply not to be refused. Indeed, the whole thing
hovered in her mind as half a dream and half a joke ;
and wben, at length, Lord Earlshope appeared with his
stock o f provisions, the whole adventure looked remark-
ably like one of those playing-at-houses games familiar
to children. -As for any apprehension of her indiscreet
behavior being a subject of after annoyance, she felt
none whatever. Had not Lord Earlshope and herself
quite got back to their old friendly terms ; and what harm
was there ir, her joining in this piece of amusement ? If
she had any doubts or misgivings, they were swallowed
up in the sensation of comfort lent by the Russian
slippers.
Coquette ate one or two of the small biscuits, and
drank half a glass of the yellow-white wine which Lord
Earlshope poured out for her. Then she said,
" I do not know how you can go away from this
place. I should live here always. Why did you go
away ? "
" I am going away again," he said. She looked up
with some surprise, perhaps with a shadow of disappoint-
ment, too, on her face.
" How can I stay here ? " he said, suddenly. " I
should be meeting you constantly. I have no right to
meet you. I am satisfied, now that I know you are well,
and that you have forgiven me ; and I do not wish to re-
peat a bygone error. You, who are always so pleased with
everything, around you, I see you have forgotten that
witchery that seemed to have fallen over us both last
summer. You are again yourself, calm, satisfied with you*
self, on excellent terms with everybody and everything.
23 G A DAUGHTER OF HETff.
But I have not been cured by my few months' absence.
Now that I see you again, Bah ! what is the use
of annoying you by such talk ? Tell me, how is your
cousin in Glasgow ?"
Coquette remained quite silent and thoughtful, how-
ever, with her eyes fixed on the stove before her. After
a little while she said,
" I have not forgotten ; I will never forget. I have
been so pleased to see you this morning that perhaps I
have appeared light, fickle, what you call it ? in your eyes,
and not mindful of your trouble. It is not so. I do re-
member all that happened ; it is only I think better not
to bring it back. Why you should go away ? If you re-
main, we shall learn to meet as friends, as we are now, are
we not ? "
" Do you think that is possible ? " he asked gravely
looking at her.
Coquette dropped her eyes ; and said in a low voice,
" It may be difficult just a little while ; yet it is possi-
ble. And it seems hard that if we do enjoy the meeting
with each other, we must not meet, that I drive you away
from your own home."
" It is odd, is it not ?" he said, in rather an absent
way. " You have made me an exile, or rather, my own
folly has done that No, Coquette ; I am afraid there is
no compromise possible, for me, at least, until after a few
years, and then I may come back to talk to you in quite
an offhand fashion, and treat you as if you were my own
sister. For I am a good deal older than you, you
know f '
At this moment there was a sound of footsteps out-
side ; and Coquette hurriedly sprang to her feet. Lord
Earlshope immediately went out to the entrance of the
place ; and Coquette heard some one approach from the
outside. She hastily abandoned her small furred slippers,
and drew on her damp boots ; then she stood, with a
beating heart, listening.
" I am sorry to have alarmed you," said Lord Earis-
hope, returning. "It was only a servant with seme letters
which have arrived."
A DAVG *ITER OF HE TH. 237
But the sound of those footsteps had suddenly awak-
ened Coquette to a sense of the imprudence, and even
danger, of her present position, and she declined to re-
sume her comfortable seat before the fire.
" I must go/' she said.
" Let me show you the way," said he ; and so he led
her out the winding path, and through the shrubbery to
the small gate that opened out on the moor. She had
reached the limit of Earlshope ; in front of her stretched
the undulating plain leading up to Airlie ; she was free to
go when she pleased.
" I must not see you home," he said, " or the good
people who may have noticed us an hour ago would have
a story to tell."
" I shall find my way without trouble/'said Coquette,
and she held out her hand.
" Is it to be good-bye, then ? " he said, looking sadly
at her.
" Not unless you please/' said Coquette, simply, al-
though she bent her eyes on the ground. " I should
like you to remain here, and be friends with us as in
long ago ; it is not much to ask ; it would be a pleasure
to me, and I should be sorry and angry with myself if I
thought you had again gone away because of me. It is
surely no reason you should go ; for I should think of
you far away, and think that I ought to go away, not
you, for I am a stranger come to Airlie, and sometimes
I think I have come only to do harm to all my friends "
" My darling ! " he said, with a strange and sad look
on his face, as he caught her to him and looked down
into the clear, frightened eyes, " you shall not accuse
yourself like this. If there is blame in my staying, I
will bear it, I will stay, whatever happens, and we shall
meet, Coquette, shall we not, even as now, in this still-
ness, with no one to interrupt our talk ? Why do you
look frightened. Coquette ? Are you afraid of me ? See,
you are free to go ! "
And his arms released their hold, and she stood,
with downcast eyes, alone and trembling. But she did
not move. And so, once again, he drew her towards
238 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
him, and, ere she knew, his arms were around her, and
she was close against his bosom, and kisses were being
showered on her forehead and on her lips. It was all
so sudden, so wild and strange, that she did not stir,
nor was she but half conscious of the fetters of tron
which these few moments were fastening down on her
life. It was very terrible, this crisis ; but she vaguely
felt that there was the sweetness of despair and utter
abandonment possessing her ; that the die had been
cast for good or evil, and the old days of doubt and an-
xiety were over.
" Let me go let me go ! '' she pleaded piteously.
" C-% what have we done ? "
; We have sealed our fate," said he, with a wild look
in his eyes, which she did not see. " I have fought
against this for many a day, how bitterly and anxiously
no one knows, Coquette. But now, Coquette but now ;
won't you look up and let me see that love is written i.i
your eyes ? Won r t you look up, and give me one kiss
before we part ? only one, Coquette? "
But her downcast face was pale and deathlike, and
for a moment or two she seemed to tremble. Finally
she said,
"I cannot speak to you now To-morrow or next
day, perhaps we shall meet. Adieu / you must leave
me to go alone."
And so she went away over the moor ; and he stood
looking after her for some time, with eyes that had now
lost all their wild joy and triumph, and were wistful
and sad.
" She does not know what has happened to her to-
day," he said to himself, " and I, I have foreseen it, and
Rtriven to guard against it, to no purpose."
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. 239
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE NEMESIS OF LOVE.
" AT last, at last, at last ! " the words rung in her
ears as she hurried across the moor, seeing nothing,
heeding nothing, her face turned away from the clear
blue-white of the spring sky. She was only anxious to
get within the shelter of her own home, to resolve those
wild doubts and fears which were pressing upon her.
In many and many a story of her youth, in many a
ballad and song she had sung long ago in the garden
overlooking the Loire, she had heard tell of happy lovers
and their joy ; and, with the light fancies of a girl, she
had looked forward to the time when she, too, might
awake to find her life crowned by those sweet experi-
ences that fall to the lot of young men and maidens.
Was this love that had come to her at last, not in the
guise of an angel, with a halo over his head and mildness
in his face, but in the guise of a sorcerer, who had the
power to turn the very sunlight into blackness ?
Yet, when she had reached the solitude of her own
chamber, she asked herself the reason of this sudden
fear. What made her heart beat and her cheek grow
pale as she looked back to that wild evening in Loch
Scavaig ? Was not that all over and gone, forgotten
and buried in the past ? Indeed, she began to reason
with herself over the injustice of recalling it. Had not
Lord Earlshope sufficiently endeavored to atone for
what ?
That was the mystery which was pressing upon her
with a terrible pertinacity. She had been oppressed
with an unnamable dread during that memorable even-
ing ; but what had Lord Earlshope done, beyond talk-
ing wildly and almost fiercely for a few minutes ? She
had almost forgotten the substance of what he had then
240
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
said. And now that he had expressed his penitence for
that, since he had even punished himself with six months'
exile on account of it, why should the memory of it in-
terfere between them as a gloomy phantom, voiceless,
but yet holding up a warning ringer ?
" I do not understand it," she murmured to herself in
French. " There is something he will not tell me ; and
yet why should he be afraid ? Does he fear that I shall
be unjust or merciless, to him who has never a hard
word or a suspicion for any one ? Why should he not
tell me ? it cannot be anything wrong of himself, or I
should see it in his eyes. And whatever it is, it separates
us, and I have given my life to a man who seems to
stand on the other side of a river from me, and I can
only hold out my hands to him, and wish that the river
were the river of death, so that I could cross over, and
fall at his feet and kiss them."
She took out a little book of devotions which had
been given her by some companions on leaving. France,
and sat down at the small window-table, and placed it
before her. A few moments thereafter, Lady Drum,
coming into the room, found the girl's head resting on
the table, covered by her hands.
" Asleep in the middle o' the day ! " said the visitor,
who had unceremoniously come upstairs.
Coquette hastily rose, and would have hidden her
face by turning aside and going into her bedroom, but
that Lady Drum stopped her, and took her by both
hands.
" What ! No rosier than that ? And fast asleep in
the middle o' such a day ! Dear me, lassie ! " she
added, looking more narrowly at her, fct what are your
eyes so big and wild and wet for ? "
Lady Drum walked to the table, and took up the
small book. She turned over its pages, and the con-
tempt visible on her face grew fast and fierce.
" Saints, crosses, mealy-faced women wi' circles
around their heads, men in blue gowns wi' a lamb by
them, is this the trash ye spend your days ovver, when
ye should be in the open air ? "
A DA UGHTER OF HE TtT. 241
Lady Drum clasped the book again, put it in the
drawer of the table, and shut the drawer with somewhat
unnecessary vehemence.
" Phew ! I have no patience wi 1 the folk that would
make every young lassie a nun. Come here, my young
princess wi' the pale face ; are ye no a stanch, earnest,
indomitable Presbyterian ? "
" I am what you please," said Coquette, timidly.
" Are you or are you not, a Presbyterian ? "
" Perhaps I am," said Coquette. " I do not know
what it is, this Presby I do not know what you say.
But I do keep my books that belonged to me in France.
That is a good book ; it can do no harm to any one "
" My certes ! here is a pretty convert ! It can do
no harm to ony one ? and I find ye in the middle o'
the day greetin' ower its palaverins, and with a face that
would suit a saint better than a brisk young creature o'
your age. Ayrshire is no the place for saints, the air is
ower healthy. Come here, and I will show ye the book
that ye must read/'
She led Coquette to the window, and began to ex-
patiate on the enjoyments of being out walking on such
a day, with the spring winds stirring the young corn,
rnd ruffling the distant blue of the sea. Alas! all that
Coquette saw was the beginning of the line of trees
that led down to Earlshope.
" Listen now," said Lady Drum, " I have come
here on an errand. Ye have never seen Glasgow. I
am going up to-morrow morning ; can you come wi'
me, stay two or three weeks, and cheer your cousin's
exile a bit ? "
Coquette's conscience smote her hard ; and it was
with a quick feeling of pain and remorse that she thought
of the Whaup. She had almost forgotten him. Far
away in the great city of which she knew so little he
was working hard, buoyed up by some foolish and fond
notion that he was pleasing her. All at once her heart
turned towards him with a great affection and yearning.
She would make amends for the wrong which he had
unwittingly suffered. She would go at once to Glas-
2 42 A DAUGHTER OF HETTF.
gow ; and would shower upon him every token of
solicitude and kindness that she could devise.
" Oh, yes, Lady Drum ! " she said, with evident
eagerness in her face. " I will go with you as soon as
you please. Have you seen my cousin ? Is he well ?
Is he tired of his hard work ? Does he speak of us
sometimes ? He does not think we have forgotten
him ? "
" Hoity toity ! Twenty questions in a breath ! Let
me tell you this, my young lady, that your cousin,
though he says nothing, is doing wonders ; and that
Dr. Menzies, to whom the Minister confided him, is
fair delighted wi' him, and has him at denner or supper
twice of thiice a week ; and your cousin is just petted
extraordinary by the young leddies o' the house, and
bonnier lassies there are none in Glasgow."
Coquette clasped her hands.
" Perhaps he will marry one of them," she cried, with
a wonderful gladness in her eyes.
Lady Drum looked at her.
"Marry one o' them? Would ye like to see him
marry one o' them ? Has that daft picture-book turned
your head and made ye determined to gang into a nun-
nery ? "
" It is not necessary he marries me," said Coquette,
in a tone of protest. " A young man must choose his
own wife it is not pleasant for him to be made to marry
by his friends."
" Ah, well ! " said Lady Drum, with a sigh. "Young
folks, are young folks, and they will pretend that the
marmalade they would like to steal is nothing but down-
right medicine to them. Ye had better begin to think
about packing up for to-morrow morning."
" To-morrow morning ! " said Coquette, with a sudden
tremor of apprehension.
." Yes." '
" Oh, I cannot go to-morrow I cannot go to-morrow :
will not the next day do, Lady Drum ? May I not have
one day more ? "
Astonished beyond measure by the sudden alteration
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 243
in the girl's manner, from delight at the prospect of go-
ing, to an almost agonizing entreaty to be left alone for
another day, Lady Drum did not reply for a minute or
two, but regarded her companion, who bent her eyes on
the ground.
" What have you to do to-morrow ? " said the elderly
lady, at last.
" It is nothing it is not much," stammered Coquette.
" Only I do wish to remain at Airlie to-morrow. It is
only one day longer, Lady Drum."
" Why, you plead as if I were to tak' ye out for exe-
cution the day after. If it will serve ye, I will wait for
another day, and on Friday morning, at ten minutes to
ten, ye must be at the station, wi' a' your trunks and
things in good order."
" But I have not asked my uncle yet," said Coquette.
" I have, though,'' said Lady Drum, " and I'm think-
ing he'll no miss ye except at the breakfast. Since he
began to get up that Concordance o' the Psalms, he
seems to have withdrawn himself from the world lound
about him, as it were, dead to his friends."
" It is very kind of you to ask me to go with you,"
said Coquette, suddenly remembering that she had not
thanked Lady Drum for her offer.
" No, no." said her elderly friend ; " what would a
big house be without a young leddy in it to bring visitors
about ? And this time, I must tell ye, a friend o' Sir
Peter's has given us the loan o' his house until he comes
back from Rome ; and it is a big house overlooking the
West-End Park ; and I'm thinking we'll find it more
comfortable than a hotel. And we will have some com-
pany ; and it will no be amiss if ye bring wi' ye such
French ornaments or dresses as might be rather out o'
place in the Manse o' Airlie. And I'm sure ye will be
quite surprised to see your cousin how he looks now
just like a fine, stalwart gentleman, instead o' a long-
legged laddie ; and it is just possible Lord Ea-lshope
may pay us a visit some evening."
Did Lady Drum throw out this hint as a vague feeler ?
244
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
She had never penetrated the mystery which had sur-
rounded the relations between Coquette and Lord Earls-
hope during their voyage in the Highlands. She had,
indeed, destroyed the scrap of writing handed to her by
Coquette when the girl was delirious, unwilling to bother
herself with a secret which did not concern her. Still
Lady Drum was just a trifle curious. There was some-
thing very peculiar and interesting in the odd notions
which the young French girl seemed to have acquired
about love and marriage. Lady Drum had never met
with any one who held but the ordinary and accepted
theories on that attractive subject. Yet here was a young
lady who calmly contemplated the possibility of loving
some one whom circumstances might prevent her marry-
ing ; and seemed in nowise disinclined to marry any one
whom her friends recommended, and wished to make
her husband. Were these French notions of the duty
of daughters to their parents ? Or had they been picked
up in idle speculation, and not yet driven away, as Lady
Drum felt certain they would be driven away, by a real
love affair. At all events, the mention of Lord Earls-
hope's name at once arrested Coquette's attention.
" Does Lord Earlshope ever go to Glasgow ? " she
asked, suddenly.
" What for no ? "
"And is he likely to meet my cousin at your house ? "
" Assuredly. Why not ? Why not ? "
" I did ask merely to know," said Coquette, with
thoughtful eyes.
Then Lady Drum bade her come downstairs and get
her a biscuit and a glass of wine. The Minister was
brought out of his study, and they had a little talk over
Coquette's projected trip. At length Lady Drum sent
to see if her coachman had refreshed his horses , and,
finally, with a pleasant "ati revaur, ma fee / au revattr !
ati revaur a bonnair !" the old lady walked in her grand
and stately fashion across the small garden, got into her
carriage, and was driven away from Airlie Manse.
There remained to Coquette but one day on which
A DALGHTER OF HETfL 245
she had the chance of seeing Lord Earlshope, and how
was she to bring about a meeting which she had feared,
yet could not wholly forego ?
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE LAST DAY AT AIRLIE.
ALL during that evening, and in thinking of the next
morning, she nursed a sweet and strange poison at her
heart. Love seemed no longer to be so terrible as on
that weird evening in the Highlands ; and she grew ac-
customed to the danger, and glad that, come what might,
this flower of life had at length fallen upon her and she
knew its fragrance. Had she not been told, in many of
those old stories, that love for love's sake was enough ?
She did not care to count its cost. She scarcely paid
any heed as to how it might end. Sufficient to know
that now, at this moment, her heart was beating wildly
against its prison-bars, and would fain have taken wings
and flown over the moor towards Earlshope, if only to
die on finding a haven.
Nor was there much disquiet in her look the next
morning when she rose and found that another bright
and clear day had come to mark her farewell to Airlie.
She was hurried and excited, perhaps, in preparing to go
out, but she was joyful, too ; and the early morning sun-
shine, streaming in through the small window, found her
eyes full of gladness and hope.
Yet how was she to communicate with Lord Earls-
hope, and let him know that she wished to say good-bye
to him ? Clearly neither her uncle nor Lady Drum
knew that he was at Earlshope. She dared not send
him a message ; and equally impossible was it for her to
go up alone to the house. Her hope was that he would
be on the look-out for her ; and that another stolen in
246 * DAUGHTER OF HETH.
terview would mark the last day she had for the present
to spend at Airlie.
She was not mistaken in that vague surmise. When
she went out for her accustomed forenoon stroll, she had
wandered but a little way when she found him approach-
ing her. His look was anxious ; but hers was full of
affection and trust.
"You are no longer alarmed to see me ? " he asked,
with an expression of glad surprise.
" No." she said. " Why should I ? Perhaps I ought
not to meet you in this way ; but it will not be for long.
And you you seemed to have dropped from the clouds."
" I was on my way to the Manse."
" To the Manse ! " she repeated, in some dismay.
" Yes. Do you know any reason why I should not
call upon your uncle ? I dared not go near the place
until I had assured myself I should not be annoying you.
And now I hope to be able to call and see you there, in-
stead of inveigling you into these surreptitious meetings,
even although they have the charm of secrecy, and of
Russian slippers."
He had caught some faint reflex of cheerfulness
from the gladness of her face ; but there was still about
him a look of constraint and anxiety.
" It is too late to think of that," she said ; " I go to
Glasgow to-morrow."
" Have they found out ? Are they sending you
away ? " he asked, hurriedly.
" No ; there is nothing to find out. But Lady Drum,
she is good enough to ask me to go with her ; and there
I will see my cousin, whom I have promised to visit
often, yet have never been able. And I am sorry for
him, alone in that great place, and the people here
nearly forgetting him. Does he not deserve some rep-
aration, some kindness from me ? "
She looked up into his face ; and he knew that she
meant more than appeared in her words.
" I wonder," said Lord Earlshope, after a little while,
41 if he does hope to win your love ; if he is working
there with the far-off intention of coming back here and
A DA UC1ITER OF HE 7Y/. 2 4 7
asking you to be his wife. If that is so, we have acted
very cruelly by him."
" Ah, not cruelly !" she said, as if begging him to
reassure her. "If we have forgotten him, can I not
make it up to him ? You will sec, when I go to Glas-
gow, I will be very kind to him, he will not think that
he has been ill-used."
" But he will think that you are still looking favorably
on his vague hopes, he will be all the more assured that,
some day or other, you will become his wife."
" And if that will make him happy," she said, slowly
and with wistful eyes, " there is nothing I will not do
to make him happy."
Lord Earlshope regarded her with a strange look.
" You would become his wife ? "
"If that would make him happy, yes. He deserves
so much from me, I will do that, if he demands it."
" You will marry him, and make him fancy that you
love him ? ''
"No," she said, simply. "I should tell him every-
thing. I should tell him that he deserves to marry a;
woman who has never loved any one but himself ; and
yet that I, if his marrying me will alone make him happy,
I will do what I can, and be his wife."
" So the world goes," said her companion, with a
strange bitterness in his tone ; " and it is the good and
the true and the noble that suffer. You arc far too un-
selfish to lead a happy life, Coquette. You will sacrifice
yourself, sooner or later, for the sake of some one you
love ; and the reward you will get will be reprobation
and the outcry of the crowd. And I I have so far
paved the way for all this that if I could free you at
this moment by laying down my own life, you would
find it no vain boast when I say now that I would do
it willingly."
" But you have not made me suffer," she said, gently
" Look now and see whether I am sad or miserable, I
have been so happy all this morning, merely to think I
should see you, that is enough ; and now you are here I
am content. I wish no more in the world."
248 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
" But, Coquette, don't you see ? it cannot end here,"
he said, almost desperately. " You do not know the
chains in which I am bound. I I dare not tell you,
and yet, before you go to Glasgow "
" No," she said, in the same gentle voice. " I do
not wish to know. It is enough for me to be beside
you as now, whatever is in store for us. And if it
should all be bad and sorrowful, I shall remember that
once I was satisfied ; that once I walked with you here
one morning, and we had no thought of ill, and we were
for a little while happy."
" But I cannot stop there," said he. " I must look
at the future. Oh, my poor girl, I think it would have
been better for us both had we never been born ! "
She drew back from him amazed and alarmed. All
the grave kindliness of his face had gone, and he was
regarding her with a look so full of pity and of love
that her heart grew still with a great fear. Why was it
that, at the very moment when they were most peaceful
and happy, when she merely wished to enjoy the satis-
faction of being near him, leaving the future to take
care of itself, this unnamable something came in between
them, and bade her begone from a man who had some-
thing to say which he dared not tell her ? Yet that
hesitation of hers lasted but a moment. After all, she
thought, what was her happiness in comparison with
that of the man she loved ? She saw the pain and the
despair written on his face, and she drew nearer to him
again, and took his hand in hers."
" I shall never wish that I had not been born," she
said, "for I have known you a little while, and I have
walked with you here. The rest is nothing. What can
harm us, if we are true to ourselves, and do what we
think is right ? "
" That is possible to you, who are as clear-souled as
an angel," he said.
Now what could ail two lovers who were walking
thus in the happy springtime, alone together, with youth
in their eyes, and all the world before them ? Was it
not enough fcr them to be? All things around them
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 249
were peaceful in the clear sunlight; the fields lay still
and warm in their coating of young green; the birds
were busy in the leaves of the hedges, and there was
many a jubilant note in the woods. Far away in the
south there lay a faint blue smoke over the houses of
Ayr, but no murmur of toil and struggle reached them
up on those moorland heights. The moor itself and
the fields and the valleys were as still as the sea, which
shone in the sunlight a pale blue until it was lost in the
white of the horizon. They only seemed out of conso-
nance with the peace of this mild and clear spring day,
in which the world lay and basked.
They strolled on together, Coquette sometimes pick-
ing up a flower, until they had got down to that corner
of Earlshope grounds where the small gate was. They
had gone thither untentionally.
" Shall we go in ? " said her companion.
" No," said Coquette. " It is too beautiful outside
to-day. Why cannot we go out yonder on the sea, and
sail along the coast of Arran, and on and up Locktyne,
where the still blue lake is ? I do remember it was so
pleasant there, but afterwards "
A cloud fell over her face, and Lord Earlshope has-
tened to change the subject. He spoke of her going to
Glasgow ; of the chances of his seeing her there ; of the
time she would be likely to stay. By this time they
had turned again, and were walking in the direction of
the Manse. Somehow or other, Coquette seemed un-
willing to speak of Glasgow, or to admit that she ex-
pected to see him at Lady Drum's house. When, in-
deed, they had come within sight of the house, Coquette
stopped, and said she would bid him good-bye there.
"But why are you so sad, Coquette?" he said.
"This is no farewell ; most likely I shall be in Glasgow
before you."
" I am sorry for that," she said, with her eyes fixed
on the ground.
" Why now ? What subtle notion of self-sacrifice,
for that it must be if you have resolved upon anything,
have you adopted now ? "
2 S * DAUGHTER OF HE TIL , ,-
" You do not seem to know what reparation I dc
owe to my cousin. It is for him I go to Glasgow,
You must not come if it will annoy him, the poor boy I
who has not much to comfort him, except, except "
" Except the thought of marrying you, Coquette,"
said Lord Earlshope ; " and you, you seem to think no-
thing of yourself, if only you can secure the happi-
ness of everybody else. Ah, well, if you wish me to
see you while you are in Glasgow, I will remain away.
Let your cousin have that brief time of enjoyment.
But for us two, Coquette, for us two there is no hope of
this separation being final."
" Hope ? " she said ; " why do you hope it ? Is it
not pleasant for us to see each other, if only we do no
harm nor pain to our friends ? Why do you speak in
that way, as if some great trouble was about to befal us.
Sometimes I do fear what you say, and I think of it at
night, and tremble, for I have no one that I can speak
to ; but in the morning these fears go away, for I look
out of the window, and I am only anxious to see you."
" My darling ! " he said, with a look of great com-
passion and tenderness in his eyes, "you deserve the
happiest life that ever a true-hearted woman enjoyed ;
and when I think what I have done to make you miser-
able "
" Ah, not miserable ! " she said. " Do I look miser-
able ? You must not think that ; nor that I am at all
miserable in Glasgow. No, good-bye, good-bye "
" For how long ? " said he, taking both her hands in
his.
With that she looked down, and said in a very low
voice,
" If you are weary here, you may come to see me in
Glasgow, once, twice, but not often "
The rest of her words were lost, for she found her-
self once more folded in his arms, as he bade her good-
bye, and kissed her.
" Good-bye, Coquette, good-bye ! " he said, tenderly ;
and when she had gone some way across the moor, and
turned and saw him standing there, it seemed to her
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 2 $l
that she still heard him say "Good-bye." He waved a
handkerchief to her; it was as if he were onboard a
vessel standing out to sea, and that soon a great and
desolate ocean would roll between them. When she
got home, and went up into her own room, and looked
out of the window, there was no figure visible on the
wide expanse of the moor. There was nothing there
but the sunshine and the quiet.
This was the first day that Coquette had known the
joy of being loved ; and lo ! it was already empty.
Fair and beautiful the morning had been, a day to re-
main a white stone in her memory, but it was already
numbered with the days that were. And the love that
filled her heart, it was no gay and happy thing, to make
her laugh and sing out of pure delight, but an unrest
and a care she was now to carry always with her, won-
dering whether its sweetness were as great as its pain.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
COQUETTE IN TOWN.
As Coquette and Lady Drum drew near to Glasgow
the impatience of the girl increased. Her thoughts
flew on more swiftly than the train, and they were all
directed towards the Whaup, whom she was now about
to see.
" Will he be at the station ? Does he know we are
coming ? Or shall we see him as we go along the
streets ? " she asked.
"Dear me!" said Lady Drum, "ye seem to think
that Glasgow is no bigger than Saltcoats. Meet him in
the streets ? We should scarce see him in the streets
if he were dressed in scawrlet."
It was growing towards dusk when the two ladies
arrived. Lady Drum's carriage was waiting at the sta-
252 -4 DAUGHTER OF HETH.
tion ; and presently Coquette found herself in the midst
of the roar and turmoil of the great city. The lamps
on the bridges were burning yellow in the gray coldness
of the twilight; and she caught a glimpse of the masses
of shipping down in the dusky bed of the river. Then
up through the busy streets, where the windows were
growing bright with gas, and dense crowds of people
were hurrying to and fro, and the carts and wagons and
carriages raised a din that was strange and bewildering
to ears grown accustomed to the stillness of Airlie.
" Alas ! " said Coquette, " I cannot see him in this
crowd, it is impossible."
Lady Drum laughed, and said nothing. And so they
drove on, the high, old-fashioned chariot, which ought
to have been kept for state purposes down at Castle
Cawmil, swinging gently on its big springs, up to the
northwestern district of the city. When Coquette was
finally set down in front of a range of tall houses, the
rooms of which were shining ruddily through crimson
curtains! she got up the steps, and turned to take a look
at her new place of abode. Lo ! in front of her there
was no more city ; but a great gulf of pale blue mist,
with here and there an orange lamp burning in the dis-
tance. There were no more streets nor crowds nor great
wagons ; and she even became aware that there were
trees in front of .her and down there in the mysterious
hollow.
" Where am I ? " she said. " It is not a town, ars
we in the country again ? And where is my cousin ? "
At this moment the hall-door was thrown open by
a servant ; and out of the blaze of light came a dapper
and fat little gentleman, who, with a light laugh, darted
down the steps and gave his arm to Coquette.
" Here we are again ! " cried Sir Peter. " Charmed
to see you, Miss Cassilis, quite charmed ; hope you will
have many a pleasant evening, many and many and
many a pleasant evening."
Then he was about to hand her over in his airy fash-
ion to the young person who had been told off as her
maid ; but Miss Coquette was rebellious.
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. 253
"No," she said. "I do wish to go and see my
cousin before anything, he does not know I am in th.s
town, it will be goodnatured of you, Sir Peter to come
with me."
" Oh, certainly ! certainly ! Roberts, stop the car-
riage ! My lady, keep dinner to half-past eight. Come
along, my dear. H'm ! Ha ! Tra-la-la-la ! "
Lady Drum stood at the open door, amazed. Indeed,
she was so astounded by this mad project on the part
of her husband, within an hour of dinner-time, that she
had not a word to say, and in blank astonishment she
beheld the carriage drive off. Once more Coquette
found herself getting into a labyrinth of streets, and the
farther they drove the more noisy and dingy they seemed
to get. She began to wonder if it were in this place
that the Whaup had been living for so long a time, and
how the thought of Airlie and the wild moorland and
the sea had not broken his heart
It happens to most lads who go to college that they
attach themselves to some friend and companion con-
siderably older than themselves, who becomes their
counsellor, teacher, and ally. Nothing of the kind was
possible to the Whaup. His individuality was too strong
to admit of his becoming ft\o.doppelgangroi anybody. No
sooner had he thrown himself into the midst of college
life than his exuberant spirits, along with a touch of his
old love of devilment, attracted round him a considerable
circle of associates, of whom he was the heart and soul.
It is to be feared that the Whaup and his friends did
not form the most studious coterie to be found in the
old High Street building. Plenty of study there was ;
and the Whaup worked as hard as any of them. But
the wild evenings which these young gentlemen spent
in their respective lodgings, the stories told of their
dare-devil pranks, and the very free-and-easy manners
of more than one of them, gained for this band a dan-
gerous reputation. They were held to be rather wild
by the more discreet and methodical of their fellow-col-
legians. The Whaup himself was known to stick at
nothing. His splendid physique gave him many advan-
254
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
tages ; and after having let daylight come in upon their
rambling and hot-headed disquisitions on poetry or
" metapheesics," on their too copious beer-drinking and
smoking of lengthy clays, many were chagrined to meet
the Whaup in the forenoon as fresh and pink as a daisy,
having just completed his morning classes, and setting
out for a long swinging walk around by the Botanic
Gardens and the Kelvin.
" What a powerful fellow your cousin is," said Sir
Peter, as they drove along George Street. " Did you
hear of his adventure at the theatre ? No ? Good story ;
very, good story ; ho ! ho ! excellent story. He takes three
young ladies into the theatre, cabman insults him, he
hands the young ladies into the theatre, comes back, hauls
the cabman down from his box and gives him a thorough
thrashing in about a minute. Up comes another cab-
man, squares up, is sent flying into the arms of a police-
man ; the policeman admires pluck, and says it serves
them both right. Your cousin goes into the theatre, sits
down, nobody knows, Ho, ho ! Ha, ha ! ha ! "
"But, pray vyho were the young ladies? "says Co-
quette, with a touch of proud asperity.
" Young ladies, young ladies, young ladies, who can
remember the names of young ladies ? " said, or rather
hummed, Sir Peter, keeping time by tapping on the car-
riage window. " Why, I remember! Those charming
girls that sing what's the song ? why, the Doctor's
daughters, you know, Kate and Mary and Bess, all of
them Menzies, Menzies, Menzies ! "
" I think my cousin ought to attend to his studies,
rather than go about with young ladies," said Coquette.
" So, ho ! " cried Sir Peter. " Must a young man have
no amusement ? Suppose he caps his studies by marry-
ing one of the Doctor's daughters ! "
" There are plenty to choose from," said Coquette,
with an air of disdain.
Indeed, the mention of these three young ladies ren-
dered Coquette silent for the rest of the drive ; and Sir
Peter was left to talk and sing to himself. Yet it was
but a little time before, that Coquette had clapped her
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
255
hands with joy on hearing that the Whaup had made
those acquaintances, and that she had eagerly asked Lady
Drum if it were probable he might marry one of them.
Why should she suddenly feel jealous now, and refuse to
speak to this poor Sir Peter, who was risking his dinner
to do her a service ?
Her face lightened considerably when the carriage
was pulled up, and she got out to look with some curiosity
on the gaunt and gray house in George Street which bore
a number she had often written on her letters, Many a
time she had thought of this house, and mentally drawn
a picture of it. But the picture she had drawn was of a
small building with a porch and green casements, and a
big square in front, with trees in it ; in short, she had
thought of a quiet thoroughfare in an old-fashioned French
town. She was more grieved than disappointed with the
ugliness of this house.
Sir Peter led her up the entry, and up the stone stairs
to the first landing. It was her first introduction to the
Scotch system of building houses. But her attention was
suddenly withdrawn from this matter by a considerable
noise within, and over the noise there broke the music of
a song, which was plentifully accompanied by rappings
on a table or on the floor.
" Ah, c est lui!" she suddenly cried. " I do know
it is he."
The Whaup, to tell the truth, had not a very beautiful
voice, but it was strong enough, and both Sir Peter and
Coquette could hear him carelessly shouting the words
cf an old English ballad,
" Come, lasses and lads, away from your dads,
And away to the maypole hie,
For every fair has a sweetheart there,
And the fiddlers standing by !
For Willie shall dance with Jane,
And Johnny has got his Joan,
To trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it, trip it up and down "
while there was a measured beating of hands and feet. Sir
Peter had to knock twice before any one answered ; and
when the door was opened lo it was the Whaup himself
256 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
who apppeared, there being no one else in the house to
perform the office.
" What ! is it you, Coquette ! " he cried, seizing both
her hands.
" Oh, you bad boy ! " she cried, " how you do smell
of tobacco ! "
And, indeed, there came from the apartment he had
just left, the door of which was also wide open rolling
volumes of smoke, which nearly took Sir Peter's breath
away.
" But what am I to do with you ? " he said. " Mine
is the only room in the house that isn't in confusion just
now "
" We will go in and see your friends, if you do not
object, and if the gentlemen will permit us," said Co-
quette, at once. Perhaps she was desirous of knowing
what company he kept.
You should have seen how swiftly those young men
put away their pipes, and how anxious they were to get
Coquette a chair and how they strove to look very milcl
and good. You would have fancied they had been hold-
ing a prayer-meeting ; but their manner changed per-
ceptibly when Coquette hoped she had not interrupted
their smoking, and graciously asked that the gentleman
who had been singing should continue, at which there
was much laughter, for the Whaup looked confused. It
was in the midst of this reawakening of voices that Sir
Peter, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable about his
dinner, explained the object of his visit, and asked the
Whaup if he could come along later in the evening. Of
course, his friends counselled him to go at once ; but he
was not so lost to all notions of hospitality.
" No," said he ; "I will come and see you to-morrow
night."
Coquette looked hurt.
" Well," said her cousin to her, with a dash, of his
old impertinence, " you can stay here if you like, and let
Sir Peter go home with an excuse for you."
The young men looked as if they would have liked
to second that invitation, but dared not. Indeed, they
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
2 57
regarded Coquette, whose foreign accent they had no-
ticed, in rather an awestricken way. Perhaps she was
a French princess who had come on a visit to Sir Peter ;
and she looked like a princess, and had the calm gracious-
ness and self-possession of a princess. That was no
blushing country girl who sat there, the small lady with
the delicate and pale features, and the large, quiet, dark
eyes, who had a wonderful air of ease and grace. The
rough students felt their eyes fall when she looked at
them. What would they not have given to have spoken
with her for a whole evening, and looked at the wonders
of her costume and the splendor of her dark hair ?
"What do you say, Coquette ?" said the Whaup ;
and they all pricked up their ears to hear her called by
this strange name.
Coquette laughed. Doubtless she considered the
proposal as a piece of her cousin's raillery ; but any one
at all conversant with the secret likings of the young,
lady, as the Whaup was, must have known that she was
perhaps not so averse to spending an evening with a lot
of young students as she ought to have been.
" Perhaps I should like it," she said frankly, " if you
did all sing to me, and tell stories, and make me one of
your companions. But I am very hungry, I have had
no dinner."
" Bravely and sensibly spoken ! " cried Sir Peter, who
bad become alarmed by this outrageous suggestion put.
out by the Whaup. " Come along, my dear Miss Cas-
silis ; your cousin will come to-night, or to-morrow
night."
" Good-bye, Tom," said Coquette. " I am pleased
you enjoy yourself in Glasgow. It is not all study and
books. And now I know why you did write to me such
very short letters."
" Look here, Coquette," said he, as they were leav-
ing. " What are you going to do to-morrow forenoon ?
I suppose you'll be driving about, and seeing grand peo-
ple, and you won't have a word for me."
' Ah, you wicked boy, to say that ! " she said reproach-
fully. " You will come for me to-morrow when you
2 58 A DA UGHTER OF HE 777.
choose nine, ten, eleven and we will go for a walk
just where you please, and I will speak to nobody but
you, and you shall show me all the things worth seeing
in Glasgow and round about."
" Why Coquette, it is all like a dream come true ! "
he cried, " And to think that you are in Glasgow at
last!"
With that Sir Peter offered the young lady his arm,
and hurried her downstairs. He was anxious about his
dinner.
The Whaup returned to his companions, and instantly
perceived that they were treating him with unusual re-
spect. They would talk, also, about the young lady ;
and whether she would remain in Glasgow ; and where
the Whaup had seen her first ; and whether she would
likely be up at his rooms any other evening Master
Tom was not very communicative, but at last one ven-
tured to say,
" Tell us, now, Cassilis, is she likely to be married
soon ? "
" She is," said the Whaup.
" To whom ? "
" To me," said the Whaup.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
ALL ABOUT KELVIN-SIDE.
TALK of Glasgow being a dull, gray city ! When
the Whaup got up next morning at half-past six, and
looked out, it seemed to him that the empty pavements
were made of gold, that the fronts of the houses were
shining with a new light, and the air full of a delicious
tingling. For did not the great city hold in it the beat
ing heart of Coquette ; and were not all the thorough-
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 259
fares aware of the consecration that had fallen on them
by her arrival ? Away he sped to his classes ; and his
boots, as they rang in the street, clattered " Coquette ! "
and " Coquette ! " and " Coquette ! " If the Professor
had known that Coquette was in Glasgow, would he
have looked so dull, and been so miserably slow ?
What was the use of this gabble about ancient lan-
guages, when Coquette had brought her pretty French
idioms with her, and was even now getting up to look
out on the greenness of Hillhead and down on the
sluggish waters of Kelvin. Alas ! why were the half-
hours so full of minutes ; and might not the sunshine
be altogether faded out of the sky before he could get
westward to welcome Coquette ?
He dashed home from college to his lodgings, and
then arrayed himself in his tidiest garments, and fresh-
ened himself up, singing the while some snatches of
" Sally in our Alley." The tall and smart young man
who now issued into George Street, and made his way
westward as fast as his long legs could carry him, bore but
little resemblance to the devil-may-care lad who had
lounged about Airlie and tormented his father's neigh-
bors. Yet he was singing one of his boyish songs as
he strode along the thoroughfare, and ever and anon he
looked up at the sky to make sure that it was going to
be kindly to Coquette. Why, the light mist of the
morning was now clearing away, and a blaze of sun-
shine was striking here and there along the northern
side of Sauchiehall Street. 'Tis a pleasant street, un-
der particular circumstances. Shops are its landmarks ;
but they grow poetic in the eyes of youth. It seemed
to the Whaup that the boots in the windows looked un-
usually elegant ; that never before had he seen such
taste in the arrangement of Normandy pippins ; that
even the odor of a bakery had something in it that
touched sweet memories. For, indeed, the shops and
the windows and the people, and Sauchiehall Street
itself,-were to him on that morning but phantasms ;
and all around him the air and the sky and the sunshine
were full of Coquette, and nothing but Coquette. He
2 6 o A DA UGHTER OF HE 777.
fell in love with Sauchiehall Street on that morning ;
and he has never quite forgotten his old affection.
He walked up to the front of the great house overlook-
ing the Park which Sir Peter had borrowed, and was glad
that the door was opened by a girl instead of by a man-
servant, a creature whom he half feared and half disliked.
The young person had scarcely shown him into the
spacious drawing-room when he heard a quick flutter
of a dress, and Coquette herself came rushing in, and
overwhelmed him with her questions and her exclama-
tions and her looks. For she could not understand
what had altered him so much until she perceived that
his moustache, which had been rather feeble on their
last meeting, had now assumed quite formidable pro-
portions ; and it was only a significant threat on his
part that caused her to cease her grave and ironical
compliments.
And where should they go on this bright summer
morning ?
" Lady Drum, she has gone into the town to buy
ornaments for the grand dinner of Friday," said Co-
quette, " to which you are invited, Mr. Whaup, by a
gilt card which I did address for you this morning.
And I would not go with her, for I said, my cousin
comes for me, and he would be angry if I were not here,
and he is very disagreeable when he is angry. Enfiti t
let us go and you will amuse me by all that is to be
seen.'"
Now when Coquette had got herself ready, and they
went out, the Whaup took a very strange road to the
city by going down to Kelvin Bridge, The farther
they went, over Hillhead and farther westward, the less
appearance there was of streets and shops, until the
Whaup had to confess that he had led her, with malice
prepense directly away from the town. And so they
went into the country.
He took her into all the haunts and nooks that he
had explored by himself, clown to the Pear-tree Well,
back again, and alongthe Kelvin, and then up by the cross-
road which leads to Maryhill. Here they paused in their
A DA UGHTRR OF HE TIT. 2 6 1
wanderings to look over the great extent of country
which lay before them ; and the Whaup told her that far
away on the left, if she had a wonderful telescope, she
might see the lonely uplands about Airlie, and catch a
glimpse of the long sweep of the sea.
" I used to come up here," he said, " all by myself,
and wonder what you were doing away down there. And
when the sun came out, I thought, ' Ah, Coquette is en-
joying herself now.' "
" All that is very pretty," said Coquette, " and I
should be sorry for you, perhaps. But I do find you
have still some amusement. What is it you sing ?
' Come, lasses and lads, away from your dads ? ' What
is ' dads!'"
" Never mind, Coquette. It is only a song to keep
up one's heart, you know, not to be talked about on a
morning like this, between us two. I want to say some-
thing very nice to you, and friendly, and even sentimen-
tal, but I don't know how. What shall I say ? "
" It is not for me to tell you," remarked Coquette,
with some air of disdain.
And yet as they stood there, and looked away over
the far country towards Airlie and the sea, they some-
how forgot to talk. Indeed, as Coquette, leaning on the
low stone wall, gazed away westward, a shadow seemed
to cross her face. Was she thinking of all that had hap-
pened there, and of her present position mayhap work-
ing grievous wrong by this thoughtless kindness to her
cousin ? Was she right in trying to atone for previous
neglect by an excess of goodness which might be cruel
to him in after-life? Her companion saw that a sudden
silence and pensiveness had fallen over her, and he drew
ner gently away, and began their homeward walk.
On their way back they again went down to the Kelvin,
and he proposed that they should rest for a little while
in the bit of meadow opposite the Pear-tree Well. They
sat down amid the long grass, and when any one crossed
the small wooden bridge, which was but seldom, Co-
quette hid her face under her sunshade, and was un-
seen.
262 A DAUGHTER OF HETIL
" Are you tired ? " said the Whaup.
" Tired ? No. I do walk about all day sometimes at
Airlie."
" Then why have you grown so silent ? "
"I have been thinking."
" Of what ? "
" Oh many things I do not know."
" Coquette," he said suddenly, " do you know that
the well over there used to be a trysting-place for lovers
and that they used to meet there and join their hands
over the well, and swear that they would marry each
other some day or other I suppose did some marry and
some didn't ; but wasn't it very pleasant in the meantime
to look forward to that ? Coquette, if you would only give
me your hand now! I will wait any time, I have waited
already, Coquette ; but if you will only say now that I
may look forward to some day, far away, that I can come
and remind you of your promise, think what it would be
to have that to carry about with one. You will be going
back to Airlie, Coquette, I mavn't see you for ever so
long."
He paused, for she seemed strangely disturbed. She
looked up at him with eyes which were wild and
alarmed.
" Ah, do not say any more," she said ; " I will do
anything for you, but not that, not that."
And then she said, a moment afterwards, in a voice
which was very low and full of sadness,
" Or see, I will promise to marry you, if you like,
after many, many years, only not now, not within a few
years, afterwards I will do what you like."
" But have I offended you ? Why do you cry, Co-
quette ? Look here, I'd cut my fingers off before I would
ask anything of you that pained you. What is the mat-
ter, Coquette ? Does it grieve you to think of what I
ask ? "
" No no!" she said hurriedly, with tears stealing
down her face. " It is right of you to ask it, and I I
must say yes. My uncle does expect it, does he not ?
and you yourself, Tom, you have been very good to me,
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 263
and if only this will make you happy, I will be your
wife."
" You will ? " said he, with his handsome face burn-
ing with joy.
" But but," said Coquette, with the dark eyes still
wet, and the head bent down so that he could scarce see
her face, " not until after many years. And all that time
Tom, I shall pray that you may get a better wife than I,
and a wife who could be to you all that you deserve, and
in this long time you may meet some one, and your
heart will say, She is better for me than Coquette'
" Better than you, Coquette ! " he cried. " Is there
anybody in all the world better than you ? "
"Ah, you do not think, you do not remember. You
do not know anything of me yet, I am a stranger to you,
and I have been brought up differently from you. And
did not Leeziebess say I had come to do mischief among
you, and that my French bringing up was danger-
ous ? "
" But you know, Coquette, that your goodness even
turned the heart of that horrible old idiot towards you ;
and you must not say another word against yourself, for
I will not believe it. And if you only knew how proud
and happy you have made me," he added, taking her hand
affectionately and gratefully.
" I am glad of that," said Coquette, in a low voice.
" You deserve to be very happy. But it is a great many
years off, and in that time I will tell you more of my-
self than I have told you yet. I cannot just now, my
poor boy, for your eyes are so full of gladness ; but some
day you will believe it fortunate for you if you can mar-
ry some one else, and I will rejoice at that too."
" Why/' said he, with some good-natured surprise in
his voice, " you talk as if there was some one^// wanted
to marry."
" No," said Coquette with a sigh, "there is no one."
"And now, then," said the Whaup gayly, as he as-
sisted her to rise, " I call upon all the leaves of the trees,
and all the drops in the river, and all the light in the air,
to bear witness that I have won Coquette for my wife ;
204 A DA UGHTER OF HE 777.
and I ask the sky always to have sunshine for her, and
I ask the winds to take care of her and be very gentle tc
her, for isn't she my Coquette ? "
" Ah, you foolish boy ! " she said, with sad and tear
ful eyes, " you have given me a dangerous name. But
no matter. If it pleases you to-day to think I shall be
your wife, I am glad. '
Of course, in lover's fashion, he laughed at her fears,
and strove to lend her a leaven of his own high-hearted
confidence. And in thiswise they returned to Glasgow,
as lovers have done before them, as lovers will do after
them again and again, so long as youth hungers for bright
eyes and laughs to scorn all the perils the future may
hold. And if the Whaup thought well of Glasgow on
that morning when he set Mit, you may guess what he
thought of the city as he now returned to it, and of the
strange transfiguration undergone by the distant clouds
of smoke, and the tall chimneys, and the long and mono-
tonous streets. Romance had bathed the old gray town
in the hues of the sunset ; and for him henceforth Glas-
gow was no longer a somewhat commonplace and mat-
ter-of-fact mass of houses, but a realm of mystery and
dreams which love had lit up with the colored lime-light
of wonder and hope.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
LADY DRUM'S DINNER-PARTY.
So Coquette had engaged herself to marry her cousin.
She knew not why, but there were strange forebodings
crowding her mind as she contemplated that as yet dis-
tant prospect. It seemed to her that life would be a
pleasant and enjoyable thing if all the people around her
were satisfied, like herself, to leave it as they found it,
and continue those amicable relations which were quiet-
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 265
er, safer, more comfortable than the wild and strange
perplexities which appeared to follow in the train of love.
Love had become a fearful thing to her. She looked
forward to meeting Lord Earlshope with something
very like alarm ; and yet his absence was a source of
vague unrest and anxiety. She longed to see him ; and
yet dreaded a repetition of those bizarre and terrible
scenes which had marked the opening days of their in-
timacy. And the more she looked at her own position,
the longer she dwelt on the possibilities that lay before
her in the future, the less could she unravel the toils that
seemed gathering around her and binding her with iron
chains.
Was this, then, the happy phase of life into which
she had seen, with something of envy, her old compan-
ions and playmates enter ? Was this the delight of be-
ing in love ? Were these the joyous experiences which
were sung in many a ballad, and described in many a
merry theatre-piece, and dwelt lovingly upon in many a
story ?
" I am eighteen," she said to herself, in these solitary
musings. " It is the time for young people to be in love,
and yet I hate it and fear it, and I wish that I did never
come to this country. Alas ! it is too late to go away
now."
And again she asked herself if she had brought
those perils now looming distinctly in the future, upon
herself by her own fault. Wherein had she erred ?
Surely not through selfishness. She loved Lord Earls-
hope, and was content to be loved by him, without
even dreaming that he was thereby bound to her in any
shape whatever. Indeed she seemed to think that by
way of reparation to her cousin it was her duty to marry
him, and she had consented only because she thought
she would make him happy. In neither direction was
there the least regard for herself ; but only a desire to
please her friends all around; and yet it seemed that those
very efforts of hers were doomed to plunge her deeper
and deeper into the sea of troubles in which she found
herself sinking. Was there no hand to save her ? She
266 ^ DAUGHTER OF HETH.
knew not how it had all come about ; but she did know
that in the odd moments in which a consciousness of
her situation flashed upon her a vague terror took
possession of her, and she looked forward with dismay
to the coming years.
These moments, fortunately, occurred at considera-
ble intervals. The temperament of the girl was natu-
rally light and cheerful. She was glad to enjoy the
quiet pleasure of everyday life, and forget those gloomy
anxieties which lay in the future. And this visit to
Glasgow was full of all manner of new experiences, de-
lights, excitements, which drove her forebodings out of
her head, and led the Whaup to believe that she was
proud to have become his affianced wife. Why had she
cried, he asked himself, when he urged his suit in that
bit of meadow on the banks of the Kelvin ? It did not
matter. The Whaup was not himself inclined to mor-
bid speculation. Doubtless, girls were strange creatures.
They cried when they were most pleased. They turned
pale or fainted, or achieved some other extraordinary
feat, on the smallest emotional provocation. It was
enough for him to hear Coquette's merry laugh to con-
vince him that she was not very sorry for what she had
done ; and everybody, from Lady Drum downwards,
bore testimony to the fact that the visit to Glasgow had
wonderfully improved the girl's health and spirits. You
had only to look at the new and faint color in her pale
cheeks, and the glad brightness of her eyes.
Then there was the grand dinner coming oft, which
was to introduce Coquette to Lady Drum's Glasgow
friends. The Whaup, of course, was invited ; and, as
there never had been occasion for his wearing evening
dress down in Airlie, his slender store of money was
deeply dipped into by his preparations. But when his
name was announced, and he walked into the drawing-
room, where Lady Drum was receiving her guests, the
appearance of the tall and handsome young man attracted
a good many eyes ; and Coquette, who had ran for-
ward to meet him, was quite overcome by wonder and de-
light over his transformation from a raw country lad into
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 267
an elegant young gentleman, and could not refrain from
snying as much to him in a whisper. The Whaup, who
had looked around for her on his entrance into the
room, laughed, and blushed a little, and then drew her
away into a corner, and said,
" It is all the white tie, Coquette, isn't it ? Don't
you think I've managed it well ? But I am awfully
afraid that a sneeze would send everything flying, and
fill the air with bits of cambric. And it was very good
of you, Coquette, to send me those studs. Don't they
look pretty ? and I'll kiss you for sending me them
whenever I get the chance."
With which Coquette drew herself up and said,
" You do talk of kissing me as if it were every day.
Yet you have not kissed me, nor are likely to do that,
until you are a great deal better-behaved, and less vain
of yourself. You do talk of not being able to sneeze,
merely that I look at the negligent way you have made
your necktie and your collar, to open your throat, you
foolish boy, and give yourself a cold."
At this moment Sir Peter bustled up to get hold of
Coquette, and introduce her to some civic dignitaries ;
and the Whaup, with some chagrin, saw her disappear
in a crowd of bailies. He himself was speedily recalled
to his duty, for the remainder of the guests were arriv-
ing rapidly, and among them were some whom he knew.
He soon found himself being teased by the daughters of
his friend, Dr. Menzies, three tall, light-haired, merry-
hearted girls, who rather made a pet of him. And all
at once one of them said to him,
" Why, is that your cousin there, the girl in white,
with the tea-rose in her breast? It is? How hand-
some she is ; and how well she knows the proper sort
of flower for her dark hair ! Did you say she was an
Italian?"
" No, a Mongolian," said the Whaup, emphatically ;
for he did not like to have Coquette spoken of by any-
body in this cool and critical fashion.
" Does she sing ? "
" I should think so," he said, curtly.
2 6S * DA UGHTER OF HE TV.
At this very moment Coquette came towards him,
and then, seeing that he was talking to three young
ladies, suddenly turned and looked for Sir Peter, whom
she had just left. The Whaup was at her side in a mo-
ment.
" What is it, Coquette ? " he said.
" Nothing," she said coldly.
" You know you were coming to speak to me."
" But I did find you engaged," she said, with a slight
touch of haiiteur in her tone. " Who are these young
ladies ? Are they your friends whose father is the
doctor ? Why do you leave them ? "
" Coquette, if you are unreasonable I will go away
and not return the whole evening. What did you come
to tell me ? "
" I did come to say," replied Coquette, speaking with
a studied and calm carelessness, " that Lady Drum has
asked Bailie Maclaren (I do think that is the name) to
take me in to dinner, and I do not like it, for I would
rather have sat by you ; but it is of no consequence since
you are occupied with your friends."
"Ho, ho!" said the Whaup, confidently. "Lady
Drum asked me to take in that old woman with the
feathers, Mrs. Colquhoun ; but don't you imagine I am
such a fool, Coquette, oh, no ! "
" What will you do ? " said Coquette, with her face
brightening up.
The Whaup said nothing for a second or two, but
just then, a motion towards pairing having taken place,
elderly gentlemen bowing graciously and desirous of
" having the honor," the Whaup darted up to Bailie
Maclaren, a venerable person in spectacles, who was
looking out for his appointed partner, and said in a hur-
ried whisper,
" I beg your pardon, sir, but Lady Drum bids me tell
you she would be much obliged if you would kindly take
in Mrs. Colquhoun, the old lady near the piano, do you
see her?"
The Whaup did not wait for any reply from the be-
wildered old gentleman, but instantly returned to Co-
A DAUGHTER OF HRTH. 269
quette, caught her hand, placed it on his arm, and
hurried her into the dining-room in defiance of all order
and the laws of precedence. Not for some time did
Lady Drum see what had occurred. It was not until the
soup had been cleared away that she caught a glimpse
of Coquette and the Whaup sitting comfortably together
at a portion of the table where neither ought to have
been, and the face of the young lady, who wore tea-rose-
buds twisted in the loose masses of her dark hair, was
particularly bright and happy, for her companion was
telling her wonderful stories of his college life, lies,
doubtless, for the most part, or nearly approaching there-
unto.
" It was rather shabby of you, Coquette," he said, ' to
run away like that when I wanted to introduce you to
Dr. Menzies' girls."
*' I was introduced to too many people ; I cannot re-
member all such names. Besides, I do not like girls with
straw-colored hair."
" Oh, for shame, Coquette ! You know it isn't straw-
color, but golden, and very pretty. Well, I would have
introduced you to those two young ladies who sit near
Sir Peter, and who have hair as dark and as handsome
as your own."
" Who are they ? " said Coquette, submissively ; for
she was bound to be consistent.
" They live in Regent's Park Terrace," said the
Whaup, which did not afford his companion much in-
formation, " and they have the most lovely contralto
voices. You should hear the younger one sing the ' Ash
Grove.' "
" I do think you know too many young ladies," said
Coquette, with a pout, which was so obviously assumed
that he laughed ; and then she began to tell him in con-
fidence, and in a very low voice, that she was very an-
xious for the appearance of the first entrees, merely that
she should have a little sparkling wine.
"Champagne!" said the Whaup suddenly to the
servant behind him ; at which Coquette looked much
alarmed and embarrassed. The man went and brought
2 7
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
a bottle, and the Whaup was rude enough to take it from
him and fill Coquette's glass, and then smuggle it behind
a big epergne, where it was wholly concealed by flowers.
" You wicked boy ! " said Coquette, fearing that all
eyes had been drawn towards them ; but the Whaup
calmly gazed down the table and saw that the guests
were occupied with their own affairs.
And so the dinner went on, and these two young
people were very happy ; for it was the first time that
the Whaup had appeared in society along with Coquette,
and he felt a right of property in her, and was proud of
her. She had given him to understand that their mar-
riage was a thing so distant and vague that it was
scarcely to be thought of as yet ; but in the meantime
he regarded her as virtually his wife, and no longer con-
sidered himself a solitary unit lost in this crowd of mar-
ried people. He was very attentive to Coquette. He
was particular as to the dainties which she ate ; he as-
sumed authority over her in the matter of wine. Why,
it was as if they were children playing at beeing husband
and wife, in a fantastic grotto of their own creation ;
while the serious interests of the world were allowed to
pass outside unheeded, and they cared not to think of
any future, so busy were they in wreathing flowers.
" Coquette," said he, " if you are good, I will sing
you a song when we go into the drawing-room."
u I do know," said Coquette, with the least trace of
contempt. " It is always ' Come lasses and lads, Come
lasses and lads' ; that is your song always. Now, if
you did sing some proper song, I would play an accom-
paniment for you. But perhaps some of your young
lady friends down there can they play the accompani-
ment for you ? "
" Oh, yes," said the Whaup, lightly. " But, of course,
none of them can play or sing like you, you know. Now
if you only saw yourself at this moment, Coquette, how
your white dress, and the glare from the table, and the
strong lights make your hair and your eyes look so dark
as lo be almost wild, and those pretty yellow rosebuds *
" Have I not told you," said Coquette, with some
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
271
asperity, " that it is very, very bad manners to mention
one's appearance or dress ? I did tell you often, you
must not do it ; and if people do hear you call me Co-
quette, what will they say of me ? "
" Go on," said the Whaup, mockingly ; " let us have
all the lecture at once."
" Alas !" said Coquette, more sadly than she had as
yet spoken, " there is another thing I would say, and
yet of what use ? I would wish you to give up thinking
me so good and so perfect. Why do you think I can
I 1 ly or sing or talk to you better than any one else ?
It is not true, it is a great misfortune that you think it true.
And if it was anybody but you, I would say it was com-
pliments only ; it was flattery ; but I do see in your
eyes what you think, although you may not say it. Do
you know that you deceive yourself about me, and that
it is a pain to me? If I could give you my eyes for a
moment, I would take you around the table, and show
you who is much prettier than I am, who does sing
better, who has more knowledge, more sense, more
nobleness. Alas ! you can see nobody but me, and it
is a misfortune."
" What do you mean by that, Coquette ? " he said,
with vague alarm. " Why do you want me to look at
people with different eyes ? "
" Because," she said, in a low voice, but very dis-
tinctly, " you do risk all your happiness on a future so
uncertain. When I look forward to a few years, I am
afraid, not for myself, but for you. If I could give you
my eyes, I would lead you to some one of your friends
and bid you admire her, and teach you what a charming
character she has, and ask you to pledge her to go with
you all through the time that is to come. As for me, I
am not sure of myself. Why did they call me Coquette ?
When I do think of all that you risk in giving your happ-
iness to me to keep for a great many years I I I
despair ! "
But the Whaup was not to be cast down by these
idle forebodings.
" Why, Coquette," said he, " you are become as
2 7 2 A DA UGHTERIOF HE TIT.
morbid as Lord Earlshopc, and you talk nonsense be-
sides, which he never does. You want me to believe
that anybody else, in this room or any other room, is to
be compared with you. That is not giving me new
eyes, it is blinding me with a pair of spectacles. And I
won't have your eyes, Coquette, pretty as they are, but
yourself, eyes included. Why, what a small idiot you
must be to imagine that the world holds more than one
Coquette."
His companion smiled ; perhaps rather sadly.
" It is a great change from your first belief of me,
when you did think me dangerous and wicked. But
perhaps they do still think that of me in Airlie. What
would Leesiebess's husband answer to those pretty
things you say of me ; and are you so sure that all the
people they are wrong, and you are right? "
Sure that Coquette was not a wicked and dangerous
person ? the Whaup had not a word to say.
CHAPTER XL.
THE ROSEBUD
WHEN the ladies had gone from the room, and the
men had settled down to drink steadily, and talk the
after-dinner sentiment which ihey probably called their
opinions, the Whaup sat by nimself, silent and gloomy.
A full glass of claret remained on the table before him
un tasted. He stared at it as if it were some distant
object, and the hum of the voices around him sounded
like the murmur of the sea, as he had listened to it at
night up on Airlie moor.
What did Coquette mean? Why did she put away
into the future, as if it were something to be dreaded,
the happy time which ought to have been welcomed by a
young girl ? As the Whaup puzzled over these things,
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 273
he asked himself what hindered his going to her now, in
the royal fashion of Lochinvar, and marrying her out-of-
hand before she had time to say no ?
Alas ! Lochinvar belonged to the upper classes. He
could support the bride whom he stole away in that,
romantic manner ; and his merry black eye, in bewitching
the girl, and making her ready to ride with him over the
Borders, was not troubled by any consideration as to how
the two should be able to live. The Whaup looked up
the table. There were rich men there. There were
men there who could confidently place fabulous figures
on checks ; and yet they did not seem to know what a
magic power they possessed. They only talked feeble
platitudes about foreign affairs ; and paid further atten-
tion to that god which, enshrined in the capacious temple
underneath their waistbelt, they had worshipped for many
years. Had they ever been young ? the Whaup asked
himself. Had they known some fair creature who resem-
bled, in some inferior fashion, Coquette ? Was there at
that remote period anybody in the world, in the likeness
of Coquette, on whom their wealth could shower little
delicate attentions ? Had they been able to marry when
they chose ? Or were they poor in their youth, when alone
money is of value to any one, only to become rich in their
old age, and think with a sigh of the Coquette of long
ago, and console themselves with much feeding and the
imposing prominence of a portly stomach ?
Dr. Menzies, it is true, had vaguely promised that,
when his studies were completed, the Whaup should
become his assistant, or even his junior partner. But how
far away seemed that dim prospect ! And why should
Coquette, a princess on whom all the world ought to have
been proud to wait, be bound down by such ignominious
conditions and chances ? The Whaup plunged his hands
deep into his empty pockets, and stared all the more
moodily at the glass.
Then suddenly there was a sound of a piano, a bright,
sharp prelude which he seemed to know. Presently, too,
he heard as through muffled curtains the distant voice of
Coquette ; and what was this she was singing ? Why, that
274 A DA UGHTER OF HE TH.
brisk old ballad of his own that she had heard him sing in
his lodgings. Where had she got it ? The Whaup started
to his feet, all the gloom gone from his face. He stole
out of the room ; in the hubbub of vinous political fervor
he was scarcely noticed, and made his way to the draw-
ing-room door. This was what he heard,
" Come lasses and lads, get leave of your dads,
And away to the maypole hie,
For every fair has a sweetheart there,
And the fiddlers standing by!
For Willy shall dance with Jane,
And Johnny has got his Joan,
To trip it, trip it, trip it, " etc.
Coquette, then, was in no melancholy mood. Why,
what an ass he had been, to grow dismal when there still
remained to him the- proud possession of that promise
of hers ! That was his own song she was singing brightly
and merrily, and with strange oddities of pronunciation.
She herself belonged to him in a manner, and who was
there that would not envy him ? When the song was
finished, the W T haup went into the room, and w r alked up
to the piano and sat down by Coquette, and told her that
he knew nobody among the men, and had been forced
to come in there.
"And where did you get that song, Coquette?" he
asked,
" Monsieur ! " observed Coquette, " you do talk as if
you had the right to be here, which you have not. Do
you not see that your friends, the Doctor's young ladies,
did laugh when you came in and walked over to me ? "
" Where should I go, Coquette ? "
" I will tell you," she answered, in a low voice, as
she pretended to turn over the music. " When at the
dinner I did see the youngest of the three young ladies
look much at you. I have spoken to her since we came
here. She is charming, and oh ! very good, and speaks
kindly of you, and with a little blush, which is very
pretty on your Scotch young ladies. And when I asked
her if she knows this song, she did laugh and blush a
little again ; you have been singing it to her "
A DAUGHTER OF BETH.
275
" Oh, Coquette ! " he said, " what a sly mouse you are,
for all your innocent eyes, to be watching everybody like
that."
" Bien ! you go to her, and sit down there, and make
yourself very agreeable. You do not know how much
she is a friend of yours."
The Whaup began to lose his temper.
"I won't be goaded into speaking to anybody," said
he, " and the first thing you have to do, Miss Coquette,
to-morrow morning, is to come to a distinct understand-
ing about all the nonsense you have been talking at dinner.
What is it all about, Coquette ? Are you proud ? Then
I will coax you and flatter you. Are you frightened ?
Then I will laugh at you, Are you unreasonable ? Then
-then, by Jingo, I'll run a way with you ! "
Coquette laughed lightly, and the Whaup became
aware that several pairs of eyes had been drawn towards
them.
" This place is getting to hot for me," he said. " Must
I really go back ? "
" No," she said, "you will stop and sing, something
bright, joyful, happy, and you will forget the melancholy
things we have been talking about. Have I been unkind
to you ? You will see I will make it up, and you shall
not sit gloomy and sad again at dinner. Besides, it does
not improve your good looks: you should be more of
the wild boy that I saw when I did first come to Arlie."
" I wish we were both back at Arlie, in those old
times ! " said the Whaup, suddenly.
Coquette looked at him with some surprise. She had
caught quite a new tone of sadness in his voice, and his
eyes had grown wistful and clouded.
So he, too, was striving to pierce that unknown
future, and seemed bewildered by its vagueness and its
gloom. The seriousness of life seemed to have told on
him strangely since he left the quiet moorland village.
What had wrought the change within the brief space of
time that had elapsed since her arrival from France?
Was she the cause of it all ? she, who was willing to
sacrifice her own life without a murmur for the happi-
276 A DA UGHTER OF HE TH.
ness of those whom she loved ! Already the first months
of her stay at Arlie, despite the petty persecutions and
little trials she had to endure, had become an idyllic
period towards which she looked back with eyes filled
with infinite longing.
All that evening she was the prominent figure in
Lady Drum's drawing-room. When the men came in
from their port-wine and politics they found that Co-
quette had established herself as a sort of princess, and
they only swelled the number of those who petted her
and waited upon her. Towards two only she betrayed
an open preference, and these were the Whaup and the
youngest of Dr. Menzies' daughters. She so managed
that the three of them were generally close together,
engaged in all manner of private talk. The fair-haired
young girl had approached with a certain diffidence and
awe this queenly and dark little woman, whcm every-
body seemed to be talking about ; but Coquette had only
to smile a little, and begin to talk a little in her foreign
way, in order to win over the soft-hearted young Scotch
girl. These three appeared, indeed, to form a group in
the nebulous crowd of people who chatted or drank tea
or listened to the music ; and before the evening was
over Coquette had impressed Miss Menzies, by that
species of esoteric telegraphy known to women, with a
series of notions which certainly neither had remotely
mentioned.
" Coquette," said the Whaup, when all the people had
gone but himself, and as he was bidding her good-bye,
" why did you try to make Mary Menzies believe that
she and I were much greater companions, and all that
sort of thing, than you and I ? You always talked as if
you were the third person talking to us two."
"It is too late for questions," said Coquette, with a
mingled air of sauciness and gentleness. " You must
go away now, and do not forget you go with me to the
theatre to-morrow evening, and if you do send me some
flowers I will put them in m) hair."
" I wish you would give me one just now," he said,
rather shyly.
A DAUGHTER OF HE Til. 277
She took the pale-tinted tea-rose out of her bosom
and kissed it lightly (for Sir Peter was just then coming
down the hall), and gave it to him. The rose was a
great consolation to the Whaup on his homeward way.
And were not the shining stars overhead shining so
calmly and clearly and happily that they seemed to re-
buke his anxious forebodings ?
" She is as pure as a star," he said to himself, " and
as beautiful, and as far away. The years she talks of
seem to stretch on and on, and I cannot see the end of
them. The stars up there are far nearer to me than
Coquette is."
Yet he held the rose in his hand, and she had
kissed it.
CHAPTER XLI.
THE WHAUP BECOMES ANXIOUS.
COQUETTE'S stay in Glasgow did not promise well
tor the Whaup's studies. On the very morning after
she had given him a rose to console him on his home-
ward walk he was again at Lady Drum's house. He
looked very blank, however, on entering the morning-
room, to find that venerable lady the &ole occupant, and
he saw by the shrewd and good-natured smile on her
face that she perceived his disappointment.
"Yes, she is out," said Lady Drum. "Is that the
question ye would ask ? "
" Well, it is, to tell you the truth,'* said the Whaup.
" Could ye expect her to remain in the house on a
morning like this ? If there is a glint o' sunshine to be
seen anywhere, she is off and out like a butterfly before
we have our breakfast over."
" Young ladies ought not to go out alone like that,"
2 7 S A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
said the Whaup, who had suddenly acquired serious
aud even gloomy notions of propriety.
His elderly friend took him to the window. Before
them lay the long terraces of the park, the deep valley,
the trees, the river, and the opposite heights, all gleam-
ing in a pallid and smoky sunshine. And on the ter-
race underneath the window there was a bench, and on
the bench sat, all by herself, a young person, whose
downcast face, bent over a book, was hidden underneath
a white sunshade ; and there was nothing at all by whict.
to distinguish the stranger but her faintly yellow morn-
ing dress, that shone palely in the sun. Yet you should
have seen how swiftly the Whaup's face cleared. In
about thirty seconds he had taken an unceremonious
farewell of Lady Drum, and hastened down into the
park.
" You must not come to see me every day," said
Coquette ; " you do give up all your work."
" But look here, Coquette," he remarked, gravely,
"isn't it the proper thing to pay a visit of ceremony
after a dinner-party ? "
" At ten o'clock in the forenoon ? " she said, with a
smile. " Four o'clock is the time for such calls, and it
is not to me you pay them."
He made no reply ; but he drew away the book
from her lap, and quietly shut it and put it in his pocket.
Then he said,
" We are going to have a stroll through the Botanic
Gardens."
So she surrendered herself, her only protest being a
well-simulated sigh, at which he laughed, and away
they went. Glasgow College, and all its class-rooms,
might have been in the Philippine Islands for anything
that the Whaup remembered of them.
Many and many a time during that long and devious
saunter, which took them a good deal farther than the
Botanic Gardens, the Whaup, with that strange dissatis-
faction with their present happiness which distinguishes
lovers and fills the most fortunate period of human Hie
with trouble, would drag back their aimless and wander-
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
279
ing talk to the reasons Coquette had for being appre-
hensive of the future. Why was she disinclined to
speak of a possible limit to the number of years he had
yet to wait ? Why did she almost pathetically counsel
him to fix his affections on some one else ?
Coquette replied gravely, and sometimes a little
sadly, to these questions, but she had not the courage
to tell him the whole truth. There was something so
touching in the very trust that he reposed in her, in
the frank and generous way that he appealed to her, and
took it for granted that she would become his wife, that,
in the meantime, she dared not tell him that her heart
still wandered away to another man. He did not know
that his protestations of love sounded coldly in her ears,
and only suggested what they would have been had
they been uttered by another. He thought it strange
that she was glad to get away from those little confess-
ions and wondering hopes which are the common talk of
lovers, and would far rather have him speak to her about
his professional future, or even the details of his college
life.
For herself, she seemed to think it enough if her
cousin were pleased to walk with her; and some day,
she doubted not, she would yield to his urgent wishes
and become his wife. By that time was it not likely
that the strange unrest in her heart, that vague longing
for the presence of one whose name she scarcely ever
mentioned, would have died utterly away ? And in
the remote possibility of giving herself to her cousin, was
it not her duty now to try to eradicate that hapless love
which had far more of pain than of pleasure in it ? While
the Whaup was eagerly sketching out the life which he
and she should live together, Coquette was trying to
make up her mind never again to see Lord Earlshope.
But it was a hard trial, A woman may marry this
man or that man ; he affections may shift and alter, but
she never forgets the man she loved with all the wonder
and idealism and devotion of a girl's early love. Co-
quette asked herself whether she would ever forget Airlie,
and the stolen interviews of those spring mornings, and
2 8 o A DA UGHTER OF HE 777.
the pathetic farewells that the sea and the sky and the
shining landscape alone knew.
" Dreaming again ? " said the Whaup, gently. " I
suppose you don't know that that is a river you are
looking at ? "
They were standing on the small wooden bridge that
crosses the Kelvin, and she was gazing into the water as
if it were a mirror on which all the future years were re-
flected.
" Does this river go to the sea ? " she asked.
" Most rivers do," replied the Whaup, proud, like \
man, of the superior scientific knowledge.
" And perhaps in a day or two it will see Arran."
" Why, you talk as if you were already anxious tc
leave Glasgow and go back," said the Whaup. " What
amusement can there be for you there ? My father is
buried in that Concordance. Lady Drum is here.
Earlshope is deserted by the way, I wonder what has
become of Lord Earlshope."
" Let us go," said Coquette, hastily ; and she took
her arm off the wooden parapet of the bridge and went
away. The Whaup did not perceive that his mention of
Lord Earl sh ope' s name had struck a jarring note.
So they went leisurely into Glasgow again, and all
the way Coquette skilfully avoided conversation about
the matters which were naturally uppermost in her com-
panion's mind. Indeed, a discovery which she had made
greatly helped her out of the dilemma, and enlivened the
remainder of their walk. She inadvertently slipped into
French in making some remark, and the Whaup quickly
replied to her in the same tongue. She was surprised
and delighted beyond measure. She had no idea of
his having studied hard since he left Airlie to extend the
small acquaintance with the language he had picked up
as a boy. She saw well what had urged him to do so,
and she was pleased by this occult compliment. She in-
sisted on their talking nothing but French all the way
home ; and the Whaup, with occasional stammering,
laughing, and blushing, managed to sustain the conver-
sation with tolerable ease and fluency. She corrected
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. 281
his idioms, very gently, it is true ; and also hinted that
he might, if he liked, adopt the familiar tutoiement which
ought to exist between cousins.
" But I can't," said the Whaup. " My conversation
books have taught me to say vous ; and so, until I learn,
you must call me tu, and I will call you anything that
comes uppermost."
This and all that followed was spoken in rough-and-
ready French, the grammar of which was a good deal
better than its pronunciation ; and the care which the
Whaup had to bestow on his language lent an unroman-
tic and matter-of-fact character to the subject of their
talk, to Coquette's great relief.
When they had reached the house she said,
" You must come in and make an apology to Lady
Drum for your inattention. Then you will have a little
lunch. Then you will go home and attend to your
studies until the evening. Then you will come here and
go with us to the theatre ; and you may bring a bouquet
for Lady Drum, if you choose."
" Any more commands, Coquette ? " he said.
4 What, nothing more ? How many lines of Greek must
I do if I am disobedient ? "
" You must not be rude to me," she remarked,
"because that is a trace of your bringing up at Airlie,
which you have nearly forgotten. It is a relic of your
savage nature. You are much improved ; you are al-
most civilized."
" Yes," said the Whaup, " I saw a cart of turnips
go by yesterday quite unprotected from behind, and I
did not steal one. Hillo! who is that sitting with Lady
Drum at the window ? "
Coquette looked up, and did not betray the least
emotion, although a sharp spasm shot across her heart.
" It is Lord Earlshope, is it not ? " she said, in a low
voice.
" Yes," said the Whaup, with a sudden coldness in
his tone, and returning at once to his English. " It is
rather singular he should come here just now, but that
is his own affair. No one ever could tell what he would
282 4 DAUGHTER OF HETH.
do next. Coquette, I don't think I shall go into the
house just now, you make my excuse to Lady Drum."
" Very well,"' said Coquette, calmly.
She held out her hand to bid him good-bye. He
was surprised. He expected she would have insisted on
his going into the house ; and on the contrary, she
seemed rather relieved that he was going away.
' What is the matter, Coquette ? " he asked. " Are
you vexed because I am going away ? Very well, I will
go in ; come along."
And with that he went up the steps ; but he could
not tell by her face whether or not she had been annoyed
by his wishing to go. They entered the house together.
Lord Earlshope rose as they went into the room, and
stepped forward to meet Coquette, and the Whaup
watched the manner in which she advanced to shake
hands with him. Why were her eyes cast down, and
her face a trifle pale ? She answered in an almost in
audible way the kindly inquiries which Lord Earlshope,
whose manner was quite unconstrained, frank, and
courteous, made as to her having enjoyed her visit to
Glasgow. The Whaup himself, in shaking hands with
his rival, was constrained to admit that there was some-
thing pleasant and friendly in Lord Earlshope's man-
ner, and in the look of his clear light-blue eye, which
rather disarmed suspicion. In a very few minutes the
Whaup had completely thawed, and was laughing
heartily at a letter sent by Mr. Gillespie, the school-
master, which Lord Earlshope read aloud to Lady
Drum.
Nevertheless as he went to his lodgings he was con
siderably disquieted. He did not like leaving Lord Earls-
hope in the company of Coquette. It seemed to him
an infringement of that right of property which he had
acquired by her promise. In the old days he was vague-
ly jealous, and was inclined to be rudely suspicious of
Coquette's small prevarications ; but his jealousy and
his rudeness were readily dissipated whenever he came
under the influence of Lord Earlshope's good-nature or
of Coquette's gentle solicitude. Now he had a greater
A DAUGHTER OF HETH- 283
right to look after her. Had he not sworn in the olden
time to take care of her, and be her champion ? Alas !
the Whaup had yet to learn that a woman is best left to
take care of herself in such delicate matters, and that
no guard can be placed on the capricious wanderings of
her affection.
CHAPTER XLII.
AT THE THEATRE.
LORD EARLSHOPE and Lady Drum had been care-
lessly chatting at the window when the Whaup an I
Coquette drew near. They saw them walking up tli3
slopes of the park to the house, and Lord Earlshope
said,
u What a handsome fellow Tom Cassilis has grown.
I have never seen any young fellow alter so rapidly."
" Has he not ? " said Lady Drum, with a little touch
of pride, for she fancied that both these young people
somehow belonged to her. " I should like to see them
married."
It is possible that this artless exclamation on the
part of the old lady was put out as a feeler. She liked
Tom Cassilis well enough ; but, being mortal and a wo-
man, she must have wondered sometimes whether Co-
quette might not wed a lord ; especially a lord who had
frequently betrayed his admiration for her. But when
she said this Lord Earlshope betrayed no surprise. He
merely said,
" They will make a handsome pair ; and many a man
will envy young Cassilis his good fortune."
Lady Drum was a trifle disappointed. Was there
no mystery at all, then, connected with those romantic
episodes in the Highlands ? Lord Earlshope talked of
her protegee as if she were merely some ordinary country
284 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
girl who was about to marry and become the mistress of
a household ; whereas all the men she had heard talk of
Coquette spoke of her as something rare and wonderful.
Lady Drum was almost sorry that she had asked him to
join them at the theatre that evening ; but she reflected
that if Lord Earlshope were so indifferent, the peaceful
progress of the two cousins towards marriage was ren-
dered all the more secure. She only thought that Co-
quette would have made a beautiful and charming hostess
to preside over the hospitalities of Earlshope.
" Ho, ho ! " said Lady Drum, when Coquette came
down to dinner dressed for the theatre. " We have made
our toilette something just quite extraordinary. Mr.
Thomas is a fortunate youth to have so much done for
him."
" I do not dress for him, or for any one," said Co-
quette, with an air of calm magnificence.
" Certainly not, certainly not ! " cried Sir Peter, gayly.
" Too much beauty and grace, and all that is delightful
on earth, to be bestowed on any one man. You will ap-
peal to the theatre, my dear, to the whole theatre, and
there won't be a look left for the stage. And what is
the hour at which we go to captivate all the young men
in the place, and dazzle our rivals with the flash of our
eyes, when are we going, going, going ? ha, ha ! trollol,
tfollol, trollol ! "
" I wish, Sir Peter, you would not sing at your dinner.
It is a strange sort o' grace," observed Lady Drum,
severely.
" A natural one, my lady, natural. Don't the black-
birds whistle among the cherry-trees, and the pigs grunt
with delight over their meat ? I woukl whistle like a
blackbird if I could, to amuse Miss Coquette, you know,
but as it is "
" You prefer to copy the pig," remarked Lady Drum,
with scorn.
" Too bad, isn't it, Miss Coquette ? And I was get-
ting as gay as a bullfinch in thinking of the wild dissi-
pation of accompanying you to the theatre. And there
will be many a young fellow there, you will see, who wil
A DAUGHTER OF HETII
285
scowl at me, and wish he was in my shoes ; but don't
you heed them, my dear. Old men like myself are far
more to be depended on. What does your French song
say ?
' Jeunesse trop coquette,
Ecoutez la lecon
Que vous fait Henriette,
Et son amant Damon'
Do not start, my lady, that is not bad language ; it is the
name of Henriette's lover ; and don't I wish Henriette,
or any similar bewitching young creature, would take the
trouble to teach me a lesson ! I'd sit as mum as a
mouse- "
" Sir Peter," remarked Lady Drum, " you must have
dined elsewhere."
" No such luck, my dear," remarked her husband,
cheerfully. " I mean I have not had the chance of get-
ting any wine, which is your ungenerous insinuation.
But now, but now we will drink deep of heavy flagons
until the most ill-favored ballet-girl appear an angel.
What, ho, there ! wine, wine ! "
The fact was that at the door there were standing
two servants, who dared not enter until their master was
done with his private theatricals. When they had come
in, and the glasses were filled, Sir Peter, whose perform-
ances as a thirsty soul fell far short of his professions,
pledged a bumper to Coquette and her coming conquests,
and wound up his speech with a pretty and sentimental
French toast, the pronunciation of which reminded Co
quette of the Whaup's efforts in the morning.
This going to the theatre was quite an excitement for
Coquette, who had not visited any such place of amuse-
ment since she left France. Lady Drum warned her
not to say anything about it in her letters to Airlie, or
the chances were that the Minister would order her re
call from Glasgow at once.
"And my cousin," said Coquette, "has he never been
to any theatre ? "
" That is more than I can say," remarked Lady Drum
with a smile.
2 S6 'A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
When at length they drove down to the big building,
and went up the broad staircase, and got into the corri-
dor, there was an odor of escaped gas and a confused
sound of music which quite delighted Coquette, it was
so like the odor and the sound prevalent in the theatres
she had visited long ago in France. And when they got
into the box, which was the biggest in the theatre, they
found the Whaup already there, with two bouquets await-
ing Lady Drum and Coquette. Lady Drum, naturally
taking the place of honor, was perhaps a little glad to
screen herself in her corner by the curtains ; but Co-
quette, with the calm air of a princess, and with her
brilliant toilette getting a new splendor from the gleam-
ing lights of the house, took her seat, and lifted her bou-
quet, and made the Whaup a pretty speech of thanks
which filled his heart with pleasure, and then turned her
attention to the stage.
"Shall I ever be able," said the Whaup to himself, as
he looked wistfully at her, " to give her pretty dresses
like that, and buy her pearls for her neck and her hair,
and take her to all the amusements ? "
The young gentleman was rather proud, and would
not even acknowledge to himself that Coquette could buy
pearls for herself, and pay for far more amusements than
she cared to see.
The performances need not be described in detail.
They consisted, in the first place, of a romantic drama of
the good old kind, in which a lot of very pronounced char-
acters, whose virtues and vices they took every oppor-
tunity of revealing to the audience, did impossible things
in impossible places, and talked a language unfamiliar to
any nation at present inhabiting the earth. This piece
was to be followed by a burlesque, for which Sir Peter
professed himself to be impatient.
" For," said he, " there is in every burlesque a young
lady with a saucy face and pretty ankles, with whom you
can fall in love for an hour or two with impunity. And I
am anxious for her appearance, because Miss Coquette
has quite deserted me, and I am left out in the cold."
The truth is, Coquette had discovered in her cousin a
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 287
quite astonishing familiarity with this theatre. He was
acquainted with all its arrangements, and seemed to know
the name of everybody in connection with it. Now how
had he gained this knowledge ?
" Oh, I do see that the life of the students is not all
study,*' Coquette remarked, with a gracious sarcasm.
" You do sometimes find them singing ' Come lasses and
lads,' and they do waste time with tobacco and laughing,
and even know a good deal about the actresses of the thea-
tre. Why was none of that in your letters to Airlie ? "
" Well, I'll tell you the truth, Coquette," said the
Whaup, with a laugh and a blush that became his hand-
some face well. " I dare not tell anybody at Airlie I went
to the theatre ; nor do I think I should have gone in any
case but for a notion I had that, somehow or other, you
must like the theatre. You never told me that, you know,
but I guessed it from, from, from "
" From my manner, or my talk ? You do think me
an actress, then ? "
" No it is not that at all," said the Whaup. " You
are too sincere and simple in your ways. But somehow
I thought that, with your having been brought up in the
South, and accustomed to a Southern liking for enjoy-
ment and artistic things, and with your sympathy for
fine colors, and for music, and all that, why, I thought,
Coquette, you would be sure to like the theatre ; and so,
do you know, I used to come here very often, not here,
of course, but away up there to that dark gallery, and I
used to sit and think what the theatre would be like when
Coquette came to see it."
He spoke quite shyly ; for, indeed, he half fancied she
might laugh at these romantic dreamings of his when he
was far away from her in the big city ; but when he ven-
tured to steal a glance at her face, lo ! the dark eyes were
quite moist. And she pretended to look down into the
circle of flowers he had given her, and said in a low
voice,
" You have been thinking of me very much when I
was down in Airlie, and you here by yourself. I do not
2 gg A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
deserve it, but I will show my gratitude to you some
day."
" Why, Coquette," he said, " you need not thank me
for it. Only to think of you was a pleasure to me ; the
only pleasure I had all that long winter time."
Had Lady Drum heard the whispered little sentences
which passed between these two young folks, she might,
perhaps have thought that they expressed far more gen-
uine emotion than the bursts of rhetoric in which, on the
stage, the lucky lover was declaring his passion for the
plump and middle-aged heroine. But they took care she
should hear nothing of it.
Presently in came Lord Earlshope with his crush-hat
under his arm ; and he, also, had brought two bouquets.
The Whaup noticed, with a passing twinge of mortifica-
tion, that these were far finer and more delicate flowers
than he had been able to buy, and he expected to see his
own poor gifts immediately laid aside. But he did not
know Coquette. She thanked Lord Earlshope very gra-
ciously for the flowers, and said how fortunate it was he
had brought them.
" For I do always like to throw a bouquet to the
actress, after her long evening's work, yet I was becom-
ing sorry to give her the flowers that my cousin did bring
me. But you have brought one for her, too, if I may
give it to her ? "
" Why, of course," said Lord Earlshope, who probably
did not put such value on a handful of flowers as did the
Whaup ; " and when you wish to give it to her, let me
pitch it on the stage, or you will certainly hit the man
at the drum/'
" But you must keep them for the young lady of
the burlesque," said Sir Peter ; " She is always better-
looking than the heroine of the drama, isn't she ? Then
you have a greater opportunity of judging."
"Why?" said Lady Drum, with a look of such
severity as effectually to prevent her husband answer-
ing, instead, he turned away and gayly hummed some-
thing about
"Ecoutez la lecon
Que vous fait Henrictte."
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT.
289
But there was another woman in the theatre who had
attracted their attention before Lord Earlshope had ar-
rived. She was seated in the corner of the box opposite,
and, as a rule, was hidden behind the curtain. When
they did get a glimpse of her, her manner and appear-
ance was so singular as to attract a good deal of atten-
tion. She was of middle height, stout, with rather a
florid face, coal-black hair, and a wild, uncertain looV,
which was seldom fixed on any object for two minutes
together. Oddly enough, she stared over at Coquette
in rather a peculiar way, until that young lady studi-
ously kept her eyes on the stage, and would not glance
over to the occupant of the opposite box.
" Singular-looking woman, isn't she ? " said Sir Peter.-
" Opium, eh ! eh ! Is that opium that makes her eyes
so wild ? She drinks, I swear, and seems mad with
drink, eh ! eh ! What do you say, Cassilis ? "
" I wish you would not talk of that person," said
Lady Drum, and then the conversation dropped.
About a quarter of an hour after Lord Earlshope
had come into the theatre, this woman apparently re-
tired from her corner behind the curtain, then walked
forward from the back of the box to the front of it, and
there stood at full length, looking over, with an odd ex-
pression of amusement on her face, at the group, in front
of Lady Drum's box. This movement was noticed by
the whole theatre, and certainly it was observed by Lord
Earlshope, for, during one second, his eyes seemed to
be fixed on this woman, and then, still looking at her,
he retreated a step or two frorr the front of the box, with
his face become quite white.
" What is the matter ? " said Lady Drum, anxiously,
for he had been speaking to her. " You have become
very pale, are you ill ? "
" Lady Drum, I wish to speak with you privately fora
moment," he said, quite calmly, but with a singular con-
straint of manner that somewhat alarmed her.
She rose at once and followed him into the corridor
outside. There he stood, quite composed, and yet very
pale.
2 Q o A DA UGHTER OF HE TH.
" Would you mind taking Miss Cassilis home at
once ? " he said.
" Take her home ! Why ? "
"I cannot tell you why," he said, with some show of
anxiety and impatience. " I cannot tell you why, but I
wish, Lady Drum, you would. I beg you, I entreat
you, to take her away instantly."
" But why ? " said the old lady, who was at once per-
plexed and alarmed.
" You saw that woman opposite/' said Lord Earls-
hope, rather abandoning the calmness of his demeanor.
' She will come round here presently, I know she will ;
she will go into the box ; she will insult Miss Cassilis ;
for Heaven's sake, Lady Drum, get her out of the way
of that woman ! "
" Bless me ! " said Lady Drum, elevating her eye-
brows, " are we a' to be frightened out o' our wits by a
mad woman, and three men with us ? And if there
\vas no one with us," she added, drawing herself up, "I
am not afraid of the girl being insulted if she is under
my care. And what for should any woman, mad as she
may be, fasten upon us ? My certes ! I will see that
she does not come near the girl, or my name is not
Margaret Ainslie."
For a moment or two Lord Earlshope stood irreso-
lute, with mortification and anxiety plainly visible on
his pale features. Then he said, suddenly,
" I must tell you at once, Lady Drum. I have many
a'time determined to do so, but put it off until now,
when I can be silent no longer. That woman in the
theatre just now, a woman soddened and mad with
brandy, is my wife ; at least she was my wife some years
ago. Goodness knows, I have no reason to be afraid
of her ! but one ; it is for the sake of Miss Cassilis I beg
you, Lady Drum, to take her away, out of her reach ;
she is a woman of outrageous passions ; a scene in a pub-
lic place will have all the excitement of a new sort of
drunkenness fcr her "
To all these incoherent ejaculations, Lady Drum only
replied,
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
291
" Your wife ! "
" This is not a time to blame me for anything," he
said, hurriedly. " I cannot give you any explanations
just now. You don't know why I should have concealed
my marriage with this horrible woman, but you will not
blame me when you hear. All I want is to secure Miss
Cassilis's safety."
" That," said Lady Drum, with perfect quiet, "is se-
cure in my keeping. You need not be afraid, Lord
Earlshope, she is quite secure where she is."
" You mean to keep her in the theatre ? "
" Most certainly.''
" Then I will go. If I leave, her whim may change ;
but I see from her laughing to herself that she means
mischief. I cannot charge my own wife at the police
office."
He left the theatre there and then. Lady Drum re-
turned to the box, and made some sort of apology foi
Lord Earlshope's absence. But she did not see much
of what was going on upon the stage, for her thoughts
were busy with many strange things that she now rec-
ollected as having been connected with Lord Earlshope ;
and sometimes she turned from Coquette's face to glance
at the box opposite. Coquette was thoroughly enjoying
the piece ; the woman in the box opposite her remained
hidden, and was apparently alone.
CHAPTER XLIII
COQUETTE IS TOLD.
LADY DRUM began to get afraid. Should she send
Coquette at once back to Airlie ? Her first impulse, on
hearing the disclosures made by Lord Earlshope at the
theatre, was one of indignation and anger against him-
self, for having, as she thought, unnecessarily acted a
292
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
lie during so many years, and deceived his friends. She
now understood all the strange references he had often
made to married life ; the half-concealed and bitter irony
of his talk ; his nervous susceptibility on certain points ;
his frequent appearance of weariness, and hopelessness,
as of a man to whom life was no longer of any value.
She was amazed at the morbid sense of shame which
made this man so anxious to avoid the confession of his
having made a desperate blunder in his youth. Why
had he gone about under false colors ? Why had he im-
posed on his friends ? Why had he spoken to Coquette
as a possible lover might have spoken ?
This thought of Coquette flashed upon Lady Drum
as a revelation. She knew now why the fact of Lord
Earlshope 6 marriage had made her angry ; and she at
once did him the justice of remembering that, so far as
she knew, he had made no pretensions to be the lover of
Coquette. That had been Lady Drum's secret hope :
he could not be blamed for it.
But, at the same time, there was something about the
relations between Lord Earlshope and Coquette which
she did not wholly understand ; and as she felt herself
peculiarly responsible for that young lady, she began to
ask herself if she had not better make sure by sending
Coquette home to her uncle. Lady Drum sat in a
corner of her morning-room, and looked down from the
window on the park. Coquette was sitting there as
usual, for there was sunshine abroad, which she loved as
a drunkard, loves drink, and she was leisurely reading a
book under the shadow of her sunshade. How quiet and
happy she looked, buried away from all consciousness of
the world around her in that other world of romance
that lay unfolded on her knee. Lady Drum had got to
love the girl with a mother's tenderness, and as she now
looked down on her she wondered what precautions
could be taken to render the fair young life inviolate
from wrong and suffering, if that were possible.
First of all she wrote a note to Lord Earlshope, and
sent it down to his hotel, asking him to call on her im-
mediately. She wished to have further explanations be-
A DAUGHTER OF HETH
293
fore saying anything to Sir Peter, or, indeed, to any one
c. the little circle that had been formed at Airlie. At
the moment she was writing this letter Lord Earlshope
was walking quickly up to the place where Coquette sat.
" Ah, it is you ! I do wish much to see you for a
few moments," she said, with something of gladness in
her face.
He did not reply ; but sat down beside her, his lips
firm and his brow clouded. She did not notice this
alteration from his ordinary demeanor, but immediately
proceeded to say, in rather a low voice, and with her
eyes grown serious and even anxious,
' I have much to say to you. I have been thinking
.over all our position with each other, and I am going
to ask you for a favor. First of all I will tell you a
secret."
Why did she look constrained, and even agitated ?
he asked himself. Had she already heard from Lady
Drnm ? Her fingers were working nervously with the
book before her ; her breath seemed to go and come
more quickly, and her voice was almost inaudible.
" This is what I must tell you," she said, with her
eyes fixed on the ground. " I have promised to my
cousin to be his wife. I did tell you I should do that,
and now it is done and he is glad. I am not glad, per-
haps, not now, but afterwards it may be different. And
so, as I am to be his wife, I do not think it is right I
should see you any more ; and I will ask you to go away
now altogether, and when we do meet, here, or in Airlie, it
will be the same with us as strangers. You will do this
for my sake, will you not ? It is much to ask ; I shall
be more sorry than you, perhaps ; but how can I see
you if I am to marry him ? "
" And so we are to be strangers, Coquette,'' he said
quite calmly. " It is all over, then. We have had some
pleasant dreaming, but the daylight has come, and the
work of the world. When we meet each other, as you
say, it will be as strangers, as on the first morning I
saw you at Airlie, driving up the road in the sunlight,
and was glad to know that }ou were going to remain at
294
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
the Manse. All that happened down at Airlie is to be
forgotten ; and you and I are just like two people pass-
ing each other in the street, and not expecting, perhaps,
ever to meet again. Yet there are some things which
neither you nor I shall ever forget"
" Ah, I know that, I know that ! " said Coquette al
most wildly. "Do not speak of that now. Sometimes
I do think I cannot do as my cousin wishes ; I become
afraid ; I cannot speak to him; I begin to tremble when
I think of all the long years to come. Alas ! I have
sometimes wondered whether I shall live till then."
" Coquette, what do you mean ? " he said. " Have
you resolved to make your life miserable ? Is this how
you look forward to marriage, which ought to be the
happiest event in a woman's life and the seal of all the
happiness to come after ? What have you done, Co-
quette?"
" I have done what I ought to do," she said, "and
it is only at moments that I do fear of it. My cousin
is very good ; he is very fond of me ; he will break his
heart if I do not marry him. And I do like him very
well, too. Perhaps, in some years, I shall have forgotten
a great deal of all that is past now, and shall have come
to be very fond of him, too ; and it will be a pleasure to
me to become his wife. You must not be sorry for me.
You must not think it is a sacrifice, or anything like
that. When I am afraid now ; when I am sad too, so
that I wish I could go away to France, and not see any
more of this country, it is only when I do think of Airlie,
you know, and of of "
She never finished the sentence, because her lips
were beginning to quiver. And for a moment, too, his
look had grown absent, as if he were calling up mem-
ories of the days of their meeting on the moor ; meetings
which were but recent, and yet which now seemed buried
far away in the white mists of the past. All at once he
seemed to rouse himself, and said, with some abrupt-
ness,
" Coquette, you do not blame me for being unable to
help you in your distress. I am going to tell you why
A DA UG *ITER OF HE TIL 295
I cannot. I am going to tell you what will render it
unnecessary for me to promise not to see you again ;
for you will hate the sight of me, and consider me not
fit to be spoken to by any honest manor woman. Many
and many a time have I determined to tell you ; and
yet it seemed so hard that I should make you my enemy,
that you should go away only with contempt for me "
She interrupted him quickly, and with some alarm
on her face,
" Ah, I know," she said. " You will tell me some-
thing you have done ; why ? What is the use of that
now ? I do not wish to hear it. I wish to think of you
always as I think now ; and when I look back at our
last meeting in Glasgow, you sitting there, I here, and
bidding good-bye to all that time which began down in
Airlie, I shall have pleasure of it, even if I cry about it.
Why you tell me this thing? What is the use ? Is it
wise to do it ? I have seen you often about to tell me
a secret. I have seen you disturbed and anxious ; and
sometimes I have wondered, too, and wished to know.
But then I did think there was enough trouble in the
world without adding this ; and I hoped you would remain
to me always as you were then, when I did first begin
to know you."
" Why, Coquette/' he said, with a strange, half-ten-
der look of admiration, "your generosity shames me all
the more, and shows me what a horribly selfish wretch
I have been. You don't half seem to know how good
you are."
His voice dropped a little here, as there was some
one coming along the road. Lord Earlshope and Co-
quette both sat silent, and did not look up until the stran-
ger passed.
" Coquette," he said, suddenly, with a great effort,
" I must tell you now all the story of my shame and dis-
grace. The woman you saw at the theatre last night ;
that woman I married when I was a mere boy. I have
not seen her for years. I was almost beginning to for-
get that this horrible weight and blight hung over my
2 9 g A DAUGHTER OF HE Til.
life, but how can I explain to you without telling you
who and what she is, and how can I tell you that story ! "
He was watching every line of her face, with an an-
xious sadness, to gather what her first impulse would be.
And yet he felt that in uttering these words he had for-
ever disgraced himself in her eyes, and deserved only to
be thrust away from her with horror and shame. Indeed,
he waited to hear her own lips pronounce his own con-
demnation and decree his banishment.
Coquette looked up, regarded him steadily, and held
out her hand, and said,
" I know it all now, and am very sorry for you."
" But don't you remember all that I have done, Co-
quette ? " with wonder in his look. " I am not fit to
take your hand. But if you would only listen to me for
a moment, that is all I ask. Will you sit down, Coquette ?
I cannot excuse myself, but I want to tell you some-
thing."
" You have had a sad life," said Coquette, calmly.
" I do now know the reason of many things, and I can
not be angry. It is no use to be angry now, when we
are going away from each other."
" You saw that woman," he said, sinking down on the
seat with an expression of the most utter and -hopeless
despair. " I married her when I was a lad fresh from
college. I met her in Paris ; I was travelling ; she, too,
was going about with her father, who called himself an
officer. I followed hei from town to town, and in three
months I was married. Married ! chained to a wild
beast rather. When I got to know the hideous habits
of the woman to whom I was indissolubly linked, suicide
was my first thought. What other refuge had I from
a state of things that was worse than anything death
could bring on me ? The law cannot step in between
her and me. Brutal and debased as she is, she has far
too good a notion of the advantages of a tolerable income
to risk it by doing anything on which I could claim a
divorce. Ignorant and passionate she is, but she is
not a fool in money matters ; and so there was nothing
for it but to buy up her absence by paying any price for
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT. 297
it. I Discovered what sort of woman she was before we
ever returned to England ; and when I came back here,
I came alone. I dreaded the exposure of the blunder I had
committed, partly on my own account, but chiefly on ac-
count of the disgrace I had brought on my family. How
could I introduce a drunken and insolent woman to my
friends, and have them insulted by her open defiances of
decency ? Year after year I lived down there at Earlshope,
hearing only of her wild escapades from a distance. I
exacted from her, as a condition of giving her more than
the half of my income, a promise to drop my name ; and
then she assumed one with which the London magis-
trates are familiar. The stories about her came to me
down at Earkhope, until I dared scarcely open a news
paper ; and I grew to hate the very sight of a woman,
as being related to the devil who had ruined my life.
And then you came to Airlie."
He paused for a moment. She had never before
seen him so moved.
" I looked in your pure and young face, and I thought
the world seemed to grow more wholesome and sweet.
I began to believe that there were tender and true-hearted
women in the world; and sometimes I thought what I
might have been too, but for that irremediable blunder.
Fancy some sinner in hell, who is tortured by remorse
over the sins and lost opportunities of his life, and there
comes to him a bunch of pale violets, sweet with the
fragrant memories of his youth, when the world was
young and fair to him, and he believed in the girl who
was walking with him, and in the heaven over his head.
" Ah, do not talk like that ! " she said. " It is more
terrible than all you have told me."
" You do not know the condition into which I had
sunk. To you I was a mere idler, easy tempered, who
walked about the country and amused himself indolent-
ly. To myself I was a sepulchre, filled with the dead
bones and dust of buried hopes and beliefs. What
had I to live for ? When I went about and saw
other men enjoying the comforts of happy domestic
relations, men who had a home, and a constant coin-
2 9 S A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
panion and confidante to share their holiday excur-
sions or their quiet summer evenings, my own b'Jitude
and wretchedness were all the more forcibly thrust
on me. I shut myself up in that house at Airlie. It
was enough if the days passed, and left me in the en-
joyments of hunger and thirst. Goodness knows, I did
not complain much, or seek to revenge myself on society
for my own mistake. If my blunder, according to the
existing state of the law, demanded so much punishment,
I was willing to surfer if. During these solitary days I
used to study myself as if there were another being be-
side me, and watch how the last remnants of belief in
anything were being gradually worn away, bit by bit, by
the irritation of this sense of wrong. If you had known
me as I really was when you first saw me, you would
have shrunk away in fear. Do you remember the morn-
ing I got up on the dog-cart to talk to you ? "
" Yes," said Coquette, in a low voice.
" For a few moments I forgot myself. When 7
left you at the Manse, I discovered to my intense as-
tonishment that I was quite cheerful ; that the world
seemed ever so much brighter ; and that Airlie Moor
looked well in the sunlight. Then I thought of your
coming in among those gloomy Cameronians, and whether
your light and happy Southern nature, which I saw
even then, would conquer the prejudice and suspicion
around you. It was a problem that interested me deeply.
When I got to know you a little you used to tell me,
inadvertently, how things were going on at the Manse,
and I saw that the fight would be a hard one, but that
you would win in the end. First of all, you took your
cousin captive; that was natural. Then the Minister.
Then you won over Leezibeth. There remains only
Andrew now ; for I think you would secure a large
majority in a plebiscite of the villagers. As for myself,
that I can scarcely talk about just yet. It seemed so
harmless a thing at first for me to see you, to have the
comfort even of looking at you from a distance as you
sat in the little church, or to pass you on the road, with
a look and a smile. There was a new life in Airlie.
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 299
Sometimes I thought bitterly of what might have been
but for the error which had ruined me ; but that
thought disappeared in the actual enjoyment of your
presence. Then I began to play with the danger that
would have been more obvious to another man, but
which I laughed at. For was it possible that I could
fall in love, like a schoolboy, and sigh and write verses ?
I began to make experiments with myself. You know
the rest, Coquette ; but you do not know the remorse
that struck me when I found that my thoughtlessness
had prepared a great misery for you."
" It was no misery ; " she said simply, " it was a pleas-
ure to me ; and if it was wrong, which I do not know, it
comes to an end now. And you, I am not angry with
you for your life has not been a happy one, and you did
not know until we were up in the Highlands that it mat-
tered to me, and then you went away."
" Coquette," he said, " I won't have you make excuses
for me. I can make none for myself. When I look
at you, and think of what I ought to have done when you
came to Airlie I should have told you there and then,
and guarded against every possibility I feel that I am
an outcast. But who would have thought it possible ? "
he added, with his eyes grown distant and thoughtful.
" I do not know how it has all come about ; but you
and I are sitting together here for the last time ; and we
are going different ways, whither, who can tell ? "
With that Coquette rose ; no trace of emotion vis-
ble on the calm face.
" Good-bye." she said. " I will hear of you some-
times through Lady Drum."
" Good-bye, Coquette,'' he said, taking her hand ;
and then a strange expression came over his face, and
he said, suddenly, "It is madness and wickedness to say
it, but I will say it. Coquette, you will never forget
that there is a man in the world who loves you better
than his own life ; who will venture everything that re-
mains to him in this world and the next to do you the
tiniest service. Will you remember that, always ?
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
Goodbye, Coquette; God bless you for your gentleness
and your sweetness and your forgiveness ! "
She turned from him and walked away, and went up
the steps towards the house, all by herself. As she
passed through the hall Lady Drum met her, and asked
her a question. The girl replied, quite calmly, though
rather in a low voice, and passed on. Lady Drum was
struck with the expression of her face, which was sin-
gularly colorless and immobile, and she looked after her
as she went up the stairs. Was there not something
unsteady in her gait ? The old lady followed her, and
went to the door of her room and listened. A great
fear struck her heart, for within there was a sound of wild
weeping and sobbing ; and when she forthwith opened
the door, and hurried into the room, she found Coquette
sitting by the bedside, her face and hands buried in the
clothes, and her slight frame trembling and convulsed
with the passion of her grief.
" What is it, Coquette ? What is it, Coquette ? " she
cried, in great alarm.
And she sat down by the girl, and drew her towards
her bosom, as she would have done with her own child,
and hid her face there. And then Coquette told her
story.
CHAPTER XLIV.
COQUETTE'S FOREBODINGS.
SIR PETER was standing at the window, whistling ;
not for a wind, but perhaps for an appetite. His hands
were in his pockets, and his hat rather on the side of his
head. When he heard the footsteps of his wife on the
stair he removed his hat, she permitted no infringement
of the ordinary rules of courtesy even by her husband.
Lady Drum came in so hurriedly that he turned to
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
301
see what was the matter. Indeed, she advanced upon
him with such an air that he rather drew back, and cer-
tainly stopped his whistling. It was clear that the grave
and stately lady was for once in her life in a towering
passion.
" Are you a man ? " she said, with wrath in her voice.
" I hope so," said Sir Peter, innocently.
" Then you know what you have to do. You have to
go at once to Lord Earlshope, I have scarcely the pa-
tience to name him, and tell him what every honest man
and woman thinks of him ; what it is he deserves for con-
duct unworthy of an African savage."
" Good heavens, my lady ! " cried Sir Peter, " do you
mean me to murder the man ? I am not Macbeth, and
I won't be goaded into murdering anybody. What the
dickens is it all about ? What is the tragedy ? Has he
stolen some spoons ? Whatever has turned you into a
raging lionness ? "
It was Coquette who answered him. She had come
into the room immediately after Lady Drum, and she
now came up and interposed.
" It is all a mistake, Sir Peter," she said, calmly. " I
did tell Lady Drum something ; she did not wait to hear
it all. Lord Earlshope has done nothing to be blamed ;
it is a misapprehension, a mistake."
" Why, Lord Earlshope is a married man ! " said
Lady Drum, hotly.
"That may be a crime, my dear," said Sir Peter,
mildly, " but it is one that brings with it its own punish-
ment."
" Lady Drum," said Coquette, in an entreating voice,
" I do wish you to come away. I will explain it all to
you. Indeed, have I not the right to say you shall not
tell any one what I have told you ? "
" Certainly," said Sir Peter. " Who wants to betray
a young lady's secrets ? Take her away, my dear child,
and pacify her. I am afraid to meddle with her."
Lady Drum stood irresolute. On the one side was
the beseeching of Coquette, on the other was the feather-
brained husband, who apparently would not interest him-
302 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
self in anything but his lunch and his dinner. Yet the
brave old Scotchwoman had a glow of indignation burn-
ing in her cheeks over the wrong which she deemed to
have been committed towards the girl intrusted to her
charge. But Coquette put her hand on her arm, and
gently led her away from the room.
" That's right," said Sir Peter to them, " keep your
secrets to yourselves, they are dangerous property to
lend. I don't want to hear any mysteries. I am for an
easy life."
When they had gone, he said to himself, drumming
with his fingers on the window-panes,
" Earlshope married not surprised at it. Very
strange of a young man to live by himself down in the
country. Made an ass of himself when he was a boy,
doubtless ; ashamed of it ; proud of his family ; the woman
pensioned off. But what has all this to do with Miss
Coquette ? He can't have been making love to her, for
she is going to marry her cousin. Well, no matter ;
mysteries are best left alone, and so are other people's
affairs. Shall it be sherry, sherry, sherry ? or hock,
hock, hock? Hie, haec, hoc, and a hujus hunc of ham,
as we used to say at school. Very bad joke, very bad,
bad, bad infernal ! "
But Lady Drum was in no such careless mood, and
very piteously Coquette had to beg of her not to make
an exposure of the matter. Indeed, the girl besought
her so earnestly that Lady Drum was driven into warm
language to defend herself, and at last she used the word
" infamous." Then Coquette rose up, quite pale and
proud, and said,
" I am sorry you think that, Lady Drum. Why ?
Because I must go from your house If he is infamous,
I am infamous too, for I do not think he has done any
wrong."
" Not done wrong I" cried the old lady. " Not done
wrong ! A married man who trifles wi 1 the affections
of a young girl ! "
" He did not do so," said Coquette, calmly. " It
was a misfortune that happened to us both, that is all.
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
33
You do not know how he has vexed himself about
this ; what he suffered before ; how we had determined
not to see each other again. Ah, you do not un-
derstand it at all, if you think he is to blame. He is
very miserable, that is what I know, that is enough for
me to know ; and if he has done wrong, I have too ;
and yet, Lady Drum, if my mamma were here, I would
go down on my knees before her, and I would tell her
all about it from the first day at Airlie, and I do know
she would not be angry with me for what I have done."
Coquette turned away her head. Lady Drum went
to her, and drew her nearer to her, and hid her head in
her arms.
" You are very unfortunate, my poor girl, for you are
fond of him yet, are you not ? "
" Oh, Lady Drum ! " she cried, wildly, bursting into
tears, " I do love him better than everything in the
world, and I cannot help it ; and now he is gone, I shall
never see him again, neither here nor at Airlie, for he
will not go back to Airlie ; and all I wish now is that I
might be dead, and not wake up morning after morning
to think of him far away."
" Hush, child ! '' said the old woman, gravely. " You
do not know what these wild words mean. You must
teach yourself not to think of him. It is a sin to think
of him."
"But if I cannot help it," sobbed the girl. "If it
always comes back to me, all that happened at Airlie,
and when we were sailing in the summer-time, how can
I help thinking of him, Lady Drum ? It is hard enough
if I do not see him ; and I would like to see him only
once, to say that I am sorry for him, and that, whatever
people may say, I know, and I will remember, that he
was a good man, and very gentle to me, and very kind
to all people, as you know, Lady Drum."
" You must think less of him, and more of yourself,
my girl,'' said the old lady, kissing her tenderly. " It
is a misfortune that has fallen over ye, as you say; but
you are young yet, with plenty o' life and spirits in ye,
and ye must determine to cure yourself of an infatua-
304 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
tion which is dangerous and mischievous. Coquette,
what for do ye look like that ? Are ye in a trance ?
Bestir yourself, my lassie, listen ! listen ! there is your
cousin come, and he is talking to Sir Peter in the hall.''
" My cousin ? "
" Yes."
Coquette shuddered, and turned away her head.
" I cannot see him. Tell him, Lady Drum, I go
back to Airlie to-morrow , and I will see him when he
comes in the autumn, perhaps."
" Why do you say ' perhaps' like that, Coquette ? "
" The autumn is a long way off, is it not ? Perhaps
he will not be able to see me ; but I shall be at Airlie
then ; and perhaps I shall know that he has come into
the churchyard to look for me."
CHAPTER XLV.
A LEGEND OF EARLSHOPE.
IT was a wild night at Airlie. The sea could be
heard breaking with tremendous force all along the
shore, and the wind that blew about the moor brought
with it occasional heavy showers of rain. Occasionally,
too, there were rifts in the clouds, and a white gleam of
moonlight would shine out and down on the dark land-
scape. The villagers kept themselves snug and warm
indoors, and were thankful they were not out at sea on
such a night.
Earlshope was more sheltered ; but if the house it-
self was not much shaken by the storm, its inmates
could hear the moaning of the wind through the trees
in the park, and the howling of the gusts that tore
through the fir-wood lying over by the moor. The male
servants had gone over to Greenock for some reason or
other ; and as the women folks did not like to be quite
A DAUGHTER OF HETIf.
35
left alone, the Pensioner had consented to come over
from Airlie and sleep in the house that night. But first
of all, of course, there was a general supper in the house-
keeper's room ; and then the Pensioner and the house-
keeper and the two girls began to tell stories of old
things that had happened in the neighborhood. By and by
that duty almost entirely developed upon the Pensioner,
who was known to be skilled in legends ; and as he had
also brought with him his fiddle, he set himself down
generally to entertain the company, fortifying himself
from time to time with a tumbler of whiskey-toddy, which
the housekeeper carefully replenished.
Somehow or other, as the night wore on, his Stories
and his music assumed a more sombre and even weird
and wild tinge. Perhaps the howling of the wind in the
chimneys, or the more distant sound of its wailing
through the big trees in the park, lent an air of melan-
choly to the old ballads and legends he recited ; but at
all events the circle of listeners grew almost silent, and
sat as if spellboumd. He no longer played " There
grows a bonnie brier-bush in our kailyard," but sang to
them, in a quivering and yet plaintive voice, the story
of Ellen of Strathcoe, who was rowed away over the
lake when the moon was shining and the wind blow-
ing lightly, but who never reached the shore. And then
the old man came nearer to his own time, and told them
of the awful stories of second sight that he had heard
when a boy, over among the Cowwal hills ; of warnings
coming at the dead of the night ; of voices heard in
churchyards ; of visions seen by persons in their own
houses, as they sat alone in the evening. The girls
listened partly to him, and partly to the wind without.
The great house seemed to be even more empty than
usual ; and the creaking of a door or the shaking of a
window could be heard along the corridors coming from
distant rooms. Earlshope was a lonely place at that time
of night, so far away from all houses, and so near to the
wild moor.
"But there is no story about Earlshope," said one of
the g'fls.
306 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
She s-poke in a quite timid voice, as if she were
listening to the sounds without.
" Wass you never told, then o' sa auld man that lived
here by himsel', and would ride about sa country at night
and drink by himsel' in such a fashion as no man leevin'
would pelieve ? "
They did not answer him : they only looked, their
eyes grown apprehensive.
" It wass an auld Lord Earlshope, as I hef peen told,
and he wass a wild man for sa drink ; and no one in all
sa countryside would go near him. Sa bairns would
flee from him as he came riding down sa road, and he
would ride at them, and f rich ten them, and gallop on \vi'
shrieks o' laughin', just as if he wass sa teefle himsel'.
And he would ride about sa country at nicht, and knock
at folk's doors or windows wi' his stick, and cry in till
them, and then ride on again, wud wi' laughin 1 and singin,'
just as if he was possessed. And sare wass a girl in Air-
lie,a bonnie young lassie she wass, as I hef peen told, arid
he did sweer on a Bible wis sa most dreadfu' sweerin' he
would carry her some nicht to Earlshope, or else set sa
house on fire over hersel' and her folk. And sa lassie,
she was so frichtened she would never go outside sa
house ; and it wass said she was to go to Greenock
or Glasgow into service, if sare was service then, for it
wass a long time ago."
The Pensioner here bethought him of his toddy, and
turned to his glass. During that brief pause there was
a dead silence, only some laurel bushes rustled outside
in the wind. The Pensioner cleared his throat and re-
sumed his tale :
" And Lord Earlshope, as I hef peen told, did hear
sat she would go away from Airlie, and he was in a ^real
rage, and swore that he would burn sa whole place down,
and her too, and all her folk. But one day it wass known
to him sat her parents would be over in Saltcoats ; and
he had men sare, and sa men got hold of sa lassie's folk,
and clapped them into a big boat, and took sem out to
sea. And sa lassie waited all sa afternoon, and say did
not come home ; nor yet at nicht, and she was all by
A DAUGHTER OF HE Til. 307
herscl', for she wass afraid to go out and speer at sa
neighbors. And then, as I hef peen told, he did go to
sa house at sa dead o' nicht, and pulled sa lassie out, and
took her on sa horse, and rode over wi' her to Earlshope
her screamin', him laughin' and sweerin,' as was his or-
dinar'. And so wild wass he wis sa drink sat he ordered
all sa servants out o' sa house, and say listened frae the
outside to sa awful noises in sa rooms, him ragin' and
sweerin' and laughin' jist like sa teefle. And then, as I
hef peen told, a licht was seen, and it grew, and flames
was in all sa windows, sa was, and a roarin' and a noise and
a burnin', and when the mornin' wass come, Earlshope
wass burned down to sa ground, and nothing could be
seen o' sa lassie or sa auld man either."
The Pensioner took another pull at the tumbler. It
was getting more and more late.
" And this, as I hef peen told, is a new Earlshope ;
but sa auld man hass never gone away from sa place.
He is still about here in sa night-time ; I do not know
he hass been seen, but many's and many's sa time he
wass heard to laugh in among the trees in the park,
and you will hear sometimes the sound of sa horse's
feet not far from sa house. Trop, trop ! trop, trop !
sat is it, licht, licht, and you will not know whesser it is
close by or far away, only you will hear sa laughin
close by, as if it was at your ear."
Suddenly, at this moment, a string of the Pensioner's
fiddle snapped with a loud bang, and there was a simul-
taneous shriek from the women. In the strange pause
that followed, when they all listened with a beating
heart, it seemed to them that at some distance outside
there was a measured beat on the soft earth, exactly
like the sound of a horse riding up to Earlshope. A
minute or two more and the suspicion became a cer-
tainty.
" Listen \ '* said one of the girls, instinctively seizing
hold of her neighbor's arm. The wind was still moan-
ing through the firs, but in the intervals the footfalls of
the horse became more and more distinct, and were
.obviously drawing near to the housn
308 A DAUGHTER OF HETIf.
" Mercy on us ! " exclaimed the Housekeeper, with
a scared face. " Wha can it be at this time o' nicht ? ''
" It is coming nearer," said another.
" Jeannie ! " cried the third, in a frenzy of despera-
tion, " dinna haud me by the airm, a body canna
hear ! "
The measured sounds drew nearer, until they ceased,
apparently, at the very door. Then there was the sharp
clink of the bell-handle on the stone, and far away
in the hollow corridor of the kitchen a bell jingled
hideously. The Housekeeper uttered a cry, and started
to her feet.
" Gude forgi'e me, but there's no a Bible near at
hand!" she exclaimed, in an agony of trepidation. " Mr.
Lament, Mr. Lamont, what is to be done ? This is
fearfu', this is avvfu' ! Jeannie, what for do ye no open
the door ? "
"Open the door?" said the girl, faintly, with her
eyes staring out of her head.
"Ay, open the door!" said the Housekeeper, sav-
agely. " Isn't it your business ? "
" But, but, but " stammered the girl, with her teeth
chattering, ; n no to open the door to the deevil ! "
" I will open sa door ! " said the Pensioner, proudly.
When he rose and went into the dark hall the wo-
men followed close at his heels, all clinging to each
other. Another vigorous pull at the bell had nearly
brought them to their knees ; but Neil Lamont, groping
his way to the door, began to fumble about for the bolts,
using much florid and unnecessary Gaelic all the while.
At last the bolts were withdrawn, and the door opened.
On the threshold stood the dusky figure of a man ; be-
yond him the horse from which he had dismounted, and
which he held by the bridle. The women shrank back
in affright, one of them uttering a piercing scream.
The Pensioner stood for a moment irresolute, and then
he advanced a step, and said, with a fine assumption of
courage,
" Who sa teefle are you, and what for you will come
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. 5 09
to disturb a good and a godly house ? What is it sat
you want ? "
" Confound you, send somebody to take my horse ! "
was the sharp reply he met with from the mysterious
stranger. "What's the matter ? Is there no one about
the place but a pack of frightened women ? "
"It is his Lordship himsel'!" cried Neil. "Eh,
wha did expect to see you sa nicht ? "
" Come and take my horse, you fool ! "
" Sat I will ; but it is no use calling names," an-
swered Neil, while the women began to breathe.
The Pensioner got the keys of the stable, and led
off the horse, while Lord Earlshope entered the hall,
called for lights, and began to rub the rain out of his
eyes and hair. The whole house was presently in a
scurry to have his Lordship's wants attended to ; but
there was considerable delay, for none of the women
would go singly on the shortest errand. When, after
some time, Neil returned from feeding and grooming
the horse in a rough-and-ready fashion, he infused some
little courage into the household ; and at length the
turmoil caused by the unexpected arrival subsided some-
what. Finally, Lord Earlshope called the Housekeeper
into his study, and said to her,
" I shall leave early to-morrow morning. There,
have been no visitors at Earlshope recently ? "
" No, your Lordship."
" It is very likely that a woman, a Mrs. Smith Sey-
mour she calls herself, will come here to-morrow and ask
to be shown over the place. You will on no account al-
low her to come into the house, you understand ? "
" But wha can come here the morn ? " said the House-
keeper; "it's the Sabbath."
"This person may drive here. In any case, you will
allow no stranger to come into the place."
" I wish the men-folks were coming back afore
Monday," said the Housekeeper, who was still a trifle
perturbed by the Pensioner's stories.
" Cannot three of you keep one woman from coming
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
into the house ? You can lock the doors, you need not
even talk to her."
Having received her instructions, the Housekeeper
left ; and Lord Earlshope went to a writing-desk, and
addressed an envelope to a firm of solicitors in London.
The words he then wrote and enclosed in the envelope
were merely these : " Reserve payment to Mrs. Smith
Seymour, if demanded. The stipulations have not been
observed. I will call on you in a few days. Earlshope"
It was close on midnight when he entered the house,
and shortly after daybreak next morning he had again
set out, telling no one of his intentions, The servants,
accustomed to his abrupt comings and goings, were not
surprised ; but none of them forgot the manner in which
Lord Earlshope had ridden up at midnight to the house
in the fashion of his notorious ancestor. As for the
Housekeeper, she was more consequential than ever, hav
ing been intrusted with a secret.
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE MINISTER'S PUBLISHER.
ON the morning of the day on which Lord Earls-
hope paid his sudden visit to Airlie, the Minister came
down into the parlor of the Manse, where Leezibeth
was placing the breakfast things.
" Miss Cassilis is coming home to-day," he said.
" Atweel, I'm glad to heart," said Leezibeth, utter-
ing that peculiar sigh of resignation with which most
elderly Scotchwomen receive good news.
The boys were all rejoiced to hear that Coquette was
coming, for they had not forgotten the presents she had
promised them, and they knew from of old that she was
as little likely to forget. This being Saturday, and a wev
Saturday, too, they unamimously resolved to stay at
A DA UCI1TER OF HETII. 3 1 1
home, and play at "bools" in the lobby until Coquette
should arrive from Glasgow. But the restraint of this
form of amusement became insufferable. Leezibeth's
remonstrances about their noise, the Minister being
then engaged with his sermon, at last drove them out
of the house and up into the hay-loft, where they had
unlimited freedom of action and voice.
Leezibeth delivered to Andrew the necessary orders
about the dog-cart in a somewhat defiant way, she knew
he would not regard very favorably the return of the
young lady. But Andrew kept most of his grumbling
to himself, and Leezibeth only overheard the single
word " Jezebel."
" Jezebel ! " she cried, in a sudden flame of anger.
"Wha is Jezebel? Better Jezebel than Shimei the
Benjamite, that will be kenned forever only by his ill-tem-
per and his ill-tongue."
Leezibeth stood there, as if daring him to say another
word. Andrew was a prudent man. He began to tie
his shoe, and as he stooped he only muttered,
" Hm ! If Shimei had had a woman's tongue, David
micht hae suffered waur. And it's an ill time come to
us if we are a' to bend the knee to this foreign woman,
that can scarcely be spoken o' withoot offence, Better
for us a' if the Minister's brither had been even like
Coniah, the son of Jehoiakim. As it was said o' him,
4 1 will cast thee out, and thy mother that bare thee,
into another country, where ye were not born, and there
shall ye die. But to the land whereunto they desire to
return, thither shall they not return.' " .
" Od, I wish Maister Tammas could hear ye ! " said
Leezibeth, in desperation at being out-talked.
" Ay, ay, Maister Tammas, it was an ill day for him
that she came to the Manse. Mark my words, the Min-
ister'll repent him o't when he sees his auldest son a
wreck and a ruin, and a byword i' the countryside.
He'll turn aside from his ain folk, Leezibeth, and marry
ain o' the daughters o' Heth."
"What for no?" cried Leezibeth. "Where could
3 ! 2 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIT.
he wale* out a bonnier lass ? I wish ye'd stopyer yaum-
meringj and look out some plaids and rugs for the dog-
cairt, for there's wind and rain enough to last us for the
rest o' the year/'
A very surly man was Andrew Bogue when he set
out at mid-day to drive over to the station. He was
enveloped so that only the tip of his nose could be seen,,
for the wind was dashing heavy showers over the moor,
and the sea was white with the breaking of the great
waves. It was not a day to improve a man's temper ;
and when, at last, Coquette arrived, Andrew was not
the most pleasant person to bid her welcome.
Coquette was alone. Sir Peter wished to accompany
her on the brief railway journey ; but she would not
Lear of it, as she knew that the dog-cart would await her
arrival. Coquette came out into the little station. She
a.;ked Andrew to get her luggage; and while he was
gone she turned and looked up to the high country beyond
which Airlie lay. How dismal it appeared ! The wind
was moving heavy masses of dull gray cloud across the
sky, and between her and the gloomy landscape hov-
ered the mist of the rain, underneath which the trees
drooped and the roads ran red. She could not see the
sea ; but the tumbling plain of sombre waves would not
have brightened the scene much. And so at last she
took her seat on the dog-cart, and hid herself in thick
shawls and rugs, and so was driven away through the
dripping and desolate country. It was so different from
her first coming thither !
" They are all well at Airlie ? " she said.
" Weel aneuch," said Andrew ; and that was all the
conversation which passed between them on the journey.
They drew near Earlshope, and Coquette saw the
entrance to the park, and the great trees standing deso-
lately in the wet. There was the strip of fir-wood, too,
near which she had parted with Lord Earlshope but a
short time ago, on that pleasant summer morning. Th"
place looked familiar, and yet unfamiliar. The firs
* lVale t to choose German, ivahlm.
\ Yaumer, to whine German, janimcrn.
A DAUGHTER OF HF.TH.
were almost black under the heavy rain-clouds, and
there was no living creature abroad to temper the loneli-
ness and desolation of the moor which stretched beyond.
It seemed to Coquette that she was now coming back
to a prison, in which she must spend the rest of her
life. Hitherto all had been uncertainty as to her future,
and she had surrendered herself to the new and sweet
experiences of the moment with scarcely a thought.
But now all the past had been shut up as if it were a
sealed book, and there remained to her what ? Co-
quette began to think that she had seen the best of life,
and that she would soon feel old.
She went into the Manse. It did not look a cheer-
ful place just then. Outside, rain and cold ; inside, the
wind had blown the smoke down one of the chimneys,
and the atmosphere of the house was a dull blue. But
Leezibeth came running to meet her, and overwhelmed
her with fussy kindness about her wet clothes, and hur-
ried her upstairs, and provided her with warm slippers,
and what not, until Coquette, who had abandoned her-
self into her hands, became aware that she was ungrate-
fully silent about those little attentions.
" You are very kind to me, Leesibess," she said.
" 'Deed no, I'm fair delighted to see ye back, miss,"
said Leezibeth, " for the Manse has been like a kirkyaird
since the day ye left it. The Minister has been shut up
in the study frae mornin' till nicht, the laddies at the
schule ; and that catankerous auld man o' mine grumbl-
ing until a body's life was like to be worried out. And
I'm thinking Glasgow doesna agree wi' ye, miss. Ye
are looking a wee bit worn and pale ; but running about
the moor will soon set ye up again."
" It is not pleasant to go on the moor now," said
Coquette, with a little shrug, as she looked out of the
window on the desolate prospect.
" But it canna be aye rainin', though it seems to try
sometimes," said Leezibeth. " I wish it had been or-
dained that we should get nae mair weet than the far-
mers want ; it is just a wastry o' the elements to hae
rain pourm' down like that."
3*4
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT.
Then Coquette began to inquire why her uncle had
not come to see her ; and Leezibeth explained that the
Minister was fairly buried alive in his books ever since
he had begun seriously to work at his Concordance. So
she ran down-stairs, and went into the study, and went
up to him and dutifully kissed him.
The Minister looked up with dazed eyes, and a
pleased look came into the sad gray face.
" You have come back, my girl ? And you are well ?
And you have enjoyed yourself in Glasgow ? "
He failed to notice the somewhat tired air that had
not escaped Leezibeth's keen eyes.
" You have been hard at work, uncle, I can see ; and
I am come back to interrupt it."
" Why ? " said the Minister, in some alarm.
" Because I cannot let you kill yourself with your
books. When the weather does become fine again,
you will go out with me, and leave your books alone for
a time."
" I cannot do that," he said, looking at the sheets be-
fore him. "I have purposed having this work finished
by the end o' the year, so that, if I am spared and in
health, I might even undertake another with the incom-
ing o' the new year. But sometimes I fear my labor
will be thrown away. I am not familiar wi' the book-
sellers and such persons as undertake to bring out new
works. The expense of it would be far too great for my
own means, and yet I do not know how to recommend it
to the notice of those whose business it is to embark
money in such enterprises. I do not desire any profit or
proceeds from the sale of the work, but I am not suffi-
ciently acquainted with such things to know whether
that will be an inducement. The cost of bringing out
the book must be great ; Mr. Gillespie, the schoolmaster,
did even mention so large a sum as one hundred pounds,
but I am afraid not with sufficient caution or knowl-
edge."
Coquette knelt down beside the old man, and took
his hand in both of hers.
A DAL CUTER OF HE TIL
3*5
" Uncle," she said, " I am going to ask you for a
great favor."
" And what is it ? "
" No, you must promise first."
" It is impossible, it is contrary to the teaching of
Scripture to promise what it may be impossible to per-
form," said the Minister, who was perhaps vaguely in-
fluenced by the story of the daughter of Herodias.
" Ah, well, it does not matter. Uncle, I want you
to let me be your publisher."
" What do you mean, Catherine ? "
" Let me publish your book for you. You know,
my papa did leave me some money ; it is useless to me :
I do nothing with it ; it becomes more and more every
year, and does nothing for anybody. This would be an
amusement for me. I will take your book, uncle ; and
you shall have no more of bother with it, and I will get
it printed, and my Cousin Tom, he will send me word
how the people do buy it in Glasgow."
" But but but " stammered the Minister, who
could scarcely understand at first this astounding pro-
posal, " my child, this generosity you propose might
entail serious loss, which I should feel more than if it
were my own. It is a grave matter, this publishing of a
book ; it is one that young people cannot understand, and
it is not lightly to be undertaken. We will put
aside this offer of yours, Catherine "
"No, uncle, you must not," she said gently, as she
rose and put her hand on his shoulder. And then she
drooped her head somewhat, as if in shame, and said to
him in a low voice, quite close to his ear, " If my mamma
were here, she would do it for you, uncle, and so you
must let me."
And then she kissed him again, and went away to
call the boys, who were rather anxiously awaiting that
summons. They were taken up to her sitting-room,
and thither also came Leezibeth, partly to preserve order,
and partly to open one of Coquette's boxes, which was
placed on a side-table. Coquette, by this time, had
plucked up her spirits a little bit. The fire was burning
3 1 6 A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL
more brightly in the room, and Leezibeth hud prepared
some tea for her. And so, when this box was finally
opened, she proceeded to display its contents in the
fashion of a small show-woman, delivering a grave
lecture to the circle of boys, who looked on as hungry-
eyed as hawks. That decorum did not last long. In a
very little while there was a turmoil in the room, and
boyish shrieks of laughter over Coquette's iionical jokes
went pealing all over the house. For she had brought
this for that cousin, and that for the other one ; and
there was a great deal of blushing, and of confused
thanks, and of outrageous merriment over the embarrass-
ment of the others. Coquette seemed to have purchased
an inexhaustible store of presents ; and what astonished
them more than all was the exceeding appropriateness
and exceptional value of those gifts.
" Look here, Coquette," said Dugald, " wha telled ye
I lost that knife wi' the corkscrew and the gimlet, and
the file in it, for this ane is jist the same ? "
" Look here, Dugald," remarked the young lady,
standing before him. "Will you please to tell me how
you addressed me just now?"
4 Oh," said Dugald, boldly, " the Whaup never
called ye anything else, and ye seemed well enough
pleased."
Here there was a good deal of laughter at Coquette's
expense, for these young gentlemen had formed their
own notion of the relation between their brother and
Coquette.
" Then," she said, " when you are as tall as the
Whaup, and as respectful to me as he is, you may call
me Coquette ; but not till then, Master Dugald."
In the midst of all this confusion and noise a sudden
lull occurred. Coquette turned and saw the tall, spare
figure of her uncle at the half-opened door, where he
had been for some time an unperceivcd and amused
spectator of the proceedings. One or two of the boys
had caught sight of him, and had instantly curbed their
wild merriment. But even although this was Saturday,
it was clear the Minister was not in an impatient mood
A DAUGHTER OF am si, 317
with their uproar. On the contrary, he walked into the
room and over to Coquette, and put his hand affection-
ately on her head.
" You are a very good girl, Catherine," he said.
The boys looked on this demonstration of kindness
with the utmost surprise. Seldom, indeed, had they seen
their father forget that rigor of demeanor which the
people in many parts of Scotland retain as the legacy of
Puritanical reticence in all matters of the feelings and
emotions. And then the compliment he paid to her!
" I hope you are not being troubled by these unruly
boys, who have much to learn in manners," said the.
Minister, with a good-natured gravity. " But Leezibetb
must see to that ; and so, since you are come home,
Catherine, I begin to think I should like to hear the
sound of music again. I think the Manse has not been
quite so cheerful since you )eft, somehow ; and I have
missed you much in the evenings. As for music, I have
had occasion lately to notice how much King David
was in the habit of speaking about music, and about
musical instruments, and the singing of the voice. Per
haps we in this country have an unwarrantable prejudice
against music, an exercise that we know the chosen peo-
ple of the Lord prized highly."
It was now Leezibeth's turn to be astonished. To
hear the Minister ask for music on a Saturday, the day
of his studying the sermon ; and to hear him disagree
with the estimation in which that godless pastime was
hel 1 by all decent, sober-minded, responsible folk, were
matters for deep reflection to her, and not a little alarm
and pain. Yet in her secret heart she was not sorry
that Coquette sat down to the piano. Had she dared,
she would have asked her to sing one of the old Scotch
songs that had first drawn her towards the young
French girl.
But Coquette, also remembering that it was Saturday,
began to play " Drumclog," and the beating of the wind
and rain without was soon lost in the solemn and stately
harmonies of that fine old air. And then, as in days
gone by, she played it sharply and triumphantly, and a
3 ! 8 A DA UCIITER OF HE TIT,
thrill went through the Minister's heart. He drew his
chair nearer to the piano, and heard the close of the
brief performance with a sigh.
'* Catherine," he said, rather absently, " was there
not a song you used to sing about returning to your
home after being away from it for a time ? It was a
French song, I think ; and yet the music of it seemed
to be praiseworthy."
" I do know that song," said Coquette, in a low voice.
" But but I cannot sing it any more/'
The Minister did not notice the pain that was visible
on her face.
" Yet perhaps you remember the music sufficiently
to play it on the instrument without the help of the
voice," said the gray-haired old man, apparently forget-
ting altogether that Leezibeth and the boys were in the
room.
Coquette began to play the air. It was the song
that told of the happy return to France after three long
years of absence. She had returned to her home, it is
true, leaving behind her many wild and sad and beauti-
ful memories ; and now that she was back to Airlie, it
seemed as though the desolate wind and the rain outside
were but typical of the life that awaited her there.
Coquette played the air as if she were in a dream ; and,
at last, her cousin Dugald, standing at the end of the
piano, was surprised to see her face get more and more
bent down, and her fingering of the keys more and more
uncertain.
" What for are ye greetin' ? '' he said to her, gently ;
but Coquette could make no answer.
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
CHAPTER XLVII.
COQUETTE'S SONG.
FOR a long period Coquette's life at Airlie was so un-
eventful that it may be passed over with the briefest no-
tice. It seemed to her that she had passed through
that season of youth and springtime when romance and
the wild joys of anticipation ought to color for a brief
time the atmosphere around a human life as if with
rainbows. That was all over, if, indeed, it had ever oc-
curred to her. There was now but the sad, gray monot-
ony, the passing weeks and months, in this remote moor-
land place, where the people seemed hard, unimpression-
able, unfriendly. She began to acquire notions of duty.
She began to devise charitable occupations for herself.
She even began to study various things which could
never by any chance be of use to her. And she grew
almost to love the slow, melancholy droning by the old
Scotch folk of those desolating passages in the Prophets
which told of woe and wrath and the swift end of things,
or which, still more appropriately, dealt with the vanity
of life and the shortness of men's days.
The Whaup began to talk of marriage ; she put it far-
ther and farther off. He seldom indeed came to Airlie ;
for Dr. Menzies had been better than his promise, ac-
cepted him as junior partner, and was gradually intrust-
ing a good deal of the business to his care. The Whaup's
studies were far from complete ; so that he had plenty to
occupy himself with, and his visits to Airlie were few
and brief. On one of these visits he said to his
cousin,
'" Coquette, you are growing very like a Scotch
girl."
"Why?" she asked.
"In manner I mean, not in appearance. You are
3 2p A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT
not as demonstrative as you used to be. You appear
more settled, prosaic, matter-of-fact. You have lost all
your old childish caprices, and you no longer appear to
be so pleased with every little thing that happens. You
are much graver than you used to be."
" Do you think so ? " she said, absently.
" But when we are married I mean to take you away
from this slow place, and introduce you to lots of pleas-
ant people, and brighten you up into the old Coquette."
" I am very content to be here," she said, quietly.
"Content! Is that all you ask for? Content! I
suppose a nun is content with a stone cell six feet square.
But you were not intended to be content ; you must be
delighted and you shall be delighted. Coquette, you
never laugh now."
" And you," she said, " you are grown much serious
too."
" Oh, well," he said, " I have such a deal to think
about. One has to drop robbing people's gardens some
day or other.''
" I have some things to think about also," she said,
" not always to make me laugh."
" What troubles you then Coquette ? " he asked gen-
tly.
" Oh, I cannot be asked questions, and questions al-
ways," she said, with a trace of fretful impatience, which
was a startling surprise to him. " I have much to do
in the village with the children ;and the parents, they do
seem afraid of me."
The Whaup regarded her silently, with rather a
pained look in his face ;and then she, looking up, seemed
to become aware that she had spoken harshly. She
put her hand on his hand, and said,
" You must not be angry with me Tom. I do often
find myself getting vexed, I do not know why; and
I ask myself, if I do stay long enough at Airlie, whether
I shall become like Leezibeth and her husband."
" You shall not stay long enough to try," said the
Whaup promptly.
Then he went away up to Glasgow, determined to
A DA UGHTER OF HE TIL 3 2 I
work day and night to achieve this fair prospect. Some-
times he thought, when he heard his fellow-students tell
of their gay adventures with their sweethearts, that his
sweethearr, in bidding him good-by, had never given
him one kiss. And each time that he went down to
Airlie, Coquette seemed to him to be growing more and
more like the beautiful and sad Madonnas of early Ital-
ian art, and he scarce dared to think of kissing her.
So the days went by, and the slow, humdrum life of
Airlie crept through the seasons, bringing the people a
little nearer to the churchyard up on the moor that had
received their fathers and their forefathers. The Min-
ister worked away with a wistful earnestness at his Con-
cordance of the Psalms , and had the pride of a young
author in thinking of its becoming a real, bound book
with the opening of the new year. Coquette went sys-
tematically and gravely about her charitable works in
the village, and took no notice of the ill-favor with which
her efforts were regarded. All that summer and winter
Earlshope remained empty.
One evening, in the beginning of the new year, Mr.
Gillespie, the schoolmaster, came up to the Manse, and
was admitted into the study, where Coquette and her
uncle sat together, busy with an array of proof-sheets.
The Schoolmaster had a communication to make. Mr.
Cassilis, enjoying the strange excitement and responsibi-
lity of correcting the sheets of a work which would
afterwards bear his name, was forced to beg the School-
master to be brief ; and he, thus goaded, informed them,
after a short preamble, that Earlshope was to be sold.
The Schoolmaster was pleased with the surprise
which his news produced. Indeed, he had come resolved
to watch the effect of these tidings upon the Minister's
niece, so that he might satisfy his mind of her being in
secret collusion with the young lord of Earlshope ; and
he now glared at her through his gold spectacles. She
had started on hearing the intelligence, so that she was
evidently unacquainted with it ; and yet she showed no
symptoms oi regret over an event which clearly beto-
322 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
kenecl Lord Earlshope's final withdrawal from the
country.
" A strange, even an unaccountable thing, it may be
termed," observed the Schoolmaster, " inasmuch as his
Lordship was no spendthrift, and had more money than
could satisfy all his wants, or necessities, as one might
say. Yet he has aye been a singular young man, which
may have been owing, or caused by, certain circum-
stances or relationships of which you have doubtless
heard, Mr. Cassilis."
" I have heard too much of the vain talking of the
neighborhood about his Lordship and his affairs," said
the Minister, impatiently turning to his proofs.
" I will venture to say, Mr. Cassilis," remarked the
Schoolmaster, who was somewhat nettled, "that it is no
vain talking, as no one has been heard to deny that he is
a married man."
" Dear me ! " said the minister, looking up. " Of what
concern is it to either you or me, Mr. Gillespie, whether
he is a married man or not ? "
The Schoolmaster was rather stunned. He looked
at Coquette. She sat apparently unimpressionable and
still. He heaved a sigh and shook his head, and then
he rose.
" It is the duty o' a Christian, which I humbly hope
that I am, sir, no' to think ill of his .neighbors ; but I
confess, Mr. Cassilis, ye go forward a length in that
airt, or direction, I might term it rather, which is sur-
prising."
The Minister rose also.
" Let me see you through the passage, Mr, Gillespie,
which is dark at these times. I do not claim for myself,
however, any especial charity in this matte ; for I would
observe that it is not always to a man's disfavor to be-
lieve him married."
As the passage was in reality dark, the Schoolmaster
could not tell whether there was in the Minister's eye a
certain humorous twinkle which he had sometimes ob-
served there, and which, to tell the truth, he did not
particularly like, for it generally accompanied a severe
A DAUGHTER OF hETIf. 323
rebuke. However, the Schoolmaster had done his duty.
The Minister was warned ; and if any of his household
were led astray, the village of Airlie could wash its
hands of the matter.
At last there came people to make Earlshope ready
for the auctioneer's hammer ; and then there was a great
sale, and the big house was gutted and shut up. But
neither it nor the estate was sold, though strangers
came from time to time to look at both.
Once more the quiet moorland neighborhood re-
turned to its quiet ways ; and Coquette went the round
of her simple duties, lessening day by day the vague
prejudice which had somehow been stirred up against
her by the rumor, which had found its way down to
Airlie, that Lord Earlshope was married. It was with
no such intentions, certainly, that she labored. It was
enough if the days passed, and if the Whaup were con-
tent to cease writing for a definite answer about that
marriage which was yet far away in the future. Leezi-
beth looked on this new phase of the girl's character
with an esteem and approval tempered by something
like awe. She could not tell what had taken away from
her all the old gayety and wilfulness and carelessness.
Strangely enough, too, Leezibeth was less her confidante
now ; and on the few occasions that Lady Drum came
over to Airlie the old lady was surprised to find Coquette
grown almost distant and reserved in manner. Indeed,
the girl was as much alone there as if she had been,
afloat on a raft at sea. All hope of change, of excite-
ment, of pleasure, seemed to have left her. She seldom
opened the piano ; and, when she did, " Drumclog " was
no longer a martial air, but a plaintive wail of grief.
Perhaps, of all the people around her, the one that
noticed most of her low spirits was the Whaup's young
brother Dugald, of whom she had made a sort of pet.
Very often she took him with her on her missions into
the village, or her walks into the country round. And
one day, as they were sitting on the moor, she said to
him,
3 2 4 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
" I suppose you never heard of an old German song
that is very strange and sad ? I wonder if I can re-
member the words and repeat them to you. They are
something like this,
' Three horsemen rode out to the gate of the town : Good-bye !
Fine Sweetheart, she looked from her window down : Good-bye
And if ill fate such grief must bring,
Then reach me hither your golden ring !
Good-bye ! Good-'bye ! Good-bye I
Ah, parting wounds so bitterly !
* And it is Death that parts us so : Good-bye !
Many a rose-red maiden must go : Good-bye !
He sunders many a man from wife :
They knew how happy a thing was life.
Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Good-bye !
Ah, parting wounds so bitterly!
1 He steals the infant out of its bed : Good bye !
And when shall I see my nut brown maid ? Good-bye!
It is not to-morrow : ah, were it to-day !
There are two that I k'-ow that would be gay !
Good-bye ! Good-bye ! Good-bye !
Ah, parting wounds so bitterly ! * "
" What does it mean ?" asked the boy.
" I think it means," said Coquette, looking away over
the moor, " that everybody in the world is miserable."
" And are you miserable, too ? " he asked.
" Not more than others, I suppose," said Coquette.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
COQUETTE FORSAKES HER FRIENDS.
THE dull gray atmosphere that thus hung over Co-
quette's life was about to be pierced by a lightning-flash.
Two years had passed away in a quiet, monotonous
fashion, and very little had happened during that time to
the people about Airlie. The Minister, it is true, had
A DA UGHTER OF HE Til. 325
published his Concordance of the Psalms ; and not only
had he received various friendly and congratulatory letters
about it from clergymen standing high in the estimation
of the world, but notice had been taken of the work in
the public prints, and that of a nature to fill the old man's
heart with secret joy. Coquette cut out those paragraphs
which were laudatory (suppressing ruthlessly those which
were not), and placed them in a book. Indeed, she man-
aged the whole business ; and, especially in the monetary
portion of it, insisted on keeping her negotiations with
the publishers a profound secret.
" It is something for me to do, uncle," she said.
" And you have done it very well, Catherine," said
the Minister. " I am fair surprised to see what a
goodly volume it has turned out ; the smooth paper, the
clear printing; it is altogether what I would call a pre-
sentable book."
The Minister would have been less surprised had he
known the reckless fashion in which Coquette had given
instructions to the publishers, and the amount of money
she subsequently and surreptitiously and cheerfully paid.
" There are newspapers," said the Minister, ruefully,
" which they tell me deal in a light and profane fashion
wi' religious matters. I hope the editors will read my
Concordance carefully before writing of it in their jour-
nals."
" I do not think it is the editor who writes about
books," remarked Coquette. " An editor of a Nantes
newspaper did use to come to our house, and I remember
his saying to my papa that he gave books to his writers
who could do nothing else ; so you must not be surprised
if they do make mistakes. As for him, uncle, I am sure
he did not know who wrote the Psalms.'*
" Very likely, very likely," said the Minister. " But
the editors of our newspapers are a different class of men,
for they write for a religious nation, and must be ac-
quainted wi' such things. The Schoolmaster thinks I
ought to write to the editors, and beg them to read the
books wi' care."
" I wouldn't do that, uncle, if I were you," said Co-
326 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
quette ; and, somehow or other, the Minister had of late
got into such a habit of consulting and obeying Coquette
that her simple expression of opinion sufficed, and he did
not write to any editor,
At times during that' long period, but not often, the
Whaup came down to Airlie, and stayed from the Satur-
day to the Monday morning. The anxious and troubled
way in which Coquette put aside any reference to their
future marriage struck him painfully ; but for the present
he was content to be almost silent. There was no use,
he reflected, in talking about this matter until he could
definitely say to her, " Come, and be my wife." He had
no right to press her to give any more definite promise
than she had already given, when he himself was uncertain
as to time. But, even now, he saw at no great dis-
ance ahead the fortunate moment when he could formally
claim Coquette as his bride. His place in the business
of Dr. Menzies had been secured to him, and his term
of public study was coming to an end. Every day that
he rose he knew himself a day nearer to the time when
he should go down to Airlie and carry off with him Co-
quette to be the wonder of all his friends in Glasgow.
At times, as he looked at Coquette, he felt rather
anxious, and wished that the days could pass more
quickly.
" I am afraid the dulness of this place is weighing
very heavily on you, Coquette," he said to her one Satur-
day afternoon that he had gone down.
" You do say that often to me," she said, "and I find
you looking at me as if you were a doctor. Yet I am
not ill. It is true, I think that I am becoming Scotch,
as you said once long ago ; and all your Scotch people at
Airlie seem to me sad and resigned in their faces. That
is no harm, is it ? "
" But why should you be sad and resigned ? "
" I do catch it as an infection from the others," she
said, with a smile.
Yet he was not satisfied, and he went back to Glasgow
more impatient than ever.
For he said to himself, " once I can go and ask her
A DAUGHTER OF HETIL 327
to fulfil her promise, there will be a chance of breaking
this depressing calm that has settled on her. I will take
her away from Airlie. I will get three months' holiday,
and take her down to see the Loire, and than back through
France to Marseilles, and then on to Italy, and then back
through Switzerland. And only to think of Coquette
being always with me, and my having to order breakfast
for her, and see that the wine is always quite sound and
good for her, and see that she is wrapped up against the
cold, and to listen always to her sweet voice, and the
broken English, and the little perplexed stammer now
and again, isn't that something to work for ! "
So the time went by, and Coquette heard nothing of
Lord Earlshope, not even the mention of his name. But
one dull morning in March she was walking by herself
over the moor, and suddenly she heard on the gravel of
the path in front of her the sound of a quick footstep that
she knew. Her heart ceased to beat, and for a second
she felt faint and giddy. Then, without ever lifting her
head, she endeavored to turn aside and avoid him.
" Won't you even speak to me, Coquette ? "
The sound of his voice made thfe blood spring hotly
to her face again, and recalled the wild beating of her
heart ; but still she stood immovable. And then she said,
in a low voice,
" Yes, I will speak to you if you wish."
He came nearer to her, his own face quite pale, and
said,
" I am glad you have nearly forgotten me, Coquette ;
I came to see. I heard that you looked very sad, and
went about alone much, and were pale ; but I would
rather hear you tell me, Coquette, that it is all a mistake."
" I have not forgotten anything," said Coquette.
" Nothing ? "
" Nothing at all."
" Coquette," he cried, coming quite close to her," tell
me this, once for all, have you forgotten nothing as I
have forgotten nothing ? do you love me as if we had
just parted yesterday ? has all this time done nothing lor
either of us ? "
3? 3 A DAUGHTER OF IIETIf.
She looked around, wildly, as if seeking some means
of escape ; and then, with a sort of shudder, she found
his arms around her as in the olden time, and she was
saying, almost incoherently,
" Oh, my darling, my darling, I love you more than
ever, night and day I have never ceased to think of you,
and now and now my only wish is to die, here, with
your arms around me ! "
" Listen, Coquette, listen ! " he said. " Do you know
what I have done ? A ship passes here in the morning for
America ; I have taken two berths in it, for you and for
me ; to morrow we shall be sailing away to a new world,
and leaving all those troubles behind us. Do you hear
me ; Coquette ? "
The girl shuddered violently ; her face was hid.
" You remember that woman," he said, hurriedly.
" Nothing has been heard of her for two years. I have
sought everywhere for her. She must be dead, and so,
Coquette, you know, we shall be married when we get out
there ; and perhaps in after years we shall come back to
Airlie. But now, Coquette, this is what you must do.
The Caroline will wait for you off Saltcoats to-night ; you
must come down by yourself, and I will tell you how to
get the pinnace to come out. And then we are to meet
the ship, darling ; and to-morrow you will have turned
your face to a new world, and will soon forget this old
one, that was so cruel to you. What do you say,
Coquette ? "
" Oh, I cannot ! " murmured the girl. " What will
become of my uncle ? "
" Your uncle is an old man. He would have been
as lonely if you had never come to Airlie, Coquette ; and
we may come back to see him"
She looked up now, with a white face, into his eyes,
and said slowly,
" You know that if we go away to-night I shall
never see him again, nor any one of my friends."
He rather shrank from that earnest look; but he
said, with eyes turned, " What are friends to you, Co-
quette ? They cannot make you happy."
A DA UGHTER OF HE TH. 329
A little while after that Coquette was on her way
back to the Manse, alone. She had promised to go
down to Saltcoats that night, and she had sealed her sin
with a kiss.
She scarcely knew what she had done ; and yet
there was a dreadful consciousness of some impending
evil pressing down on her heart. Her eyes were fixed
on the ground as she went along ; and yet it seemed to
her that she knew the dark clouds were glowing with a
fiery crimson, and that there was a light, as of sunset
gleaming over the moor. Then, so still it was ! She
grew afraid that in this fearful silence she should hear a
voice speaking to her from the sky that appeared to be
close over her head.
Guilty and trembling she drew near to the Manse ;
and seeing the Minister coming out of the gate, she
managed to avoid him, and stole like a culprit up to her
own room. The first thing that met her eyes was a locket
containing a portrait of her mother. She took it up,
and placed it in a drawer along with the crucifix and
some religious books to which Leezibeth had objected.
She put it beside them reverently and sadly, as though
she knew she never dared touch them any more. And
then she sat down, and buried her face in her hands,
and wept bitterly.
She was unusually and tenderly attentive to her
uncle at dinnertime; and in answer to his inquiries why
she scarcely ate anything, she said that she had taken
her accustomed biscuit and glass of port wine, which
Dr. Menzies had recommended, later than usual. The
answer did not quite satisfy the Minister.
" We must have Lady Drum to take ye away for a
change," he said, " some o' these days."
When she had brought her uncle the silk hand-
kerchief with which he generally covered his face in set-
tling down to his after-dinner nap, Coquette went up-
stairs, and put a few odd things .into a small reticule.
Then she went downstairs again, and waited patiently
until tea was over and the boys sent off lo prepare their
lessons for next day.
330 A DAUGHTER OF HE Til.
Then Coquette, having put on her shawl and hat,
stole out of the house, and through the small garden.
She looked neither to the right nor to the left. Of all
the troubles she had experienced in life, the bitterest
was nothing in comparison to the ghastly sense of guilt
that now crushed her down. She knew that in leaving
the Manse she was leaving behind her all the sweet
consciousness of rectitude, the purity and innocence
which had enabled her to meet trials with a courageous
heart. She was leaving behind her the treasure of a
stainless name, the crown of womanhood. She was
leaving behind her her friends, who would have to share
her shame and face on her behalf the bitter tongues of
the world. She was leaving behind her even the
pleasant memories of her mother, for Heaven itself
would be closed against her, and she would be an exile
from all that a pure and true woman could hold dear.
There were now no tears in her eyes, but a cold,
dead weight at her heart ; and she trembled at the slight
sound she made in closing the gate.
What a strange, wild evening it was, as she got out-
side, and turned to cross the moor over to the west !
Through a fierce glare of sunset she could see that all
along the horizon, and high over the mountains of Arran,
there lay a long wall of dense blue cloud. Underneath
this the sea lay black ; the wind had not stirred the
waves into breaking ; and she could only tell that
the great dark plain moved in lines and lines, as if it
were silently brooding over the secrets down in its
depths. But over this dense wall of cloud lay the wild
light of the sunset, and long fierce dashes of scarlet and
gold ; while across the blaze of yellow there drifted
streaks of pure silver, showing the coming of a storm.
And up here on the moor the stretches of dry gray
grass which alternated with brown patches of heather
had, as it were, caught fire ; and the blowing and gusty
light of the west burned along those bleak slopes until
the eye was dazzled and pained by the glow. Even in
the far east the clouds had a blush of pink over them,
with rifts of green sky between ; and the dark fir- woods
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 331
that lay along the horizon seemed to dwell within a veil
of crimson mist.
There was a strange stillness up here on the moor,
despite the fact that the wind was blowing the red
clouds about, and causing now this and now that stretch
of the gray moor to burn red under the shifting evening
sky. There was quite an unusual silence, indeed, The
birds seemed to have grown mute ; not even the late
blackbird sang in the hawthorn bushes by the side of
the moorland stream. Coquette hurried on, without let-
ting her eyes wander to either side ; there was some-
thing in the look of the moor and the wild light that
alarmed her.
Suddenly she was confronted by some one ; and,
looking up with a sharp cry, she found the Pensioner
before her.
" I hope I hafna frichtened ye, Miss Cassilis," he
said.
"No," said Coquette, "But I did not expect to
meet any one."
" Ye will pe going on a veesit ; but dinna gang far,
for it iss a stormy-looking nicht, and you will maybe get
wat before sat you will get home."
" Thank you. Good-night," said Coquette hurry-
ing on.
" Good-night/' said the Pensioner.
Then he turned, and said, before she was out of
hearing,
" I'm saying, Miss Cassilis, maype you will know his
Lordship iss never coming back to Earlshope no more,
not even if he will pe unable to let sa house ? "
" How should I know ? " said Coquette, suddenly
struck motionless by the question.
" Maype no," said the Pensioner, in atone of apology.
" It wass only that some o' the neebors did see you
speakin' to Lord Earlshope this mornin', and I was
thinkin' that very like he wass coming back to his ain
house."
" I know nothing about it," said Coquette, hurrying
332 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
on, with her heart overburdened with anguish and
dread.
For now she knew that all the people would learn
why she had run away from her uncle's house ; and
they would carry to the old man the story of their hav-
ing seen her talking to Lord Earlshope. But for that
the Minister might have thought her drowned or per-
ished in some way. That was all over; and her shame
would be publicly known ; and he would have to bear
it in his old age.
Down at the end of the moor she turned to take a
last look at the Manse. Far up on the height the win-
dows of the small building were twinkling like gleam-
ing rubies : the gable and tlie wall around the garden
were of a dusky red color ; overhead the sky was apure,
clear green, and the white sickle of a new mccn was
faintly visible. Never before had Airlie Manse seemed
to her so lovable a place, so still and quiet and comfor-
table. And when she thought of the old man who had
been like a father to her, she could see no more through
the tears that came welling up into her eyes, and she
turned and continued on her way with many bitter sobs.
The wind had grown chill. The wall of cloud was
slowly rising in the west, until it had shut off half of the
glowing colors of the sunset ; and the evening was be-
coming rapidly darker. Then it seemed to Coquette
that the black plain of the sea was getting strangely
close to her, and she began to grow afraid of the gath-
ering darkness.
" Why did he not come to meet me ? " she mur-
mured to herself. " I have no courage no hope when
he is not near."
It grew still darker, and yet she could not hurry
her steps, for she trembled much, and was like to be-
come faint. She had vague thoughts of returning ; and
yet she went on mechanically, as if she had cast the
die of her fate, and could no more be what she was.
Then the first shock of the storm fell, fell with a crash
on the fir-woods, and tore through them with a voice of
thunder. All over now the sky was black ; and there
A DAUGHTER OF HETIf. 333
was a whirlwind whitening the sea, the cry of which
could be neard far out beyond the land. Then came the
rain in wild, fierce torrents that blew about the wet
fields, and raised red channels of water in the roads. Co-
quette had no covering of any sort. In a few minutes
she was drenched ; and yet she did not seem to know.
She only staggered on blindly, in the vain hope of reach-
ing Saltcoats before the darkness had fallen, and seeking
some shelter. She would not go to meet Lord Earlshope.
She would creep into some hovel ; and then, in the
morning, send a message of repentance to her uncle, and
go away somewhere, and never see any more the rela-
tions and friends whom she had betrayed and disgraced.
Nevertheless she still went recklessly on, her eyes
confused by the rain, her brain a prey to wild and de-
spairing thoughts.
The storm grew in intensity. The roar of the sea
could now be heard far over the cry of the wind ; and
the rain-clouds came across the sea in huge masses, and
were blown down upon the land in hissing torrents. Still
Coquette struggled on.
At last she saw before her the lights of Saltcoats.
But the orange points seemed to dance before her eyes.
There was a burning in her head. And then, with a
faint cry of " Uncle, uncle ! " she sank down by the road-
side.
There was a sound of wheels. A wagonette was
suddenly stopped just in front of her, and a man jumped
down.
' " What is the matter wi' ye, my lass ? Bless me, is it
you, Miss Cassilis ? "
The girl was quite insensible, however ; and the man,
who happened to know Miss Cassiiis, lost no time in
carrying her to the waggonette, and driving her on to
his own house, which was but a few hundred yards farther
on, at the entrance to the town. There his wife and one
of the servants restored Coquette to consciousness, and
had her wet clothes taken off, and herself put to bed.
The girl seemed already feverish, if not delirious.
" But what does she say of herself ? " asked this Mr.
334 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
M' Henry, when his wife came down. " How did she
come to be on the way to Saltcoats a' by herself ? "
" That I dinna ken," said his wife ; " but the first
words she spoke were, 'Take me back to Airlie to my
uncle. I will not go to Saltcoats. ' '
" I would send for the Minister," said the husband,
" but no human being could win up to Airlie on such a
nicht. We will get him down in the morning."
So Coquette remained in Saltcoats that night. Under
Mrs. M'Henry's treatment the fever abated ; and she lay
during the darkness, and listened to the howling of the
storm. Where was Lord Earlshope ?
" I hope he has gone away by himself to America,
and that I will never see him again,*' she murmured to
herself. " But I can never go back to Airlie any more."
CHAPTER XLIX.
A SECRET OF THE SEA.
NEXT morning there was a great commotion in Salt-
coats. Despite the fierce gusts of wind that were still
blowing, accompanied by squally showers of rain, numbers
of people were out on the long stretch of brown sand
lying south of the town. Mischief had been at work on
the sea over-night. Fragments of barrels, bits of spars,
and other evidences of a wreck were being knocked
about on the waves ; and two smacks had even put out
to see if any larger remains of the lost vessel or vessels
were visible, Mr. M* Henry was early abroad ; for he
had gone into the town to get a messenger, and so he
heard the news. At last, amid the gossiping of the neigh-
bors, he learned that a lad had just been summoned by a
certain Mrs. Kilbride to go up on an errand to Airlie,
and he resolved to secure his services to carry the mes-
sage.
A DAUGHTER OF HETtf.
335
Eventually he met the lad on his way to the moor-
land village, and then it turned out that the errand was
merely to carry a letter to Miss Cassilis, at the Manse.
" But Miss Cassalis is at my house," said Mr.
M'Henry. " Give me the letter, and gang ye on to the
Manse and ask Mr. Cassilis to come doon here."
So the lad departed, and the letter was taken up and
placed on the table where Coquette was to have her
breakfast.
She came down, looking very pale, but would give no
explanation of how she came to be out on such a night.
She thanked them for having sent for her uncle, and sat
down at the table, but ate nothing.
Then she saw the letter, and, with a quick, pained
flush of color leaping to her cheeks, she took it up and
opened it with trembling fingers. Then she read these
xvords,
" Dearest, I cannot exact from you the sacrifice of
your life. Remorse and misery for all the rest of our
years would be the penalty to both of us by your going
with me to-night, even though you might put a brave
face on the matter, and conceal your anguish. I cannot
let you suffer that, Coquette. I will leave for America
by myself ; and I will never attempt to see you again.
That promise I have broken before ; but it will not be
broken this time. Good-bye, Coquette. My earnest hope
is that you will not come to Saltcoats to-night; and, in
that case, this letter will be forwarded to you in the morn-
ing. Forgive me, if you can, for all the suffering I have
caused you. I will never forget you, darling, but I will
never see England or yo'i again.
" EARLSHOPE."
There was almost a look of joy on her face.
" So I did not vex him," she thought, " by keeping
him waiting. And he has conquered too ; and he will
think better of himself and of me- away over there for
many years to come, if he does not forget all about
Airlie."
336 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
And that reference to Airlie recalled the thought of
her uncle, and of his meeting with her. As the time
drew near for his approach she became more and more
downcast. When, at last, the old man came into the
room where she was sitting alone, her eyes were fixed
on the ground, and she dared not raise them.
He went over to her, and placed his hand on her
head.
" What is all this, Catherine ? Did you miss your
way last night ? What made ye go out on such a night,
without saying a word to any one ? "
She replied in a low voice, which was yet studiously
distinct,
" Yesterday afternoon I went away from the Manse,
not intending to go back."
The Minister made a slight gesture as if some twinge
had shot across his heart ; and then, looking at her in a
sad and grave way, he said,
" I did not think I had been unkind to you, Cathe-
rine."
This was too much for Coquette. It broke down the
obduracy with which she had been vainly endeavoring to
fortify herself ; and she fell at the feet of her uncle, and,
with wild tears and sobs, told him all that had happened,
and begged him to go away and leave her, for she had be-
come a stranger and an outcast. Stunned as the old
man was by these revelations, he forgot to express his
sense of her guilt. He saw only before him the daugh-
ter of his own brother, a girl who had scarce a friend in
the world but himself, and she was at his feet in tears
and shame and bitter distress. He raised her and put
her head on his breast, and tried to still her sobbing.
" Catherine," he said, with his own voice broken, " you
shall never be an outcast from my house, so long as you
care to accept its shelter."
" But I cannot go back to Airlie I cannot go back
to Airlie ! " she said, almost wildly. " I will not bring
disgrace upon you, uncle ; and have the people talk of
me, and blame you for taking me back. I am going
away I am not fit to go back to Airlie, uncle. You
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
337
have been very good to me far better than I deserve ;
but I cannot tell you now that I love you for all your
kindness to me for now it is a disgrace for me to speak
to any one "
"Hush, Catherine," he said. ."It is penitence, not
despair, that must fill your heart. And the penitent has
not to look to man for pardon, nor yet to fear what may
be said of him in wrath. They that go elsewhere for
forgiveness and comfort have no reason to dread the ill-
tongues of their neighbors. ' They looked unto Him,
and were lightened ; and their faces were not ashamed.
This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved
him out of ail his troubles.' You will go back to Airlie
with me, my girl. Perhaps you do not feel at home
there yet ; three years is not a long time to get accus-
tomed to a new country. I am told ye sometimes cried
in thinking about France, just as the Jews in captivity
did, when they said, ' By the rivers of Babylon, there,
we sat down ; yea, we wept when we remembered
Zion.' But maybe I have erred in not making the house
lichtsome enough for ye. I am an old man, Catherine ;
and the house is dull, perhaps. But if ye will tell me
how we can make it pleasanter to ye "
" Oh, uncle, you are breaking my heart with your
kindness ! " she sobbed ; " and I deserve none of it ;
none of it ! "
It was with great difficulty that the Minister per-
suaded her to go back with him to the Manse. At
length, however, a covered carriage was procured, and
Coquette and her uncle were driven up to Airlie. The
girl sat now quite silent and impassive ; only when she
saw any one of the neighbors passing along the road she
seemed nervously anxious to avoid scrutiny. When they
got up to the gate of the Manse, which was open, she
walked quietly and sadly by her uncle's side across the
bit of garden into the house, and was then for going up-
stairs by herself. Her uncle prevented her.
" Ye must come and sit wi' me for a little while, until
Leezibeth has got some breakfast ready for ye."
338 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
"I do not want anything to eat," said Coquette ; and
she seemed afraid of the sound of her own voice.
" Nevertheless," said the Minister, " I would inquire
further into this matter, Catherine. It is but proper
that I should know what measure of guilt falls upon
that young man in endeavoring to wean away a respect
able girl from her home and her friends."
Coquette drew back, with some alarm visible on her
face.
" Uncle, I cannot tell you now. Some other time,
perhaps ; but not now, not now. And you must not
think him guilty, uncle ; it is I who am guilty of it all ;
he is much better than any of you think, and now he is
away to America, and no one will defend him if he is
accused."
At the moment that she spoke Lord Earlshope was
beyond the reach of accusation and defence. The Salt-
coats people, towards the afternoon, discovered the lid
of a chest floating about, and on it was painted in white
letters the word Caroline. Later there came a telegram
from Greenock to the effect that during the preceding
night the schooner yacht Caroline had been run down and
sunk in mid-channel by a steamer going to Londonderry,
and that, of all on board the yacht, the steamer had
been able to pick up only the steward. And that same
night the news made its way up to Airlie, and circulated
through the village, and at length reached the Manse.
Other rumors accompanied it. For the moment, no one
dared to tell Coquette of what had happened ; but none
the less was her flight from the Manse connected with
this terrible judgment ; and even Leezibeth, struck
dumb with shame and grief, had no word of protest when
Andrew finished his warnings and denunciations.
14 There is no healing of thy bruise," said Leezibeth
to herself sadly, in thinking of Coquette. " Thy wound
is grievous : all that hear the bruit of thee shall clap their
hands over thee."
A DAUGHTER OF HETIf.
CHAPTER L.
CONSENT.
SHARP and bitter was the talk that ran through
Airlie about the Minister's niece ; and Coquette knew
of it, and shrank away from the people, and would fain
have hidden herself from the light as one occursed.
Now indeed she knew what it was to have a ban placed
upon her ; and all the old fearless consciousness of
right had gone, so that she could no longer attempt to
win over the people to her by patience and sweetness,
and the charm of her pleasant ways. She had fallen
too far in her own esteem ; and Leezibeth began to be
alarmed about the effects of that calm and reticent sad-
ness, which had grown to be the normal expression of
Coquette's once light and happy face.
It was Leezibeth who unintentionally confirmed the
surmises of the villages, by begging the Minister to con-
ceal from Coquette the knowledge of Lord Earlshope's
tragic death. The Minister, anxious above all things
for the girl's health, consented ; and it then became
necessary to impose silence on those who were likely to
meet Coquette elsewhere. So it became known that
mention of Lord Earlshope was not to be made to this
quiet and pale-faced girl, who still, in spite of her sad-
ness, had something of a proud air, and looked at peo-
ple unflinchingly with her dark and troubled eyes, as
though she would ask them what they thought of her.
Whether this policy of silence were advisable or not,
it was certainly not very prudent to conceal from the
Whaup likewise all intelligence of what had happened.
He had heard of Lord Earlshope's death, of course, and
was a little surprised to be asked not to mention the mat-
ter in his letters to Coquette; but beyond that, he was
in complete ignorance of all that had occurred at Airlie
in his absence. But by and by rumors came to him.
34 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
He began to grow uneasy. Finally he saw Lady Drum ;
and she, seeing the necessity of being explicit, told him
everything in as gentle a way as she could.
" And so,'' he said, " my cousin is looked upon as an
outcast ; and the good people of Airlie say evil things of
her ; and I suppose wonder why she dares go into the
church."
Lady Drum made no reply ; he had but described
the truth.
Then the Whaup rose up, like a man, and said,
" Lady Drum, I am going down to Airlie to get Co-
quette to marry me, and I will take her away from there,
and the people may talk then until their rotten tongues
drop out."
Lady Drum rose too, and put her hand on his shoulder,
and said gently,
" If I were a man, that is what I would do. Off wi'
ye to Airlie directly, and whether she say yes or no,
bring her away wi' ye as your wife. That will mend a
great many matters/'
So the Whaup went down to Airlie, and all the way
in the train his heart was on fire with various emotions
of pity and anger and love, and his brain busy with plans
and schemes. He would have liked another year's prep-
aration, perhaps ; but his position now with regard to
Dr. Menzies was fully secured, and his income, if not a
very big one, sufficient for the meantime. And when
he went up to Airlie, and reached the Manse, he made
no inquiries of anybody, but went straight, in his old im-
petuous way, into the room where he expected to find
Coquette.
Coquette was alone, and when he opened the door
he found her eyes fixed on him.
" Oh, Coquette, you are ill ! " he said seizing both her
hands and looking into her face.
" No," she said, " I am not ill. You must not vex
yourself about me, it is only I have not been much out
of late."
" Ah, I know why you have not been out," he said,
"and I am comedown to put all these things straight.
A DAUGHTER OF HE TH.
34'
Coquette, you must marry me now. I won't go away
unless you go with me as my wife. That is what I have
come down for."
The girl had started, as though a whip had stung her ;
and now a flush of shame and pain was visible in her
face. She withdrew her hands from his, and said, with
her eyes cast down,
" I understand why you come down. You know what
they say of me. You wish to marry me to prove it is
not true, and give me some better opinion of myself.
That is very good of you ; it is what I did expect of you ,
but, but I am too proud to be married in that way, and
I do not wish any sacrifice from anybody."
" What is the use of talking like that, Coquette ? "
he said, impetuously. "What has sacrifice or pride got
to do between you and me ? Why need you care what
the people at Airlie or the people all over the world think
of you ? I know all about that, Coquette, I know the
whole story ; and I look into your eyes, and I know that
I am doing right. Look here Coquette, I am going to
take you away. I will teach you what to think of your-
self, and then you will talk no more of sacrifice. Sacrifice !
If there is any sacrifice, it is in your thinking of marry-
ing a good-for-nothing fellow like me. It's like a princess
marrying a gamekeeper fellow, or something like that ;
and you talk of sacrifice, and what the wretched idiots
of a ridiculous little village think of you ! Why Coquette !
It all comes of your being shut up here, and seeing
nothing, and being left to your own dreams. You are
getting distorted views of everything in this dismal place.
It's like conducting experiments in a vacuum : what you
want is to get braced up by the actual atmosphere of
the world, and learn how things work there, and dis-
cover the value that people will put upon you. What
can the croaking frogs of a marsh like this know of you
or your value Coquette ? Don't you remember how you
went about Lady Drum's rooms like a queen ; and every-
body waited on you ; and I scarcely dared come near
you ? Sacrifice ! You ought to be ashamed of yourself,
Coquette."
34 2 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
He spoke in the old and rapid fashion with which she
used to be familiar ; and his cheeks were flushed with
enthusiasm; and his handsome face full of daring and
confidence, as though he would have laughed at her
scruples and defied the world for her sake. Perhaps he
did not despise Airlie altogether as much as he said ; but
in the hot haste of his eloquence there was no time to be
particular, or even just.
" You are as impetuous as ever, and you are as gen-
erous as ever ; but you are grown no wiser," she said,
looking at him in a kindly way. " For me, I have grown
much older than when we went about here. I do see
many things differently ; and just now I must tell you
what is right and best for both of us. You must not
say any more about our marriage ; but go up to Glasgow
again, and forget all about me. If it is painful for you
in the meantime, I am sorry ; it will be better for you
by and by. If you did marry a wife who had not a good
name among all people, strangers as well, you might
not care for a little while, but you would remember of it
afterwards, and that would be very sorrowful for both."
With that she rose and would have passed him, and
gone to the door. But he stood in her way, and con-
fronted her, and said, with a certain coldness of tone,
" You must answer me one question, Coquette,
clearly and truthfully. Is all that you say meiely an
excuse for breaking off our marriage altogether ? "
She looked surprised.
" Then you do no longer believe I speak the truth ?
An excuse, that is something untrue. No I have no
need of excuses."
She would have left the room then, but he caught
her hand and said,
4 ' We are no longer children, Coquette. This is too
serious a matter to be settled by a mere misunder-
standing or a quarrel. I want to know if you have no
other reason to postpone our marriage, or break it up
altogether, than the foolish talk that prevails in the
village ? "
" You do forget," she said, evidently forcing herself
A DAUGHTER OF IIETH.
343
to speak in a cold and determined manner "that the
people have some right to talk, that I did go away from
the Manse, expecting "
She could get no further. She shuddered violently ;
and then, sitting down, covered her face with her hands.
" I tell you I know all about that, Coquette," he
said, sadly. " It was very bitter for me to hear it "
" And then you did come here, despising me, and
yet wishing to marry me, so that I might not be too cast
down. It is very generous, but you see it is impossi-
ble."
" And you mean that as a final answer, Coquette ? "
She looked up into his face.
'' Yes," she said, with her eyes fixed on his.
" Good-bye, then, Coquette," said he.
Anxious as was her scrutiny, she could not tell how
he received this announcement, but the tone in which
he bade her good-bye went like a knife to her heart.
She held out her hand and said, or was about to say,
" Good-bye," when, somehow, she failed to reach his
hand, and the room seemed to swim round. Then there
was a space of blank unconsciousness, followed by the
slow breathing of returning life, and she knew that he
was bathing her forehead with a handkerchief and cold
water.
"You must not go away like that," she said to him,
when she had somewhat recovered ; " I have few
friends."
And so, sitting down beside her, he began to tell
her in a gentle and, at times, somewhat embarrassed
voice the story of his love for her, and all the plans he
had formed, and how his only hope in the world was to
marry her. He did not care what lay in the past ; the
future was to be theirs, and he would devote himself to
making her once more the light-hearted Coquette of for-
mer days. He spoke to her as if afraid to disturb her
even by the urgency of his affection ; and while he
talked in this low and earnest fashion, the girl's eyes
were wistful and yet pleased, as if she were looking at
344
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
the pictures he drew of a happy future for both of them
and beginning to believe in their possibility.
" People have sorrows and disappointments, you
know, Coquette," he said, " and yet they forget them
in great measure, for it is useless to spend a lifetime in
looking back. And people do weak things and cruel
things that haunt their conscience and trouble them
bitterly ; but even these are lightened by time. And
the ill opinion of the world, that, too, gets removed by
time ; and all the old years, with their griefs and their
follies and mistakes, get wiped out. You are too young
to think that life has been irretrievably spoiled for you.
You have got another life to set out on.; and you may
depend on my making it as pleasant and as comfortable
as possible, if you will only give me the chance."
"You do talk as if it was my pleasure and comfort I
did think of," said Coquette. " No, that is not so. When
I did say I would not marry you, it was for your sake ;
and then, when you seemed to be going away estranged
from me, I thought I would do anything to keep you my
friend. So I will now. Is that all true you say, my
poor boy, about your caring only for one thing in the
world ? Will your life be wretched if I am not your
wife ? Lecause then I will marry you, if you like."
" Ah ! do you say that, Coquette ? " he said, with a
flash of joy in his eyes.
There was no such joy visible on her face.
" If you could say to yourself," she added, calmly,
" after a little time, ' I will keep Coquette as my friend,
as my best friend, but I will marry somebody else/ that
would be better for you."
" It would be nothing of the kind," he said, cheer-
fully, " nor for you either. I am .bout to set myself
the task of transforming you Coquette, and in a year or
two you won't know yourself."
" In a year or two," she repeated, thoughtfully.
" You know I am a doctor now, and I am going to
become your attendant physician, and I will prescribe
for you, Coquette, plenty of amusement and holidays,
and of course I will go with you to see that my order?
DAUGHTER OF HETfL
345
are obeyed. And you will forget everything that is
past and gone, for I will give you plenty to think about
in managing the details of the house, you know, and
arranging for people coming to see you in the evenings.
And then, in the autumn-time, Coquette, you will get
as brown as a berry among the valleys and the moun-
tains of Switzerland ; and if we come through France,
you shall be interpreter for me, and take the tickets, you
know, and complain to the landlords. All that, and
ever so much more, lies before you ; and all that is to
be done in the meantime is to get you away from this
melancholy place, that has been making you wretched
and pale and sad. Now, Coquette, tell me when I am
to take you away."
She rose with almost an expression of alarm on her
face.
4 Ah, not yet, not, yet," she said. " You will think
over it first, perhaps you will alter your intentions."
" I sha'n ? t do anything of the kind, Coquette, unless
you alter yours. Mind you, I don't mean to goad you
into marrying me ; and if you say now that it vexes you
to think of it "
k It does not vex me, if it will make you happy/' she
said.
" Then you don't wish to rescind your promise."
" No, I do not wish it."
" And you will really become my wife, Coquette ? "
She hesitated for a moment ; and then she said, in a
low voice,
" I will be your wife if you wish it, and make you
as happy as I can ; but not yet, Tom, not yet ; and you
must not be vexed if I cannot set a time."
With that she left the room ; and he flung himself
into a chair to ponder over his recollections of an inter-
view which seemed very strange and perplexing to him.
" It does not vex me, if it will make you happy " that
was all he could get her to say. No expression of in-
terest, no hopeful look, such as a girl naturally wears
in talking of her coming marriage. And these moods
346 A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
of fear, of despondency, even bordering on wild despair,
what did they mean ?
" There is something altogether wrong in her rela-
tions with the people around her," he said. " She
seems to labor under a burden of self-constraint and of
sadness which would in another year kill a far stronger
woman than she is. The place does not suit her; the
people don't suit her. Everything seems to have gone
wrong ; and the Coquette I see bears no resemblance
to the Coquette who came here a few years ago. What-
ever it is that is wrong, our marriage will solve the prol
lem, and transfer her to a new sphere and new associa-
tions."
The Whaup endeavored to reassure himself with
these forecasts ; but did not quite succeed, for there
was a vague doubt and anxiety hanging about his rnind
which would not be exorcised.
CHAPTER LI.
THE PALE BRIDE.
THE Whaup telegraphed to Dr. Menzies for permr-
sion to remain at Airlie another couple of days, and re-
ceived it. He made good use of his time. Some brief
conversations he had with Leezibeth in regard to Co-
quette quickened his resolve. He went to his father,
too, and told him of his wishes.
The old man could at first scarcely credit this strange
announcement. He had never even suspected his son
of being particularly fond of Coquette ; and now his
first idea was that the Whaup in an exceptionally chiv-
alrous fashion had proposed to marry her as an answer
to the evil rumors that were afloat. He was soon dis-
abused on this point. Confidences on such a point, be-
tween father and son, are somewhat embarrassing things,
particularly in most Scotch households, where reticence
A DAUGHTER OF HETH
347
on matters of the affections is carried to a curious ex-
treme ; but the Whaup was too deeply in earnest to
think of himself. With a good deal of rough eloquence,
and even a touch of pathos here and there, he pleaded the
case of Coquette and himself; and at the end of it the
Minister, who was evidently greatly disturbed, said he
would consider the subject in privacy. The Whaup
left his father's study with a light heart ; he knew that
the Minister's great affection for his niece would carry
the day, were all Airlie to sign a protest.
The Whaup was in the garden. His brothers were at
school ; Coquette had disappeared, he knew not whither;
and he was amusing himself by whistling in reply to a
blackbird hid in a holly-tree. The Minister came out of
the house and gravely walked up to his son, and said,
" You have done well in this matter. I do not say
that, under other circumstances, I might not have pre-
ferred seeing you marry a wife of your own country, and
one accustomed to our ways and homely fashion of living,
and, above all, one having more deeply at heart our own
traditions of faith. But your duty to your own kinswoman,
who is suffering from the suspicions of the vulgar, must
count for something ''
" But what counts most of all, father, " said the Whaup,
who would not have it thought he was conferring a favor
on Coquette, " is her own rare excellence. Where could
I get a wife like her ? I don't care twopence-farthing for
all that Airlie, and a dozen neighboring parishes, may
think or say of her, when I know her to be what she is.
And you know what she is, father ; and the best thing
you can do for her is to persuade her to be married as
soon as possible, for I mean to take her away from here,
and see if I cannot break that sort of dead calm that
seems to have settled over her."
" The Manse will be very lonely without her, " said
the Minister.
" Look here, father, " said the Whaup, with a great
lump rising in his throat, " the Manse would be very
lonely if she were to remain as she is much longer. Leezi.
beth says she eats nothing ; she never goes out ; only
348 A DAUGHTER Oh hLTH.
that dull, uncomplaining monotony of sadness, and the
listless days, and the reading of religious books. I know
how that would end if it went on, and I don't mean to
let Coquette slip out of our fingers like that, and I "
The Whaup could say no more. He turned aside, and
began to kick the gravel with his foot. The Minister
put his hand on his son's shoulder, and said,
" My boy, you may have more watchful eyes than
mine in such matters ; and, if this be as you suspect, I
will use all my influemce with her, although her mar
riage will make a great difference to me. "
The Whaup, however, was not one to have his wooing
done by proxy. During the remainder of his brief stay
in Airlie he urged Coquette with gentleness, and yet
with earnestness, to fix a time for their marriage. At
first she was startled by the proposal, and avoided it in a
frightened way ; but at length she seemed to be won round
by his representations and entreaties. He did not tell
her one reason for his thus hurrying on her departure
from Airlie. It was entirely as securing his own happi-
ness that he drew pleasant pictures of the future, and sat
and talked to her of all she would see when they went
away together, and endeavored to win her consent. Then,
on the last evening of his visit, they were sitting together
in the hushed parlor, speaking in low tones, so as not
to disturb the reading of the Minister.
" I do think it is a great misfortune that you are so
fond of me, " she said looking at him with a peculiar
tenderness in her eyes ; " but it seems as if the world
were all misfortune, and if it will make you happy for me
to marry you, I will do that ; for you have always been
very kind to me, and it is very little that I can do in return;
but if this will please you, I am glad of that, and I will
make you as good a wife as I can. "
That was her reply to his entreaties ; and, in token
of her obedience, she took his hand and pressed it to her
lips. There was something in this mute surrender that
was inexpressibly touching to the Whaup ; and for a
moment his conscience smote him, and he asked himself
if he were not exacting too much of a sacrifice from this
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
tender-hearted girl, who sat pale and resigned even in the
moment of settling her marriage-day.
" Coquette," said he, " am I robbing you of any other
happiness that you could hope for ? Is there any other
prospect in life that you are secretly wishing for ? "
" There is not," she said, calmly.
" None ? "
" None ? "
" Then I will make this way of it as happy for you as
I possibly can. And when, Coquette ? You have never
named a time yet."
" Let it be whenever you please," she answered, look-
ing down,
The Whaup rose, and pulled himself up to his full
height, as if, for the first time, he could breathe freely.
" Father," said he, " have you any objection to my
going across the moor and ringing the church bell ? "
The Minister looked up.
" We are going to have a marriage in the Manse in
two or three weeks," said the Whaup.
Coquette went over to the old man's chair, and knelt
down by his side, and took his hand in hers.
" I shall be sorry to lose you, Catherine ; but I trust
you will be more cheerful and happy in your new home
than you could be in this dull house," said the Minister.
" You have been very kind to me, uncle/' she said.
With that the Whaup went outside, and clambered up
into the hay-loft, and roused up his brothers, who were in
bed, if not all asleep.
" Get up, the whole of you ! " he said ; " get on your
clothes, and come into the house. Look sharp, there's
something for you to hear."
Leezibeth was alarmed by the invasion of the Manse
which took place shortly, after, and came running to see
what had brought the boys in at that time of night.
The Whaup bade Leezibeth come into the parlor to witness
the celebration ; and there they were introduced by the
Whaup, who made a pretty speech, to their future sister-
in-law and they were ordered to give her good wishes, and
then they all sat down to a sumptuous, if hastily prepared,
350
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIT.
banquet of currant bun, with a glass of raspberry wine
to each of them. Coquette was pleased ; and the tinge
of color that came to her cheeks made the Whaup think
she was beginning to look like a bride. As for the boys,
they expressed their delight chiefly by grinning and show-
ing their white teeth as they ate the cake ; one of them
only remarking confidentially,
" We a' kenned this would be the end o't."
The chorus of laughter which greeted this remark
showed that it expressed a general sentiment. Nor was
their merriment lessened when the Whaup cut off a
very small piece of cake, and said to Leezibeth,
" Take this to Andrew, with my compliments. He
will be delighted with the news."
" Andrew or no Andrew," said Leezibeth, who seemed
rather inclined to cry out of pure sympathy ; " ye may be
a proud man on your marriage-day, MaisterTammas ; and
ye'll take good care o' her, and bring her sometimes down
to Airlie. where there's some maybe that likes her better
than they can just put into words."
And so it was that on a fresh June morning, when the
earth lay warm and silent in the bright sunshine, and the
far sea was as blue and clear as the heart of a sapphire,
Coquette arrayed herself in white garments. There was
a great stir about the Manse that morning, and the boys
were dressed in their Sunday clothes. Flowers were all
about the place ; and many innocent little surprises in
the way of decoration had been planned by the Whaup
himself. The Manse looked quite bright, indeed ; and
Leezibeth had assumed an unwonted importance.
Coquette's bridesmaids were the Misses Menzies, and
the Doctor was there too, and Lady Drum and Sir Peter.
According to the custom of the country, the marriage was
to take place in the house ; and when they had all assem-
bled in the largest room, the bride walked slowly in,
followed by her bridesmaids.
In a church, amid a crowd of spectators, there would
have been a murmur of wonder and admiration over the
strange loveliness of the small and delicately modelled
woman, whose jet-black tresses and dark and wistful eyes
A DA UtiHTER OF HE TIf. $ 5 ,
seemed all the darker by reason of the snowy whiteness
of her dress and the paleness of the yellow blossoms and
pearls that shone in the splendid luxuriance of her hair.
But her friends there almost forgot how lovely she was
in regarding the expression of her face, so immovably
calm it was, and sad. Lady Drum's heart was touched
with a sudden fear. This was not the look of a bride ;
but the look of a woman strangely young to have such
an expression, who seemed to have abandoned all hope
in this world. She was not anxious or perturbed or pale
through any special excitement or emotion ; she stood
throughout the long and tedious service as though she
were unconcious of what was happening around her, and,
when it was over, she received the congratulations of her
friends as though she had awakened out of a dream.
The Whaup, too, noticed this look ; but he had seen
much of it lately, and was only rendered the more anx-
ious to take her away and lighten her spirits by change
of scene. And now he saw himself able to do that, he
was full of confidence. There was no misgiving in his
look. As he stood there, taller by a head than his own
father, with his light-brown hair thrown carelessly back
from a face bright with health and the tanning of tin
sun, it was apparent that the atmosphere of the greai
city had not had much effect upon the lithe and stalwart
and vigorous frame. And his voice was as gentle as that
of a woman when he went forward, for the first time after
the ceremony, and said to Coquette
"You are not tired with standing so long, Co-
quette ? "
She started slightly. Then, perhaps noticing that
the eyes of her bridesmaids were upon her, and recollect-
ing that she ought to wear a more cheerful expression,
she smiled faintly, and said,
" You must not call me that foolish name any more.
It is part of the old time when we were girl and boy
together.'-'
" But I shall never find any name for you that 1 shall
like better," said he.
About an hour thereafter all preparations had bee:i
35 2
A DAUGHTER OF HETM.
made for their departure ; and the carriage was waiting
outside. There was a great shaking of hands and kiss-
ing and leave taking ; and then, last of all, the Minister
stood by the door of the carriage as Coquette came out.
" Good-bye, my dear daughter," he said, placing his
hand on her head ; " may He that watched over Jacob,
and followed him in all his wanderings with blessings,
watch over you and bless you at all times and in all
places ! "
Coquette's lips began to tremble. She had main-
tained her composure to the last; but now, as she kissed
her uncle, she could not say farewell in words ; and when
at length she was driven away, she covered her face with
her hands and burst into tears.
" Coquette," said her husband, " are you sorry, after
all, to leave Airlie ? "
There was no answer but the sound of her sobbing.
CHAPTER LII.
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
So blinded by his exceeding happiness was the Whaup
that for a little time he could scarcely tell how the rapid
change of scene and incident following their marriage
was affecting Coquette's health and spirits. He was so
near her now, tending her with an extreme and anxious
tenderness, that he could not regard her critically and
see whether the old sad look was leaving her eyes. Did
she not express her pleasure at the various things she
saw ? Was she not so very kind and affectionate towards
him that he had to protest against her little submissive
attentions, and point out that it was his business to wait
upon her, not hers to wait upon him ?
They went to Edinburgh first, and then to West-
moreland, and then to London, which was then in the
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
353
height of the season. And they went into the Park on
the summer forenoons, and sat down on the little green
chairs under the lime-trees, and looked at the brilliant
assemblage of people there, cabinet ministers, actresses,
Gun-club heroes, authors, artists, titled barristers, and
all the rank and file of fashion. So eager was the
Whaup to interest his companion that it is to be feared
he made rather random shots in identifying the men and
women cantering up and down, and conferred high of-
ficial dignities on harmless country gentlemen who were
but simple M. P.'s.
" There are many pretty ladies here," said Co-
quette, with a smile, as the slow procession of loungers
passed up and down, "and yet you do not seem to know
one."
" I know one who is prettier than them all put to-
gether," said the Whaup, with a glow of pride and ad-
miration in his face ; and then he added, " I say, Co
quette, how did you manage* to dress just like those
people when you lived away down in Airlie ? I think
you must have sent surreptitiously to London for the
dresses that used to astonish the quiet kirk-folk. Then
you always had the knack of wearing a flower or a rose-
bud here or there, just as those ladies do, only I don'1
think any flowers are so becoming as those little yellow
blossoms that are on a certain little white bonnet that
a particular little woman I know wears at this moment.'
" Ah, it is of no use," said Coquette, with a sigh oi
resignation. "I have tried; I have lectuied ; I have
scolded ; it is no use. You do not know the rudeness of
talking of people's dresses, and paying them rough com-
pliments about their prettiness, and making inquiries
which gentlemen have nothing to do with. I have tried
to teach you all this, and you will not learn, and you do
not know that you have very savage manners."
" Coquette," said he, " if you say another word I
will kiss you."
"And I should not be surprised," she answered, with
the slightest possible shrug. " I do not think you
have any more respect for the public appearances than
354 A DAUGHTER OF HE 777.
when you did torment the people at Airlie. You are
still a boy, that is true, and I do wonder you will not
sing aloud now, * Come, lassies and lads/ or some such
folly. You have grown yes. You wear respectable
clothes and a hat, but it is I who have made you dress
like other people, instead of the old careless way. You
do know something more, but it is all got out of books.
What are you different from the tall, big, coarse, rude
boy who did break windows and rob gardens and frigh-
ten people at Airlie ? "
"How am I different?" said the Whaup. "Well,
I used to be bullied by a schoolmaster, but now I am
bullied by a schoolmistress ; and she's the worse of the
two. That's all the change I've made."
And sometimes, when they had gone on in this ban-
tering fashion for awhile, she would suddenly go up to
him if they were indoors, that is to say, and put her
hand on his arm and timidly hope that she had not an-
noyed him. At first the Whaup laughed at the very
notion of his being vexed with her, and dismissed the
tender little penitent with a rebuke and a kiss ; but by
and by he grew to dread these evidences of a secret
wish to please him and be submissive. He began to
see how Coquette had formed some theory of what her
duties were, and continually referred to this mental ta-
ble of obligations rather than to her own spontaneous
impulses of the moment. She seemed to consider that
such and such things were required of her ; and while
there was something to him inexpressibly touching in
her mute obedience, and in her timid anticipation of his
wishes, he would far rather have beheld her the high-
spirited Coquette of old, with her arch ways and fits of
rebellion and independence.
" Coquette," he said, " I will not have you wait upon
me like this. It is very kind of you, you know ; but it
is turning the world upside down. It is my business to
wait on you, and see that everything is made nice
for you, and have you treated like a queen. And
when you go about like that, and bother yourself to
serve me, I feel as uncomfortable as the beggars in old
A DsijGHTER OF HE TIL
355
times must have felt who had their feet washed by a
pious princess. I won't have my Coquette disguised as
a waiting-maid."
" You are very good to me," she said, gently.
" Nonsense ! " he replied. " Who could help being
good to ou, Coquette ? You seem to have got into
your head some notion that you owe kindness and
thoughtfulness to the people around you ; whereas you
are conferring a benefit on everybody by being merely
what you are, and showing those around you what a
good thing is a good woman. Why should you have
this exaggerated humility ? Why should you play the
part of a penitent ? "
V/as she playing the part of a penitent ? he some-
times asked himself. Had she not forgotten the events
of that bygone time which seemed, to him at least, a
portion of a former existence ? When the Whaup and
his young wife returned to Glasgow, he had more leisure
to speculate on this matter ; and he came to the con-
clusion that not only had she forgotten nothing, but that
a sombre shadow from the past was ever present to her
and hung continually over her life.
In no way did she lessen her apparent desire to be
dutiful and kind and attentive to him. The Whaup,
who could have fallen at her feet and kissed them in token
of the love and admiration he felt for the beautiful young
life that was only now revealing to him all its hidden
graces of tenderness and purity and rectitude, could not
bear to have Coquette become his slave.
" And may I not show to you that I am grateful to
you for all your kindness ever since I did come to this
country ? " she said.
" Grateful to me ! " he cried. " Cqouette, you don't
know your own value."
" But if it pleases me to be your servant ? " she
said.
"It does not please me," he retorted ; " and I won't
have it.''
" Voyez un peu ce tyran ! " said Coquette, and the
Whaup laughed and gave in.
35 6 4 DAUGHTER OF HETH.
It may be supposed that that was not a very unhappy
household in which the only ground of quarrel between
husband and wife was as to which should be the more
land and attentive to the other. And indeed, to all out-
ward semblance, the Whaup was the most fortunate of
men ; and his friends who did not envy him rejoiced at
his good fortune, and bore unanimous testimony to the
sweetness and gentleness and courtesy of the small lady
who received them at his house. It was noticed, it is
true, that she was very quiet and reserved at times ; and
that occasionally, when she had somehow withdrawn out
of the parlor circle, and sat by herself silent and distraite
her husband would follow her with anxious looks, and
would even go to her side and endeavor to wean her
back into the common talk. As for his affection for her,
and pride in her rare beauty and accomplishments, and
devotion to her, all were the subject of admiration and
encomium among the women of many households. He
never sought to conceal his sentiments on that score.
On the rare occasions when he visited a friend's house
without her, all his talk was of Coquette, and her good-
ness and her gentle ways. Then he endeavored to draw
around her as many friends as possible, so that their
society might partly supply the void caused by his pro-
fessional absences ; but Coquette did not care for new-
acquaintances, and declared she had always plenty of
occupation for herself while he was away, and did not
wish the distraction of visits.
Down in the old Manse of Airlie the Minister heard
of his son and of Coquette through the reports of many
friends ; and he was rejoiced beyond measure. Lady
Drum was so affected by her own description of the
happiness of these two young people that in the middle
of her narration she burst into tears ; and a sort of sob
at the door might have let the Minister know that Leezi-
beth had been listening. The Minister, indeed, paid a
brief visit to Glasgow some few weeks after Coquette's
return, and was quite overwhelmed by the affectionate
attentions of his daughter-in-law.
" Surely," he said to Lady Drum, the evening before
A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
357
he went away " surely the Lord has blessed this house.
It has never been my good fortune to dwell under a roof
that seemed to look down on so much of kindliness and
charitable thoughts and well-doing ; and it would ill be-
come me not to say how much of this I attribute to her
who is now more than ever a daughter to me."
" When I come to speak of her," said Lady Drum,
" and of the way she orders the house, and of her kind-
ness to every one around her, and of her conduct towards
her husband, I am fair at a loss for words."
The bruit of all these things reached even down to
Airlie, and the Schoolmaster was at length induced, be-
ing in Glasgow on a certain occasion, to call on the
Minister's son. The Whaup received his old enemy
with royal magnanimity ; compelled him to stop the night
at his house ; gave him as much toddy as was good for an
elder ; while Coquette, at her husband's request, left her
fancy-work and played for them some old Scotch airs.
By and by she left them to themselves ; and, warmed
with the whiskey, the Schoolmaster imparted a solemn
and mysterious secret to his remaining companion.
" You are a young man, sir, and have no knowledge,
or, as I may term it, experience, of the great and won-
derful power of public opeenion. Nor yet, considering
your opportunities, is it likely, or, as one might say,
probable, that ye pay sufficient deference to the reputa-
tion that your neebors may accord ye. Nevertheless,
sir, reputation is a man's public life, as his own breath is
his private life. Now, I will not conceal from ye, Mr.
Thomas, that evil apprehensions are entertained, or even,
one might say, expressed, in your native place, regarding
one who holds an important position as regards your
welfare "
With which the Whaup bounced up from his chair.
" Look here ! " said he. " Do you mean my wife,
Mr. Gillespie ? Don't think I care a rap for the drivel-
ling nonsense that all the old women in Airlie may talk ;
but if a man mentions anything of the kind to me, by
Jove ! I'll pitch him over the window ! "
" Bless me ! " cried the Schoolmaster, also rising, and
358 A DAUGHTER OF HETIL
putting his hands before his face as if to defend himself.
44 What's the use o' such violence ? I meant no harm.
On the contrary, I was going to say, man, that it would
be my bounden duty when I get back to Airlie to set my
face against all such reports, and testify to the great
pleasure I have experienced in seeing ye mated wi' such
a worthy and amiable and "
Here the Schoolmaster's encomium was cut short by
the entrance of Coquette herself, who had returned for
something she had forgotten ; and a more acute observer
might have noticed that no sooner was her footfall heard
at the door than all the anger fled from the Whaup's
face, and he only laughed at Mr. Gillespie's protestations
of innocence.
" You must forgive me," said the Whaup, good-na-
turedly. " You know I married one of the daughters of
Heth, and so I had to expect that the good folks at Air-
lie would be deeply grieved."
" A daughter of Heth ! " said Mr. Gillespie. " Indeed,
I remember that grumbling body, Andrew Bogue, makin'
use o' some such expression on the very day ye were
married ; but if the daughters o' Heth were such as she
is, Rebekah need not have put herself about, or, in other
words, been so apprehensive of her son's future."
And the Schoolmaster was as good as his word, and
took down to Airlie such a description of the Whaup
and his bride as became a subject of talk in the village
for many a day. And so the patience and the gentleness
of Coquette bore their natural fruit, and all men began
to say all good things of her.
There was one man only who regarded this marriage
with doubt, and sometimes with actual fear, who was
less sure than all the others that Coquette was happy,
and who regarded her future with an anxious dread.
That one man was the Whaup himself. With a slow
and sad certainty, the truth dawned on him that he had
not yet won Coquette's love, that he was powerless to
make her forget that she had married him in order to
please him, and that, behind all her affectionate and
friendly demonstrations towards himself, there lay over
A DALGHTER OF HE TIT
359
her a weight of despair. The discovery caused him no
paroxysm of grief, for it was made gradually ; bu*t in time
it occupied his constant thoughts, and became the dark
shadow of his life. For how was he to remove this
barrier that stood between himself and Coquette ? The
great yearning of love he felt towards her was powerless
to awaken any response but that mute, animal-like faith-
fulness and kindliness that lay in her eyes whenever she
regarded him. And it was for her, rather than for him-
self, that he was troubled. He had hurried on the mar-
riage, hoping a change of scene and of interest would
break in on the monotony of sadness that was evidently
beginning to tell on the girl's health. He had hoped,
too, that he would soon win her over to himself by cut-
ting her away from those old associations. What was
the result ? He looked at the pale and calm face, and
dared not confess to himself all that he feared.
One evening, entering suddenly, he saw that she
tried to avoid him and get out of the room. He play-
fully intercepted her, and found, to his astonishment,
that she had been crying.
" What is the matter,Coquette ? " he said.
" Nothing " she answered. " I was sitting by myself,
and thinking, that is all."
He took both her hands in his, and said, with an
infinite sadness in his look,
" Do you know, Coquette, that for some time back I
have been thinking that our marriage has made you
miserable."
" Ah, do not say that ! " she said, piteously looking
up in his face. " I am not miserable, if it has made you
happy."
" And do you think I can be happy when I see you
trying to put a good face on your wretchedness, and yet
with your eyes apparently looking on the next world all
the time ? Coquette, this is driving me mad. What can
I do to make you happy ? Why are you so miserable ?
Won't you tell me ? You know I won't be angry, what-
ever it is. Is there nothing we can do to bring you
back to the old Coquette, that used to be so bright and
360 A DAUGHTER OF HE TIL
cheerful ? Coquette, to look at you going about from
day to day in that sad and resigned way, never com-
plaining, and always pretending to be quite content, I
can't bear it, my darling."
" You must not think that I am miserable," she said,
very gently, and then she left the room. He looked
after her for a moment, and then he sank into a chair,
and covered his face with his hands.
CHAPTER LIII.
THE CHURCHYARD ON AIRLIE MOOR.
AT last it occurred to him thafe Coquette ought to be
told of Lord Earlshope's death. He did not even con-
fess to himself the reason why such a thought arose in
his mind, but endeavored, on the contrary, to persuade
himself that there was no further need for holding back
that old secret. He and Coquette were down to Airlie
at the time, on their first visit after their marriage.
The Minister was anxious to see his daughter-in-
law ; and the Whaup, while she stayed there, would take
occasional runs down. So Coquette was staying at the
Manse.
" I cannot get her to go out as she used to do," said
the Minister, the first time the Whaup got down from
Glasgow. " She seems better pleased to sit at the window
by herself and look over the moor, and Leezibeth tells me
she is in very low spirits, and does look not particularly
well. It is a pity she dislikes going out ; it is with
difficulty I can get her even into the garden, and once
or twice she has shown a great repugnance to going
anywhere near Earlshope, so you must not propose to
_ro in that direction in asking her to accompany you."
Then the Whaup said, looking down, " You know
she is not aware of Lord Earlshope having been drowned,
A DAUGHTER OF HE TH.
36.
and she may be afraid of meeting him. Suppose we
tell her of what happened to the yacht ?"
44 I am of opinion it would be most advisable," said
the Minister.
The Whaup got Coquette to go out and sit in the
garden ; and there, while they were by themselves, he
gently told her of the loss of the Caroline. The girl
did not speak nor stir, only she was very pale, and he
noticed that her hand was tightly clenched on the arm
of the wooden seat. By and by she rose and said,
" I should like to walk down to Saltcoats, if you will
come."
" To Saltcoats!" said her husband. " You are not
strong enough to walk all that way and back, Coquette."
" Very well," she said, submissively.
" But if you very much want to go, we could drive,
you know," said he.
" Yes, I should like to go,'' she said.
So the Whaup, late as it was in the afternoon, got
out the dogcart, and drove her away to the old-fashioned
little seaport town which they had together visited in
bygone years. He put the horse up at the very inn
that he and Coquette had visited, and then he asked
her if she wished to go for a stroll through the place.
Her slightest wish was a command to him. They went
out together, and insensibly she led him down to the
long bay of brown sand on which a heavy sea was now
breaking. She had spoken but little ; her eyes were
wistful and absent, and she seemed to be listening to
the sound of the waves.
" It blows too roughly here, Coquette," said he.
" You won't go down on the beach ? "
" No," she said. " Here I can see more, and hear
more."
For a considerable time she stood and looked far
over the heaving plain of water, which was a dark green
color under the cloudy evening sky. And then she
shuddered slightly, and turned to go away.
" You are not vexed with me for coming ? " she
said, " And you know why I did come."
36: A DAUGHTER OF 11ETH.
' I am not vexed with anything you do, Coquette,'*
said he ; " and I hope the drive will do you good."
" It is his grave," she said, looking once more over
the stormy plain of waves. " It is a terrible grave, for
there are voices in it, and cries, like drowning people,
and yet one man out there would go do;vn and down,
and you would hear no voice. I am afraid of the sea."
" Coquette," said he, " why do you tremble so ? You
must come away directly, or you will catch cold ; the
wind blows so fiercely here."
But on their \vay back to Airlie this trembling had
increased to violent fits of shuddering ; and then, all at
once, Coquette said faintly,
lt I do feel that I should wish to be still and go to sleep.
Will you put me down by the roadside, and leave me
there awhile, and you can go on to Airlie?"
" Why, do you know what you are saying, Coquette?
Go on to Airlie, and leave you here ? "
She did not answer him ; and he urged on the pony
with all speed, until at length they reached the Manse.
" Tom," she said, " I think you must carry me in."
He lifted her down from the vehicle, and carried
her like a child into the house ; and then, when Leezibeth
came with a light, he uttered a slight cry in finding
that Coquette was insensible. But presently life re-
turned to her, and a quick and flushed color sprang to
her face. She was rapidly got to bed, and the Minister,
who had a vivid recollection of that feverish attack
which she had suffered in the North, proposed that a
doctor from Saltcoats should be sent for.
" And I will telegraph to Dr. Menzies," said the
Whaup, scarcely knowing what he said, only possessed
by some wild notion that he would form a league to
drive off this subtle enemy that had approached Coquette
All that followed that memorable evening was a
dream to him. He knew, because he was told, and be-
cause he himself could see, that the fever was laying
deeper and deeper hold on a system which was danger-
ously weak. Day after day he went about the house,
and as Coquette got worse he scarcely realized it. It
A DAUGHTER OF HETII. 363
was more to him as if a weight out of the sky were
crushing down the world, and as if all things were slow-
ly sinking into darkness. He was not excited nor wild
with grief ; but he sat and watched Coquette's eyes,
and seemed not to know the people who came into the
room or whom he met on the stairs.
The girl, in her delirium, had violent paroxysms of
terror and shuddering, in which she seemed to see a
storm rising around her and waves threatening to over-
whelm her, and then no one could soothe like her hus-
band. His mere presence seemed enough, for the old
instinct of obedience still remained with her, and she
became submissively quiet and silent in answer to his
gentle entreaties.
" You are very good to me," she said to him, one
evening, recognizing him, although the delirium had not
left her, " and I cannot thank you for it, but my mam-
ma will do that when you come up to our house. We
shall not stop in this country always ? when mamma
is waiting for me in the garden, just over the Loire,
you know. And she has not seen you, but I will take
you up to her, and say you have been very, very kind to
me. I wish they would take us there soon, for I am
tired, and I do think this country is very dark, and the
sea is so dreadful round about it. It goes round about
it like a snake, that hisses and raises its fierce head, and
it has a white crest on its head, and eyes of fire, and you
see them glaring in the night-time. But one can get
away from it, and hide close and quiet in the church-
yard on the moor ; and when you come in, Tom, by the
small gate, you must listen, and whisper ' Coquette,'
you know, just as you used to do when I lay on the sofa,
and you wished to see if I were awake ; and if I cannot
speak to you, it will be very hard, but I shall know you
have brought me some flowers. And you will say to
yourself, ' My poor Coquette would thank me if she
could.' '
He laid his hand on her white fingers. He could
not speak.
By and by the delirium left and the fever abated,
364 A DAUGHTER OF HETH-
but the frail system had been shattered, and all around
saw that she was slowly sinking. One night she beck-
oned her husband to come nearer, and he went to her,
and took her thin hand in his.
" Am I going to die, Tom ? " she asked, in a scarcely
audible voice ; and when, in reply, he only looked at
her sad eyes, she said, " I am not sorry. It will be bet-
ter for you and for us all. You will forgive me for all
that happened at Airlie when you think of me in after-
times, and you will not blame me because I could not
make your life more happy to you ; it was all a misfor-
tune, my coming to this country "
" Coquette, Coquette !" he said, beside himself with
grief, " if you are going to die, I will go 'with you too ;
see, I will hold your hand, and when the gates are open
I will not let you go, I will go with you, Coquette ! "
Scarcely half an hour afterwards the gates were
opened, and she so quietly and silently passed through
that he only of all in the room knew that Coquette had
gone away from them and bidden a last farewell to Air-
lie. They were startled to see him fling his arms in
the air, and then as he sank back into his chair a low
cry broke from his lips, " So near, so near I and I can-
not go with her too ! "
One day, in the early springtime, you might have
seen a man in the prime of youth and strength, yet with
a strangely grave and worn look on his face, enter the
small churchyard on Airlie moor. He walked gently
on, as if fearing to disturb the silence of the place, and
at last he stood by the side of a grave on which were
many spring flowers ; snowdrops and violets and white
crocuses. He, too, had some flowers in his hand, and
he put them at the foot of the grave ; and there were
tears running down his face.
" These are for my Coquette," he said ; " but she
cannot hear me any more."
For a little while he lingered by the grave, and then
he turned. And, lo ! all around him was the fair and
shining country that she had often looked on, and far
away before him lay the sea, as blue and as still as on
A DAUGHTER OF HETH. 365
the morning that he and Coquette were married. How
bright and beautiful was the world that thus lay undei
the clear sunshine, with all its thousand activities busily
working, and its men and women joyously thinking of
to-morrow, as if to-morrow were to be better than to-
day. To him all the light and joy of the world seemed
to be buried in the little grave beside him ; and that
there was no to-morrow that could bring him back the
delight of the days that were. He walked to the little
gate of the churchyard, and leaning on it, looked wist-
fully over the great blue plain in which the mountains
of Arran were mirrored.
" Why have they taken away from us the old
dreams ? " he said to himself, while his eyes were wet
with bitter tears. " If one could only believe, as in the
old time, tha^ Heaven was a fair and happy island lying
far out in that western sea, how gladly would I go away
in a boat, and try to find my Coquette ! Only to think
that some day I might see the land before me, and Co-
quette coming down to the shore, with her face grown
wonderful and calm, and her dark eyes full of joy and
of welcome. Only to believe that, only to look forward
to that, would be enough ; and if in the night-time a
storm came, and I was sunk in the darkness, what mat-
ter, if I had been hoping to the last that I should se
my Coquette ? "