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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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DEEP down in the stubborn heart of Miss Jeannie MacDonald, the heiress of as noble a stretch of purple Scotch heather and nut-brown salmon river as anyone could wish to look upon, abided an overwhelming pride of race. The very College of Heralds turned pale at the length of her pedigree, mid-way down which, scoffers said, the incident of the Flood had occurred, and Jeannie held her little chin high and gloried in those serried ranks of progenitors! It is true the line began with a mythical hero of piratical habits whose misdeeds a hundred generations of bards had failed to soften, and it is not less true that those who followed were gentlemen whose profession was fire and sword, and whose sense of right and wrong was something more than capricious.
But Jeannie, with a woman's liberality, overlooked all that. Was it likely, that charming lady argued, that she, the latest of all those MacDonalds, would consent to share with an outsider, "a man of grey shillings and brown sugar," as she bitterly said, the splendid if unprofitable territory they had passed down to her from hand to hand through the centuries? In truth her friends wanted her to marry a gentleman from Chicago, and Mistress MacDonald's russet curls were fiercely shaken, and the old red pirate blood sprang again into those dainty cheeks at the bare suggestion.
Jeannie would not look at him! It did not matter that the match-makers called the merchant-princeling handsome, pleasant of speech, uncontaminated by his geographical origin. It did not matter that the fine Sutherlandshire territory he had just bought overlapped her ladyship's patrimony on nearly every side, shutting her acres off from sea and cities: she would not listen when her best friends whispered that he was captivated by herself alone, and might be, if she were only willing, the golden solution of many difficulties—but, strong in her feudal pride that lady again shook her head and would not even let them finish, calling the luckless stranger "A Son of the City of Pigs" with many hard things besides, and having declared her unaltered intention of avoiding him by all possible means—fate brought them together.
It happened in this way. The bustle and glitter of the season was over, and Jeannie, with her attendant friends, had gone back to her stronghold, the infatuated but so far unsuccessful American also going north to the newer shooting lodge on her borders. Here the conspirators about them set kindly little traps for the lady of the heather and dangled the wooer from over the water many a time before her eyes ere chance came to their assistance in its own unaccountable fashion.
A picnic had been arranged upon a rocky island half way across a neighbouring estuary of the sea. It was a wild, picturesque spot, a knoll in the expanse of waters far out of the ken of any dwelling on shore, with a few acres of ragged pine trees growing out of its deep heather, and the highest point crowned by the ruins of an ancient watch tower. A charming place in the daytime but singularly lonely when darkness came on, with a tradition of being haunted, moreover, and thither two boats were to rendezvous on the appointed day. One of these came from the MacDonalds' side of the water, with half a dozen of Jeannie's friends and kinsmen, while the other arrived from the opposite shore bringing a pleasant company, and amongst them young Mr. Jonathan Smith himself!
It was no good to be angry or rude. Jeannie decided two things in her heart when the parties had met, firstly that she would take vengeance on those whom she guessed had prepared this meeting, and secondly that Mr. Smith was more charmingly mannered, and better looking than she had ever thought him before! Then, having made these concessions to her feelings, she laid herself out to be pleasant, all things went delightfully, and picnic kettles were boiled, the picnic wasps were duly killed on the outskirts of the cherry tart, and after a merry afternoon, just as the sun was going down in many coloured blazonry in the west, and the evening breeze began to creep in freshly from the Atlantic the guests re-assembled round the fire in the shadow of the ruined tower to drink their tea and say good-bye to each other.
Here begin the chapter of accidents which ended as all accidents should. There were amongst those who were going to the stranger's side of the water some cousins of Jeannie's, and these young women had been trying to persuade their kinswoman to accompany them in order that she might attend on the morrow a highland gathering near their house. But Jeannie refused, and so they had parted, the cousins and their party going off through the darkening pinewoods to the one boat, while the heiress and her friends, with the gentleman from Chicago, stood talking for a space. Five minutes afterwards, behold Jeannie had exercised the privilege of her sex! Yes! she suddenly declared she would change her mind and go to her cousins after all to see the highland sports,—a few words with her companions settled the matter: the friendly dry-goods princeling was despatched across the island to detain the cousins' party, while Miss MacDonald went down to the near shore with her own friends, and saw them off.
"Do not send the boat for me to-morrow unless I write for it," she called to them, "I may be away a day or two—perhaps even more."
"Very well," they cried back while the skiff pushed off. We will not send until you write—be careful of the night air"—and as the boat, pulled away and was quickly lost among the deepening shadows, the girl turned back, and with a last wave of her hand, sauntered towards the heather-covered crest of the island.
She was well accustomed to being waited for, and did not hurry. On the top she stood for a moment and looked about with silent delight. Behind all was purple in the shadows of the hills save where the casements of her own far away castle caught the eastern blaze and shone in that dusky setting like points of living gold. And all in front the black sea stretched away to where in the west it seemed to beat in golden waves on the edge of another world—a world that rose sudden and splendant out of that sombre plain, a fairy region where pale sapphire estuaries ran deep into an amber-coloured land, and great limpid bights, where on no ship had ever sailed bore on their pellucid bosoms whole archipelagoes of rose coloured islands, a magic sunset realm that faded gently into pink and turquoise as you looked upon it, and broadened and deepened till all the real world was but a dark framing through which one stared into the lurid splendour of that silent territory! Jeannie seemed as though she were some fair statue as she stood against the dark heather in the glow of that great western window, and it was only with an effort she brought herself back to prosaic things when presently the sun went down in earnest and the grey curtain of the night dropped slowly over the land and sea.
But at last, she turned into the wooded path leading down to the far beach, and was stepping lightly over the fragrant carpet of pine needles under the firs, the air full of scent of juniper and rosin, and the last red rays bringing the tree stems out golden against the shadows beyond, when she met Mr. Smith coming hurriedly up the path. This, the lady thought, was to be regretted. She had liked him better than she had ever expected to do that day, and since she feared some keen eyes amongst the women might have guessed so much—she did not want solitary walks with him even of the most trifling extent—placed as they were people would talk if they were a moment alone together, and while this passing through her mind the gentleman from Chicago, looking very handsome and concerned came up.
"My dear Miss MacDonald," he said, "I carried out your errand with the utmost despatch; but to my surprise and regret, when I got down to the beach—the boat had gone!"
"Had what?" gasped Jeannie scarcely realising his meaning for a moment.
"Very unfortunately the boat had gone. They must have set sail at once, and with a fair wind by this time may be nearly home. I shouted and waved but the island is right in the eye of the sun and the breeze was against me—I fear," he added with courteous interest, "you will have to postpone your visit for a time—may I take you back to your own boat?"
But her ladyship's only answer was to lean back against a tree and stare with incredulous horror at her companion. The boat gone! why her boat was gone too, she was alone with this man she had shunned, the very man of all others she least desired to be alone with, and not alone for a moment but for hours—for nights and days, indefinitely perhaps, it seemed to her excited fancy, while their mutual friends pictured them each happily paying visits!
It was too dreadful. Oh what could fate mean by thus stranding her with him whom a month ago she hated, and for whom she was now beginning to feel an even more embarrassing tenderness, the very man of all others she had been setting herself to avoid! She fled like a startled deer back to the highest point of the island, Smith following her wonderingly and there, when he guessed what had happened and they saw the sea absolutely deserted and bare all about them, proud Jeannie sank back upon a rock in a storm of anger and tears, while her fellow prisoner shrugged his shoulders as he slowly took in all the awkwardness of the situation.
Her Ladyship recovered presently, and turning on the luckless stranger with all the fury of a trapped wild-cat in its native woods, said such cruel and reckless things that he who was, in fact, a very excellent and well-meaning young man with nothing whatever against him but the accident of birth, winced beneath them, wondering where so beautiful and slim a girl had learned the skill to hurt so much. At last she asked angrily, "Could he swim?" And when he answered that he could, "Why then," she said, "if he were half a man he would not stand silent and sag-headed before her, but would make an effort—do something to show Chicago could now and then breed a gentleman!" And with those words she flung away, while he, half hurt and half admiring, walked down gloomily and despondent to the water's edge.
Yes! he thought to himself there was nothing for it but to make the effort the girl had suggested. That day had put him deep in love, and there was nothing else to be done!—it was perhaps little better than suicide, for he was but an ordinary swimmer, and the black water spread out wide and cold before him. Yet it was his bare duty, he said, as he took off his coat and shoes and mechanically removed the diamond sleeve-links from his cuffs, he could do her no good by staying—even harm perhaps—while by going there was just a chance that he might get help for her. And so he went, and when Jeannie came down to where he had sat a few minutes later, to say soft things and prevent the folly her bitter words might tempt him to do, she found his coat upon a rock and nothing else.
AN hour later as, miserable and lonely, the lady of many manors was wandering about in the darkness seeking for a corner in which to spend the night, the wind sighing through the trees, and the first few drops of a coming storm beginning to fall, a light appeared on the path below. Who could he there at this time of night, when all decent folk were safe in bed? Was it the ghost of the murdered old fisherman who haunted the island? Was it lawless smugglers. or pirates? This was worse than ever, and the wretched girl was just turning to fly when tough but friendly voices hailed her, and with desperate courage, knowing moreover how futile hiding was, she waited, and presently recognised two fishermen, and heard, when they had drawn near, with a delight which may be imagined, that their boat was down below, and "the gentleman" in it, alive but spent. They had come across him by chance while taking in their long lines, and had got Mr. Smith on board, with scarce enough breath left in him to gasp out the story of the lady's plight, and send them, rowing for all they were worth, to her rescue.
[AN hour later as, miserable and lonely, the lady of many manors was wandering about in the darkness seeking for a corner in which to spend the night, the wind sighing through the trees, and the first few drops of a coming storm beginning to fall, she was startled to see the figure of an old man coming slowly up the path towards her and lighting his footsteps by the shine of a very dim lantern. Who could it he at this time of night? Was it the ghost of the murdered fisherman who haunted the island? The girl's high strung nerves thrilled in a way that at ordinary times she would have been ashamed of. Yet what was she to think? The island was too small to afford a hiding place for anyone; the picknickers that day had been into every nook and corner without seeing a stranger, and all of them had certainly gone away with the boats, the sea had been blank, yet here was that lantern-like patch of brightness coming along the path, and as it drew nearer she saw more clearly against the dying light the figure with it, a bent man in tarpaulins and battered sou'-wester hat! Down into the long heather went Jeannie, no doe ever lay closer or with a more quickly beating heart at sight of huntsman. How she wished she had never heard the horrible story of the crime which had taken place in the ruined watch tower, or could forget it now. Oh for a companion to shame her into courage, even the despised Mr. Smith at that moment would have been a paladin above price—a touch of his strong hand and a glance at his quiet, confident eyes would have set the blood moving in her veins again. But there was no rescue, no help, no use in screaming. There was not a sound anywhere save the melancholy piping of sea-birds away in the darkness or the sigh of the water on the sands below—and that figure was going up to the tower! It passed within twenty yards of her, so close she could hear the creak of the big knee boots, and the scrape of the sou'-wester flap on the shoulders of the oil-skin coat, and under the broad rim of the hat the lantern light, shining upwards, brought out in strong relief the features of a rugged old face, ghostly black and white, with bushy eyebrows and stubbly chin—the murdered fisherman, if it were he, might have been an honest soul in life, but he was certainly unprepossessing when dead, and the girl held her breath till he was out of sight for a moment behind a rock, then gathered up her skirts, and, like that same doe when the hunter's back is turned, rose and fled through ling and cotton-grass.
Had he seen her? There was no cover to hide in, and she ran down the slope, utterly ashamed of her cowardice, yet overwhelmed by it and the loneliness of the place, till presently she paused for breath and timidly looked back. Then upon her startled ears in the void of the evening came from the place she had left a melancholy wail. "Hello, hello, hi—i!" It was the strangest sound imaginable, and it died away in the hollows of the deserted tower with supernatural slowness. A minute later the light shone again; it was coming nearer, and all the girl's instincts told her she had been seen, and was followed. Away went the lady once more through the tangled path, and on her ears as she fled came anew that unearthly "Hi, hi—i—i." She went into the cotton grass, and there was not cover enough there to hide a mountain hare; and out into the stunted heather, purple and green by daylight, now black and bare as a meadow of the under world. The light was coming down the slope and there was nowhere left to go but to the sandy beach, so thither Jeannie fled, knowing all too well that she would be in clear view directly it was reached. She ran along the half seen waves for a couple of hundred yards, then came suddenly to a place where a buttress of rock barred all further progress—she was trapped, and glancing over her shoulder saw the stooping figure in tarpaulins step down by the path she had come, on to the sands! Then the pride of her ancestry came to her rescue, the red blood flew into her face, and Jeannie MacDonald turned at bay, and walked out alone to meet her pursuer. "If it is a ghost," she said to herself. "I will trust to heaven to help me, and if he is a man, he is alone, and may be civil after all."
It was a strange picture. The dull sand ling between the heather and the sea half illumined by the gleam of bygone day; the young girl with clenched hands staring into the darkness, herself only a black shadow, and yonder a muffled figure coming towards her in a circle of yellow light. "Hi, hi—marm!"
"Come," thought the lady, "this is a civil-spoken ghost at all events," and then she called out aloud in her imperious way, "Stop! I command you. Who are you? Are you alive or dead?"
Whereat the figure stopped as bidden, and between the play of the shallow waves that were limning the beach with phosphorescent fires the heiress heard the breath coming hard and thick from exertions in its throat.
"He breathes," thought Jeannie. "I don't believe he is a ghost."
"Speak," she cried, keeping carefully out of arm's reach—"say who you are, and why you haunt this lonely place at night like this."
"If I might be so bold, marm, I should say it was queerer for you to be here alone than for me," the spirit observed, wiping the night-dew from his mouth with the cuff of his oilskins as he spoke.
It certainly was queer. If anyone had told Miss MacDonald twenty-four hours since that she would be talking that evening with a departed soul on a lonely midnight beach; unprotected; a prey to pirates and ghouls, she would have laughed at them. That is what she thought, and what she did was to stamp an imperious foot on the sand and cry, "It matters nothing why I am here. But the island belongs to me, and living or dead you are trespassing. Again, what have you come for?"
"I have come for you—to take you home."
It was simply said, yet Jeannie started in spite of herself, for you will remember how weird and solitary her surroundings were, and if Mr. Smith was drowned, as she thought probable, not a living soul knew where she was. "To take her home!" where was his home? Was he after all the dead fisherman? How horrible. What a long time before the morning would come—and then when her distress was at the acutest the respite came!
"It is like this, marm. I was taking in my lobster pots—"
"Now, gracious heaven be thanked," gasped the girl to herself, "ghosts don't have lobster pots; he is a man for certain."
"—I was taking in my lobster pots, when something black with eyes in it came swimming down on me. It was one of your gentlemen marm, and he climbed into my boat, and told me how it was, and wouldn't wait while I hauled the other pots he was in such a hurry, but made me row out here as fast as we could go, and I would have told you this before if I could have got within speaking distance."
"You are an exceedingly foolish, old man," said the heiress, after a minute spent in smoothing down her emotions. "And your boat, is it here?"
"In the bay, under the firs. Wait a minute, marm, while I trim the lantern, and I will show you the way."]
"DEAR Mr. Smith," were the first words that delighted gentleman heard as presently he found himself in the same boat with Jeannie, homeward bound, and his hands being diligently chafed by that charming nurse. "I am so sorry for what I said, so sorry you took it amiss, and went—but very glad, very glad indeed that you are safe, and have taken no hurt—if you had I should have been more grieved than I can say," and here the girl dropped her voice and blushed unseen in the darkness.
What else could that fortunate son of Chicago wish for? The inflection of her tone did him more good than all the warm blankets and cordials of the castle presently. They were the beginning of an end which satisfied even the schemers whose plot had nearly turned out so disastrously, and later on united two broad territories, to their mutual advantage, under one happy rule!
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.