A DAUGHTER. OF —
THE HIGHLANDERS

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A DAUGHTER
HIGHLAND E RS

BY

   

FRANCES JONES MELTON

 

BOSTON
Tue RoxBurGH PUBLISHING COMPANY

 

(INCORPORATED)

 

 
DEDICATED

Copyright 1910 To my cla&8smates—the dear lads and lassies—lineal

s escendants of the exiles who had followed “Bonny
By THE RoxpurcH PUBLISHING Co. ' Prince Charley” to the fatal Battle of Culloden ; in

All Rights Reserved days when we went a-Maying to

and arbutus in the pine-lands.
AUTHOR.

 
BOOK If.

SPRING.

And I heard the voice of old gardens,

Of quiet woodland ways;

But few hearts there were who would heed them

In the rush of the busy days.
The cities grow old and vanish,

And their people faint and die;
But the grasses are green forever,

Forever blue is the sky.”

—Selected.

CHAPTER I.

THE ForEest—JessAMINE AND ARBUTUS—THE
SCHOOL AND RUTH.

wer dream of vine-clad hills
And fragrant fields where violets bend before
The kissing breeze, love shy; and robins pour
Their throbbing songs upon the air; and rills
Low murmuring gently creep with peace that fills
The saddened heart with longings for the lore
Of Nature’s mind.” —Selected.

Inflorescent Spring-time, with its asphodelian
tapestry, its delicate wealth of emerald tinting, its
soothing ripple of belated water, and grateful sigh-
ing of warmth-laden breezes, was reigning
prophetically.

The vivid sunlight fell broadly; the earth basked
genially ; even in the pine-barrens the rejuvenating
influence of the coy season was portrayed in the
budding scrub-oaks ; in the intense color of the sap-
filled pine needles and the balsamic tonicity of the
translucent atmosphere. 7

In the slightest concavity of the mounding hills
clothed in vigorous, long-leaf pines, it was empha-
sized by a remarkable display of blossoms and deli-
cate vines.

_The crystal sunlight sifting through the plumed
pines imbibed a mystic tinge of gold-alloyed emerald

 
- A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

to pervade the light shed beneath the sheltering vault
of canopied forest. The impressive solemnity of the
secluded solitude; the stately seeming of the tall
pines; the glittering sheen of the sandy soil; the
glancing light upon the glistening pine needles; aye,
the bubbling joy of infantile Spring-time; its mys-
terious hopes and golden promises, stirred and
thrilled the heart of Edwin Phillips as spirit-filled
wine sends its permeating glow through the veins.
The inspiring glamor of Spring’s individuality was
so fascinatingly suggestive of heart-emotions it
evoked vague longings and promulgated intangible
dreams.

The two months he had spent at the Turpentine
Camp had been so squalid and dreary, with chill
winds intruding through the cracks in the walls of
his shanty ; in February, snow and ice dissolving in
an uncomfortable slush and the atmosphere reeking
with a depressing dampness; in March, sharp winds
shrieking and blustering and rasping his nerves, ren-
dered life very unpleasant, generally, at the bare,
make-shift camp. He had grown homesick, restless
and disillusioned with the ambition to make money
at any cost to personal inclination or comfort.

It had been so different to any other experience
of his well-bred life! Why, in the mid-Winter, that
then seemed forlornly distant, he had danced and
dined in a dress suit, in the company of girls in
evening dress; and he loved society and dancing
upon waxed floors to the passionate music of skilled
orchestras.

Societv and its artistic conventional refinement
had been the stimulus of his youth, and was the real

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

comfortable parental roof-tree to go into exile in
the sand-barred, piney woods.

Fle had finally, and reluctantly, realized that a
position in society rested solely upon golden pillars,
that a golden key alone could open the door giving
ingress to its costly sanctuary. The knowledge had
not been pleasant; self-esteem had dwindled when
weighed in its iron-hearted, exacting scales, but he
had quietly folded away his dress suit and turned his
face toward the wilderness to toil obscurely for the
omnipotent gold which he had sincerely believed
alone could assure him the happiness he coveted.

No California gold fields lured his cupidious
mind; no Klondike tempted his pressing desire for
gain ; fortune beckoned from another and more pro-
saic direction. A cousin, much older than himself,
had gone out to the pine-lands the previous year,
and worked turpentine in that favorable and un-
crowded locality. His cousin’s name was Henry
Stephenson, and he had cleared several hundreds of
dollars by the venture. He had brought his family
out and rendered them as comfortable as circum-
stances permitted.

Edwin Phillips had been induced to join him and

invest his limited capital in a sure thing in naval
stores.

, a few good books, a
prized horse and light buggy. His share of the

labor of the outfit was to keep the accounts and to
ride from one orchard of pines to another and give
an oversight to the work in the forest, where men
hacked the boxed trees with weighted, handled in-

 
into staid and sedate behavior.
hair was neatly brushed, his blue

redeemed by a skilfully adjusted gray silk scarf ; his

coat fitted him with the grace attained by a com-
petent tailor; his wide-brimmed, soft hat was worn

jauntily. At the camp he, invariably, maintained a
dignity of manner and a neatnes

polished purity. |
That day, or rather late afternoon, he drove
briskly along the root-checkered road, enjoying the
exhilarating movement: and Spring’s influence sur-
charged his mood with its flowery blitheness. He

chirped to his horse, he whistled; and finally he
hummed the last waltz he had danced with Maude

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 5

a shadow like that cast by a straying April cloud-
wrack, eclipsing a sunny land

to sing. For a moment he

thought. Maude Endiston, he knew, or at least he
did not doubt, was dancing still, and, perhaps, flirt-
ing while he was far away, toiling for a fortune to
win her. His mind with some effort shed the reflec-
tion, and he whistled again, but not quite so merrily
as previously.

In a little dell a pine sapling lent its support to a
wreathing, goldenbell laden vine. The intense,
flaming color commanded his attention. He gazed
admiringly, drew rein, and sprang to the ground.
He stood entranced by the swaying tendrils. Never

had he beheld anything so perfectly lovely and
graceful.

“Jennie must have some of this,” he said, ad-
dressing the thought that, in her shanty home,
Jennie’s life held many deprivations she had not
hitherto had to endure; and he gathered a sheaf of
the waxy blossoms. They emitted a powerful fra-
grance peculiarly penetrative. He folded them care-
fully behind the curtain of the seat cushion of his
buggy, then turned for a parting glimpse of the
charming woodland oasis.

A gleam of delicate rose-color among glistening
green leaves arrested his glancing scrutiny. He
turned back and plucked some leaves and dainty
blossoms and stowed them with the first forage.

The beauty and the fragility of the wild things
pleased him.

“IT have never seen and shall never see anything
more lovely,” he reflected, as he drove away. He

 
squinted at the declining sun and urged his horse eae : fae: -de shanti!
into a swifter pace. He had promised Jennie’s chil-

, won by t
dren, as a reward for some unusually good behavior, rather than icdinta “ ss Ps erator ge the heart
to come to their school and take them home in his : S:

buggy, and he was then on his way to keep faith i = camperitiapas
with them.

He had never been in that particular locality, and
noted with the glance of a connoisseur, who could
place the price upon the product of a tree instantly,
the vigorous, slender pines which stood, primevally,
along the way.

The ozonic breath of the pine-lands filled his
nostrils with balsamic breathings. He inflated his
lungs, he exhaled enjoyably. The land was not so
monotonous then, when April had flung her mild,
evocative sway broadcast.

In March’s blustering reign, he had been afraid
and uncomfortable. Danger had lurked in those
woods then, swift, fatal menace, when unsound
limbs and trees fell constantly, and to be abroad

No hint of danger was consonant with the serene
and smiling mood of Nature that lovely April day,
so he could sing and whistle blithely and forget for
the sweet moment that he was far from home and all
he prized and cherished.
He was supremely handsome, that debonair, san-
guine Edwin Phillips. His features were almost en, who usually traveled
feminine in contour and gentleness of expression ; footpaths that shortened the distance. Soon he ar-

they mirrored smiles so tenderly winning that they rived at his destination, a low, sharp-roofed, white
bore in repose a mirage of the charm of those past

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8 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

building, its glazed windows blazing with reflections
of the westerning sun.

He was relieved to find that he was on time to
keep faith with the children School was dismissed
though, and they were on the playground. His ar-
rival created a sensation among the scholars, who
gathered about the vehicle, curious and interested.
The Stephenson children climbed into the buggy and
seated, posed for the benefit of their envious mates,
who were not so fortunate.

The teacher, Donald MacKethan, came to clasp
his hand courteously and cordially. He gave his
name and stood with bare head conversing formally.
They exchanged views upon the weather, the season,
and Donald expressed his admiration for the horse,
a really fine animal.

While this interchange was in progress Edwin
Phillips chanced to lift his eyes from the face of his
new acquaintance and the polite speech on his
tongue faltered into an incoherent murmur. Amaze-
ment superseded all other ideas. He gazed admir-
ingly and caught his breath in a short, quavering
gasp. Donald MacKethan, to cover an awkward
silence, playfully wedged the little son of the dis-
tiller at the turpentime camp and the youngest
daughter of Henry Stephenson into the limited
space shared by three pairs of feet on the floor of
the small buggy. The scholars viewed his disposi-
tion of the boy and girl, and Edwin stared as he had
never before in all his well-bred life, over the group
near him, to where a freckle-faced boy was closing
the door to the rural hall of learning, and a slender,
queenly-poised girl was descending the steps leading

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 9

to the portico sheltering the classically fashioned
entrance ; a girl so much fairer and lovelier than any
he had ever beheld. He held his breath as he
realized her perfections.

She was robed in soft, white flannel and a dainty
jacket of blue velvet, her flowing, yellow hair
crowned with an azure bow of satin ribbon and
floating free in a gleaming cascade of golden waves
over her youthful shoulders. Suspended from her
arm was a book-satchel and she carried a white
frilled sunbonnet swinging from her hands by broad,
white strings. Her complexion was as transparent

tinted as the waxy arbutus he had

the forest; but her most potent

effable purity and innocense of her
expression and appearance.

As she was passing by the group around his buggy
e lifted her dark eyes, frankly meeting his impas-

sioned scrutiny. An emotion akin to pain contracted
his heart as the beauty of their soulful depths was
revealed to him briefly, but indelibly. Thoroughly

entranced, he instinctively lifted his hat and saluted
She returned the co i

. A flaxen-haired
boy detachel himself from the press of idle boys and

joined her ; and, together, they crossed the highway
to pursue a road leading directly westward.

Donald made a movement suggesting dismissal
and dispersal, and lifted his hat in adieu.

“I am glad to have met you, Mr. Phillips,” he said

cordially. “May I hope that the pleasure is mutual,
and that we may meet again, early and often?”

 
10 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

Edwin drew his eyes from the girl and her com-
panion reluctantly, and promptly responded with
effusive thanks and acquiescence to the overtures of
his new acquaintance.

The children dispersed,-and he turned his horse
into the highway. Far down the dim road, through
vistas of pines, he could get glimpses of the blue and
white-robed figure and the picturesque boy in velvet
knickerbockers, a gay plaid sash knotted at his side,
a green velvet cap tipped saucily on the back of his
head, his abundant flaxen hair floating in long fluffy
curls over his sturdy shoulders, although he was
quite twelve years of age.

They seemed to him so alien, so foreign to the
forest, rather they were suited to a page of romance
they were so refined in appearance, so daintily clad,
sO superior in every way, to be denizens of a remote
country-side.

He had caught the glitter and sparkle of gems as
the girl went by, and the boy resembled the page of
a princess.

“Who is that?’ he demanded of Jennie’s eldest
daughter, and he indicated the point where she was
disappearing at a distant bend of the road she was
traversing with accelerated step.

“Oh, that is Ruth! Didn’t you know who she
was?” Lina replied, readily.

“Indeed, I did not know her! How could I know
who she was when I have never seen her until this
moment? Surely she has some other name than
simple Ruth?’ he persisted.

Lina, who had been bubbling with the pleasure of
a ride, became semi-serious with unavailing thought.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 11

“I have forgotten,” she said, blankly. “In this

country they call people so simply. Why, most of
the scholars call the teacher Donald, but we do not .
Mama forbade it. But who is Ruth, Lena? The
Ruth with Jamie.”

“Why, Ruth I don’t know,” Lena confessed
as blankly as her elder sister.

“You should be ashamed not to know a school-
mate like her,” Edwin rebuked them, chidingly.
_ “But we only know that much of her name, and
it ain't that we do not know her; although she ain’t
a bit like the rest of us, I can tell you. She wears
the nicest clothes ; she’s always so nice and beautiful,
and comes to school in a fine carriage if the weather

is the least bit ugly. My! How I wish I was her!”
concluded the ambitious and frank Lina, whose

native desire for luxurious surroundings had been
intensified by the austerity of life in the pine-woods.

“Ask Mama, Cousin Edwin,” the younger but
more practical Lena advised, noting his disappoint-
ment. “She'll tell all about Ruth, for she went with
us all to see her once.”

“Oh, yes! and My! rode in her carriage there, and
nearly killed ourselves eating. Yes, ask Mama,
Cousin Edwin, and please let us drive faster on this
nice road. I do love to ride rea] fast,” contributed
the vivacious Lina.

To please her, he drove swiftly up the broad high-
way to the junction of the woods road that would
lead them directly eastward to the camp; and that
road was so encumbered by scrub oaks and so paved
with pine roots, he drove carefully the crowded,

 
 

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 13

vening, cleanly swept space between his and the

€ elated chi Stephenson shanty, and seated himself on the door-
wig sunlight faded, a sunset r “acho step to interview Jennie.
whine be eM ; the i hyrs sant into lenpufehies She welcomed him gladly, pleased to have some-
- How
the unbroken so nd the forest! - How impressive one to converse with after the long, uneventful day.

Ey
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She thanked him effusively for the flowers he had
kindly gathered for her.

“They are jessamine and arbutus,” she informed

i CHAPTER IL him. “The unrivalled jessamine and the dainty
. arbutus, the trailing variety, the most exquisite
THE TURPENTINE C AMP—_T things in the forest.”
Lanes pase ‘Ae HIGH-LANDERS—A “T did not know their kind, but I realized their
t TOLETS. beauty,” he said. “I would be glad to send Mama
To-morrow and to-morrow! ghey SRS some of them. I am sure she has never seen any-
ri ara # morrow when I shal] not a : thing like them, and you know her passion for
our face before me any more? flowers.”
My love, my love, I cannot ue Se . 2 “But you cannot send them,” she assured him, re-
: in gretfully. “They are so fragile. Those you fetched
‘+ + But ever perfect me will have wilted by to-morrow. I learned that
To-morrow and tomorrow behotdng” and true, much about them last year, and also that there was a
nS you. peculiar poison pertaining to the jessamine blossoms
Wisk dein —Whitney. that will give one a headache and nausea. I have
n the twilight supper at the ; forbidden the children inhaling their fragrance, and
e ’
eaten and the men had dispersed vamp had been I warn you of the danger lurking in those lovely,
or duties elsewhere ; when hisses “i their shanties golden bells, with all their beauty.”
ethereal as a spiritual realm fibecs Ape misty and He listened with absent-minded attention, giving
Ing forest ; when Jennie Steph oe eae eet but sufficient heed to be informed on a subject that
Tustic porch of the famil Rep Sat out on the | was to him vitally interestin
Henry, r., her youngest child. roe heer s It had been a ecitiet fal day and it was a charm-
and forth in a low rocking-chair which tot ei ing night! The day with a sapphire sky, an unblem-
Tough floor noisily, Edwin Phillips Mes Fiat he shed sun and a fragrant atmosphere, the most per-
= a he had been figuring steadily avi fect of his life, crowned with its most blissful night.
Pper hour, lit a cigar, and strolled over the Prag Finally he was rewarded for his politic attitude and

   
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forced attention, when s
in her daily life.

“But there are peop!
ple about here, very ni
too, are there not?” he queried, valeenae a 5%
Oh!” Jennie exclaimed, and then paused, puzzled

how to proceed in explaining a situation she under-

stood but vaguely. “The
i mid eae. y are all Scotch

First they are
hings ; in their
Oh, yes, they are pure, unadul-
have been here,” she looked
ighted forest, “since the world

here.
need of those days,”

“But who are they? I have seen
so few of an
of them. Where do they live?” he questioned, ad

ave seen some of them,” ennie re-
minded him. The Dalrymples and = Mac-

eo EF CHRON PAPE CR TER tT RRC me TE gE ~ - ~ =~ - :
; SS ence

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 15

Lemores, for instance. I thought you admired
Anice Dalrymple when you went there with Henry.”
“She seemed to be a very nice young lady,” he
said, non-committingly, recalling with lack of interest
the vision of the dark-eyed lassie at the Dalrymple
homestead, a few miles eastward of the camp. “But
are there no social features in the lives of these
Gaelics ?” he persisted.
_ Jennie rested her explorative eyes on the lunar-
ghted forest horizoning her temporary home, ar-
ranging facts in her mind, that she might reply to
his insistence intelligently. Thoroughly domestic,
she had not sought the social element in her few
quiet neighbors whose habits and environment held
foreign touches which impressed her with their un-
familiarity. Whenever she had entered their homes
the solitude of the forest had been dispelled by the
vestal flame burning upon the altars of their Lares
and Pennates. Never had she known more intense,

methodical life, more careful detail and interest
manifested in the home circle.

4

seemed comp! She had in-
variably felt that she was in the presence of a pas-

toral civilization so ancient and finished, her own
past appeared crude and raw and pioneer. But the
social conditions viewed from the standpoint of a
society veteran such as she knew Edwin to be was

hard to classify and select. She had accepted people
as she found them, sometimes interested with their

 
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16 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

modes and customs, but seeking for no more than
they had given casually and spontaneously.

With young people there might be phases of
society she was not aware of. She laughed outright
when, suddenly, Edwin’s probing interest reminded
“a of an oe or she had almost forgotten.

umor was not lacking in the pl
atu e: g plump, energetic Mrs.

‘You must investigate the social realm person-
ally, Edwin. I cannot help you; but may I relate

Simpson’s experience ?”’ she asked, laughing, still in
teasing humor.

_ Well, what of Simpson?” he acquiesced, re-
signedly, Simpson was the cook and caterer of the
camp, assisted by his wife, Nancy. He was in-
tensely black and recently married.

Simpson’s experience, socially, was ludicrously
disastrous,” Jennie declared, mischievously. “When
we first came out here, he soon became lonesome

He visited a family who works for Duncan
MacLemore, over on Pink Eye Creek. His sole
leisure time was Sabbath afternoons, when I under-
took the supper to give him an outing, and it was at
those times he visited the daughters of the house of
Julius.

“Julius had always lived among the Scotch, and
according to Simpson’s version, ‘out-Scotched the
Scots’ in adherence to their customs and heed to the
mandates of their church. He strenuously objected
to his daughters receiving frivolous company on the

Sabbath day ; hence Simpson proved to be a thorn in
the old patriarch’s sensitive prejudices.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 17

“Simpson primped laboriously and disappeared
for several consecutive Sabbaths ; and then suddenly
he remained at home and relieved me of all care

about the evening meal. He was so solemn and
sulky I knew he had been mortall

or giant n express his great indignation.
Julius had catechised him mercilessly, ‘from de

book itself,’ making him tell who made him and who
God was, and who was Abraham, and every one of
the prophets ; and when he had answered ‘every one
of dein fool quistions’ to the very best of his ‘solemn

ability,’ Julius had insinuated that he was wickedly
ignorant and an erring non-conformist.

“Simpson said when he called him that word, ‘his
dander riz,’ and but ‘for de presence of de ladies he
would have mashed his mouth, shore as ye’re born.’
He had carried his banjo once, and Julius had for-
bidden his entering ‘eben de yard wiv it, so he had
hidden it in the woods while he was visiting, and
the hogs found and demolished it. Julius had made
the girls read chapters from the Bible out loud, and
Simpson declared ‘It was wusser dan awful.’ They
couldn’t read much, and had to spell most of the
words before they pronounéed them; and seldom
could ‘nounce dem’ after they had tediously spelled
them. He had borne his many trials heroically until
Julius got to praying for him, right there ‘afore de
gals,’ talking about his greasing his hair and wearing
a ‘white wescot’ to lead astray silly women who
wouldn’t know Satan if ‘they met him in the road.’
It was then he gave up the quest for society, and

 
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18 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

finally he went back home and married Nancy,”

Jennie concluded, abruptly.

“But the point of the story?” Edwin reminded
er.

“I had forgotten that I was illustrating. Julius
was, presumably, copying from the white people, in
his Puritanical observance of the Sabbath, so they
may be very strict and sedate even in their pleasures
and amusements, these Scotch Presbyterians. They
seem to content themselves with books and their
duties ; and they are very intellectual, generally, and
I think that accounts for their superior home life
even in the most remote neighborhoods.

“By the way, Edwin, did you see Ruth MacKenzie
when you fetched the children from school, and is

she not pretty?” she asked, with a swift change of
subject.

His heart gave a fainting leap. He lifted the
cigar from his lips and drew an uncertain breath
before he replied with unusual constraint. What
he had so desired had come at last to find him un-
prepared for its reception.

“No, not pretty” he said, tritely, as his heart
leaped free with an unfamiliar surge that sent hot
blood coursing his veins.

“I think she is extremely beautiful,” Jennie con-
tended, earnestly. “And she is but a child in years
and experience. They are such splendid people,
those MacKenzies. You should see Kissic-Dale,
Edwin! The children and I spent a whole day there
in the autumn. It is like a painting, an artist’s ideal,
I mean. Ruth gave Lula a birthday dinner. You
would have thought it a wedding feast, but it was

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 19

for the pleasure of my baby daughter. They have
shown me many favors, although I am such a dis-
tance from them. Kissic-Dale is such a lovely old
place, I am terribly homesick after seeing its beauty
and comforts and then coming back here to my
shack in the woods; and beyond there, still farther
west, is their church. They call it ‘the kirk.’ You
should go there some time and have a peep at the
natives who attend from a circuit of many miles.”
“Jennie,” he said, aggrievedly, “it is strange you

. never mentioned the MacKenzies to me until now.

You have spoken often about the Dalrymples and
others, though. Why, the man who teaches the
school is the finest kind of a fellow. I knew he was
a thoroughbred college man the moment I saw him.”

“But he is not a MacKenzie, nor any relation to
them. He is a MacKethan, and Ruth’s tutor. The
school is a side issue; teaching Ruth his main busi-
ness. Her aunt so dreads sending her to college,
which would be much less expensive. Ruth is an
orphan and the sole heir to Kissic-Dale, and the
MacKenzies have always been wealthy, as wealth is
counted in this country; also proud and superior-
minded, so the Dalrymples have informed me. They
are, as you know, my nearest neighbors.”

Thus Jennie discussed the MacKenzies, and then
changed to other subjects, any topic that presented
itself to her active mind. Edwin’s mere presence
was an inspiration which excited to an overflow the
ideas barred into thought by the repression of her
lonely days. Was he not a part of the world she
had left when she had followed Henry in his quest
for the isle of “Fortuna,” that they might provide

 
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A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 21

pages of fashionable stationery. A tiny bouquet of
violets, pressed flat, was disclosed, and a delicious
fragrance still clung to their bruised and perishing
petals. His interest was aroused despite the neglect
he had accorded the missive, and he sat down to
peruse the letter, an expectant flush upon his
features ; but his interest soon waned as he passed
from page to page of the gilt-edged stationery. The

last one was glanced over absently, and replacing
the violets, he folded them in with the written mes-

sage, then hid them away in the depth of his trunk.

Seated again, he stared unblinkingly at the glow-
ing blaze of the lamp-wick, stared unseeing, until he
knew its incandescence had blinded him. He lowered
the flame and continued his revery, which was alter-
nately serious and gloomy and anon was radiant in
a glow of new-born ecstacy.

The walls of rough, unplaned lumber from a saw-
mill run by the water of Pink Eye Creek faded from
his vision; and he lived over and over, incessantly,
the sweet influence of the Spring-time forest and its
intense climax just as the sun was sinking below
the pine-fringed western horizon. He longed fer-
vently for the morrow to dawn, for all other mor-
rows allotted to his providential span of life.

From the elating summit of undreampt-of hap-
piness, he slipped at intervals into the abyss of his
heedless past which confronted him as an accusatory
scroll. In those depressing intervals he would
glance remorsefully at the trunk where he had
placed the letter and violets, whose message came a
few hours too late to meet the welcome they were
so confident of receiving. Helpless in mute sur-

 
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render, he fell back into his chair and buried his
face in the curve of his arms as they lay folded
upon the table. There, hidden away from all ob-
jective influence, secure from the rebuking incense
of the petishing violets, he lapsed into a dreaming
realm embodying Spring’s golden promise and the
solemnity of the forest, the charm of the flaming
jessamine, the dainty arbutus and a fair, slender girl
with a crown of golden hair, and eyes dark, with a
spiritual beauty he had never discovered elsewhere ;
neither such transcendental purity and sweetness
of expression. Rapturously, he whispered to his
palpitant heart, as it clamored for an endless repeti-
tion of the source of its enchantment, “Ruth, Ruth
MacKenzie,” and the letter and the violets were for-
gotten as he dreamed, and the pines whispered and
sighed unheeded, out in the forest.

 

CHAPTER III.

Fancy’s ReatmM—Sunset AND Hotty CREEK—
DoNALD’s BEHAVIOR.

“Whither the path leads,
Dear, little matter;
Amber of spring hole,
Waterfall’s chatter;
You are my goal, dear,
Wildwood thing.”
—Selected.
“Her fancy roved as mystic foam,
Kissing shores of golden sand.”

Ruth and Jamie walked circumspectly and with
due regard for appearances until they were beyond
the vicinity of the highway; then Ruth smiled a
merry challenge. “Now, Jamie!” she cried, and the
restraint of the schoolroom fell from her manner,
revealing a girlish love of fun and frolic. Me

Jamie responded gleefully, and led in a spirited
race which lasted until their breath was well-nigh
spent, and the oppression of the day’s restrictions
was dissipated in that wild rush of action. Neither
had ever, until that scholastic year, known the re-
straint and discipline of a schoolroom; yet no pupils
could have proven more docile and respectful to its
regime. Jamie was Sandy’s first-born, whom Jean
had named for her lamented brother, and he was
  

24 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

cherished equally under the broad roof of Kissic-
Dale and in the flower-embowered cottage of his
parents.

Ruth and Jamie paused at a certain point on the
roadway, and Ruth, warm and flushed from the
speed of the race, took off her jacket and threw it,
with her white sunbonnet and her book-satchel, upon
the stout limbs of a scrub oak; Jamie added his cap
and satchel to the weight of the short branches, and,
unhampered, they ran into the woods, their hastening
feet slipping and sliding over the sleek carpet of
brown pine needles, covering, treacherously, the
white sand of the forest soil, their discarded belong-
ings left to signal Donald and Sandy’s two younger
children, whom they had so far out-distanced. The
goal of their journey into the woods was a bit of
swamp, far down the declivity which sloped from
the road on the plateau of the hills. Jean loved the
delicate wild growths of fern and flower, and they
were to be found there in marvellous profusion and
perfection; the beloved arbutus, the alluring and
brilliant jessamine, and the first unfoldings of- ten-
derest fern-fronds; a treasure-trove of Spring’s
offerings in the sand-paved pinelands.

With laden hands they returned to the road and
found Donald and the children waiting patiently.
Donald smiled indulgently when Ruth stood in the
road, flushed and panting; he had encouraged, at
all seasons, athletic exercise for his pupils, and
Ruth’s childish love of fun and frolics. She was
arranging, compactly, the mass of vine and fern and
blossoms in her unwieldy bouquet, trying to so re-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 25

duce its proportions that her hands would be free to
carry her other burdens conveniently.

“You must wear your jacket, Ruth,” Donald said
firmly, as he lifted the garment from the scrub-oak
to assist her in putting it on.

“Must I? Oh, Donald, I am so warm!” she said,
persuasively. She lifted her glance in airy appeal,
a smile wreathing her lips with inconsequential mirth
and playful defiance. Her mood was spontaneous,
and as artless as the joyous spontaneity of a normal
child. It was such an overflowing delight just to
live in such buoyant health and in such a bright,
perfect world, she could embalm each bright-winged
moment in bubbling mirth and joyous deportment.
The slanting sun flung prismatic bars of amber light
athwart her rosy countenance, and intensified the
dark depths of her soulful eyes, sparkling then, with
the elixir of youth and burnished the gold of her
gleaming hair.

As she stood in her white, clinging dress, the em-
bodiment of Springtime beauty, joy and hope,
Donald paused, and with swift scrutiny took note of
her ineffable charm and rare, youthful loveliness ;
not from a personal standpoint ; that had been placed
immovably long ere then; but from the viewpoint
that had blazed its signals in the eloquent eyes of the
handsome young stranger with whom he had parted
a few moments hence; and the wondering surprise,
the intense admiration, he had seen in the stranger’s
€ager survey was dominant in his newly evolved
estimate of Ruth’s fair personality. In the glance
she had given to his countenance, she had caught a
glimpse of an unfamiliar mood, mirrored in his ex-

 
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pression; and instantly, not fathoming its meaning
or divining its portent, she was humble and peni-

tent, yea, abjectly obedient in her easily evoked con-
trition.

“Excuse me, Donald! Certainly, I will wear it if —

you think it most prudent to do so, if I melt.” She
supplemented the concluding words as a smiling sop
to her vanquished independence.

She quietly arranged her bouquet so that the
coarser growths could shield the tender ferns; they
were so easily bruised, and Jean loved them most
for the very qualities which rendered them so easily
wounded and perishable. Donald held her satin-
lined jacket, with its bordering of rose-tinted
arbutus blossoms, done in silk floss, waiting to assist
in its donning; and while she arranged her flowers,
her mind wholly upon their adjustment, his heart
acknowledged afresh his pristine conviction, that
the world held no fairer, radiant maiden.

A solitaire diamond glistened upon her slender.

hand; at the tips of her pretty ears there sparkled,
like impaled dewdrops throbbing their irridescent
hearts, tiny gems of the first water, giving a note of
richness and elegance to her simple school dress of
snow white wool, enhanced by plain bands piped
with white silk cordings. He knew the story of the
costly jewels, and he knew also that they were not
worn in a spirit of vanity, but with filial reverence
and devotion to her parents; that on her sixteenth
birthday she had received them as a young novice
receives her veil and vows, or as a devotee the con-
firmation of the Christian rites, for Jean had then
informed her that they had been gifts from Jamie

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A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 27

to her mother, who had worn them constantly until
they were taken from her after she had passed from
earthly things, and preserved as a most precious
heritage for her daughter.

_ “Thank you, Donald,” she said, with her caress-
ing, brogue-tinged voice, after she had assumed the
garment. “You are so kind.”

She flashed such a sweet, grateful smile into his
brooding eyes, the last vestige of color forsook his
features. Fle bit his lips that she might not spy
upon his tell-tale flushings.

ek will carry your satchel and bonnet,” he said

curtly, dismissing her.

Very well,” she acquiesced obediently, as she
swung into step with Jamie, his younger brother and
sister, and hurried homeward.

The pleasure, diurnally renewed, of returning to
Jean and the scenes she loved with an undivided
affection, quickened her footsteps and elated her
mind with sweet anticipation. So many joys awaited
her in the fragrant twilight hours, she invariably
had a race with the moments of time that sweep
affrightedly in advance of great ebon-winged Night.
The joy of greeting Jean, who habitually awaited
her at the gate which gave ingress to the lawn, the
meeting with Mary Graham and Dicey, Iphogenia
and Ezeke; the caresses due to Leo, the great house
dog, the petting of the kittens, the visit to the fowls,
who retired strictly at sunset but kept their heads
from under their wings to give her a welcome home;
the rush to the dove-cote, where innumerable
Pigeons were fretting for the grain she would feed
them in liberal handfuls; the dash to the sheep-fold
  

       
 

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28 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

to behold, ecstatically, the frisky lambs, and the
pause at the barnyard, to glimpse at the horses and
the cattle then gathered in from the fields and pas-
tures ; the brief flitting over the lawn, where Spring’s
own children were blooming, and a peep at the rose
garden, where standards were bursting into full
blossom; and finally, the family group around the
supper table, which invariably presented a festive
appearance and an array of appetizing dishes that
atoned for the cold lunch she and Donald partook
of atnoon. It was then Dicey imprisoned the kittens
in the kitchen and Leo in his kennel, force alone
keeping them from her in the first hour of her re-
turn, and thus Dicey had learned to regulate their
behavior.

Donald lagged in their rear as they tripped home-
ward, an unusual happening, yet unnoted by Ruth
and the children, who were as eager for their home
and mother as Ruth was for Jean and Kissic-Dale.
Indeed, the children forsook her at the great gate
which barred the fields from the forest, and ran
swiftly down the road over the long slope to the
flat lands bordering ‘Holly Creek.”

When Donald came through the gate, left ajar
against his coming, Ruth walked slowly, idly, but
a short distance beyond the entrance. He shut the
gate, hesitated a moment, then with a firm step over-
took and passed her by, because he knew that his
company would be an intrusion. She was not aware
of any mundane object or interest.

He had learned to divine her moods and the
vagaries of her mind, and a glimpse of her coun-
tenance informed him that she was in a mood of

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 29

speetual meditation, and was insensible to Kissic-

‘me in its fair plenteousness of broad, green fields
Or young, sprouting grain and fields of freshy
turned dark mold, sown in corn and cotton, of wind-
a a alder and willow-fringed; of gaily be-
eae blossoming orchards; of groves and wood-
bs : othed in an emerald mist of budding foliage
ee, 4 white-walled mansion looming against a
acular background of purpling hills and a gold
an amethystian sunset. Ruth, he knew, was not
Ste aTe9 with the aspect of the smiling valley ; with
apt expression and speculative eyes, her glance
roved the celestial display of tinted, vaporous hues,
searching for a soulful region beyond the gates of
sunset, set ajar briefly and alluringly. She smiled
absently as he forged ahead, his eyes upon the pros-
Perous fields and signs of industry.

On the bridge spanning Holly Creek he paused
and awaited her tardy approach. He knew she
would tarry there, as she had done invariably on the
bright afternoon when they walked from school.
He, with his mind set valiantly on practical things
and the practical wonder of Nature, often found a
soothing charm in the spot swept by the broad flow
of water. The place presented as much the handi-
work of man as the tireless thrift of Nature. Aged
and graceful weeping willows, planted by hands long
folded in the last sleep, diooped their swaying
branches at either approach to the wide, bannistered
bridge finished with fanciful conceits in architectural
designs; the wild willows and other growths, with
an affinity for water, were trimmed and left to grow
so as to clothe the shelving banks artistically. Tall

 
30 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

aspen trees, with spire-like trimness, poised as sen-
tinels of the stream, and as statuesque; yet he
stood with averted gaze that embraced the brow of
a distant hillside, showing crude and bare from a
recent gashing with a deep-set plough. He had but
a few moments to await Ruth’s loitering footsteps.
She came forward anticipatingly, her face alight
and no longer dreamy, the tinted glamor of the sun-
set intensifying the pure charm of her loveliness
with its transforming radiance.

He smiled a casual welcome and in silence leaned
upon the flat upper railing of the bridge, and
focused his interest, apparently, on the fields of
grain in an opposite direction from the ploughed
land. Ruth tarried also, and leaned against the
railing idly. With fanciful interest she searched
the reflection of the sunset sky where it lay mirrored
in the rippling water ; reproductions of the celestial
world rainbowing the horizon above the valley.

She gazed silently, too, but with keen, unalloyed
pleasure, and a rioting imagination which seduced
her presently into a reverie, transporting her mind
into a realm of mysticism far removed from com-
monplace and material environment. It was a nether
world; her feet trod its firmament. To its citizen
sprites she was perhaps, a goddess enthroned in their
sky. Her sensations were so real, she experienced
a physical awe of the startling height obtained in
giving espionage to a world spread so far below and
distant in ethereal spaces. The stream bore upon its
gliding surface a few blossoms of yellow jessamine
tossed from some swaying branch, perhaps, near its
source in the pine-clad hills; and they entered into

 

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A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 31

her vision as golden argosies cruising in resplendent
a unswept by the gales which lash terra firma
crait.

Donald came to her side and with fleeting glance
noted the scene which had so enthralled her fancy.
He sighed, and with deliberate trite intonation, said:
“How fast the grain is growing! There is quite a
change since yesterday. Shall we be going, Ruth?
See the twilight is being heralded.”

_ She withdrew her eyes from the water and viewed
him with the aloofness one accords the stranger,
Donald was so alien to her mood. She was a spirit
of the ideal regions reflected in the water, the sky
above and below, the earth annihilated; sweet .
breezes, the breath of infinity, fanning her pulsing
temples ; therefore, she did not comprehend his re-
mark or respond to his observation,

_ She smiled acquiescently to his concluding sugges-
tion, although she did not grasp his meaning until,
with a covert glance at her hypnotized expression, he
walked on, her satchel depending from his arm, her
white bonnet held by one long streamer, the other
trailing its fluttering length on the ground.

When he had gone beyond the swaying branches
of a patriarchal weeping willow at the west end of
the bridge she turned for a last impression of the
water, the painted bridge and the panorama of the
emerald valley nestling so snugly between the sloping
hills. She sighed regretfully as she cast her cling-
ing fancies from her mind and left them with the
Scene which had evoked them in the fertile soil of

her imagination; and, once more a common mortal
32 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

plodding the earthly world, she followed Donald up
the incline to the blossoming realm of the orchard.
She was laughing and skipping when she flitted by
him at a point where, leaving the public road, the
way to the house led down a broad lane flanked by
graceful cherry trees in a bridal array of blossom.

She sped lightly and swiftly down the length of the
lane; and, at its terminal, threw her arms around

Jean, who, as usual, stood by the gate awaiting her.

CHAPTER IV.

EVENINGTIDE— THE Soncs oF THE CLANS—
DOoONALD’s RESOLVE.

“Maxwelton’s braes are bonny,

Where early falls the dew——”
“The sun’s low down the sky, Lorena,

The frost gleams where the flowers have been——”

“Oh, light was her heart ere love’s witchery came!”

That evening was the customary one in the quiet
household. A tray of violets and a bowl of hyacinths
graced the supper table, and the meal was a season
of pleasure as usual.

Twilight fell imperceptibly. Shot with tender
moonlight, the house was brilliantly lighted. Ruth
spent an hour at the piano, practicing. A cheerful
fire blazed on the sitting-room hearth, the cat dozed,
Jean read, when Ruth came from the parlor and

 

      

   

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 33

gathered her text and note books around the lamp
on her study table and waited for Donald, who was
then in his room upstairs. At the stroke of nine
o'clock he came into the room and helped her with
her lessons. for the morrow’s recitations, for Ruth
studied indefatigably, her innate love of knowledge
strenuously accentuated, as a sop to the Cerberus of
circumstances ; thus she atoned for her truancy to
college life and paid for the privilege of being
happy at home and the companion of Jean in her
loneliness. She knew each study finished would cur-
tail that much her inevitable absence in the future.
For nearly an hour they were absorbed in
Homeric translations in the hieroglyphical language
of the classical Greeks. Then Donald suggested
music and Jean accompanied him to the parlor while
Ruth continued her studies. Jean’s stately Sonatas

nor Donald’s piping strains on the flute. embracing
old Scottish airs and English melodies, did not dis-

turb her. She had heard them so often and was
So familiar with every note of their music.

Mary Graham, Jean’s housekeeper, laid aside her
knitting, folded her hands and closed her eyes in
sentimental attention when they played the songs

played on, unattended, for her own amusement. At

last she began to sing the sentimental songs of her
own youthful days, “Lorena” and “Annie Laurie,” :
“Marguerite” and “Robin Adair,” and “Douglas.”

She sang simply and with tender pathos at times
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34 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

tremulously, when memory smote the chord of some
past joy or sorrow; and as she sang she was vaguely

sad and depressed ; why she never knew. Intangible
grief touched her mood persistently. She evoked —
dashing strains, striving for a more cheerful feeling. —
Such songs as “Douglas” and “Lorena” seemed to —
mingle with their melodies voices so long, so heart- —
breakingly silent ; so she played “The Campbells Are —
Coming” and “Roslyn Castle,’ and the whistling
variations of “The Mocking Bird” ere she paused
with the intention of closing the instrument. She —
hesitated, sitting quite still for many moments, —
gazing introspectively, with unwinking eyes; then
she sighed deeply and her fingers caressed the key- —
board with aimless movements until they glided
mechanically over certain notes which voiced the aif

of “Araby’s Daughter.”

She played a few bars repeatedly, then struck a ~
full chorus of chords and sang every word of the -
ballad, plaintively, and with a sympathy which
probed an unfamiliar chamber in her heart, as if”
she was personally lamenting the fate of the daugh-

ter of Araby.

“Farewell, farewell, Araby’s daughter,”
Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea;
“No pearl ever lay under Oman’s green water
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.”

Oh, fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing!
Oh, light was thy heart ere Love’s witchery came!

 

~
’ i aie a = =

   

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 35

But long upon Araby’s green sunny Highlands,
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom

Of her, who lies sleeping beneath the pearl islands,
With naught but the sea-star to light up her tomb.

And still, when the merry date season is burning,
And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old;

The happiest there from their pastime returning,
At sunset shall weep when thy story is told.

She set her foot firmly upon the soft pedal and
sang _the refrain again, and yet again, clinging
morbidly to the wailing protest, the pathetic melody.
When it seemed to resolve into a human voice
breathing prophecy she shuddered as if an un-
kind wind had smitten her form. With a repulsing
gesture she arose, closed the piano firmly and ar-
ranged her yellowing music.

The fragrance of the woodland jessamine per-
vaded the room like Satyr’s incense in a grotto
temple as she passed by the heavy, marble-topped
table in the centre of the room and caressed with
appreciative touch Ruth’s gift of fern and blossom.
They were held in an antique silver vase, a loving
cup, the gift of royalty to one of her ancestors. She
sighed again, expressively, as she took mental note
of a coincident just then presented to her mind, the
offering of the wee lassie, the last of the Mac-
Kenzies, reposing in the gift to their most revered
progenitor. The past seemed to float out from the
blank void of “long ago” and mingle its shades inter-
wovenly into the present ; and the past wore shrouds
and the habiliments of the tomb. It was uncanny
 

 

36

to be in its
woodland ar

presence. She was not

searched vainly
veranda. Moonlig

“Why are you here, bairnie?” she asked playfully,
to hide her own seriousness.

“I came out here to -hear you sing,” Ruth
answered, lifting her head bravely and smiling,
although tears bedewed her cheeks and sparkled

so. You must have so many sad ones ; memories of
Papa, of Archie, and all your dear ones. I some-
times wonder at your optimism. I could not be so
strong, I am sure,” she concluded with a sigh, the

breath of a deep sympathy. Jean knew then why

 

Presence, alone in the room, with the
oma conjuring it into an almost personal
aware that two pondering

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 37

she had been shedding tears, and she stroked the
bright hair of her bairnie as she said, gently:

“It is true I have many sad and sacred memories,
but they no longer make me deeply sorrowful. I
have become resigned and am hopefully looking to
a future that will reunite me with lost loved ones.
When I sing ‘Douglas,’ my lover husband, always
young and tenderly devoted, lives again, as in the
happy past, and every detail of my simple life has
power to invoke fond recollections, but to-night my
mood is prophetic, and I feel strangely afraid and
apprehensive. I had an involuntary tremor, as the
winking of an eye or unconscious sighing. I have
chided Dicey often for referring such a chill to an
old folk-lore superstition that someone was treading
the soil of your future tomb. }

“But,” Jean proceeded, as Ruth pondered her
words silently, “something seemed whispering to me,

or rather suggesting,” she strove for ideas to express
a feeling so definite, yet at the same time so elusive
and intangible, “until—I—grew really anxious. It
seemed to say distinctly: ‘This is the beginning of
the end.’ ”

Ruth sprang up amazed and frightened. She
folded her slender arms around Jean’s stately form.

“Auntie!” she cried, “I know you are going to be
ill! I have never known you to be this way. Your
singing impressed me as strange and unusual. I
have been listening with deepest sympathy.”

“I have frightened you,” Jean said, “and without
cause, bairnie, for I am quite well and without
anxiety normally. It is the trait of my race to be
superstitious. That, in some psychological manner,
 

 

38 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

is influencing me. I have felt its terrors before this
time.”’

“But you are not superstitious,’ Ruth declared in
fond defence. “You are so strong-minded, so
logical, Auntie.”

“But I am superstitious!” Jean asserted, with
solemn conviction. “And I have no strength to over-
come the weakness or misfortune, if it is either. I
also believe in the second sight, not alone inherently,
but experimentally. When Archie died in that
freezing Northern prison, when Paul and Daniel
died together on that blood-drenched battlefield in
Virginia, when death came with compassionate
haste and released my heart-broken mother, and then
my father, from their crushing bereavements, I was
warned by visions of their fates; but I was over-
wrought then by overwhelming anxieties and be-
lieved my sensations and perceptions the result of

nervous worry; but now my life was never more

peaceful and my health is almost perfect.”

Ruth’s arms had tightened spasmodically as Jean
referred to her sad past ; now her head drooped upon
Jean’s shoulder. “Poor Auntie!” she sighed in in-
expressible sympathy.

“I am sorry to distress you. I would give my life
freely to ensure you unbroken happiness, and to-
night, I am therefore unreasonably, vaguely afraid,
because—I_ feel—that some indefinite danger
threatens you, bairnie,’”’ Jean faltered, uncertainly.

“Me! Oh, Auntie! How you frightened me!
But now I am not afraid, for I am all right. I was
fearing for you, but I am in splendid health and
quite happy in every way. ‘And not a wave of

 

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 39

trouble rolls across my peaceful breast,’ ”’ she quoted
brightly and without flippancy. “And I am so much
happier than formerly ; I was such a fearful, morbid
child, was I not, dearie? But now I see things more
clearly, and I have you, the dear home, dear ones to
love, and none to hate me; what more could I desire,
pray tell me.”

“You are right, bairnie,” Jean admitted hopefully,
for self-comfort, “and I am a silly old woman. Let
us forget my strange fancies. I should have never
entertained them for a moment. Let us admire the
charming night. I did not realize the attractions
abroad, or I would have come out earlier and not
have sung myself into such a state of morbidness.”

It was, indeed, a scene of beauty which environed
the old homestead. Holly Creek shone as a stream
of molten silver, as it wound its way through slum-
berous fields; mist walled in the valley; the apple
trees robed in dainty blossoms, stood as maids of
honor attending the regal queen of night.

“T do so love the moonlight,” Jean remarked, in-
consequentially. “What is there in the beautiful
world that I do not love, I wonder?’ Ruth re-
sponded gaily; but her tones were tremulous and
her mirth an effort.

“Especially Springtime,” Jean commented, analyt-
ically. “The robins have come again, Ruth,” she
continued, with assumed cheerfulness, “and so have
the swallows, and the little housewifely wrens are
building their nests beneath the roof. Soon, the
mocking-birds will come to the magnolias, and then
we shall have bird music, indeed.”

“I shall be glad if our old acquaintance returns;

 
.
iit
|
i
.
Thi
i

{ 7
|

ee et ee er ee ee

>

bai Le

 

ence was withdrawn, the s

Jean’s heart, stealthily, persistently, and the same
whisper seemed to float and sigh around her, “This

is the beginning of the end.” She warded off the

 

40

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

the one who so fooled Dice
you not, Auntie?”

laughed merrily o

about the wariness of the thie
endowed with a miraculous ar

mocking-bird had poised defiantly upon the

her credulity.

“If he comes, we will have the bird-world of
song,” Ruth declared admiringly, in happy remem-
brance of the facile songster. And thus they con-
versed for some time until Ruth’s infectious gayety
had cheered Jean’s heart somewhat.
finally, they left the veranda, where ethereal beauty
brooded so ineffably, and retired, Ruth imparting a
last touch of comfort in her loving good night.

But when the lights were extinguished and the
solitude of the nearby forest crept into the slumber-
ing domain of Kissic-Dale, and all opposing influ-

adness came again into

     

y. You remember, do
Ruth said, reminiscently, and she

ver the memory; their depression
could not last, a shadow without substance. That

shrewd bird had very much interested them the pre-
vious summer. He had nested in the tall aspen tree

supposed marauder, until one
day as Dicey was resetting them and muttering
f, who seemed to be
t in diasppearing, the

gate-
post and trilled the whip-poor-will’s cry, shrilly and

derisively. Dicey had thrown the trap at him in
sudden fury at the trick which he had played upon

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 41

sensation or the fancy, or the reality, as one re-
pulses and shrinks from a blow aimed at the vitals.
Once she awoke in a condition resembling night-
mare, panting for breath, her veins tingling with an
irregular rush of blood. She did not know if it was
mental or physical depression; it seemed a com-

mingling of each, and she put forth strong effort for
normal poise of mind and feeling, as she recalled
the bright, sunlighted hours of the sweet Springtime
day. She scanned all the circumstances of her life,
gaining courage from their unmenaced peace. No
Shadow presaged, no storm threatened, and—she
was silly. But still, fear held sway in her mind, for

well she knew by grim experience the instability of

human life and the evanescence of the most closely
guarded happiness ; that 3

“The rainbow melts with the shower,
The white-thorn falls in the gust,
The rose-cloud dies into shadow,
The earth-rose drops into dust.”

and that:

“The bird-song piercing the sunset,
Faints with the sunset’s fires.”

“The power of the star and the dew,
They grow and are gone with a breath.”

s great heart, she cried impotently: “What

is to be, will be!” and embraced anew, thus, the
inexorable creed of pre-destination.”

 

 
  
  

 

rest ck on the upper veranda, heard,
incidentally, their conversation, intending to forget

it promptly, not suspecting that in a distant future,
when changeling years had drifted him far from the
moonlighted night at Kissic-D
the prophetic words Jean had uttered so reluctantly,
as if impelled by a power beyond her. At the mo-
ment, he was deeply absorbed in a reverie purely
personal, but so intense that the strenuous ambition
of his heart was in abeyance ; yet even then he was
soundly logical in his reasonings and self-discipline.

The result of his musings, which lasted long hours
after an unbroken silence ruled the house, and even

Jean slept, if fitfully, and the tranced shadows of
the leafless trees,

What if his hot heart yearned and clamored, his
strong gray eyes gazed sternly at facts which not all

oe he a ae es ee

  

   

CHAPTER V.

3
Locu-Lity — Fauns anp FAIRIES — ALADDIN’S
PALACE.

“Silver streams hath Arcady,
Radiant, shining skies;
Flowers that could not fairer be
Seen by human eyes.”

—Selected.

“When life was like a story,
Holding neither sob nor sigh.” —Riley.

The third Saturday of the ensuing month of May,
the florescent charm of the season was exquisite in
the tender verdant beauty of Summer’s finished
toilet ; its fresh array of leaf and blossom. —

The seduction of azure skies, of inspiriting sun-
shine, was irresistible. It had rained the preceding
week, a cold, clammy downpour from flat, sweeping
clouds, estray from some intemperate zone alien to
May skies and the Southern climate, but for the past
few days unblemished sunshine had bathed the earth

in a brilliant flood of genial warmth and balminess.
That morning Jean had announced at the break-
fast table that in the afternoon she was going “a-
fishing” and “a-Maying,” and invited all those in-
clined to recreation to join her, irrespective of color
or condition. Donald had declined regretfully ; he

 
pes

aSicnante a ere ih Sa lini Shaner ti ER. in ae
he Ae RC. is ls AA Aine init tals = on ne we at > wan
Pov ete ae a asm ~ - oars ~- ‘ .

” ttt oe

~. a aa She.
ie a em eee REE le wn car A
” Aha aa Ae on
ery r . vs

Cm ako oe
ate

arse el how ‘ Pe er jee

a. an at i wi a u ree! nt =e ”

NC al AN li ila its ATi A at ti. illite it a tn cuca “ see
ol ol cn

—

 

a iA te all al ale

 
  

44 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

had promised the day in another direction, and soon ;

he had set off to fulfill the appointment.

Nevertheless, it was a happy party Jean led to her —
picnic ground early after the noon meal; and the —
wild birds fled, temporarily, from the chattering —
voices invading their secluded kingdom in the cool, ©
green woods below the spring and the dairy. Sandy,
Jean’s farmer, and his wife, Dicey, the cook, and —
her son Ezeke; Sandy’s three children, Mary and ©

Ruth, who carried her sketch-book and indulged in

_much gay humor at the expense of the merry caval-

cade, armed with bamboo rods and carrying little
cans of bait.

She never angled since, as a child, she had gone
with Jean and Mary to “Loch-Lily,” and the writh-
ings of the hook-impaled worms and the violent
deaths of the shining-scaled beauties of the depths
so won her sympathy and compassion, she had aban-

doned the sport, pityingly and finally. But Jean had :

locked her text-books in the security and repose of
the glass-fronted “secretary,” and had quoted with
authority : “All work and no play makes Jack a dull
boy,” and “Gill’s a stupid girl,” she had added sig-
nificantly as she placed the key in her pocket.

Their rendezvous was “Loch-Lily,’ a famous
angling point for generations of MacKenzies. Fol-
lowing the “spring branch,” whose source was the
sparkling, never-failing fountain at the foot of a

cliff-like hill, a dim path, from which the under- —

growth was cut away annually, led them a quarter
of a mile to the banks of Holly Creek, which crept
secretively through primeval privacy, when it had
passed from the glare of publicity in the broad fields

     

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 45

of Kissic-Dale. Those woods had been highly prized
from generation unto generation of the rural Mac-
Kenzies ; to them it was indeed, a treasure-trove in
the environing aridity of prevailing pine forests; a
cherished arboretum for the pleasure and enlighten-
ment of their sons and daughters, in indigenous
growths of thrifty trees, of trailing vines and creep-
ing mosses, in the condition it had thriven in when
the first MacKenzie, fresh from the Scottish hills
and lakes, built his hewn-log residence and searched
out the resources of the fertile valley. Later gen-
erations believed that their pioneer ancestor fancied
a resemblance to his lamented Highlands in the
varied growths of the foliage-crowned, steep hills
and the spring-fed waters of Holly Creek.

In a distant past the creek had been widened at a
certain point and skilfully deepened, its treacherous
banks stayed with rough stone masonry, and the oval
lake thus formed christened “Loch-Lily,” when
its margin had been stocked with the fibrous roots
and floating pads of a medley assortment of water
lilies native to the section, and brilliant-hued, indo-
lent lotuses.

The loch covered the greater part of a flat dell,
encircled and overshadowed by sharp, wooded eleva-
tions, which began their aseent within a few feet of
the water, secluding it as if walled with oak, hickory,
maple, dogwood and other Southern forest; and
the precipitous incline embraced crevices recalling
Dryadical retreats meshed in ferns, vines and divers
woodland plants common to the climate.

“Loch-Lily” was interesting at all seasons, but
never so lovely and attractive as in the Maytime,

       

        
     
           
     
   
     
|
Ce
g
; i]
a
a

Ate se on
a.

- . sit § j s
de A Mit ARN IO ME le. 2 ng

os a we

i = naa ea RR Bi

ren "es oe Wee cnet. el testy, he “
Aan saa tha AR ry ae NN ha daa

aie en

46 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

when the green and gold liquid of infantile growth —
surcharged the youthful foliage, when the belated —
arbutus (and what Scottish heart could resist its
charm of resemblance and relation to their moor-—
land heather?) puts forth blossom weeks after theif
sisterhood had bloomed on the uplands; when ferns

and delicate mosses had attained perfect form, when

white-starred lily-pads slept upon the opalescent —

  

¥

bosom of the water yet retaining the sparkling purity

of winter’s crystal ice and snow; and the mating

wild birds, nesting in the sylvan jungles, and smiting ©
the warm, fragrant solitude with long-drawn, silvery —
notes, mates calling unto mates in endearing strains, ©

from purple sunrise to sapphire noon and the golden

eventide.

A great birch tree stood on the hither side of the ©
lake and rude stone steps led down to the water —
where the tiny boat, a white, enameled shallop, had —
its place of mooring, since a time far beyond the —

memory of the previous generation. )
The space beneath the wide-spreading branches of
the birch was hard and smooth, a sanded soil,

splotched with green moss fostered by the sheltering —

limbs of the old tree; and there boulders of stone

from the rock-ribbed hillsides had been placed for —
the convenience of anglers. In that interesting re-_
treat Jean seated her companions, that they might —
angle for the finny tribe, who frequented the dark, —
deep water which bathed the roots of the tree, where

there was a “baited” space free of the floating lotus,

lily, and coarse, picturesque rushes that grew rankly ©

in the more shallow margins of the lake.

Until the heat and languor of the noon hours ©

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 47

lapsed into the lengthening shadows and refreshing
breezes of midsummer afternoon, Ruth loitered in
the water-gemmed dell where the fishing was desul-
tory and the luck minus excitement. Quietude was
strictly enjoined, for the fish in “Loch-Lily” were
notoriously shy of the human voice, so she sought
out the tiny growths of the moist locality, sketched
some, but oftener sat in restful, dreamy repose,
seeing the tender leaves flutter in the languid breeze
like the half-formed, palpitant hopes which some-
times stirred her heart with indefinite desire and

pleasure.

In her brief acquaintance with the locality, it had
meant much more than a botanical study or resort
for angling with its pleasures; or than as a realm
dedicated to the goddess Flora. Each year since
her infancy the place had held a different seeming in
its mysterious silences; for it had ever been that
there her fruitful imagination could take unto itself
irresponsible wings and float into regions not re-
stricted by periods of time, limitations of space or
the material difference of locality.

In her most youthful days it had been fairyland,
and tiny elves hid in the fern-banks in the daytime
and danced upon the spaces of emerald moss by
moonlight radiance. Tiny gnomes peopled the liquid
obscurity of the dimpling water, whose groves and
temples were canopied by the lilies and the tall
rushes, which grew thriftily in places not covered by
the encroaching nymphe,

Such fancies had had their passing with Kriss-

Kringle or Santa Claus, giving peace to adaptations

      
     
      
       
  
48 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

of the creations of other minds and the romantic ©

incidents of history to the wood-enhanced scenes.

Beacons had flashed upon the hill, and there j
shepherds had led their gentle sheep, seeking pasture —
and piping their flutes, when it was the heart of ©
Scotia, the landscape of its pastoral episodes, and ~
the scenes of its warring feuds; there, then, battles —

had been fought and castles besieged, clans anni-

hilated ; Mary, Queen of Scots, had held court there ge
and rode in quest of the displeasing Gordons. The
heroes of the Waverley Novels had also lived the
most exciting phases of their thrilling romances in

that vicinity.
In one fascinating period, “Loch-Lily” had been

“Loch-Katrine,” and her own white boat, christened —

anew each succeeding Spring, when it received its

annual coat of white paint, was the famous skiff that —
bore “Ellen” and the “Knight of Snowden,” to the —

Highland lodge of the exiled Douglas; and the un- |

suspecting pigs and calves and the browsing sheep

and swine figured as wild beasts and animals daring
the skill and valor of betartaned huntsmen, and as
lithe buck and roe, hiding in the leafy coverts of

vine and bracken. r)

Its most innocent domain was filled with storied’

action and the happenings of ancestral legends, it
had lent itself so facilely to her imagery of the

knowledge she had been industriously acquiring
throughout her recent childhood, it so satisfied her —
roving thoughts with its remoteness and seclusion
from the strenuous, every-day life of human en-

deavor.

Its most thrilling seeming had been when it was

ere mt a: i itt tT
- ye os specials cease easel ye ee or é - ae a: oat ae
- re ern eh Le Le yg cia
Ahk ing RISE. SRE et eg ec art Ras
Mn Ser ghar ee

   

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 49

a realm of magic, the abode of deified Nature, as
portrayed in the mythological treatises she had been
permitted to study; then Fauns and Satyrs, Dryads,
Naiads, aye! all the sylvan gods and goddesses had
haunted the green shadows and—‘“wove their spells,
where hung sweet lily-bells’”—and birds flung trill-
ing melody to seduce the hearts of wood-nymphs
and water-sprites when they held revelling courts
attended by the children of the gods, solely.

Latterly, it had evoked day-dreams ; misty, specu-
lative visions of a veiled future; and embryo ambi-
tions had superseded the impractical thrall of fancies
which had so enriched her lonely childhood that had
known no playfellows but Jamie and Ezeke, both
much younger than herself, and as much without
her inward life as the kittens, the calves and the
Pigeons ; thus she stood alone, her own self, with no
alloy of ulterior association mingling with her stan-
dards of thought attained by rigidly circumscribed
instruction and the normal conception of a sensitive
soul in its most transitory stage.

She had become enamored with the joys of intel-
lectual attainment and had experienced the thrill of
creative labor¥ the satisfaction of achievement. To
acquaint herself thoroughly with the texts of her
studies, to give skillful interpretation to an intricate
musical composition, to portray with idealistic touch
4 scene upon cardboard, to know how Iphogenia did
the clear starching, and how Dicey contrived the
many tempting dishes were real pleasures and of
absorbing interest, each in their allotted season of
the happy hours.

As the afternoon waned, she had tired of the re-

      
     
      
       
     
   
 
      
   
 
     
      
      
      
      
            
       
      
      
 
       
    
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 

50

 

 

Fre RIO y

straint of the quietude an
sequent dreamin

panied by the re
whcih led deep into
familiar stretches of

region of the gods, the wood-nymphs, and Nature’s _
secluded, unhampered domain

ness. The child shut up i
week and then repressed in
So she assented in her

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

the meandering creek; into the

», aS she stood by Jean, carrying her
sketch-book and pencils. She pleaded

n the schoolroom all the

gling imposed and the con-
g, and had wandered away, accom-
stless children, adown the dim trail,

unfrequented woods and un-_

in a subdued
felt rebuked for selfish- _

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 51

untidiness and reckless absorption in an inglorious
?
Be 2 mirth was gleeful, as they each manifested a
sudden interest in their personal appearance. us
“Never mind, my dearies, SO long as oy ge a =
joying yourselves. The considerations of the 7
are of minor importance to a really good pie y
own hands are soiled beyond recognition an 63
unseen countenance may be in any pibasig 8 u
shall not worry in the least! When I return, | s +
fetch a whole boat-load of lilies to decorate the
house for the Sabbath. I hope the fish will nee
in a monent, come back to escape me over here Ae
She nodded gaily, and with hurried strokes backe
the boat quite to the opposite shore. There rst
the rushes and the lily-pads, the star-like, white an
carmine-tinted, waxen blossoms, she moored the
boat to a stout rush-stalk and began a sketch con-
ceived while threading the woods and reflecting
upon former fancies.
She was not so much engaged but she noted rt
teasing humor the happenings on the bank. hog ie
the sun sank behind the western hill, rearing loitily
above the land and water-locked dell, a Pescara
shadow gloomed the water, a refulgence from t ,
sunlight slanting upon the tree-tops far above, a
the fish seemed ravenous since the white light ha
forsaken their retreat; and excitement and disaster
prevailed on land.

Kathy, Jr. in unskilled endeavor to land a min-
now, hooked firmly and tenaciously Dicey’s red “7%
turban, worn in honor of the gala occasion ; ae :
unbonneted Mary Graham, and afterward attac e

 
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 53

“And there may not be another eel in a mile of
this place,” Sandy amended, intently absorbed in the
uncertain sport.

Ruth sighed but urged them no farther. Sandy
landed a plump perch and a tense silence followed.
Ruth sat motionless ; she had completed the outlining
of her sketch but inspiration had ceased with the
appearance of the monster which had shocked her
idealistic conception of the locality, and she could
not gather lilies and ruffle the placid water so essen-
tial for successful angling in Loch-Lily.

The light waned in its illuminating diffusiveness ;
the shadows deepened and the water darkened until
its depths seemed immense and obscurely mysteri-
ous; the bird notes were solemn though musical calls
for vesper repose. She lost sense of time and for-
got her companions, even the eel which had so
startled her. She sat silhouetted against a back-
ground of water rushes and the wooded hillside,
rearing precipitously beyond the sioping bank laved
by the water and swept by lily-pads, undulating on a
liquid bosom. She was not aware of the beauty of
her graceful pose in the emerald shadows, pervaded
with an amber radiance reflected from a sky shot
with slanting rays from a blazing sun, then far down
behind the western hill; a golden-haired, white-
tobed Naiad, with vailed eyes drooping in careless
fashion, her duplicated position in the white boat,
the name “Ruth” flashing in golden letters evenly
with the water, which reproduced it all literally, in
Inverted reflection.

Thus Donald and Edwin Phillips discovered her
as they emerged from the screening shrubs flanking

 
 

_ The scene the o
. : I
margin of the desing

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 55

Donald laughed a hearty, unrestrained peal of
acute mirth. Birds fled precipitately ; echoes of his
mirth called mockingly from caverned hills; the
group on the bank were startled and aroused to a
Perception of his presence, and the spell of beauty,
of sentiment, was dissipated as he led his companion
to Jean and introduced him as a guest of her famous
home.

Jean was very much impressed with the neatly
groomed, handsome young stranger. She loved
beauty and was thrilled with the pleasure of meeting
Such a charming specimen of youthful manhood.
She lost interest in the fish and transferred her at-
tention to her guest. “Come, Ruth,” she cried, in a
happy effusiveness, “it is time we were going home,
I am sure.”

“Certainly, Auntie,” Ruth responded with hidden
amusement, and she fell to gathering lilies with the
energy of a long-delayed impulse, gathering a full
harvest of the tempting blossoms, with their lengthy,
rubber-like stems, which attested standard purity.

Donald’s companion she accepted without com-
ment, even in thought. His coming to Kissic-Dale
seemed a natural sequence to events in the recent

Past; and they were accustomed to entertaining the

Strangers who rarely invaded the neighborhood. She
recalled her memory of the driver of a pretty horse
who had, at intervals, appeared at the school to
carry his young cousins home. Once, during the
Tainy days of the previous week, he had been,
momentarily, something more, when she had left the
Schoolroom to enter her waiting carriage, and he
had swept into view from the rain-drenched, cloud-
tai “ ~ of
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ug the eel, which still squirmed
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f the genus Anquiller
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A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 57

blossom and was propelling it toward the landing ;
her eyes beseeched Donald.

“Hide it, please, Donald, oh, please do, for poor
little Ruth!” she begged in a guarded tone of tense
entreaty. She rested the oars and waited anxiously.

Donald gathered a leafy bough and thus shielding
his hands he caught the eel and disappeared with it
down the trail following the water. A splash a
moment later proclaimed that the tortured creature
had regained its life-giving element. Donald re-
turned and hastened to assist Ruth as her boat

touched the stone pier.
“Hail, Lady of the Lake! May James FitzJames

—er—er—ah * he paused for grandiloquent ex-
pression, and then, with an air of discreetness, Te-
sumed in quite another tone, “I will take care of
your lilies. Go meet my friend. ‘.

Ruth leaped ashore, her arms laden with the
treasures she was guarding too carefully to trust to
his ignorance of a lily’s fragility. As he was aio’
ing the chain to the staple used to moor the little
craft, Jean, marshalling her crowd, headed the pro-
cession wending homeward.

At the white turnstile which gave egress from the
woods, Edwin Phillips observed Ruth loitering 1n
the rear of the straggling procession as she came out
of the semi-gloom beneath the trees, a smile linger-
ing on her lips, her eyes pensive and serene, em-
bracing the splendor of the glowing sunset devotion-
ally: her hair shining as a drapery of gold, golden
tendrils caressing her thoughtful, white brow, the
dark veil of lashes lifted from the spiritual orbs they
were wont to cast in mystic shadow. She was not

 
out their supreme
- Just now I shall merely

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 59

really, apart from any selfish motive, felt a sincere
liking for the clear-eyed, cultured young Scotchman,
and the affinity deepened with the prospect of gain-
ing an introduction to Ruth and Kissic-Dale. In the
Same grateful spirit he was cultivating Jean’s liking
and thus attaining the vantage point of intimacy in
the family circle.

Conditions are the fostering elements of a great
and absorbing passion; and not one other is so in-
tense and wholesome as living near to Nature’s
heart. Mankind, as represented in society, 1s a
disillusionist, who ruthlessly sweeps away the ten-
derest and most potential emotions of the human
heart, leaving it callous and insensible to the
Sweetest, most divinely implanted instincts of the
soul unto which, alone, is accorded the joys of an
unalloyed passion wholly unknown to the worldly
and aspiring. So fate had suddenly controlled the
heart of Edwin Phillips. His regenerated percep-
ions thrilled sensitively to the winds sweeping the
Shrilling harps of the singing pines; to the flashing
radiance of jewelled sunlight; to the vesper light
and the matin glitter of the scintillating stars; to
babbling water and caressing breezes, whose 1n-
fluence reigned supreme in the cloistered stillness
and cathedral dignity of the forest, and induced
meditation and reflection, and a heed to the great
primal need of the soul.

He was then so en rapport with the peaceful scene,
he viewed the white-walled dairy, screened by
drooping willow branches, and the overflowing
fountain cradled in a white stone basin and hedged
with limpid ferns and trailing mosses, in the light

 
all ite Ricca Sete cle Re a) eet 4
apie ed a *

ta

ee 2.

e det

when Jean
a filmy white dress,

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 61

Our gates, who has been accustomed to the conven-
tions of gentle people. If we are in the backwoods,
we need not be rustics in our dress and behavior ;
and in society it is the appearance that denotes the
Standard of one’s position.”

“But Auntie, I have outgrown that dress. Had
you forgotten ?”

“Yes, but last week I made alterations that you

Might be able to wear it while waiting for the

dresses Mrs. Barnard is having made for you. Put
It on, please, and arrange your hair more formally
by the time I also have changed my dress.” Then
Jean left the room hurriedly, Ruth regarding her
with a quizzical expression.

When Jean returned after a brief absence, Ruth
Was wearing the dress and was busily folding an
azure ribbon about her slender waist, as she sang in
her clear, young voice, “Oh, Fair Dove,” a song
Popular with Jean and Mrs. Barnard, her former
SOverness, for a brief season:

“Oh, fair dove! Oh, fond dove!
Oh, dove with the white, white breast!
Leave me alone as I make my moan,
And my heart seeks peace and rest.”

She sang unconsciously, a fond memory of her
Pets dimly influencing the trend of her musings.
The note of tragedy portrayed in minor chords and
cadences, the wistful and despairing suggestion of

the strangely weird ballad, jarred upon Jean’s happy
mood.

 
EW lth » .: *
Piri. we et Sap :
4 a Ji 8 ior: 2 ee ee
Me RG ee, Pe “ ihe a 4 ee

tg
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bs * x

ai]
2%,

 

  

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 63

tk : a The incense of roses and lilies floated mee
.-- “HOw, dearie, [| _ the wings of the eventide zephyrs, the valley repose
answerer] § until you mentioned ee peter a eh In the violet shadows of approaching twilight, a
“°C; apologetically, ° | oie moon posed serenely over the purpling, pine-
INz-nez and -.., Clad hills far to the eastward. sie
confi > then nihustet the coe “Mr. Phillips,” Jean said, dimpling and smiling,
aaah ned her yellow, fluffy hair and patted the ilk €nthused with the pleasure of showing her most
sf into gracefy] undulations. . smxen loved treasure, “I want you to know our bairnie, our

She nodded a li ”
Pproval and said: “ -_: 9 ‘ittle Ruth!
as she led th said: “Come, bairnie, er
ing docilely ha a the veranda, Ruth follow- Edwin Phillips arose and bent his head low, with

| distant courtesy. His manner posed Ruth upon a
; eee > Pedestal of womanly remoteness and seclusiveness,
» Step by step, she had hace Sere _ and repelled the suggestion of artless intimacy inti-
ae and knowledge “a | Mated by Jean’s mode of presentation. Not as a
ning to the home, in social behavior Child could he meet and establish an acquaintance
up the colonnaded veranda was but With the queenly, slender girl, who had so enthralled
ne Imposed by her accruing rote of his mind and heart and swayed his soul with pas-
it was more forma] Sion’s uttermost enchantment.
sph map ncepeenie ec Ruth’s drooping eyes filled with nervous aie
» ©xcept the annual ¢ , Which blurred her vision, a burning blush sprea
leith sores : Tl ee at from throat to brow, as Edwin withdrew his
a mo : ; 5 :

of her fair hair wane yea: se : ryote 1 cherie home, Mrs. MacEarchan
Be rse i i ; ; . .
2 T have been admiring the view and your staal oo
Occasion. At the Said, in his suave, gentle voice, as he indicated the
d and his er all se st Scene in question by a wave of his hand, which held
awaited them, and supper. ~ an unlighted cigar. Apparently, he had forgotten
in the wake of Jean’s rustlin Ruth and had centered his mind upon the landscape ;

4S Panic assailed her mind She and Ruth moved over to where Donald sat, con-
'S critical regard or Fetnie’s tained and silent, and found a seat beside him.
Timid with uncomfortable sensations, she slipped
her hand into his with confiding appeal for comfort
and companionship.

 

  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
    
 

Tope > Angers fluttered like a frightened
bird in Donald’s listless clasp until he resolutely

t, and said in his most
fferent voice: “Shall I have to
aytime on Monday, Ruth? Have

Played taste and skiil in arranging
the sumptuously sg : Its glittering ma-
1 ¢S enhanced by dainty lace doilies,
and adorned with real cut glass and silver, and bowls

Edwin Phillips’

.-» 4pparently, but every move-
ment and expression of Ruth was garnered, inci-

so harmonious] into the envir-
Onment of her hom 4

‘ €; into the details of the artis-
tically embellished homestead and the gentle refine-

t household; into the roseate

   

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 65

tall candelabra and the rose-scented atmosphere of
the place; and she was the fairest object of all the
flower-decked domain. ;

She was such an unmitigated surprise, encoun-
tered so unexpectedly in those distant forests of pine
and sand! He thrilled with silent exultation in that
he had found her thus, in her youthful beauty and
innocence, and as securely sheltered as the pres
and jessamine adorning the placid bosom of the
forest. i

He recalled the story of “The Sleeping Hoorn
Of which he was enamored in his more callow Ate
and found in it an analogy to his discovery of Ruth.
The forgotten castle, where the princess slept, bie
deep in the heart of a wood, and in the primeva
woods he had found Ruth. How alien she had ap-
Peared to the life he had known out in the forest;
but all incongruousness vanished when he had en-
tered the gates which shut in Kissic-Dale. The —
valley, the bridge-spanned brook, the groves a
Orchard, the leafy, vine-tendrilled woodland sec =
ing “Loch-Lily,” the artistic grounds encircling “2
imposing mansion with its wide verandas, sage
Colonnaded, and the life it sheltered, were a
environment for her grace and loveliness. oie.

The touch of age portrayed in every one o , os
details were “hall-marks” of the lineage an oa
fluence suited to the prediction of a final ideal in
blood and heritage of charm; truly, she was ~
Princess also by the right of her perfect ae
inheritance of fair Kissic-Dale, that was more -
2 castle in the woods; it was a home ee i
Teigned as a supreme idol. He was charmed wi

        
        

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T, picturesqy
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Plaidie, the plum
lets touching hj

 

 

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 67

€nvironment, he felt as if glimpsing one when he
Slanced at his reflection in the huge mirror over-
topping the marble mantel.

Finally, Donald arose and went in search of Ruth.
He found her on the veranda, bathed in a silvery
Shaft of moonlight, which poured through a cleft in
a bank of tall ferns and palms. The fragrant gloom
of the dewy night had enamored her, and she started
violently as he approached.

“It is like a funeral in the parlor, Ruth; come in
and play for us,” he said, persuasively. Ruth
Smiled, but remained seated.

“Oh, do come!” he insisted more entreatingly.

“I had rather not, Donald,” she answered,
€vasively. “Aunt Jean will play for you.”

“No, you must come,” he persisted. ‘Phillips will
appreciate it so much.”

She arose then, and placed her hand upon his arm
to impress the objection she was about to confide
to him. |

“Tell me truly, Donald, do you think I am
Capable of amusing or entertaining anyone who has
Seen and heard as much as Mr. Phillips, who has
Spent his life in the gay world of men and women,
While I have known only the forest and a few
friends who live most sedately ?”

Donald laughed discreditingly and seized her hand
to lead her into the parlor. She held back firmly.

“You know I am ignorant, Donald, and have no
More experience of the world than if I had been
reared in a convent; you said that to Aunt Jean only
last evening; so please excuse me, and I will go to
My room like a sensible child, and leave the enter-

   

    
 

    
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

68 A
DAUGHTER oF THE HIGHLANDERS

tainment of

 

 

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 69

to the home circle, she was distressingly aware of
his furtive espionage and intense alertness, veiled by
an affable demeanor toward Jean.

Her cheeks burned and her pulses throbbed with
an unfamiliar embarrassment and acute conscious-
ness of his fascinating personality. When her fingers
evoked a prelude to one of Mendelssohn’s composi-
tions, she found composure in its exulting, uplifting
chords; and for an hour she played unweariedly.
She had been well trained in music, and she chose
the most ponderous in her repertoire of classical
Selections. The intricate and soul-inspiring cre-
ations of Listz, of Schuman, and other divinely
Inspired artists.

She was fatigued and listless when at last Donald
Permitted her to leave the instrument. She escaped
to the veranda and bathed her burning cheeks in the
Cool foliage of the potted plants yet limpid from
their vesper sprinkling.

From that retreat, she heard Jean at the piano and

/onald piping his wild airs on the flute. An ominous
Silence was broken by Jean’s experimenting dancing
measures; and Donald appeared in the doorway,
Searching the shadows to find her. He called im-
Peratively: ‘““You are wanted in the parlor, Ruth!’
and retreated ere she could reply.

As she entered the room, in response to his sum-
mons, he seized her hand and his feet began marking
time with the music, which throbbed rhythmic meas-
ures to set his feet twinkling merrily.

Ruth tried to resist dancing with him and her eyes
Sought Jean appealingly ; but Jean enjoyed a romp
and the exuberant spirits of youth, Often in the

  
   
  

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 71

Sentiment and emotion, he sang “Annie Laurie,”
My Home Is in the Highlands, My Home Is Not
Here,” “We'd Better Bide Awee,” and “The Blue
Bells of Scotland.” Finally, in compliment to his
Suest, he sang “Ho, for Carolina,’ and “The Old
North State Forever.”

When he ceased to sing, Edwin declared the
hecessity of his taking leave, and Donald went in
Search of Tony, the stable boy, as Jean left the room
to prepare a hamper for Jennie and her children.

Ruth, leaning from the distant window, enjoying
the mystic spell of lunar light upon lawn and
Orchard, sat erect and tremulous as Edwin ap-
Proached her retreat and expressed his appreciation
Of the evening’s hospitality in complimentary
Phrases,

His pointedly seeking her, and the knowledge that
besides themselves the room was empty, dismayed
her, She had purposely screened herself with the
Window drapery, deprecating his glances, which
Puzzled and disturbed her so unusually. She sat
stiffly upright in her chair, the personification of
Prim reserve and formal dignity, as with downcast
yes she listened to his fluent phrases.

“We have been rather gay and boisterous, do you
Not think so?” she deprecated in her most sedate
Voice,

_ ‘Indeed, no,” he disclaimed with positive nega-
tive. “It has been a most perfect and delightful
evening.”

“Donald is so energetic and impulsive—at times,”
She explained with flaming cheeks, “but generally he
1S quite sober in his behavior. You have seen him in

ae

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A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 73

with Aunt Jean when she has gone to visit her
Archie’s people beyond the State and county line.
You might think the distance quite insignificant, but
to me it seemed great; a few times I have gone with
Uncle Angus to see my mother’s relatives. They,
too, live in another county, but those counties are
very much like this vicinity, all pines and sand and
cotton.”

He listened with keen interest and regarded her
With half-veiled eyes glowing with admiration.

“I should enjoy seeing a country where great
forests were like the woods down by ‘Loch-Lily,’”
She concluded, hardily.

The dreaded silence fell, ominously ; she breathed
Upon its turbulent repose, a tremulously gasped sigh
Of helplessness; she fluttered in ignominious defeat
IN conversational effort. She leaned upon the low
Window sill that the night breeze might fan her with
its perfumed breath; she was so warm and uncom-
fortable. It toyed with her flowing hair and threw
a few of its golden strands upon his shoulders as he,
too, leaned forward and found interest in the land-
Scape swept with lunar radiance. i

“Some day you will see things you desire to view,
but you will not be more blessed or happier,” he
Prophesied ; and his tone was tinged with sadness.

In the silence she was incapable of ending other

tears than the limpid mist of nervousness were
Clamoring at the bulwark of her composure with

Strangling sensations. hdl
He bent his head low and smiled with infinite
Pathos, as his eyes probed deep into her heart and

LRAT LS ELIE HT

 
hh
i

74
A DAUGHTER OF THRE HIGHLANDERS

emotions,

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 75

It had been a charming

ay and a lovely evening, and her emotions were un-
Usually elate and pleasant.

Donald found thorns bristling his pillow and rest

a farce mocked by restlessness. His important

future and illimitable ambitions afforded no food for

his turbulent reveries as the night rolled ponderously

its dragging cycle.

CHAPTER VII.

a
Kissic-DaLr’s RosES—WHERE THE BROOK AND
River Mret—DonNa.cp’s DEPARTURE.

“I was in the lane
On a day when Love came by,
And was fain
To elude him, but the pain
Of his pleadings made me sigh.
Who is he?
When I met him I was free,

Now I tremble, all afraid. . . .”
—Selected.

Saturday afternoon, a week later than the date of
/€an’s May-day outing, the month stood crowned as
if for an annual festival in reverence to the goddess

Ora,” whose flower-petalled sandals must press
full-blown blossoms.

At Kissic-Dale, roses were blooming in extrava-
gant profusion. They embowered trellises, climbed
the trees, wreathed the fences and covered great,

 
From the windows of
d expanse of broad
on as a “garden 6f

and the shade
» they met the vis;

 

 

 

  

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 77

from the redolent surroundings.

Jean came out into the hall and glanced up the
broad stairway. “Donald, will you not came down
for a moment 2” she called. E

Donald responded by descending the stairway, his
Stay eyes clouded with introspective thought.

Jean rebuked his absent-minded acquiescence, his
Mechanical obedience and haste. |

Studying at mid-day in this warm, enervating
Weather, Donald ?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a deprecatory smile.
‘Better that than to be asleep. The somnolence of
the day demands something to keep one awake, do
you not think so?” Me i

“And I have disturbed you for such a vain thing,
Pethaps,” Jean said, leading the way into the ag ae

“Oh, that is all right!” he Aas a gene e
ate going fishing anyway, are we not!

“Whee it is sadid see: but I—er—I wished to
Cousult you in regard to Ruth’s new dresses,” Jean
€xplained.

“Ruth’s dresses?” he queried, bashfully. ;

“Yes,” Jean farther explained, as she entered the
Parlor. “It is the box of dresses that came ig
day, J employed Mrs. Barnard to select them tor
her. You know her taste is good, generally, eat
but behold the selection!” Jean spread her han :

Tuefully. “I sent her Ruth’s latest photograph an
her exact measure; I also mentioned Ruth’s extraor-

dinary growth the past year, for I was afraid she

‘

      

 
 

79

“Oh, Donald, behold me!” she Be ity to i ye
sumed quiver in her tones. She sp pvtich scanning

was too sincere not to enlist his in tragically, her eyes danced gleefully d J ofoundly.

y peal of laughter tha her through polished lenses, sighed p inkclike focin

' And Donald beheld, silently , her hich swept the

yed in a diaphanous raiment hie elaborate

t with cascades of airy flounces. ddd 4 ecilhe

“orsage and lace-befrilled sleeves, oi § werent snted
; Of festive or rial Bpurareaee heg! ; re then in

S €xtraordinary appearance astonishec the height and litheness of her slender gu

into an uncomfortable relation to hi

: iar to her
> the ‘Tansitory stage of rapid growth, peculiar

years,
» Never again would the Her

S-
shining hair done a la mode Psyche, also a
rt to and from the white schoolhous f Sist

In the eastern forest -

ished
€d the delusion of stateliness = ay rants
Onald in greater degree than the cos iui
fguring influence, and he gloomed speec
th age
Sosy att not give me some ideas ef Micah ee
the Management of a train?” she gh ior haeeten
 Saily. “Tt is a mystery to abcde ight of ma-
about with them such an ungainly pete . reening
| terial.” She moved her feet carr ie courtly
| ber head to note the undulations o
train, iving,
ur am really afraid, Auntie, I shall be a living

sed to
actical illustration of the gpd ics fare,
in the mantel mirror. She Write in my copy-books; you re
faced herself With

; times I
@ Preening pose, then turned and ‘Pride goes before a fall.’ Oh, how cunt that
took a peep over her shoulder. She stepped forward have written that sentence, never
€xperimentally ; a bill

ral
~ome day I should be an object lesson for the mo
aused in statuesque dismay, it tay ht so persistently.” Pek
: Jean scsi ignored her gay ‘a regiate PS 5
will certainly have to be more careful in y

 

  
 

 

= Tee oe be oe 4
dale ios Eh Bd, .

 
  

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 81

'N culture and for the pleasure and uplifting of the
Ome ; here at least we all will admire your grandeur

and bask in its refulgence.”

. She bent her spectacled gaze upon the dress. “It

'S French organdy, a very beautiful material, but

very fragile,” she concluded critically.

“Dear Auntie,” Ruth said, in her gentlest, most
; “aressing manner, “I appreciate the nice things im-
Mensely, although they must be rather premature for
4 girl like me, are they not, dearie? I shall feel that
I am aping grown-up people, but you will under-
Stand, and I will explain to Mama’s people.” She
smiled encouragingly; the dresses had been a real
Shock to their Puritanical and conservative way of
regarding dress.

On the way to Loch-Lily, where Donald was to
Statify an expressed desire to angle before leaving
Kissic-Dale, he said to Jean, keeping his eyes strictly
Upon the distance:

“Let Ruth go with me to Commencement? There
she will have full opportunity to wear her dresses,
and I can arrange the trip nicely. Mrs. Gorman, the
Wife of my favorite professor, would be delighted
tOsreceive Ruth and chaperon her to the different
functions, where she would be immensely admired,

am sure,”

The color deepened painfully on his fair counten-
ance as he queried: “Do you realize that she is ex-
‘remely beautiful and is wasting her charms on
desert air ?”

“At times I do, Donald,” Jean replied, as if she
regretted the dower of charms bestowed upon her
beloved charge. “And because she is so innocent of

    
    
    
 

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AE PRE Ses OS
’ 7 Sa

  
   
   
 
 

 
 
   
 
   
      
     
   
 
    
   
   
   
    
      
 
    
   
   
 
     
    
   
 
    
  

83
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

da to

' Which so charmed her she ran sesh mean Dicey was
as I appreciate your kind Dicey, who was baking in the os
| Properly amazed and Se oe mighty
» Sratefully. ) “Shore, it is a purty thing, bu tep right on de
, Donal long? Seems like aac tes aus : it, sighs.
be Carpet,” she commented with RI the slightest
erself. As it is, though ¢ Ruth laughed merrily, not wba remarks. She
Nception of the meaning of Dicey fee i

; it was
: mips spe in rr oan
not said a word relative to Ruth’s age; a sheer organdy, with a ne doves and she had
but she answered meekly, feeling the friendly re ‘Pangled with large pinkis b encircling her waist
*, Seventeen next October, Oh, when dic enhanced its quaint loveliness nice a butterfly bow
she attain all those years? It With a broad pink sash and faste “ her hair. She
: Of pink ribbon in the bright cg vt cheeks and
g regretfully and followed Donald noted the physical details o rec iar from the
through the turnstie. I *. Purplish eyes and the r ich ni folded each into a
so far as to be invisible i 8olden sheen of her hair, hich leased her artistic
- Jean quickened her steps, but Donalc Musing scheme of color whic visible in her entire

Walked delj taste in that no harsh note was v

; ; appearance.
will not go!” Jean declared, with <
note of triumph.

: in the new finery
hausted interest in t 4 in
oe poor _, Mrs. eee aping 5 Ee ess
“You should Induce her to do so,” he insisted, the box. She had declined the inp that in abiding
sternly, . that especial purpose, never divining
“Yes, but not this year, Donald. Tt seems that I]
Could not bear the

ore
at home she had wounded ee cae oe by
Parting just now. She is all I than an hour she explored the eloq bits of senti-

h 9s the choicest

ave, you know. Sight and sound, gleaning
with a frown of Ment and melody. d sat in the window
> Moodily reticent, his lips She left the piano finally, ye ssly viewing with
Pressed firmly, Pathetical] °pening upon the veranda, listle f y iliar splendor
4ppreciative but calm vision pi “the roses had
et thing in colored organdy, of Summer’s magnificence ;

 

 
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 85

Songster, the embodiment of the joy and enchant-

Ment of the beauteous Summer day!”
But was it the same? “There are no birds in last

' year’s nest,” Jean had written, also, in her copy-
' books. It sang so much as he had done, but would
he sing those same fresh, vibrant notes two seasons
In succession? Had he weathered storms and stress
Of existence to return in all his pristine joyousness?
What a pean of praise and alleluia of thanksgiving
had been his salutation of blossom and sunshine, of
warmth and fragrance, which charmed for a moment
1S exuberant fancy!

Ruth’s fancy soon turned again to musical meas-
ures, and, resuming her seat at the piano, she played
Hungarian dances and tripping melodies as blithely
a sthe mocking-bird had sung in the magnolia.

Someone hailed her at the open window. She
Slanced over her shoulder a startled inquiry into
the sound of a voice and met the smiling greeting of
Edwin Phillips.

“Did I frighten you? I am sorry, but I could
attract no attention otherwise.”

She arose, diffident and blushing, and greeted him
with evident constraint.

“I called to bid Mr. MacKethan farewell. He
leaves to-morrow, does he not?” he explained, stand-
we aloof from the window, bare-headed and hand-

Ome, ,

“Yes, in the morning,” she replied in a lowered
Voice,-denoting her timidity. She resumed her seat
On the piano stool; she dared not move to any other
Position. She could laugh and pose in trailing gar-
Ments and display the mature arrangement of her

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A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 87

seemed to her guileless intuition a blasphemous sac-
rilege.

“Suppose we have some music or go out among
the roses?” he requested finally, when her constraint
and evident discomfort could no longer be hidden

by their desultory remarks.

She drooped her eyes secretively, her dark lashes
Sweeping her scorching cheeks. The climax of her
Woes had fallen mercilessly upon her. e
__ “What is troubling you?” he queried solicitously.
‘Had you rather that I did not wait for Mac-
Kethan ?” :

“Oh, no! You must wait! He would be so dis-
appointed. I—I—will show you the roses if you
will let me explain. Do you observe that I do not
appear natural? Would you believe that I am wear-
Ing my own dress?” she appealed, desperately. He
smiled, as if some hidden knowledge elated him.

“I refuse to commit myself upon the subject

farther than to say I think you very charming, and _

all that one could desire in loveliness and appear-
ance,”

“You do not say that in sincerity, for you know
Tama fright and am childishly aping a grown-up
Person,” she said reproachfully. He bore the re-
Proach so meekly she was touched with a sudden re-
Pentance.

_“T must explain,” she persisted, “why I look so
ridiculous.”

“Weill,” he said, with an air of repressed amuse-
Ment; and she related the true story of the box of
much-needed dresses which had proven so discon-
Certing to Jean. Her eyes sparkled with tears of
nervousness. |

Pe is Nipens c Sak eee

ei
reas

SAKE

SQeeTs
re
Ps,
 

 

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 89

“Aunt Jean prizes this spot more than even her
tose garden or any other place on the lawn. This iS
her Scotland, her ‘ain countrie.’ This little pine
came direct from Scotland, from the Highlands, in
the lifetime of her own grandfather, and the broom,
too, and the heather.” She stroked the pine and
then the broom, as she mentioned their endearing
Value.

“Do you know anything of Scotland? We are
__ Scotch, as you may know, and we love that country
_ dearly. It is rather cold there, I infer, for they
planted this maple to screen the pine and broom
from the midsummer sun. Soon the broom will be
in bloom, bearing great spikes of yellow blossoms.
You might think them ugly, but to us they are
always beautiful, because they grow upon the
Scottish moors. Do you understand ?”

He bowed affirmatively, happy to listen, when at
last she had been induced to chatter. In the rose
garden she was again eloquent in commending an
old sun-dial and a dwarfish rose-tree, also said to
have been imported from Scotland.

He was so enthused with the beauty and the fra-
grance of the luscious roses, he induced her to tarry
indefinitely. They loitered beneath the great shelter-
Ing wings of a tall magnolia and viewed the western
landscape, which included the dove-cote, the vine-
yard, and the forest-crowned hill, whose declivity
Was covered with oak, hickory and maple, and its
Crest with tall, waving pines, whose green-plumed
Polls glistened as they braved the full glare of the
Westerning sun. As their acquaintance progressed,
She was deeply impressed with his gentleness and
val , hana ~
cme. it II OE I NE t+ and . ——
ne: atest nten vee
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OR le

gallant A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 91
eantry 5 peculia

entangled a rose eae when he car efully dis- “See! There comes the absent ones!” Ruth ex-
tenacious th Y which had clutched with

Claimed presently. “They seem to be fatigued.

‘Al neing of her un- Perhaps they had no luck, after their heroic courage
SO he care in going down there this warm afternoon.” ae
aloof from the Mn Tas 80. daintily and held Rises the way from the spring and the vicinity
war m breath would tar Magnolia blossoms that a below it came Jean and Donald, followed by Mary
©OnSscious of an increas ish irrep arably. She was Graham and the maid. The latter bore spoils to
uplifting pleasure in his TS .2dmiration, and felt an Prove that the venture had not been in vain. They
as flowers give a refined i See Which enhanced life, | approached, smiling upon the handsome couple Gpos
di They Teturned to the : Btls landscape. the broad steps, and Edwin ran down to assist Jean’s
Ipping into ¢ Ous

ascent; but she sank upon the lowest step and

f Motioned him to a seat beside her. ite
test the fishin Party thane. is oe veranda, to wait Dp, come sit with me, Donald,’ Ruth faye _
> lhe “ec, to return, R itating whether to enter by
fully, oe er hat and leaned a uth Onald stood aloof, hesitating

that route or by a more indirect way to the comfort
emselves on the broad Of the veranda. He obediently did as she requested ;

i his lips were smiling, but the shadow of a frown
very perfect, the Ege ks upon the Weather go loomed his expression.
White semp] SO lovely, and the green and

“You would have been de trop down there; Aunt

; -. It was so Jean h habit of monopolizing Mr. Phillips, you
and happy in that Edenic en- kn "he he i

Ow. He has been waiting a long time, and once

by Janguor ous Brekscs” ue sky, the senses lulled he spoke of going without seeing you, but he has

T have seen flowers al] ae Waited to bid you goodby. It is so sad you are

Many pleasant Places, } ; my life and have known 80ing away! How much we shall miss you, espe-

3 ome as Kissic-Dale atte ra ah or such Cially Aunt Jean, who loves company “es ea i

suence durj : dinrmed, breakin Of us. inning to realize that we are
Serious 1g which he had been thoy § a us. [I am just beginning

ghtful and to give you up. It will be very lonely here without
you, Donald.”

Nown and oy, urely, but to me, who The frown deepened on Donald’s ip but i
* bq . se “ * 7 nce,
joined amiably. He. Pleasant Said lightly: “You will survive my abse

- He fell silent doubt,” and his eyes fell upon the dark, sleek head
rer baie to the charm of Wit is heart acutely of Edwin Phillips exchanging amenities with Jean.
beauty of its youthfy] bic domain and Later he followed his acquaintance to the gate and

 

  

Ries y

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PRINT SAE AIRS
Sear Sra

  
92 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

laid his arm affectionately about his shoulders in the
moment of parting; and he promised cordially to

deliver messages to any acquaintance of Phillips he
might chance to meet during the Commencement

season.

He departed from Kissic-Dale quite early the
next morning while the birds were chanting their
matin songs and the sun was sipping mists from the
hearts of the roses. ted in great state, amid
the openly expresse of the entire household.

David in his grandest raiment, frock coat and tall
beaver hat, was to drive him to a distant church,
where his mother, by pre-arrangement, would meet
him and convey him home. gazed backward

until . of the avenue hid from his clinging
vision Kuth, with streaming eyes, silhouetted against

the summer roses.

BOOK II.

SUMMER.

“So the blue, blue skies, who shall boast of them,
Though fair as day?
And the green, green grasses, make the most of them,

They will not stay.”
—Selected.

 
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 95

A full month had gone by since Donald had left
Kissic-Dale, and only the hardiest roses braved the
deepening intensity of the sun’s rays, impregnating
the subject earth with their voluptuous influence,
'Mpelling to fruition the tropical white lily, the
lotous honeysuckle and hothouse products which
had spent the winter under glass.

In such an ardent atmosphere, the most phleg-
Matic mind is influenced and life assumes a fuller
meaning; the emotions are quickened to the least
touch of sentiment and romance.

Ruth had, but a day or two previous, returned in
“ompany with her uncle, Angus Bethune, from a
tour of visits to her mother’s people. She had en-
JOyed the visit more than any previous one. Her
“Ousins lived on large plantations and were very
Pleasant and prosperous people living in good neigh-
borhoods, populated mostly with cultured Scotch,
who were very congenial with each other.

Allen MacRea had been a college mate and life-
long friend of Angus, and Jean, knowing that he
would be at Kissic-Dale to meet his friend, had in-
vited Edwin to supper and to spend the evening. She
had made a feast in their honor, and was thoroughly
“njoying having Ruth at home and guests that were
congenial.

Her friendship for Edwin Phillips had flourished
as the green bay-tree while Ruth was away; and she
had insisted that he should come over and meet
Angus and Allen MacRea. It was the first glimpse
Edwin had had of Ruth in several weeks, and the
Weeks of her absence had seemed months of loneli-

Ness and suspense.

at a a ae ee ee sf: :
Te eae WA ta NTE fireman etn, i Ee oe oe ae
Sat sae soa aM os <EReNaONR UAT ESS Sud Ria ees ae ~ > ;
Le eee Sede eatin ace ee leis :

 
=a

6 hae nas ” veda ye * “
= ~ - ad . =
Oh a lll a i th Oe, a Nit ian ale llama. Nai Rt iN at A ne li. lag et act tl Ne a A
: canes “a Bae é Crary ‘ ie. won 5 ome

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 97

Objects stood forth from the shroud of darkness,
Imly revealed as phantoms of the weird thrall of
night, aloof, unreal from their every-day appearance.

Soon a great red sphere arose boldly, from a misty
pth, and swung “like a rick on fire” above the

Orizon.

Aig x Pigeons cooed drowsily in the distant cote;
" ep bells tinkled in the remote fold; the mocking-
Irds trilled a slumberous serenade in the leafy
rchard; the foliage rustled in the strengthening
Zephyrs ; the forest glittered like a silver sea in shrill-
‘ng unrest as the glowing orb poised tentatively and
Stared at the sentient world stolidly from its seques-

back in antebellum da tered realm, expressing its importance as a matchless

a famous coll mechanism of Omnipotence.

ti uth viewed the miracle of its ascent with a sensi-
-'V€ conception of its celestial origin, its awe-inspir-
Mg grandeur and effulgence ; and in spirit she wor-
Shipped the power which had created it and the life
hy. world it irradidated with its supernal loveli-
S.
. surge of spirituality uprose in her heart to meet
'ts mysterious enchantment; that phase of her soul
Which had so impressed Jean in her childhood, when
She had discovered her lying in the clover, out in the
°rchard, where blue-beils shrilled their tiny notes
to her attentive ear as she lay dreaming of other
Spheres, her eyes searching the vaulted dome of the
Summer sky, where fleecy clouds sailed upon the

She was then incapable of interpreting.

 

a eR
ce Se eee aD eee ens — on ‘
eee ees Pn et eee a eee ry Joop: tem eer ee ee
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.

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at night was intense j
for light upon sublunary subjects,

“Standing with reluctant feet, where the brook

and river meet,” the mystery and the burden of the
miraculous transformation weighed upon her spirits,

in alternate pain and pleasure, in blissful welcome
and shrinking reluctance, She was but dimly con-
scious of the cause of her awakening to the fact that
time and circumstances were impelling her into the
ranks of those who are exposed to the love-tipped
darts of the lit ros. The idea frightened

ascination, which drew her

included Janet
ethune, an accomplished girl, just graduated, and

more interesting and wonderful, engaged to be mar-
ried the ensuing autumn. Her idyl of love and

O accept some of the elab-
by Mrs. Barnard, and in

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 99

daintily fashioned, exquisitely fitting sheer white
dresses, demi-trained and girlish, which revealed the
Slender height and willowy grace of Ruth’s youthful
form to perfection. That evening, at Kissic-Dale,
she wore one of those dresses and maintained a new
and interesting manner, the influence of ideas and
impressions attained during the extended visit.

Circumstances favored the full indulgence of her
personal inclinations and her mood of pensive seri-
ousness, for Allen MacRea and Angus Bethune were ~
absorbed in each other, and recollections of “Auld
lang syne,” and had early retired to the upper
veranda for uninterrupted converse in the company
of their pipes.

Mary Graham was a silent and respectful auditor
to the conversation Jean led with Edwin, and Ruth
was free to indulge in reverie that was assuming a
habit with her in those days, into which books and
study were not allowed to intrude. She was aroused
from her dreaming thoughts by Edwin, who came
leisurely up the veranda and found a seat where he
could command a view of her features.

“We are to have some music, but Mrs. Mac-
Earchan will play. I have managed that she should
do so and not impose the task upon you. The gen-
tlemen up stairs requested music, and her music will
please them more than yours; men at their age are
more sentimental than critical in their estimate of
melody.” |

Ruth listened with a dreamy attention not easily
seduced from the spell cast by the supreme moon-
rise of the cycle of twelve the year embraced.

“You had rather remain out here, had you not?”

 
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

indi

declared gently.
He was not

illumined her charms.

in their grateful ecstac

interested in the moon, save as it

His emotions were profound
» and he fell silent to realize
nt, while Ruth resumed her

Presence enhanced the
fied its

At intervals the
parlor intruded ;

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 101

at Sandy’s cottage foolishly baying at the moon ; and
far away in the distant wheat fields, whip-poor-wills
threshed their plaintive cries faintly as the efful-
Sence deepened, until the moon posed effusively, a
Slobe of intensely glowing, molten gold.

It poured level rays straight into Ruth’s heeding
yes ; it shimmered them upon her bright hair, her
Tound throat, and arms bare to their elbows, and
Over her white dress, impressing its mystic touch
on each detail with fairy magic; emphasizing her
faultless beauty and pensive sweetness of ex-
Pression.

The sorcerous quietude was finally broken when
Jean began the prelude to the long-delayed muSIC ;
then caressingly she evoked the chords of senti-
mental harmonies isolating them with a burst of
melody which pierced the heart with a revealing
ecstacy. 4

When Ruth at last resumed an attentive attitude
toward her companion, her eyes, dazed by moon-
beams, met his glance of ardent admiration, and she
Sat erect and assumed her forgotten dignity.

“Shall we go in now ?” she proposed, wistfully.

“No, please; I prefer the moonlight and your
Company. Nothing else can afford me such exquisite
Pleasure,” he demurred pleadingly.

“T think they will expect us,” she faltered, un-
Comfortably.

‘Please remain with me a while longer. I missed
you so much while you were away and I have had
So little opportunity of being with you. N ever until
then had time passed so tardily and drearily! Yet
I did not dare to hope that you would give a thought
to my loneliness or to myself, for that matter.

 
returned, with a gallant lament that deepened her
intangible sympathy. “T find it impossible to realize
any Joy in others monopolizing your thoughts and
society,” he asserted so gloomily, she essayed to lead
him from a subject so surprisingly burdened with a

seemingly persistent sadness by aloofly withdrawing
from conversation,

joyment. Jean was singing an old-time favorite
song. Sure of her audience, she sang with unwonted

mood; so bright, so deliciously freighted with the
breath of roses, magnolia and lily ; its voices so at-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 103

tuned to its mystic solitude; the cooing of pigeons,
the slumberous notes of the mocking-birds, the faint-
ing cries of the whip-poor-wills, the fairy-like charm
of a night in June. Its sorcerous spell enmeshed
Ruth’s heart, so sensitized with a previous spiritual
exaltation, in a blinding revelation of the ecstatic
joys of an awakening in Cupid’s rose-embowered
court, its atmosphere pulsing with all the resplendent
charm and enchantment haloing the dawn of the
birthday of Love.

She was tremulously awed in the presence of
something she did not comprehend; it was so dif-
ferent from an ordinary experience. The familiar
notes of the time-honored piano, the dear voices so
mirthful in the parlor, so magically translated into
an orchestra of seductive strains impelling her irre-
Sistibly into the labyrinthean mazes of a strange and
wonderful realm. His eyes had drawn hers with
Mesmeric force to meet his and read, not with
understanding, but with reluctant subjection to their
magnetism, the story of his besieging heart.

“I am afraid,” she confided with an ungovernable
impulse of the moment, and she shivered in a wave
of nervousness she had not the strength to subdue.
He smiled reassuringly and leaned that he might
still further enfold her in the thrall of his wooing
eyes. She drew away instinctively. “Why do vou
act sor It troubles me,” she faltered, gaspingly. her
extreme nervousness evinced in her difficult words.

He was rebuked, and sat erect, inhaling his sus-
Pended breathing deeply, but he did not trust him-
Self with speech; rather he lifted his gaze moodily
until it rested upon the distant forest, from which

 
é In its depths, he
» 8TEW jessamine and arbutus, and—the cloy-

Ozonic mucous of the Pines, which had decoyed

entanglements.

He felt as if Maude,
maze of society’

regenerated his soul.

The divine light of a supreme adoration flamed
upon Ruth as h

Fr consonant with the romantic

youth and to the callow man-
hood of Angus Bethune and Allen MacRea. A

pathos of memory, of blasted hopes and heart-break-
ing disappointmen ;

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 105

“Never, no, never,
Can I forget that night in June.”

the refrain burst forth, its volume argumented with
the basso of the men’s deep voices and the faint,
timid soprano of Mary Graham’s effort. He leaned
toward Ruth, his manner gentle, his voice defer-
ential.

“I love you, Ruth. You are so beautiful! I
Should not, but I am helpless. Will you forgive me ?”
_ There was a tremor in his voice and a sincerity
'n his tones that was convincing to her unsophisti-
Cated heart. His mood had enchained her interest
and subdued her timidity.

“What is the love you mention?” she queried,
solemnly, candidly curious, and seeking light for a
dense ignorance.

“Love is life, Ruth,” he whispered, tensely, with
“aressing intonation. “The only life of the soul!” he
Continued, speaking slowly as if the knowledge was
New-born in his own heart, “and love to me means
you, Ruth.”

“Me?” she cried in surprise and positive negative.

He bowed his head affirmatively, humbly.

“T do not understand you; I do not know any-
thing of a love such as you ascribe to me,” she re-
turned, drawing herself erect as the idea occurred to
her that Jean would not approve of her listening to
Such vehement and personal utterances.

“No, you do not understand,” he informed her
With serious conviction, as he absorbed each detail
Of the beauty that was seducing his soul from the
Path of rectitude and honor ; her clinging white dress

 
106 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

draping her slender form in sinuous folds, her
cheeks like the heart of a blushing rose, her eyes
like golden-tinged, purple pansies, her silken, golden
w-white purity of personality, aye, her
ce, the supreme note in her

charms which enslaved him, irrevocably.

Ruth entwined her fingers interlacingly, the visible
dismay and abashment in the thrall of
She could

watchful Mary Graham, |
and practical Uncle Angus.

“Will you not go into the parlor? I really think
I ought not to linger here any longer,” she said, dis-

spoken words, he was touched, and complied im-
mediately. “Certainly, for I shall be leaving directly,
but before I leave you, please assure me of your
forgiveness if I have offended you.”

“Offended me?” Ruth queried.

“Yes, for presuming to love you from the first
moment I knew you. Loving you has not been an
unalloyed happiness, but it has been the most won-

d and throbbing
pulses, also with a guilty sense of unconventional
behavior. “You will excuse me, please ; I—I really

do not know how to judge what you have been say-
ing. I am so—so surprised,” she faltered, her utter-
ance choked with tears of fright and nervous timid-

ity. She was so sincerely embarrassed, he hastened

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 107

his effort to leave the sorcerous scene, though he
Would fain have lingered in its enchantment in-
definitely.

“Well, au revoir,” he said, tenderly, his eyes
“aressing her bashful and disturbed countenance. “If
fate is kind I shall see you often and teach you to
regard me more kindly and with less fear of my
Presence, which has always so dismayed you. Shall
We go in together ?”

“No, please,” she entreated. He left her abruptly
and went directly to the parlor to complete his
adieus,

In the parlor he was greeted with a full quartette
Of song. With beaming countenances, Jean and
Mary, Angus and Allen, were singing the refrain of
‘Danube River,” whose sentiment had enthused
their hearts with memories which made them all
young again for the fleeting moment. He waited un-
Obtrusively near the door until the song was finished,
after many repetitions of the chorus, when he bade
fach one good night.

As he traversed the length of the veranda ‘as he
Was leaving, he discovered that Ruth had disap-
Peared. He plucked a branch of geranium foliage
Which her bright head had touched as she had leaned
against the column watching the moonrise, and
thrust it through a buttonhole of his coat.

The moon was nearing its zenith when he arrived
at the camp, but life still pulsed in the sordid hamlet
Of shanties, ivi
His horse neighed greetingly as he drove past the
long row of rude stables where the wagon mules
ate steadily and noisily. A banjo twanged merrily

 
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

3

noted revelry. Smoke, black and lurid, hovered
above the distilleries, which resembled a veritable
inferno where the fire is not quenched, be it daylight
or moonlight. The rat-a-tat of hammers in the
cooper’s shop sounded in vain tattoos to the laborers
of the night force. Smiths were shoeing mules
where a bellows, mounted like a cannon on a battery,
wheezed asthmatically. The aggregate of labor
which day and night wrought for the gold which was
to assure him position in society and the privilege
of leading to the altar Maude Endiston, whose
father’s wealth had rendered her so seemingly de-
sirable.

A boy from the night’s detail of helpers assumed
the care of his horse and buggy, and he was free to
enter his shanty where the servant who attended to
his comfort had placed his mail beside the lamp,
which was turned low, thriftily. There were several
letters, and he scanned their superscriptions with a

guilty shame in his heart. He did not find what he

so dreaded encountering that night, and he breathed
a profound sigh of relief in that no message from
beyond the pines rebuked his wayward affection. It
was in his mind to wish sincerely that his life could
be horizoned from its beginning to the uttermost of
its limit, with the camp and its work, with his horse
and—Kissic-Dale ; for

“How is it under our control
To love—or not to love.”

CHAPTER II.

Love’s TEASINGS—J ULY IN THE PINE-LANDS—THE
Motto oF ScoTLanp.

“ Come, Clarisse! Put by hay-rake!
The sun is hot enough to bake!
And those who keep to the fields to-day
Must scorch and shrivel like drying hay;
But where the blackberry patches lie,
Birches give shade and a brook runs by.”

—Selected.

_ It was a day in the last week of July; and July
In the pine-lands means the glare of Sahara, the heat
Of the tropics, so little is there of practical shading
to ward off the vertical sun-rays, to ameliorate the
dazzling reflection of the white sand and dissipate
the stifling radiation of the rifts of glistening pine
needles.

The prophecy of the morning indicated that that
day would not be different from its immediate
Predecessors, in whose torrid noons all nature had
Seemed to gasp and faint, in swooning impotence.

As he entered the cool domain of Kissic-Dale,
Edwin Phillips, in sheer relief, bared his head to the
emerald repose and tempting shadows of that oasis
in the deserts of bleak pine forests.

The embowered acres of terraced orchards, the

 
110 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

century’s growth of shade trees, pleasing features of
the breeze-swept valley bearing on its green bosom
the rippling waters of Holly Creek, willow-fringed
and sinuous, were peculiarly enhanced in their
promise of comfort, by their contrast to the shade-
less forest and bare reaches of sand crystals which
burned the feet through solid leather where pines
posed as magnets to concentrate the ferocious in-
tensity of the sun’s direct rays.

Edwin drove slowly down the long slope from the

eastern gate; he drew rein as he was crossing the
bridge, his horse drawing panting breaths in the
shadow of drooping willows, where the water swept
soothingly beneath, and a limpid refreshment arose
from the transparent depths, inexpressibly grateful
to man and beast.
_ It was yet the dewy hours of morning and the
valley was cool and fresh from its bath of sparkling
dewdrops. Through shadowed vistas he glimpsed
fruiting orchards, Sandy’s vine-draped cottage and
the white-columned mansion; and leisurely he drove
on, pondering speculatively upon his impending re-
ception by Ruth.

Ten o'clock struck while he sat with Mary and
Jean in a cool, flower-environed corner of the
veranda. Mary strung snap-beans for Dicey; Jean
was sewing ; Iphogenia, the dusky maid, was peeling
peaches for preserving. He ate peaches and Jean

served him with melons and grapes and conversed ©

amiably.

Ruth was invisible ; every door and window stood
wide open and glimpsing the interiors he could find
no hint of her presence. He had arrived warm and

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 111

thirsty, for since earliest morning he had been riding
the circuit of orchards, installing the man who was
to relieve him for a holiday trip and a visit to friends
and relatives. He confided to Jean that he had
driven over to pay her a farewell call before his de-
Parture for home scenes. She was cordially pleased
that he could have the pleasure and recreation to be
derived from the vacation from work which could
not possibly be wholly agreeable.

Life was strenuous, indeed, in the orchards and
Camp just then. Men hauled mountainous loads of
new barrels resounding with emptiness to designated
Spots, and left them to be filled with raw turpentine,
Which other men brought to those points in buckets
Teplenished tediously from the boxed and hacked
trees; and other perspiring teamsters carted them,
full and weighty, back to camp, where their con,
tents were poured into the rapacious maws of the
distilleries whose ink-black smoke tinged the atmos-
Phere constantly. Turpentine was king in camp and
Orchard. Its perpetual odor bathed the entire vicin-
ity, its dross covered the ground in the locality of
the distilleries like cooled lava from an active
Volcano,

It coated quickly all the barrels and implements,
and it besmeared the men’s clothing, and besmirched
their countenances and matted their brows and hair :
It set its tenacious seal upon every object that per-
mitted its contact, but Edwin Phillips had held aloof
Successfully from its debasing and disfiguring touch.

¢ had shunned it and its influence as a diver evades
the reaching tentacles of a deep sea octopus. When
its novelty had worn into drudgery he had wearied

 
112 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

extremely of camp life, when the influence which
had deluded him there was attenuated by a stronger
desire, he had become listless and repugnant of its
deprivation ; then memory had sung a song of roll-
ing, leafy hills, of level fields and gravelled roads, of
smiling men and women, and the glamor of well-
dressed, refined society. He was to return to his
former element as an amphibian creature from the
drouth-scorched land to the cool, dim depths of
water.

One regret alone, one solitary joy, hindered a full
anticipation of the prospective pleasure which
awaited his venture—Ruth and Kissic-Dale. Out in
the forest the sun burned his eyes, the hot air stifled
his lungs, the plain food repelled his failing appetite,
the sand gnats tortured him and “pepper gnats”
drove into his eyes as flying seeds of pepper. His
shanty was often the temperature of a baker’s oven,
the water was brackish and unwholesome, his horse
constantly in a frenzy with the plague of stinging
pests; aye! but he was delighted to be rid of his
worries, for at least a season.

Yet those worries were not the supreme motive
_ which sent him away from his work in the midst of
its busiest season; his mother and sister had affec-

tionately but imperatively insisted that there should .

be amends shown his fiancee, whom he was neglect-
ing with unlover-like negligence. He had decided to
obey them in justice to himself and the girl he was
.fast forgetting, or at least her claim upon his
allegiance.
He had reflected that perhaps his judgment had
become faulty by the deprivations and paucity of his

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 113

present environment, by a clamoring of his heart
emerging from the winter of a great discontent and
depressing homesickness, when it was assailed by
spring’s magical influences, and chance had supplied
the object unto which all his vicarious longings were
directed for fulfillment of urgent desire.

_Perhaps Ruth was not so absolutely desirable as
his impoverished heart had esteemed her; perhaps
Kissic-Dale was not the paradise he had conceived
it to be in his sordid state of existence. At home
the flowers might be just as sweet, his sister’s music
just as entrancing; and Maude’s be-architectured
home just as stately and reposing as the white man-
Sion which sheltered Ruth.

_ Aye! perhaps Maude’s smile was just as enamor-
ing as Ruth’s flower-like purity of expression and
golden-haired loveliness.

Ruth had been distant and impressed him that she
was alien to his race of people. Since that June
night he had visited regularly at Kissic-Dale, yet
had never achieved another quiet interview with her ;
neither since that time had she shown such embar-
rassment and agitation in his presence ; a subtle dig-
nity had marked her behavior and imposed a barrier
to all but impersonal intimacy. He had exhausted
every known excuse to visit her; he had even joined
fishing parties—and he detested the sport—inaug-
urated by Jean and Angus Bethune, and each time
Ruth had declined to join the outing. He had dined
and supped at Kissic-Dale, called for fruit and
flowers, and had several times fetched Jennie or the
children to spend a few hours there, but all his
efforts had been futile.

 
Se ia Lae © atid
Ne RR Ne ee

114 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

Sometimes Ruth had been absent visiting some
sick Gaelic neighbor or young girl friend who lived
distantly ; and while her uncle had tarried at Kissic-
Dale, he had been responsible for many of her
absences. Jean had invariably explained that she
encouraged the truancy from home and books, and
music and pencil; that Ruth needed a true vacation,
she had studied so indefatigably the past year—and
the years of her growth were not yet ended.

He could not understand whether she purposely
avoided him. Occasionally she was smiling and
cordial, at other times pensive and sedate, excluding
herself from social converse and leaving his enter-
tainment to Jean. Perhaps her unsatisfying de-
meanor had much to do with his extreme weariness
of the life at the camp. Anyway, he was deliber-
ately seeking an interview with her before going
away and was determined to achieve it if he spent
the day in the effort. Finally he inquired casually if
Ruth was at home. —

“She is down by the spring with Jamie and
Ezeke,’ Jean replied readily. “They have impro-
vised some kind of a boat and invited her to the
launching. I think she is to christen it with a bottle
of spring water; and she seems to be spending the
morning in the woods with them.”

“May I go down and see what they are doing?”
he requested, tentatively. “I wish to bid her goodby
and beg of her some flowers for my sister.”

“If you will take the trouble to seek her,” Jean
assented graciously. “Tell her to give you a glass
of milk. We have none at the house. Such weather
as this we keep all our milk and butter in the dairy.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 115

I will gather some flowers for your sister; I shall
esteem it a privilege to do so.”

He thanked Jean and hurried away. He was
much relieved that Ruth was not purposely hiding
trom him; a suspicion that she might be had forced
lato his heart a dreary despondency. He trod the
path leading from the north gate down a long slope
to the spring, the way worn by the feet of past gen-
erauons of MacKenzies, and sheltered by vine-
covered trellises, which excluded the hot sunshine.
As be emerged from the tunnel-like path, he de-
scended a few stone steps to the floor of the sylvan
dell tkat surrounded the spring and dairy. Honey-
suckle and other driftings from the house lawn
minglec with and draped wildwood growths there,
and a fhgged walk led to the spring embowered in
weeping-willows.

Mapleand black-gum trees threw their protective
branches above the tender turf and sweet water-
grasses, tle ferns and mint, and water-rushes; and
the atmosthere was permeated with a limpid purity,
peculiarly grateful and refreshing, amid such
glaringly warm weather. Voices smote the wood-
land solituce in boyish trebles, and he soon discov-
ered the beys wading in a pool and propelling
a fancied gtnboat, constructed from a long, water-
tight box. 4 defunct rush-stalk posed as a mast,
from which Ruth’s small cambric handkerchief
waved as an msign; an unwieldy vessel, surely, but
their imaginaton supplied all deficiencies, and they
were joyously happy. |

Ruth sat apat on a wash-bench in a shady spot,
busy with her pncil. She was sketching a deformed

 
116 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

maple, which had known many vicissitudes, but had
survived all perils by floods and winds in its sapling
youth, and bravely held aloft a symmetrical canopy
of foliage to crown its unshapely trunk. Its twisted
and scarred body, its distorted roots, bulging beyond
the soil to which they clung for sustenance, showed
evidence of a tragical history and interested ker
more than did the slender, graceful specimens of the
coppice, whose prosperous appearance denoted a
placid, uneventful growth.

With his first glimpse of Ruth, Edwin pauses, ar-
rested by a sudden sharp stab from his consdence.
She was so girlishly innocent and youthfu in a
simple white dress, her bright hair falling unre-
strained to her waist, floating in a bath of warm
summer breezes. When, finally, he approached her
and apologized for intruding so unceren»niously,
she stared for a moment in complete surp‘ise; then
her face flushed rosily and her eyes drooped timidly.

“T have found you,” he said in a tone of reproach.

“Why, indeed, I was not hiding,” sh: retorted,
with emphatic denial, and the blush deepened repre-
hensibly.

“T did not say you were hiding. I merely re-
marked that I had found you,” he retuned, with a
teasing smile and gay humor. Her tel-tale blushes
rendered him deliriously happy in a nercurial re-
bound from doubt and repression. |

“You say truly,” she assented quitly, and with
unsmiling expression, as he threw himself down
upon a boulder deeply sunk in feris and water-
grasses and pushed the damp hair ‘rom his white
brow. He leaned negligently against one of the

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 117

Slender-trunked maples, and politely but intently
Studied Ruth critically, but withal, admiringly. She
laid aside cardboard and pencil and was courteously
attentive.

“T called to say goodby; I am going home,” he
Said with abrupt directness, and he watched her fur-
tively. “Will you not wish me bon voyage?”

“Certainly,” she answered, not meeting his eyes,
but with a sudden tremulous twitching of her sensi-
tive lips.

“And also thank you for being so kind to me, a
Stranger, without claim to your hospitality,” he con-
tinued, testingly.

“We have done nothing deserving special grati-
tude, I am sure, and the pleasure has been mutual,”
She responded stiltingly and with a stately distance
of mien.

In her heart she was saying, “Going back to his
Own friends, to the cherished ones who have always
known him. I am but an incident in a short period
of his busy life.” —

“You have been as the shadow of a rock in a
Weary land,” he declared fervently, suddenly serious
and pensive. '

“T am glad you have found pleasure with us,” she
replied with cordial formality. “It must have seemed
cruelly dreary to you out here, away from every
One who could interest you.”

He viewed her with slanting, puzzled scrutiny.
He had caught echoes of Jean’s stately utterances
In the lifeless words. Her mimicry rebuked his sin-
cere ardor of sentiment. “I have found Paradise
with you,” he exclaimed, pugnaciously.

 
118 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

Her serious eyes brooded the rustling corn beyond
the forest-fringed little stream; in fancy, she beheld

the world beyond the sand-hills, the world of which
she was so profoundly ignorant, but was his native

element. Her ignorance assigned vital realities to
its seductive wiles and roseate grandeur. She sighed,
she reared her head proudly:

“Weird women we! By dale and down,
We dwell afar from tower and town!”

she quoted, submissively, and with a vague touch of
hopelessness.

He lifted his head and sternly assailed her aloof
expression with a compelling glance, as he also
quoted, deliberately, and with pointed emphasis :

“We stem the flood! We ride the blast!
On wandering knights our spells we cast.”

Then he fell back to his former position and
absently plucked a delicate fern-frond and pro-
ceeded to strip its hairy stem in nonchalant leisure.

The birds sang piercingly, the cicadas shrilled their
jarring notes in the leaf-clothed trees, the little rill
murmured melodiously. The amateur gunboat lay
a deserted derelict among the marginal rushes, the
brave white pennant drooping pathetically. The
boys had siezed an opportunity to wade to its mouth
the pretentious stream. The mirage of heat waves
floated above the level of corn whose blades were
curled against the blistering sun-rays; afar off, be-
yond the suffering fields, reposed the forest, a glow-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 119

ing reflector of the intense atmosphere. The bird
hotes, long-drawn and liquid, emphasized the cool
retreat in the sylvan depths of the green, tangled
woodland. Edwin’s heart surged in a mad turmoil
of strong emotions, as he stripped the last frond
from the frayed stem, which he flung aimlessly at a
Piping cricket. What folly had been his that for a
moment he had imagined that he was mistaken in
the fascination Ruth possessed! He was longing for
some gleam of comfort to soothe him while absent
on his enforced journey. When he spoke again his
voice vibrated with appealing gentleness. Ruth had
ignored completely the inference conveyed in his apt
quotation.

“Ruth, are you sorry that I am going, even
briefly ?”

She deliberated, then chose her words carefully.
“Of course, we shall miss you, Mr. Phillips; we
have so few diversions. We have missed Donald
very much, and Uncle Angus. Aunt Jean has re-
marked that you have somewhat filled the void left
by their absence; but it would be very selfish to be
sorry that you can have the pleasure of seeing those
who are really near and dear to you. At the most
we are but strangers and of another race than you,
who, in your relations to us, are but a bird of
Passage. I am glad for your sake, and hope you
May experience every pleasure you now anticipate in
full measure.”

She avoided his eloquent glance, tinged with un-
spoken hurt and mute reproach. She gathered to-
gether her bonnet and sketching material. “Did
Aunt Jean send any message by you to me? Did

 
120 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

she say for me to come home?” she queried,
nervously, hoping for an excuse to escape from a
situation that was peculiarly trying to her dignity
and self-possession.

“She did not say for you to return home, and
would you forsake this sylvan Paradise, as if I were
a serpent come to contaminate its Edenic atmos-
phere? Ah,no! You cannot be so unkind! Ugh!”
he continued with an expressive shudder. “If you
could realize the heat of the pine woods, you would
feel like tarrying here indefinitely.”

As he leaned against the tree with an air of fatigue
he confessed to her his discontent and worries ex-
aggeratedly.

“JT am tortured by the sand and pines by day and
dream of them all night. They have become a
plague, from which I must flee to ensure my sanity.
At times I have felt that I had been cast into the
fiery furnace with Daniel, or—er—was it Nebuchad-
nezzar they condemned to the furnace so many
times heated ?”

Ruth stared, pondering his ignorance or unseemly
levity.

“Oh, was it some other fellow who happened to
that misfortune?” he supplemented quickly, as he
recalled with flashing memory Simpson’s shipwreck
upon the social strand. Ruth still regarded him
seriously ; he fancied rebukingly supercilious. She
reflected how aptly he had quoted Scott but a short
time previous, and could not believe him so woefully
ignorant of the sacred Scriptures. |

“It was some other people,” she answered gently,

he believed pityingly. “It was Shadrach, Messhach
and Nebednego.”

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 121

He bowed his head humbly, in deference to her
superior knowledge, presumably. She mistrusted
the sincerity of his humility, and, in her silvery,
brogue-tinged voice, which ever reminded him that
she was “a sweet Scotch lassie,” she continued insist-
ently: “Please, shall we go now? Aunt Jean will
Surely expect us.”

“Not just yet,” he begged earnestly. “Let us
tarry just here a little longer. I shall soon be far
away, and shall not see you again in such a dreary

length of time.”

“But you go gladly, of your own will, not as if
sentence had exiled you,” she reminded him critic-
ally, the least bit jealously, as the primal passion of
every human heart found birth in her innocent
emotions.

“Do I?” he retorted with a hint of secluded bitter-
ness. “Have you considered my life in a shanty,
the claim of a mother and an only sister?” he argued,
defensively.

“Indeed, I have! Did I not wish you bon voyage
just now?” she asked, conciliatorily.

“You did. Forgive me,” he returned tenderly,
and with a glance so direct and appealing, she
avoided it by lifting hers and gazing abroad, imper-
sonally. In the moment of tense silence which fol-
lowed, the cicadas rasped noisily, the shadows were
teasingly restless, shifting bars of scorching sun-
rays that burned as they drifted over her yellow
hair, her white forehead, her flushing cheeks.

“T wonder,” she remarked, suddenly and with con-
cern, “why Jamie and Ezeke are out in the corn? [
fear they will be ill by exposing their bare heads to
Such extreme heat.”

 
122 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

She arose to get a better view of the creeping,
stalking figures, whose actions had compelled her
attention so opportunely.

She was presently enlightened by a flurried flight
of two plump partridges, which arose from the
shelter of trailing pea-vines and obscuring corn
blades, and flew distractedly to the refuge of the
woods.

“Oh, Jamie,” she appealed in a distress ot sym-
pathy, “leave the poor little things just where they
are hidden! Do, Jamie! And go back into the
woods, out of the sun!”

“But the birds have flown into the thicket; did
you not observe their flight?” Edwin advised, lazily,
without interest.

“Oh, yes, but they left their little ones, wee, brown
mites of birds, hidden from the boys. Jamie, you
must come away immediately! Oh, how they must
_ have tortured the poor little mother !” she exclaimed,
as if voicing a strata of thought underlying her
verbal expression.

“All right!’ Jamie halloed in response to her en-
treaties. “‘We didn’t mean to catch ’em. We are
trying to count ’em.”

Ruth, with that assurance from Jamie, resumed
her seat. Jamie and Ezeke returned to the shade
of the woodland ; Edwin viewed the evidence of her
excited sympathy for the mother-bird and her tiny
brood critically.

“I wonder,” he remarked reproachfully, “why you
are always so cruel to me? Yet you show so much
tenderness to a bunch of peeping brownies.”

With eyes glowing still with the fervor of the sym-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 123

Pathy for which he reproached her, she flushed sensi-
ively.

“You are—you have been extremely unkind to
me, "he accused her, bravely.

: “I do not think so,” she said, constrainedly. She
eld her head proudly, grateful that she no longer
trembled in his presence and quivered like the wee,
Town birdies hidden out there among the pea-vines,
quaking from an instinctive terror of the unknown
and un familiar.
Let me make amends for any lack of hospitality

you may have fancied, Mr. Phillips,” she requested,
with an excess of cordial attention.

“Well 2” he assented, interrogatively.

Let me offer you a cool glass of milk from the
dairy ; I am sure you must be thirsty,” she replied,
and waited expectantly.

I will have some milk presently, but my thirst is
Not very insistent.” He idly plucked blades of tender
Water-grasses as he stifled a sigh, lugubriously.

Have you forgotten all I said to you that night in
J une when the full moon was shining? Or do you
despise me because I confessed so much of my senti-
ents toward you then? Really, you have behaved
as 1f it were so, and thus you have tortured me un-
Mercifully, Ruth,” he complained, wistfully.

His humility and artful pleading touched and
thrilled her, and she found it difficult to maintain her
4ssumed dignity and aloof manner. Her throat was
aching from an emotion akin to tears, she felt stifled
and nervous, as if she were becoming ill. Oh, it was
4 warm day! With heat enveloping the earth as a
‘mothering blanket, heat that made her eyes smart,

 
124 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

her temples throb and her vision dim and glancing.
It was very trying to be stately, to sit steadily upon
the unaccustomed pedestal of assumed dignity; so
difficult to hold in her languorous mind the lesson
she had studied so determinedly. She blushed pain-
fully, but she did not respond to his reproaches.

“Ruth, to me you are the fairest, sweetest, dearest
object on earth; is it ignorance of love or coquetry
that you are so perfectly indifferent, so cruelly un-
kind?” he insisted desperately.

She dropped her eyes to the purling water, and
another expression supplanted her blushing con-
fusion. He had at last goaded her into a proud de-
fence and expressed accusation.

“Is that merely a proper expression of gallantry?

Or do you expect me to accept it as sincerely
spoken?” she queried, her eyes scintillating with an
emotion tinged with jealousy and assaulted pride.
_ “JT dare to speak the truth as prompted by my
heart,” he said stubbornly. “What other motive
could have induced me to seek you as I have per-
sisted in doing since the first day I knew you?”

His voice faltered with rising passion; the weeks
of madness and hopeless infatuation arose to con-
front the present. Logic fled as the emotions of
those days found vent in words.

“T could not help it,” he said. “But I did not love
you willingly or wisely; your beauty and charm
overwhelmed every prudent resolve, and truly, I
have never, and never shall love anyone else as I
love you; and—you are trying your best to despise
me!” he accused her, vehemently.

“I am not,” she denied instantly, “but sincerity is

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 125

as the milk of life to me; thus I feel inherently, and
SO I have been trained ; it is the corner-stone of our
religion, so to speak; and I have felt, instinctively,
ieee that you were not sincere with me, at least;

at perhaps I just afforded you amusement for your
lonely days out here.”

Her lips curled at the idea, the pride of proud,
Self-contained generations robed her in a distinct
Si Serre

“Perish the thought!” he cried, negativel
although a flush crept dully over his Fontiiina,
shadowed by the tilted brim of his nobby straw hat.
. Pardon me for speaking plainly; but I think it

est,” she said, humbly, contritely. Already she re-
Stetted the voicing of the doubts which had secretly
beset her mind and aroused her pride and jealousy.
: Ruth!” he exclaimed, with conviction, “someone

as been poisoning your mind against me; filling it
With ideas you would never have entertained of your
wn volition. It must have been that bachelor uncle
of yours. It was not your aunt, I am sure. She is
too kind and charitable, and my friend.”

He was bitter in his arraignment of Angus Be-
thune ; in it was embodied some of the spite he un-
©onsciously cherished for the hale, hearty and pros-
Perous relative, who had appropriated so much of
Ruth S society since he had known her.

Not directly,” Ruth admitted, “nor initially. He
iad said a critical word to me about you, really.
t was a minister who first gave me advice about
Worldly young men.”

Tell me who it was and what he said that has so
nfluenced you?” he demanded, curious and amused

 
126 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

in spite of an anxious and serious state of mind. He
recalled the previous Sabbath at Kissic-Dale kirk,
the subdued, hallowed peace of the atmosphere of
the sacred interior, the devotional mien of the Scotch
congregation, the sincerity and austerity of the wor-
ship, the dignity and purely Scriptural inspiration of
the services, of Parson MacLoughlan’s discourse,
uttered with simple but devout simplicity. There

was nothing in the sermon relative to the ideas she
had professed to have imbibed.

“It was when Uncle Angus and I went home with
Allen MacRea,” she related, reminiscently. “On the

Sabbath we attended a church beyond his home, and
there was a young minister in the pulpit; a theo-
logical student, I was informed. He was discussing
modern life as lived by worldly people. He became
very much excited ; Uncle Angus did not admire him
nor like his sermon, He said, afterward, he believed
the young fellow had a personal grievance, that his
own wings had been singed in swell society, where
he had no business to be, in deference to his voca-

tion. And Uncle Angus——” She was suddenly
silent and visibly embarrassed.

“Tell me all, Ruth,” he demanded sternly, with a
feeling that he was brought to judgment.

“He, Uncle Angus, said men in love were often
goosey and women silly, the most silly things in cre-
ation ; that men never meant half they professed, but
women were prone to believe their false flattery.
So, I made a firm resolve not to listen to men or be
a silly woman.”

He was silent for so long a time after she had
finished speaking, she grew restlessly nervous.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 127

“Please, shall we go now and get you a glass of
milk? I really must not stay a moment longer.
Aunt Jean will be uneasy, I am certain,” she said,
gathering up her bonnet and sketching material.

He arose without further protest and followed her
to the dairy. She opened the door and entering,
filled him a brimming cup from one of the deep jars
cooling in a trench of flowing water. He took the
cup and drank silently, then leaned against the door-
jamb negligently while she rinsed the cup and re-
Placed it on a nail driven into the white wall; then,
forgetting the youngsters deep in the woods and the
forsaken craft capsized among the rushes, she led
the way up the flagged path, homeward.

He insisted upon carrying her sketch-book and
bonneting her bare head, and assisted her courteously
in ascending the granite steps, although she wore no
train and was as nimble as a chamois.

Under the grapevine arbor she came to grief.
Like Absolom, her golden hair, escaping below the
frill of her sunbonnet, was caught by the intruding
tendril of an overgrown vine. Quietly, she assayed
to disentangle the strand enmeshed, but vainly. He
Came to her rescue gallantly, and while her cheeks
flamed rosily, he clumsily fingered the snarl, and
finally it was loosed and she was free. He leaned
and smiled wistfully, as he searched her blushing
face, her drooping eyes and timorous confusion.

“Thank you,” she murmured, retreating from his
Scrutiny.

“The smallest service rendered to you gives me

infinite pleasure,” he said, with tremulous earnest-
ness.

 
128

As they came through the gate and were crossing
the lawn to the veranda, Jean noted their quiet
manner and that they were remarkably silent for
young people. She had been culling her sweetest,
rarest blossoms, and they were heaped upon a table,
where she was leisurely sorting them, wrapping
their stems in damp cotton and placing them in a
ay paper box, for his convenience in carrying

“The heat has been trying to you both, I know,
and you show the effects of its depression,” she
greeted them, solicitously. “Can you not remain
with us until late afternoon, Mr. Phillips ?”

He declined regretfully; then, standing by her,

Fae waded and gallant, he admired her selection, of
owers.

“Ruth,”

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

th; J ean insisted, “you must gather some-
Ing as a special gift to Mr. Phillips’ sister.” Ruth

had returned so constrained and quiet. Jean experi-
enced a vague desire to infuse more graciousness
and cordiality in the entertainment of their brief
guest. “Bring some of your carnations, bairnie.

They are more peculiarly your
very own than an
other flower in the aden i :

Ruth complied obediently, pleased with an excuse
for absence. The carnations were, most of them,
the offspring from gleanings of garden pinks diffused
over the lawn by seedlings from beds cultivated by
Jean’s mother. It had been a filial duty with Ruth
‘a gather them up and mass them in a bed of rich
Oam near to Jean s Heart of Scotland, and Jean had
added modern varieties of the cultivated carnation
to the dwarfed assortment of old-fashioned pinks.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 129

It was, indeed, a spot of fragrance and color, by
which Ruth knelt and plucked the blossoms; red,
white, and crimson, whose petals were charged with
the essence of their delicious fragrance. Edwin
came down the prim walk flanked with broom and
joined her, restlessly eager for every moment that
could be spent with her.

“You were so long away, I came to say you must
not worry about the flowers. Just gather one, and
give it to me for a keepsake,” he said, as she sprang
to her feet and stood before him with a sheaf of the
blossoms clasped in her arms.

“T am sending them to your sister,” she returned,
pointedly. She had retreated_to the shade cast by
the dense foliage of the maple which protected the
Scotch pine and the heather; where, in the lea of
the broom, grew also a few shrubs of gorse, native
to the “land o’ cakes.”

She was folding the long-stemmed carnations into
the odorous sheaf.

“And you will not give me one tiny token that I
may know you do not utterly despise me!” he com-
plained, pleadingly. “Perhaps, I may never meet
you again,” he added, artfully. Her lips twitched
but settled firmly; her eyes drooped before his, but
she made no reply. Her hands had arranged the
flowers, and she laid them on his arm.

“For your sister,’ she said. “I am indebted to her
for the instruction you gave me so kindly when [|
was wearing those new dresses, you remember ?”

“And not one bloom for me!” he sighed forlornly.

She averted her face and hesitated, her features
hidden in the depths of her befrilled, white sun-

 
bonnet. Higher, still mo

ven in the densest shad
fluence of the blazing,

molten king of summer, en-

A lengthy drive awaited
miles over the hot sand,

quality of her gift.
Uu a token, if you will accept it,” she

“You quoted
, oh on ed Scott. Do you know
mig at he did not ] i
‘Tt is, “N : ; apologetically.
Bit: aaa me impune la cessit,” she informed

“Translate it!” he challenged her.

yaa oe with impunity,” she trans-
Gaal 9 and eyes smarting with
<i ears. She turned to caress
: Ho: devotionally, staunch and
nument it symbolized in a High-

§ of her meaning, of the an-
S mastery of her heart and
€verently silent as she snapped

tagonism opposing hi
allegiance. He was r

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 131

a small twig from the cherished tree, plucked a
spray of heather and one of broom, which she ar-
ranged in a simple cluster.

“Tt is not a pretty favor, it is not suitable for a
boutonniere, but it is the most precious one I am
Capable of bestowing; and I would not offer it to
One I did not hope to esteem, ultimately. Poor,
homely relics of my exiled race, struggling for exist-
ence in an alien clime, buffeted by its inhospitable
suns, storms and droughts, its broad sweep of hori-
zons and ferocity of liberty and freedom of space,”
she apostrophied, as she offered unto him the most
unlovely growths in Kissic-Dale’s overflowing
gardens.

He received them with the serious mien she had
maintained while presenting the gift.

“Ruth,” he said, rebukingly, when he had thanked
her, “with me there has been no question of race,
pride or of social conditions ; it has been simply and
wholly your dear self; nothing else has mattered to
me, or will in the future.”

She smiled relentingly, tears pearling upon her
lashes, her eyes seeking his shyly, yet bravely.

“Take the carnations to Aunt Jean and she will
add them to the flowers she is arranging for your
sister. I am going to visit the pigeons, and we will
Say goodby here. I sincerely hope for you a most
Pleasant journey. Again bon voyage.”

“You must not forget me, Ruth,” he appealed as
She sent him away. —

“You are more likely to forget me and the entire
country,” she replied, waiting, tensely, his tardy de-
Parture.

“Tet the future prove us,” he challenged, as she
bowed his final dismissal.

 
-tasseled,

ing crimson, white and
It was the lull bet

ween seed-time and harvest,

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 133

the sowing and the reaping ; when the orchards were
weighted with mellow fruit, the vineyards draped
with purple and golden grapes, as if for a feast of
Bacchus, the stubble of the wheat-fields submerged
in newly sprung verdure.

Edwin Phillips viewed it all with a critic’s eye,
from a point of view obtained in the weeks of
absence. First at Altamont, then at Maude’s pre-
tentious home in a small manufacturing town, and
later at his own home, where his mother’s grave
voice and subtle pride had recalled him to the stable
moorings of his hopeful youth, and soothed the tor-
turing friction of his heart and circumstances. He
had returned to the turpentine camp the preceding
Monday. It was then a Saturday afternoon, when
he had decided to go to Kissic-Dale and—pay his
respects to Jean.

As he had returned from his vacation, despite his
deepening relations with Maude, his heart had
thrilled with a glad anticipation. The clanking car
Wheels had throbbed a continuous refrain: “Nearer
to thee, nearer to Ruth;”’ and the white and green
forest had greeted him with its mystic charm and
broad smile of unhampered sunlight, the pines whis-
pering the conviction of his heart: “Here is your
destiny ; you cannot escape it.”

He had made some heroic resolutions as a sop to
bickering conscience that could not be cheated or
deluded by any worldly sophistry, yet as he had re-
sumed his place at the camp, he was thrilled by a
Secret elation that at any time he might ride to
Kissic-Dale and resume his pursuit of Ruth’s vir-
ginal affections.

 
uous maturity.

, ina retrospective mood, from the
Castern gate to the bridge and passed over the

bib a ae forging its way between shallow
Nks, with imposing volume and hoarse murmurs

of strenuous progress,

t and travail of midsummer

As he paused by the hitching-post beneath the
=a sycamore guarding the Sear of the en-
yanee to the lawn, he beheld on a distant point of
veranda a group of strangers, and he knew that

issic-Dale was entertaining guests, Tony had dis-
covered his arrival and came to meet and assist him

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 135

with his horse. He held the gate ajar and invited
him to enter with the grandiloquent air of a high-
born lackey, as he grinned a silent but cordial
welcome. /

“Dey am at de uther side ob de feranda; dey have
company, sah,” he informed Edwin, as he ushered
him through the gate.

Ruth came to meet him, up the colonnaded way set
with ferns and palms, and wreathed with graceful
Vines, which cast an emerald shadow upon the en-
closure.

She was wearing her most elaborate dress and
the scene was one of elaborate festivity. He paused
on the entrance steps and noted the mien of social
felicity haloing the staid mansion and its happy in-
mates. The fragrance of cut flowers banking the
parlor mantel and filling bowls and vases in the halls
and rooms, convinced him that those guests had not
happened there unexpected. The aroma of fruit and
melons assured him that a feast was in progress,
grouping them in that corner of the veranda.

He did not know until later why Ruth came to
meet him, instead of Jean, who usually took the
initiative with guests. As Ruth approached he was
conscious of a new and novel charm in her appear-
ance, and—that all his logical resolves were as
handwriting in shifting sands. As fair as the spirit
of an unclouded morning, as sweet and fresh as the
essence of springtime’s glamor, more beautiful than
even his heart had esteemed her, she impressed him
as she extended her hand with an emotional revela-
tion which banished doubt from his heart as night
Shadows flee before the car of smiling Aurora.

 
136 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS
He noted with infi

hand quivered like a fr

wounding clasp; that

nite exultation that her slender
ightened bird in his strong,

She recovered her co

m :
read the fleeting evide eee ed Uae Be BG

nces of his influence and was

Janet and a party
week’s end visit to
The party,

her brother Robert, her betrothed, Duncan MacLeod,

MacAfee from beyond Craig Rhonie,
fa settlement on Bu

Jean, beaming hospitality u
, on all, impar-
tially, found an Opportunity to iacare him, with:

“We did not know you had
holiday trip, Mr. Phillips.” returned from your

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 137

“T came back to the camp several days ago, but
this was my first leisure in which I could come to
see you and deliver the messages my mother and
Sister intrusted to me; especially the sincere thanks
of my sister for the flowers she appreciated so
much,” he responded, his mind relieved by repeating
the formula he had arranged when planning the
Visit.

The few remaining hours of the afternoon passed
happily, at times merrily. The minister was jovial;
Malcom MacAfee fairly scintillated mischief and
mirth, as the mood swayed him to either extreme.
He was an unique young Scotchman, his nervous in-
telligence portrayed in piercing, dark brown eyes, a
high receding forehead, crowned by a mat of closely
curling auburn hair of the most glistening shade of
that facile term.

He was constantly showing his white teeth in
good-humored grins, and his vivid, restless mind
grasped the most subtle details of existing actualities
He was jubilant in being there beneath the broad
roof-tree that had sheltered him at intervals since
his early boyhood; and he recited with simple pathos
infantile reminiscences of hours spent at Kissic-Dale
in the days when Jean and Jamie constituted the
family.

Edwin marvelled at their simple happiness and
appreciation of simple details, their serene indiffer-
ence to competitive conditions beyond their im-
mediate environment. They were not impressed by
the prestige of his affiliation with a realm wholly
foreign to Gaelic circles. They accepted him as a
welcome guest, made him one of themselves for the

 
138 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

passing moment, and render ili
» al ed him unfailin
courtesy ; but he realized, for al] that, that in theit

alien to their race and clannish

Ruth, though, ied him, furtively, timidly. She

noted that he was, ind
SRE ’ eed,
winning, that he w very handsome and

fresh

she had experienced.

ust t . :
Just then she was conscious of a peace indescribable,

a fluttering, sensitive joy pervaded with delicious

appreciation of every phase of life’s fair landscape,

a permeating, volatile happin
ably enriched the boon of Pica ia eee ecg

b

fortuitous scrutiny.
In his prolonged absence her heart had held

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 139

memories of Edwin which had merged into a full-
blown idealism and were the source of innumerable
rose-lighted dreams and awakenings; the dawning
of enigmatical moods as variable as an April sky,
and as optimistic.

When elongated shadows bridged the valley and
lay upon the eastern slope, when troops of fowls
from field and orchard wended perchward, and
bevies of pigeons circled above the lawn, deviously
en route to the cote, the group of guests, by un-
spoken selection, disintegrated.

Janie and her lover strolled the lawn and, finally,
moored themselves to a rustic seat by the rose arbor.
Jean led the minister and his wife to the poultry yard
where the feathered creatures of her household were
mobilized to receive their evening’s ration of food.
Robert Bethune repaired to the barn, where his
favorite horse was stabled; and Malcom MacA fee
soon felt detrop with Edwin and Ruth, whose re-
marks were mere monosyllabic utterances to his
spirited attempts to converse. He arose and sup-
pressing a relaxing yawn, followed Robert to the
stables on mincing feet, which seemed to scorn the

gravel they pressed, protestingly.
Then Edwin turned to Ruth with an accession of

tenderness in his voice.
“Tet us go and feed the pigeons, Ruth. Why

should we alone be idle and let your pets go supper-
less?” he suggested, with open challenge to her shy

avoidance of him since his arrival.
“I had forgotten them!” she returned, remorse-
fully. “Thank you for reminding me of an impor-

tant duty.”

 
€ deliberately opened the way and

ethgeage her to pass. She preceded him down the
be to the cote, where an innumerable melee of
stvery-winged and white-feathered creatures circled
around the cote, perched high upon a single stout
pete braced sturdily ; bright eyes peered hungrily

rom every tiny doorway of the many-roomed man-

sion; whiffing wings bore a multitude to meet Ruth

ogling entreaties and cooing im-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 141

ground, a rippling turmoil of plaining, pleading crea-
tures, voicing their haste to be fed.

“See, how hungry they must be!” she exclaimed,
Spreading her hands to ward off a threatened
mobbing, as he leisurely approached, idly swinging
the basket.

“What greedy things they are, to be sure,” he
remarked, critically, and stood aloof, enjoying her
discomfiture.

_ “Oh, no!” she defended her pets, “but they are,
indeed, very hungry.”

“You have spoiled them. Let me give them a
lesson in patience,” he mentored, negatively.

Thus tantalizing her, he withheld the grain until
a shrewd old bird found the basket and led others to
struggle with him for the food they knew was a law-
ful possession. Instantly, he was enveloped in a
Cloud of fluttering wings and flashing feathers, and
he abandoned the basket, which she recovered and
Scattered the grain with a trained skill in giving each
bird a portion. ;

On their return, he detained her in the rose gar-
den, the loveliest spot in all fair Kissic-Dale, bird-
haunted, perfumed with the incense of rarest roses,
remotely secluded by the stalwart trees in the rear of
the mansion and the towering magnolias whose
glistening foliage accentuated the glowing colors of
the fragrant-hearted roses.

He swept the scene with appreciative eyes. “I
never knew such a Paradise of bloom and color,”
he declared, wistfully.

“It is an old-time ideal,” Ruth responded, “the
cherished pet of a lonely woman,” she added,
Seriously.

 
pi
fete
4

ii

142 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“A sweet ideal and a beautiful ‘scene
mented, i

facing the west flaming its roseate vapors.

“Let us rest here and enjoy the sunset,” he sug-
gested, indicating a wrought-iron seat sheltered by
a magnolia.

She reflected that she would not be more alone
with him there than anywhere else while everyone
was engaged elsewhere; and it was very pleasant
there with him, in the sunset glow, amidst the roses.
Distantly, came the soothing echoes of scattered life,
remote, but yet with a comfortable nearness that
precluded the dreariness of a complete solitude like
the woodland below the spring. The tinkle of sheep-
bells, the lowing of kine, the wooing notes of the
pigeons, the rustle of foliage, the raspings of belated
“katydids.” The tones of Malcom and Robert down
at the stables mingled in a comforting concord of

sounds, as she sat with him where the old magnolia
drooped its branches,

He sighed with the fullness of a great content. “I
am so happy just now. Would that such perfect
bliss could last forever! I was never really happy
until I knew you. I cannot explain it very lucidly,
but I know it is true. Answer me truly, Ruth. Were
you not glad to have me return to you?” he ques-
tioned, his voice liquid with appeal and persuasion.
She flushed and thrilled as if he had offered a caress.

She moved and faced him to repulse the fancied
intimacy,

Se OTe aE St ee PWM EE ae wl oma
Ea a SN Nee AL agile mine nee

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 143

“I was very glad, indeed, to welcome you,” she
replied briefly, but truthfully.

“Why were you glad? Tell me, please,” he per-
sisted, with blandishing voice.

His eyes held her tenderly, in a glance in which
his sincere adoration was unveiled and insistent, for,
from the depths of his soul arose an intense longing

to win and possess her; a deep humility augmented
his sincerity.

She lifted her dark eyes timorously but bravely.
“I do not know,” she said simply, so artlessly, he
recalled his first impression of her unalloyed inno-
cence, recalled his recollection of Galatea.

He fell silent to study her and feast upon each
detail of her delicious charm, her naive behavior.
He divined her perplexity in defining that which had
So recently been revealed to her heart. He ceased
his urgency to know her esteem of him and his pre-
tensions ; he was happy with the assurance, despite
her past antagonism and misgivings, that he had in-
Scribed, indelibly, on the white page of her life, his
Signet to seal as his own, peculiarly, the treasure of
her virginal affections.

Fatefully, in the wake of the a>surance, came
troubled thoughts, as a Nemesis pursuing a thief of
forbidden sacramentals ; suggestions of future com-
Plications, prophesies of the hour which would re-
veal his dishonor.

Ruth did not name her emotions happiness ; rather
a soulful revery was evoked by his presence, his
Wooing voice, as the sunset gates barred an Elysian
whose gold and violet flames illumined a terrestrial
Eden and the rainbow-tinted west seemed a symbol
of an affiliation of celestial and earthly joy.

 

           
  

   

 

   
144 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

The radiance of the scene diffused its subtle
beauty over her countenance, the shadow of curving

lashes swept the rose-tinge of her cheeks. He wor-
shipped at the shrine of her spirituelle loveliness,
silently; for as his doubts as to winning her dis-
solved, and his heart sang a paen of passionate tri-
umph, its ecstasy was assailed by a menacing shadow
of the unalterable past, his duality. It was Nemesis,
indeed, which projected upon the scope of his mind
memories of Maude and his recent promises to her.

The keenest thrust of all came with the remem-
brance of his recent interview with Maude’s parents,
to which she had led him with the impetus of her
own impcrial will and he had submitted weakly.
With swift perspection his mind contrasted Kissic-
Dale and its wholesome culture, its humane sim-

plicity and sincerity, its piety and Puritanical refine-
ment, its lineal dignity and mellowed beauty, with
the crash aspirations, the heedless ambition, the
reckoning pride and gaudy ostentation of the crudely
new home and riches of the Endistons. He knew,
and the knowledge brought a repugnant twinge, that
it all was the result of extortionate profits upon the
labors of puny men, women and children, whom the
iron tongue of the bells upon the successful man’s
factories haled to hard, unremunerative toil, daily,
through sweltering heat, amid winter’s piercing cold,
crushed beneath the wheels of the Juggernaut car,

successful men ride to the acclaim of unreflecting
society.

In that moment of revulsive emotions, his former
aspirations and standards collapsed finally; in his

heart arose an invincible growth of rectitude and
principle.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 145

As if in occult sympathy, Ruth ‘smiled tenderly,

sweetly, as she comprehended the sad solemnity of
his expression. His eyes flamed with instant re-
sponse.

“I wish my mother and sister could see you,” he
murmured, so irrelevantly, yet with so much infer-
ence she blushed, and her glance reverted to the sun-

set sky. Each was speechless in the solemn rapture
of the moment, as:

“A Siren of the West unrolled her hair,
And on the scene a mass of gold,
The radiance rested;
In the hour when sunbeams fade and die,
And twilight shrouds them with a pall;
When hushed is every songster’s cry,
And hesitating dewdrops fall
To touch with heaven’s tears the rose,
And scatter fleeting pearl-drops shy.”

Through luminous mists of twilight they moved,
as they left the garden. At the wicket gate he plucked
a crimson rose, a luscious bud with folded petals.
He slipped it through a buttonhole of his coat. “For
remembrance,” he informed her. She stroked the
rose with a consecrating touch as her eyes sought
his, wistfully. She was treading a new and untried
realm, in which she was a timid stranger.

He smiled reassuringly, his eyes lustrous and
glowing with deepest admiration. A gem scintil-
lated light on her white hand, a costly sheen of
drapery accentuated the grace of her slender form,
substantial wealth was her rightful portion, yet a

 
146 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

dove-like humility clothed her features and nestled

in the violet depths of her pensively shaded eyes,

a mirrored the sublimity of the purity of her
soul.

He wore the rose during the short but exception-

ally pleasant evening. It glowed against the back-
ground of his white flannel coat as “a crimson
ensign of a warm heart,” so Malcom MacAfee ex-
pressed his romantic conception of its appearance.
_ “We have had a letter from Donald. Did Ruth
inform you?” Jean said to him when he was saying
good night. “And he has secured another precep-
tress for Ruth. He found her at the school he has
been attending all summer. He will go North from
the university, and begin a post-graduate course of
study. He sent his regards to you, Mr. Phillips.”

“I am sincerely glad to hear from him. I have a
grateful remembrance of the friend who introduced
me to you, my dear friend,” he returned gallantly,

as he bowed low in parting from his gracious
hostess.

CHAPTER IV.

GoLDEN Days—THE Brinpce—TueE Last RosE oF
SUMMER.

“And like a lily on a river floating,
She floats on the river of his thoughts. .
“. , . In her heart the dew of youth,
On her lips the smile of truth. . .”

“Gazing with a timid glance,
On the brooklet’s swift advance. . . .”

—Selected. |

“October was reigning,
Summer was waning, .
The rich color fading,
From bloom and foliage.”’

The sunshine was gold and amber, the atmosphere
veiled in a mystic drapery shot with a gilding of
glowing sunlight and holding in its ethereal purity
a wine of tonicity which antidoted summer’s enerva-
tions and lotus dreaminess. The corn fields were as
marshalled soldiers, whose disciplined ranks bore
arms of yellow-husked ears, ripe unto harvest. Bob-
whites led their full-fledged broods among ripened
pease; the cotton fields gleamed as softly spread,

 
broad snow-drifts; the song-birds were emigratin
Southward, fleeing by myriads before the ieorentt
of the frost king then campaigning the inhospitable
Northern climes. All night the stars burned amber
fires and the autumnal harvest moon glowed as a
spheroid of burnished gold.

_ At Kissic-Dale, the maples were huge bouquets of
intense color, of gleaming, golden yellow, which
dazzled the eyes with its ephemeral splendor ; pleas-
ing the more by contrast with the ever-green sedate-
ness of fir, arborvitae, and magnolia. Shaggy
chrysanthemums divided homage with rare standard
roses, whose vitality would survive until midwinter’s
solid freezes; in every sighing breeze gold and
brown leaves fluttered to the green sward and rested
briefly upon the bosom of Mother Earth.

Out in the forest, the scrub oaks and bits of
swamp-land, premonitioned the bleak, leafless days
then imminent. The sap ran sluggishly in the full-
veined pines, the smoke arose leisurely from the
black-throated distilleries. It was a period when
the mind regretfully bids farewell to the buoyant
and volatile pleasures of summertime and heroically
turns to less evanescent interests.

A warm, bright afternoon in the last days of
October, Edwin Phillips sat with Jean and Mary by
the sitting-room hearth, on which smoldered an oak
chunk, the remains of a more pretentious fire built
in the early morning. A restful somnolence per-
vaded the room, and in the cheerful atmosphere of
semi-idleness Jean stitched daintily and Mary Gra-
ham knitted negligently. |

He was almost a stranger to the room that was

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 149

peculiarly the domain of the domestic circle of the
household. Family portraits adorned the walls; the
furniture was massive and polished to a mirror-like
surface ; the carpet, bright-hued and substantial. The
room was even less modern than the parlor, and he
viewed it with some curiosity, divining its novel and
unfamiliar individuality partaking of a past preced-
ing his generation.

He offered to hold the skein Mary was winding,
as it lay circling upon her lap until the soft ball had
absorbed the last of the strand; he was patient, and
responded aptly to Jean’s bright observations and
Mary’s demure utterances. Through polished panes
he glimpsed the lawn, empty then, save that Ruth’s
governess was seated where a full sweep of sunshine
burnished her auburn-tinged, brown hair; she had
evidently sought that remote spot because the sun
favored it at the hour when she was at leisure to
bask in its rays.

He did not fancy the governess, a Mrs. Anderson,
who, it seemed to him, possessed an unwarranted
curiosity concerning him and the country that was
the scene of his past. He had made it a habit to
avoid her in his frequent trips to Kissic-Dale, and
her spying espionage had made him very wary, in-
deed, in his wooing of Ruth. He feared her as one
fears a concealed explosive, which may burst at any
moment and carry devastation in its wake, She was
broadly acquainted in society, and Maude was one
whose light could never be hid under a bushel.

Ruth had gone to David’s to visit his invalid wife.
Quenna was fond of her white people, and it en-
couraged her to bear her sufferings when any of the

 
150 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

family visited her; so Ru
with a visit to the invali

longing her stay; she h
when he came.

passing from the cottage.

poring over her book in the
her retreat.

A few moments later he was strolling along the

cherry lane into th . :
Sandy’s cottage and © Public road, which led by

vivid sunshine flooding

floor of the bridge.

railing, and in th
Ruth’s t

cets, the pipe of the frogs, the wei
tiny voices of hidden insects. She are’ note

silk shawl, heavily fri
nor bonnet. Tin sheen oa ne eh eg oem se

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 151

He evinced no impatience that she loitered so aim-
lessly; he did not advance to meet her when she
paused to note the flight of a bluebird from the road-
side hedge and stood with uplifted gaze to watch the
passing of a migratory flock of birds from the
moment they appeared on the northern horizon until
they disappeared far away beyond the southern
limit of sight.

Much lay in the motive that had induced him to
seek Ruth, to plan for an interview where there
would be no intrusion. Such an interview was hard
to achieve in the peculiarly formal, yet informal
family circle at Kissic-Dale. Besides Mary and Jean,
who seemed not to have the slightest suspicion that
he regarded Ruth otherwise than as a child and the
pet of the household, there was the omnipresent
governess, and Sandy’s children were often there
since the installation of Mrs. Anderson as a teacher.

Since that August eventide he had proven a model
lover, gentle and considerate, quick to divine her
sensitive innocence and avoiding shock to her youth-
ful and romantic ideas. Although quiet and con-
tained by temperament and training, Ruth had been
uniformly kind and devoted, but her maidenly diffi-
dence and timid susceptibilities would not and could
not encompass unreckoning passion.

When he had understood her character and the
influences which had molded it, his respect and fears
had grown in ratio. He knew then that he had
rather lose her altogether than behold the light of
her love and esteem fade into contempt. He had
spent sleepless nights and anxious days pondering
the situation, and had become convinced that pre-
cipitation alone would assure him happiness.

 
regard for
g as formerly, and the sus-

he value of his acquisition

S attracted by some
As she ascended to

} and went to mee
rprise and confusion at his

willows secluded them, th

in his clasp; and leanin ili
; g on the railing, thei
spoke the gladness of their hearts and the bliss a the

and her dark
ed the happiness she felt in his presence.

“You are quite well, Edwin >?”
quaint maturity of thought, she questioned, with

2 oe he echoed, smiling tenderly.
; ow long have you been Waiting here?” she
asked, analyzing the unexpected t

“Just as long
her.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 153

“Oh,” she lamented, “and I was reading poetry to
Quenna, so leisurely.” She sighed her regret.

“Poetry?” he cried, discreditingly. She laughed
merrily ; his surprise was amusing.

“Yes, truly; Longfellow’s poems. She likes them
very much, especially ‘Hiawatha’ and a few others.
She says they soothe her. Perhaps it is the flowing
smoothness of his rhymes and the picturesque lan-
guage; I cannot believe it is because of a poetical
temperament; she is very practical and material in
her ideas.” Laughing lightly, in exuberant mood,
she unfolded the silken shawl and disclosed a gilt-
edged volume, with “Jamie MacKenzie” stamped in
golden letters upon the cover. The most trivial idea
seemed to accord with their mood. It was enough to
be there together if never a word had been spoken.

The breeze lifted the silken hair from her white
forehead and smote with tingling touch the fair
mold of her countenance. The sunshine swept be-
yond them to break in golden waves upon the hill,
crested far away with singing pines; beneath them
the water gurgled a montonous call, but she did not
heed the shadowy world it yet reflected, as it had
done when she had stood there beside Donald and
the spring skies had smiled so wooingly above and
below; the happy reality was too entrancing and
sufficing to admit visionary fancies. He influenced
her to talk, to smile and blush, to radidate pleasure
and content with the worshipping tenderness of his
speech and glances. He tightened the clasp which
imprisoned her hand. —

“Ruth, are you as happy when I am away as when
I am with you? Tell me truly; I do not ask idly,”
he urged her, with wistful earnestness.

 
154 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“You render me very h
very happy, indeed,” sh
Stl still radiant and smiling, still mest reich
rave eyes his serious, fond glances. .

x

O you never reflect how jt wi ;

He w it will

circumstances divide us?” be with us when

and strained, his hand crushe
Her smile faded in the wa

sorrow. Her heart rebelled restively. “Oh, Edwin

jens me happy | Why let the future disturb us
he wep she exhorted him, tenderly. She did not
: o recall the chill that assailed her heart each

ntioned by Jean and Mrs. Ander-

That alone had seemed a menace to her un-

limited happiness.

» Something always defeats per-
€ persisted, sadly. “Business com-

am going away next week to the
ing our naval

fect happiness,” h
pels. my absence.

O
“Tt all means that I tent Fn Sip toa

cannot see you often, hardly -

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 155

ever,” he said, dolefully, and with strict surveillance
of her reception of his statements.

“T shall miss you very much in the near future, but
after then, I, too, shall be away. I think Aunt Jean
will send me to college the first of next year,” she
returned with forced resignation. Tears suffused
her vision, pressing the barrier of drooping lashes.
Her brave smile was but the ghost of the ones so
previous, which had been the embodiment of care-
free happiness. A gray, chill shadow seemed to have
settled upon the landscape, dimming its golden cheer
and robing it with a dreariness incomprehensible.

His lips went white when she spoke of the plans
made for her future, but he rallied bravely.

“T am broken-hearted when I contemplate the
inevitable, but what is there for us but dreary

absence, ceaseless heartache, if—if 4
His lips again were drained of color, his eyes

darkened with intensity of suspense; he trembled
with his fear of the venture as he whispered con-

strainedly, “if we do not marry.”
His eyes entreated, his breath fanned her cheek.

She stared, unbelieving.

“Marry me, Ruth. Give yourself to me irrevoc-
ably, so that we can be together constantly, fearing
no parting, bearing no heartache, no longing unful-
filled; make me the happiest, most grateful mortal
on earth,” he urged hoarsely, his voice freighted
with unlimited appeal and persuasion.

She still stared blankly, groping blindly for his
meaning, stunned by the shock and surprise of his

vehement words.
“T love you, love you so much, Ruth! I want you

 
156 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

for my own as long as life lasts ; nothing else in this
world matters to me. Can you not understand,
dearest?” he ended, meeting her dazed look with re.
assuring tenderness. But she was speechless, every
thought submerged, in a cloud of bewidlerment. Her
ideas of marriage were vague and immature; indeed,
she had never contemplated it in regard to herself;
the happiness she had found through him had held
no prophecy of connubial bliss: only of blessed mo-

with the violence of sensitive repugnance in its most
exquisite form. She withdrew her hand gently, but
firmly; pale and drooping, she leaned against the

railing and her eyes fell diffidently to the undulating
water, which caricatured their reflection with dis-
torting ripples. An inexplicable emotion compressed
her heart, as, awed and afraid, she stood at the
threshold of the weird mystery which attaches to the
manifest destiny of humankind.

Life, at best, for the pure in heart and those of
chaste sensibilities, is a succession of surprise and
exploration; the structure of knowledge a many-
roomed edifice. From the nursery to the tomb, mor-
tals are rushed from one apartment to another by
tasking time, who drives mercilessly and inexorably,

passing Rubicons which bring a pang of Death, the
sad burial of some phase of life.

The blush that had died her cheeks was the finality
of her childhood. In the dark, leaf-stained water
all the bright years of the care-free past swept away

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 157

in a swirling, dizzying flight, rushing with the youth-
ful tide of the brook toward the ancient mighty sea
that would engulf its purity and bubbling freedom in
its briny, bitter depths, its unrelenting immensity.

His suggestion of marriage rendered her heart
cold and ravished of all its buoyant happiness, and,
aching with the vision of sacrifices ; it was a mandate
to lay down every aim of her youth, to step from the
gentle charge of Jean into an untried realm of mys-
tery and responsibility.

Her mind gave a swift, panoramic leap into such
a future, with its depths of ignorance, and she drew
yet farther away from him and his solicitous eager-
ness. He forced her to face him by grasping her
hands and holding them firmly, he searched her eyes
wistfully for a moment, then dropped her hands and
leaned upon the railing, listlessly.

“Ruth,” he said quietly, “I believed that you loved
me. Forgive me if I have wounded you, or offended.
I would not hurt you willingly,” he continued, when
she stood silent, with averted eyes and so pale and
troubled. “But has not your good common sen:
grasped the fact that love preludes marriage as 2
happy finale? To love one being only, to give your
very soul into their keeping, means a union of lives
as well as of hearts. The future holds nothing for
me without you; I desire no moment of life that you
do not share. I am ready for any sacrifice, any effort
for your sake, and love alone prompts every motive
and desire. Ruth, I love you!” he concluded, simply,
but with the pathos of heartfelt sincerity strangling
his voice. ,

Ruth was dumb with the tragic element of the in-

 
158 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

terview ; his tones, words and behavior were so bur-
dened with reproach and intense appeal; what had
been a love-lighted drama, a blissful swell of har-
monious felicity, was suddenly robed as a tragedy
of stern deeds, and, perhaps, fateful issues. Tears
stung her eyes, her heart beat in violent throbs ; she
trod unstable ground in a dizzying maze of con-
fusing ideas and clashing emotions,

_ “Look at me, Ruth. I will be heard and answered.
Say if you do not love me? I dare you to deny it.
I know you love me!” he said, with harsh insistence.
He drew her hands from her face, which she had
draped in shame and sorrow, but he instantly re-
leased them. Troubled and desperate, he at last de-
sisted, to pace the floor of the bridge restlessly, while
she gazed stupidly down upon the unresting water,
where fallen leaves, brown and amber rifts, rode
helplessly upon the rushing tide; but no golden
argosies cruised fanciful spaces. Stern reality
reared stony barriers to shut off the realm of fancies.
Marriage was a very, very solemn problem; death
had seemed barely of so serious import or so fateful
in consequences.

Her mind evinced its logical training. She stood
erect, she suppressed her distaste of the subject and
smiled, while her lips yet trembled, as he came back
from his aimless tramp back and forth over the re-
stricted surface of the bridge roadway.

“Please tell me, Edwin, what has prompted you
to such rash conclusions? Will not our love bind

us as firmly if we are absent from each other as
when we are together? I do love you,” she faltered,
as the conviction wrung her heart with an all-absorb-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 159

ing tenderness, “and I am afraid my manner has
hurt you; but I cannot help it; you frightened me
so.”
“And I love you so much I want you by my side
always, my own, to have and to hold forever,” he
responded, his eyes flaming with renewed hope and
intensity of longing.

“But why not be happy as we are, just yet? I
shall always love you,” she said, gropingly, learning
the truth as she uttered the words, “love you more
and more as I grow wiser and know my own heart,
for even so it has been since I have known you.
Some sweet day, Edwin, when I am more worthy,
and you want me, and Aunt Jean can spare me, we
will ask her to let us be together as you wish.”

Her voice faltered, and she was silenced by the
stern setting of his lips, the cloud of disappointment
which distorted his features.

“T will not force you with persuasion; you shall
take me now or lose me finally, as your love prompts
you,” he said assertingly.

“But it will not be necessary to lose you, will it,
Edwin?” she queried, anxiously; a solemn awe of
him was creeping into her heart; a prescient sense
of his influence upon her future.

“You will, if you do not marry me soon, say, some
time this winter. I am powerless against circum-
stances that you could not understand if I tried to
explain them, dearest. You have never known any-
thing beyond the placid life of your home; the real
world and its temptations, its machinations, are as a
sealed book to you, and I hope you may never read
it; that you may be spared the unholy revelations

 
tions,” he explained, with bitter self-accusing, “but
if you love me as I love you, they will not seem hard,
but blissfully easy.”

His words and manner impressed her with a vague
anxiety. There were tokens of real suffering, of
vital earnestness, which filled her heart with indefin-
able perplexity and a humiliating view of their rela-
tion to each other. She was so preoccupied analyzing
the thoughts so strange and bewildering, she did not
reply, but turned away and faced the valley, her
mind reviewing the past months in which Cupid had
been so busy with his shuttle, not his bow, weaving

eautiful scenes, an irridescent tapes-
try revealing vistas ; ; :

bowered Edens,

its sweets, if in love’s garden, as in Aunt Jean’s,
roses veiled hidden thorns to pierce the heart: she
gazed probingly into the heart of Nature, and

realized why some practical lines had been haunting
her mind that afternoon:

“With what a glory comes and goes the years!

The buds of Spring! Those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times enjoy

Life’s newness, and earth’s garniture spread out;
And when the silver habit of the clouds

Comes down upon the autumnal] sun and with
Sober gladness the new year takes up

His bright inheritance of golden fruits,
A pomp and pageant fills the Splendid scene.”

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 161

Donald had read the lines impressively the pre-
vious year, and revealed to her their beauty and

appropriateness; she had been so impressionable
then, when life had seemed to be a manifold poem.

As yet, though, her heart had not evolved an idealism

of love’s crowning event, and she could not enter-
tain a thought of it with the least pleasure.

“Of what are you thinking, Ruth?” His voice re-
called her, imperatively. ‘Will you not give me
some kind of an answer? I must soon be going, and
I have not spoken idly.”

She heeded him with an unreserved answer.

“Edwin, it is very pleasant to see you, to be with
you, to dream of you and to know that you love me,
but I cannot marry you just now,” she said, regret-
fully.

“That shall not be final, Ruth,” he contended,
obstinately. “You must consider fully before de-
ciding ; so much depends upon your decision! Our
whole future will be determined by it, and you are
but a child after all, and cannot realize how vitally I
feel about it. I must be patient; I have fairly
stormed you for a reply, and it is not just. You
shall have some time to reflect and learn what it
means for us to be separated. I am going away. I
will attend to business strictly, and when I come
back you may tell me whether you will marry me or

go to college. I shall be prepared to act either
way then, no matter how you decide.”

His voice was tremulous, with a lifeless note. His
lips were stern and unsmiling. “Only, say once
more, Ruth, ‘I love you, Edwin!’ that I may take

the words with me to cheer me in the dreary days of
absence.”

 
162 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“I do love you, Edwin! Indeed. I love vou!”

; 4 u!” she
cried, fervently, and gave him her hand pe seal the
confession. He clasped it so hungrily and gazed
into her eyes so longingly their violet depths were
bathed in tears of sympathy and feeling.

“Shall we be going? I have to be at the camp at

the supper hour,” he suggested, when she had dried
her tears and was pensively calm.

As they strolled homeward, it was as if they h
left tragedy at the bridge and entered again areas
lighted drama which had so irradiated their short
acquaintance. _ When they turned into the cherry
lane, he said, in spite of their sedate pace:

But we need not hurry so; there is no haste, and
I wish to further impress upon you the importance
of what I have been saying to you. Consider it

rationally ; put aside romantic ideas and deal only

with practical facts. Lay love in all its allurin
happiness and charm side by side with deeesthate
that can combat it, and when I come again be ready
with your answer. I shall give you time; I shall be
gone several weeks, and I shall return prepared for
any emergency.”

“Have you also considered, Edwin? Do you
realize ail you propose?” she said, with grave con-
cern.

m have considered,” he returned emphatically.

That I am quite young, that I have never been to
college, that I know nothing of your people, your
home or the men and women of the world you are
accustomed to mingle with; and that Aunt Jean has
a right to be consulted? She has been everything to
me, you know; and there is Uncle Angus. He is

sheet Some Be Rin, Isa eM Te ee TT hier ester ii :

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 163

very fond of me, too,” she argued practically, ane
with the sincerity so innate in her character.

“T know that there is not a phase of the subject I
have not brooded upon until I was almost crazy,” he
assured her, convincingly. “And Ruth, you must
not consult anyone; your heart alone must make the
decision. I could not bear for your uncle to stand in
judgment upon our love, that heartless, crusty old
bachelor. That he is not married proves that he is
not capable of love!” :

“But Aunt Jean! She would understand! Let
me seek her counsel? I have not told anyone yet,
the secret seemed too sacred to discuss, and I have
never thought it necessary until now. I would like
so much to consult Aunt Jean. She has been mar-
ried. She could explain the things that seem so
strange to me.”

“Consult no one but your own heart,” he reiterated
insistently. “Promise you will not?”

“IT promise,” she acquiesced with a sigh of relief.

They were nearing the gate where his horse and
buggy awaited him. The mahsion, amid autumnal
foliage, loomed massive and aggressively, staid and
monumental ; gilded with the mellow rays of the de-
clining sun, imbued with the sober seeming of Indian
summer. Ruth viewed it with a new and clinging
affection through a vista of its patrician past. “I
am the last of them, the honorable MacKenzies, who
so loved and cherished it,’”’ she realized, with a surge
of allegiance and duty.

They paused at the gate, which he refused to open.
The short day was almost spent; imperative duties
awaited him at the camp, yet he lingered a few

moments.

 
tory thoughts.

Mrs. Anderson was Promenading the veranda back
and forth, and they were conscious of her espionage.
He leaned over the wrought-iron fence and
plucked a last rose of summer, blooming amid the
solitude of still verdant foliage. He laid the listless,
cold blossom in the warm palm of his hand and
examined 4t critically. She watched his movements
; the pallid bud seemed to each prophetic,
their eyes met each sighed with a mutual

regret and bereavement. |

“How fares the blessed little pine, Ruth?” he
quizzed, with a flash of his former teasing.

6é
It is an evergreen, you know,” she retorted,

blushing and smiling with ineradicable diffidence.
He craved a magician’s wand, the po

to demolish barriers and conquer the
cumstances.

The level rays of the setting sun swept the gold of
her hair, the rose of her cheeks, the purple depths of
her heavily-lashed eyes,

“Goodby,” he said finally, holding her eyes and
pleading dumbly ; then he drove away swiftly in the

rainbow lights of purple, gilded clouds, pillared
against the yellow wall of sunset.

CHAPTER V.

THE Crisis—RELIcs oF SCOTLAND—GooDBY, SWEET-
HEART, GOopBy.

“Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings
Of that mysterious instrument, the soul,
And play the prelude of our fate.”

—Selected.

“Close, close in a rapturous kiss,
He drew as a bee draweth honey,
My soul, until it fainted with bliss
And passed into his keeping forever,
To have and to hold as his own.”

—Selected.

The bright, ephemeral days of Indian summer
faded imperceptibly into days when chill winds
Shrieked over the sand-hills and dipped into the
valleys. At Kissic-Dale, the boisterous breath of ap-
proaching winter had blown down the _ wide-
throated chimneys, where huge logs blazed upon the
hearths when gray clouds lowered and pattering
hail and glistening sleet enshrouded the tomb of
summer.

Anon, there were bright days, and the elusive
warmth mocked frostbitten nature and the nights
scintillated with the Arctic purity of myriad stars

 
166 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

sown thickly upon a purplish sky and reflected by
frost-encrusted foliage and frozen dewdrops.

The forces of Nature, the fluctuating tides of the
seasons, are dominant elements in lives passed far
beyond the glare of gas-lighted streets and the roar
of traffic where the mind loses ken of the miracles
evolved in the plan of creation; into the warp and
woof of those isolated lives are interwoven the in-
fluences of the solar systems, the sidereal and lunar
phenomena, the whims of Boreas, the meteorological
conditions of atmosphere, for they are dominated
and diverted by their caprices.

Thus one evening, late in December, closed doors
shut in snugly the inmates of Kissic-Dale. Fires
blazed upon the hearth of sitting-room and parlor.
Late roses and potted geraniums mingled their fra-
grance with the elusive aroma of burning pine, oak
and hickory. Jean entertained Edwin Phillips in the
parlor. He had arrived at sunset in time for supper
and had received a genuine welcome from Jean.
Ruth had been very quiet and meditative and the
governess very talkative at the table. After then
Mrs. Anderson had detained Ruth in the sitting-
room to complete the day’s allotment of recitation.
Ruth’s voice and eyes had beseeched pardon for her
unavoidable negligence, and he had excused her.

Jean was conscientiously entertaining him and ran
the gamut of social amenities. Then, whether in-
fluenced by his own anxious state of mind which
rendered him absent-minded and dull, or inspired by

some psychological intuition, she lapsed into reminis- .

cent and personal subjects.
With a long-drawn sigh of difficult resignation,

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 167

she informed him that she had at last induced Ruth
to enter college.

Providence had favored her desire. Mrs. Ander-
son had been offered a position in the faculty of a
Presbyterian college and Jean had been assured that
Ruth would be permitted to room with her and that
she would give personal oversight to her bairnie’s
health and comfort. It would be but half of a
scholastic year, and that would be so much better
than enduring a whole year of separation in the first
parting. In the isolation and seclusion of the house-
hold, home ties were strong and broke with a shock
to heart and habit, and that arrangement would
somewhat ameliorate the dreaded inevitable.

His interest was silent but flatteringly intense, and
for the first time she confided to him details of
family history. Pathetically and fluently, she ac-
quainted him with ancestral traditions; her pride
of race and lineage, and lamented that none of them
were left of the long line to perpetuate the prestige
of Kissic-Dale but Ruth. She deplored the fate of
her husband and brothers, dwelling upon the end of
Jamie, whose death had thrown such responsibility
upon his daughter. She emphasized the need of
Ruth’s being liberally educated, in that her forbears
had ever deemed ignorance a crime beyond pardon,
and to esteem their race lightly culpable treason.

She fetched some of her precious relics and rever-
ently exhibited them; a bagpipe with tarnished
chanters ; a fire-bellows of lacquered ebony, embel-
lished with. blood-red roses with silver leaves; a
plumed bonnet crested with an eagle’s feather; a
crude broadsword and a time-stained philabeg; a

 
168 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

scathed poniard, with a curiously wrought handle,
and the heavy loving cup, the prince of her souvenirs,
filled then with the last gleaning of roses from her
She remarked the fact and sighed; the
garden had been abandoned to the desolate sway of
winter, its blighting snows and paralyzing ices.
_ For awhile, then, they sat in a rather embarrass-
ing silence. His eyes brooded constantly, the scented
hickory logs gasping red-hot breaths upon the marble
hearth, where they were hedged securely by the
huge elaborate brass andirons and the fanciful green
enameled fender.

Ordinary and unsentimental subjects seemed flat
and savorless after discussing pathos and tradition.
Once Jean intercepted his furtive espionage of her
favorite ancestor, the pictured, betartaned young
Highlander. She explained that he was the father
of the lads who followed “Bonny Prince Charlie” to
the fatal field of Culloden; and that the bearded,
fierce-looking, full-jowled Scot, whose portrait hung
in the sitting-room, lived in the days which origin-
ated the Highland and Lowland clans; the days of
border warfare, violence and robbery, of rough gal-
lantry and ruder chivalry ; violent loves and obstinate
lovers, when betartaned Lochinvars dashed across
the border to snatch sweethearts and wives from
their turbulent enemies.

In the thrill of narrative she disclosed her clannish
zeal for all that pertained to her time-hallowed race,
her unbending pride of lineage.

She said: “Although we are transplanted and only
unnoted units of a great nation whose national
fame submerges individuality, yet we are Gaelics in

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 169

heart, and materialize our inherited race pride by
our intelligence and industry, and proud aloofness
from other peoples. Why, my mother spoke English
brokenly, and never in her life entered another
church but our own. She was a MacGillivray ; Jean,
the daughter of Laurie; and there is a tradition, not
verbal, but written, that an ancestor, a favorite at
court, found his bride at the castle of a Norse noble-
man. Jamie and I fancied that Ruth inherited her
characteristics from that bride ‘of ye olden time.’
Jamie also had yellow hair and blue eyes; Ruth’s
dark eyes came through her mother.”

Jean lapsed into speechless silence to ponder some
intruding thought or memory. Edwin gazed upon
the varying shadows of the face he loved, reflecting
Ruth from her infancy to the past summer. When
she had fetched her relics for exhibition, he had
found among them a box of photographs that in-
cluded many of Ruth; and he had retained them to
study at leisure, the pictures delineating every phase
of her growth.

“A rare lassie, is she not?’ Jean remarked with
irrepressible affection.

He nodded an emphatic rejoinder, then shifted the
cardboards, nervously.

“When I was a child,” Jean spoke again, rumin-
atively, her mind dismissing the photographs, “the
sermons at our old kirk were preached in Gaelic. I
have planned that some day Ruth and I would sit
together in some old kirk in the Highlands of our
‘ain countrie, and hear the pure Gaelic, unalloyed
by foreign intermixture. It is the desire of my
heart to keep Ruth with me until her character is

 
y formed, and be thus assured that she
will perpetuate our ideals. It would break my heart

to fail in this duty to Jamie and all former Mac-
Kenzies ; therefore, she must ha

» €very grace of

favor, Mrs. MacEarchan,” he ap-

pealed, suddenly, strangely, she conceived with some

surprise.

“What is it?” she asked
“A photo of R
he explained.

» wondering vaguely.
uth as she appeared last summer,

her family pride flattered.
pleasant friendship ; as 4
1 summer,” he persisted,

Penses and sp
her education

171
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

as ile,

He placed the photograph in his cena , eee
Strangely triumphant and sad, evincing
Purpose, ;. RB

But why do you want it so much?” J pod rite

ankly, not in the least divining his re
and feelings. signs

“Recwans it is so much as I imagine ho i
be,” he replied in a tone that increased rel ud

Mrs. Anderson came in, breezy, in stric a ond
Cheeriness, “Ruth is putting away her mpg
Will be in directly,” she explained to Jean
aside, si

“May I seek her to say goodby a I cncatrttiee
S©on, and I have scarcely seen her,” Edwin req
Mstantly,

“Of abies” Jean answered, politely. seit vi

As he left the room Mrs. airings lh ions
Piano, and Jean leaned back in her c police st
laxed into pleased attention. She a ativan
‘Nusic, and Mrs. Anderson st an 2 Ae:
Neither dreamed of the interview immin
Sitting-room. ee,

Edwin maberéd that room quietly and oa “a i
firmly, Ruth had not left the study ta 2 deeplat
Was buried in her folded arms, portrayi A te i
ejection. He knew that she was alone, rea Ake
Graham was away on a visit. He yi 4 atartied
‘te she realized his presence. She Ii vat Rares
tear-drenched eyes to meet his, aera addons
“xcitement. Her tears disarmed roi luiléntly
despair compressing his heart. He aisat h his stiff
into her woe-stricken countenance, althoug

lips resisted tensely.

 
172 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“I was coming, Edwin,” she apologized, con-
fusedly, as she wiped her eyes in forlorn haste and
forced to her lips a wan smile of welcome.

I much preferred coming to you,” he returned,

tersely, ‘and I am not surprised to find you crying.
I would cry, too, if I had broken two loving hearts
so wilfully.”

“Oh, then, you know! Aunt Jean has told you?”
she exclaimed, shrinkingly.

“She has told me so much there is no need of your
assuming the pain of reiteration. I understand, and
I must not blame you, must I? No doubt it is all
for the best, if I could feel it to be so, but love is
proverbially blind, you know,” he said, with a com-
posure incompatible with the lurid flame smoldering
in the glance she met bravely, if tearfully.

[ have wanted so much to consult you, to explain.
You have been away a long time, Edwin, it has
seemed interminable to me; and I have reflected,
and—and I could not do any other than the way I
have chosen. I am not so young but that I realize
my dense ignorance of the real, every-day world.
Shakespeare Says: ‘Home-keeping youths have
homely wits’; and according to that I am supremely
homely, uncouthly equipped with a woman’s most
essential knowledge and graces. You would have
been ashamed of me, Edwin, in the presence of your
friends, your family, your society, where the women
dance and coquette so fascinatingly.”

“Well?” he questioned, amazement for the mo-
ment superseding all other ideas.

“And I could not bear that. I would not for any
consideration put such a test upon your love for me.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 173

There are other reasons that I should regard
sacredly, but they are not so vital, for, Edwin, your
love, your respect would be paramount for any
happiness I covet, and I cannot run any risk of not
deserving your highest esteem,” she pleaded, defend-
ing her course with tearful apology.

He listlessly viewed her agitation and depth of
earnestness, as if he knew it all was useless, any dis-
cussion with her, any effort. He stood upon the
hearth rug, his face fronting her, his eyes brooding
the scene restlessly, fighting his battle alone in dumb
pain and rebellion. Ruth dabbed her eyes with her
sodden handkerchief, utterly distraught and un-
nerved in that crisis, and she took the initiative,
someone might come in at any moment and prevent
a full understanding and justification.

“T shall think of you every moment, I am sure. I
have thought of nothing else since last summer, it
seems to me, Edwin, but I will work and be more
worthy; I will be true to you forever!” she pro-
tested, plaintively.

He drew her picture from his pocket. “See, Ruth,
what your kind aunt has given me!” He held it
aloft, triumphantly. “It is mine, and no power on
earth shall take it away from me. It shall abide
with me in life and go with me to my grave; my
good angel, my one love, my priceless treasure!”

He searched her living features steadily, then in-
tently their radiant, smiling shadow. He sighed as
he put it away; then he sought for and found the
portrait of the bearded Highlander, who smiled
broadly from the dim old canvas. If he, also, had
lived in the days of border outlaws, such stress as

 
174 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

he was then enduring would not have been neces-
sary. There was sweet surrender in Ruth’s expres-
sion ; soon she would count all things dross but him
and his devotion ; but that was romantic surmise, the
reality was that there was nothing more to be said
but farewell, nothing could avail any more, and his
only consolation was that when the love-light faded
from her eyes he would not know it or behold the
scorn they would mirror when she would believe him
false and utterly worthless.

He searched the room with a swift, probing
glance. They were quite alone, the doors were
closed, the windows curtained. The green shade of
the study lamp threw an emerald shadow to dim the
red gleaming of the cheery hearth. The music from
the parlor came through closed doors in muffled but
mellifluent strains.

He posed a long time, pondering, irresolute,
braving the clamor of his aching heart, heeding his
tender reverence for her youth and innocence. Ruth
sighed and almost sobbed as she remarked the
change in him. He was so unlike the happy, debonair
Edwin she had first known. He came to her side,
intending to say goodby and go his desolate way
without further parley, but his heart failed him. For
a moment he hesitated ; the music throbbed distantly,
but it melted his heart as no other music had ever
swayed his emotions, and the room was so quiet and
secluded. The cat purred on the cozy hearth, the

fire-impregnated logs glowed warmly. He leaned
and lifted her into his arms; his voice in a tense
whisper seemed to shriek his words.

“You love me, Ruth! Say you love me!” he ap-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 175

pealed, with sobbing breath, and as her head sank
against his shoulder he laughed recklessly, defiantly.
His mind leaped with the speed of a winged Mer-
cury from the depths of depression to the rapturous
heights of an exalted passion. A supreme tender-
ness, the effulgence of blissful gratification, trans-
formed his countenance, as he caressed her hair and
stroked her cheek with gentle touch until he lifted
her head, so timid and drooping, that he might com-
pel her to look into his eyes, and she gazed in a
thrilling ecstasy as the gates of his soul revealed the
refined gold of his love from which all dross had
been eliminated in the crucial pain of parting:

“For as gold is tried by fire,
So is the heart by pain.”

He smiled into the sweet countenance so near his
own at last, and in a frenzy of reciprocated love, he
held her to his breast and pressed his lips to hers in
a clinging caress. In a rapture too exquisite for
expression he kissed away the tears bedewing her
eyes, the sweet, fathomless eyes, that were to him
windows of the only heaven he should glimpse upon
earth, then again, and yet again he kissed the tender
lips quivering and sentient.

When finally she escaped his arms he met her
blushing rebuke with an exulting smile that em-
bodied remembrance of silvery April skies; of jessa-
mine and arbutus; of a fair, wonderfully sweet
maiden, who had suddenly personified all that
Springtime ecstasy. Was he not reaping a reward
no other ever could claim, that no untoward fate

 
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176 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

ar snatch from him ; the first love of her heart,
e first kiss of her lips, her first surrender to the
suit of an adorer?

ee a her to him again, brave with the thought
victory, forgetting its limitations, as with dim

vision and caressing voice, he whispered fond words,

adoring phrases, assuri ‘ é i
dying devotion. suring her of his love, his un

Do you really love me so much?” she questioned,
awed by the vehemence of his words.

So much, so absolutely,” he vowed, “that love
alone gives me strength to renounce all hope of
happiness.

ant ag again in a thrilling revelation.
, Edwin!” she whispered, as one exclaims at
a supreme burst of grandeur.

an I not tell you long ago that love was more
an te, that nothing else mattered?” he reminded

her.
d ay pad oP conception of it then, of its splen-
or of happiness,” she admitted, wonderingly.

“Oh there are looks and tones that dart!
An instant sunshine through the heart!
As if the soul that instant caught

Some treasure it through life had sought;
As if the very lips and eyes,

I a” Ae sagittal Sg: fate from the first moment
eheld you, he said, his eyes gentle and glistening

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 177

With unshed tears. “Oh, why did I find you ian
lose you!” he exclaimed, rebelliously.

“T hope to make you very happy some day,
Edwin P ichtly, but his smile

_ Nemesis confronted him in Medusa-like
ugliness and wathchfulness, as Ruth revealed her
€art and devotion. '

With masculine strength and a literal viewpoint,
he estimated the situation, for beneath the outward
Splendor of her charms, as an inexorable power be-
hind a jewelled throne, he knew abided invincible
Monitors which guarded the gateway of her soul
and pillared a firm character ; lofty ideals, prous con-
Ceptions, infinite distaste for deceit and dishonor ;

and that he had won her falsely, had met with plate
O

dimly knew,

until love’s flame of wonder made them glow.”
Alas! that she had given him sublimated faith
and ascribed to him every grace and virtue of an
unblemished, noble character. She was ignorant of
me, deceit of worldly standards, her training taught
@ Sincere foundation for every structure 19 human
Character; she knew nothing of society S whited
Sepulchres, and the knowledge of them, where they
Would concern her vitally, would slay her respect by

 
178 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

their manifold horror. He felt sin-scarred in view

of her saintly ignorance which had made her so
wholly, so deliciously worth winning and possessing.
News of the world had come to her through the

stilted moralisms of standard literature and the
clarified medium of godly minds sternly arrayed
ity in the least detail of principle ; there-

ad no more, but embrace renunci-

ation, acquiesce in an arrangement which he knew
would divide them forever.

The pain of the moment grew intolerable, a sor-
row so intense no ephemeral bliss could longer as-
Suage it, when she said, with plaintive appeal to his

strength and affection : “Do you think I will be able

to bear the long, lonely months away from you,
Edwin ?”

Her voice broke into
with an indescribable pre

His reply was to take her in his arms and press
her lips with his. She could hear muffled throbs of
_ oak as he whispered: “My beloved, my only
ove!”

He released her gently, and walked deliberately to
the door, but with his hand upon the knob he paused

for a last, lingering survey of the room and of Ruth,
puzzled and waiting by the study-table, ignorant of

lighted reign and autumn’s love-gilded climax; of

which the scene, staged peacefully in the mingled
glow of lamp-light and fire-light, the Rembrantesque

179
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

Shadows bathing the stolid Highlander in ger
ing light, his woollen “plaidie” thus — mg ‘cal
gorgeous sheen of the silken one of : i rae
young Highlander on the parlor wall, oe res a
Ing with gentle radiance, on Ruth's s = — cor
regal wealth of bright hair and timid violet eyes,

the end of the elusory dream of bliss. ya os

He turned the bolt and the door fell ajar.

_ Anderson was singing:

!
“Oh, fond dove! Oh, fair dove: .
Oh, dove with the white white breast!

“Oh!” Ruth gasped. “Oh, Edwin!” ee

He slipped fsa the door and ne 3 erg
lessly, reverently, as, for the last time, the eels
casket is lowered, secluding forever
og mee hall he drew on his overcoat and angst
his hat. He waited for a pause in the Ke ae
from the doorway he said good night to
Mrs, rson. ; ;

pe pegpscooor horse bore him swiftly perenne
Shrilling forest, he buttoned his coat closely age cm
the chill of the winter breeze moaning oa tii
frosted pine-tops, whose bristling nee ‘s. it
stiffened and fretting harshly, wailing, cys A fen
heart-piercing cadences _ that acernee A Hi
Voice expressing the dreary loneliness 0 in ae"

From the depth of aching hopeless Acorns
void of desolation, his mind was strugg soghta fight
ally with plans for the future; resolving

 

ne ahi
oe Fier ae tm Ruane ree

= i =~ Ce ee
— _ te ee a ee Te RET er ee

pape Rie dh iat on eRe es eee

sae ia og a :
43
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7

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.

180 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS
life’s battles manfully,
Maude, slavishly achieve

usurious gain wrought by t
and children, the product

to fulfill his pledges to
her comfort, and yet no
he weak fingers of women

of the necessitous lives of
the needy and unfortunat

e, should assist in his con-
quering of fortune; brave

ly he would struggle alone,
unaided by a successful father. And the forest
sighed, the tall pines b

Owed sympathetically in
unison with the turmoil of his soul.

BOOK III.

AUTUMN.

“They have flourished in beauty and rm 0
They have laughed in the beams of the su i Mae

They have wept when the heavens were unw ’
They have sighed when the darkness situ i

Let them fall; let them perish; it is well! ae
Their youth and their sweetness have flown.

—Longfellow.

 
—Longfellow.

“How dread the day must be when Love,
A while by angels fanned,

Must drop apart, a broken thing,
Despised, and barred, and banned.”

—Lindsay.
The broad

» illimitable sweep of sunlight of a

bright June day lay upon Kissic-Dale and its wilder-
ness of roses.

Mary Graham, alone upon the veranda, sighed

helplessly as she surveyed the floral magnificence
spread so lavishly for her solitary enjoyment.

sun shone so brilliantly with the lustre of diamonds
in its refulgency ; the roses were so extremely lovely,
so vari-colored, so intensely tinted, so lavish of
their fragrance, so luxuriant in their blooming. In
the long years of her stay at Kissic-Dale she could
not recall such a harvest of fragrance and blossom,

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 183

of emerald foliage and bird music; the magnolias
dressed daily, as if for a bridal, the Cape jessamines,
Tegal in their luscious crop of waxy, white petals
and cloying aroma; the white lilies rivalling them,
and seducing the bees and brilliant-hued humming
birds; the honeysuckle rioting in plebeian gr owth
and diffusive incense; and the birds singing as if
their hearts were bursting with melody, and the long
days were too short for them to warble off the over-
flow of their liquid music, their ephemeral joy and
The elements had been remarkably propitious,

spring season a germinating flood of sunlight and
Showers, Yet with Nature in her sunniest mood,
Ruth’s absence had been felt deeply, and the place
dreary without her sunny presence.

_ Weeks before she had been due to come home, the
time had been daily computed, until Jean had gone
to fetch her, and they had counted the hours, and

finally the minutes that elapsed ere her presence filled

the aching void in the home.
At first the joy of the reunion blinded them to the

fact that the hectic flushes on her cheeks were pro-
duced by the excitement of the glad home-coming ;
then Jean’s aroused concern was shared by all her
household. It was not the child of their hearts, their
former Ruth, who had come back to them. The
Other Ruth had not wandered aimlessly and with
dragging step, here, there, everywhere, and anon to
Sit for hours motionless, deep in a frowning revery.
Neither had she been capricious in eating and sleep-
Ing, indifferent to the flowers, the cats, 4

Pigeons. This Ruth refused to go to the kirk, and

 
v at sf ee wa <a a. ae as %, ee
a iat aS Sala OL LN As

their bairnie; her constant pallor, her listless be-
havior, her lack of appetite had worried them

greatly. Jean was remorseful for sending her away;

and Mary was significantly silent when she voiced
the unavailing regret.

Jean had written Mrs. Anderson Ruth’s condition,
demanding light upon the deplorable change in 4
nature once so hopeful and buoyant. Mrs. Andet-

In the spring Ruth

during prayers, but
t Jean be informed

y eager to graduate in every bran
of study for which the college gave diplomas, and

she had stolidly accepted her diploma when she had

successfully won it. Mrs. Anderson had not undef- ‘

stood and could not explain further Ruth’s de-
meanor, for she had not confided to her teachers
any cause for her listlessness.

Therefore Mary sighed, perplexedly, dropped
‘ att A ; y, dropp
stitches in her knitting as she absently blinked at the

bright landscape, feeling the gloom shadowing the
flower-gemmed lawn, the cool interior.

Finally, she grew restless with the oppression of
unavailing surmises and, laying aside her knitting,

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 185

Put on her sunbonnet and strolled out among the
roses, which she caressed regretfully, in that so much
beauty and sweetness should go unappreciated.
She pursued a meditative mood, which led her to
the orchard, where her feet smote the bluebells, ring-
ing fairy chimes unheeded. It was delicious there
In the shade of the fruiting foliage haunted by happy
birds and trembling in the breath of aimless breezes.
_ When she had left the great colonaded veranda,
Silence had reigned there in intensified degree, €X-
cept for the faint scratching of Jean’s pen, as she
Wrote at her desk, placed in the pathway of breezes
SWeeping through the open windows of the sitting-
room, until Ruth came out and reclined languidly in
a large wicker chair, her eyes viewing, blankly, the
lawn and exquisite prospect. Then Jean laid aside
her pen and came out also, to sit beside Ruth. pot
“IT have been wishing to speak with you, Ruthie,
She said, earnestly, “but I would not disturb you

While you seemed to be resting.” ;

“Well, Auntie?” Ruth returned, faintly interroga-
tive,

“Yes, I have been impressed that you find it lonely

here after being with so many young people for sev-
€ral months; and really it is lonelier here than for-

. You miss your teachers, Mrs. Barnard,
Donald, and Mrs. Anderson. And last sumer af
Phillips and your uncle were here a great deal an
helped to divert us. Suppose I give you a house
Party, invite as many of your schoolmates as you
desire, and induce some Of your relatives and ac-
quaintances to join them here, and thus enliven our
Solitude ?” Jean suggested, earnestly.

 
186 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“Oh, do not think of such a thing, I implore you!”
Ruth exclaimed, with such a repugnance to the idea
Jean stared her surprise and repulse.

“Surely you are ill!” she cried, solicitously.

“They would surely drife me mad, dearest
Auntie,’ Ruth apologized, the lost color rushing to
her cheeks, flushingly. She arose impulsively ; then
kneeling by Jean, she laid a cold hand upon her
cheek and probed her soft, hazel eyes with her own,
dark and glittering.

“You love me, Aunty?” she queried, in an appeal-
ing, hopeless voice.

“Of course, I love you! Who else have I on earth
to really love and cherish but you?” Jean replied,
with a reassuring caress.

“Then, Auntie, let me arrange my life for the near
future? Do you mind telling me just what we have
to spend, you and [?”

Jean gazed long and anxiously into the flushed and
haggard countenance, which had erstwhile been so
bonny. Ruth’s eyes drooped secretively, evading the
perplexed scrutiny.

In the slumberous quietude, the bees buzzed
drowsily over the flower-scented lawn; the old clock
ticked sonorously in the open hall; a light breeze
stirred the aspen leaves into a frenzy. In the dis-
tance, Mary Graham was entering Sandy’s cottage
to visit Kathy; Dicey droned a hymn in her room
beyond the kitchen; a mocking-bird was trilling
lazily in the topmost branches of a magnolia. A
darksome dread compressed Jean’s heart ; her bosom
ached with a repulsive foreboding.

“Do you mind telling me, Auntie?” Ruth whis-
pered, hoarsely.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 187

“You did not sleep well last night, bairnie,” Jean
said, evasively.

Ruth waited tensely for an answer to her request.

“T will tell you exactly,” Jean said, finally and
thoughtfully. “It is your right to know. I should
have told you long ago if it had occurred to me to
do so.” ig

“Well?” Ruth encouraged her with unsmiling
lips. She felt that she was pleading for sanity.

Jean deliberated, arranging facts and sums men-
tally and methodically. “Your dear Mamma,” she
resumed with precision, “had some of the little for-
tune left her when Jamie married her. He never
touched a penny of it, and neither have I. It
amounted to five thousand dollars then, and it has
been accumulating interest ever since, and now it
must be considerable more than that. It is safely
invested in bonds, where Jamie placed it after they
were married. Then Jamie’s life was insured for
ten thousand dollars, and I had it added to the sum
your mother left for you.” She faltered and stroked
Ruth’s hair, as Ruth laid her arm around her
shoulders in a silent caress. Jean resolutely put
aside distressing memories and continued:

“That is all yours absolutely; I have ro part in
that money, and all the balance will be yours when I
pass away. I also have a few thousands invested in
bonds. You know Archie left me a farm that pays
me a good rental, and I have never used any of it
here, for I have never needed to do so. Kissic-Dale
more than pays our moderate expenses ; and to prove
it I could show you as much as we could spend soon,
in the till of the old chest in my bedroom. Did you
ever imagine that thing a bank as well as a relic?

 
——

;
)
.
;
:

ee a NR ET A LE I TRA: ee. ec

I a a ima mR: ee eee ae = ane ee
oa

188 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

Ruth lifted her head
believed it

ended with a sigh. Her effort to be gay

“Besides that I have spoken of, there are the thou-
sands my father invested in the bonds of the city of
I.——., which has been increasing steadily since his
death some years before you were born; and lastly,
here is Kissic-Dale, with its hundreds of acres of
long-leaf pines, which make the best of lumber, to
say nothing of their possibilities in turpentine and
rosin. When we choose to have them worked or to
sell them for lumber, the timber of our sand barrens
will become veritable gold mines, and the plantation
ensures a good living as long as it is cultivated.

But we do not need our pines to be sold, maybe
never. It would grieve me to know them slain. I
feel they are living witnesses of the past, of the lives
of those sleeping in the churchyard at the kirk. They
can wait indefinitely, for you know your Uncle
Angus is quite wealthy and has never married, and
that he says you are his heiress,” she concluded,
smiling down into the wan face pressed against het
shoulder.

Ruth’s eyes were veiled inscrutably. There were
purple shadows beneath them; her cheeks werfé
flushing nervously.

“Now tell me your plans for your future, bairnie,”

Jean queried anxiously. “Teli me why you are $0
suddenly and for the first time in your life con-
cerned about our finances ?”

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 189

Ruth answered with repressed urgency. “I have
been thinking, Auntie, or a
that I had rather go to a more advat
the one I attended last winter. It was so easy to win
a diploma there. I wish to go to the very best school
in the United States, get away from everything local,
and be where I can glimpse the wide world, all :
Porgress, and meet people whose influence will om t
my mind and avoid those who will lower my are
my first impressions of the divinity of human “te.
Do you not realize that I am right, that my ideals mh
reasonable and logical! And it is mainly your wi
that only the very best and most conservative W!
pease me. I am anxious to see and consult with

ncle Angus.”

“We will write him immediately, my dear. Fae
know I am replying to his last; I have not conclude
my letter,” Jean suggested hopefully. —

Ruth rested a moment, spent and listless with un-
resting excitement. She was speaking with pier’
effort, and while doing so had often moistened “e
dry lips, which resisted her voice and refused to be
mobile. When finally she withdrew her eyes pico
vacant stare into blank distance, Jean could hardly
bear the suffering appeal, the shadows of pain eme
bodied in their strained expression. a

“Let us be wildly free this summer, anon
like the care-free birds wing our way to oo.
clime, to Uncle Angus in his distant home. I bs
very much to go, and he will be so pleased to have
us With him. We will stay with him until ie can
arrange about the school; Vassar oF Bryn rig!
I have been planning. I like the last name; 1

 
190 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

has a sound like the old country, doesn’t it?
Say that we will go, oh, please do!” she entreated
so vehemently and impractically, the tears rose from
an aching depth in Jean’s heart and brimmed her
eyes to an overflow she suppressed with difficulty.

She began to fear that Ruth had been smitten with
sudden insanity. She searched the records of the
lives of all known MacKenzies and was relieved that
she could not recall a hint of infirm mentality in any
branch of the family tree. Yet she nervously began
to reassure Ruth that her happiness was the para-
mount interest of hers and Angus Bethune’s lives.

“Of course we will go,” she promised, rashly, for
until that moment such an idea had not entered her
mind. “I will arrange everything as you desire;
only be happy and well again, bairnie, and I will not
count the cost of any undertaking, but it will take
some time to bring it to pass, I fear.”

“Oh, no! I have thought out the entire plan,
please, Auntie! We must go right away. I am so
dreadfully tired, so tired, so tired!”

She leaned wearily against Jean’s shoulder, the
white lids veiled her smarting, tearless eyes ; the dark
lashes lay in the purple shadow encircling them
which showed lividly against the white pallor of her
cheeks. Her words, her manner awed Jean into an
anxious silence.

“I have not finished; I have not explained my
plans. You must go with me to my school and stay
there with me. We can arrange for that also; here
everyone understands their duties and will fulfill
them ; Mary, Dicey, Sandy and David, and you need
the change. You love to know things and appreciate

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 191

the world far more than I ever shall. You have
made yourself a recluse for my sake; now you must
go abroad and acquaint yourself with the ideas of
the present day ; you will enjoy that, dearie. At the
school we must live comfortably. I shall insist upon
the best of everything for you. What is the use of
money but to spend it reasonably to enhance our
lives with knowledge and pleasure? Why should we
not finally see bonny Scotland? You would enjoy
that so much, wouldn’t you? The dear scenes so
sacred, the land our forefathers so loved and cher-
ished !—and—and by-and-by, when I have grown
wise and strong, and peace is my portion, we will
come back here and I will care for you in your old
age and repay your tenderness to me in all the days
of my life.”

“Hush, Ruth!” Jean commanded, peremptorily.
“I am giddy with the recital of your astonishing
plans and fancies! Be practical, dearie.”

“Oh, but you will heed them. Say you will,
Auntie?” Ruth wailed so desperately Jean hastened
to promise again and again that every wish should
be gratified, however fanciful and impractical.

“My caged bird, so long in captivity, shall spread
its wings and soar beyond these tame pine-barrens,
shall know the great world of restless,men and
women, the scenic wonders of this mysterious globe!
But oh, bairnie, I fear the experience will render you
no happier ; happiness is purely a heart-growth, and
you cannot be separated from that, you know. When
weighed down with sorrows or restive from monot-
ony, I have communed with myself, drilled my heart
into subjection, then bowed in reverence as the rod

 
192 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 193

of affliction passed over my suffering life, until I
could truthfully say, ‘Thy will be done.’ ”

Jean ceased her soothing monologue and waited to
know if it had proved consoling; troubled and per-
plexed, she divined the seething unrest of the young
soul she had endeavored to lead into paths of peace
and holiness since Ruth’s earliest infancy.

claimed in a flurry of girlish interest. “Here 1s a
description of their wedding. I knew them last
summer. They were at Altamount while I was
there with Mamma! They were the only engaged
couple there that we knew of. He came to see her
there, and brought such a quantity of the sweetest
flowers ; she was really insolent in her lavish display

Pa ae eat A i NS lc . =

aa A nent neat

a

“Thank you, Auntie ; you are so kind,” Ruth mur-

mured, gratefully, as she recalled how she had

lingered about Loch Lily on its dizziest brink, gazing
into its sinister depths, fascinated with its menace to
life, which it could so easily extinguish.

It had been her salvation that she could not over-
come her repugnance to the object Jamie had drawn
from its placid water when May skies were reflected
by its luminous surface. Her despair was fathom-
less, and had submerged her care-free past as a
storm-cloud obscures the sunlight and drapes the
earth in lurid light.

One day she had sat in her room at the college,
where the windows permitted an outlook of rolling
hill-country, and, very distantly, misty blue moun-
tains horizoned the view from the small, collegiate
town which straggled over the raw hilltops. A white
sweep of March sunshine had irradiated the scene,
blustering blasts of a fickle wind had been rocking
the leafless trees and swaying the coppices of green,
stunted young pines, which were as_ emerald
splotches upon the sear wastes of brown sedge and
red clay embraced in the landscape. A girl pupil had
entered the room flourishing the local newspaper of
her home town.

“Oh, but they have really married!’ she had ex-

of them before our envious eyes; carnations and
roses, sweet camelias and fuchsias! She wore them
in great clusters at her belt, even in the daytime, and
the stingy thing gave no one so much as a blossom,
except his sister, who, rarely, had a rosebud or a
wilted carnation; but my! how they smiled and
danced together! She quite appropriated him; let us
know, unmistakably, he was her property; she actu-
ally paraded their engagement, she did, Miss Mac-
Kenzie!” The girl had chattered with a very ex-

aggerated interest in matrimony and lovers.
Ruth’s listless attention had not deterred her con-

fidences, and she had left the paper when a voice had

called to her from the hallway. |

“There is Lula come to visit me, and I must go to
my room, but you look it up and read about the
wedding. It was such a fine wedding; my! palms
and ferns and Southern smilax; fine dresses and
music. They were named Phillips and,Endiston,
and they were married at Ardenia, where her father
has a factory.”

She had flitted away as Ruth accepted the paper,
more in courtesy to the girl than prompted by
curiosity.

But when she had found the notice of the wedding
and glanced over its grandiloquent phrases, descrip-

 
194 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

tive of what it termed “a marriage in high life,” a
torturing premonition was evoked in her mind by
the name of Phillips. She had never heard the name
of the other party to the marriage contract, and she
refused to believe it was the Edwin Phillips she
knew. There had been so little said of the bride-
groom, his personality had been so submerged by

the glowing epithets bestowed upon the bride and
her successful father.

_A few days later on, a letter from home had en-
lightened her so much her heart could no longer
entertain the slightest hope. She had fainted in the
chapel the following morning as the entire school
had been assembled for prayers and distribution of
mail. She had kept the incident from Jean, and
strove heroically to conceal her humiliating sorrow.
In the restless mood of unaccustomed suffering, she
had longed inexpressibly for the haunts of her child-
hood, for Jean, and the secure harbor of Kissic-
Dale’s protecting love and solace.

_ The world had not realized her pristine concep-
tions of its grandeur, indeed, it had fallen far short
of the ideals that were mediocre standards at Kissic-
Dale; yet, as the days and weeks had dragged their
interminable length, the ineffable peace and beauty
of home scenes had proven so antagonistic to the
dreary pain that filled her heart, daily and hourly,
she had become frantic for an immediate flight, since
an incident of the previous afternoon, when Sandy
had fetched some purchases he had made for Jean at

the distant country store in their present post office
town.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 195

Sandy had tarried to relate bits of neighborhood
news he had gathered on the trip.

Jean and Mary were very much interested, and to
please them he had gossiped for their benefit.

“T saw young Phillips and his wife; they had
driven over there for mail,” he said, incidentally,
when the health and welfare of distant neighbors
had been discussed and he had arisen to depart.
“She is with him now, at Dalrymple’s, you know.
They say they have enlivened up things over there.

His sister is there with his wife.”
“Ts she?” Mary Graham had interjected. “I heard

he had bought new furniture and a carpet for his
room and had everything quite stylish for his wife

when she came.”
“He is running an engine over the tram road he

has built, now. It leads from his mill to the railroad
station,” Sandy had remarked with keen interest,

while Jean and Mary listened attentively.
The tram road was an innovation, something the

natives had never dreamed of, had not imagined
possible; the long, undulating lines of rough scant-
lings laid without grading, over which a small, spe-
cially constructed engine hauled flat cars loaded with

lumber.
_ While the seductive subject had been discussed,

Ruth had moved from the circle to hide her betray-
ing features. A memory of the violent emotions of
that moment had brought a sleepless night and a
suffering day. She had felt as if paralyzed with the
shock Sandy’s innocent words had given her. A
flat dish, overshadowed by thrifty geraniums, had
been, fortunately, then discovered to be dry, to the

 
196 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

feverish discontent of two thirsty pigeons, who
lamented the fact with wistful plainings. She had
filled the dish and stood stroking the pets with
trembling hands until she had gained strength to
escape to her room. Her mind had held but one
idea since, her heart but one overwhelming desire;
and that was to go far away and forget she had
existed previous to that March day which loomed on
the scroll of her past as a crucifixion of her soul.

The frenzy of her mind, the dread of hearing or
seeing that which would increase the torture of her
suffering heart, gave her courage to form plans with
a flagellated conception and to plead with Jean for
their execution.

“You know, Auntie, Mary cannot stay here alone,”
she resumed, lifting her mind from a reflective
silence ; “you said not long ago that you would build
Neil a cottage, so that he might marry Flora in the
early autumn. Let them marry right away! They
can live with Mary while we are away. You must
go with me, and we must go immediately. Do you
comprehend how vitally I desire this, dearie?” |

“Yes, yes, bairnie, we will go. I can soon arrange
everything needful for the trip and the absence. I
will write another letter to your uncle in reply to the
one I received yesterday. Yes, we will go; rest here
while I re-write my letter.”

So, after a reassuring kiss received by Ruth’s dry
and pleading lips, Jean returned to her desk and
wrote Angus Bethune that Ruth and herself were
coming to visit him in the immediate future.

When the early evening meal was concluded, she
repaired to the parlor and opened the piano, seek-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 197

ing peace of mind in voicing some of her favorite
hymns. She felt so much at sea, logical thought was
so enmeshed in an intangible anxiety; and Ruth
wandered in aimless unrest to the rose-garden and
sat, stilled and listless, upon the wrought-iron seat
beneath the ancient magnolia, trying to wring from
torpid life some interest that would infuse a natural
trend to the darkened way leading out into a dim
and cheerless future; but she was as insensible to
every objective influence as the Sphynx gazing
stolidly across the desert throughout eons of time ;
so Night, God’s Angel Night, spread its brooding
wings over the gasping earth and dropped lotus
petals upon the lids of eyes that were aweary, while
Ruth prayed despairingly for a healing draught from
Lethe’s panacean fountain.

 
CHAPTER II.

THE TremPest—Kisstc-DaLE AND DREAMLAND—

In elemental conflict dread and wild

While in the void electric squadrons wheel

And measure keep with earthquakes’ strides below.
Then in the calm that storms do leave, the bow

Of peace doth span the circumambient air

With colors brighter far than painter’s dreams,
Wrapping the soul in beauty soft and mild.”

—Selected.

! gain; but a modernized, newly
painted mansion, with re-embellished _ interiors,

which had lifted it from the peaceful slumb
eral d

garden, the old trees, th

faces, and the buildings were materially the same,
only gleaming in fresh, pearl-tinted colors, that

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 199

transformed the dignified old mansion into a city-like
appearance and elegance.

Its spacious interior walls were aggrandized by
embossed paper hangings and expensive laces draped
the tall windows, while new gilded furniture put to
blush or exclusion the beloved old pieces which had
been the pride of Jean’s halcyon youth. New pic-
tures upon the walls, gleaming bronzes, poetical stat-
uary, modern mirrors and gorgeous rugs and artistic
bric-a-brac were prominent features of the plan of

renovation.

On the lawn and in the rose garden sculptured
marble in graceful forms or in uncouth idealizations
graced the scene by daylight, and amid night-
Shadows gleamed weirdly as estraying phantoms
from mythological realms, to Dicey’s great discom-
fort. She disapproved of the heathenish things, de-
Claring, “They most had gibben her de sgh ay 8
pee was frightened by them so often, when she ha

orgotten what they were. :

Richly gilded ‘endiniatee held the cherished ‘ome
and ferns; and a loquacious parrot, a tiny Frenc
Poodle, and a cage of noisy canaries had been in-
Stalled as household pets.

Ruth’s plan of the previous summer had thus
achieved a result unforeseen and unpremeditated in
her scheme of the future. Jean and Angus Bethune
had each been aroused and concerned by her mood,
and had gone the length of idolatrous affection i an
endeavor to render life interesting and hopeful, that
it might fulfill the promise of her girlhood.

The summer spent with Angus and at the resor ;
he had visited with them had indeed improved an

 
Thrown constantly among

strangers, she had soon learned the art of polite and
cordial graciousness. In replenishing her wardrobe
she had chosen the richest, the most becoming toilets,
yet had been singularly free from any vain pleasure

in her appearance and the admirati
wherever they had appeared, iration accorded her

brooding grief.

Jean, though much gratified by the opportunities

offered in the nurturin
g regime of the college, yet
oe found much in Ruth’s behavior to perplex and
isturb her. Ruth avoided as much as possible all
reference to Kissic-Dale and discussion of home
news, and had never expressed any desire to return
or any regret for their absence from the home. It
=~ ream: a wna so unlike the gay girl who
ad tormerly lavished unstinted affecti
object at Kissic-Dale., moans! Hose ch Sone
When Angus had visited them during the winter
holidays and proposed to take them south and to

Kissic-Dale, Ruth had declined the trip and had sug-
gested tourin

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 201

had rested at a hotel, Angus had taken Ruth on
Shopping expeditions, spending money so lavishly,
her thrifty soul had rebelled against their unwonted
extravagance, and she had hurried Ruth back to her
School.

Later, one evening at their own room,
a thoughtful espionage of one of Ruth's m
eries, had said, sternly interrogative: |
happy, bairnie? Is this urgent style of living satisfy-
Ing you?” fon >

“Why should I not be happy, Auntie? Ruth ha
replied, slowly, absently, in a voice strained of every
fibre of interest or emotion.

“T do not know why, but at times I am convinced
that you are miserable; you are so unnatural, so
different from the little girl I have always so
cherished,” Jean had responded, sadly.

Ruth had sat silent, gazing at her in a melancholy

too deep for words.
“T am homesick, bairnie,” Jean had then con-

fessed. “I long for home scenes and things familiar.
Dr. Lynshaw spoke of Donald this afternoon when
I met him on the campus. He had met him on a
recent visit to his college. He says Donald 1s —
popular with faculty and students, also with the loca

Society of the town.”

“Indeed!” Ruth had replied listlessly. ;
“Yes, but Donald would be popular anywhere.
was sorry we missed seeing him last summer. You

know Mary wrote us he came there soon after we

had gone,” Jean had continued. ges ?
“Yes, Aunty,” had been Ruth’s sole rejoinder, an

Jean had lapsed into a thoughtful silence, seeing

 
been so accu
by Ruth’s voice sin
ness and regret:

She had been aroused
ging softly, but with plaintive sad-

Oh, the ring of the piper’s tune!
Oh, for one of those hours of gladness!
Gone, alas! like our youth, too soon.”

She sang so hopelessly and with such pathos of
feeling, Jean had cried: “Oh, hush, bairnie! I can-

not bear it! Youth is yours and all its golden

Promises! If you do not fulfill them it will be your
a perverse temperament.” ,

Ruth, gazing wistfully at her mentor, had said,

with infinite finality : “Oh, you do not know, Auntie,
therefore cannot understand !”

“What do you mean Jean questioned,
miling wanly and

journey into the world keenly ; the quiet, cultured
realm of the college community, the glimpsing of life

aging of operas, the

203
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

Seums and libraries, the bustle and throngs the
reat cities and streets, and the swift rush of lite .
Commercial centres, but yet she had longed ar agi
for the peace of her “ain hame an tig an
when spring drew near, she became re :
S| aut A be at home planting things and ler
things resurrected from the spell of winter, : r sta
Complained so pathetically, Ruth had consente

her return to Kissic-Dale.
leave her and re homesickness had

that Ruth was enamored with modern luxury,

less im-
did not appreciate the touch of time more or
Printed Sade every object at Kissic-Dale. She had

Tecalled her own enjoyment of the innovations onl
dered as a tribute ser fa own youth and clatter
inence. She still prized family prestige very ae
her pride of race, of ancestral traditions, ess ir oo
heritages to be perpetuated inviolate and uns ig an
She had closely observed in her travels hr Aiea
labored zealously since her return. im Ruth de-
disappointed, but not disheartened, gam ag
Piration of the school term. Her excuse my’
delay had been the inducements offered by h dun
Mer course of special studies, from a oaa's
Would spare a fortnight of time during 9 sill pay
hs when it would be difficult to work,

Issic-Dale a visit.

“T am making up for lost time. I am seer too
Old not to be more informed of subjects : ae ag
“ssential for my future usefulness and P '

 
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 205

she had written most i ‘6
; , practically. When I am : ;
quite through, I shall devote my talents to the edifi- Providential wisdom; no doubt but that you have

cation of you and Uncle Angus, and to the honor of been entirely right in catering to my supposed ambi-
my family tree.” tion. Anyway, our happiness is not conserved by
On that sultry day in June she had at last arrived, — aterial things, but by the way we utilize our
and the day was celebrated throughout Kissic-Dale alents.” , «“
as a very glad one, indeed. She put her arms around Jean, contritely. Thank
It is so nice to be at home; I am sure to enjoy Side darling Auntie! But oh, how you must have
every precious moment!” she declared, happily, as fen slaving and planning to accomplish so much in
she stood once more on the broad veranda in the | such a limited period.”
midst of the assembled homefolks. When the greet- h It was all finished weeks agone,” Jean informed
ings were finished and she had a Be . “T am anxious for you to appreciate your
Over material objects, she stood amazed, as she ome. TI love it dearly, bairnie.”
swiftly comprehended the change wrought by Jean's I do appreciate it, and I will enjoy every moment
masterful skill and unwonted generosity. Of my stay here, I am sure,” Ruth responded with in-
‘Oh, Auntie!” she exclaimed, in undisguised dis- jense sincerity, yet she breathed as a child who reso-
h. Ere Jean could speak she real- | Uutely endures pain, or overcomes sorrow. i
wilfully inconsistent. Had she not | b When the heat and dust of the long journey ha
prayed that the roses might be faded entirely, that “en exorcised by refreshing rest amid the comforts
the home might be as prosaic-and sordid as was pos- Of the cool rooms and she was girlishly fresh in a
sible to its sentimental atmosphere ; and had she not : 'mple white toilet, Jean led her from room to room,
dreaded, with unspeakable pain, the memories it © acquaint her with their changed appearance. She,
might evoke in ined Samad : dutifully, admired, and lent approval to every
“It was for your sake, bairnie, your enjoyment detail, flattering Jean’s taste and artistic megs’
ave been to this expense and trouble. ation so skillfully, her countenance beamed wit
2 Satisfaction she had not experienced since her
; not blame you for disliking the old- Self-imposed task was undertaken. d
fashioned home. To your enlightened and youthful | Donald may be here to-morrow,” Jean remarked,
mind, it must have seemed mediaeval.” “Ss they entered the parlor. “He was here some oh
“How you have misconceived my heart, Auntie!” | Weeks ago, and I found him much improved in poortd
Ruth observed, passionately. “I loved the old | Way. He has attained his degree and secured a g
State of things and revered it more than anything =| Position in a Western college. He asked me many

else in this world, but perhaps you have acted with ious to see

SS 5

= ae
Se aes

Sas es

<I

Se a FS
eee aes eee

patie: ea

a ee

ey:
SR ae

®.
"a

p35 % ails

aS

SEs

qWestions concerning you; he is very anxt Ih
You, and, according to a promise I gave him, * have

 
206 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

written him the exact date of your arrival, and he
may be here to-morrow or the day after. Here is
your Daphne portrait, Ruth! Donald spent moments

gazing upon it. I informed him of the interest it
had excited in artistic circles.”

de mprehended Jean’s mysteri-
ous knowledge of the fame the portrait had really

achieved during the commencement season at hef
college.

you that Mrs. Beale ha
i ant figure? and that she
was attaining a coveted reputation by acclaiming the
merits of her masterpiece, as she was pleased to style
my portrait, in which she has so idealized me I hardly
recognize myself as the original?” Ruth queried and
remarked, critically.

“Do not be cynical, Ruthie. I detest a supercilious

woman,” Jean rebuked her niece’s unusual asperity-

“I beg your pardon, Auntie. I spoke without re-
flection,” Ruth submitted.

“The portrait is just as you used to be,” Jean de-
clared convincingly. “Donald said it was a wonder-
ful likeness and a true artist must have executed the
sympathetic study of your lineaments.”

Ruth viewed the portrayal of herself, silently and
searchingly, and a deprecating frown clouded her
features. Alas! Mrs. Beale had been too literal 11

her reproduction; she had probed beneath the as

7
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 20

ees ]

Sumption and pose that had rigidly guarded her rea
self, peered hevied the shadow veiling her soul apomes
the gaze of the curious and observant. She bia
dered if Donald had noted it, that ogre which a
been a stranger to her life when she knew 4 ir

Hundreds of discriminating people. ee e :
nounced the portrait indescribably beautif u 18
the art exhibit of the school, where it had proven 7
be the piece de resistance in the splendid or yp
talent shown. Repeatedly she had been soug *
2nd impelled to meet admiring groups of rs A.
Who gazed upon her reverently, if curiously. ee
uch she had regretted posing for the ay ye ed
Would never confess to Jean, who, yielding to -m
'Nsistence of Mrs. Beale, had influenced her in post g
48 a flower-crowned Daphne that she might obtain
Copy,

“Ruth,” Jean recalled her from a retrospective Of
Many memories pertaining to the speaking !

Sate shadow of herself, “did I write you of Edwin

Phillips bringing his wife here some time about the

first of this month ?” :

No, Auntie you did not mention it that pee
ember,” was the casual if forced response ae
Ruth, who moved restively as her features x ¢ all
ay into stern, set lines, robbing her lips

Obility, 7

“Well they were here and spent most of ge theesl
Jean related, not discerning Ruth’s sudden had
Nd cold attention. “She said, frankly, — bring
heard of the flowers at this place and made ai i Ny
her. Your picture reminded me of her, "t r I was
did not quite like her, which I regretted, to

 
ies soe Se ee

Se

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ar st

= = 2 A ee
ao = Sa = ==

aS

a

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ia) if
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4 Niet 2 ne a,
SN a

5 al ae

i at

rt ini
<4 Sey

208 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

very fond of Edwin, as you may remember, before
his marriage ; but she seemed to regard me and my
home as a sort of menagerie she was privileged to
view and comment upon unceremoniously. Edwif
was very quiet, inclined to silence, while she did most
of the talking. He came to see me about a section of
timber that is sandwiched in among a tract of Colin
Gilmour’s his company has purchased for lumbef-
After dinner we were in here for some time, and she
opened and played the piano; afterward she found
your picture, which I had hung the day previous. |

“ “Who is it? she inquired brusquely, as she indi
cated the picture with pointing finger, and I im
formed her that it was my niece, then studying if
the North. Edwin did not answer, but sat down and
stared through the window, as if to avoid any dis

cussion of the subject, but she appealed to him |

directly by asking: ‘Did you know this Ruth,
Edwin?’ I resented that he had never mentioned
you to his wife after being entertained here so fre-
quently, formerly. ‘Of course he did,’ I exclaimed,
I fear somewhat indignantly, and she ignored mé

te quiz him farther. ‘Is she the person who sent

Della and I roses that summer? I thought she was
some old maid from the way you spoke of her
Edwin replied very quietly but positively : ‘You are
mistaken, Maude; I never mentioned the donor t
you. I delivered the flowers to Della, to whom
they were given.’
“‘And it was from this place you brought thosé
flowers to Altamount?’ she resumed reminiscently-
‘I want to see where they grew, especially those caf-
nations I wore while we danced that evening!’ and

209

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

I had to go with her to the carnation plot, and she
8athered your blossoms ruthlessly.”

“But why do you tell me this, Auntie? We are
accustomed to giving away flowers! Ruth inter-
Posed in a hard tone that she contrived to render
Steady.

“Because I resented the way she spoke of pv
bairnie, and—his allowing it,” Jean explained #
fensively. “But when we returned to the house an
entered the parlor, I found him standing 1 front
Of your picture, studying it intently ; then I forgave
him his previous indifference. Where are you going,
Ruth? You have not seen the room that 1 was most
anxious to show you,” Jean remonstrated, as Ru
Was passing abruptly from the room.

“T will see everything later ; I am very tired, you
Must remember, dearie, and I must rest a while.
And keeping her face averted from Jean's stare,

he passed out hurriedly, leaving Jean to follow at

S
her leisure.

As the afternoon waned, a lurid light marked the
€ventide. Dark cloud-banks loomed on the western
horizon ; an ominous stillness prevailed. mene

“We shall have a storm to-night, I think, md
Graham remarked as they came out to the Math
after an early supper. Jean prophesied: that the

stor it would clear the atmos-
m would be severe, but it ther day.

ie, than the past two days;
Sufferably oppressive,” she asserted.
_They tarried in the outdoor air u ae
Night, but the storm yet delaying its approach, Mey

 
210 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

finally sought rest in sleep, but soon were aroused by
a violent tempest of wind and electricity and down-

pouring rain ; the night became hideous with the up-
roarious tumult of the storm-charged elements.

Ruth was assailed with an unconquerable nervous-
ness, which drove her from her room in a quest for
comfort with Jean and Mary.

ie. am afraid, Auntie; sore afraid!” she appealed,
shivering with dread and the chill of her sensations,
as the clap and detonation of huge thunderbolts
seemed to rend the earth asunder and the house
quivered upon its stable foundations froma the rush-
ing impact of the shrieking winds; and so it was as
cloud after cloud arose and passed over, spending its
fury, deafeningly.

Finally, restless with the strain imposed upon heft
courage, Ruth wandered to an eastern window,
where she viewed with a weird fascination, by the
light of continuous flashes of lightning, the wind and
rain pelting trees and flowers; and gazed afar off to
where the forest bowed and writhed, and lowering
clouds, black as coal smoke, dropped glittering bolts
of swift destructive power. The imagery and fancies
of her childhood seemed to be reincarnated by the
storm.

She experienced a peculiar reverence for the spec-
tacular strife, that battle of the atmospheric gods,
furious amid the forces of Nature; Neptune uplift-
ing the flood-gates of his realm with his pronged tri-
dent; Boreas, awful breath whizzing and shrieking
wrath, lashing with insensate fury the submissive,
moaning forest; Jupiter hurling, with ponderous
might, irresistible missiles of streaming fire ; the con-

roe pa trca atlas on arse ym lit 7,8 a hea ed eh tales ete iat 8

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 211

quered earth drenched in penitential tears, flowing
in the wake of victory. 4
Jean found her and stood by her side, silent an
reflective, until the crisis of the tempests was spent
and the storm- ebon array
against the eastern horizon ;
tricity became intermittent and the t 2
splashing showers of intercepted raindrops. Se: a
still gazing abroad, viewing the shivering an¢ Sis
ing forest, she said, impellingly : “You did wir
to hear the point of my story about Edwin an nu
wife! I am reminded of it by conjecturing the de-
struction such storms as this entails upon the sare
I was thinking of Edwin, who, I have been informed,
is working slavishly to wring fortune from Its re
sources. He must be enamored with the pines, but
I did not used to think so. His wife said that ys
when speaking of the carnations she wore i e
dance, that he had worn a small twig of pime gre
his coat lapel, that he had pretended to wear it as
symbol of his work here.” |
Ruth leaned wearily agains
“Do you think he is happy now
wistfully.

t the window frame.
>» she questioned

that one time.
effusive than formerly, but yes, I suppose

happy. His wife is a very stylish, very

girl,” Jean replied, reservedly. Gy hg
“T am very tired now, car ihe had

Ruth said, breaking a s

assured herself that the s

silvery stars twinkled from a

 
212 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

showing in a rift of the storm wra
cks. Jean left her
essa disposed in bed, and she ‘etloved she
, _ soon be asleep. The previous night had been
pent in travel, and she had ridden from the distant

station in the sultry forenoon h
ours. Surely, she
must sleep well and dreamlessly from sheer fatigull

Bevies of white
pigeons circled upward, silhouetted against a

turquoise sky, keeping pa A je:
4 ce wit
ehbvenniints: ping p h her swift, uncertain

: A weird radiance, remarkably luminous, dazzled
“Se vision and concealed some indefinite object of
er unresting quest. Anon the scene changed, and

she was down by Loch Lily, whose surf
with the waxen sheen of Aebatiomese stot aa

Unresting, but ever brill
= rilliant and radiant, a
dazzling kaleidoscope, fairer than any scene em-

esquely silent.

Instinctively, she was aware that her Uncle Angus
was being united in marriage to some invisible per-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 213

son she labored in vain to behold. In tattered robes,

hands before a white-haired minis

emnly reading the service. Beyond Angus was an-
Other bowed head, crowned with orange blossoms,
rty to the marriage

and that invisible, mysterious pa ss tae
contract, aroused an excruciating anxiety im her
mind. She must know! Oh, why was the identity
hidden from her? She cried aloud for Jean in nr
agony of smothering distress, and Jean answere

her.
“What is it, bairnie? Have I frightened you? See!
The sun is shining. It is near nine o’clock of vhis
beautiful morning, and breakfast is waiting for howl
She exhorted, leaning above the bed whereon Rut

struggled into consciousness and with supreme ©”
emerged from the spell of dreams. Her bcs
her eyes smarte

t i Y
hrobbed like a tumultuous stream t tripped as

in oisture, her hear
a burning dearth of m with an un-

a leaden hammer and her mind reeled -

canny premonition of evil. -

She had awakened in her own room 1n the rear O d
Parlor, that the sweet breath of flowers ar ni
through the open windows, and she caught the fon

7 i the tinkle of
at the dove-cote, and beheld

solicitously

ing Jean’s neck, impulsively kissed h
After breakfast she expressed a wish to go out

into the bright sunshine and the pen respon

the perfect morning. “You may unp@

 
214 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

I have a present in th
bee em for each one, remember,”
she said, in a tone of blitheness. : ae

She loitered in the rose i
-garden and then, passin
a the dove-cote, went down to the barn i ice
we animals. There were none in their stalls, being
. in hep pastures, but Sandy was there, placing
ee the broad back of one of the gentle horses 4
arge sack of grain. Ezeke, gawky with uncouth
snag was helping to balance the ungainly burden.
andy explained that it was choice corn, to be
ground into fine meal for the pantry. The torrential
rains of the past night had reminded him that Gil-
mour’s mill, so primitive and small, would be flush

with water, and he was sending the grice that it~

migh :
sect be ground while there was water to turn the

Ruth had an instant inspirati
it inspiration that she must go
over and sketch the little mill and the homestead in

the hollow of low hills seen distantly from the upper —

tener of Kissic-Dale, and present it to Mrs.
Beale, who was ever alert for quaint and novel sub-
jects for her art class. Ezeke rode proudly away,
astride of the corn-sack, with the appearance of a
grasshopper crouched for a spring, elated that for
the moment he was master of the equine whose
docility would ensure safety to his precarious seat
and amateurish equestrianism.

Out in the woods Ruth stroked the fawn-colored
calves and gathered the tender leaves of hickory and
other growths that she might crush and inhale their
woodland incense,

Jean had warned her away f
y from the spring and
the flood-drenched glens below, and she St te her

215

wanderings to upland pastures and forest. When
quite spent with tramping she rested awhile upon a
gravelled knoll in the shade of a gray-trunked post-
oak, and, through vistas of leaves and tendrils,

glimpsed the billowy sea of primeval pines beyond

the valley in which lay Kissic-Dale, with its broad

fields and the winding stream of Holly Creek.
Ruth experienced an affinity with the remoteness
of her position; in the aloofness of her present

ideals; her aspirations and achievements. She re-

joiced that she could no more enter into the fancies
ve could return to

and passions of her past than Eve
the sword-guarded haunts of Paradise. With ber”

retrospection, she reviewed her stern effort to ascen
to the emotionless plane of the Stoics, to live in the
calm, rare atmosphere of philosophical composure.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

It is lonely upon the heights which tes

strength and courage in attal h extreme alti-
liness, a

tude, and she was conscious
bitter bereavement, a chill of the heart, there In the
diffusive sun cheer and the smiling warmth and
beauty of an ideal summer landscape. In vain the
birds sang, the sunshine danced, the green leaves

quivered, and the woods breathed their sylvan in-

cense; never again would such charms set her young
g with 1n-

heart pulsing, her sensitive fancies teemin

toxicating hopes and anticipations. _ had
The incidents Jean had related so innocently ha

hurt, for a moment, as the cruel tearing apart of
Partially healed wounds in sensitive flesh, but she
had acquired strength to conquer and subdue even
such sharp and sudden pain. The year of heroic
discipline had not been in vain; she had learned

 
216 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

there, where the scenes of

fronted her with their suggestions of the past, the

dead and buried past, beyond resurrection, irretriev-
ably cast into outer darkness.

her heart’s tragedy con-

~

17
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 2

erected to accommodate a miniature arrangement for
grinding meal and hominy.
The ace door was closed, the noisy mill

. > i d
silent, the water trickled through _ saddlerst ‘the

she could recall it all and be as dripped from the green, moss-covere
serene as winter’s distant stars; ponderous wheel. +. in the orchard
mental culture, of metaphysical and logical training Mrs. Gilmour, gathering fruit im ble He’s
directly opposed to the flaming violence of emotional called to Ezeke: “You might haiget inte him. He
being in the woods anon, but I’m expecting 6 eine
went wtih a man to scan timber, but won t be g
long.”

Ezeke had dismounted painfully, w
prehension. He feared the unbalancing 0

ight re-
and that the Gilmour’s great yellow dog migh’
spond to his call for the miller. With trembling

fingers he secured the cow’s horn suspended by a

“4 st, and made
leather thong from a nail in 283 Senda, the

i ot ae

miller,

forest had resounde

f
until he was rewarded by the appearance,
the forest, of the flamboyantly bearded miller,
the yellow dog trotting at his heels.

“You must leave your grice until its turn comes to

b & informed Ezeke, who was eyeing

the yh Maa, “Man! but all the eee

wanting meal, and you have many ahead o deol ¥
Ruth, returning, lingered in the ree Eas

view the modern note Jean had imparte ;

treasured spot; the most artistic object W

fringed with wood-ferns and

water floating lily-pads, throu

“Father Neptune” had, apparently, pt

‘ ee ee em,
A RTE Oh Pete

oe

i

See
" i +1 tag
yee. >
-

a es

on = 55 eh a ae See a
ee eee a —_ a ——

—n

we a ‘
EE LEMAR SR BE BY GRMN aries ne SEE CME om Rete ee ee

 
NR IN ao ES

stro See os

218 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

to hold aloft his three-pronged trident. Naiads and
Nymphs hid in the ferns drooping to the water’s
edge, and Neptune’s son and trumpeter, Amphibious
Triton, stood boldly forth amid the fantastic circle,
tooting a spiral shell. Ruth was absorbed in a study
of the statuary and in wondering how Jean had
found the cheap but artistic group so aptly set among
her roses,

The sun shone fiercely and thirstily, sipping the
last drop of moisture from turf and foliage, but its
ferocity had not intimidated Ruth, who seemed to
revel in its Southern fervor.

Y proceeded leisurely toward the

house, the peace of the wood-crested hills where the

birds sang so blithely in the unworldly seclusion of
the sylvan solitude, was rudely dispelled from her

mind by Dicey’s greeting: “Come on, fer gracious

sake, child!” she cried, distractedly. “Dey ain’t er
soul here but me, an ‘somebody’s dead, shore’s yer
born, ober yander.”” She waved her arms indefinitely
and tragically. |

“Are you crazy, Dicey?” Ruth exclaimed, in be-
wilderment ; Dicey’s disordered turban and excited
manner appeared to her very unseemly.

“Wish I was crazy, an’ not dis other thing hap-
pened,” Dicey retorted dolefully.

Ruth laid her hand upon the cook’s arm and said

reassuringly, “Be quiet, do, and explain. You have
frightened me.”

“Why, ’twas dis way. Mars Neil he come runnin’
y

down through the orchard and hollered sumfin’ to
Miss Jean an’ Mars D ) !

dey got up some thin

219
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

adn’t
€t-way in Mars Donald’s buggy. ae wp rore said
€ven been unhitched, I tell ye, and the went off
Omeone was dying in the woods, an word. Den
to Miss Kathy’s ’fore I could say ‘hitcliod up de
David come on from de field a h re to him,
kerridge. I seed him drivin’ off an’ ho

but he shook his head and kept right on,
Mey

‘ i
Come, I felt dat lonesome, an ws 1 tng or
ter de spring, churnin’ or er s itable
t’ oth er,” Dicey ended, nervously irrita :

CHAPTER III.

Gave echo in sobs to the words yp aseigio8
How a soul’s deep pain and a heart's w

ng;
Went floating away where the angels sing

ere fancy finds in the secret agp I
Of Longing, a hope that is like a wing.

4ccustonied suspense, th
Position on the veranda to scan

the great gate shutting out the easte

 
: I pe Mee Ee ay, es eS
Ep dled SARA Yabba ates
i Lae f a3 ;

220 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

In a short space of time she espied a buggy that

descended the slope toward the bridge and in a very
few moments reascended to pass through the gate
into the forest.

A vague fear disturbed her mind, a presage of
calamity pressed heavily upon her spirits. She re-
called the strange dream from which she had awak-
ened that morning; it had meant this, then, the

nervous apprehension from which she could think of
no refuge.

Dicey fetched her a glass of milk and lamented
the spoiling dinner. “And I had jest done my
purtiest in gittin’ it for you an’ Mars Donald!” she

complained. “It shore seems er long time since you

an’ him were here tergether, honey!”

d absently and sipped her milk. “What

ppened, do you suppose, Dicey?” she
queried, just to voice some of the uneasiness she
felt so poignantly yet vaguely.

“Thank goodness, dar comes Miss Jean, an’ she
shore can tell us!” Dicey exclaimed.

As Jean entered the gate and advanced to the
veranda, upon Mary’s arm, her pallor alarmed Ruth.
She ran down the steps and helped her to a seat
on the veranda.

“It was Edwin, bairnie! Our bonnie Edwin!
Ezeke found him as he returned from the mill. Poof
Edwin! I think he intended coming here to see me
about that timber. I had decided to give it to him,
bairnie! We were just in time to see him die. He
was lying some distance from his buggy, prone upon
the pine needles, the hot sun in his eyes, but he was
unconscious and soon ceased to suffer. A decayed

     

221
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

limb had fallen from a great height and oe “abit
°n the temple. The firm heart of the decaye in last
was encased in sodden, dead fibre. The f en and
Night had filled every pore of its spungy sur pee. as
tt fell like a thunderbolt from a clear sky

fatally. But it was to be so;

‘Not a sparrow falleth,
But his God doth know,
Just as when His mandate

, 99

Lays a monarch low, 3

4 dly. vr
She pau d to quote, tenderly and resigne
closed his a bairnie!” she resumed when the

d waited
SToup about her stood in awed silence an
zo - hx tad ae d. “I closed his dear, gentle eyes

Th

’

terically, her strength broken by the s

Scene she had so recently experienced. been
“Colin Gilmour had just left him ; they had

. 7 t d
1 the woods together. Colin is with pow a d
Donald and Sandy. Neil has gone to the ne
Pony to Hector Dalrymple’s, and eg Pogson tn

im here. I came on to prepare for his ¢ re A
that he might be cared for in a humane ie cht
They are waiting for Henry separa cot his
for him before he died; Henry is the on Ay sapere
People in this country at present; his w!

 
222 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

with his or her people. I am glad to do all T can for
the poor fellow! He was always so gentle, so defer-
ential and kind.” Jean concluded her eulogy with 4
deep sigh of compassionate sympathy for the young
life so suddenly ended.

Ruth still spoke no word; she hardly compre
hended Jean’s sobbing utterances, yet she was pale,
whiter than her white dress. She felt that she, t0®,
was dying, at intervals, and that the earth was fold-
ing in with ponderous might to crush her, when, lift
ing her glance to the road beyond the bridge, she
discovered the carriage descending it slowly, a mam

walking by either side, the horses guided carefully,

the curtains drawn, shielding from the mid-day sum
the pitiable burden. Then realization came upon
her sharply; a murderous pain was stabbing hef
heart as she groped her way into the house, unnoted
by Jean, who was endeavoring to check her futile
tears and regain composure. The walls of the hall
appeared to be closing in upon her so smotheringly;
she sought the air by passing through the open wit-

dow of her bedroom, and from there to the reat

lawn, where she walked aimlessly until the horrof
of the moment drove her into the circling paths
threading turf and shrubbery; and finally, as the
carriage forced its tedious way down the cherry lané
to the gate, she fled incontinently down the way 10
the spring and dairy, bare of head, wild-eyed, and
wholly heedless.

It was late afternoon when the many sad offices
for the dead had been accomplished, and upon
white bier in the centre of the parlor, reposed the

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 223

"igid form of Edwin Phillips, neatly composed in
the last, dreamless sleep of mortality.
White-starred jasmine, with its graceful foliage,
Cutlined the prostrate figure, beneath its. white
drapery; and a sheaf of white lilies lay beside the
Pillow ‘pressed by the quiet head. Palms stood as
‘entinels guarding sacred slumber, and ferns were
Massed as a base for a formal catafalque. The —
and rose-garden had been levied upon, recklessly,
and bowls and vases overflowed with fragrant-
hearted roses, delicate smilax and m :
ferns ; and abroad the strong, fervid light of swe
Summer day mocked the gloom brooding the mines
o those present. :
. Jean had done all that could be qchieved in honor-
ing the dead and dispelling the gloom of his un-
“mely death. The sorrow of her manifold bereave-
ments evoked a pitying tenderness, which she
Vished upon the friend who had died away from
home and dear ones. last even her exacting
‘ympathy could command no more from her tre
hands, and thoroughly exhausted, she had retire
and rested for awhile to recruit her strength.

_ The remoteness of the locality retarded prepara-

oe which were necessary to shipping the body.
ess

ter sengers had been sent to the distant station yr
},,¢8tams and to secure a casket, but not oe Fad
. Urs of early morning could they start on

Journey to catch the first train eastward.

Jennie Stevenson had never returned 0 in his
“amp ; but all the men associated with eng dees
Work at the mill had come to Kissic-Dale, to

him Once more ere he was taken away finally ; and

 
224 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

a few Scotch neighbors of that vicinity had come
also to help or extend sympathy by sitting, defer-
entially, in solemn silence, throughout the long vigil.
Mary Graham, aided by all the household, was hos-
pitably busy, and they each believed Ruth to be rest-
ing in her room, into which they would not intrude,
when there was no response to their repeated efforts
for admittance. Jean finally became anxious, turned
the bolt and stood amazed, for the room was empty
of the presence she sought. The contents of Ruth’s
trunks were piled upon the bed and chairs, as she
had left things when summoned to meet Donald but
a moment before the startling message had called
them to the forest. She sought Iphogenia, who
positively asserted that she had seen Ruth running
by the dairy, just as she was finishing her churning.
“Nobody ain’t axed me or I would er told ’em so,”
she declared, innocently. Jean, disturbed and re-
morseful, found Donald on the veranda by the par-
lor window, and informed him of Ruth’s long and
unaccountable absence.

“T know she must be alone somewhere, and that
she has an absolute horror of death to any object.
I have known her to grieve over the wilting of a
flower in her childhood, but I should think she would
prefer being in the house and with company. Once
I was afraid she would be mentally unbalanced,
grieving for a baby of Quenna’s, who died when she
was very young and we unwisely took her to view it.

We brought her away shrieking and beseeching that _

someone would warm the chill body and blow breath
into the still lungs; and for so long a time she wor-
ried about it, I have never let her approach a dead

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 225

person since. But to-day I was so shocked and so in
sympathy with poor Edwin, I have neglected her,
and I do not know where she is nor how she 1s
bearing the sad conditions here,” she said to him,
evincing a remorseful suspense. q

“I will go down that way and look for her,
Donald proffered readily, and immediately started
on the quest, much to Jean’s relief and comfort.

Indeed, Donald was glad to go in search of Ruth,
whom he had not yet seen. The day, which had
dawned so bright and held such promise, had proven
so far very disappointing, beyond the sad features
of an untimely death. He had waited so long, so
hungrily, for a glimpse of Ruth; and he did not find
her at the spring. Hopefully, he pursued his way
down the path which led to Loch Lily.

There he found her, seated on Jean’s boulder, and
leaning listlessly against the trunk of the old birch
tree. Her attitude was so dejected, so forlornly list-
less, he approached her diffidently, with an acute
sense of intrusion. He called her name, tentatively,
and started violently, when she turned and lifted
dozed, uncomprehending eyes and gazed upon him,
stolidly, indifferently. She evinced no surprise OF
recognition; her vision seemed incapable of em-
bracing him as an object apart from the ordinary
scene of water, woods and green, deepening
shadows.

“Won't you speak to me, Ruth?” he appealed,
wistfully. “It is I, Donald.” He raised his voice
and spoke in a tone one uses to awaken a sleeper.
It had dismayed him beyond measure that she had

 
. — — oe Po ge ht aA,

226 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

no greeting for him, staring at him blankly, with her
clouded eyes.

The changing length of two long years was com-
pressed into the moment of that unforeseen meeting.
This Ruth, whom he confronted, appeared so dif-
ferent from the Ruth he had parted with in her
springtime beauty, silhouetted against a background
of summer roses. He had, that afternoon, been
leisurely studying her portrait adorning the walls of
the parlor, where they had been keeping vigil, crowd-
ing his thoughts with memories of her and of the
days when he had been with her so constantly ; and
the portrait was a deification of the sweet recollec-
tions which had been the solace of the years since he
had been parted from her. She had lifted the eyes
of a heart-broken woman.

There was a green stain upon her colorless cheek
and similar ones upon her hands and dress. The
willowy slenderness of her girlhood had been dis-
placed by a form of mature proportions ; a rounded,
Stately figure, with a head queenly poised, although
no art could have then influenced her posture.

_ She caught her breath in quivering sighs and the
lids drooped weightily to veil her bedimmed eyes.
Distraught with a weird anxiety, he caught her hand
to induce her to arise, that he might take her away
from the morbid retreat as quickly as possible. Her
hand lay in his inert and cold, and in the twilight
shadows of the wooded hills her face shone pale
and ghastly. His healthy mind revolted and re-
sented the tomb-like atmosphere of the locality and
her ghostly appearance. The opalescent water lay
in a lifeless calm, an occasional dimple in its surface

7
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 22

accentuated its suggestive repose ; the bloomnlees a
Pads intensified its colorless composure am rad
Notes of the wood-birds sounded plaintively - n
dim solitude, as the languid breeze swept the aio
foliage with doleful sighings, and a seg i

odor ladened its perfunctory breathings as the day

Sank into approaching eventide.

. di-
He was athletic, broad-shouldered, pent

of Edwin Phillips. : ‘nation of
His personality was a pleasing ay Sagpenees ’

mental and physical strength, although he was |
blonde and a ‘air as a woman of that ages esi
yellow lashes fringing pellucid gray eye, wah
crystal luminosity ; full, sensitive lips, close holy ie
fair hair, the stamp of a superior intelligen

Pressed upon every feature 0

In the pure white pallor of an Ov
Personality mirroring purity ©
ambition.

_ She resisted his attempt to impel her Lae
1S so quiet here,” she whispered, with a Cry,

hess of voice.
He toe down beside her, wounded and perplexed,

yet solicitously compassionate. Ruth?” he ques-

“How long have you been ot he used in ad-

tioned in the lifted tone of vol

dressing her. 0
“Oh, a long time, surely !” she replied with a list

less despondency.

 
228 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“But. why here at all?” he scolded. “The place is
dreary and too lonely for you to be here alone.
There may be serpents about, if no worse danger!”

“There are serpents here,” she answered, absently,
her eyes upon the water. “I have seen them,
several.”

“And you were not afraid?” he cried, incredu-
lously. |

“No; I was not afraid. One passed near my feet,
but it did not try to hurt me.”

“And you have been here a long time?” he re-
peated, as he scrutinized her apprehensively.

“Yes, surely a long time!” she affirmed, lifelessly ;
“almost ages, it seems.”

He was silenced by sheer amazement, her words,
her manner puzzled him, depressingly. Ruth had
spoken mechanically, yet sincerely. She was so
stunned, so astray in a realm of overwhelming hor-
ror, which precluded normal thought or rational
ideas, realization of conditions, of time and circum-
stances, were translated for the moment to an abnor-
mal plane of chaos and violence. She did not recall
the hour when the sun ruled high above the trees
and she had stood in the little dell, panting, breath-
less.

Since then she had lain a long time upon the
ground, spent with a wailing, helpless agony that
held no affinity with weeping; when Fate croaked
as a demon raven the hopeless refrain of ‘Never-
more,” and hissed into her shrinking consciousness
the awful thing present at the house, the conditions
which had driven her into exile.

Silently, analytically, Donald was searching for

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 229

. . . bd ed
logical cause for her illogical behavior. He review
ma Jean had related of her temperamental yor
of death. He reflected how it was to return to chi

hood scenes after a long absence, the unfamiliarity,

ity with things once familiar
the sense of incongruity ee ia

and personal to every-day life; an: he
the fatiguing journey with physical a fore
paired by protracted study, the consequen e

: ionate tender-
-worn mind. A compassio
brain and task-wo ever constant,

ness swelled his heart, always tender,

in his secret devotion, in that he knew her worth and

guilelessness.
“You must come with me,

torily, but kindly. "
pig nm He to her feet obediently; then she stag

gered, dizzily, and gave a slight cry of i Fi
was standing, totteringly, on the brink 0 ‘icity tel
pool ; her little boat lay upon its bosom, the birc rio
overshadowed it to intensify the gloom of its sin

depths.
He rescued her from the perilous

forcibly led her away from the spot. She did not

. . 2 d
resist, but leaned heavily upon his arm as yatagetion
her up the way to the turnstile. She was

and exhausted to converse, and he was pn!

the paralyzing conjecture of what might ha

pine. ere con-
As they emerged from the woods they bait it

fronted by an unwonted aerial ied oqo Gees

had entered vaporous banks at the a ee ocliten
horizon, tingeing them with a luminous,

amber ; and a golden diffusion bathed the entire at-

Ruth,” he commanded,

position and

 
230 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

mosphere and gilded every object with its radiant
enameling of liquid light.

She released his arm and leaned upon the turn-
stile. She hardly breathed as her glance swept from
the flaming horizon to the glowing zenith, as if
pleading for strength and mercy, and a wistful light
dawned in the violet depths of her reawakening

He lounged on another arm and watched her,
unobservant of sky or environment, noting the
changes wrought in her the years since they had
parted. With a quivering intake of breath, her

glance fell, still seekingly, and with startled ex-
ploration.

She had forgotten Donald, or rather, had not, as’

yet, realized his presence. He moved uneasily, for
her expression and behavior reminded him of the
manner of some of his sleep-walking mates in col-
lege days. She was mentally stunned and physically
ill, he was convinced. Those gloomy woods and
long hours alone, in her state of mind and body, had
proven disastrous.

With impulsive sympathy, he offered his arm and
impelled her to the spring, where he seated her, and
then fetched a gourd of water from the sparkling
pool, and compelled her to quench a burning thirst
she had not been sensible of until the cool liquid
trickled over her dry throat.

Seeing her abstinence in regard to water, he re-
called that she must not have had any dinner; and
the inspiration sent him to the dairy, to return with
a brimming cup of cream. “Drink this, Ruth, do,”
he insisted so gently, she obeyed and drank it readily.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 231

He nodded approval and sought farther to reassure
her.

“Ruth,” he said, seating himself beside her and
speaking diplomatically, “I am sorry to wound your
vanity, but truth and a proper regard for a
ances compels me to ask you to let me was Ae
face and hands before we leave here. You might
meet some of the people at the house. There are

Several there, and i ,

“TI am not going up there!” she cried, gaspingly.
“Oh, no; I cannot return there now!”

“But you must, you know,” Donald insisted, agg
terfully. “You cannot stay in the woods alone; 1

t any time.”
was very imprudent your doing so, at at
“You can leave me here. Nothing will harm me,

and to-night I will find shelter in the dairy,” she con-

tended, feverishly.
“Ruth, poor child,” he insisted commiseratingly,

ff ifyi d inspires
I know death in any form is terrifying an

us with a dread awe, indescribable ; and I eg you

knew Phillips when we were all here that nappy

springtime, two years agone now. I am grieve

shaken, too, for I liked him very much, found him

no end of a good fellow. I visited him when I came

is
here last summer after you were gone, and met hi

wife and sister, who seemed very devoted 5 nA
indeed. I thought of them this morning, an abies d
not repress a rebellious feeling that such eh lciaat
be, but they must bow to the inevitable, an 5:00 se
we. I feel no repulsion to his lifeless body, ni him
yearning pity, a sweet satisfaction in being ge OH
and serving him. He was a part of my

 
232 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

memory of this place, those peaceful spring days,
when life was so real and restful.

“Have you forgotten them, Ruth, and that he
shared our pleasures? Oh, surely not! He had not,
I am sure, for there was a photo of you in his inner-
most breast pocket, folded in with a faded, crimson
rosebud, the only souvenir I found when we were
securing the contents of his pockets, that they might
be sent to his people. There is nothing repulsive
about him now; indeed, he is a pleasing object, with
a smile frozen upon his lips. He is dressed in his
wedding suit and surrounded by friends and
flowers ; there is nothing to shock one or indicate
violence but the purple wound on his temple. There
are no distressing scenes to witness, for none of his
own people are here; just the men from the camp
and a few of your neighbors. Shall we go now,
Ruth? Your aunt is very anxious about you,” he
concluded, leaning to catch a glimpse of her averted
face. Her hands were clasped, closely; her features
bore the impress of an agonized endurance. He was
instantly contrite and conciliating. ,

“Had you rather stay here, Ruth? It is true the
weather is warm and we can send someone down to
keep you company,” he assured her, sympathy ruling
his heart to the exclusion of self. He waited anx-
iously a long while before she spoke, or rather whis-
pered faintly, her surrender.

“I will go with you, if I may go directly to my
room and do not have to meet anyone whatever.
not even Aunt Jean.”

“But really, Ruth, I must insist that you wash

233

S
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDER

: ‘ her
your face,” he stammered, blushing furiously as

uestioni s sought his.
: “Well? oe cin docilely, yrs i m0
around, helplessly. He hastened to the dairy,
' towel, which he set in the tren
ack to her smiling wit
clumsily, he bathed us face and hands ar ay
her rumpled hair to the best of his a . Ti aad
Caught the towel from his hand when he ha
and wound it about her throbb

Stateful relief it afforded. .
When le pecatees to her after hanging the towe

A on an

On the limb of a maple, she greeted pial Ww

Smile of recognition, as she tales teg D
“You are very kind, Donald,

ing temples for the

to see you; very glad, Donald.’ baal her.
Clasped her hand, she drew him to a i lieve | am

“Take care of me, please. I do psi" ‘ strangely
quite well, and I feel so afraid. I pepe ad-
alone, so lonely, oh, so lonely !”” she solioq

dressing her own sensations rather he oe yt find
“Well, let us go to the pecan he affirmed,

Company. It is lonely down w her
arising and helping her to her feet; then Pe id change
away and hurried up the path, lest s ing.
her mind and insist upon returning scended to the

Silently, they entered the lawn and ast mad 80
Veranda: she would not enter the sitting ter

dreaded
She believed dimly that the horror she so

Was staged there.
“To ay own room,” she whispered

With white lips and eyes dark and

imperatively,
tragical. He

 
tern wall beyond his feet, a pictured
rose-lipped, pensive-eyed, gazed
;1n the doorway another Ruth,

en, dually, her supreme bliss
Hagar of banishment and be-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 235

In the splendor of the permeating, golden-tinged
Sunset radiance. But not for one moment could he
forget the lifeless form of the man had suffered
death so violently and so suddenly. The real material
Meaning of the accident still held its brutal value in
his mind as Ruth swayed a step backward and met
his alert expression with a smile, in which were
blended physical fear and exaltation of spirit.
_ “Ruth! Ruth!” he exclaimed, in a low tone, warn-
ing her.
She drew herself erect, smiled again,
away and sought her room,

desperately courted repose, an ly
half-conscious slumber under the ministra

Mary, who bathed her hands and temples with laven-
der and brushed her hair soothingly.

It was nearing the midnight hour when she was
awakened by one of Jean’s repeated visits to her
bedside, and she sent a message to Donald, begging
him to come to her on the rear veranda; then she
arose, bathed her wrists and face in cool igi
brushed her hair, letting it flow restfully over ner
Shoulders, and donned one of her elaborate tea
8owns, thus striving for a calm and natural manner
as she went forth to meet Donald. When he a
to her, as she sat in a secluded corner bowered with
the dense pendant foliage of honeysuckle, she ‘a
ig her hand as if he had just arrived at Kissic

ale,

“Tt is so nice to have you with us aga’, ia ae
here at the dear home where I am almost as much o

@ stranger as you are,” she said, with a sincere

then turned
she

 
236 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

courtesy that removed some of the constraint he had
felt in her presence.

“You sent for me, Ruth?” he interrogated, when
releasing her hand. He leaned on a railing of the
banister near where she sat in a shadow so dense he
could not read her expression. He was very weary.
It seemed a long time since he had driven down the
elm avenue, the morning sunlight not more vivant
than the sweet anticipations filling his heart and
elating his mind. The day had proven very disap-
pointing, Ruth even more so, and his healthy optim-
ism was blighted by physical exhaustion.

“I wished to thank you, Donald, for your kindness
to me this afternoon, when I was really ill. Do you
not believe it?” she responded, bravely, as her
evanescent strength was ebbing swiftly, she knew
with dismay and discouragement.

“Oh, yes, you were ill, all right. I did not doubt
it,” he answered readily, but with covert reservation.
“What did you want of me?” he demanded directly.

She gathered all her strength, and with supreme
effort replied: “I wish you to do me a great favor.”

“Well,” he returned, tersely.

“You said—I think—that you found a photo of
mine in his—in the dead man’s pocket. Would you
mind giving it back to him, that it may be buried
with him? Will you, Donald?” she beseeched, in a
tense, shrill, whispering voice.

Donald moved to an erect posture and thrust his
hands into his pockets, nervously.

“Will you, Donald?” she repeated.

“Certainly, since you request it. I was loth to
send it to his people. “When they arrive with the

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 237

casket and are removing him to it, I will replace the
Photo as I found it; but first tell me, Ruth, why he
was carrying it?” he demanded, with cold insistence.

“Aunt Jean gave it to him, not I, but in that he

has treasured it, which surprises me, really, and—
and—because of something he said of it, I beg you
to let him keep it,” she faltered, as her voice broke
with a harsh sobbing she could not suppress. It is
an atonement that may comfort me in the future,
Donald.”
_ Donald was silent so long, she drooped her head
in a helpless, tearless agony, believing he would
refuse her request. He was reflecting that her
tender conscience was reproaching her for some
fancied hurt she had given Edwin in that past in
which he had certainly admired her. So he sat down
and essayed consolation.

“Poor child, poor little Ruth,” he said tenderly,
Caressingly. His reflections had given him an ex-
quisite relief from a sharp jealousy of the poor clay
Teposing so stark and silent in the parlor. Ruth's
simple words had evoked a rush of hopes that sang
in his heart as a chime of silver bells; but Ruth
arose precipitately.

“I must go to my room, Donald; I am faint. Ex-
Cuse me, I must lie down,” she explained,as she was
hurrying away. He sprang to her assistance and
escorted her to her door. As the light of the rear
hall revealed her appearance, he saw that she was
very pale, but never had her beauty so appealed to
him in its unworldly seeming.

_ Ruth never forgot the distress that was embodied
in the ensuing hour, in which she wrestled with the

 
 

238 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

direst temptation she had ever experienced ; for the
impulse raged in her heart to rush into the parlor
and lay her lips upon those cold and silent ones, in
forgiveness for all the suffering he had so cruelly
imposed upon her.

She was restrained by the brutal knowledge that
he had deliberately rendered such an act a crime; it
was despicable even to think of him but in the sacred
role of another’s husband; but the desire was un-
conquerable and resurrected forbidden memories to
mingle with thoughts of the harrowing present as
time dragged its suffering moments heavily and the
stars began their morning courses ; the dews of deep-
ening night-tide chilled the atmosphere, and the
dank, dark depression of the time preceding dawn
accentuated the ghostly silences.

Finally there was a stir of footsteps in the parlor,
the sounds of a fresh arrival. She leaned through
the window to listen to subdued voices by the distant
gate, the last preparations for immediate departure.
Then followed the tramp of a moving procession,
wheels grating, measuredly, horses treading steadily.
She stretched forth imploring hands; her eyes
sought the star-spangled sky as the solemn cavalcade
passed beyond the orchard.

Drifting away! and forever! Never again would
he menace her life with joy or sorrow, with pleasure
or humiliation ; and life was devoid of a future. No
more planning to avoid him, no more shrinking or
striving. Kissic-Dale, with its forest-crowned hills
girdling it as a billowy, barricading sea, had been
her cradle and her tomb, and life was finished. A
deathly chill smote her heart, a strangling sense of

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 239

Supreme loneliness and isolation from all com-
Panionship. Solitude was rendered unendurable.
_ Jean and Donald re-entered the hall, after stand-
ing reverently upon the veranda until the sad cortege
was lost in distance. They found Ruth in the parlor
doorway, her hands clasped and depending, her eyes
brooding the interior with despairing wistfulness.
The undraped bier still occupied the centre of the
room ; its white drapery had been thrown negligently
upon chairs, scattering the white-starred jasmine
and wilting white roses over the new, richly-toned
carpet. The young Highlander, his recently var-
nished countenance shining, gazed across the room
cynically, unsympathetically, upon his fair descend-
ant, distraught in ruthless excitement. ree
The profusion of roses were fainting, perishing,
the aroma of their expiring fragrance freighted the
breezes sweeping through the open windows, lifting
their lace drapery as wafting wings, fanning desola-
tion. The Daphne portrait, as insensate as the
Sphynx, viewed the scene with smiling pensiveness.
Ruth’s white dress fell in sinuous folds, her bright
hair, caught in the breeze, swept her breast and
shoulders: her eyes were dull and opaque, her soul
straining to the hour when Israfeel should sound the
trump of resurrection. Jean folded her arms about
her, pityingly, protectively, and led her back to her
room. Donald leaned upon the stair railing m a
musing reverie until Jean returned, and said, with a
Sigh of weariness:
“I have requested Dicey to give us a late break-

 
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 241

240 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

: bosomed fairy isl f Id verdure reflected in
fast; so let u airy islets of emeraid ve
s retire and sleep off the excitement and the crystal sheen of the quiet water.

fatigue of the past unhappy day.” S
he had stolen away from Jean, who, as usual,
He bowed and ascended to his room and to an was chatting with friends in the pavilion laved by

eloquent pillow.

of the beach until she was far beyond the last
stragglers searching for shells left stranded by each

CHAPTER IV. recedence of the never-resting waves.
She found it a precious boon to be quite alone, to

THe Sreasipe—A SHELL-STREWN BEACH—A be in uninterrupted leisure, that she might relax
PAVILION DANCE AT THE HOTEL. absolutely her mind and features, and imbibe 1mpas-
Sively the mood of the throbbing waters, whose

uttermost brim touched the azure sky, draped with

And sweetly gliding streams and smiling plains, fleecy clouds, which puffed their breathings gently,

To break its rugged aspect, though the hopes Caressingly, over the sparkling main.
Of youth may have perished in the sad pains It was not the first time she had sought that broad
Of disappointment, fading, as it were, seclusion and reclined for hours together inertly
Like the flowers in the early springtime.” upon the sands; hours that she had spent listlessly,
—Selected. hardly dreaming or thinking, regretting or desiring ;
blank periods which had proven a panacea to her

: wrecked nerves and saddened mind. At times, she
One afternoon, late in August, Ruth was seated had judged herself molded elay front tela aitel

upon a white sand dune, or rather, she had burrowed h mie nate engi I
into the porous sand and planted her sunshade, a — departed, for fancy was slain, pie 21°90 ai =
lace-befrilled white silk parasol, just above her posi- ess, her mind torpid with the dregs h “th win
tion. The sand was warm and dry, a pure breeze emotions which had sapped her strength w1 “it “
from the mound of the sea beat back the heat from pirish onslaught. Out there on the sands, fe be
landward, and robed the sun-rays of much of their the mystic influence of the psalm of the sea, s : -
caloric intensity. often “ee in the lethargic repose of physical an
A book lay unopened upon her lap, the ocean mental exhaustion. |
loomed blue and majestic from its base at her feet Felon aon eet 0 ra viosince, eae ae na
i .; di i ; i ’ 7 0 .
to the distant, dim horizon; and in the rear, back of Shallow: stirs : andndaee distantly aa d surged

the crest of the sand dune, lay the placid waters of ips
a haan, mirroring the nadie sky and en- about the rude pavilion where she supposed Jean to

“Life is not all tears. There be sunny slopes

 
242 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

be. More than once she had arisen partially to sur-
vey the Sound, with its sparkling bosom gaily be-
decked with emerald gems and white sailboats skim-
ming over its liquid surface, resembling butterflies
floating on a summer’s zephyr ; but more constantly
she gave heed to inertia and the monotone of the
restless sea, and she knew, without emotion, that the
sea’s sad voice meant eternity when it called unto
her heart so imperatively.

As impassive as the sea in its unending unrest, she
had no inspiration to send forth fancy over the
radiant deep in quest of “Fortuna Isles.” Rather,
she abided as a castaway on a desolate strand, where
birds of hope never sang a pean nor the roses of love
ever bloomed in the passionless waste. She had been
thrust from the gardens of the Stoics and stranded
in an emotionless void, where she evolved a new
philosophy wholly personal and not, to her knowl-
edge, portrayed in books, or any other person’s ex-
perience ; she realized that her heart was as a with-
ered bud plucked ere its petals could unfold into a
perfect blossom. Oh, the regret that she had drank
the precious wine of youth to its dregs so prema-
turely ; the outbreak of the grapes before the vint-
age ; that so soon what others deemed pleasure was
to her only pain and a weariness; nor work, which
meant the play of faculty, “a delight like that which
a fish feels in darting through the water,” or “a bird
experiences in skimming the shores of atmosphere,”
or “a lamb in frisking in the spring sunshine,” as
yet held no impelling charm, and she was content
to spin the precious moments of youth’s bright span
lolling upon the sands; and the enchantment of sea

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

and sky, and vastness of spaces could oh
thoughts to lands not laid down in any Chat’.

She had never explained to anyone the weird suf-

. d nights she had re-
fering of those few ee, dle of ao summer. Her
n, and Donald

So Jean had borne her

keen disappointment that she could not hax oa
bairnie at home for a longer period, and ee its
down to the mountainous blue of the ese joitered
breeze-swept beaches of silvery sands, an

fruit
there, while her fields bore thrifty i ap and

ripened in her orchards, the grapes hung g
purple in the vineyards, bloome

Weak and nervous charge. brief
The journey had been Drier, :
fatiguing; the trip to the distant rt another
nitting by rail to the age ing little
rief ride by a pleasure rou had
Station, where the journey ended arcicine pain
Met them, with its ponderous, v10

it from the hotel
At first Ruth had viewed it nperceptill y in the

realms of such rare purity, the p
the visions of a shock-inflamed br
Cised by sweet, refreshing sleep,
the intensely oxygenized air.
Then Jean, her fears allaye
Social life of the gay and inform

 
she

* ~ roll
. . Re me
saiiiein om Bie ne

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

the live oaks surrounding the hotel, Donald had ar-
rived, accompanied by his mother, and she and Jean
had been as cheerful as if they were enjoying a pro-
tracted picnic, mingling unreservedly’ wi
crowds which went every afternoon, by way of the
tiny railway over to the beach, for a revel in Nep-
tune’s briny domain. Ruth also undertook the jour-
ney often; and in the evenings there had invariably
been music and sometimes dances in the hotel pavil-
ion, and games and social intercourse in the parlors.

There were companies of the State militia in en-
Campment nearby, and brass-adorned uniforms en-
livened the occasions with formal apparel. Indeed,
it was a happy, cheerful world down there by the
sand-barred, majestic ocean; and Ruth viewed it
uncritically, but with the aloofness her mind evinced
toward the starry firmament or the tossing, restless
billows, always flowing from or ebbing to an in-
scrutable distance.

When the afternoon had waned until the declining
sun blazed as an opal in its reflection far out at sea,

uth became aware that someone was directly ap-
proaching her retreat, and she reluctantly withdrew
her glance from the glittering expanse of ocean,
where the white-capped breakers approached in end-
less procession to melt upon the beach, an intangible,
doleful moaning attending their dissolution.

She sat erect and assumed a smile as Donald,
warm and flushed, shaded by a large yellow cotton
umbrella, came with miring footsteps and ap-

Ptoached her position, some distance from the firm,

245
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

, ious
Wave-washed strand. She lifted her sad, seriou

the
fyes to his suffused countenance; She thered
Voluminous, befrilled skirt of her a ate'
Pactly about her feet as she said, Boab lle appear
“Share my seat with me, Donald:
Teally fatigued and very warm. f
She Cadiented the limited level space 3 go oe
her hand over the ledge she had dug in the pasties
Planted his stout umbrella near her anos in a
and reclined in its shadow. He was &@ self with
Nobby suit of white duck; he fanned Poee a blue
his wide-brimmed straw hat, adorned ad during
silken band. He had been much of a dandy <7
his happy holiday; gallant and gay, sages place
ul and in touch wtih all the gayety

“Wh will you run away to suc
isteeere >” he queried, with frank ganas
Ing an unwarrantable desire to scold (a8 ct, her con-
INstinctively the lifeless tone of her conduct,

Stantly introspective manner. njal
“T wishes to be alone, and here : find ooaRility.
quietude,” she responded with list

“A craving for solitude is
Stems to me,” he retorted, an

his handkerchief and wiped his : posi, very

ance. Ruth judged that he mus
Sallant and gay to have so inv
Brevi Se

“T believed you were in
8irls from the zit >” she remarked, interrog@

 
Be i

sia imei
eS Sar

“ PF Ki: Se 9m pd by Faaek
eee ee oS ee

246 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“T was ; but I am not living in the surf, remember.
It is hours since we came out of the water, and the
girls have returned home to rest up for the dance
to-night.”

She smiled upon him sympathetically. “It was
too bad for them to leave so early, and it is your last
day to be with them.”

“Indeed, so!” he rejoined, so inattentively she
changed the subject, impressed that it was incum-
bent upon her to entertain him, in that he had sought
her so directly. |

“Is it not restful here?’ she remarked confidingly.
“One feels the warmth, but it does not enervate the
system, for the air is such a pure refreshment; as
pure as the breath breathed into Adam’s lungs by his
Divine Creator.”

“Are such the thoughts which evoked the forlorn
expression you were wearing just now?” he asked,
still absent in manner.

“No, I was not thinking of Adam,” she confessed,
readily.

Donald, refreshed by the breeze and welcome
shade, forgot his former irritation; the languorous
thrall of the summer day, the slumberous chant of
the hymn of the sea, the charm of Ruth’s prized
presence, had soothed his nerves and restored his
cheerfulness.

Secretly he had rebelled against Ruth’s abiding
listlessness and aloofness from every temporal in-
terest and pleasure, her unabating passion for the
sea; that she arose at early morn to view its flush-
ing glory, her lingering at sunset to watch the light
fade from its rare placidity of surface; that she

long days heeded its voice of sonorous fo
seemed 15 be the only thing that compelled her in

terest and commanded her attention. sah a

her silence and self-effacement, when oo gia of

So easily reigned absolutely in the little

Which she was the most admired ree rair ‘ven his
He had taken his holiday appreciative'y, a down

time to recreation and spent his limited leit i

there by the sea because Ruth was the at

itivel
that had drawn him there. Now he tar nag had

_ Notwithstanding,
Pler in company with an 0
in ringed fish enthusiastically,
Swung beneath a remote live ©
Convenient vista, she gli

thoughts for company.
He had, then, just left the gay an

on the brink of the surf and trashpeth .
to secure a coveted interview wit ‘iam of an-

Zoing away to-morrow to begin the? profile with

Other long absence. He swept her

Iden
Covert but admiring glances ; the gleam oe &

 
248 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

hair, the sweep of her silky lashes thrilled him with
exquisite sensations, although his expression was
the antipode of sentimental espionage.

“Ruth,” he said, inquiringly, “why are you so
changed, so different? What is it that is wrecking
your youth and giving you such premature serious-
ness and sadness? None of the pleasures of life
seem to appeal to you.”

“Tam just as] am. I cannot help my moods; you
believe what I say, do you not, Donald?” she replied,
slowly, forlornly.

“You need some ambition, some interest, to arouse
you,” he said, admonishingly.

“Do you think so? Perhaps it is so, but really I
have been working assiduously ; I have not been idle
since we parted.”

“That should be no reason for nun-like behavior,
though,” he said, and then paused, stammeringly.

“No, but just now I am not very strong, remem-
ber,” she answered, turning her glance upon him
frankly.

The color suffused his face painfully; he gazed
seaward, and blinked from the glare of the sun re-
flected in its troubled waters.

“I—came up here to speak with you, Ruth; you
know I am going away to-morrow, and—and—er
—,” his blushes became really embarrassing to each,
and caused Ruth to wonder, silently, why he was so
bashfully perturbed.

“Oh, Donald, do not ask me to dance to-night. I
am going out just to please Aunt Jean and your
mother !” she cried.

“It is not about the dance I came to see you; it is

249
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

i i ent
quite different,” he explained, his embarrassm

deepening, perceptibly.
“Well?” she ee nats
“No; it is nothing about the .
thing more important, to me at least,” he repeated

incoherently. “I came up
that I was in love—and—er—wishe
Ruth frowned in her effort to comp
ing his unwonted diffidence, it — swings:
ere she grasped what he was con essing

i ly. ”
ee is it the little Edna Wallace, Donald?” she

queried gently, sympathetically.
He stared, and then vocitfel es
nial. “That giggling, frisky, vain chile:

ated in that you could suggest such a thing:

“But I thought, or rather inferred that you ips
with her very often, an h “Well, who is it,

her,” Ruth hastened to explain. .
then, that has won your heart, if I may question yo

ad es
on so delicate a subject?” she prevents i 3
interest in his affairs of heart she w

entertaining. ee
ef “did aa answer her immediately ; indeed,

was just then floundering in the th

abasement, feeling that he was no
respect, even. So painful was his confus

: 4 freshly blown
features were as intensely wy see? mn shieer amaze-

eony blossom. Ruth was silent. pay sapere
a his behavior was so at variance with his

a ther. Have
"tie yon L:ioem, Ruts aoe vy be said, and his

you never guessed that I love you

 
NE ids Sate sri

eh a
i

SEE Set

a =) Se a ee) oS
PE gerd alt per aee

le

250 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

high color ebbed violently, leaving him pale unto a
white pallor of lips and a darkening intensity of his
clear gray eyes. The evidences of such sincere
emotion, of such intense feeling enlightened Ruth
more than his incoherent speech, and she suddenly
awoke to a realization from which she recoiled with
an infinite repugnance and sorrow. She sat erect,
she clasped her hands in impulsive distress.

“Oh, why do you say such things to me, Donald ?”
she exclaimed, in sharp rebuke, her dismay too genu-
ine to be easily suppressed. |

“Why does any man say such things?” he re-
torted, argumentatively, as he picked up a bleached
shell, a crumbling waif astray from its element, and
tossed it afar into the dimpling surf.

He turned to question her silence, and in the
lambent flame of his passion-lighted eyes, the trem-
ulous quiver of his white lips, she beheld again a
heart’s supreme surrender to her charm. She nearly
swooned with the shock of the discovery, that
Donald, her one-time mentor, her ever dear friend,
had given his happiness into her unwelcome keeping.

“T love you, love you, Ruth!” he explained, and
lapsed suddenly into a calm reversal to sophisticated
speech and behavior. “Always I have loved you, it
seems to me; so long, I long ago became accustomed
to the pain and the bliss of the knowledge; pain in
that I might never win you; bliss just to have known
you and the love you inspired so innocently. It is
as much a part of my life as living and breathing!
What is there so strange in the fact that it should
so astonish and frighten you?” he added, rebukingly,
and found another shell to aim at the unoffending
ocean. Her behavior humiliated him exceedingly.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 251

“It is too horrible to be true!” she swim wig
soliloquizing tone, as swift reflection mirrore (00
ble suffering, and sorrow for such a noble, true hea

as she believed his to be.
“Oh, say it is not true! Say that you are trying to
tease me, to mock me! Oh, anything, but that you
love me!’ she beseeched him so desperately he was
hurt, offended, and disdained to reply. __,
“Love me! Oh, Donald, you t be joki
implored, seeking relief from a

iZi io nsive.
agonizing. He sat rigid and unrespo nas
She arose in the stress of an uncontrollable excite

ment. “Say you are jesting, Donald! See how you

have frightened me!” i
"E aeagian jesting, Ruth! I would not jest upon sO

sacred a subject as love,” he said contritely, as his

hopes fluttered low as birds with wounded pinions.

She stood motionless, probing the sombre —
of his eyes, in which was mirrored the unspo

depth of his devotion to her. Her repose
with a torturing remorse, and she knelt co ;

humbly, in the sand at his feet. Lge
“Tell me, Donald, that I am not to blame 1n ain
I cannot. realize that fam: if idid, pemore W

; love me?”
slay me. What did I do that you should
cha: prayed, piteously. She was convinced that he

loved her by the remembrance of her own passion
and sorrow.

assured her. ‘You were, you ar
people speak of that fact every day, uae: : hie
not your beauty that won me. I i agrees
tomed to meeting the most beautiful w

 
 

 

252 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

and adjoining States since my earliest college days,
and I never felt toward one of them as I have re-
garded you since I have known you intimately. I
have given you the one love of my heart. Whatever
it was that won me, I know I love you with an abso-
lute affection! I think it was your innocence and
uprightness of character, combined with your
seraphic spirituality.”

__ She clasped her hands and bowed her head in the
intensity of her questioning rebuke.

“Why did you not woo me, then? Oh, Donald!
Our lives might have been so different if you had
won my heart, when I was a veritable Virginia in my
innocence of the world; you could have so easily
woes as Paul in our untrammelled acquaintance-
ship.”

“T was a gentleman,” he averred, proudly. “I could
do nothing so dishonoarble as to win your love ere
you knew anything of others; it might have proved
fatal, as well as dishonorable.”

“Dishonorable?” she echoed, in a startled tone.
“Why dishonorable ?”

“I was your tutor,” he explained. “Your aunt
trusted me to fill that role with credit to myself and
respect for you; I could not take advantage of your
inexperience and ignorance of other men. I did not
desire to win you so; I wanted you to see the world,
to be informed, to have an enlightened standard
wherewith to judge me and my aspirations, my
ideals ; and I am glad that I restrained my desire to
win you then. But now I can urge my suit with a
clear conscience,” he concluded, determinately.

She breathlessly scrutinized his fair, pleasing per-

 

253
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

urity
Sonality, his great strength of sauncle ant peril ote
Of his countenance, mirroring so truly
of spirit. : it is too late
“I wish it could be as you wish, but ft % "0 ee
now,” she sighed, in a genuine a such a tie
“Donald, dear friend, it is too late to
etween us.” 4 ‘
“T cannot believe it!” he rae ete
€ss there is someone else who ha: san dichelievin:
Is ‘lene aaeuanare: Ruth?” he asked, with disbelieving
Concern, f interval
“No,” she returned, studiously, aggre who
Of reflection. “There is no one veg loyalty, and
has the least claim upon my hear d, almost to a
there never will be, I am convinced, a
certainty.”
Her words and manner
solemn, to admit of the ect
Tom a firm conviction. Inte and from
€xpression as she arose and brushed pa iifting her
her dress, drew on her — gloves, ane,
Parasol, furled it, absently. [ shall never
“Donald, listen and heed my pbade tt! the infer-

love anyone else, but that does not

ive your
ence that I shall ever love you. You must gin en

were too sincere, too

t that she spoke
beprth: clothed her

true friend, who prays Ni gee
00d the wide world has to offer to its
Sons and devotees.” me

He sprang erect, strong and ora the other
Mind about someone to cherish pee and apprecia-
Part of your prayer, grateful

 

 
 

 

254 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

tion! I—I will wait and labor to win you, even
Jacob served his seven, yea, twice seven years 1
attain his Rachel.” ed
_. He lifted his ugly sunshade and deliberately furl
it as she stood facing the sea, her heart battling w!
a tide of resurrected emotions. Silently, and i!
mutual impulse, they moved down to the margin 4
the beach and walked along the hard, moist stram
oppressed by the crisis of the moment.

Donald detoured on the way to gather for hef P
sheaf of golden sea-oats, and casually discours
discursively upon their hardy growth and tenacious
vitality. He picked up irridescent shells, new!)
washed ashore, and examined them with assum
interest and speculation.

They found the beach pavilion deserted, except bY
those who catered to the pleasures and the appetites
of the public which flocked there in private parties
and public excursions. Those mercenaries wef?
putting their booths in order for another day and
clearing the playground for care-free, holiday
seekers, Ras

The lilliputian engine and its diminutive train bs
two small passenger coaches stood panting af! ri
restive for its last trip across the Sound. Donal
assisted her aboard and found her a seat. He ©
versed the seat in front of hers, and sat facing bes
holding in his hands the sheaf of oats, his trans
lucent, alert eyes embracing her worshippingly)
whenever she dared to meet the adoring light flood
ing their strong depths. She cowed in spirit fro™
his optimistic view of their relations to each othet

her heart throbbed in slow, pulsing regret and hop®
lessness.

 

255
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

__ The opalescent Sound, over which they were poo
ng, impelled by the fussy small engine, dimp ag #2

Tadiateq golden lights, the sun was reflected in its

Wa, Bes d topaz; and
ters as a blazing, intensely yao pe moment

, the restraints of convention ihe was
a... 0%, gave rein to a happiness unto which
Stranger,

Ff ins of
th They disembarked from the train to the iat in the
* Orchestra, playing their ante-suppet - sea, it
Favilion, When night had fallen upon t 4 rkness
'tted up its voice to smite the solitude of burthen
With Moanings and sighings peculiar to its den
°f sound. Ruth leaned from their aang: ore
as Jean Preened before their one mirror. and re-
Its Stounds and pavilion, blazed with lights, com-
Yealed unusual festivity. A certain military

‘ the
yany Was giving a German complimentary 10.

; a Z jsure since
o § ladies who had enlivened their cso distant

had gone into encampment, a mile or Se e
‘land the point occupied by the hotel on or
Cks i
i , impor-
t The Present occasion had been given rare popular
ance, for the company had proven a very

: nd a
ste with the seaside society that sare the neat
b *8€ contingent of the smartest society, in | sal

City, were expected to attend the functl he
Jean had inact a peculiar reverence see 4
st clement of people in the old town wire for-
enc was so indissolubly associated bea their,
‘Mes of the exiled Highlanders, espec! 7 beens
solonial career. She enjoyed meeting » i
Dortatt¥orably insbnsesiog Ayre beer

Nee as r of the hono: A it
Scended subd ‘the pat She had made it @ iy

 

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

256 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

to be elegantly dressed, and had imbued Ruth to
obedience to the same custom, although Ruth was
indifferent to such a vanity of social distinction, and
had shrunk sensitively from the admiration her ap-
pearance constantly excited.

That evening Jean had insisted that she should
wear her most elaborate toilet and the rare gems
Angus Bethune had lavishly given to her out of his
great abundance; and she had complied with Jean's
wish with her usual docility. When Jean had put
the final touch to her own elegant toilet, she turned
and discovered Ruth drooping on the window-sill.

“Well,” she breathed in a’ burst of satisfaction
with her appearance, “we will go out now, if you are
ready, bairnie ?”

Ruth arose with visible reluctance and took up her
fan and evening wrap.

“Are you not well, Ruthie? Did dressing fatigue
you?” Jean questioned, solicitously, as she noted an
excess of lassitude in Ruth’s manner.

“No, not especially, thank you, Auntie,” Ruth re-
joined, evasively. ;

“The outdoor air will refresh you and the musi¢
rest you,” Jean assured her, after a moment's hesita-
tion. Ruth quietly led the way from the room, and
Jean followed her. She was rarely handsome in het
glistening black silk costume, relieving daintily het
fair hair and Gaelic features.

A gay scene greeted them beyond the entrance:
Gaudy Oriental lanterns depended from the low
branches of the live-oaks, emitting a dim but
gorgeously tinted light; the pavilion was brilliantly
illuminated, and draped with State and national
flags and bedecked with fragrant greens and flowers.

eel

wa a ay iMG aE TAO, Ad!

57
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 2

A full orchestra breathed sweet and plaintive pr
formally arrayed people, gay and noisy d th in-
Pleasure, moved about the grounds or grace ns
terior of the pavilion with their beamng Pr onald’s

Ruth found a seat with the matrons, cet as
Mother and Jean on either side of her, reap lind
much as possible to efface herself from the fev
Scene of revelry.

Donald danced, when the ball was opened, ane in

very gallant with the pretty young gitls,
their artistic evening dresses. He seldom approached

the matrons’ section, and Ruth was mast ia niga
Of him as she lived in memories which, desp

Inclination :

“The tender words she had heard ni oft,
Still rang through heart and brain,
to the sobbing, sighing, exulting strains of the ten-
derly subdued music, until

“ghe writhed and her pulses throbbed,
With a bitter, maddening pain.
: ining heart:
She found it futile to say to her plaining
“ such
Oh, why should I think of those broken vows with
regret? uite
I must rise above and beyond it all, and in time 4

forget! re too
Yet I cannot keep those memories back, they 4

strong for me;
They come and go, they rise an
the restless sea.

d fall, like the waves of

 
 

 

 

258 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

They dash against my broken heart, those memories—
those memories lone;

They leave me like a stranded ship, whose helm and
anchor are gone.”

With introspective mind she heeded the wailing,
thrilling voice of the instruments, lost in a realm of
Tevery, a soul’s seance of mingled bliss and worm-
wood. Summer skies and the fragrance of roses,
darkest eyes and tenderest smiling lips, seen far
away in the past, which the music re-embodied in
moonlight, in perfume of lilies, in the notes of mock-
ing-birds and the cooing of pigeons. As the music
swayed its influence, drowning the suppressed agony
of the sea waves’ mystery, the circling couples
gliding over the glossed floor were dim, distant fig-
ures scarcely noted, as her heart melted with longing
and sorrow. When the longing became an over-
whelming desire which she knew could never be
realized, she prayed, desperately :

“Oh for a haven where still waters lie!
Where no memory can my bosom fret!
For the water of Lethe, for the Siren’s song!
That will help me to forget.”

Tt was the misfortune of her sincere temperament
that her life could not be a series of episodes, like
many of the gay young creatures wholly absorbed in
the dance; perhaps not capable of a supreme emo-
tion; with her, emotion, like flowers, might wither
and decay, but would have perpetual roots.

Although aloof in spirit and in heart widely sep-
arated from the present, she was, personally, the

Sa ae eS ee

  

 

259
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

ances. Jean and Mrs.
s of many flattering
an introduction

Cynosure of many admiring gl
acKethan were the recipients |
attentions from young men seeking

Elderly people openly admired reef ers her

iS 5
elegance of apparel and splendor nt ing Fe
Donald swept her with prudent but > td -buth-00e
incessantly, for to him the assemb oh Sane
charm, one solitary joy, the bliss of her P

: d and the
When the last dance had beer ft amiseing

”
Strains of “Home, Sweet Home, we

d sought her
the wearied but happy throng, Donal his arm,

Tesolutely, and placing her, hand ae the hotel
Piloted her along the dim, winding bia bh relatives,
entrance. There they paused to ol t of acquaint-
who were parting leisurely with a group

ances down at the pavilion. He unfolde

Bethune
a rich, silken garment given to her by Angus

the previous winter, and wrapped if gent’) bs
Shoulders. The limpid peace © ea: alone, the
Night hour brooded the intruding depths of the
olden stars glittered in the purP

Obscure heavens. pet quite

se t with me, Ruth. There are heart
near, and rik to be alone with you wile

: : ting.
is breaking with the sorrow of pat t see you
T leave a in the morning and swap vhs’ from
again,” he pleaded, tremulously. 7
him then, with a shrinking akin to 2

the flaming passion in his beseeching
“TI cannot, Donald. Really,

glances.
I am almost fainting

 

 
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
   
   
  
   
 
   
    
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

260 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

with fatigue; I will say goodby to-morrow,” she
faltered.

“As you please,” he said, with a brave pride. “But
I shall go very early.”

_ “We, too, will leave here next week. I shall go
direct to my school, but Aunt Jean will return to
Kissic-Dale for a lengthy stay before joining me,
perhaps some time in the Autumn. Uncle Angus will
visit me at the school as soon as I arrive there. He
is now in the North on business, and that is why
Aunt Jean has decided not to accompany me. And
—and I shall not return to Kissic-Dale for a long
period, Donald; you must forget all you have said
to me to-day ere we meet again, for the poor little
Ruth of Kissic-Dale died a long time ago; she is no
longer among the living. You are cherishing a phan-
tom of other days! The dear, dead days of long
ago, days beyond recall, therefore, forget them;
banish all thoughts of me from your heart and be
happy, as you so richly deserve to be,” she entreated
with a dreary earnestness. She laid her hand upon
his arm caressingly.

“Dear, kind friend,” she added, meeting the
sombre wistfulness of his regard with appealing ten-
derness, “I do honor you more than anyone on earth,
and it breaks my heart to wound you, but forget me
by not seeking me or letting a thought of yours stray
to the time when you say you learned to love me. I
am not that child, that little Ruth. Will you not
believe me? It pains me very much to wound you,
but I could not be otherwise than sincere with you,
Donald.” s

Moodily he gazed upon her regal beauty, intensi-
fied by splendor of raiment and scintillation of gems;

 

_« ARRAS RI OA a RELA AR ARNE SL RS

261
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

* i ine
it was a far cry to the little schoolroom in Oe Ahad
forest, to the sweet spring days when

I - and the
made its final and everlasting agp a
future lay dim and uncertain in the

and hopes to be accomplished. 3 , shall
“y bh aris: promise you so much; eo getgho
Seek you again, and yet again, Garis in you,” he
life, if no one else claims you before fo
Said, with equal sincerity and etme can assure
“No one else will ever claim me. step away
you that much,” she rejoined, moving pre ae of
from him and scrutinizing him by bee ing of the
; Swinging light depending from the ¢
otel veranda. ngrudg-
He was very handsome, she confessed, tt ea os

i i ; $ i lothes,
Ingly, in his conventional evening com cine
was strong and graceful, a blonde Viking,

‘ owess
Courage would give him the desire and the pr

dis-
to assail the strongholds of worldly success i
tinguishment. 7 I believe it
“God grant that no one wins you. e lost to me
Would drive me insane to know you je assion.
irrevocably,” he declared with vehement P with a

7 ” swered
“No, it would not, Donald,” she an pale teen 40

Prophetic consolation; “such blows as Y sanity.”
dread bring no such oblivion as 1s found roached and
Jean and his sweet-faced mother app

ing ; their idols ;
JOined them; they beamed happily eed happened

their approval of the tete-a-tete they observed,
Upon, beni as a city set upon a hill be ae ity to
and understood, with a guilty sens

eir wishes. ‘i lained,
“fT am bidding Donald farewell,” she expla?

 

 
\

262 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

with twofold meaning, which Donald alone com-
prehended.

“Not farewell, Ruth,” he interposed, correctively,
“only au revoir, until a more propitious morrow.”

BOOK IV.
WINTER.

“All things are symbols; the eternal ne
Of Nature have their image in the mind, ;
As flowers, fruits and falling of the leaves;

The song-birds leave us at the summer's close,

Only the empty nests are left behind,
And piping of quails among the sheaves.

—Selected.

 
  
 

 

 

 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
    

 

 

 

 
  

CHAPTER I.

FLEUR-DE-LIs—RUTH’S CHANGE oF DeEstiIny—
WHEN Donatp Resumep His Woo1ne.

  

    
  
   
  
  
   
 
    
 
 
 
  

“T’ve marked it well, and found it true,
Death never takes one alone, but two!
Under roof of gold or roof of thatch,
He always leaves it upon the latch,
And comes again ere the year is o’er.”

—Selected.

  
   
  
   

“A wood depth skirting the way, owt
the glow of the sky, . . ,”

“

a like the flower and the weed,
That wither away to let others succeed.”

   
 

 
  

“Then be content, poor heart!

God’s plans, like lilies pure and white, unfold,
We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart;
Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.”

—Selected.

  
  
  
   
  

   
   
    
   
  

Nearly two years elapsed ere Donald met Ruth
again ; for the following summer Angus Bethune and
Jean had gone abroad with her, and upon their re-
turn in early autumn had left her at the school that

265

 

. DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

 

he fre-
for so long a time had been the only home s

quented. mild season,
Then, in mid-winter of an cg affliction,

La Grippe, a scourge of almost national of the
had ee ot and many were ie yee and
insidious disease. Jean was tl when Angus
Ruth had come home to attend gt Kissic-Dale,
Bethune, learning of the pcs Fe to Ruth’s as-
came from his distant Western ho malady, con-

Sistance, only to succumb to the same
tracted on the journey.

Jean had pie vie: but had jan ee was
health. Angus had died in re Sie kirk. This,
beside his sister Ruth, at Kissic- informed of, as
and many more details, Donald was 10 adown the
he drove his mother’s sleek buggy horse

the well- 7
elm avenue into the aroma a
remembered old homestead at Kuss' ‘n the early

He had left his childhood’s home in fe fart
Morning and had traveled constan ttained to high .
destination ere the June sun had a i

; in-
: urne i
noon. The silence of the solitary J° eal review

duced much self-communion, and a tae universe.
of his individual sphere in the plan ae logical and
It came to pass with him, as with ev ns, growths of
teflective mind, to search the conditions.

i in its current
the present, that had evolved his ego

st. ion. « cie-Dale in its

gaara home, similar to Score” many
Comforts and standards of living we: and his pace
miles of pine barrens from Kissic- ite sand, through
was set by roads of yielding whi had ploughed
which the wheels of the light bugsy

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 

   
     

  
 
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
  

ined normal
buried

  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
   
  
 
   

 
 
 
  
  
 
  
Pat Re

 

faa a

 

266 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

with a constant grind and hiss of friction. Through
vistas of pines, he had gazed afar into the environing
forest, glimpsing shapely green hollies, frowsy scrub
oaks and clumps of bulrush in the frequent hollows
scooped out of the hills. Indeed, at places the land
lay in great curving and conical ridges, as if—and
he conjectured that it must be—it was a deserted
Sea-beach, with its dunes and shapen surface, wove
by winds and tides, with the sand for the web driven
by their fickle shuttles, which centuries had kindly
clothed in tall pines and tough scrub oak bushes.

Insensibly, the scene, so familiar to his boyhood,
but so unfamiliar to the habits of his manhood and
his vision accustomed to the ideals of the Western
college, where he held an important position in its
faculty, had lured his fancy back to the primeval
days of its pioneer settlement by the exiles of the
battle of Culloden, the unlucky, loyal-hearted fol-
lowers of “Bonny Prince Charlie.” They were his
Own sturdy progenitors, his hardy ancestors, who
had lain aside “the plumed bonnet, the Lincoln greet
and tartan plaidie,” the kilts and the philobegs with
the sporting and martial spirit of

“Scots who had with Wallace bled,
Scots whom Bruce had often led,
Who for Scotland’s king and law,

Freedom’s sword would strongly draw,”

and clothed in the products of the looms of the
Pioneer, had hewn themselves homes in the wilder-
ness of the budding Carolina provinces. They had

 

267
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

Come from the most romantic and Sesh sag
Of the Highlands, he knew, and the ba

!
“Up with the banner! Let forests sot pin
It has waved over Stuarts ten ages

: : ‘ ded so
at the beginning of the rebellion which tm boast,

idle
disastrously at Culloden Moor, was 10
or:

" din,
“For Charlie they lost house an an
For Charlie they fought on yas "
For Charlie they bled at Culloden,
ile; yet
and for Charlie endured massacre and exile;
bravely sung:

“Tis well I love my Charlie’s pense
Though there be some who hate : ;
I swear by moon and stars so brigh
And the sun which glances early,
If I had twenty thousand lives
I'd give them all for Charlie!
e, he
But for all their brave loyalty to pean P= La
knew they had suffered acutely phe re me ey
homesickness, for did not another 0 B set
Song he had often sung with Jean
When he was at Kissic-Dale:

“There was a track across the deeP,
A path across the sea,
But the weary ne’er returned
To their ain countrie.

 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  

 

268 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“They ne’er dinna see the broom,
With its tassels on the lea;
Nor hear the linties sang
In their ain countrie.

“They sighed for Scotia’s shore,
They gazed across the sea;
But they could not get a blink,

Of their ain countrie.”

There were other old songs, too, which he had
sung with Jean and they recurred to his memory as
he realized the silence and solitude of the land, which
appealed to his fancy persistently :

“Oh, that the past I might forget!

Wanderin’ an’ weepin’!

Oh, that aneath the hillock green
Sound were I sleepin’!

Where bonny ran the burnie down,
Wanderin’ an’ windin’,

Sweetly sang the birds adown,
Care ne’er mindin’.”

He had raised his voice and sang the stanza while
he had wondered over the extent of the original
tracts of land appropriated by those lonely, repining
pioneers. He speculated if their ambitions had been
baronial, or if they had been enamored of the seclu-
sion and peace to be attained amid so many sterile
acres of palisading pines. Following this trend of
thought, he had also recalled, with a throb of racial
loyalty, that he was amid historic scenes sacred to

 

 

a mana tier
a aA MO AREER RE Bi Mt

269
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

”
the memory of the heroine, “Flora rence spec
whose husband, Kingsburgh, son of the 5 Lael dee
Who befriended “Bonnie Prince Charlie,’ h ae
€mpted thousands of acres surrounding na aa his
“Killie-gray,” ere his royalist zeal sent oe “Tsle of
family back to Scotland, to the loch-boun

Ist.”
. Jean had written him a wonderful letter cid pal
Isle the previous year ; a letter as full of onphes re
as a cocoanut is of meat, but he had pot per-
€xclusion of news of Ruth, moter eet con-
sonal standpoint, but very unpatrioticaily,

€ssed, indifferently. agen

As if by dicted gradation, his mind heecst

uth’s accession of fortune by the roe thune’s
ance that had befallen to her from Angus be' timate
state, which had far exceeded any pea gre a
Of his fortune; in comparison, Ries pa cn the
Pigmy possession. He was not please ondition
Situation ; he would much prefer Ruth in ve leasure,
that he might strive to win her position on ; yet he
and thus prove the sincerity of his devo gardless of
Would still seek to win her, he knew, hi sale
any influence fate might entwine abe ound of

All this and much more, lay in the backgrorte. 0
his mind as he secured his horse and vip in its
Dale :nannounced. The familiar scene bas

une en-
Most charming mood, as the splendor of fin nag trot

Nobled every phase of its appointments. trel-

gleaming ear stubbed and twining pei Den ;

lises, rivalled the magnificence of a trop! magnolias.

the mocking-birds were gay in the a eraginscance
nN emotional surge of passionate

 

 

 

 
 

 

270 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

thrilled his heart and mind as he embraced it all in
a receptive wave of fondest feeling.

He found Jean in an invalid chair placed in het
favorite nook of the veranda, with Mary Graham
knitting beside her. Each was robed in black as @
tribute to the lonely man who had none nearer to
mourn him than the household at Kissic-Dale. He
inquired for Ruth, and Jean lamented that het
Weakness had imposed much responsibility upon
Ruth, who was then, she inferred, in the rear garden
as was her habit much of her days.

“T will look for her,” he said, and he instantly
started on the quest.

To pass from the front to the rear lawn was as
if passing from a scene set for the public eye to the
cloistered peace and quietude of a family altar; for
it breathed the incense of “ye olden days” in scent,
and profusion of old-fashioned conceits in shrub
and posy. The past seemed held ineffaceably in the
shadow and growth promulgated by a former gen-
eration, whose feet had trod the turf and lungs in-
haled the refreshing aroma.

The spot had always appeared peculiarly a
memorial to those who had lived and flourished in
their brief span of life close to its vernal heart that
embodied the elements of love of race, of family
reverence, clannish ties, fraternal affections, loyalty
to principles and inviolable standards.

The overshadowing trees of Catalpa, of Pride of
India, of Aspen, of elm and maple; the one slender
pine standing as a sentinel guarding a lonely outpost,
the clipped box and cedars, the beds of lavender,
white lilies, lady grass, four-o’clocks and white and

 

271
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

j little
Purple, flourishing Fleur de lis; the nape
Scotch pine ; the green, tough grass, rola lilacs, the
ing dewdrops clung tenaciously; the the clean,
honeysuckle, the hedges of broom, it ore
Stayeled paths; aye! and an Old Wor th e and the
altogether, embalmed in lavender and t ee lilies;
‘ainty incense of garden pinks and asceBlrl its

Donald’s footsteps lagged as he eg ‘a ance, its
emerald, shadow-flecked peace and ce he felt
Serene and reposeful dignity. Involuntar lt senti-
for the hat he was not wearing, to salute t

Ab opcR i ding that
Ment it evoked in his bosom. Notwitisieae most

he was of the world and worldly in its ng his heart
Intellectual sense, the most holy recess f reverence
Was troubled with a peculiar emotion 0

7 ms ioneer
for the past, the sincere simplicity of OM broken
days of his ancestry transplanted to f a differ-

wilderness. He was instantly informed it in former
€nce in the spot from his recollections ©

; Iture
days; there was such pertinent evidetts dead ot
bestowed in laborious detail, in nicety an beds and
Shrubbery, in clipped grass and cultiva

Neatly kept paths. ded
He wes errainels indefinitely, by ‘t gett A aoe
Circle of vigorous Fleur de lis, centrally il, which he
€ncircled by a wide sweep of sanded so he lived at
Was certain had not been there when t Ruth had
issic-Dale. He was to learn ne ae famous
8athered together every root of the tire premises
Ower scattered widely over the pnp them in
from seedlings of colonial days, am ost prominent
a highly enriched bed of loam in the m closure:
and conspicuous situation of the ood the rever-
knew, though, the history of the plan’

 

 
 

 

272 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

ence of the pioneer Highlanders for the hardy Iris;
that it was a reminiscent relic of the Jacobin and
colonial eras, so impressive and tragical in their re-
vulsive, storm-smitten conditions.

The huge bed was a mass of blooms with gold
gilded throats encased in a shaggy livery of crinkled
white and purple crepe, the fragrance peculiar to the
genus diffused with that of the old-fashioned roses,
perfuming the cool spaces as frankincense and
myrrh seals their individual atmosphere to devo-
tional altars.

He plucked a quaintly garbed blossom and studied
it analytically; he flirted the plumed calyx and
probed for the golden stamens and royal corolla of
purple velvet, the details which had won the flower
its distinction; memories, rooted in traditional
knowledge were reinstated in his mind as butter-
flies arise from a thrifty bed of herbs.

“Oh, flower of France!” he soliloquized, rever-
ently, “you flourish as memorials of many genera-
tions, lest we of Highland blood forget that your
country gave asylum to our Bonny Prince Charlie!
And, perhaps, in that you rendered succor to a weak
and struggling colony, paradoxical as that sentiment
may appear from the viewpoint of Revolutionary
history !”

He deliberated a moment ere he selected a white
bloom, still apostrophizing the loyalty of the idea
conveyed by the honor bestowed upon a plant so
long past its novelty and fame, that a study of them
informed him of life’s evanescent quality and fleet-
ing span that: :

3
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 27

“Alas! We are but eddies of the dust!
Uplifted by the blast, and whirled along the highway of

the world
A moment only, then to fall back to a common lot of all

At the subsidence of the gust.”

Through the reverence and loyalty of all former

generations of MacKenzies, the spot perpetuated the

inance
memory of the French monarchs whose dominan:

had ended with Louis XVI., and the martyred asred
Antoinette; and also the departed glory 4s a
regime of the Stuarts, the hopes of the clan 9 the
Highlands. He meditated a few moments i he
tragedies and sorrows forever pseape PIC his
thrifty flower de luce; then soberly erren eae d
quest for Ruth, carrying in his hand a long-s

white blossom he had gathered from the mass ad-

joining the circular bed. ‘i the
He found her easily. She was earns of tee

hedge of broom flaming brilliantly i
paleoe spikes of clustered blossoms. ir om at
prodding the dark mould sustaining the he teriag-pot
tively, with an oval-pointed trowel. A wa pane
stood near, and there was a limpid touc

atmosphere, an earthly smell pra eae
She was robed in thin, sheer, bla ni lane

bright head bare and glistening as a SI
came Her arms were also bare to her elbows, her

j ft;
white hands stained from contact with is i
She glanced around when she ee is pe
then sprang erect in a movement of surp:

1 e ” +
“Oh, it is you, Donald! Now, really!” she cried.

 
  

2 TELE 5 A

ROR GRES ab) iTS LS

3

 

Heads,

 

 

274 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

coming to meet him with outstretched hands, which
she withdrew before he could grasp them. “I am
sorry, but I cannot give you my hand,” she said
simply, meeting his glance bravely and candidly.

The shadow of her recent bereavement lay deep
in her dark eyes, washed clear of every alloying
medium by the crystal floods of an overflowing grief.

“Poor little Ruth,’ he murmured, with sincere
commiseration. Her lips quivered like a grieving
child, so she just stood before him, the image of
acute but resigned sorrow in which no thought of
self intruded; self had been forgotten when she
had gone with Jean and Angus to the very verge of
eternity’s realm, where with all her strength she had
held Jean back when Angus had passed into un-
broken sleep.

She wished to tell Donald all about that heart re-
forming experience; dear Donald, who had always
been so strong and helpful, so willing to aid even
unexpressed wishes. With an eloquent gesture she
piloted him to one of the many rustic seats she had
placed in shady nooks.

“I had grown so fond of him, Donald; it was such
a comfort to have his strength and wisdom to guide
and sustain me, that now I feel I am as a rudderless
ship on the chartless sea of time,” she said, with
filial reverence and sincere sorrow.

“You have my full sympathy, Ruth,” he replied,
simply, his features serious and compassionate in
expression.

“T see you have a flower de luce blossom; I plant-
ed them as a tribute to his memory. That last day
he said to me when spent with his great suffering,

    

 

275
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

i t
tired, I think I shall be a
fe it will be so sweet to

       
  

‘I am so tired, Ruthie, so
test and peace very soon, “tbe
go to ae ain countrie. When you rower ber pose!
inheritance I shall leave to you, yea aa chert
sake the things our forefathers love er right
and we have ever held sacred. You

pee
own pathfinder, though, that you may eer OF cae
lift, edify it may be, the Scottish zeal of Bao
for all that pertains to their ancl" Tt “at I shall

“He said other things, too, Donald, d such trust
always remember and obey. He ne pe courage OF
upon me I wonder where he found t ability One
the encouragement to so estimate my a Y

; an
thing he said touched me more than any pa Sar
that was to never disregard sickness, pain oie outer
but to do all I could to alleviate it. bev ot Oh, he
ings rendered him thoughtful and ten ee
suffered, Donald, and was So tired, so make pig han
felt it wrong to grieve, but I cannot hep ©
concluded, a shower of t

ears streaming ae
cheeks and splashing upon her soil-staine an it
Donald’s own eyes grew limpid in aman er
her grief, so spontaneous and sincere, ee
her heart was dissolved in unavailing ts ed
dear, indulgent uncle who was the la areas
her and the mother she could not re : Sn
deep and so poignant were the si
tained of her lost relative, they ha eeteeeekity
whole tenor of her life, her ambitions ; n

i s a prodigal
and piety of her girlhood had returned a! ,

Le
who had wandered afar to be despo'

bie i
Tahal gone to the kirk regularly, when Je

 
 
   
   
    
    
        
   
       
   
     
    
    
    
    
       
      
     
   
   
   
      
     
    
   
    
    
      
      
   
   
       
      
   
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

276 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

had so improved that she could leave her to the care
of Mary and Dicey. The first time she had occupied
the MacKenzie pew, she had broken down and wept
throughout the service, not alone grieving for
Angus, but in ruthless repentance and remorse, that
she had been so selfishly immersed in her own
grievances, so bitterly alienated from the sweet,
normal communion of home and kirk. The Gaelic
congregation had mourned with her, and after the
services, they had pressed to her side with sincere
and kindly sympathy beaming upon their rugged
features as they greeted the “fair MacKenzie.” It
had been the happiest and the saddest hour she had
known in the tempestuous years of her absence from
the kirk; and thus she had found potent consolation
and the pensive realm of pious resignation.

Since then, she had been content to plan for a
definite sojourn at Kissic-Dale, to consecrate her life
to its interest, unreservedly. She had devoted all
her leisure from other duties to caring for the
flowers now that Jean’s weakness prevented her
from any active oversight or labor.

Donald drew her on, that she might express her
views and plans for the future. He studied every
intonation, every gesture, every emotion, with the
keen analysis of a vital interest, as if he was waiting
for a rendered verdict which might change his entire
future, yet he was careful to veil the ardor of his
regard, and she had, apparently, forgotten his
declarations at the seaside; and he, long ere then,
had realized that his precipitate conduct then was
unwise and premature, and he had conceived a dif-
ferent plan to win her love and efface his unfortu-

  

 

  
  
   
   

277
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

omesticated at home,

love for her, seemed

four eventful
ee Ba shield-

nate blunder. Finding her so d
the scene of the nee peti :
to place them upon the hi § i
vera which had been as rock-ribbed f oe s,
ing her from the presumption of his! ope pon Beet
Life, even in its happiest phases, 1S oe aire eae
shifting sand-dunes, which the gale with the un-
stances demolish and rebuild constantly cae daa
stable stratas of mutable changes and emo ;

“ ights the
the sum of each cycle of oeperiete pee ol ri
heart with memories that trace Ruth’s expres-

mystic lines upon the countenance; 4 of its sim-

* cs i devoi
sion was a spiritual ee es no longer held the

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

  

  

manner. j ‘ is temples, his
His blonde hair had thinned shovel ee ri dae

Sacer into th
mobile lips fell unawares into tl . and 0
of dictatorial authority; his yooen gee ih as he
harsher note, yet thrilled with gen “1 what she was
bent his head to question or to heed wh

saying. : estered nook
Om, seen te cone ppl iin leisurely

immensely,” he remarked, last remem-
walking nb the house. Ruth rea his nee
bered his long and early drive, " oan was not €x-
of rest and refreshment; also te sin an affec-
actly tidy. She swept the environmen :
tionate glance. 3 ae ince I realize
“T have learned to like it so picid v4 to even the

the romance and interest at Pee conkh
humblest of the things growing here;

 
  
 
 
  
 
   
   
  
   
 
 
  
  

     
 

278 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

reach down through more than a century of heroism,
of trials bravely borne, of unquenchable faith and
patriotic zeal. It has been my salvation,” she de-
clared, wistfully.

“In what way, Ruth?’ he asked, puzzled and
probing.

“It has presented me with a mission, a work to
accomplish, an excuse for living. Donald, I enjoyed
the trip to Europe so much; it reinstated life for me.
I believe a kind Providence has directed my foot-
steps and made me realize that the world is not a
fleeting show, if the great plan of creation is rightly
understood. The trouble with me had been that I
felt too much my individual importance ; now I know
that I am but an insignificant unit in the Omniscient
plan; it has taught me humility ; that every creature,
irrespective of condition, is a necessary atom,
nothing more nor less in the grand scheme of uni-
versal creation.”

“IT have always felt that responsibility had de-
scended upon you in too concentrated quality for
you to be normally happy. I have always feared
that, Ruth, even in the inception of our acquaint-
ance, when your aunt defined my duties as your
tutor and explained the standard by which your
studies should be regulated. It has been as I feared,
you have not known even moderate happiness,” he
remarked, judicially.

She lifted her glance, with a startled swiftness.
“You are mistaken. Aunt Jean has done much to
ensure me normal, care-free happiness; it would
break her heart if she was convinced to the con-
trary, and yet Uncle Angus gave me most comfort

ML ST a aN I

of Loch Achray and Lomond,

 

279
THE HIGHLANDERS

is advice
and strength; I owe him a great eal fe paar
and help these later years, you can all to his memory,
much, Donald, and I will repay it alt f0

r E tere consecra-
if I am spared to do so. With the sahiigith the altar

tion of a vestral priestess, I will keep align! th that in

» 1
fires in the temple of my Manes; rest

ied Scotland
mind I trod the sacred scenes of wpe Braes, of

and beheld the beauties of Lochs an cee
henlieey eaaers and fir-clad hills; with dedi

ecstasy, I gazed upon my OW ;e and Ericht,
waters of Loch Katrine of LO ee over

tors had flourished

A DAUGHTER OF

hills and vales where our ances , 5, Aunt
and lived their full historic and romantic live

: eath of

Jean made quite a ceremony of po erg kirk-
holly and pine upon the hallowed shrin ssisting, am

yard at Milton, Uist, Uncle Angys tO nificance

: influence

of the heroine’s courageous bene: set upon

of that tragical leaf in the Highlan estors. I hope

my own life and the lives of my pei upon canvas

some day to portray my pect opere the walls of

that they may be preserved and ado i

. nt
at | ; d and its ancie’
Kissic-Dale, as souvenirs of py egotism of my

civilization ; and thus to submerg f bygone
youth in the overwhelming — please Aunt
centuries and find an si 2 ”
Jean and confirm the memo: a
concluded, as she stood in, the rere where every
and swept with pensive vision o Hr ality.
shrub and tree bore a loved indtv rose-tinted com-

In her black robes, her vale gleamed as
plexion and exquisitely molded

 

 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
   
   
    
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

280 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

a clear-cut cameo intensely relieved by its settings.
They had detoured far from the straight course to
the house, unconsciously. Donald lifted from the
gate an old white sunbonnet of hers that aroused
tender remembrances in his bosom. He was sure
that it was one she used to wear to the schoolhouse
Over in the eastern forest,

“Put it on, Ruth,” he requested, boyishly. “Oh,
do, please, for the sake of Auld Lang Syne!”

She smiled for the first time, a swift, spontaneous
smile, but meeting the flaming ardor of his glance his
laughing request had not revealed, she flushed in
sudden remembrance of their last interview that
August night, “after the ball was over.” He bit his
whitening lips, and sharing her sensitiveness, walked
ahead, swinging the bonnet by its long streamers, in
a way so peculiarly his former manner; she fol-
lowed, silent and retrospective, an indefinite awe
thrilling her vaguely.

That evening, as they lingered on the veranda
after Mary had assisted Jean to her room, the har-
vest moon arose in all its semi-annual pomp and
effulgence; white mists wreathed the valley, the
mocking-birds trilled drowsily, the whip-poor-wills
cried in the distant wheat fields, an intangible, sigh-
ing whisper floated in from the surrounding forest,
the fragrance of roses weighted the atmosphere,
freighted with lily and magnolia incense. There had
been entertainment in the parlor, Jean and Donald
essaying some of their former music, and Ruth had
played tirelessly and brilliantly as long as they re-
quested the diversion of her performance; but a
shadow had gloomed their bravest efforts. The new

  

281
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

: iction
grave at the kirk and Jean’s aig are = to
could not be forgotten, and it ha tide of dew-
repair to the veranda, where the Lari welcome re-
drenched zephyrs swept them wi

freshment. A lasted indefi-
_Left together, an awkward pent into which

nitely, while thought imposed a qu! ‘ces of the
the shine of the moon, the pensiv‘preeze and the
summer night, the whisper of the ‘as the first to
flower fragrance intruded. a w

ked a question. =, lain-
“PSD you feel old, Donald?” she inquired pain
tively, a note of irritable feeling bu
t : p ; “Do
BTA ut very,” he alge nas from
you?” he counter-queried, lifting his

d ing revery. imes,” she
Eat of days, amet” ae
exclaimed, rebelliously. sad and gone beyond
entire life; that I have approached a sexy lonely
the confines of one existence! ‘i za
unpleasant sensation, I assure ie foitingly.

“Well?” Donald interrogated, egos Stacie aa

“T feel,” she confessed, groping | d previo usly,
pression for ideas she had not voice

> Hid t it disap-
“that my primal self is annihilated, ay so self

ings; my. PPSer".
eared in a chaos of happenings; is it so,
pit to hold no relation to it. oe th
D By ; ious on the
Tie studied her profile outlined and obvio
glow of silvery sont
of transplantation from ts
routine; of belated entrance into

: it is the result
lengthy and methodical
engt unfamiliar

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

282 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

realm. In the future, perhaps, you will fall into ac-
customed grooves again, and you will be in affinity
with your mode of environment and regain poise of
mind and memory,” he suggested, logically.

“I do not know; I lose myself so easily and the
past sinks so mysteriously from my grasp, taking a
Part of myself with it into the voidless abyss. Even
now, my time at-school and the months spent abroad
are receding swiftly from my mind and I stand
pauperized at the threshold of an unknown, untried
future. Oh, how I shall miss Uncle Angus, and
suffer through Aunt Jean’s weakness. Do you think
she will ever entirely recover, Donald? Do you
think I can keep her with me until I am more able
to endure life alone and uncounseled ?”

“T hope so. She is yet in middle-age and may re-
gain her strength, but Ruth, you will never be left
entirely alone while I live, for I live but to serve
you,” he asserted with a brave timidity.

“Thank you, Donald, but you have your own aims
and duties to consider,” she replied discouragingly.

He remained silent and she gazed abroad into
celestial spaces where the moon sailed the silvery
depths of a luminous azure sea; soft, fleecy clouds
drifted and intervened, intensifying the distance,
contrasting purely the warm radiance of the splen-
dor of moonlight and the cool luminosity of silvery
space.

Donald, at last conqueror in a struggle for repres-
sion of that which he so ardently wished to utter,
spoke finally and irrelevantly: “And you will not

return to your studies? You have decided to settle
down at home, definitely ?”

 

A DAUGHTE

Aunt Jean's state 0,

“I suppose so. You see, nd ungrateful,

health renders any other plan futile a .
Was th ly. “ ide from the

“But nae can you a here, pen literally
filial devotion to your aunt? d talents.
buried alive; you, with your beat motte to make
thought you had seen enough of t f life in these
you abhor the eventless existence °

ine lands?” § her exist-
' oid | Sirest the slightest desire for ay passionate
€nce now,” she replied, sadly, an ed in the wan
Mood of her ambitions were pat the moonlight
Mysticism of her expression whic

r ithfully and aloofly. d then
 wPoor fle Ruth,” he cried, pityingly, @" j
Was thoughtfully silent. » she protested I

g t live idle, Donald, e teachers
shall wee shined my studies; I ——-

if I need them. I shall relieve vieisure enhanc-
sponsibility here. I shall spend my lettin AY per.
ing the only home I have, of ever S11. 7 can to
haps, and will endeavor to do as a solated region.
infuse life and Christianity in this iness, even aS
And do not people outgrow Roe felicity? It
they slip so easily from happmess <5 could take to
would be too cruel if only happine e sorrow; JOY

itself wings and we could not pare sorrow must

vanishes as a bubble explodes, sive ¥) oe, do all I
have a surcease? I will tr
Can to render it tolerable an
do not know, Donald, the
lonely at times.”

“T long for the future; I pan

y the h f
d usefu
future seems

thers, but I
toons terribly

 

 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
    
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
   

284 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

battles,” he declared with a sudden excitement of
aroused ambition. “To me it is a Beulah Land, the
abode of a Fata Morgana, who woos me irresistibly !

But,” his voice softened and fell into pleading

cadences, “every hope centres upon you, every ambi-

tion ; without the hope of winning you it would be a
Dead Sea of indescribable tameness. I pray for the
lyre of Orpheus to enchant you with its magic, if
my mortal charms and persuasion cannot win you.”

“Do not say such things, Donald. They sadden
me,” she said, after a breathless moment of dis-
couragement and pain.

“T must, Ruth, although I grieve to cause you a
moment of discomfort or pity for my unappreciated
devotion.” He leaned wearily against a fluted
column, seeing yearningly the pale, pensive beauty of
her countenance, the charm that had ever so
enamored his heart. She sat dumb and miserable,
friendship and liking fighting aganist an instinctive
Tepugnance to Donald’s persistent wooing.

Noting her dejection, he murmured: “Excuse me
for teasing you, Ruth. It is quite unpardonable in
view of what you have had to bear so recently. I
will retire, if you give me permission ?”

“As you please, Donald. I am quite accustomed
to sitting out here alone,” she returned, listlessly,
depressed with the reflection that she had unavoid-
ably wounded and humiliated him.

For a long time after he had gone up stairs, she
remained there in the moonlight, her eyes upon the
landscape, where the white mists trailed in shining
wreaths and Holly Creek sang in gurgling murmurs,
while the fireflies flitted intermittently as phantom

 

 

es
ng NES MENLO RO AEGIS

285
DERS
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLAN

the forest sighed

n rose higher
ee full upon her

2 ae
lights estray from the fireside; an

with fretting needles. The se
and sent shafts of its blinding oor.
face, her golden hair and black

“. . . . I shall be content to apf
Where the ghosts of dead year esterday,”
Wander through the halls of ¥

She reflected, decisively.

CHAPTER II.

NEW

AT THE

THE ImMicRANTs—THE aoe Day.
Camp—Tue Dawn oF ANOT

d,
ll have stirred my mind,
For human passions

w—
Have held me, now I feel and eo
None can surpass sweet charity.

*
* *

he * * * * z
“what is it in his frank, young face, Pe
Which more than beauty np
Holds in its warm and strong

soul?”
The instinctive homage of my 80% areh

ilroad
rest railroa
Midway from Kissic-Dale and the nea recently lo-

: en
Station, a large sawmill plant had been fr ANCE

1 t of lon: dwin
Cated in the heart of a vast trac on and E
Since the time when Henry ag lumber, many

Phillips had delved in turpentine

 

——
 

286 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

such distilleries and mills had been planted in the
territory so prolific in unworked forests, and follow-
ing those industries were numerous workmen and
capitalists, forced to endure varied hardships in the
unavoidable conditions attending their ventures.

They had felled the imposing forests leaving the
pines, plumed crowns, which had waved in the
breezes of centuries, to decay where they had fallen;
and summer’s suns scorched and winter’s rains
deluged them; then from their funeral pyres, an
avenging demon had crept forth to poison the veins
of their destroyers.

They had named it “pine fever,” but it embodied
all the symptoms of malignant malaria. The ex-
posure in their thin shanties, their restricted fare
and the monotony of their labor and lives, were pro-
lific agents in inviting disease and aggravating ordi-
nary ills. Then, falling trees and limbs killed and
wounded them, logs crushed and mules kicked them,
rendering blows almost as fatal as when boilers ex-
ploded carrying death and mangling into their ranks
wholesale; indeed, so numerous and importunate
were their misfortunes their Gaelic neighbors
prophesied their annihilation in some fell sweep of
their shocking tragedies.

The summer three years previous to the locating
of the mill, when Ruth renewed her allegiance to the
old home and kirk, she was informed of the con-
ditions of the constantly increasing numbers of
strangers in that vicinity, and painfully impressed by
an incident of a young fellow who, crazed by fever,
had wandered into the woods and died ere he could
be located. He and a partner of his were working

scans tmcings mati BRT A tert al

287
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

tine trees, and each had

a small orchard of turpen et and fromm tot

been ill with no one to attend c “a
pe Ruth had done all she could to alleviate the dis

< istilleries.

tresses of the followers of the eg Apagabensa oo"

She had become accustomed ie nd coud
ditions of their settlements, unsta

5 eing heavily
their transitory usefulness; and pes sand

laden wagon and cart tires miring t ends
and ne the brown layers of manor with
lessly over the sandy soil. She phe whistles and
the shrieking and screaming sawm ts of forest
the buzzing of saws cutting the tn firnishied
giants; and with the interior of ae eae ruled
shanties and the ener element whic
res they te eso anos tl
vivid contrast to the parsimonious a pal to the
the strangers, she was ever, ready to ' ia one Seb
least known need of their lives; thet was at thi
tember afternoon it happened ie" sleek-coated
mill in a stylish surrey drawn by a brown livery,
horses driven by David, arrayed in buttons, and
ornamented with gilt braid and a
wearing a silk hat and brown gauie he guided
With upright dignity and patien ‘ ate aped mill-
them through the log-tangled, ju fi ts of a recent
yard of “Sears and Thayer,” capital's ts of several
firm, which had bought out the intersA ®t large
smaller firms and consolidated them 1 their em-
and modernly equipped industry. | {ills nearer

any who had bees ide her,
Riis Dale “a that was why Ruth had bes

vehicle
prone upon a cot, resting on the seats of the i

 

   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
    
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

 

288 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

a young girl whose cheeks were flushed with fever.
She was the thirteen-year-old daughter of Joyce
Allan, a most worthy man, and the firm’s skillful
sawyer, who had lost his wife a few months
previous.

He walked beside the vehicle, holding his daugh-
ter’s hand and apologizing to Ruth for imposing the
care of his child upon her, his little housekeeper, the
caretaker of his two younger children.

“Oh, do not worry, please, Mr. Allan!” Ruth en-
treated him. “I assure you it will be a pleasure to
us all; Aunt Jean and Mary will be glad to nurse
her, and their skill is almost more certain than a
physician’s with this kind of a fever.”

“I know! I know! Who could be more con-
vinced of your kindness? That is why I presumed
to send for you. I just couldn’t bear the idea of
letting her suffer, and perhaps die like her mother.”

“You did quite right to send for me. You should
have sent the first day she was ill; that is the only
censure I feel for you,” she responded with sincere
utterances, as she held, with protecting clasp, the
slender form steady, as the vehicle jolted over the
rough, labor-clogged route which led by the hissing
tram engine where its engineer, the lumber boss, was
loading its train of flat cars with lumber,

Ruth knew him and bowed to him graciously, as
he stood with bare head on the step of the cab, as
she was passing. A stalwart, young stranger leaned
negligently against the side of the cab and stared
lnbelievingly and with undisguised surprise and ad-
miration upon Ruth, as the carriage swept by him
and was soon hidden behind a great stack of lumber

  

ERS
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLAND

for a
Incidentally, Ruth’s glance caught and held

moment the full gaze and

cruti way an
s vas swept away ‘
Scrutiny, ere she w La 4 ti

trenuous pace home-

into the forest road, Ww

anxious father and David seta 5

ward.

“We shore must git out dese
he exclaimed to Ruth, excusing

meaning of hi

don’t, we'll be lost, shore as ye Te

folks make er new road every

2

Office, I jest believes.’

When the brief twilight was

a gray mist and pale moonli
white sand and green, pine

from the unfamiliar woods

country road, which finally
highway, surveyed in good

King George ruled the ‘peor * sedi

landers, who then spoke
Straight as an arrow from

down the broad way silvered wit
light and flecked with shadows
the little schoolhouse, white,

ries of her heart.
of the sweetest memo re ens =

Out of its dimness and

ght

un-.

nm bow, 7
a pein and moon

forth phantoms of those youthful

j moment ,
joy, to efface for the Shea

g strange

ing impression made upo

ent, frank scrutiny of the youn:
So warmly had stirred her ant oo
her fancy, as she had been com

solemn thrall of the night-brooded

d impe

289

s startled

lled again
eu to the

woods afore dark Fe
his haste. “If we

porn! Dese mill

draping the
shimmered

sin ey ey an old

led them into the king’s

of plumed
silent, yet mo

forest, fi

time dey goes ter post

forest bd
upon the
emerged

pines, to
nument:

dignity came

+ at the mill.
free had roved
ed through the

eeling the

 

 
 

290 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

mysticism, once more, veiled in the pensive moon-
light :

ig that glimmered the forest tips,
And through the dewy foliage drips

In little rivulets of light,

Making the heart in love with night.”

Her emotions bore her eloquent company along
the way from out the forest and through the eastern
gate, over the bridge, through the orchard, and down
the cherry lane to the gate; such youthful emotions
she had not experienced in the slow, creeping years
since that springtime when she had awakened fully
to the heart-life of every soul-endowed individual.

Jean came out to meet her; also Mary and Ipho-
genia, to awaken the sleeping girl and assist her to a
room waiting for her on the second floor of the
brightly illuminated mansion.

When the dawn of the following day came tardily,
and a chill gray light crept through the open win-
dows to mingle with the dim lamp-light which illu-
minated the chamber where she had watched the
entire night beside the fever-wrought child, Ruth
arose, and leaning above the slumbering patient,
listened enxiously to the regular breathing of the
girl unto whom they had administered heroic reme-
dies during the night; then she passed her hand ex-
ploringly over features bedewed with a profuse per-
spiration.

With a soft towel she gently dried the slumbering
countenance and spread the damp, fair hair, so silky
and the color of ripened wheat, over the pillow just

ata e a I Se te tease RET

291
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

childish
as the sun fell in dancing waves Upon the ¢!

ing hair.
features and clammy strands of glistening h

ike to kiss her,”
“She is such a baby! I would so ape face so in-

Ruth soliloquized, as she gazed UPOR Tut she
‘ane with the dews of life’s morning around
did not bestow the kiss; rather, § oke Mary Gra-
to the other side of the bed and 4 sre uxurious
ham, who had found rest and repos ;
i ; informe
eprom much better, dearie!” gO yt
Mary in a low tone of voice sel 1 she added,
the invalid. ‘And ia, so
sighing gently. “My ey s pos
lommeeaaile we every nerve plainine 7 pias
Mary suppressed a aussie on pe
sistently ; “Well, go immediately, oop to yous
I will have your breakfast carne’ UP or Lily; you
cannot sleep fasting. We W! Cite 4 of rest.
must forget everything but your m
She secured a fresh anv i /
by the bedside, but Ruth a af an open window
finally seated herself on the s! ‘ky beyond the sea
and surveyed the glowing ale facoris
of vapor, brooding the tea ‘oirds were chant-
poised in opalescent splendor. ber ‘ath
ing matin hymns, the forest eal * di
of the refulgent on ype iurnally recur-
terious journey to the ae
ring: ‘ the dew viele valley ae of whiten-
of radiance gleaming through a boi ed alertly, as @
ing mists. Her weary eyes brig’

pure, strong shaft of sunli
form in its warm, caressing

 

 
 

 

292 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

arms to grasp its geniality and arose to inhale the
elixired limpidity of the atmosphere.

With a desire so intense it was a compelling
prayer, she longed for a hope as youthful, as sweetly
inspiring as the fair promise of the new-born day.
She left the window finally and stood in front of the
full-length mirror on the dresser.

“Dearie!” she called softly to Mary, as she scru-
tinized with critical eyes her reflection in the mirror,
“do you not suppose the vestal priestesses became, at
times, very tired of feeding the sacred fire upon the
altars of Vesta? You know their term of service
lasted throughout all the years of their youth; their
capacity for pleasures. I think they must have pined
sadly for freedom, for the privilege of living the
destiny of other maidens, to say naught of the nat-
ural craving for communion with congenial spirits
and knowing the real life of the world, the life of
living men and women who accomplish things.”

“Ruthie,” queried Mary, with concern, “what has
disturbed you?”

“T believe that I am aging, dearie; that I am look-
ing, as well as feeling, worn and faded,” Ruth con-
fessed, laughing tremulously.

“You are needing rest and sleep,” asserted Mary.
“Even children become wan and haggard with the
lack of either.”

“I will heed what you say, immediately,” Ruth
returned docilely; then her glance scanned the ap-
pointments of the luxurious room, to note if it

lacked any comfort or necessity. She lowered the
shades and adjusted the lace curtains. “Kathy or
Flora may come over and assist in the nursing if

   
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
   
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
 

293
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

she
you will let them know,” she suggested, as

ea
slipped from the room and —_ on hsagher
a deerme aa ~ ae reflected that it was

Ruth’s unusual demeanor. She ret imposed
a natural sequence to the exacting pipe de
duties the bairnie had assumed for nd untimited
years. That even with willing pyle 2 bring the
means, it had been a strenuous rer f comfort and
home to its present artistic standar mre y bran frat
elegance; and then the study of so Sher constant
of art and literature, and heaps 7 tit wondered
philanthropy. She and Jean ha he inspiration for
where she found the strength or the

such endless industry. uth did not

R
When she had entered Sen tae needed ;

immediately seek the repose nh d selecting a letter,

rather, she opened her desk

: ts, bearing a
sh extracted the closely written pies last she had

tmark. The letter was dent of
received from Donald, then the popular president
the college he had been associated wi summer and
years. He had been abroad peedbeve "9 For two
Jamie MacPharland had accomp t the college, and

years Jamie had been a student a’

Ruth’s lavish interest in the boy had cr

i : that she w:
pression among her neighbors e
him to be her heir. She had ping en gather some

freely with Donald that she rigs 4 Kathy’s anxiety

 
      
      
      
      
 

i ’s he
news of Jamie to assuage Jean : ough, s'
: ‘ That morning; |
concerning their boy. lative to Jamie and came

 
 

skimmed over the lines re erself.
to where the phrases were Latics a Kissic-Dale
“Are you still spending your y

 
 
         
294 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

and your strength for the welfare of others? Tell
me truly, Ruth, do you really enjoy such a life, or
have you assumed vows to efface self altogether?

“Ruth, I have visions, vain ones, perhaps, never-
theless, they persist in haunting my thoughts, in
thrilling my heart with life-giving hopes, and span-
ning my otherwise leaden sky with a rainbow of
promise; and the visions, dearest one, are that you
will cast your lot with mine some sweet and blessed
day; that when you have drained the cup of your
altruistic wine to its dregs, as I believe you will, in
view of your youth and love of the things the world
alone can give you, I may reap the reward of many
years of devotion and patience.

“Otherwise, why is it that the long waiting only
intensifies the love which had its inception at a time
when honor and conventions forbade my making the
slightest effort to win you?”

There were pages more, in the same strain of
loyalty and ever increasing devotion, which she read
and re-read until the breakfast bell warned her to
appear in the dining room ere her meal was dis-
patched to her room.

CHAPTER III.

THE LUM-
RutH—TueE YouNG CaprraList—W HAT

BER Boss SAID.

“4 enger of faith,
God sent His messeng' aiden’s heart,

And whispered in the mi wi
Rise up and look from where thou

‘And scatter with unselfish git
Thy freshness on the barren
And solitudes of death.

The young stranger
gazing with unmitigate

i ui
ing spectacle of the eq fos heat

pant tenderly guarding amazed at
her in the carriage, was further pou man who
havior of Bill Seaman, the spoeh, cing of
ran the tram cars and pet 7
lumb: the flat cars ow ed wi
railroad. Bill had bared his We - oe whose
what grace he could command to Iture and social
appearance denoted the highest culty
position.

He continued to st
point where the vision

re beside
poet PAA EY

are for some
had disappear

ly brought his

great heaps of lumber; then he slow! s, who was

lumber bos

abstracted glance back to the lum

replacing his shapeless hat upon, his be
“Who is she, and what does !

 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

=

 

296 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

gated Seaman, who shook his head and waved aside
the question.

“I ain’t no time to talk now, if we get this here
shebang out ter the siding ter-night. I jest got ter
git them niggers ter loading. Look, will ye! I’m
blamed if every son er gun of ’em ain’t er hustlin’
down ter the mill! I’m on ter the game, too! See
you when I git back, Mr. Thayer!” and he, too,
hustled down to the mill, where nearly all the force
of the yard were gathered in a group around a
wheelbarrow.

Charley Thayer wondered what was up, but he
could not even guess. Since investing in the plant
and assuming its oversight for his partners, who
were married men and did not care to live away
from their families, he had lived in a crude hotel out
on the main line of railway, near to the siding where
cars were placed to receive his lumber, and although
he made almost daily trips to the mill, he knew very
little of the social element of the camp and less of
the adjacent country. When Seaman came back, he
brought fruit, peaches, purple-hued grapes and
mellow apples, and gave them to Thayer.

“Thank you very much,” he said, gratefully. “And
now will you tell me something of this mysterious
lady, and why she came into the camp and carried
away some person in her carriage ?”

“Tt was that gal Allen has been fussin’ so ’bout
lately ; wanted my wife ter take care of her, but she
wouldn’t, and I don’t think it was right ter impose
her on Ruth, either, God bless her kind heart, that
can’t stand for no one ter suffer an’ not try ter
help ’em.” f

  

2 Liat Seacmgme Narita A
el GPR NEARS EOS ITAA aE NR an

297
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

F istener

“Did you say her name was Ruth?” the lis
queried. ’ most
“Yes, Ruth MacKenzie, but ter apes may-
everybody she is just Ruth, pais er stay erbout
be; an’ now jest let me tell yer, voomed her. Be
here long, yer won’t think we've m erience for de-

Sick,” he said, searching his own exP e fever, your
Scriptive ideas, “with this pond 9) er cracklin,

blood on fire, your tongue par ugh every
millions of pains hiking around pe tui = live or
inch of your body, nothin’ but @f A your feet in,
die in, nothin’ but er tin basin tet es on er drap
the water hot an’ tastin’ like gunpow A + eat but fat
0’ milk nor er chunk o’ ice, nothin a the skeeters
Meat an’ biscuit plum yallow with so pf briles ye
er bitin’ ye, the sun so tarnal hot it J

, 0
i in’ an ye 4
through cracks in the weatherboardit at the same

tarnal sick ye wish ye were dead, y d die,
time a tr on death er trait hs od wife
Not er thing nice or comfortin abou blamed nigger
sick an’ one of the childern, and pe fever, which
€rfraid to come nigh ye, acres of dy.”
ain’t catching until ye have it alre: x the memory,
He fell silent from sheer agony OF BNE Us oress-
and for a moment was lost 10 dasherte§ Jumb crazy
ing remembrances. “Why, jest tet e fast like the
with the misery, an’ lose yout feck the house 15
worst kind of a nightmare, in which oF water
burnin’ down on ye an’ ye with nares eS then ter

F an
ter put it out, nor ter drink ae | an’ ye in the

wake up like, with ice upon your 4 lookin’ glasses,
Purtiest room ye ever sot eyes, va
Carpets an’ fine curtains, an PI“

es, Pe

 

 
 

 

pees ra

298 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

flowers ; the cleanest room, an’ you so clean, ye want
to be introduced to yourself, an’ the sweetest old
lady an’ niggers wearin’ caps to wait on ye, an’ the
pain all gone an’ some of the weakness, yerself
treated like er king till ye are well an’ strong—an’—
er—young man, ye'll allus take yer hat off to Ruth
after then, ye will, I bet ye!”

He screwed his eyes menacingly. “I do be sorry
for any man that didn’t show her respect ; I wouldn’t
give that for his life if the men, black and white,
erbout here could ketch him. Why, when the fire
broke out beyond Gilmour’s mill, at Hunt’s sawmill,
the wind drove it toards Kissic-Dale, an’ there wa’n’t
er man in this whole country who didn’t go there to
fight it, as if their lives depended on their keepin’ it
from burnin’ up her home. The wind blew like er
tarnado, them trees what had been worked and were
caked in turpentine, blazed like the infernal regions,
the dead trees flamed to the very tops, an’ were fall-
ing every which er way, the pine needles smoked like
er furnace, the shanties burned like tinder; we put
the women an’ childern in the pond. We done it,
by thunder! Ye needn’t grin, I’m tellin’ ye a
straight story, an’ then some of the little niggers got
burnt; one died, died at Kissic-Dale, the day after
we put out the fire,” he said, chokingly and slowly,
his eyes shining with the remembrance with the re-
called horror.

He cleared his throat and bit an apple as he drew
his mind forcibly from unpleasant memories. “We
put that fire out, as I said,” he bragged, with an as-
sumption of levity that was not sincere, “if we did
mi’ty nigh put out our own chunks at’the same time.

 

 

 

Nee eee ea ee eam mmcmcee aaa

299
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

My, how Ruth cried an’ took on Over NS’) Fie
her heroes an’ brave, noble age? ar ara er
names ye could think of. Kissie- Srds, for she
Picnic for the next fortnight afterware®

an’ kept the
took in every one that was homeless could be built

Women an’ children there until shantie jes, an
for ’em, giving things to furnish ath had to
buyin’ close for ’em, what had lost hi
Wear.” ite into his
He paused for breath and another val Mprottle
apple, with one hand firmly gt as! the negroes
Which controlled the brakes motes oa
Tiding on the loaded flat cars, for tl ped the grades
their way to the siding. They flew do itchback rail-
and crept up the ascents similar to a a crossing on
Toad. Just then they were nearing ine’s whistle
a country road, and the small engi
Shrieked a warning. boss re-
When the areal had been passed, tH forest.
sumed the monologue of past times particularly.
“There is one thing I want to tell a two years
It is ’bout er feller that runu this ee cegineels too,
€rgo; er good enough young man, a ined with un-
for that matter. You see,” he exP wom
flattering candor, “they send Yo the big roads.
mostly, for older men won't leave fe
ao way back yonder, we were S@ ie
ntyre’s timber. in’ along, Jus
“The day he was killed we was skootit thief

tike we are now, goin’ down sae not er track
was after us, an’ plumb in the woot™

of er path erbout, or nowheres
Scantlin’ broke an’ went throu

 

 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

300 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

cannon ball. I wa’n’t in here, or I wouldn’t be here
now, tellin’ erbout it, ye may bet yer bottom dollar.
It broke the poor fellow all to pieces an’ run the
engine offen the track, an’ there we were, couldn’t
move er peg.

“T sent the niggers through the woods huntin’ help
an’ for Ruth. It seemed nobody ever would come!
It was miles ter Kissic-Dale, an’ er great many more
to er doctor, an’ the niggers likely ter git lost an’ find
nobody at all. The poor fellow began to suffer, an’
finally jest screamed in his agony. He prayed for
water, he prayed ter die, an’ begged me to kill him;
an’ the blood er streamin’, his breast stove in, his
arms both broke till the bones stuck out. It was
awfuller than I can tell ye, the place so lonesome,
the pines er moanin’ an ’er whisperin’, like er
funeral, until I looked down the track an’ see Ruth
et comin’, runnin’ like the wind was er floatin’ her;
there wa’n’t no way of gittin’ there ridin’. She had
er pillow an’ that little chist she carries erbout with
her. She went off somewhere to learn how to use
the things in it an’ how to fix folks when they are
wounded. Her hair had come down like er yallow
veil, she had run so fast, an’ when she saw us, she
give er sorter cry an’ ran faster. In er minute, she
was kneelin’ by him. He knowed her an’ gasped her
name, an’ water.

“My, how her hands flew! She worked like light-
nin’ as she took out er flask of cracked ice and water,
an’ motioned me ter give it ter him. He was shore
glad ter git it. In another minute she had got out
one of them double-barreled needles, filled it with
somethin’ from er little bottle an’ pumped it into the

Le _ ‘ea thiamin GAIT
si Oi RNAS TAPE MER A Ne HBO

301
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

r
arm what was the least broke; Lae ei
wipin’ off blood an’ stoppin’ the ble se Lketih
dages. She knelt in the blood, an’ it ries “t. She
her fingers, but she did not seem to ;

ho was
was doin ’all she could for the poor ms "Beed er

dyin’, I believe, when she got there; neh
while, though, an’ rested at last, jest like er baby

goin’ ter sleep in er cradle. -* could er saved
“She was too late, or maybe ane Ruth look

him, he was torn up so, but I never

iter than her
as she did when he died. She ~~ geen: her
dress, her lips almos tas purple aS Tris Jast

hands er tremblin’, when he had. gaspe

breath. , as the

“She stood up, but she staggered an iy ap through
quairest look on her face as she ee clean into
the pine tops, away an’ beyond them,

wondered
heaven, seemed ter me; an!’ fin pig er think-
ever since what she saw, at’ what s omethin’, like
in’. She seemed to see a vision wig shore was I
John did when he wrote Revelations; $

ings, I looked
that she was er lookin’ at some es poe old sky

up myself, but I saw nothin’ bu d got
mtd the pines. When Sandy ee a
there, some time after she did, he “ws off his face,
oaks an’ made er shelter ter keep par handkerchief
an’ he tried ter help her. He yar of the dead

over his face an’ smoothed the t, an’ then
fellow; folded his hands upon bape hey sent him

led Ruth away; but at the statio ught the sweetest

home to be buried, old David bro ut them
flowers, maybe er bushel of ’em, 2? me YF
on his coffin.”

 

 

 
 

 

 

302 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

They were again descending a grade, and the
engineer’s eyes dropped to his hands, as he grasped
the lever firmly.

“IT wish I could know this Ruth, Bill,’ Thayef
said, huskily. y

“Ye'll git ter know her if ye stay in these diggings
long; it is full of trouble an’ sickness, an’ where
them things are ye’ll find Ruth, shore, an’ yell re-
spect her next to the church or heaven.” d

“She is marvelously beautiful; if she was out in
the world, her face would be her fortune.”

Bill snorted derisively. “Her fortune, indeed!
She don’t need no fortune! She’s done got one big
one an’ more comin’ to her when her aunt dies.
She’s got er bank full 0’ money! She’s plumb rich,
an’ she she spends her money like er queen, ain’t ef
bit stingy, like some er these Scotch folks livin
erbout here. She plants big fields in vegetables, jest
ter give erway, she’s allus givin’ ter somebody at
never slights nobody, no matter how poor an’ meat
an’ not worth anybody’s kindness.

“Why, she even took care of that low-down bat-
keeper what come ter Craig Rhonie jest ter sell
liquor; no, it was ter Abercrombie that one come
that she sent her man Tony ter nurse when he liked
ter kick the bucket with the pine fever.” Bill
grinned with the recollection. He chuckled: with
satisfaction over some memory.

“He was er onery cuss, a mean one, there ain’t n0
doubt. Put up er little shanty an’ filled it with cheaP
whiskey, mixed with concentrated lye an’ red peppet:
an’ one pizen thing an’ ernother, an’ then sot down
ter make er fortune, He tuned up an’ old fiddle an

 

303
ERS
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLAND

re an’ raked
blowed er jewsharp ‘twist servin ene the
in the money from the fools erBOW a reason he
fever. When he got over it, for

nday school
Went ter church where Ruth keeps &€ ie e ‘The Holy

et all the time, an’ he heard her sing :
ity.’ , an’ too
Phe very next day he packed Hise fen an’ fin-
his whiskey with him, The boys tums TG it up,
Ished the job, set fire ter his shanty ns or forgotten.
an’ his fiddle, too, which he had left OF Ut could
He must have took his jewsharp pedo . Say!
Never find it when we cleaned up pet Scotch folks
€—ought ter go ter the kirk, as 1th sing am’
Call it. You jest ought ter, ter ig eo preachin’.
Play the harp an’ organ! It is wreige””" had intended
Thayer reflected for a moment.

g ite fr
and pines, if but for a brief —_— Ive and an-
Monotony, but he said with sud : if I cam arrange
ticipation : “I will go next Sabbath,
to get there, certain.” :
, ” +9 assu
“Ye won't never regret it, benotnne seem ee
earnestly. “These here woods W God's country, bu

Same to ye; it will feel more like ed. See what I
Never like any place ye ever knowed. :
tell ye!” ft cceeding

i tt :
One afternoon, in the midde hi bes with Bill
Week Charley Thayer was again 19 al varying
aman ; and they ran along W
Speed over the crude track of "
the undisturbed, ungraded surface
barred hills.

. tt
pare laid upon

of the sand-

 

 
 

 

 

304 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“Bill,” he abruptly queried, “how old is Miss
MacKenzie?”

“Ruth, you mean?” was the reserved, cool re-
sponse.

“Well, Ruth, then. But why you should show het
so little reverence in speaking of her so bluntly I
cannot conceive.”

“It ain’t disrespect; it’s somethin’ more than re-
spect, and it’s the way people call them they like
erbout here.”

“Why, do you suppose, she has not married? Her
age is a puzzle to me, too; she could easily be
twenty-five or sixteen, there is so much youth and
innocence mingled with her mature dignity.”

“She ain’t neither the one nor the tother, to my
certain knowledge; but see here, young man. Ain't
you jest—er—er—the least bit too meddlesome
about what ain’t none of ye bizness?”

“Don’t be grumpy, Seaman. No one could respect
Miss MacKenzie more than I do, but I cannot get
over the wonder of finding her here and leading the
life she does. She cannot find it congenial, and she
is not the proper material for martyrdom or sacri-
fice. Every note of her character is a plea for some-
thing different, for that which she can never possibly
find in this backwoods region.”

Bill’s sensitive pride flamed up instantly.

“See here, sir! We may not be much on fixings,
but we aint’ used to being run down right to our
faces. It’s somethin’ Ruth ain’t done yit, and she
is used to things that’s all right, ye bet! Do ye
doubt it after seein’ her home so fine, with statutes
and all the fixin’s anybody could have er mind for?”

   

as el

305
ERS
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLAND:

I was not thinking

“That is all true, Seaman, but ised to see
of material things; and I was 80 one out at
how her music affected you tough L ‘ou were SO
the kirk last Sabbath, I did not think Yor erious
Sensitive as to weep for a hidden Music’s great
sorrow voiced in the tones of
masters.” : own,

at wa'n't er hidden sorrow ; It peter scgit® an’
an’ the whole world’s sorrow bat co lonesome
dliserp’intments ; one lonely sorrow OF OMe trouble
Person wa’n’t er drap in the pot ! Ye know
that orgin poured outen its bosom! 4
What I said erbout Alan’s a” es Re

Was listenin’ to that mus! ;
yaller hound what’s been stealin ot ouldn't help
os shown Allan more oun a

inkin’ maybe he’d told her.

Just then-the engine took a down grade wersation
whizzing over the rails at such @ spe Jeaned on the
Was impossible; and young ange the memory of
Tail of the cab and held a seance wit fea
that day at the kirk, when pate which clam-
Organ, the captive of a soulful m
Ored for expression.

montory,
“Like a lone shepherd on 4 oper np feet

Where, lacking COCR _s
Into the boundless sea an A makes than
finds what he beholds-

knew that
He alone, perhaps, of all those preseteriuded and

echoes of divinely inspired creations ©" atized the

Tuled the heart probing symphony,
    
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

306 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
     

He had left Allan

, ‘ i le. irk in
culture portrayed in the rendering of echoes from drawn by a lazy, sawmill mu n to the kir
Bach, Schuman, from Wagner, ar the uplifting with his daughter, and had onal that would have
charm of Haydn’s melting symphony. time to hear Ruth play a reces ity church, he knew.
captivated an audience in any © Ruth, and

“Oh, beauty of holiness! Back at Kissic-Dale, he had met henceforth than to
Of self-forgetfulness! Of lowliness! he would ask no greater fore madl with every
Oh, power of meekness whose very gentleness and meek- live at the mill and identify !

ness

ed an interest.
Are as the yielding but irresistible air,”

Object in which she evince

he quoted, his eyes upon but not seeing the vistas of
forest along the route.

“What did ye say?” Bill said, quizzically. Vici. IN THE
“Oh, nothing, my dear fellow,” was the breezy Tur Conression—THE pat ei
reply, which did not convince the practical boss. Tue RUNE OF T

“But ye did, though,” he contended, with patent
curiosity.

CHAPTER IV.

Thayer arose and shrugged his shoulders, as if to Hath never lost ot
throw off clinging thought. “I am thinking of Though knowing Anahi
taking pot luck with Allan. He has a very good For many blights am
cook, and I am sure it will be more convenient for £ pale sunlight
me to live at the mill, from a business standpoint. November’s fitful days 4 A to the las
I want a carpenter to-morrow; can you tell me trailing, leaden clouds, had ! and the aif
where to find one?” Period of “Indian toga pervading h
“IT mought. Maybe ye can pick up one er-round tempered with a dry bacon
the station. What's ye goin’ ter build, now?” emanations of the cooling jad
“Why, a shack near Allan, and also a stable and shanty, deep in the heart 0

ices 0
buggy shelter. I am going to bring out my horse stood each ajar, so that ~ bes? br
and my books, and with Allan’s collection at hand, brooded forest swept in W
I shall not lack for entertainment on long winter languid breeze. 4 whispering @
nights,” he explained, with cheery frankness. The weird sighing am fs the nerve
The preceding Sabbath he and Joyce Allan had some pines had so affec - io
gone out to Kissic-Dale in a skeleton road cart, Owens, the young mother 0
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 

308 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

reposing upon the white-draped, flower-crowned
bier in the centre of the one room the cabin em-
braced, she became hysterical with her unaccus-
tomed burden of bereavement.

Ruth had been with her all day. When she came
in the forenoon on an almost daily visit, she had
been so impressed that the end of the ailing child
was imminent she had tarried until the last sigh had
escaped over the livid lips of the sufferer, and then
sent David home for Iphogenia and many necessi-
ties and luxuries the bare shanty did not contain.

The little girl was the only child of Sydney Owens
and his youthful wife, and their grief had been
heart-rending. Ruth had never met a scene which
so commanded her sympathy and sapped the
strength of her optimism, as had those hours of the
pallid winter day in which she had exerted all her
powers of consolation to woo peace and resignation
to the hearts of the stricken couple.

In the lonely hour of twilight, she had sung
hymns in low, persuasive tones until her voice
strained and refused to sound another note; and it
was then the runing voice of the forest swept in
and rasped the worn-out nerves of Nellie.

A night hawk hooted distantly in some dim depth
of the primeval woods ; and quite near a screech owl
plained with its shivering notes of prescient portent.

Iphogenia was frightened, and the superstition of
her savage forbears was aflame in her untamable
African-tinged soul. She leaned against the rude
chimney facing, and replenished the fire on the
hearth with fresh billets of pine. Ruth, with Nellie’s
head pillowed upon her lap, met her maid’s appeal-

  

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
  
 

309
ER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

‘ i da bend of
ing glances with a reassuring smile gents ie

her head to indicate Sydney ype ere th pith
dooryard, restless with grief, pti 7
tect them, if any real danger m te ial hawk’
When she could bear no mee he, atiges
startling call in the distance, OF "ted Ruth to
the intrusive screech-owl, Nellie a venice
sing again; and Ruth, peeigg yee
crooned another hymn, softly, plea

‘d head of the
As she sang, she stroked the wat n mother had

r, and recalled that her than poor,
eee ae was even more bes pi little girl!
sobbing Nellie, How Nellie had i ¢ worshipping
And she had been deprived of pe? bestow upon
tenderness which a mother ee days, when, at in-
her offspring. In her childhoo bl of Jamie, Jean
tervals, she had grieved ang x! :
would give her some photos to

perhaps for hours, pressing them to

nipie Se
with pathetic affection and ere ee lips and
them was of a very young git), ee uth Bethune, her
wonderful dark eyes, and it ei mysti
own mother lying beside Jami of Jamie had been
of the kirk-yard. Her memories" wuth, Jamie as
living ones jaa Jamie, the eg io os

a youthful cadet in founel nn ae. > afd oe
a college student, a semor iy, 2 embraced
again in clerical attire, when embered father,
ministry, was her beloved and rer the first years
vhaet tare and tenderness had gil
Kee gchar oo sie cissie-Dale, in a raging
When he co

A DAUGHT:

 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 

 
 

 

 

310 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

snow storm, because she was ill and he would not
delay coming to her, and had died a few days later
from the effects of the exposure, she had been then
at the age of the little girl lying there at rest beneath
the flowers, which filled the room with a rare, sweet
fragrance.

From that point her mind leapt swiftly to a newly
born conception of the circumstances that had dom-
inated her career thus far; the sacrifices death had
imposed upon so many that wealth might flow into
her listless, unseeking hands; and the fate which
had, compulsorily, driven her into channels where
that wealth could best be conserved for the weal of
so many whose lot clamored for alleviation.

From that invisible realm unto which Nellie’s
baby’s spirit had flown that day, so many chords
reached forth to entwine her heart, to govern her
ambitions, to demand her duty and consecration of
conduct. She was Jamie’s daughter, the custodian
of the estate of Angus Bethune, the heiress of all
former MacKenzies, not alone of their worldly pos-
sessions, but of their pride of race and idealistic
honor ; and a daughter of the grand old patriots, the
martyred and loyal exiled Highlanders, who had
given their all for “Bonny Prince Charlie ;” which

was but saying: had lain down all of life for the in-
tegrity and freedom of Scotland.

“March! March! Ettrich and Treviottsdale!
Why, my lads, do ye not march in order?”

appealed to her conscience as an occult mandate de-

 

 

11
i HIGHLANDERS .

fast loyalism to

A DAUGHTER OF TH

Scending through centuries of stead

”
s times three,
“Wild dummie vassals three thousand!

who had cried:

dee.”
“Hey, for the bonnets of ponnie Dun

Thus her mind slipped from z
Shadow hovering the room and oe the hymn she
forting spirit into the uancaitn ae
Ww inging, uncons ae ressed f

Nellie ites tee hand and gr opinely ? crouching
Shoulder; Iphogenia
Position by the hearth and sanen® the tea-kettle,
Coals from the fire to place Wier team from its
which instantly responded by hs

ease
stubb t. Sydney Owens Co” tne doors
tramp Pe Ae oe to seat himoelt inet melody
and imbibe the hope infused nto came the

pe acpi
of the hymn; but with the last arg shrilling of
lonely silence with the inflowing ing of the persis
the pines, the weak, peevish pee nded beyond the
ent screech owl; then footsteps Foe sensitive flames
Circle of light cast by age
through the doorway, and, alt red, to be weleohn
Allan and Charley Thayer enteret’ " nerience

by none with more relief ee tion upon less
shifting the pathetic tas hors had prover en

suffering sympathy than tly left

: ie
Soon after their arrival she i in door and enter

to cross the open space before

4 the
the needle carpetted vistas beneath

pines ; there,

 

 
 

 

312 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

through interlacing boughs of the trees, she glimpsed
the cool, twinkling stars in their everlasting orbits
in far away, cerulean spaces, and the whisperings of
the pines and the crying of the owl no longer de-
pressed her. Rather, she was disturbed, heart-
brokenly, by young Thayer’s presence, withal his
sunny optimism in strength and amiableness. Jean
had confessed to a great liking for the handsome,
well-groomed boy, whose culture and gay, though
polished manners, held a lure of the world from
which their secluded lives were of late so drearily
debarred.

Her loyal plaint that he reminded her so much of
poor Edwin had only intensified the indefinable mis-
trust of self, the emotionless defence behind which
Ruth was fain to retreat when she met him, And
she had met him so frequently in the few weeks
since she had become aware of his existence, for he
was now often a guest at Kissic-Dale and present at
the kirk, and happened at so many places where
duty had long been in the habit of compelling her
attendance. Just then, what he personified to her
understanding was incompatible with and so at vari-
ance with the mood possessing her mind, she had
purposely escaped to regain a more normal poise of
thought and the reserve and caution with which she
invariably met his flame-lit glances and unmistak-
able devotion.

His most casual smile and gallantry of behavior
had probed deep into the tomb of her youthful hopes
and visions, tearing apart the mantle of sorrow in
which she had so envelopingly shrouded them;

 

 

313
NDERS
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLA

ement her
Where from its dreary vault “i ee
heart had so often cried in lon pain

'
passed is holy ground!
these trees where We

“Where’er thy foot has

The groves are sacred!

I behold thee walking under
walked

In the morning of thy youth! + tne place has taken

I feel thy presence now; feel tha’ hallowed.”

A charm from thee, and is forever

and the sad runing of the pines i the universe,

to her as the one consonant Gants the bleak mono-
of the human-peopled world, wit d
tone of her heart’s unavailing fe exciting putt 3

She shrank exceedingly os it: pene had su
where she could not ae Re sympathy was too
fered too excruciatingly, and ip shadow © 6)
susceptible, for her to inflict ne had renoun'
Pain upon any heart, willingly. t she might ord
the world and lived a recluse, t west threatened by
confronted with ook ee ing of her
Charley Thayer’s persi

gyn Kare she was vowed t ibacy bY repeatedly
sealed to him or to definite oe in re
assuring him so much of pet Secretly, har y
heart’s steadfast loyalty to 4 common sense,
acknowledged by her own orig that no ict
was a Fatalist in belief, an roject oe i
happened but by predestined, P om the first mom e
of a never-resting Destiny- 7 d, jnstinctively,
of knowing Charley aba f re on the chess
Perhaps, regarded him as 4 gu

 
 

 

 

314 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

of fate, and she had experienced the occult divina-
tion of a real Gaelic “second sight” warning.

Iphogenia appeared in the bright doorway, peer-
ing forth into the gloom so earnestly, Ruth knew
she was uneasy and anxious for her return, Re-
luctantly she retraced her steps and met Iphogenia
as she was coming out.

“You said Mrs. Owens must have some tea, which
I am jest now ready to make,” the maid said, diplo-
matically.

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Ruth responded, accepting the
explanation in apparently good faith. “She has
eaten hardly anything at all to-day; no wonder she
is nervous and distraught in the shock of her grief.”

When she entered young Thayer arose and
proffered her his chair, but she graciously declined
it, and set about preparing a meal for the long-fast-
ing parents, who had had no mind for anything but
the loss of the child throughout the day and even-
tide. The coming of friends had opened afresh the
’ wounds of their hearts, but Allan was succeeding in

calming and helping them to a logical behavior.

So when Ruth had opened the large hamper Jean
and Mary had dispatched with Iphogenia and David,
and had extracted a teapot and a package of tea.
which she delivered to the maid, and then delved for
white napery to spread the small dining table rest-
ing against the wall between the door and hearth-
stone, and brought forth a boiled ham, pickles and
jellies, milk and butter, bread and cake and a jar of
golden honey, Allan, at Ruth’s invitation, insisted

upon their dining with him upon the delicious fare
so bountifully provided.

315
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“, rsuade
“Mr. Allan,” Ruth had gee cet then
Nellie and Mr. Owens to break sleep. Neither of
induce them to try to rest and yeral nights to
them has slept but very little im Sie they do not
my knowledge, and they will be he :
relax from the strain very soon. ple but for three
There was not space at the rm with a promise
plates, so Ruth apologized to Thaye “«T fave had no
that she would dine with him later. time to keep me
supper as yet, so you have come in
company during the meal. the door, that Allan
He smilingly retreated to le, and the

s t the tab him
might make use of his seat a caused
poner tha “the makeshift arrangement

ical gleam of
to seek Ruth’s glance with a ce eference
humor, that he decorously suppres

: n. re
to the solemnity of the occasio «a to a degree,
His seat in the doorway isolated hitn ened to the

ing if furtive scrutiny, vel tbo

with which she induced Nellie wou experience 4

to eat and drink, and, for a pene i

blessed reprieve from their se bene®
“Ruth,” Joyce Allan remarice

“Tjly is worrying to § ou are out
petra om in . see her some Sine ete offen
in the carriage. She ere te vats
you have avoided us so of late. Ruth exclaimed,

“Oh, no, not that, Mr. et , ae
and then paused, visibly em her that when it 18
more quietly: “Please say to many of my house-
possible I will come and bring as My) she concluded,
hold as the carriage will contain,

‘ color.
with a tremulous laugh and a rising
316 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 7
With analytical vision and almost idolatrous I i jae
‘ith n lan had persua
Paes ayer: the srs flushes and union pcre pes! which be se
se es therefrom, and noted the plain from i les by suspen
a Nap fitting black toilet, relieved by white from = — Oe and mow pris?
hair ae reget and the sheening coils of her golden a trunk to the bedside and sat there in @ ne upon
rag ys h framed her beautifully molded features silence similar to the vigil of Job's. ee ad her
was delat ue tsiken waves weeping et | the ach ha wie pg Ra
t Ss grace; but with more en- plat ich carriage! i
slaving pleasure and a joy so intense it embodied cakes peer and, at Ruth’s regan
pain and sadness, he drank in the beauty of her spread it in the corner by the hearth aeaght the
tk eyes so instinct with a pensive humility and it, with her head resting against the Bek
ne radiance of a soulful spirit; and the queenly Tude fireplace. il, Miss
carriage which so inscrutably commingled girlish “T see it is up to you and I to keep the EF an
snROoANS and the sophisticated culture of maturity. MacKenzie,” Thayer remarked later on a
eer until his heart was faint with its burden alert glance around the room. Iphogenta wage chin
re lissful desire, and he turned resolutely and set Snoring and Allan’s head drooped until hs lar
1s eyes upon the dim, shrilling forest, that was Tested upon his breast, and the deep, a g
sel naomi than normal in view of his misted breathing on the couch evinced eae ir xing
Afa ; couple had found a brief oblivion from the!
‘ ar off, the sonorous voice of the great night sorrow. rest
avi hooted and hallooed, and nearer at hand the “Or, if you will find a place where yor a way
s ‘ger aig little owl pined and plained incessantly. I will brave it alone, if you will sugg®? ‘ “mended
ater, he sat at the table with Ruth, facing an to quiet that freezing shivering bird,” he mains
overflowing board, but lacking the full appetite to when he perceived Ruth’s startled glance, 2° tte
appreciate at their proper value the dainty viands Swept the room with dismayed comprehenst set I
Ruth and Iphogenia pressed upon him so hospitably. gets on my nerves out here in this Jonely thicket,
Rather, his mind was obsessed with watching Ruth’s Confess, candidly.” them out
"i pepe noting that she was distrait; that her “T have known women who would are would
— trembled when she poured his tea or passed Of the vicinity with a broom; and men festraction
fi some dish of food; that her eyes fell swiftly Sally forth with a gun, bent upon pon ocent crea-
Pe his slightest glance, and that she spoke but but they are really most harmless, athers though
om, and then with a reserved graciousness, lack- tures, tiny bundles of nerves and, fea pon a great

they ‘make a very weird impression ©

ing spontaneity and impulse.

 

       
 

 

318 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

many people. I am so thankful you and Mr. Allan
came out here to-night, for really it has been the
most uncanny experience of my life, and so de-
pressing,” Ruth chattered nervously, but in low,
guarded tones.

“I saw the little casket as I came down from the
station with Seaman to-day, and at supper I men-
tioned the incident to Allan. He informed me where
Owens lived and worked his holding of turpentine
trees, and we concluded to come,” he explained,
simply.

“T shall take Nellie home with me from the burial
to-morrow, and her husband can have a horse to ride
out here to his work. Aunt Jean sent me word to
be sure to do so. Nellie would go mad, I am afraid,
being alone here through the day after this,” Ruth
remarked with grieving tones and sad expression, aS
she glanced over the rude room and listened to the
soughing of the pines which the rising wind was
teasing restlessly.

“If ever ghosts walk abroad in this world, I be-
lieve they find an especial affinity for the conditions
of these primeval forests,” he declared, hearkening
to the wail and murmur swelling beyond the open
doors, which he presently arose and closed against
the sudden chill brought on the wings of the eastern
breeze.

They lingered purposely over the informal repast,
in view of the lengthy tedium of the slow hours of
the long night; and when they finally cleared the
table, they resumed their seats by it and forced con-
versation into intermittent intervals of silences.

Almost the entertainment of Thayer was as trying

  

319
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

eg rt to console
to her nerves as the heart-stone hapa Thayer

Nellie. In the lonely hours bey imes, to snuff
Testlessly arose from his chair many sii

‘aking into the
the candles, that were gradually sae jabra, and

Sockets of Jean’s second-best si r their
ati 7 q i r ove!
Spilling wax in picturesque a, oe leaf work

glistening ornamentations of scr¢ istic con-
which attested the silversmith’s skill and art
Ceptions. ine knots from

And he replenished the fire with pin in, he
@ generous es beside the doorstep; and fr upon
had folded the top coat he had fetch { the couch
his arm, had placed it on the side of tM oon it
and deftly lowered Allan’s nodding
Without awakening the sleeper.

It was in a lonely

pee a widely different way, i Upon iit stroke the
Shock of a climax, snapping W ag,
formal reserve that had marked the yi oe fire and
Thayer, after a final replenishing © od in their
Snuffing of the candles, then low, yu? in
Padded sockets, quietly resumed his |

impressively quiet for so long a tm’

had feigned an assumption of ence es propped

ted ?

head on her hand suppor rt eyes in @ hte
jencing, 0

of exper ict of stern

On the table, and closing
languor she was guiltless
Sensitive heart was torn by @

€motions which rendered her irs ee
and wakeful, was impelled to were gone to sleep.

Of his behavior to learn if one oe
er glance surprised tears in Mis

 

 
Ll

 

321
320 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS that
d

pression on his features that could not be misinter- best spoken that a wrong may be aye T have
preted ; it was such a revelation as no feminine heart is why I am going to tell you ad to Aunt Jean
could ever misunderstand or ignore. It laid bare never spoken of to anyone; not /¢F
his soul for her reading and the story was the por- or Donald,” she contended. ty, and a hopeless
trayal of a fervor of love and admiration that over- “Donald?” he echoed, inquisitive laacir
whelmed her with its insistent, pleading pathos. gloom chased all light from his fea thing to do with

He did not try to evade the truth, although he had “Yes; but never mind; he has n0 ed tensely
no solid ground whereon to build a single hope. “I what I have to tell you,” she Witte
love you, Miss MacKenzie! I have loved you from “Well, tell me,” he urged, and biti ‘she queried,
the first moment I ever beheld you!” he whispered, _ “How old are you, Mr. Thay#?
thrillingly. Irrelevantly. ically, 30 busy

“Oh, do not say that, I beg you!” she cried, with a “Thirty-two,” he answered, mec her intention.
first impulse, putting out her hand as if to ward off a was he trying to conjecture her 'm d in genuine Sut
blow; then, after a stunned pause, she hid her face “So much as that!” she exclaime¢,
in her hands and murmured breathlessly : “Wait 2 Prise. onths more,” he
moment, please. Say no more until I have spoken.” “Every day of it, and @ iow ee me for a kid,

“But do not hide your face. I—I want to see _ affirmed, still puzzled. “Did you
your eyes,” he pleaded, plaintively, pale and excited Miss MacKenzie?” ly, as she drew her-
with strong emotion. “Oh, no,” she returned absent! a Ass nervously.

He gazed upon her hypnotically for a while, self erect and intertwined her : lips, and then
seeing her lips move and her hands tremblingly press She moved her tongue to moisten
their veiling of her sight and her quivering features. Said, with direct intonation: ou have informed i
He arose in a stress of excitement and moved about “You had a cousin once, $0 fe here some time {
the room aimlessly until she lifted her head and Aunt Jean, and you know he Nae 4
revealed a pale countenance. just previous to the time he died! he waited.

“Come, be seated. I have a story to relate, and “Yes,” he breathed, and ng te and with set © |
you must listen,” she commanded tragically. “I loved him!” she faltered, e T ever loved, an

“Do not, if it disturbs you,” he said, contritely, pression. “He is the only ee: her lips immobile
as he seated himself to lean toward her in a petition- I love him still!” she oer torture of her _self-
ing posture. “I should not have said what I did! It and her eyes glittering with rs tell you how it all
was as if I was persecuting you, forcing myself upon imposed confession. May
you in unpardonable degree in the circumstances.” happened ?” 9 he preathed, un-

“No, truth is always best; if it was truth, it is “You, you, Miss MacKenzie,

believingly.

 

ar ne ie REET aL

 

 
 
 

 

322 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“Yes, I!” she repeated, her heart scorched with
the pain of the first effort of the memory. Bitter as
the waters of the unsanctified sea, as gall and worm-
wood to the taste, was this sacrifice of her most
sacredly guarded, canonized memory.

“May I tell you the story, just as it happened?”
she requested, and lifted her hand to impose atten-
tion; and when he bent his head to signify that he
was attending, she said, brokenly:

“Dear friend, I am going to prove to you how
much I respect and esteem you, and—and trust
you,” she reached forth her hand, and he took it in
a retaining clasp and held it while she began at the
very inception of her knowledge of Edwin Phillips,
and related tersely but concisely every incident of
her relations with him. He was silent as she con-
cluded, but he pressed her hand sympathetically.

“How old were you when you first met him?” he
asked.

“Not quite seventeen, and oh, such a child to be
confronted with such a problem! Until this day I
have no proper conception of his character! I was
too young to judge; I could only idealize and wor-
ship what seemed to me all of the charm of life, or—
of heaven.”

“He was a fine fellow, a darling boy, and every-
one loved him,” he declared loyally, heroically, yet
his eyes slanted toward hers with perplexed scrutiny
and inquiry.

“Yet he was false to me, false to every word he
ever uttered, brutally, heartlessly false, after wooing
me, an ignorant, trusting child, with all the art and
witchery his worldliness gave him command of,”

cere

NDERS
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLA

h id, nderingly. , «qd: and since
Sicee eet ted aware of until cine ny have
then I have worshipped "efron others. op you
spurned all thoughts 0 agent,
Ft gr wounded unto death by apy jnto such @
you ever have willing Tel
maelstrom of circumstances | oi y
I have protected my heart singe 2 from my hard
pulsion of all that pers
fought-for peace and ser :

“Vet,” een aver er 7 love you,
tonation, “I love you 4!

have loved a th d you,
yoenee s iat sure that Phillips loved y
am certain he a ine.” fo eat oe
Itogeth orth loving.
: She enitled tremulously, and her ihe” she
just for a moment. “Yet he marti d
i im. lem,

Seema is not all of the nee assured,”
nothing to do with his love for you tek
he asserted confidently. headed Ru

“That is all, Let us close the se” and clasped
quested, and she leaned back sa ture of extrem
her hands behind her head ferns
fatigue and discouragement his slanting yision

, sone
“Certainly,” he acquiesce vet
bracing all the evidences of her ns 7 advanced

5 turn . wyer
train, Then he arose, pering sawyer
briskly o th side of the deeply = into wakeful
and clasped his shoulder to § at
ness. » he cried, runnt
“Dawn is here, Allan!

 

 
     

4

f§

4
Bi
c
¥

4

5

4

aa ae eed t

 

PE ENT EBL Re RSE

 

324 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

fingers through the man’s hair with an exasperating
effort, to enforce his words.

Allan stretched his cramped limbs and arose tO
vent a strenuous yawn.

“It is quite time for us to be going, really,” Thayer

remarked in a tired, lifeless tone of voice that Allan
was quick to perceive.

“Tt was beastly in me to go to sleep and not give
you a chance for a nap, wasn’t it?” he apologized,
suppressing another clamoring yawn.

“That is all right! I have not been in the least
drowsy. Say! If you feel any remorse, hurry out
and put the horse to the buggy ; that will open your

eyes, for you will have to do some hard peeping to
see anything, I guess,”

Later, when Allan had gone out, he took his coat,
and, shaking out its crumpled folds, put it on, delib-
erately, all the while his eyes seeking Ruth, as she
sat in deep dejection, her head again supported in
the palm of her hand, as formerly.

He approached and stood before her. “I am going
now,” he said, “but I wait to assure you of my in-
tense sympathy in all that you have confided unto
me; and that I shall hold sacred every word of your
confidence; but I think I divine why you assumed
the pain of telling me, and am sorry to inform you
that I believe it was perfectly useless, for my heart
holds you in the same regard, and I esteem you just
as when we began the conversation. Now, please,

awaken your maid ; you should not be left a moment
without company. And,” he smiled archly and the
sunny light gleamed in his eyes with an evanescent

 

 
 

  

  

325
shall I

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

sparkle, “come to see nay soon, or better,
bring her out to see you?” ig

Ruth lifted her eyes with a eee purse y:
“Surely,” she said, “it would be bes

either.” ear aa selling
He smiled inscrutably, said “Goodby hurriedly

: into the
and, with a last lingering glance, — bens
chill, gray twilight of the approaching

CHAPTER V.

1¢-DALE
CuristMastipe—Donatp AGAIN AT Kiss
—A Wounpep SantTA CLaus.

1d
“Light of the Darkened World,
Shine as of old, when the lone shepherds

Watched over the fold.”
* * * * * * *

“Prince! With the stoic my pride agrees;
I gave my all and I went my way,

= * * * * *
“Not mine the peace of hearthstone and o!

”
fi *
home.”

; of

Christmastide happened in one of a pat a

bright sunshine so wont to embrace base a by

the Southland; and the day had pre cand the

crisp breezes which set the blood ere sea ag
spirits dancing to the joy-laden me

ti d festival. ;
oo ‘had presing at the kirk on Christmas Eve

 

  
 
  
  
  
 
    
  
 
 
  
       
 
       
    
   
  

 

  
  
se

 

 

326 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

the previous afternoon, to be more exact in state-
ment, and had attended the elaborate exercises cele-
brating the annual festival, the climax of which was
two immense, heavily-laden trees, not alone for the
Gaelic congregation, but also for the strangers in a
wide territory. It had been a gay season of music,
of smiling faces, of happy greetings, and of an
optimistic cheer, that irradiated each one of the large
audience.

Tt was near the midnight hour, when the house-
hold, including him as its only guest, had arrived at
home and immediately sought rest in slumber. He
had arisen late that morning, and breakfasted in
solitary state while Ezeke, grinning with sheer de-
light, had scrupulously attended to his slightest need.
Then, during the forenoon, he loitered aimlessly
around the house and premises, in a conjecturing
silence, for there was no opportunity of speaking
with anyone he was acquainted with, as groups of
strangers thronged through the gates and entered the
mansion with an air of assured welcome and hos-
pitality.

Ruth was so very much engaged with those ar-
rivals and other duties, she could only exchange a
smile or a word as she met him by chance while
flitting by on some duty as hostess to her innumer-
able guests.

Lengthy tables, dressed in glistening damask,
tastefully adorned with greens and holly berries, and
richly enhanced by glittering silver and frosted
cakes, flanked by great stands of whipped cream,
later satiated the keen appetites of men, women and
children; and in a rear room of the kitchen were

a Oy AAAS AGL EAPO RAE TOR  i! DNe Or dn emis fem th ~

327
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

. . . d
similar tables, where David presided and dispense

to people of his own color.

bie ay we etal Donald sat by perverse it os
sitting room and chatted with Jean, w e ve mies
a luxurious leather couch, drawn near the pond «a
cinerating logs, whose delicate blue an ee
thin, fragrant smoke up the bn Josep - aed

The restless, laughing confusion 0 pa aapioy
house, the constant tramp of foots ae Raine
veranda, came to them in muffled fa ate
the doors closed against any demand upo:

rength.

‘i ysis much to discuss, and, nk 7 = a
least, the time slipped away as the ys ie
were leaving for their homes, most 0 dually
and beyond a tedious drive. The house Br —
assumed a quietude in contrast to e a Ss ing ie
of the morning and noon. Finally, ae isa ps
rosy and chilled from a trip outdoors i. ue vite
departing guests. She hurried to the lina | 8
upon the hearth-rug to stretch her han 3 el a
glowing logs and let their genial warm

frost-chilled body.

She was very good $e
cheeks, wind-blown coiffure and dar Apr eore
unwontedly with a pleasing memory Hoa bl
ness she had that day bestowed upon ra nage a al
sick, labor-weary people. She was * 2 d girdled
heavy, silver-tinted, gray silk, shirred a = aye
at the waist line, and corsaged by an ee és
scheme of creamy lace arranged ah a roping
plainly wreathe her exquisitely molded w

4 ial 7
and to be confined at the waist beneath its girdle o

crushed silk.

, with her rosy
to look upon, awaposed 9“

 
 

 

 

328 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

Donald knew that she had just returned from wit-
nessing an unique embarkation down at a point
where the lawn met the approach of the cherry lane.
He had himself viewed it in unfeigned curiosity
through a window. It had seemed to him that a
multitude of passengers of all sizes and sexes had
crowded into a long, wooden frame constructed of
scantlings and thin lengths of lumber, the frame
resting upon wheels coupled very far apart, and
decorated in a very festive manner with intertwin-
ing holly and mistletoe; and a similar adornment
had been attached to the heads of the four stout
mules harnessed to the unwieldly vehicle. “It was
the crowd from Sears’ and Thayer’s mill,” Jean had
remarked, when he had commented on the remark-
able equipage.

As she knelt on the rug, they each had maintained
such a prolonged silence Ruth was constrained to
glance at them with a humorous smile wreathing her
lips.

“You do not seem to be in a very gay mood, either
of you,” she said, and arose to draw an upholstered
armchair to the side of the couch.

“We were just remarking that it had been an ex-
ceptional day,” Donald returned, absently.

“Tt has been simply delightful, so pleasant in every
respect,” Ruth averred, stroking Jean’s  silver-
threaded hair with caressing fingers. “But they
have all gone now, Auntie, but a few, whom Mary
is entertaining in the parlor, and we are now com-
paratively quiet. Are you very tired, dearie?”

“Just enough to rest comfortably, thank you,
bairnie,” Jean responded, with simple sittcerity.

329
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“Your aunt has been telling me, aa ag wa
have painted my portrait from a pegenee nis A 4
should like very much to see it, and I, a
going soon,” Donald spoke with deliberation. sei

“Tt is not a masterpiece, but such as rs ro = ye 4
behold it,” Ruth replied, arising to lea rp ad o: vara
to her studio, which Donald then entere phere yA
time. Indeed, very few people had =r ip eae."
threshold; it was a retreat that she e feb eens
seclusion; for there the sybaritic merge? sion seed
nature evolved the voluptuous charm ‘0 eae
ease and beauty, of splendid luxury an

F ae d
culture, which the austere, — pte red
heritage of mental traits so deprecated, s

ide i he curious and
t away from the gaze of t
Spee ans veil it as a holy of holies for her own

joyment. ‘ g
nee Roepe pure saary i the culture and intelligence,

ac-
the discriminating taste and standard of luxury

from Kissic-
ired i ears of study spent away
Date; wate generous inheritance from Angus

: anes : t,
Bethune had rendered it all so facile in attainmen

1 iven without hindrance.
mat pny down to its eattrance, over She
court-like peristyle, in winter was see ree, te —
sash, to serve as an auxiliary to the am tsb
servatory, then connected with the “? or y oe
glaze-walled peristyle; so it was ee =
of palms and other thrifty heehee Lon el _
Donald approached a vision he would re
oreera entered the pagoda-like woanegred psy
spacious rooms, his first impression was

 
 

 

330 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

most enchanting color, warmth and fragrance; rose-
colored velvet portieres and window draperies, over-
hung with cream-tinted laces; generous windows
and duplicating mirrors produced an effect of splen-
dor, of tone and spaciousness; and potted plants,
such as ferns and palms, flowering japonicas and
azaleas, dwarf rose trees and baskets of dainty

smilax in contrasting greenery, filled the rooms with
an ineffable incense of living perfumery.

The furniture was artistic and novel in designs ;
richly-toned art squares of velvet moquette, and
costly rugs, spaced the glistening hardwood floors;
and pictures literally sheathed the hard-finished
walls of a neutral color.

Ruth’s entrance was greeted by a warbling chorus
from two cages of golden canary birds, and a shriek
of joy from a gaudily-plumaged parrot swinging on
a perch beside an open upright piano, where the sun
bathed her sensitive body and fell across the ivory
keyboard in a warm, rose-tinted bar of light.

A white poodle uncurled its fluffy body on the
hearth-rug, in front of a rose and gray-tiled hearth,
and a glowing fire of hickory logs, upheld by im-
mense brass andirons, and yawning lazily, stretched
its Liliputian limbs ere it bounded to Ruth’s side,
fawning and yearning for its accustomed fondling.

As she was appeasing her neglected pets and still-
ing the strident cries of the haughty parrot, Donald
gave free rein to his surprise and admiration. In-
stinctively, he experienced a pang of jealous resent-
ment that Ruth had bestowed so much of herself
upon the insensate, if beautiful, interior; how much
she had given, he realized as his eyes searched the

icine a

ian NUMER TABOOS RAE TRA Aa i Mee ti mesma so A em

31
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 3.

room with its splendor of appointments, ——
the amazing gallery of paintings lining mon
from baseboard to ceiling. His lips “i preg rie
pose of represession and disapproval; ye

to probe into the phases of her life hidden from him

by such extended absences forced him - presen
trated scrutiny of her taste, her ang reer Si
in pursuing ideals, her use of Angus

tune. d fl
“Polly is such a scolding rival of my pigeons, she

soe 4 ot
has to be shut up where her vision me Cae
reach them; their dismay is something +qeaibey
she attacks them like a veritable virago so 2 nove
and rage when they are so unfortunate as eg PY
in her vicinity,” Ruth remarked, with smiling
i f the peevish bird. tthe
ot And sng it?” Donald said, Mey" mao
assumption of cynical reproach it evoked a
color in Ruth’s countenance. :
«Polly is impervious to discipline, va phir mr ;
she protested, as she absently stroked the
dress of her tropical pet. ?
Donald’s unresponsive silence im

tion from the bird. : d
What is it you so disapprove of adie poset
sanctum ?” she queried, smiling, noting

: : ject to object,
absorption as his glance roved from ain aid

pelled her atten-

rather in disparagement than with a
approval.
Pell of it,” he replied, tersely,
futile and ine ese
“Why, Donald, how cros a
ligthly, refusing to be scolded seriously.

“because it is so

are!” she exclaimed

 

 
 

332 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“Why do you sacrifice your life to such amazing
drudgery as art and philanthropy and similar barren
worry and toil is beyond my power to comprehend
comfortably,” he complained, critically.

“Oh, but you know I informed you of what I
intended to do, long ago, Donald!’ she reminded
him, with smiling patience.

He bent his head with an incisive gesture of assent
and then devoted himself to a closer inspection of
heroic water colors and paintings. Ruth experi-
enced a reminiscent misgiving, such as she had felt
when he, with vested authority, had sat in judgment
upon her solutions of abstruse problems set forth by
theoretical text-books. His critical inspection of her
work rendered her suddenly nervous, and a dread of
his unfriendly verdict evoked an inspiration to lift
her violin from its case and with deft fingers twist
its strings into harmonious chords. Polly danced in
raucous glee and the canaries linked their liquid
notes to the first tentative strain of a Schumanesque
symphony.

As the music swelled into heart-probing cadences,
Donald was seduced from his critical regard of the
interior, and, selecting a seat, he heeded the violin’s
loquacious voice, as it wove with threads of divine
melody, the Mystic Web of Life.

“That serene, unconscious, ceaseless flow

Of light and dark, of life and death, which makes good
out of evil, order of odd.

Spirit and substance mingling as they go,
Until a new, self-centered soul awakes
To know that all is the gentle will of God.” '

eA uM A EONS RATA SDN 2 lon Sos a omer mom wt

33
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 3

‘ ; t

As the last quavering aria floated into vary

silence, she laid the instrument in its nt beri wet

the piano ere she turned to face wig a
had darkened and were sombre with rep

ing and admiration.

“Let me show you the portr
requested, Roady, eee

to divert him wi .

ith ‘ sitionsh mien, he arose pi she nik
way beyond the curtained archways ©
the hearth-stone; and he agg
large room, evidently her library, Chines Oia
weighted book-stacks stood in aoa pects
mirror-like gloss of the uncovered floor.

lain,
furnishings, though elegant, were srvint i P
and the interior motive, strictly intellect Teas
Donald viewed it with glowing Shes teneioecrte to
phere of books appealed to him as t pe seek hints
a carrier pigeon. The other apartmen / pie
it so exclusively personified sensuou ;

iment and emotional ecstacy. ei
Ruth moved with deliberate a ardiigy bag. are
tricate windings of the aisles — Be ae
stacks, and paused before a stout, ghee de
which rested the portrait they had set ace
Donald. approached leisurely, od Pay he
stacks to note their classification. a pone fo,
faced his portrait, that speaking liken!

i most
formed, vernal youth, he frowned at its al

‘ SS.
feminine delicacy and obvious pee my b peciod the

ed
“163 much as you appeared ¢ ” Ruth
Pediat made, of which it is a COPY

asserted, apologetically.

it now, please,” she
the impulse that had

 
 

334 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“Perhaps it is,” he admitted, ruefully.

When she could do so considerately she moved
away and slipped back to the other apartment where
her pets were peevishly demanding her presence.
She held Muffet, the tiny poodle, in her arms,
chirped to the canaries and scolded Polly for not
assuming more dignity in the presence of a visitor;
and Polly volubly made an excuse by a constant
repetition of “Polly wants a cracker, Ruth! Polly
wants a cracker,” although cake in abundance waS
spread about, where Iphogenia had provided susten-
ance for the little prisoners.

When Donald finally returned from the inspection
of his portrait and the room, which had really inter-
ested him more than the picture, with its adornment
of stag’s antlers, bagpipes and other relics of the
“and o’ cakes,” and in every conceivable niche or
position busts of poets and authors and other less
notable celebrities, he said, in a censuring manner,
as he rejoined Ruth, “And all this is hidden from
any eye but your own; reserved exclusively for your
own enjoyment and edification !”

“Oh, no! I have an audience, and an unique one!
Mary used to come in at lengthy intervals; Aunt
Jean comes oftener, and worships reverently at her
chosen shrine. See! There is her prized loving cup
beneath it, and the floral offering is her own!” Ruth
pointed to an immense canvas, from which beamed
the pensive face of “Mary, Queen af Scots.” “And,”
she continued, “Iphogenia keeps the place in order
and feeds my pets; Tony and Ezeke and David all
have duties to perform in here, at one time and
another, and they all, every one, from Aunt Jean

 

335
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

: S
down the lists, are critics. Some of er J cgins
are rich, and I have wished that sigan eerg? at
so forth, I mean, could have heard t yi rye 9
for their amusement, but for the sa id pest
tensely literal viewpoint. Dicey, I roe Aire: You
most candid and picturesque of any © ts on your
should have heard her original commen

ortrait,” she said. din

3 “Ruth,” he interposed sternly, “you yy acbjett i
Some issue and diverting me from pert gallery of
am anxious to touch upon. As for t Histol; and
the personages who have made our herited and
whose traits and traditions we have tb I was in
accepted, the whole collection 1s supe r, and know
Edinburgh and the Highlands last Teach nothing
your conceptions are idealized realis ities again;
less, I assure you. I must glance over Fain would
just glance, for indeed, I must be going. may mother
I tarry indefinitely, but I have pod gee ries fholl-
in almost two years, remember, and Cis pressing
day has been an act of violence to very

a the sheathed
‘And once more he went the round of Senda

: by

walls, while Ruth stood helplessly hat she
and permitted the keen scrutiny of a) ‘a definite
had never been able to judge wit His lingering
accuracy as to its merits or “eres a portrait of
inspection finally brought him be oad and he was
the Scottish heroine, Flora MacDon: It was after a
deeply impressed with its realism. d and endowed
Painting by Ramsay, highly orem the original.

with lifelike touches, wholly lacking t delicate color-

From the skillful use of the mos

 
 

 

   
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
    
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   

 
 

336 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

ings and the vital rendering of expression, had been
evolved a living, breathing Flora, who gazed with
serious, candid eyes upon “Bonny Prince Charlie,”
on the opposite side of the room. He seemed to be
viewing her, also, with speculative seriousness, as
his eyes slanted pensively in her direction.

Such a lovely, bonny Flora! With a rose nestling
in her shining curls, and roses upon her bosom, her
shapely hands holding with careless grace some
pretty white flowers he was not able to class. Sur-
pliced sleeves of some sheer, white material, and
bare white throat and shoulders, from which her
tartan plaid of brilliant-hued silk fell gracefully,
leaving them exposed, gave to her the formal and
distinguished air evening dress imparts to all climes
and periods. She appeared to be living, and her lips
to say: “I am willing to put my life in jeopardy to
save His Royal Highness from the dangers which
beset him.”

The portrait of the chevalier prince was after a
painting by Le Togue; and his countenance glowed
with the sparkle of a dewy morning, his eyes beamed
with radiant hope and energy, his fair hair, brushed
carefully from an open brow, curled on his neck
enscarfed with white silk, which matched the ele-
gance of his beruffled bosom and cuffs. His dress
was a heavy, royal-tinted silk in court style of Louis
XV. period, and an ermine cloak drooped from his
shoulders.

The innocence, the pathos of trust and confiding
gentleness was matchlessly expressed, and the seduc-
tive charms of character suggested by the original
had been idealized until it made his heart ache with
a tender pity in beholding it ; and that pitying sorrow

 

   
      

Te NG WAHT ERO OED i Ry te ee staat

337

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

. . . his
was intensified into infinite compassion, when

glance left that springtime of manhood an ee
upon another portrait of the Prince, ony Seteg
painting by Humphrey, where age had se : wa
and the once beautiful mouth, so Fe aon eS : td
tleness, drooped pathetically ; and the — pices
ing eyes gloomed stolidly, if not susp! a
prince still,” and withal, a heart-broken wanderer,

ny ee + ee teresting portraits

Environing those two most in rhe
were bold delineations of the very essence 0

romantic charm of the Highlands of rowan
scenes of Alpine grandeur, rocky cavern : urfs and
row gorges, rock-ribbed cliffs and foaming $ e tarns ;
whirling sea fowls; azure skies and og and
fir-clad steeps and emerald dells ; Sepang ane
bonneted shepherds ; the splendors vege at

squalor of the mountain sheiling; i

serene crooning quietude of the inglesi os
tagers ; the lordly: patrician and the gare ar
ate; the beacon-lighted hills and the aoe! oy
clans, picturesque in plumed bonnets, tar aon
and kilts, and armed with haliberds, claym:

broad axes.

”
“For Charlie they drew the broad sword,

strong, earnest men, who sang sincerely:

“We'll over water to Charlie;
Come weal, come woe,

We'll gather and g0, Bi
And live or die for Charlie!

 
  
  
  
   
    
   
  
   
    
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
 
  
    
    
   
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
EW AE! bla Dias oie NRRL

 

:
3
ay
h
'
4

338 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

A contrast to the brave marshalling of clans, com-
manded by cross of fire and led by skirling bag-
pipes, were reproductions of the portraits of the
Royal Stuarts, and the dignitaries who helped to
make the history of their reign; James I. and Mary
Queen of Scots were conspicuous in high, frilled
ruffles of the Elizabethan era, and the courtly dress,
in grim contrast to the richness and furbelows of the
personages from the French court of the reigns of
the Louises.

After a prolonged and interested study of those
details so intimately allied to the traditions of the
exiles, Donald, with a full intake of breath that had
been partially suspended, moved his position to again
face the portrait of the Highland heroine that was
enshrined as a goddess. A gilded bracket held tiny
candelabra, bearing waxen tapers; and a vase of
rare flowers embraced also pine twigs from the
cherished little pines from the motherland.

He turned to Ruth with a teasing smile. “Thou
shalt have no other gods before me,” he quoted, ges-
turing to indicate the altar-like environment of the
heroine’s portrait.

“She saved our prince, you know, and his veins
ran with the blood of the Stuarts. My reverence
for her and the Chevalier Prince is but a tribute to
my sacred heritage from the storied ‘Ancient of
Days.’ Oh, do you never reflect how our kings and
our country has been denied us, although our race
was a pioneer one in the civilization of Europe; and
that wherever we are, and in whatever condition we
are in heart and in ideals Gaelics still!” Ruth ex-
claimed, appealing to his racial patriotism.

 

339
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

; i id to our
“Indeed, I subscribe to 0m chef gprs iota

ancestors two thousand years Son your ane

ou advance to battle, look ba! pon we
tors; look forward to your posterity,” he agr

ingly. ‘a -
feo Tipe much of the world and jock cea picts
meated with the exigencies of the sp Janced back-
pied in its strenuous inelaseee = , ad ere then
ward to history but incidentally. d too much on the

been impressed that Ruth epi yre eventful race,

unalterable, depressing cages oe fet interesting

i TO)
and was without ue neath so when she mov

to the door as a signal that they should depart Fay
the studio, he followed reluctantly ani 4 and said,
As she closed the door she pause

earnestly : j ‘ afforded me
“TL love: sry Watts Senter ws: vaisider entirely

: 4 I
h pure pleasure, but its claims |! eir con-
pees ‘0 rayadipat heve never ixaposed tb
i i thers.’ ssid’ “But
sa ter he rae, coating, Bet
let us, I pray, speak of the p for Ruth:

moments left me to be with you,

present and the pot

Ww
“Little it avails us now to kno

Of ages past so long rip
Nor how they rolled;
Our theme shall be of yesterday,

Which to oblivion sweeps away,
Like days of old.”

’ he suggested, indicating a white,

“Let us sit here,’

 
 

 

 

340 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

enameled seat placed near a small stove that was
given draught by a terra-cotta chimney on a brick
foundation, whose office was to furnish heat for the
improvised hothouse, where tropical growths thrived
uninfluenced by weather. Donald felt more at ease
there where the unalloyed sunlight fell upon green
growing things and shimmered in changing lights
upon Ruth’s yellow hair.

“Now tell me,” he insisted when they were seated,
“why you invited me to spend Christmas here? Your
invitation was as much of a command as a request ?”

“Why, I really wanted to see you very much, in-
deed. I have never forgotten the time when you
lived here with us. Have you, Donald?” she
answered naively, and with visible duplicity.

“It is the one memory of my desolate life!” he
exclaimed with tremulous despondency, that aroused
her constant remorse to a quickened sympathy.

“Scenes that are brightest may charm for awhile,
Hearts that are lightest and eyes that smile;

Yet o’er them above us, though Nature beam,

With none to love us, how sad they seem!”

He quoted this verse from one of Jean’s favorites,
sung often in the days when he sojourned at Kissic-
Dale. Her glance drooped to her folded hands—
ringless, but for her mother’s solitaire gem—and a
pensive dejection infolded her features in habitual
lines.

“Oh, why do you remain lonely? That was one
reason why I was anxious to see you. I wished to

find out if you were permitting a mistaken sense of

341
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

our happiness. If

i ith y' :
loyalty to me to interfere w! Oi women
er Et lonely, there are so many beaut

f them
in your circle, why have you bad hotne for youl
round out your life by making ou know could

f the grand women y: sted
Fas cpsanaatntis proud and happy, she suggested,

wistfully. j ee
Donald sat erect, squared his sho “ sab contd

sumed all the hauteur with Mingo d, Indeed, at
tomed to meet the people of his ws of a conqueror,
all times, he bore himself with the pane 4 the most
for he had not been victorious beginning of

; e
hopeful dreams and protengions-o8 OFS ‘nformed,

rt
handsome, stalwa
nf him their sweetest

his career. He was not vain,
nevertheless, that he was a Ve
figure, and that women gav
smiles unsolicited. :
But with all his aencoea
sional, he knew that the one :
ness had, so far, been denied hi Tot, his associates
had he borne the emptiness of his lo life really em-
had never known the aching void ed 4
bodied. He threw all the stones si
crime in his poise and utterance,
more than a touch ie a ge 08 to every holy
i t!” he cried. se myse
seasons longing of my heart, ane marrage!
and an innocent victim with a pe go to my grave
No! If you do not marry me, + § if [ had trod the
in single state. I am as assured as } ite me here to
desolate way already. Did ay
say that?” he demanded, stern edly: “But there
“Partly,” she admitted, guar

 
SSRN HT

BE aie ch on we!

)
)
{
|
;
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|

 

 

342 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

were other reasons, I had no frivolous motive, be
assured.”

“I am assured, or I should never have come to
see you and then go away to fight over the ever-
recurring battle for patience to repress the clamoring
ache of my heart, always so faithful, but ever denied
the solace it craves so desperately,” he complained
with a fretting tone quite incongruous with his
Stately form and bearing,

Ruth leaned against the arm of the seat and
beheld him with candid vision. There were
distinct shadows beneath her dark eyes, a pathetic
wistfulness in the pose of her features that Donald
observed with a swift throb of remorse.

“Never mind, Ruth. I am sorry that I have said
so much. I should be man enough to bear disap-
pointment without weak plaining to one who is not
responsible, and has always been the truest, sweetest
of friends. I must manage to get along without you,
although it is hard to be always resigned ‘and
patient.”

“Donald, long ago when I could not answer as
you wished me to do, I promised you that I would
not marry anyone else while you waited for me, so
if you have been desolate, so have I,” Ruth pro-
tested, contritely.

“Well, that is a situation to please an ascetic, but
I must confess it can never be very comforting to a
mere material man! I see no solace in the duet of
desolation. Ruth, tell me, whatever has made you
such as you are? You were not that way when I
first knew you; neither was there prophecy of any-
thing of the kind ; your mind and heart fairly teemed

 

Seen RE Sees ee

343

DERS
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLAN

ave puzzled so much

with joy and anticipation. I ci is Snover aciieve

over the problem, but it seems

its solution.” ithe therine and Lorna,
“There comes Jamie with a they grown,

your one-time petted pupils.

eet Jamie, who
though! They came from school to m 7 Ja where a

P intin 3
is their idol,” Ruth exclaimed, poi ith a girl on

wi
f eighteen years of age W thi
Bag Be i ages were seneen es aie
and fifteen years, had entered the ,

: eranda.

ing and chattering, were approaching tM toned his
Donald arose to his full a PT fessed to an
coat snugly across his breast, Ku gth and blonde

x iki n, car sal
acute admiration of his Viking 4 i was thinning
personality; and noted that the

is movements,
above his broad, white brow, that his m

unconsciously to himself, '

tatorial; an element lacking

school of combative ambitions. means that he
“My hour is over; Jamie Lge 4, with a sad

is ready to take me home, | he ‘Per haps, I may

pa gE bin ipa my stale plea for

in in the summer to | ”

ee avon in a bitter siege % peepee the
Ruth moved her lips to pane

words ere they escaped into sp stil they

walked on by his side, a satel

upon the veranda and were a!

dren. She remarked wed

have a luncheon served : i

they departed on their journey, an ar later in the

cuse she hurried forward to disappe

direction of the dining-room.

elf, were commanding and dic-

ere his training 1n the

 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 

 

344 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

After Donald and Jamie had finally gone, Ruth
busied herself in helping set the house in order.
There had been such a number of guests barely a
chair was in place in the rooms accustomed to the
strictest precision in neatness and system ; so when
the sun-flaming west had paled and the early twi-
light was draping the interiors in a mist of gray
shadow, peculiarly individual to the festive day, she
was in the parlor, leaning dreamily against the closed
window, watching the decline of the short, eventful
day, and recalling the last glance of Donald’s, in
which she had glimpsed unspoken heartache and pre-
monition of immediate loneliness, when the musical
tones of Charley Thayer’s voice startled her from
the sad revery. :

He was in the sitting room, where Jean had just
received him, and he was declaring to her in positive
tones that if he had missed the evening meal he
would collapse from sheer hunger and an appetite
clamoring for some of her dainty Christmas fare.

Jean was fain to join his jesting humor, and would
not say that the meal was yet to be served.

“Perhaps we haven’t anything to eat, and must
therefore all go supperless,” Ruth heard her remark
in a teasing tone that evinced she was enjoying the
situation. “You know we have had much company
to-day.”

While they were jesting thus, Ruth left the win-
dow and lighted the lamps in the chandelier. He
had come, then, after all. Mr. Allan had informed
her that day that he had not slept the previous night ;
that the burns on his hands and neck had been so
painful and, lacking proper remedies, he had sat up

345
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

‘ the smarting
all night applying damp cloths a serge

wounds he had received that evening

where he had been a most gemini wae
She experienced again the sharp 480M} ned in

i is robe
that had assailed her, when his robe, mee
ae gli had been set aflame by er pene
candles which had served to adorn

i rable
contact with the tiny blaze of emcee gigcer ir eat
trees. Tt had lasted but a moment, 6 tM erns

f mind he had deftly sw hind
omc oi a cael
the curtain that hid the gifts the trees
tain and queue oe

He had made light o
approached him, in acute sympathy,
personal responsibility, fo

could not con-

r she knew

assumed the laborious role but to —_ ie
in her effort to give pleasure to a great man

i bodied deprivation. sag

ae povtie bell rang and Dt _ - me
ing i itting room ; -

meen Se oer were preparing for t

j ining-room. ce

lore’ 0 Se AA coed sbewusge a8 gr ri

do I not?” he questioned, sober oes pone Oo

is bandage
ghey are slight; there would not

i to
have been one blister if I had not neglected

; th
to the scorched places at once. As B? nae :
pain me some last night, but they

smart now.” ile they served his
he chattered, while tag pores
eeu until he declined another morse

 

 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 

346 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

it devolved upon Ruth to entertain him in the parlor.
Jean was weary with the unusual demands the day
had levied upon her strength; and Mary had re-
tired soon after the serving of the last meal, Jean
had insisted upon a thorough attention to his
wounds, and had supplied him with a portion of all
her salves and emoliatives. He professed to being
perfectly comfortable, but he could not play any
instrument as he had been in the habit of doing at
Previous calls; therefore Ruth exerted herself to
amuse him, and taxed her mind with subjects of
peculiar interest to him, she presumed.

Jean, in her solicitude for his comfort, had en-
sconced him in the most comfortable seat in the
room, and placed a rich ottoman for his feet to rest
upon; but after she had retired, his assumption of
cheerfulness ebbed into a pensive acquiescence to
all of Ruth’s rather labored remarks.

“Shall I play for you, and what instrument would
you prefer?” Ruth questioned, seeing his lack of
animation and _ believing, truly, that he was not
feeling well.

“Your harp, please; I have a slight headache, and
I think its soft notes would soothe rather than shock
my treacherous nerves,” he replied, listlessly.

“Had you not better retire?’ Ruth inquired
earnestly.

“Oh, no, please! I have spent the day in bed, and
it was awful! Play for me, and I shall be perfectly
content and grateful,” he insisted, and Ruth obedi-
ently secured her large, triangular harp and evoked
from the responsive chords pensive arias to which
she sang snatches of sentimental melody, including

 

  

347
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

; but not one
i Habies and tender home songs; but n
Se tt rer appeal to the emotional passions of

no age charmed with her rendition of “We'd

Better Bide a Wee.” She searched yr ie Ss A ns
folio of old-time music, and keyed t : vv hs re
rude monotones of ancient Scotch ami pirsdm nied
to the accompaniment of the pecuilisrly mye ered:
strument, quaintly worded and rhyme Brady be oor!
venture and chivalry in mediaeval La a dale
to Britain and Scotland. His con Perry
aroused, and she ventured on to finally rycend
of even ‘rhyme, but of the eventful days 0

onSne re sung many verses of the legendary song

that related how the pilgrim had vet ere
long absence so changed, his own asta pathetic
recognize him; on through the PE Aastiod, “ad
song at the bridal feast, the lady’s de

then came her plea:

to constant
“Yes, here I claim the praise, she said,

matrons due, aay
Who keep the troth that they have plight so § fastly

and true; secon
For count the term howe’er ye will, so that you

5 eer when the bells
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out
toll twelve to-night.

used,
Involuntarily, may Ml ES corel of
i rs drop) de
ee Tone aa Foe a full moment, her eyes clou

  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 

    
     
 
 
   
  
   
   
    
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
     
   
  
 
 
   
     
   
   
  
     
  
 
   
 
 
348 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

with an introspective shadow and she sank into a
dreaming pose, as if she had finished. But even as
he opened his lips to speak, she recovered her wits
and sang on, not just as before, but with a stolid
persistence that finished the few remaining verses
without loss to enunciation or harmony. Then she
arose and put aside the harp.

“Shall we retire now? I am sure you must be
weary,” she proposed, tentatively. Just then the tall,
colonial clock out in the hall boomed ten sonorous
strokes, which justified closing the interview.

“T will retire directly, for your sake, not my own,”
he returned, reluctantly. “But Miss MacKenzie,
will you please tell me why you fell so suddenly
serious, just now? What was it in the song affected
you so?”

“Oh,” she sighed, and then paused, as if per-
plexed and saddened. “It is hard to explain to you,”
she said, finally. “But it was an uncanny sensation.
I will not tell you, for I will not have you accuse
me of being superstitious.”

“T would not,” he asserted, caressingly.

“Do you know,” she remarked, in a deliberate but
aloof tone and mien, “that we Gaelics have a species
of occultism or some intuitive force that others do
not seem to possess? Aunt Jean says that she has
the privilege of involuntarily looking beyond the
wall of the present; and of finding in the bud of
things the thorns that will some day pierce the hand
that clasps the flower of joy.”

He gazed into her introspective eyes steadily and
exploitingly ; then he abruptly changed the subject,
for he discovered that she was troubled.

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 349

i hat age that
“Will you also tell me, please, at what a
itera of you was executed?” and he og’ be
the Daphne portrait, which still retained its

iti the wall. :
Perla ty clebaeatat year, I believe,” o rsa
with such evident reserve he arose to bid her good
ioht.

met shall be off for my holiday por r kag
be gone some time. See after my peop! a rips
am away. I shall come to see your aun oe ee
return and bring her the news fe eh thea ; ;
and, perhaps, I may bring you som: a rare ys
will appreciate more than my uninteresting Se",

s leaving the room. ho
rahe adhe Soa, but maintained a dignified

i ent of
silence, as she bent her head in peeps Pe

keen disappoint-

his words, but she could not meet h
swimming in tears forced by some
ment.

 
CHAPTER VI.

THE TreLeGRAM—As THE SUN Went Down—
AFTER Many Days. :

“Drink the dew, the dairy fate said,
That the poppy lends repose
Mingled with the fragrant nectar,
Chaliced in the golden rose, reoes
Then she drank the draught Lethean
From the bowl with flowerets crowned.”

(The Mystic.)

“Not love that grossly clings to earth,
But something of diviner birth,
That lifts the drooping soul afar

Until it twines Faith zenith star.”
(Selected.)

The last days of January had been marked by a
belated snow storm, which had swept down into the
sunny South from the storehouses of wintry bliz-
zards in the bleak Northwest. It had come, swift
and furious, from piling gray clouds, and had raged
for a day and night ; then followed freezing tempera-
ture amid impotent sun-rays.

Ruth had enjoyed that glimpse of Arctic weather
and its attendant beauty of feathery snow wreaths
fantastically adorning the trees and shrubbery.
When gray clouds were yet robing the forest in tem-

351

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

pered light, she had gone forth, unafraid, though

i to note the
alone, and wandered for some saris |
strange, unreal charm of green pine a iu a

with snowflakes; the gleaming holly, wi :
berries and sprangled leaves, dusted and capped with

a powdery frosting; and when the sun had appeared

ue a hich
in a blinding brilliancy, lacking, Adapt ae oi

snow and ice crystals sparkled wii M3 oe bridge aiid

describable, she had gone down Gov ila
sketched the wintry scene so seldom seen at Kissic

Dale, and, very evanescent, she remembered from
her experience of such late snow showers. seal Us

Also she had sketched the Lcnad'p sis
eaves fringed with pendant icicles ; a e eg ae
clustering under the corniced corners, W ihe ie9 Pier
but not the bleak wind, could reach ig ods
robed, yet sensitive bodies. Her Eben if oie
included also glimpses of Loch Lily, «geet $3
dairy, the dove-cote and rose-garden, and Vv he
be included in a galaxy of scenes environing

cherished home. her leisure, she could re-

Her plan was that, at ae ie
embody them all in oil and seal ad ay dhs

spaces on the walls of the various

: haar peptic oe
The pleasing occupation and the inspiriting psn

had been an unusual season of enjoyment an pyis

i hich had deepened the rose-tingé
a Big the pensive light of her lash-shadowed
When the snow had lain at its greatest oe $4
the glamor of an Arctic, sunless atmosp ‘
an the landscape an

i familiar charm to, sepe
Tordde! Chatley Thayer had arrived at Kissic-Dale,

 
352 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

picturesquely attired in hunting costume, to join
Neil and Sandy MacPharland in a day’s hunt on
grounds to which they would pilot him, where the
game had not been frightened away by the screech
of sawmills or the more quiet tread of the turpen-
tine worker and the Gaelic husbandman.

They returned at early eventide, bearing much
trophy to attest a most fruitful chase; and Jean was
presented with a couple of wild turkeys and several
braces of birds, with the compliments of young
Thayer, who was to spend the night as her guest.
He had prepared for the event by bringing a change
of dress in a small valise, which he had left in the
room assigned him for the period of the visit. After
supper he devoted himself almost exclusively to
Jean, retailing a wonderful amount of news picked
up while he was away during the lengthy midwinter
holiday ; but Jean, despite her interest, finally yielded
to the languor of a slight indisposition resulting
from the bitter weather, and retired, though reluc-
tantly, leaving such congenial company.

Ruth, with blooming color and a beauty enhanced
by her costume of a white robe of heavy, woolen
serge, was left to entertain him. He had changed
from the corduroy of his hunting array to conven-
tional clothes; his cheeks were rosy, too, from ex-
posure to the stinging winds ; his personality exhaled
the freedom of the woods and the exhilaration of
successful sport.

There was an odorous twang to the atmosphere
of the warm parlor, of incense of geranium foliage,
the aromatic perfume of lemon verbena and Jean’s
cherished, thrifty citerina; the cozy seclusion in it-

A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS 353

ici to the harsh weather
elicious contrast a Pie ak Be
d the veins and keyed

self was a d
prevailing beyond the draped
its most buoyant phase course
the heart an
prophecies.
Ruth listene

t of his chase of the
captdrenty and in imagination she beheld the remote

forest draped in snow and the wily are cad has
had led his stalking pursuer, so vivid an ‘ ¢ peri
was his narration of the incident. ee uae ge
ideas finally displaced recollections of t ph ob bore
he bethought him in that he had a missi

form, a message to deliver to Ruth.

“T have imposed upon you quite enough,” he said,

2 sh
apologetically. “At this, my first opportunity, f fa :
to show you something that if Lome” Be
preciate, or, if I am mistaken, you Ww 4 tes
presumption when I sincerely believed ae Buti “a
he said, arising and excusing his absenc
r a few moments. ed

praet but not acutely, Ruth felt some ise
as to his meaning; he had twice spoken pha ron
regarding the thing he was to bring pe Ep bia
him ascend the stairs to his room, and ny vat
Whatever it was, he carried it in his v ee ae
smiled expectantly when he again bg Ae tia Ms
carrying a flat paper- ound package. Aer ee caper
seat, he unknotted the strings, unfol + : ee .
wrappings and held in his hands a Pp hal got
cabinet size and some smaller squares of 8" y

This Miss MacKenzie,” he said, and laid the pic-

d mind to roseate hopes and

i ing interest to a detailed
d with pete. ¥ cen cer be tal

 
354 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

ture before her with a knightly air of self-abnega-
tion, evincing an unconscious heroism, “is what I
felt you would esteem most; and these are simply
accessories of the main subject.”

Smiling and unprophetic, Ruth leaned to take up
the photo lying upon the chair Jean had recently
vacated and not yet removed to its usual position.
In an instant, she recoiled with an irrepressible cry
of dismay and horror, for Edwin Phillips, as he
had appeared in the days when she knew him, had
smiled into her eyes with the winning charm and
gay insoucience of literal life and presence. But not
as a living spirit, or a shadow of a wholesome life,
charmingly individual in its days of activity, but as
a gruesome spectre emerging from the lurid depths
of a dead past, of another world, so alien they
seemed to any normal experience, the well-remem-
bered, but vaguely placed features that stared at her
from the background of chemically-tinted paper and
cardboard.

If he had come forth bodily from his grave and
confronted her, she would have been hardly less
shocked or repulsed. She covered her face with her
hands, instinctively, the victim of indefinable fear
and repugnance; thus for some time she curtained
vision in a speechless panic of weakness and dis-
composure, and he sat rigid and undecided in his
estimate of her emotion, whether it was an excess of
joy and appreciation, an ecstacy of reawakened im-
pressions, or a frenzied shrinking from a once be-
loved object. Anyway, it was a test he had long
planned, to prove if her confessed devotion to the
memory of his cousin was real and inviolable, or a

355
TER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

from morbid reaction

A DAUGH

fancied conviction resulting f Eeneak:
following poignant grief and oe Re th, begge 4, in

“Oh, take it away,
tremulous accents, and he note they pressed
white and her fingers pedis yes
down the lids to sc Se ee din genuine

“Oh, what have I done: fehed up the
remorse and self-reproach, as sages “ets

d that her lips were

overjoyed to see sti
You told me eae Biss
the long years; th
mad with the longing to behold 1 Neen rabies
one inestimable moment ; that you teemed it the
in your otk Rae wo 7 kneeling,
vig one i t intense
ae a og tot robed it; that yon ad die beside
desire had often been to find ou oe and immobile
it; that,” he related with lips a: ie Sf his wooing

as her own, “often you es Pag, tren for a day

i leading eyes, wiic gerys
ee oe os with their enchantmen :

9? bs
ithe h lease,” Ruth entreated, as i
Pat Bis her eyes and aettes Vi hase ew,
ance to plead for mercy. sed him in a

ib
clouded, swept the room and peerage ame
steady glance that deepened in

osure, and said: see es ond 0
; “T was insane to say such things

teemed me. Giizes
empha simply sincere, but I firmly

 
356 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

mistaken in your judgment of self,” he replied, in
convincing tones. “Another thing, you wished to
crush in its inception my deluded love and devotion.”

She made no denial to any of his assertions, but at
his last words her eyes fell and the color crept to
her cheeks, vivid and burning. Restlessly she reached
and plucked a spray of citerina and crushed the
scented leaves to press them to her lips that she
might breathe their refreshing aroma, for she was
faint and ill, and fighting to subjugate revulsive
sensations. He put aside the package and took the
seat beside her.

“T secured a camera and photographed those
scenes that I have not shown you; and I saw his
mother. We talked a great deal about Edwin, and
she admitted that he married Maude very reluc-
tantly. At the time she assigned his hesitancy to the
fact that his bride-to-be was so fond of flirting. She
married in less than a year after he died; they
deemed it unseemly, and have never liked her since,”
he concluded, noting that Ruth sat with drooping
lashes and pathetically set lips; and that all the
sparkle and pleasure of her recent buoyant mood had
been dissipated.

She had heard him so dispassionately and with
such an impersonal interest, he restlessly arose, and,
going to the piano, opened it with characteristic im.
pulse, and said, ingratiatingly: “Shall I play for
you?”

“Tf you choose,” Ruth murmured, with polite
acquiescence. She also arose and moved her seat to
a more retired position, and sat facing the instru-
ment, with her hands clasped listlessly upon her lap,

HIGHLANDERS 357

: ; listening
her head reclining langui@y Ne ved har pon-
satin of the upholstered chair. ing tenderness.
deringly, his eyes alight with a hing her and
He touched the a boapragis qi
deliberating, his hea u
suspense ie felt ill and overwhelm
deemed a crisis.

“With wistful chivalry, he pin, Me
ottoman to place for a rest nin
cepted it with an aloof eg
consideration. He patt
and then, with a es ai a
turned to the instrument. >" him, “1am goin
not assume cordial relations beiahcrsirn and if it in

to play the best I can, ae hesitate to say $0: I live

ies you, d ‘ mber.”
the et Weis 7 i ene
She inclined her head a , .
was as lifeless and as cold in
light upon whiter snow.
His music, though
ing, was strictly eT
rendering of any topica m
that pleased his fancy;
to dancing or rollicking
wont to do; instead, he tou re minor ch0 :
and played old love songs © istinctly, i numer.
cadences. He sang, softly, yet :
able verses of melodious T Tate
tion, longing and sacrifice
and his facile voice rendere

and sentiment a pathos of ¢ S
her heart with ineffable woos

A DAUGHTER OF THE

 

 
358 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

And, as he sang on and on, gliding from one
melody into another, sometimes without a pause at
the change of harmony, Ruth sat in passive silence,
so still, that at intervals she was rigid in a frowning
pose of concentrated depression.

Finally his voice grew husky and strained, and at
last it was strangled into silence. He shrugged his
shoulders and, arising, thrust his hands into his
pockets to stride about the room, aimlessly scanning
bric-a-brac and portraits, or any object that might
Serve as a welcome diversion from the seething tur-
bulence of his heart. When finally he paused beside
her, Ruth lifted her eyes and beheld him with a for-
tuitous vision that embraced, spiritlessly, the irre-
pressible agitation of his movements.

She vaguely hoped that he would retire at once,
she craved so much to be alone, to singly and des-
perately fight her way back to normal feeling and
composure. Yet she had no strength to suggest it,
no art to pass over the crisis of the moment and
reserve for future solitude the snapping of her taut
nerves into a healing collapse from the strain she
was bearing so ingloriously. Her Gaelic tempera-
ment forbade light behavior where vital issues were
concerned ; so she stared at him stolidly, as he swept
her feet from the foot-stool and sank upon it, in a
dramatic posture of appeal and adoration.

“My beloved,” he appealed, in broken tones, “I
must tell you how much I love you! The repression
has grown a torture that I can no longer endure.
Despise me, spurn me, if you will, still I must speak
and tell you of the wonderful joy I experience in
loving you. And it is so much like loving an angel,

else I have ever m hye
pe paths I ever beheld you, a oan
you every moment since, with a

‘ Id you.” hes in his
i Bye oe hands and imprisoned them in

* with a caress
own and laid his cheek against “_ was the be-

i 1 rning and pleading. 5 of the
pp ig ps which ran the gamut
emotions of his en al
to listen to the faltering tO’ 3
love, devotion and admiration. nis pi ed all
sincere and very eloquent, and s ind to resist
her depleted strength and s By re besieged her
sab t Ne tip prejudices against
heart and bombarded her i
the wily god Eros.

But an did withstand se
lowering the ensign of her , Seat feral cl
believed, when she had vei! hie ae
interview and dismissed him re) bis rot a rejecte 4
not obeyed with the abject doci  eerted his
lover, but had, in the final moments,

right to be heard and give
“Be kind and merciful, Me
accents, which held an elem

to eve
humane to me, as you are <,
be falls in the way of your sympa y:

beg that you do not let me suffer for
cowardice of another ! ae pee before he,
He had drawn himse ies Ser lingly

rere : Id only
Sean asset, dumbly, apatheticaly, she com

 
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

360 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

bid him go and await a more befitting season to dis-
cuss so vital a subject.

When he had gone, she listened dully, until his last
muffled footstep had ceased to echo along the upper
hallway; then she bowed her face into her cold
hands and sobbed a few aching breaths, while her
eyes smarted with a dry, blasting dearth of tears.

Afterward, she attended to the fire and the fasten-
ings of the windows, for she had sent Iphogenia to
bed to seek a cure for an acute headache earlier in
the evening. Also, she extinguished all the lights ere
she repaired to her own apartments, where she
found the maid asleep in her boudoir on a folding
couch she was accustomed to occupy since Ruth,
years previously, had taken rooms on the second
floor. Logs glowed with heat upon the hearth of
that and also her bedraom, which she entered and
noiselessly closed the door. At last she was alone.

The following morning she slept late, much later
than was her habit; but it was a rule of the house
that she was not to be awakened unless some special
reason demanded it. It had been well on toward
morning ere real slumber had reinstated norma!
poise and feeling. When she came down it was near
to nine o’clock, and she was informed that Thayer
had breakfasted and departed. She was much re-
lieved that she did not have to meet him; she hoped
that the events of the past night might lie far in the
background of happenings, ere she should be forced
to confront the issue of his suit again. In the mean-
time, she welcomed the diversion of work and the

discharge of homely duties; they were an antidote’

to unrest that she had found infallible.

  

th her pets for company. She

: oda
had found it extremely cozy ov eee Nee Peer hat
shaped building, and she labored pending
morning the first signals of an te cold,
appeared in an abatement of the tt chill paralysis
had held the welcomed again Wet had been a
the previous afternoon. The Ba d the afternoon
scene of uncomfortable. slush, an "|

ere.
margeard the close of the short day, SINO#
keen frost was being evolved by ¢ her artistic re-

: : interior 0
proaching eventide, eed balminess.

day in her studio wi

algae
ae progguste: and luxury so vivid they
transformed the intruding
ical radiance, Ruth was the

wintry sunlight into trop-

fairest one Oi Bin
i iously achieved,
charms far exceeding the (ire the house gown

features. She was again ! ical folds and was

: ich fell in classical ® tof
sled by iacge cond Ni Oem
Silow-stranded silk, matching et hich showed
tren bands adorning her tk ves and rounded
Oriental touches in flowing sieé

ori been an unusually dull day ts jabor ; some

a Site ‘ht in ta : d rob
determination to lose thoug' her mind an
occult influence seemed to gent: Valiantly, many

i d her
hands of their wonte fancy from
ag had brushed the web of to the task she

i diligently
i d applied herself ‘
paket © she was unmistakably

As the afternoon waned,

 
   

a ee Oe ee
es Pia poe #3 ;

362 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

abandoned the futile endeavor to work. In the ener-
vating warmth of the glowing fire, she reclined in a
low chair, that wooed her to restful repose with its
seducing comfort, while the frosts of approaching
evening fell prematurely over the world beyond the
transparent, screening windows; and purple cloud-
wracks came creeping in cheerless detachments from
the ruling northwest to trail luridly over the pale,
lustreless sky.

Of outdoor conditions, though, she soon became
oblivious, as, with closed eyes, she lived an inner,
sub-conscious life among memories and recent
events. She neither judged nor analyzed those per-
tinent phases of experience, so evanescent in reality
of time, but so tenacious in their influence upon
heart-recollections.

As her languor deepened in the soothing relaxa-
tion from forced effort, she found that every train
of thought converged persistently to the moments
spent with Charley Thayer in the parlor the previous
evening. All day, she had thrust aside such mem-
ories, recoiling sensitively from the remembrance of
what she had suffered. “Last night she had kindly
but firmly repulsed his ardor, and the flood of his
protestations had not moved her from a position of
unreceptiveness and deprecation; she had been able
to sustain the calm, platonic regard she had long
since tendered him.

Perhaps it had been that just then her feelings had
been freshly seared with the blasting flame of the
remembrance of Edwin’s duplicity and her youthful
trust and faith; and the morbid revulsion of a
wounded heart had at that time alloyed her finer

fo RR RENO

    

 

 

 

GHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

A DAU!

sensibilities; but now ‘
emotionally sweet and pure, omy listened to. the
alluring charm the hour she beheld his love
“raion f of her enraptured lover red en pirionte ti
for her as a poignant flame kin at wiltingly.
sistible charm she had exerted so a ie sensktiond
The comforting warmth = ae i
so exorcised the rasping tens! “d revious night.
aftermath of the experience of 1 Fin oval in which
she finally lost consciousness for an veasates of Het
her brain sustained the emotiona! P he
day-dreaming. : re of the
“No clouds flecked the radiant azu sas aa

= $
doming the realm of slumber ; no cont dreamlan

: ‘ng in that blissful ¢
vias nares of joy blooming i Ty and heart-joyous, 28
where she wa:

: : 4

blithe of mind and | re

she had been in that ideal springtime sere de ori
agone; but it was not Donald,

am! ;
i the pines
Phillips with whom she Spel oe es
sking ferns and arbutus and waft Fe eissevind.
in the roseate symphony of Hie) Piand and guided
Bonny Charley Thayer old ewer-hedged WAYS,

ea pening “heeded the rippling of

sharing her joy as ede sae pird-music ; the :

languishing zephyrs. f
all te tears, the warm mrt ye fount of Hope
solved the stony grief barring in hand, they were
and Happiness. weir sta Yeading throug

i broad, ount o
dancing WP stance to the flower-crowned oy
beatitude, the vine-draped “Bowe

  

 

 

 
 
  
 

  
    
  
 
    
  

   
 

 

 

  
    
  
    
    
  
  
   

 

    
  
  
   

 
   

364 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

The clock on the velvet-draped mantel chimed one
resonant, musical note, marking half-past five of the
short winter day as she awoke, dazed and translated
from the time preceding her dream-haunted slum-
ber. The sun sinking into purple vapors infused
transitory color and implied warmth into the drab
pall of the overcast sky ; the rainbow-light streamed
through the windows, over the bright furnishings of
the room, the picture-draped walls; and the birds
greeted it with a burst of song more vociferous than
the warblings which had mingled with the features
of the phantasms of her dream; the parrot, with a
peevish cry for outdoor freedom; muffet aroused
from her repose upon the rug at Ruth’s feet,
stretched and yawned and then resumed her rest
supinely when her mistress had clasped her hands
behind her head and sat motionless, brooding the
gasping coals with introspective eyes.

Finally some thought or conclusion smote Ruth’s
consciousness with a rebuke so material and per-
tinent it dispelled the illusions of a fanciful happi-
ness, and she arose and moved restlessly to a win-
dow and threw up the sash, to lean upon the sill and
breathe thirstily the crisp, frosty air, as more suited
to the lungs of a daughter of the logically-minded
Highlanders, the self-elected priestess nourishing
the fires on the altars of the temples of her “Manes,”
than the flower-scented, dream-evocative warmth of
the interior.

As she had passed a full-length mirror set as a
panel in the rear of a niche in the wall, she had been
arrested by the very obvious beauty of her reflec-
tion; the pose of her erect, gracefully-lined figure,

 

365
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

ra RSet i erge, her rose-
draped in the clinging Ae Sa iat Siolet-tin

red cheeks, the pensive be ial
eyes secluded by long, silky lashes, case ‘s er
features, still youthfully artless 4 heats Catibg:
molding, their creamy texture and de

A hair she had
and the crown of gleaming, gold of the fairy

ciated as the rarest g1 Kee
godmether whose, magic wand had touched

i sl f . e
“She had fet a eempttion to Han and List
alluring vision the mirror piecing in er’s avowed
caress it for the sake of Charley T. vb, of the con-
worship of its charm but under the ia with a re-
clusion she refrained from the is
assertion of the stoical training ©

i i the keen,
impulses. Stolidly she faced
the raw, gray atmosphere oa ee aii

In the west, a low line im bordering of orange-

. b a pri t .
pl g Poy ; J rouded and lurid, was sinking

sabe |
into its enveloping vapors as @ o ie Spear
ing in the repelling cold depths of a

damp, and the
The soil of the orchard was dark and nai with a

ing its sur
increasing frost was sheathing 1 in small
sua of Sonpealed moisture. Ate eles pa oa bare
patches on the northern side of each ta steely sky.
limbs posed as quaint network agains” f
“Oh, youth, youth,” s Le li
reghe'ahd voarubile ina hopeless esr “
robs the heart of faith in sublunary
radiant sweet thing you are! she had braced

h
ith the lifting of the broad sash, rasping
biet arch eRe’ form to meet the rasp!

 
NDERS 367
366 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLA

  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  

si 4 ‘ wered
chill of Nature’s harshest, most repellant mood; in horse panted heavingly, as it nee vi some-
the stern immensity of the Arctic-ruled universe, the head beyond the fence. Her ih i pei to her for
art-arrayed, sensuously appointed interior of her one needy or ill, out in the forest, ryt htened, when
studio was as an exotic in the incisive mercilessness succor. She was surprised but no} d inp to her out-
of the scheme of creation. Resting between the two he drew forth a telegram and a ned, her mind
extremes she balanced soul and life upon the veering stretched hand. She laid it renner Ge the man and
border-line of things that were, that are, and will engaged with concern for the plig
be, and a span as frail and fleeting as an irridescent his hard-ridden animal. he corner there and
soap-bubble. “Will you not go around the creme may at-
How still and solemn seemed the familiar things make your presence known, tha our horses?” she
in their bare, unadorned estate! The winter’s thrall tend to your comfort and see after y
seemed to be a portent of waiting, of patience per- urged him, hospitably. se ccthen, Ae cousin

meated with prescience! “No, but I thank you jus

there and spend the

No living thing seemed to be abroad but David, to Sandy’s wife, and will go up tial
pursuing a stray turkey he was endeavoring to drive night,” the man returned, aaa flack for me. I
perchward; David, in a long coat that was flapping “Tell Sandy to pay you hye: <9 he called to him,
his heels, as the dazed fowl led him aimlessly; his have no money with me just yt A ya Closing the
boots crunched the frost-rime, giving constant fright as he was hurrying back to t 4 pe e telegram, still
to the witless creature. window, she found and opene id affect her in any
While she dreamily viewed their wild detouring, with no premonition that it cou
insensibly cre Aas chase so interestingly por- serious manner.
trayed by Charley Thayer’s musical tones, the sun ; nia. Begs
dipped so deep into the imperial-tinted cloud-bank, “Donald not expected to live! Pneumo!
its rays were entirely extinguished. for you. Come.
It was then hoof-beats cleft the resonant air, as :
a man on horseback galloped down the cherry-lane led upon the
and unceremoniously alighting at the gate, threw his So read the message woe gt ¥ first reading ©
bridle rein over a post of the iron fence, and entered slip; and she did not repeat the led in the perspec-
the lawn. He had discovered Ruth at the window, each uncouth character was 1mpa' rds upon a trans-
and he came as to her, fumbling, as he came, in tive of her mind a sluminous wo a
his overcoat pocket. arency. ipode of
She awaited his approach without apprehension, With a composure that was the ak of

although he was spattered with black mud and his tranquility she returned to the perf

 

co ee eee ee ee ae

 
 

368 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  

her treasured refuge; for a refuge and haven it had
been to her soul, nestling it when it cried aloud in
longing, nurturing it in its effort to put forth ideal-

; vine ir wings, docile to
istic growths and aspirations, shielding it from tem- peeceth their: ae as step by step she pacers
pest and drouth, even as the house walls warded its ris ‘bi pa 4 when she had passed ond ‘ao
inmates from the blight and inclemency of varying bis Pips ‘back into the life she wo
weather. She came back to the hearth and laid some could never recross

at
billets of rich pine upon the dying coals, that greater re With pe memory, she went goed bok to)
warmth might check the creeping chill stealing mit # oe pe among its Arcadian 1m
through her veins so sinuously; and some instinct pile ea nald, whose ‘
was warning her that the heart-encircling thrill was piven - 4 b ‘the more bri succeeding
the approach of stolid-eyed Fate, haling her to one Phill ad poe the events of all me i him, her
of the inquisitorial bridges which span crucial gaps tee Oe her platonic affection or him,
in tyrannical-hearted Destiny. years to trace her Pp.

i is achievement ; the

With a tremulous sigh of helplessness she wien 4 ben present acute phe em

stretched her cold hands out to meet the genial flame, bGeses the) rnated the sum of all her i Bea

as if it was an aid to needed self-control in the first scrutiny banat lure of race, of fealty pines ret
numb shock of an impending crisis ; that unforeseen into an impelling x

being so 4 ;

3 : ntemplated as II it, in
climax to her habit of apathetic peace and procras- she ad EE ue a Pel compelled to joys Fgh
tination. Her nerves were taut in a rigid endurance palin: 3) meas with the gam

‘ . done forever F devotion.
of the first sensations of an acute and intolerable ie Frage es oe demands epee hg It was

suspense. as yowe se henety
Donald in extremis and calling for her! Giving jee ma Snament for winning his he

the last cry of his hungry heart, that had famished ‘ll pra ask fort give him in

for seven eventful years, never faltering, that she 4 SH CO Year by year, she h

knew, even in the forlorn depths of unsolaced dis- ar oy re own defection wou

couragement, in his hope and desire to win her; but ee | obligation ; but time had ie

for the first time his appeal had probed deep into her si akin his = belief that she alon

soul and aroused there its first conjugal impulse and bans d his he art and render him happy:

an overweening tenderness for the strong, heroic mang Ae busy to trouble her

rusy t
man, stricken to such a weakness; he had cast aside ae vp pag 2 easy to let their 6
all fear, and boldly demanded her presence as his suit, so

; 1 this—until
i ive basis until thi
soul’s supreme absolution. on a tentative
370 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

came to reawaken from their death-like torpor
golden dreams and youth’s glad promise of love re-
quited.

She was aroused by Iphogenia’s entering to in-
quire if she had heard the supper bell, which had
rang some time ago. She had not heard it or thought
of the evening meal. She was not hungry, so she
sent word to Jean not to wait for her.

“And say to her to please send for Kathy, that I
must see her immediately ; and ask her to come out
here when she is quite through with supper; not
until then, remember,” she enjoined the maid as
calmly and rationally as if that yellow slip of paper
had never been handed to her through the window.

“Shall I take the birds to your room?” Iphogenia
suggested, as she pulled down the central hanging
lamp, gorgeous with decorated shade and trappings
of silver chains and glass pendants.

“Tf you please,” Ruth murmured, retreating from

the light cast upon her features. With cold, tremu-
lous hands, she wrapped a cloth about one of the
cages of canaries and passed it to the maid, who held
the other as Polly, grumbling peevishly, clung to het
shoulder.
“Listen,” Ruth repeated. “You are to send foi
Kathy, and when Aunt Jean is at leisure you are to
ask her to come to me here; and you may keep
something warm for me; I may be hungry later.”

She succeeded in dismissing the faithful Ipho-
genia without arousing her rather obtuse curiosity.

It was when the door closed finally and she was
again alone in the room brilliantly lighted and en-
chaining her with the vision of the objects upon

  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   

i ished such
hich she had lavished
reification of the crisis eeyternes?
the sharp incisive pain 0

ion. this!” she cried,
mech, last night, , eater the pressure

ete ds and distraught Donald,—
wringing her han is If she went. to. bie
burdening the momen ld be a public, re be ied

she must—it wou A oer
acAbeades of the bond iota d_ plunge into, @
ata brent ‘which she could not fee

= i —the sugges-

slightest affinity. If he lo died—th
tion of such an issue
and bereavement, suc

aced the fr |
thought of wre ait Wass we

in a momen : nie
eb welts was the anxiety a a Dh apie a0.

~ position, she restless van into her library and

i hands
the connecting archway, ran nyith claspe r ;
knelt before iets pee ned tothe pitared
pret 2° plainly reve a ba
through the archway by
genia had lighted.

i Donald, you a
Donald! I will come

save you!

ust not die!
os you; I will

Oh, Donald, live until a "

ill not let you,
aa you. T wit elf-immolation and for

i j cg hadow heard
pein Oe to her his ine a sprain

and understood the stress whi
unnerved her.

 

 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
    

372 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

“You will live and be good to me, will you not,
Donald?” she appealed, with tears streaming over
her cheeks, her form rent with sobs, which convulsed
her breathing. “I am afraid, Donald, more afraid
than ever in my life before, but you will be kind and
patient, and merciful to poor little Ruth, will you
not, Donald ?”

Tears finally submerged utterance, and she could
only sob disconsolately, each laboring breath a
prayer for help and guidance on the unknown sea
upon which she was about to launch her sensitive
barque of life. She would not consider any con-
tingency pointing to Donald’s non-survival; in view
of that, her own death seemed preferable; any ar-
rangement except that, any sacrifice that she could
lay upon any propitiating altar.

At length her tears were spent, even as the
strongest emotion attains its ebb-tide point and re-
cedes into a lifeless calm where the mind rests apa-
thetic and reviews its stress. For some moments
Ruth bowed her head as unconscious sighs followed
her tempestuous sobbing in diminishing frequency ;
and in the lull of the spent storm of heart-bursting
agitation, the still, small voice of memory intruded,
reminding her what the situation portended and its
lack,

“Oh, last night, to-day, and then this!” she re-
iterated with a wailing sigh of remembrance. Truly,
Fate was throwing its shuttle fast and furious to fill
out the web of her destiny! Was it last night
Charley Thayer was singing and she was submerged
in the bitter regret of a blighted youth; singing those
dear, old heart songs, his eyes speaking his own

373
A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

memory
dor and devotion? She bent an ott of
re hear again his silver-luted voice sing

and fair,

“My love is young ‘

My love hath golden hair;
And eyes 80 blue!

!
And heart so true: ri
That none with her compare

W otion she hearkened exploit-
. fra n haun ed het heart
ith suspended em , F t ;
ingly, as the words of the re

i hantasy in the
in that dreaming P: on
eae Ne. had sung them 1n the parlor

revious evening:
: “p]] live for love or die!

So what care I

nigh!
Though death be fi Oe

[ll live for love or
f Re pepe es
h kept rep until she ey ap y
The phrase :
clasped tit hands upon he’

Oh, m fr hea ie Wi lon: shud-
x poo ailed ina ig,
\y rt ! sh
4 sigh hose depths f Pp
derin WY: 0. athos was a fresh

i P her
revelation. | ts yoice exclaimed through
“Ruthie!” Jeans

a PT
i “My bairnie!
hearing. y !
i eaa's arm encircled her quive

ring shoulders and

; in her ex-
: d dismay 11
there was unlimited eS lanes composure.

tly, Ru
aor td health

he arose an
: T the bar ©

own
vercame her ©
s d drew back into

f light. With

acnaneip ja
Regard for Jeat
hytterical suffering °
a deep shadow beyo

 
en sh nel a aaa et tn il AB ain i eso
matehosstie Mears a va i

  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
    
 

374 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

supreme effort she steadied her voice to speak dis-
tinctly.

“Tam weak and silly, you may think, but Auntie—
I—am—in real distress. I’ve had a telegram from
Jamie; they think Donald may die, and they have
summoned me to him, and I must go by the first
train.”

Jean stared her amazement. “A telegram, Ruthie!”
she cried, unbelievingly.

“Tt is true, dearie,” Ruth spoke, assuringly “You
will find it in the studio, A man brought it some
time ago ; he is to spend the night with Kathy. Find
the telegram, and then you will understand and help
me prepare for the journey.”

Jean, at last convinced that there was a message,
was anxious to verify the news by reading it, and
while she found and received the confirmation the
telegram conveyed, Ruth came from the library,
where she had regained a measure of outward calm-
ness and a more rational view of the situation.

“T think Donald must have been guilty of some
untoward negligence during the late weather that
must have been intolerably severe up there, con-
sidering its bitterness here. You must be very pru-
dent, bairnie, and let me hear from you every day.
If the weather was the least bit mild I should go
with you,” Jean remarked, solicitously, crumpling
the yellow slip in her hand, absently. With native
reserve she refrained from questioning Ruth con-
cerning her evident distress when she found her ;
and long ago she had given up the hope that Ruth

and Donald would ever be other than congenial
friends. 5

   

4 11 may come later,
“Kathy will go with me, and yo Ruth explained ;

if I do not return immediately, ion the neces-

in motion
and soon Jean was alert to pul i tr journey, to

i for the long W
Secntae te OU of the following day.

she could
: soin her as soon as %
Ruth promised aoe bul indefinite absence; and

d
nge her rooms for Donald an
jean, neers by te rt during the
her anxiety ihe ha
journey, hasten!

itude. In that sup renunciation so
gratitude mmon strength for the detail, ma-

. ‘ test
vitally affecting her life to its remo

iritually. ooms in strict
“ny and Rear ph ie bieds with
ZZ ‘5
i most cherish nedding
pening 2 i or clinging lips and s
care

tears, listlessly. g, solitary

in long,
The habits and ideals formed in rced rentumnci-

ly fo
(reddged to Donald and

mbraced in the su
Charley Thayer s

e
years were i ohe ons'P

ation ; forced in tha ; a
; he temptation ig
must flee pi and tempestuous Pe priee
winning in jd accept any fate bu ajelty to al
os "a honor and self-protectins ever equivoc-
pert had trusted her vows, ‘tartling revela-
ally prot d; and it was then ff ss that Edwin
ally hg, A into her conse qeae at fer own
Phillips was justified by the fa ds
destiny. ‘it be. All things are od
“What is to be, Wi ing; it is vain to seek
: beginning » wer
Fiber: vse owe re predestined by the po
app’

 
 

376 A DAUGHTER OF THE HIGHLANDERS

rules the atom and the universe,” was the awed con-
viction that stilled the last throb of rebellion to the
crisis which had enmeshed her, and set her face
valiantly toward the solemn, duty-hedged way she
must tread with Donald.

When she had finally arranged the hallowed
rooms, placing her secret treasures under lock and
key, and draping others into a sacred seclusion, and
was closing the door, she paused, and wistfully alert,
stood with strained attention set against the winter
wind sweeping eerily over the broad roofs of Kissic-
Dale; listening hungrily for some token from the
forest, from its devoted denizens, to waft some com-
fort to her torn and suffering heart; but the runing
siren of the pines was silenced by the bitter blasts of
the frost king’s breath; and sighing helplessly, she
locked the door and took »way the key.

* * * x * * *

Donald survived, and a few weeks later they were
married in the collegiate town where he was held in
much honor. The interesting pallor of a recent
invalidism was a transparent medium radiating his
blissful satisfaction. His mother and Jean viewed
their marriage vows through tears of supreme grati-
tude; and far away:

“Beyond them stood the forest,

Stood the groves of singing pine-trees;
Ever singing, ever sighing,

And the pleasant water-courses,

You could trace them through the valley.”

THE END.
7

 

 

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