My heart's in the Highlands

by Amy Le Feuvre

BOOK I

[CHAPTER I]

A DOCTOR'S VERDICT

"We know
That we have power over ourselves to do
And suffer: What—we know not till we try."
Shelley.

"I DO wish you would be serious!"

"Why on earth should I be?"

Rowena Arbuthnot leant her elbows on the wide windowsill and looked in upon her sister-in-law from the garden, with her mischievous blue-grey eyes which always seemed to twinkle with some hidden joke. Rowena's eyes had been the cause of her continually getting into trouble, from the time she had been a child, when the rector of the parish had requested her not to laugh at him in the pulpit.

She was older now; and had gone through more trouble than most girls of her age. But though her lips were grave, and a trifle sad when in repose, yet her eyes had never lost their gleam of hidden laughter.

Young Mrs. Arbuthnot, sitting in her pretty drawing-room, stitching away at a white frock for her youngest child, felt impatient with Rowena.

"I never shall understand you," she said; "I thought you and Ted were so devoted, that if you had not cared a button about the children or me, you would be disappointed at not coming with us. Our home has been yours for the last four years; and we have always looked upon you as one of the family."

"My dear Geraldine, tears are too expensive a luxury to be wasted in public. Shall I conjure up two for your benefit? I might if I tried hard."

"I hate you when you are facetious!"

"I won't be. Let us talk wisely and soberly. Is it my fault that Ted was cheated in the horse deal, that I mounted a half-broken vixen, and was pitched out of the saddle on the very hardest bit of ground going? Is it my fault that that dear old Niddy-Noddy should insist upon my lying low for a year? I don't want to be an invalid for life. It isn't an attractive prospect. And you wouldn't like a bedridden crock to be attached to you for evermore. Isn't it worthwhile to escape that fate if I can? To forgo my journey to the East with you is, of course, a trial. But what am I, if I can't take my share of disappointments philosophically?"

"Yes, yes, I know you've got an inexhaustible fund of philosophy and patience; but where are you going, what are you going to do? If only Ted had not let the house! But we're so hard up—and—really, Rowena, you ought to be lying down at this moment! What is the good of only following half Dr. North's advice?"

Rowena held up a bunch of dew-sparkling roses.

"My dear, I'm coming in—but I must have these to refresh me." She slipped in over the low window, and went to a couch in the farthest corner of the room. For a moment or two she occupied herself in putting her roses into a bowl of water by the side of the couch; then quietly laid herself down among the cushions with a little sigh—or was it a long-drawn breath of pain?

"Now talk away, Geraldine! I'm chained here till luncheon, and you can say all you have in your mind, but we won't grumble over what cannot be helped."

"Well, have you any idea what is to become of you?"

"Not the slightest. You see Niddy-Noddy only sprang my fate upon me yesterday, and you are the only one who has seen Ted. I was in bed when he returned last night, and he was off to town before I got up this morning."

"He has so many arrangements to make before we sail. And Ted is no good for practical common sense. If you only had money of your own, how easy it would make things!"

It was not often Geraldine Arbuthnot alluded to Rowena's penniless condition; and the girl laughed to hide the hurt of it.

"Yes—and a crippled beggar is worse off than a healthy spry one. I allow I am in an evil case! It's a pity you and Ted set your faces against the job offered me."

"Ted has some pride," said Mrs. Arbuthnot with raised head. "It isn't likely he would let his sister be a paid clerk to that bounder Tom Corbett! And I wanted you badly. Goodness knows what I shall do without you now. You weathered me through my bad time three times over, and I shall never forget it. The chicks will be lost without you—and I was quite counting on you to keep them happy on board ship!"

"Oh, yes, you'll miss me," said Rowena with honest conviction. "What craft can I do on my back, I wonder? Not basket-making! I could make rugs—those Eastern ones—I really think that is an idea! But who would buy them? Would that hurt Ted's pride, if I wrote a round robin—to our friends, asking for their support? How would it run? After this style:"

"'An invalid much in want of the necessities of life, is starting rug-making. Orders received and promptly executed. Designs straight from India and Persia; and colours to blend with purchaser's rooms.'"

"Oh, do be quiet, Rowena. Don't talk such nonsense. Here are the chicks. Nurse, bring them in here."

Mrs. Arbuthnot leant out of the window as she spoke, and a moment after, two little fair-haired boys burst open the door, their baby sister struggling in her nurse's arms to follow them.

"Where's Aunt Rony?"

"Here, Buttons, here; in my little corner!"

Buttons flung himself upon the couch.

"Are you playing a game? Are you in bed?"

For the next few minutes the children's chatter filled the room, but the nurse soon took them off; Buttons and his twin Bertie beseeching their aunt to come up to the nursery and have a game with them after tea.

When they were gone there was silence for some minutes; then Mrs. Arbuthnot folded up her work.

"Well, Rowena, we seem to come to no conclusion. Ted told me to talk it over with you."

"But we have. Ted must lend me a little money—and I'll move into rooms somewhere, and teach myself a craft and pay him back as soon as I can. And then at the end of the year, if I'm cured, I can come out to you if you want me."

"I shall always want you. You do too much for me. I shall never be content to live without you. Well, I must go and write some letters. I'll send Ted to you directly he comes home."

Rowena's bright eyes closed when her sister-in-law left the room. The pain in her back was acute now, and she was glad to rest. Her doctor had told her that there was a slight injury to her spine, and that she must lie on her back for a year, if she wished to be strong again. She had never remembered a day's illness in her life. She rode, she boated, she hunted, and she fished, always in company with her beloved brother. His marriage had not lessened the bond between them, for his wife was devoted to her, and had not a particle of jealousy in her composition. She did encroach on Rowena's good nature, but was conscious of it herself, and told her husband that Rowena was but an unpaid servant in their house.

"She is a companion to me; nurse and governess to the boys; housekeeper and general adviser; and comforter all round. She really deserves double the allowance you give her."

But Ted shook his head.

"She's my sister and chum—I couldn't expect her to take money for her services."

Now he had been summoned to India to join the foreign battalion of his regiment, and Rowena, owing to her unfortunate accident, was to be left behind.

She felt it keenly; she loved the pretty home which lay amongst the Surrey Hills; but would have accompanied her brother cheerfully all over the world. Several times she might have married, but so far, no man had eclipsed Ted's image in her heart. She always compared her lovers with her brother, and always found they lacked his personal attractive qualities.

He came in at five o'clock that June afternoon, and found his way to her almost immediately.

"Rowena, this is bad news."

"Didn't you expect it? I did. I knew from the minute I was carried away from my spill that there would be no India for me."

"But we'll rig you up a bed on board; and in India you can lounge and laze to your heart's content. Old North doesn't know what he is talking about."

"It's no go, my dear boy, you'll be on the move in India yourself, you told me so. I will not be a useless encumbrance to you. No. I'll do the thing in style, and be a bed-lier till I'm cured. I mean to be cured, Ted; and a year will soon slip by. It isn't only Niddy-Noddy who has settled up my fate. That London specialist gave the same verdict."

"But where are you to live?"

"In my skin. Don't ruck up your forehead like a wizened monkey! I've been calculating that I shall require no clothing for a year, and no footgear. I'm very rough on my boots. So my allowance will go for my food. I must get cheap lodgings somewhere. One room will do for me, as I shall always be in bed. Why, lots of old bedridden women in the country villages live on less than you give me for my clothes."

Her brother paced the room restlessly. Then his face lighted up.

"How would you like to go up to that Scotch shooting lodge of mine? Could you stand the quiet and solitariness of it? There's old Granny Mactavish who would wait upon you. And then there would be no rent to pay, and she keeps a cow and some hens, so those would feed you."

Rowena's eyes literally danced in her head.

"And Geraldine says that you are not practical! Ah, here she is. Come along and see how quickly we've settled things. I'm going up to Loch Tarlie. And a cow and some hens are going to nourish and sustain me!"

"Oh, Rowena! Ted, you will never encourage her to go there! She could die and be buried before we should hear of it, or anyone else. Besides, I don't think it would be proper. Isn't she too young to live in the wilds by herself?"

Both Ted and Rowena began to laugh, and Rowena's laughter was so infectious that Geraldine's grave face relaxed.

"Is it a joke?" she asked. "Of course you might like it for the summer, Rowena dear, but think of the winter! How could you live there? And you're a sociable creature and have always been accustomed to see a good many people. Why, it is fifty miles from rail! And there are no shops, or libraries, or theatres, or concerts, or the mildest form of amusement for you!"

Rowena held up her ten fingers.

"And now let us count the advantages:"

"No temptation to attract one off one's couch. A never-ending
panorama of colour and light and beautiful scenery before
one's eyes. No rent to pay."
"No servants to employ."
"A home of one's own—I have known Loch Tarlie since I was six—
milk and butter and chickens all to hand. Ted asserts I want
nothing else."
"No newspapers, to make one realize that England is going,
or has gone, to the dogs."
"And life-giving, intoxicating moor air to make one feel glad
every day of one's life that one is alive!"

"Yes, Geraldine, I am going and will stick it out for the winter there. Old Granny Mactavish is as spry and active as a girl. If she can stand the winter, why shouldn't I? And oh, do you think old Niddy-Noddy would let me transfer my mattress to a boat? Think of my lying on a silver loch watching the trout and salmon leap and flash by! Perhaps with Granny's nephew, Colin, by my side, we could fish between us. Ted, is your mouth watering? And will you write by this evening's post and tell Granny I will have my bed made up in the green drawing-room, with windows down to the floor? I shall feel out-of-doors at once."

"You will want books," said Ted gravely. "I'll order a box from Mudie's to go down with you, and I say, Rowena, there's a first-rate travel book by a chap I knew in the war. He's a humorous sort of fellow, with keen powers of observation. It's about the Frontier up in Afghanistan. You must read it. I was dipping into it to-day at the club, and Murchison, who was reading it, said—"

"Ted, get off books this instant," said Geraldine, "and let us discuss the question of Loch Tarlie. How will Rowena get up there, and who will go with her? And she cannot live alone with old Granny Mactavish. We have always taken our own maids up there and a chauffeur. Rowena must have a nice maid to attend upon her."

"No, thanks—not if I know it! I couldn't stand the whines of a lonely frightened maid. No young person could stand a Loch Tarlie winter. As for me, I am as old as the hills. They say a woman is as old as she feels—and I feel just a thousand and one since my spill!"

"Oh, if you've made up your mind, any objection of mine will be waste of words. I wonder if the Frasers will be there this year?"

"Macdonald has taken possession of Glen Tarlie," said Ted; "but I don't believe he is there much. It's a pity his wife died—she was just Rowena's sort."

"You mean in the way of books," said Geraldine. "Well, I never liked her, she was so indifferent to him; and I think it was sheer wickedness to leave her baby to those Highland folks at the Farm, because she wouldn't be bothered with a child in town."

"I'm not going to see a soul," said Rowena in her cheerful voice; "so don't try to rake out company for me. Ted, write; there's a dear! I'm quite impatient to have it settled up. And as for the journey, Geraldine, I shall have a sleeper, and get on by myself. The guards are always attentive to invalids."

"That you shall not! I shall send Ellen with you. She won't come to India with me, and her home is somewhere in the North."

And so it was settled, and in about three weeks' time Ted with his wife and children were steaming down the Channel on a P. & O. boat, and Rowena was travelling up to Scotland with Geraldine's maid.

Rowena had kept a bright face to the last. But now she lay in her berth with closed eyes, feeling the chubby soft faces of her little nephews pressed against her cheek, seeing the wistful look in her brother's eyes and the tears in his wife's, and wondering if she would ever see them all again. And then she took herself to task in her usual style.

"This won't do at all! You've been shamefully spoilt these last four years—every one wanting you and making much of you. Those fat years have gone and now comes a lean one. Too much fat makes the liver sluggish. And you lived alone for two years with your poor fretful father, when he never wanted you near him, and wouldn't let you go away from him. Now you are going to live by your lone self, with no one to fret you; and if you can't employ yourself and enjoy yourself as well, I'm sorry for you!"

The journey to Scotland was made in driving wind and rain, but though Rowena felt the continual vibration of the train in every joint of her injured spine, she was as cheerful as a cricket, and kept Ellen in constant smiles.

"I never did hear a grown-up person talk such nonsense in all my life," she confided to the friendly guard, who took Rowena under his fatherly protection; "but she'd win a smile out of a cow, she would!"

Half a day's journey from Glasgow brought them to the last stage of their travels. Ellen was to take Rowena to the Lodge and sleep the night there. The little steamer was waiting to take them up the loch. Rowena insisted upon walking on to it, though she was forced to lean heavily on Ellen's arm. The rain had ceased, and the sun now shone out as it only does in the Highlands, illuminating every mountain height, with soft dreamy radiance.

"Ah!" said Rowena, subsiding into a lounge chair upon the deck; "now don't you wish yourself in my shoes, Ellen? And I am not to be torn away from it just when I am taking root, which has always been my fate before—I am going to sink into it and rest in it for three hundred and sixty-five days."

"I'm sure, ma'am, I only hope you will have some amusements to beguile the days," said Ellen.

She was looking round her with apprehensive eyes. The still silent waters of the loch through which they glided with its walls of green on either side, and the blue ranges of mountain that guarded it upon the horizon, seemed to her a type of prison.

Rowena now pointed out a beautiful glen across the loch.

A stack of chimneys rose up behind some trees.

"That's where we're going," she said.

Ellen gave a gentle sigh.

"It seems the end of the world," she said, and Rowena's low mellow laugh rang out.

"You'll be in dear noisy Glasgow again to-morrow, Ellen. Cheer up!"

The steamer put in at the small pier at the foot of the glen. There was a grey-bearded Highlander standing very straight and still upon the pier. Rowena greeted him with a radiant smile. Duncan Cameron had helped her many a time to stalk a stag. He had also been with her when she had caught her first salmon many years ago. He was her brother's head keeper, and had been in his employ for over twenty years.

"Granny was sayin' that you would be wantin' a hand up," he said. "Is it ill ye are, Miss Rowena?"

"I'm an infirm old woman, Duncan—jumped into my dotage in one black day! Why, what is that you've got there?"

"'Tis a cheer, miss—a cheer which the Ker-enel ordered to be brought for ye, an' tis I will be pushin' it up the wee bit brae!"

"Magnificent!" said Rowena, looking at the spick and span invalid's chair with its soft blue cushions: a lump gathering in her throat at this proof of her brother's loving forethought.

Helped into it by Ellen, she relapsed into silence, but she was gazing up the glen with shining eyes. The soft air, the afternoon sun, gilding the raindrops on the pines and birches, the sweet scents of the moistened earth underfoot, all soothed and rested her tired spirit.

Along the winding carriage road they went, under an avenue of ashes and birches; by the side of them a wide trout stream came dashing down from the heights above, finding its way into the Loch. And then they turned the corner, and on a flat plateau of green smooth turf, fringed with pines, lay the house. It was a low, long grey building, with windows opening out upon the lawn, and creeping roses covering an old rustic porch, which led into the hall. Inside the pitch-pine floors were covered with green druggetting. Old Mrs. Mactavish stood curtsying in the doorway. Rowena took both her wrinkled hands in hers affectionately.

"Here I am and here I shall be till you are sick of the sight of me!"

"Ach now, ma'am, with your jokes! Wae's me if ye will be stretched on your back a' the days o' sunshine, but I've done as weel as I know how to mak ye comfortable!"

She led the way into the room which Rowena had chosen for herself.

It was a long, low room with three beautiful windows reaching the whole length of the wall; the loch stretched out below the lawn; and there was a gap in the trees so that the view of the shining water and the wooded heights on the farther side lay open to the eyes. The floor was covered with the same simple green druggetting. Geraldine had good taste, and simplicity reigned all over the house. The walls were painted cream and the furniture was fumed oak, but the couches and chairs were all covered with green and white chintz, and Rowena's couch was drawn up near one of the windows, a table by its side. A bright wood fire was blazing in the low grate. The room looked cheerful; old Granny had even gathered some yellow flags and put them in a china jug upon the mantelpiece. There was a door leading into a similar room behind, originally the smoking-room, and now to be used by Rowena as her bedroom.

Ellen looked round with critical eyes, but even she could not find any faults with the arrangements for the invalid's comfort.

"And there's my granddaughter, Janet, will be up in the morning early," said Granny. "The mistress said she should wait on ye in the morn, and also in the eve."

She introduced a rosy smiling girl to Rowena, and Ellen heaved a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad you'll have somebody to wait on you, ma'am, for that old body seems ready for the grave!"

"Oh, Ellen, for shame! It is the outdoor work she does that makes her so wrinkled. Granny is good for twenty years yet. And you should taste her oatcakes and scones! No one can beat her at cakes!"

Half an hour later Rowena was lying on her couch with the table drawn up by the side of it; and even Ellen could find no fault with the creamy scones and oatcakes, the excellent tea and bowl of rich yellow cream, and home-made butter, which Janet smilingly brought to them.

Rowena went early to bed, and when Ellen left her the next morning she was unwillingly convinced that her charge would be comfortable, but "desperately solitary" she assured herself with a lugubrious shake of her head.

[CHAPTER II]

ALONE

"When from our better selves we have too long
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired—
How gracious, how benign is solitude!"
Wordsworth.

"MY DEAREST GERALDINE,—"
"My thoughts have been with you, of course. At first I felt that my better half had gone with you, and only my feeble carcass left here, but you know my adaptability! In a coster's cart or Rolls-Royce car, a slum garret, or Park Lane mansion, I should be bound to get some fun out of it! And I'm not only getting fun but really steeping myself neck-deep with thrills of delight in my delicious atmosphere and surroundings! And you'll be glad to hear that I am growing into my bed, spreading my roots there, and almost getting to like an invalid's life! Well, what can I tell you? I begin my day with hearing pretty Janet's view of life. She's almost as talkative as her Granny, but has got very modern cravings! I end the day by a crack with Granny, who is anything but modern; and my interim is spent with many pleasant companions. A robin and a gull visit me daily—they bring others of their acquaintance who regard me somewhat indifferently and don't come again. But my robin never misses a day; and my gull walks boldly inside my room and up to my couch, where he expects, of course, some special tit-bits in reward for his friendliness."
"Duncan brings me fish, and talks over the prospects of the shooting. He does not like the man who has taken it."
"'He be ane o' these Englanders who fancies a kilt and a bonnet will turn him into a highlander—an' he be in an awfu' funk lest he miss his shot; an' spends muckle bawbees in endeavourin' to win approval!'"
"It appears he was one of the house-party at the Frasers' last year, and Duncan heard 'accounts' of him!"
"Granny's nephew, Colin, cuts our wood, runs errands, and is a first-rate gardener. The lawn is beautiful: the birds make it their playground. And now I must tell you that yesterday Duncan presented me with the sweetest Highland pup that you have ever seen! His name is Shags, a dog of good pedigree and one that will be a real companion. The collies live out-of-doors—they cannot be enticed into my room. Shags has established himself at once at the foot of my couch, and he understands my talk, and appreciates it. He has a very rough little head, and cocky ears, and bright brown eyes that wink in an understanding manner. His tail is always wagging, and life to him at present is one huge joke. He knows the power of his sharp little teeth, and uses them on everything in his way; but he is learning self-control and discretion, and I make him a fresh ball of rags every day, which he tears to pieces with relish and scatters to the winds. Tell the boys about him. He is quite a personality!"
"Tell Ted I'm steadily getting through the box of books; but I am doing a 'power of meditation' as Duncan says. And when I've nothing to do but dream, I dream with a vengeance. I am fed well, I sleep well, and barring the first two days, I have not had much grinding in my old back."
"Enough of me and my doings! Tell me all about yourselves—how the chicks like India—what they do and say. Have you a nice ayah? What is your house like? Who are your neighbours? Does Ted like his fellow-officers? I expect sheets and sheets from you. Don't you dare to forget the poor isolated prisoner of Loch Tarlie!"
"Oh, Geraldine, why aren't you all here with me! Then we should be happy indeed. Best love and hugs to the darlings."
"Your loving"
"ROWENA."

Rowena had settled down, as she wrote, into a quiet invalid's life. She had severe internal conflicts at first. She wanted so much to be up half the day at least. But a letter from her old fatherly doctor sent her to her couch, and kept her chained there. She was assured it was the only chance for her cure.

The first fortnight was fine. A sense of rest and peace stole into her heart as she gazed over the beautiful landscape out of her window. No two days were alike. The softness of the colouring of the distant hills, the shadows which ceaselessly flitted across them and the loch, and the fresh opening of the spring flowers in the garden, were a continual surprise and interest to her. She got Janet to bring her bowls of pale primroses and daffodils, and her room soon became a bower of sweet-smelling flowers.

Then, suddenly, the weather changed. There was a spell of wet and wind.

Windows had to be shut; the wind howled down the chimneys, and soughed through the trees, and tore some delicate young plants in the flower-beds to pieces, scattering the fragments over the lawn. The loch churned itself into a grey muddy froth, the singing birds fled to their nests and stayed there.

Rowena looked out of her windows, and for three days watched the career of the storm with the greatest concern. It really seemed at times as if everything young and fresh would be swept away.

After a time the wind fell, but the rain continued, and then it began to pall upon her. Would it ever be fine again? Would the hills ever appear out of their thick well of mist? She read till her eyes ached. She worked at her rug till her fingers ached. She meditated till her head ached. She yawned, she fidgeted, and finally she came to the conclusion that she was becoming unutterably bored.

Shags was restless and was unaccustomed to the closed windows. Hitherto he had wandered in and out of his own free will, and he basely deserted Rowena for the kitchen. Depression settled down upon her on the fifth day of storm and rain. After she had had her lunch, she began to wonder how she could get through the winter, if a wet week in June affected her so sorely. Shags' appearance for a time distracted her, but after a little he left her, and lay against the window, his nose close to the glass, showing in every hair on his head how much he disliked the indoor life. Rowena took up a fresh book and tried to forget herself in it; but the rain and wind began to get upon her nerves. Her book did not interest her—she tossed it aside.

"And in India they are revelling in sunshine! Perhaps Ted will be playing polo, or he and Geraldine riding out together. Oh, it's hard lines I shouldn't be with them! I shall forget how to talk, if I am shut up here much longer. I might as well be doing my time in a Dartmoor prison, or at Broadmoor."

Then she started—sounds came to her of a car of some sort coming up the drive. Could it possibly be a visitor? Hardly—on a day like this. She was not long left in doubt. Granny appeared at the door, with signs of agitation.

"If ye please, mem, may we shelter two bodies who be fair drowned in this awfu' rain? I cam' right awa to ask ye—for wi' one o' the family here it is no' to be expected I should do otherwise! 'Tis a mon an' a woman, but they be fair shrouded in their waterproofs and oilskins, an' I've not had a peep at them yet. Ye'll no' need to see them, for the kitchen is good enow for the like o' any traveller be they who they may! An' they do but want a dry an' maybe a cup o' tea! They be quite respectable folk I reckon. I may bid them welcome in your name?"

"Certainly, Granny, and if the lady would like to come in and see me, I shall be delighted, whoever she may be—a Glasgow shop-girl or a duchess! I would welcome anybody on an afternoon like this!"

"Aye, mem, we get mony sich days in our year-r!"

"Of course we do, but I'm not accustomed to them yet; and I've read till my eyes ache."

A few minutes later Granny ushered in a little old lady in a close dove-coloured motor bonnet. Her face was round and soft as a child's.

"How very kind of you to give us such shelter," she began; "and, oh!—if I may say it—what a charming room!"

"Now you've won my heart," said Rowena, holding out her hand. "Come and sit down, won't you, and talk to me. I am a prisoner, but I do agree with you that I have nothing to complain of in my prison. How does it happen that you are out on such an awful day?"

"It's my son, Robert; he has only just taken possession of his manse, and I've come to look after him. He had to see a sick man on this side of the loch, and so I wanted to see the country and he has motored me round."

"Is he the minister of Abertarlie? Granny Mactavish told me a new one was coming there."

"Yes, and from our snug little nest we look across at you; but we had no idea that any of the family were here."

"You are not Scotch yourself?"

"I am very Scotch by name—we are one of the Macintoshes, but you are right, I am an Englishwoman by birth."

"And so am I," said Rowena, smiling; "I have Scotch blood in my veins, and when I am in Scotland, I am Scotch. The English are a poor lot, you know! My brother only rents this lodge from General Macdonald. Do you know him?"

"My son has met him, but his house lies empty; he is hardly ever here."

"Won't your son come in and see me? I am one of his parishioners, you know. And we will have tea together presently. It will be my first party. Are your feet dry? Won't you change your shoes?"

Mrs. Macintosh held out two very pretty slender feet.

"I have been in the car the whole time. But as we got nearer your house, the rain came down like a waterspout. I will go and fetch my son. It is very kind of you to offer us such hospitality."

Robert Macintosh very soon appeared, a tall fine-looking young man with rather a stern face; but it softened as Rowena welcomed him with her happy smiling eyes.

It was a very successful little tea-party. Rowena had not seen many Scotch ministers, and those she had met were of a different stamp to Robert Macintosh. He was a gentleman, and his mother was a charming old lady with plenty to say for herself. Rowena explained herself very briefly.

"I am doing a kind of rest cure here—hurt my back out hunting and am obliged to lie on it for a time. My brother is abroad, so we shall have no shooting parties this year. I think he has sub-let the shooting to some fellow-officer of his; but not the house."

"You have books," said the young man, glancing at the low bookcase by the side of the couch.

"Yes, they are delightful company, are they not? Are you a reader? But of course you are? It is your avocation."

"Is it?" smiled Robert. "My mother would say it makes me a very unsociable creature to live with."

"It is irritating when one wants a cheerful gossip with him, to see his shoulders hunched up and his nose glued to a book," said Mrs. Macintosh quickly. "He is one of those readers who get so absorbed, that nothing but a shake and a scream will bring him back to me."

"Ah," said Rowena, "I plead guilty there. It is all right for oneself to be oblivious to all around, but a great bore to one's friends."

Then she and the young minister began talking of some new books; and the old lady sat and listened to them with great content. Janet soon appeared with the tea, and before it was over the rain had stopped, and the loch was shining like silver with the far-away rays of the sun.

When eventually the visitors left, Rowena was her bright cheery self again. But she took herself to task for her changes of mood, when she and Shags were alone together.

"Shags, you show your mistress an example of cheerful equanimity of soul! You are just as ready to wag your tail when the day is sodden and dreary as when the sun shines out; and as it will be my fate to be here through the very darkest, wettest months in the year, I am a poor wisp of a creature to be beaten down by one rainy week in June. It must not and shall not happen again, Shags! My universe does not begin and end with succulent luxury. Oh, Shags, you villain! I know what you're asking me! We'll have the window open, and then you will be free to gambol outside."

She rang the bell. Shags was waiting by the window expectantly, and when Janet opened the glass doors out he bounded. The air was sweet and fresh; the scent of a sweetbrier bush outside made Rowena's pulses beat with joy. She gazed out upon her green lawn. Shags went round it, sniffing at an old-fashioned flower-border. He unearthed a snail, turned it over with his nose in disgust, then made for a pert tom-tit strutting up and down the gravel path. The tom-tit flew away derisively, and Shags next examined with great interest a long tuft of grass. A frog leaped out. It was the first one he had seen, and he backed away from it in fright. Rowena watched him. Then the light on the opposite hills brought a gleam of delight to her eyes. It was so alluring, so exquisite, so varied in its movement and colour!

Granny came in later to inquire how she was getting on.

"Feeding my soul, Granny."

"Your soul wants bonnier feedin' than a' that." Granny was deeply religious. Rowena was not.

"Now you are not to make me discontented! I have a soul that wants beauty, and that will not be satisfied without it."

"I reckon there be mair beauty in the Creator than in His works."

"Granny, how do you like the new minister? Have you heard him preach?"

"Oh, aye—I went to kirk this Sabbath back."

"And does he preach well?"

"He does that, mem. His heart leapeth into his e'en wi' earnestness o' purpose an' persuasion. Eh, if ye cud get across in the wee boatie!"

"I can't, Granny. He will have to come and preach to me. He's a remarkably good-looking boy. I should like to see his heart leaping. Didn't you know he was the minister when you first asked me to give him shelter?"

"Deed an' no, mem, for 'twas in oilskins he were an' his mither was so spry in rinnin' ower to the hoos, that I fair speired she were just a lassie."

"I like them both. I told them to come over again soon."

"'Twill be mair company ye'll be gettin' nex' month," said Grannie comfortingly. "The lodges will be fillin' oop, an' Sir Robert Fraser be openin' his hoos nex' Tuesday!"

"It isn't company I want," said Rowena, smiling; "only the sun. I suppose the Highlands can't have all the good things in this world. There are few parts like it for beauty and romance, but I'm ashamed of my discontent, Granny! And just as I have learnt to be happy on my back, so I shall learn to be happy through the worst of weather. One can adapt oneself to anything! Habit is the main thing. The habit of content shall be mine."

The weather cleared the next day, but it was not settled. One afternoon, about two days later, after a couple of hours lovely sunshine, a sudden squall came on. The clouds were broken and the play of light and shadow on the opposite hills so fascinated Rowena that she took up a telescope which Duncan had brought her, and began studying the horizon.

Suddenly she made an exclamation and rang a bell by her side.

When Granny appeared she said sharply:

"Is Colin near at hand?"

"He has bin killin' a fowl, mem."

"Tell him to get the boat quickly. Do you see some one on the loch in distress? It looks like a small boy. Oh, don't stop to look, Granny! Colin will have younger eyes than yours—call him quickly. It is half-way across here, from the island."

Granny disappeared. Rowena listened impatiently to the voices outside her window. The loch was lashing itself into a fury. The small boat she had discovered with her telescope was now plainly discernible. But it was making no progress, only tossing up and down, a sport of the rough element around it.

It seemed a long time before Colin had started the boat, but Rowena saw it leave the small landing-stage at last and, to her great relief, two men were in it. Duncan had evidently appeared on the scene and offered his services.

Rowena took up her telescope again. She saw a little figure in bonnet and kilt sitting in the boat struggling very ineffectually with the oars.

"How like a boy," she thought, "to venture out on a day like this!" And then she saw from the efforts of the two rescuers what a strong wind and current was against them. Once a wave seemed to dash over the distant boat. Rowena held her breath, and then a call from Duncan—evidently an attempt to hearten up the little rower by telling him help was at hand. Slowly but surely the boats came nearer. At last they touched. Through the telescope Rowena watched the child clambering in from one boat to the other, then saw the men row back to the shore towing the other boat after them. Before they landed, Granny appeared in some excitement.

"It's that weeld bairn o' the laird's, an' near anow was she to her death, to be sure! Shame on Angus for lettin' the bairn tak' a boat this day!"

"What child do you mean? Boys will be boys."

"But she's a girl!"

Rowena looked up surprised.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"'Tis Mysie Macdonald, an' I'll be changin' her things surely! It's just a maircy o' the A'mighty's that the wee bairn is not drooned."

In a few minutes Rowena heard the sound of the men's voices and a clear treble between them. Then suddenly her window, which was half shut, swung open, and a child with sunny brown curls falling over her shoulders, dashed in.

"Granny Mactavish, I've come to tea with you!"

She stopped short at the sight of Rowena on her couch.

She was in a kilt which was wringing wet and dripped on the ground as she moved. But she held herself squarely and proudly, then doffed her bonnet like a boy.

"I didn't know there was anybody here."

"Come and speak to me," said Rowena, with her sunshiny smile. "I am not an old lady, only a prisoner."

The child looked up at her with bright interested eyes. "Who put you in prison?"

"An old man I call Niddy-Noddy."

"Oh, what a lovely name! Tell me about him. What's he like?"

"He speaks like this—"

Rowena drew in her lips till her mouth looked as if she had no teeth—she lowered her brows fiercely, and then nodded her head up and down very wisely.

"This child is wet. Take her clothes off, put her to bed, and a hot basin of bread-and-milk and a good sleep will prevent a chill."

The child's peal of delighted laughter rang through the room.

"Is that what he would say to me? Why, rain and water is nothing important to me! I get drowned nearly, over and over again."

"All the same you are making pools over my carpet. I must suggest that you have your kilt dried and then come and have tea with me. You can tell me then what possessed you to take a boat out on a day like this."

"I'll go to Granny in the kitchen."

She darted out as quickly and lightly as a bird. Rowena was always fond of children, and she felt strangely drawn to this little person. There was something in her small finely-cut face and blazing brown eyes which was very attractive.

"Why," said Rowena to herself, "she must be General Macdonald's neglected child! She speaks very good English. I had no idea she was so big."

It was some little time before Mysie returned, and when she did so she was wrapped round in one of Granny's red flannel petticoats. She seemed quite proud of her attire.

"My kilt is steaming like a kettle! It's filling the kitchen with its smoke! Granny has put it before the fire."

She was dancing round the room as she spoke; then caught sight of Shags, and sitting down on the floor, she took him on her lap and cuddled him.

"He is a bonny thing!" she cried.

"Do you know you might have been drowned this afternoon?" Rowena said gravely. "If I hadn't seen you through my glass and sent the boat out, what would you have done?"

Mysie looked up rather carelessly.

"Nan tells me I have nine lives like a cat. I am thinking Angus would have come after me. He's a Macdonald, you know, and loves Dad. It was really the oars' fault, they weren't able to beat through the waves prop'ly—and then they hurt my hands awful!"

She held up two little blistered palms.

"I took the boat when nobody was looking. I've never rowed all the way across by myself before, but I thought I could, only the wind came down and spoilt it all. Do you know what my name is?"

"Mysie."

"No—Flora Macdonald."

She put much importance into her tone.

"Do you know about the great Flora Macdonald? We belong to her family—and I was called Mysie Flora, but I like my friends to call me Flora. I mean to do something like she did when I grow up. If a prince doesn't come along, I must find somebody else. I'm hoping a prince—a real prince—may be hiding for his life one day, and then I shall go and help him."

Rowena did not laugh. Voice and face of the little speaker were so solemn.

"I hope you will succeed in your efforts," she said.

The little girl will chattered on.

"I live at the farm over there," she said, pointing out of the window. "It's half-way up the mountain. You can't see us, but we see you. Dad's house is nearly always shut up, but it's to be opened soon. He's coming home. The war made him very ill, and now he's coming for a long rest, Nan says. I'm going to try to manage to live with him, if I can. I think I should like to know him."

"You little old-fashioned piece of goods!" ejaculated Rowena. "Would you like to know me, I wonder?" Mysie nodded.

"I mean to. You'll let me come over and talk to you sometimes."

"Not if it means your rowing yourself across the loch."

"Oh, I ride round on Dibbie. He's the pony Angus uses for odd jobs. Do you know Sir Robert Fraser? He had some ponies on the hills and he said if I could catch one I could have it. But I was too frightened to do it. I always thought I might get hold of the water kelpie by mistake. Do you know about him?"

"I'm not sure that I do."

"Loch Tarlie used to be one of his haunts. Long ago when a Baron lived here, his only little boy and some others were playing about the loch, and they suddenly saw a beautiful little pony jumping about with saddle and bridle, and they tried to catch him and get on him; and they caught hold of his bridle and their fingers were glued to it, and they screamed, and the pony dashed for the loch and dragged them in. But the Baron's little boy knew about the water kelpie and he drew out his dirk and cut off his own hand, and the other boys were drowned and his hand with them, but he was saved."

Rowena made her eyes as big as Mysie's were whilst she narrated this horror.

"And is the water kelpie alive now to this day?" she asked.

"Well, I expect he is. When he's very well-known in one loch he goes to another—but I'm not going to let him catch me."

"Tell me some more stories," begged Rowena.

But Janet appeared with the tea, and the little girl turned her attention to the good things spread out before her.

"I like to know a prisoner," she said, munching a piece of cake thoughtfully; "there was a prisoner on a lake in Switzerland. We've got a picture of him. I think his name was Byron. Mr. Ferguson told me about him."

"You mean the prisoner of Chillon. Byron wrote about him. Who is Mr. Ferguson?"

"He's the schoolmaster over at Abertarlie. He teaches me lessons after school hours. Nan won't let me go to school with the other bairns—I'd like to. How long are you going to be in this prison, and is Niddy-Noddy a policeman?"

"I rather wish he was. Then I could run away from him. He's a wise old doctor who has tied me down to my bed, and told me to stay in it for a year! How would you like that? Never to be able to run about out-of-doors, or even change your room."

"It's horrible!" exclaimed Mysie. "Are you really tied to it?"

"By my honour," said Rowena.

"What's that?"

"Well, it's another word for duty. If you make a promise, you must keep it, or you lose your honour. And it's a mark of a true gentleman and lady to keep their honour unsoiled."

"I don't want to be either," said Mysie promptly. "I want to be a boy."

When tea was over Granny came in.

"I've been thinking, mem, it will be Anne Macdonald that will be anxious—an' Colin be drivin' for some corn—the t'other side o' the loch—and Mysie can just ride off wi' him."

Mysie made a grimace in the old woman's face.

"I'm all right here for a wee bit," she said.

But Granny was quite firm, she took her off to get into her kilt, which was dry by this time; and then brought her in to say good-bye to Rowena.

"You must come again soon and see me," Rowena said; "you've brightened up an hour for the poor captive."

Mysie laughed.

"And will you call me Flora?"

"Good-bye, Flora. Take care of yourself. We are going to be friends."

The little girl departed. Granny came in to talk about her when she had gone.

"Who teaches her such good English?" asked Rowena. "I pictured her a little heathen savage, brought up in a crofter's hut."

"Ah, indeed and indeed no! Anne Macdonald was a schoolmistress before she took service with the laird and his lady, a most superior young woman, and she took charge of the bairn from her birth. Ye see Angus have been the laird's gillie all his life for he was his father's gillie before him, an' Angus an' Anne made a match of it, an' then Angus got the sma' farm ower to Barncrassie, an' when the laird's leddy were in toon the bairn mad' her home wi' 'em. An' then Mrs. Macdonald died, an' the bairn have stayed wi' Anne ever since. She've paid a mighty lot o' attention to Mysie's manners and talk, an' in mony ways the little lassie has been bred more carefully than even wi' her own people—for the laird be a dour silent mon, an' when he's doon for a wee bit time has just shut himsel' awa' from all folk, an' come an' gone like a shadow on the wall!"

"And has he never troubled to see his child? What an unnatural father!"

Granny only shook her head hopelessly, and the conversation ended. Rowena began to look forward to seeing her small visitor again.

[CHAPTER III]

MYSIE MACDONALD

"O blessed vision, happy child,
Thou art so exquisitely wild,
I thought of thee with many fears
Of what might be thy lot in future years."
Wordsworth.

THREE days afterwards, Mysie made her appearance again.

Rowena found her very good company. She was full of Highland folk-lore and superstition; and was a combination of childish trust in the improbable, and old-fashioned sagacity and shrewdness.

"Have you ever seen any fairies?" she asked Rowena.

"I've heard about them," answered Rowena.

"Yes," sighed the child; "but all the nice things happened long ago. People say now that the fairies have gone away; I'm always watching for them. I went to Inverness one day with Nan. We saw two beautiful things there. One was the statue of Flora Macdonald with her dog—only I wish she'd had her kilt on—I believe she used to wear it when she was quite big! And the other was the Tom na hurisch. And when I saw that I said to myself I'd have one for everything that dies."

"What is it?" asked Rowena. "I have never seen Inverness."

"Tom na hurisch is the Fairies' Hill, and they've buried people all over it now. I hope the fairies like it. I think they like people's souls better than their bodies. You know it used to be rather dangerous for people to walk over their hills. They stole their souls out of them. A minister was found one day—at least his body was—and they thought he had had a fit; he wouldn't speak or look or eat, and they took him home; he had been walking round Tom na hurisch—and the fairies kept him out of his body for three days, and then they brought him back. I can't think why he couldn't have remembered what they did with him; he would never talk about it, but he would never go near a Tom na hurisch again—never—all his life long! I wish the fairies would take me one day."

"I would rather not have the experience," Rowena said, laughing. "Who tells you all these stories?"

"Oh, Angus—him and me, we walk over the hills together; and he talks and I listen. Nan laughs at his stories. Nan is an unbeliever! I lie down under the bracken sometimes and watch for the little folk, but I never see them. I thought I did once."

"You will one day! I wonder if you have heard the story of the laird out hunting. He was coming through his glen when he heard the most beautiful pipes playing; and he hid himself behind a tree; and he saw the fairies marching by, and their pipes playing as they went. The pipes shone in the sun, they were silver pipes with glass at the end of them. And the laird suddenly sprang out and threw his bonnet at them, and seized one of the pipes, calling out, 'Mine to yours, and yours to me!' And he wrapped the pipes up in his plaid and took them carefully home, and when he opened them there were some wisps of grass and a puff-ball at the end of them!"

Mysie listened breathlessly.

"Of course they wouldn't have been fairy pipes, if they hadn't been able to change. Fairies always play tricks like that. Did he never get his bonnet back again? I expect the fairies used it to sleep in. It would keep them warm on a wet night. Do tell me some more stories."

So Rowena produced all the fairy stories she could think of, and Mysie drank them in like water.

One day she arrived over in a breathless state of excitement.

"Dad is coming to-morrow. He has been ill since the war, and he's been from one hospital to another; and now he's well again, only he wants to get away from people, and have a rest and quiet. He told Nan so in a letter. She's to get the house ready, and she's not to tell anyone that he's coming."

"And here have you told me!"

"So I have! What a pity! But you're in your prison. I call you the prisoner of Tarlie. You won't tell anybody, will you? It's to be a secret. And I've quite made up my mind to get into his house and see him one day. I shan't mind if he points a pistol at me!"

"At his own child! Is he a pirate king?"

"No—but he's a Macdonald."

Here the child threw her curls back and raised her head almost haughtily. "Angus tells me stories of all that the Macdonalds have said and done. He is one himself, so he kens well. And they never let anyone defy them or get the better of them, and Dad doesn't want to see me. He has said it when Nan has asked him. He would like me swept away!" Here she threw out her small arms tragically. "But I mean to know him. I shall make him speak to me. I ought to be living in his house, not with Nan."

Rowena looked at her with wonder.

"You are growing," she said; "but you are still a baby in years, and your father knows it. Do you want to be sent to school? I suppose by rights you ought to be there now. I can't think how you have escaped the school authorities!"

"But I told you; I learn lessons with the schoolmaster."

"Oh, so you do; I had forgotten. Well, I hope you and your father will have a happy meeting."

With a little wistfulness in her eyes, Mysie went down on her knees beside Rowena's couch. Putting her arms round her neck she whispered:

"Do you think it could happen that he might love me?"

"I think it more than likely," said Rowena, kissing her as she spoke.

And then Mysie sprang up and danced out into the sunshine.

"I have ridden over to tell you, and now I am going back to Nan; for I am going to help her get his house ready."

Rowena lay on her bed looking out on the still blue and trying to recall the Hugh Macdonald she had once seen at her brother's table. It was long ago before he had married, and he was then a thin eager-faced youth, with stern features and a very decided will of his own. He had been abroad for a good many years since then. And his marriage had altered him, people said. She had a dim recollection of a walk round the loch after dinner; but she was quite a young girl at the time. He had not impressed her, except perhaps that he had been too old in his ideas her then.

"If he doesn't own that child, he ought to be ashamed of himself!" she muttered, and then a sudden restless fit took possession of her.

"I am like a mummy. I cannot stay indoors longer. It is breathless to-day. I will write to Noddy and demand release."

She wrote; and by return received 'the usual kind letter from the old doctor, saying that he had written to a local practitioner and had asked him to call and see her and give her his advice. The very next day the doctor appeared. He was a young man and arrived in his car, for he lived about fifteen miles away from her.

Rowena felt impatient as he put her through a regular catechism as to the beginning of the trouble.

"I have been pulled about by all the specialists in town," she said. "I was not going to give up my freedom without a struggle; but they one and all said the same thing—that I must lie on my back for at least a year. I am not rebellious about that; but I can lie on my back out-of-doors as well as indoors, and I am an out-of-door sort of person."

"There is not the slightest reason why you should not do it," the young doctor said decidedly; "didn't you say you had an invalid chair? Let me look at it."

"Mrs. Mactavish will show it to you."

He went out and was some time inspecting it. Then he came in.

"Your chair can be adapted easily to your needs. I know a clever young carpenter, and I'll send him over to tinker it up, and lower the back, till you can lie flat upon it; then you can be out all day."

"I want to vary my life, and sometimes lie out in the boat," said Rowena. "Can you manage that for me?"

"Easily. You must have a flat-bottomed punt and a mattress. Have you anyone who can carry you? We want to prevent the jar to your spine that would be the result of your putting your feet to the ground."

"I have two men who will manage that. Well—you have given me new life! I am very grateful."

Young George Sturt looked at her with a smile.

"I should say you enjoy every moment of your existence," he said, "from your looks."

"My looks are deceptive," Rowena assured him. "I am eaten up at times with an overwhelming envy for every one who can get about on his two legs. And I rage at my fate, and make myself furiously disagreeable to all who come my way."

He laughed, gave her a little sound advice and took his departure. Rowena seized hold of Shags and hugged him.

"Shags, my angel, you and I are going to be Dryads. Wet or fine we will live out-of-doors. My hopes are now fixed upon the carpenter; only I mustn't land poor Ted in too much expense over me. Otherwise I should wire to Glasgow for a flat-bottomed punt immediately. It's a pity we don't possess one."

But when she interviewed Duncan a little later, she was reassured on that point, for he told her he knew a man who owned one and who would be glad to hire it to her for the season.

Mr. Sturt was as good as his word. The carpenter appeared and in a couple of days had done all that was required to her chair. It was a happy moment when she was lifted upon it and wheeled out upon the lawn. The weather was perfect: still and warm with an occasional gentle breeze from the lake.

Rowena lay still, inhaling the sweet air in a state of blissful content. Granny was delighted to see her there; and for three days from nine o'clock in the morning till nine at night, Rowena enjoyed life in her cushioned chair. On the third afternoon about half-past three, just at the drowsiest time in the whole of that summer's day, a stranger walked briskly up the drive and rang at the front door. Rowena was fast asleep; she had neither seen nor heard his approach. She was roused by Granny's gentle voice at her side.

"If you please, mem, 'tis the laird himself—he hav' come over on a question about his shootin' at Tarlie Bottom. He was onawares any of the family were here, so maybe ye'll be answerin' him ye'self. It's wanting to know if it's let, he is."

"Is he here, Granny?" Rowena asked, rousing herself.

"He's waitin' i' the hoose."

"Then ask him to come out here."

In a few moments a tall dark-featured man was standing by Rowena's chair, looking down on her with pity and concern in his eyes.

Rowena held out her hand and smiled in her radiant fashion.

"I am an old crock, but I can talk if I can do nothing else. We do know each other, though it is many years since we met. May I welcome you back? You have been away a long time, have you not?"

"I remember you well," was his prompt reply. "I only saw you once, but your eyes haunted me. I have never seen such joyous ones since; and they are still the same. What has happened to you, may I ask?"

"A spill out riding."

"But you're not alone here? Where's your brother?"

"In India. I am carrying out my doctor's directions. I have no temptations in this quiet spot to evade them. Will you sit down?"

He took the garden chair close to her.

"I am sorry for you," he said with feeling in his tone, "I was a crock for eighteen months in hospital after 1915, so I know what bed is. I never left it for twelve solid months."

"That is my time—a year—and then I hope I shall be cured."

His whole face softened.

"Ah," he said, "when you've suffered yourself, you can feel for others."

"Yes—and I dare say I was in need of a more sympathetic spirit," said Rowena thoughtfully. "I have always laughed too much. I laugh at myself now. You want to know about our shooting. Ted has let it, I am afraid."

They began to talk over estate matters, and then about sport in general. He seemed in no hurry to go; and presently began to revert to his own state of health.

"I am only here to patch myself up," he said. "But they've chucked me out of the army—let me retire as Major-General. I suppose I ought to feel my life is over; but my brain is sound, and it makes me rage at times. What shall I do with myself here? Only vegetate."

"Oh, no; if you are a reader, you won't do that. It's wonderful how much fuller we can store our brains than we do! I cannot fill my empty cells fast enough! Have you any hobbies?"

He shook his head.

"I'm a reader of sorts. I couldn't have lived through my eighteen months without books."

Then Rowena said suddenly: "Have you seen your child?"

His brows contracted.

"No. I've told her nurse I'll see her in a day or two. I've been busy. Children aren't in my line."

"She's a little person of much character," said Rowena slowly. "I don't want to be an interfering meddler, but you'll gain by her acquaintance. I have."

He raised his eyebrows and then smiled.

"I am talking to you like an old friend. If you had been well and jolly, I should have cut and run. I have taken a dislike to my fellow-creatures, especially the sound and healthy ones. And to my disgust I'm nervy—children would get on my nerves. I'll see her when I feel fitter. You consider me an inhuman parent, I can see."

"No, only an ignorant one," said Rowena. "Your little daughter has made some of my worst days very bright."

"Women always worship babies."

"She is companionable, you will find."

His brows did not relax; he leant back in his chair and drew a long breath.

"Her existence brings back some bad times. Her mother hated me, you know. It was the first thing she said to me after the birth of the child. We couldn't pull together, though God knows I tried hard. And poor Evie was forced by her mother to marry me, I heard afterwards. Well, she didn't have a long time with me, poor soul!"

Then he pulled himself up. "I am getting garrulous. I don't generally give way to such personal reminiscences, but I want to explain my want of interest in the child. I was always told she was the picture of her mother."

"But my good man," said Rowena quickly, "bodies may resemble each other, but very seldom souls. And Mysie is—well, I will leave you to find out. This much I will tell you, that she is hungering for your interest and affection. Give her a chance—and yourself too."

He did not reply for a few minutes; then he said rather irrelevantly: "You say you're a reader. Have you enough books to keep you occupied? Because my father bequeathed to me a very fine library. I have been overhauling it and can lend you anything you want."

"Oh, how truly kind!"

With animation Rowena began discussing books, and half an hour slipped by before her visitor attempted to make a move.

He would not stay to tea. As he stood up, he looked down at Rowena with some softness in his grey eyes.

"You don't want to be bucked up," he said, "for you are the essence of cheerfulness. When I have my bad bouts of pain, I think of the thousands of paralysed bedridden young men who have had their health and strength taken from them with one fell swoop in the war, and feel an old crock like myself has no right to grouse. I have done my work, and am wanted by no one!"

"You are wanted by your child!" said Rowena firmly.

He gave a short laugh.

"What a pertinacious woman you are! Are you bored by visitors? May I walk over again, and bring you the books you want?"

"Yes, certainly. I shall be delighted. And then you can give me your impressions of Mysie!"

He departed, but Rowena gave a little sigh as she looked after him and noted the tired bend of his shoulders, and his rather uncertain steps.

"Poor lonely unhappy man!" she murmured. "Why, Shags, you and I must try to bring some zest for living into his soul. I rather fancy Mysie will have a say in that."

Shags cocked one ear and looked wise. He had already had some experience of Mysie. She had certainly contributed towards his pleasure, for she and he invariably had a romp together when she came over.

Two or three days passed. Then one morning Mysie arrived over on her pony. She threw herself upon Rowena in her usual impulsive fashion.

"Haven't you longed to see me! It's been such an exciting time! And I heard Dad say he was coming to see you this afternoon, so I thought I would get over first."

"Now sit up and tell me all about it from the very beginning," demanded Rowena.

"The beginning," said Mysie importantly, "was when Nan came back from the house and said I was to go up and see Dad in the morning. Of course I'd seen him lots of times before that, but I took care that he shouldn't see me. I wanted to find out if I'd like him for a father. I saw him with his gun, he shot two pigeons, and I clapped my hands once. I was behind a tree, and he looked round quickly, but he didn't see me. When Nan wanted to dress me up, I said, No—I would go in my kilt. I hate girls' frocks, and so I ran straight away from her, and walked into the house by myself. And fancy! It was eleven o'clock, and Dad was eating his breakfast!"

"And what did you say?"

"I said, 'Good morning, Dad; may I have some of your bacon?' and I sat down and he laughed, and gave me a big plateful, and told them to bring me a cup of coffee. And then he said:"

"'I don't know whether I'm looking at a boy or a girl,' and then I told him, very earnest, that I had a boy's heart and a girl's body, and then I gave him my present I had brought with me. It was two darling little trout I had caught the day before with Angus. And he was quite pleased and asked me whether I liked fishing, and I told him I liked everything he did, and so we settled up then that we would do things together, and then I told him he'd better let me have a bedroom in his house so that I needn't be running backwards and forwards all day long—and he said yes to that. After that we talked like anything. Why, he's almost as good to talk to as you are!"

"He must be good then!" said Rowena, laughing. "I think he is a delightful father to have, Flora."

"Oh, yes; and we talked about my name—he doesn't like the name of Flora. I said I'd rather be called Macdonald than Mysie, and he thinks he can manage to call me Mac. But he doesn't care to talk all day long, he says, so I've left him. I dare say he'll get used to me after a bit, but he finds me stranger than I do him, you know. For I've always talked to Angus—he's a man, of course, but Dad says he isn't used to children, and doesn't understand them!"

Mysie paused for breath; her eyes glowed as she went on:

"If Dad and I live together and do things together, I shall thank God truly! I've prayed to have a proper father since I was a baby. And after breakfast I went upstairs and told Dad the room I would like to sleep in. Nan says I can't leave her, and Dad doesn't mean it. But he and me mean it very certainly!"

"Ah," said Rowena, "I can see that you're going to have a real good time now. But don't worry a man when he's seedy. Your Dad will have days when he wants to be alone."

Mysie was too full of her own thoughts to take this in.

"I told him there was a prisoner on the loch and that I went to see her, and he seemed to guess at once, and he told Angus he was coming over here this afternoon."

Mysie chattered on: she described her father's appearance with minute details; she said she would like him best in a kilt and hoped he would soon wear it. And she finally departed apologizing for her short visit.

"I feel I don't want to stay away from him too long," she said; "in case he may forget me again."

In the afternoon General Macdonald appeared with his pockets bulging with books. Rowena received him and his books with much pleasure.

"I have seen my child," he said abruptly. "She is bigger and older than I thought. She means to take possession of me. I fancy she ought to be at school, ought she not?"

"Oh, don't worry over school just yet. Get to know her, and get her to know you. What do you think of her?"

He drew up a chair and sat down upon it. Rowena waited for him to speak, and he kept her waiting for three or four minutes, then he said slowly:

"I am a little afraid of her."

"What nonsense!"

"I am afraid of her personality. She does not mean to remain in the background. And when I came down here, a child did not enter into my calculations."

"But I really think she ought to have done so. May I congratulate you upon having such a child?"

He looked at her and smiled.

"I see she has won your heart. A man is handicapped when he has to train a girl child. And she wants training. If she had been a boy, I would have found the task easier."

"Oh, don't take her so heavily," said Rowena. "Let her trot round with you, and do things with you. She'll learn from your talk what is right and wrong."

"Will she? I'm a poor specimen at the best; and I know nothing of women and their ways."

"Bring her up as a boy, then," said Rowena, laughing at his forlorn tone. "She is, as she says, half a boy already. Don't act the heavy father. Of course she will have to be educated later on. But let her have a holiday with you now. Do you know she has prayed that she might have a 'proper father' from the time she was a baby? Don't disappoint her. And when she worries you, send her over to me. Shags and I understand her."

"May I smoke?" the General asked.

Rowena looked at him with laughter in her eyes, as he slowly produced a favourite pipe out of his pocket.

"I suppose," he said reflectively, "you can't mould children as you wish. They resist now, more than they used to do. I should like to mould her after the pattern of my mother. I don't want to have one of these self-assertive modern young women as my daughter, later on."

"I am afraid Mysie has too much character to be shaped into another person's mould. But she is warm-hearted, and if a girl loves, she can be governed through her love."

There was silence between them.

Then Rowena said:

"We might be two old spinster governesses sitting up and discussing the character of our pupils! Look over the loch at the afternoon shadows on the hills. Sweep your small daughter out of your mind for a moment or two—and tell me if that sky doesn't bring delight to your soul?"

General Macdonald gave a short quick sigh, but as he looked across the blue loch, the lines about his lips relaxed.

"Ah," he said, "it's good to get back to it again. There's no place like the Highlands in the world."

"To-morrow," said Rowena blithely, "I am going to extend my horizon. If you see a doubtful-looking craft upon the surface of the loch, it will be me, lying on my back in a flat-bottomed punt. We may fly a scarlet sail. Colin will be with me. But I assure you it will be a red-letter day in my life—therefore the red flag, you see!"

"I congratulate you. But don't put me off my child, for I assure you I hardly slept last night for thinking about her. Knocking about in hospitals, as I have done, I have seen all sorts and conditions of women. I have been bossed by some, and petted by others, and the audacity of some young women filled my soul with awe. Do you think that women—girls, I should say—ought to be trained to earn their own living, so as to be independent of our sex? As I heard some of the nurses declaiming against their dull homes, I gave a thought sometimes to their dull old parents. I shall be one of them when my girl grows up. How can I expect her to stay at home with me, if all the young world is out and away from their homes?"

"By the time Mysie is grown-up the swing of the pendulum will be back the home way again," said Rowena. "I have had great longings for work, you know, and tried to break away from my brother's house more than once. I did leave them for eight months once, but was called back again by my sister-in-law's serious illness. Nothing will keep a girl at home if she wants to leave it, except circumstances. As I say, be a chum and companion to Mysie and she'll never want to leave you, until a possible husband turns up. She is prepared to idealize and worship you. Let her do it, and do, if you want to win her heart quickly, call her 'Flora'!"

General Macdonald laughed.

"Ah, we've fallen out already over that. 'Mysie' was my mother's pet name."

"Then keep it sacred," said Rowena, "and call your small girl by the name she adores and loves!"

They talked on; gradually Rowena got his mind upon other subjects. When he left her, he gripped her hand until she could have cried with the pain of it.

"You have helped me enormously," he said. "I am not going to fight shy of my responsibility as a father any longer."

"Shags," said Rowena, taking hold of a golden brown ear, "am I a hundred years old? Is it always the role of a person on her back to dole out advice to her visitors? Am I, a single woman, to occupy my leisure thoughts in studying a child's character, and the suitable training for her? I am going now to read the most frivolous book I have by me, just to forget the moralities and gravity of life, and to imagine myself a young dog like yourself."

[CHAPTER IV]

THE BIRTHDAY GIFT

"A glory gilds the sacred page,
Majestic like the sun
It gives a light to every age;
It gives, but borrows none."
Cowper.

ROWENA was moved into her boat the next day. And the sun shone down upon her in real friendliness. Of course Shags accompanied her; and for a couple of hours Colin rowed her over the loch; then, feeling she must not take him longer from his work in the garden, she made him moor the boat to the side of the small landing pier, and there, with her hands dabbling in the cool water, Rowena lay and meditated, and read for another couple of hours. She hardly knew which she liked best, the motion or the stillness.

Granny came out at tea-time and suggested her moving in.

"I could stay here for ever and ever!" exclaimed Rowena. "What is it about the loch that sends such peace and rest into one's soul?"

"It's the still waters," said Granny. She murmured to herself, "'He leadeth me beside the still waters.'"

Rowena never took any notice when the Bible was quoted to her.

"Couldn't I lie here all night?" she said.

"'Deed, an' no, ye will not do that, mem. An' wha would say hoo lang this stillness would be! A storm would come on, and then where would ye be? A helpless leddy, solitary in the nicht!"

"Oh, Granny, what a description! Well, this helpless body must be moved in to bed, I suppose. I can look forward to to-morrow."

But the next day was cold and wet. Rowena by this time was accustomed to the Highland weather. She had a small wood fire made in her green room, and with her books and rug-making spent a very pleasant day. Between four and five the rain ceased and the sun shone out. And soon after five, a motor full of people drove up to the door. It was Lady Fraser, their nearest neighbour. She had brought her daughter and niece over, and two young friends of theirs.

Rowena was not sure whether she liked them pouring in upon her, but she knew it was real friendliness and good nature that brought them.

"We heard of your accident, and your brother told my husband before he went to India that you would be staying here on the quiet for the summer; so we promised him we would look after you, and prevent you from being dull."

Lady Fraser paused at the end of this speech.

"We hoped you might have been able to come over to us, perhaps. We did not know you were a real invalid."

"I am a prisoner for a year," said Rowena cheerfully, "and I am taking fresh views of life. It's astonishing what a different environment does for one. I shall be delighted to see you when you have time to come over, but I cannot return your visits."

"There seem so many invalids now," said Lady Fraser with a sigh. "There is Hugh Macdonald. We heard he had returned home, and wrote asking him to dinner to-morrow, He replied that he was not well enough to go anywhere; but my son George saw him fishing yesterday and he had a child with him. I suppose it is his little girl. I should think she ought to be educated. He has let her run wild since her mother's death. Well, I am truly sorry for you, my dear. I should think it a deadly existence here by yourself. But you say you don't mind."

The girls were full of commiseration. They had always regarded Rowena before as being great fun, and very sporting. She felt that, though they did not put it into words, her invalid life at present formed a gulf between her and their pleasure-loving souls.

"It's so tiresome," said Katie Fraser; "so many of the men are grumpy now like General Macdonald. George is very much the same himself—says tennis and games are boring, and fatigue him. He likes to moon about and go off alone with the keepers."

"My dear," said Lady Fraser, "you forget how ill he has been."

"And the horrors he has gone through," said Rowena slowly. "Forgetfulness is not easy to them all."

"Oh, we will teach them to forget," laughed one of the girls. "They must have a good time now, to make up for all they have lost."

"We're going to get up a pastoral play the end of August," said Lady Fraser; "there will be more people down here then. I do hate the empty time up here, don't you?"

"Well, I'm looking forward to spend the winter here," said Rowena.

They screamed at that statement.

"You can't! Nobody lives here in the winter. You had better be buried at once."

"Why, you will have no neighbours at all! All the houses are shut up!"

"I shall have the minister and his mother; the doctor; Granny Mactavish and her niece, and I can tick off five farms round our loch which will not be shut up! You seem horror-stricken, but I mean to cultivate my neighbours, whoever they may be, if they will be good enough to cultivate me!"

Lady Fraser shook her head at her. "You are joking at our expense! Your eyes betray you!" Her girls were mute, but they looked at Rowena pityingly.

They did not stay very long. She watched them drive off, with a grim smile, and said to Shags:

"We understand now, Shags, how unpleasant perfectly strong healthy people are to the sick. I don't wonder that Hugh Macdonald has taken a dislike to them. I suppose it is their pity which makes me grind my teeth. I always think there's a bit of contempt mixed up with it. Now I am perfectly certain I shan't be troubled with the Frasers much, and how they used to live here last summer! What fun we did have! It is a deadly existence, of course, but content is creeping over me, and I shall not be disturbed."

She returned to her books, but a restless wave passed over her; then she called Granny to the rescue, and a talk with her restored her equanimity of mind.

The next day was windy; she was unable to be in her boat, but she was able to lie out in her chair. And in the afternoon, who should appear but Mysie and her father! They were riding. Mysie's face was glowing with happiness and importance. Her father looked as grave and imperturbable as ever. Mysie in her usual impulsive fashion flung herself upon Rowena.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you again! And such quantities have happened! Dad doesn't think I'm bad for my age! He really doesn't. I caught a bigger fish than him yesterday morning. We went out in all the rain and did it! And do tell me, were you lying in your boat the day before yesterday? I looked through Dad's glasses and thought I saw you. And may I come by your side in my boat and then I'll tie you up to me and tow you? It will be fun!"

Rowena let her chat on for a few moments undisturbed, then she said:

"Look here, Granny is longing to see you and hear about your doings. Will you go into the kitchen, and ask her to make some of her nice drop scones for tea?"

"Oh, she'll let me help her, I know she will."

Off Mysie darted. Her father looked relieved.

"How are things going?" Rowena asked.

"Rather fast," he said with a flicker of a smile. "We have had one combat of wills already, but I made up my mind beforehand that I would be boss. And she has been more subdued since."

"May I hear about it?"

"It was a question of friction between her and my housekeeper, Mrs. Dalziel. The child marched into her kitchen and helped herself liberally to some of the contents of the store cupboard. Mrs. Dalziel remonstrated, and was told to mind her own business, that Miss Mysie was mistress, and meant to be, or words to that effect. I heard such a shindy that I went out and found them going at each other hammer and tongs, so I called upon the culprit to beg Mrs. Dalziel's pardon at once. This she refused point-blank to do and tossed her head, saying, 'A Macdonald never owns himself in the wrong, Angus told me so.' I told her Angus could go to blazes as far as I cared, but if I told her to do a thing, do it she must, whether she liked it or not. This was a bitter pill to swallow and she held out for two hours. I told her I would allow her half an hour's more grace, and if it wasn't done by that time, her box should be packed and she should be returned to Anne's keeping. She went straight away to Mrs. Dalziel and peace was made. Then she came to me."

"'Have I to beg your pardon too, Dad?'"

"'What for?'"

"'For not doing what you wanted at once.'"

"'No; I don't want words, only deeds,' I said. 'A soldier's daughter must learn prompt obedience from all her superiors.' Then she wanted to know who her superiors were, and she got me into a fog, for it seems Angus and Mrs. Dalziel don't hit it off, and she wanted to know if she was to obey both of them when they 'said the opposite'!"

"'You'll take your orders from me,' I said, giving it up. And I think she's learnt her first lesson."

"How I should like to have seen you together," Rowena said with her happy laugh.

"Now we'll dismiss the child," he said somewhat peremptorily. "Did you enjoy your boat the other day?"

"So much. And I enjoyed this all the better when I came back to it. Change is good for most folk, I suppose. I had a visit from the Frasers yesterday. They were horrified to think I should be meditating spending the winter here."

"They would be. But I wonder if you will do it."

"Yes, I will," Rowena said, a shadow seeming to fall across her bright eyes. "What a lot of thinking I shall do! I have done a good bit already."

He looked up quickly at her.

"Tell me some of your deductions."

"Oh, they are not very original. The mystery of life, and of sadness and gladness. I have begun to have a glimmer of light. There may be some good in our awful experience of the past four or five years. Somehow or other a character without any gravity in its composition has lost its attractiveness to me. The Fraser girls jarred upon me. They do resent and despise those who will not dance to their pleasure. Does it mean that this forced seclusion of mine is making me jump into the solid impassive state of old age?"

He did not answer. Then she asked him somewhat wistfully:

"Have you made any useful deductions during your convalescence?"

He answered her by asking an apparently irrelevant question.

"Did you ever meet Cuff Mackenzie? He was in the Scots Guards, and my regiment lay with his for some considerable time at the Front. Forgive a personal remark, but your eyes remind me of his, except perhaps that there was a graver light in his. A serenity that used to baffle me. He was shot, poor chap, close by my side. I helped carry him into his trench, and he only lived an hour. But he bequeathed me a legacy, and said with his dying breath that it was a key to the present history of the world. He asked me to study it. So I have been doing it. His copious notes on the margins have given me the clue to doing it. And I am intensely interested."

"It's a book? What's the name? Who's the author?"

"Oh, we all possess a copy of it. It's the Bible."

"The Bible!"

Rowena looked amused.

"Do you know, I don't possess a Bible! Granny was quite shocked. She has placed a fat black one on my chest of drawers. I used one at school, but somehow I lost it, and never replaced it. It has never come into my calculations. Of course one hears it in church."

"Mackenzie was very keen on prophecy. He got half the fellows in the Mess hanging on his words one night. He told them that Allenby's victory in the East was a triumphant fact for all Bible students, and proved it. I was there, and since I've owned his well-worn copy, I've been discovering a good deal."

"I thought the Bible was quite out of date in these days," said Rowena. "Even the preachers in London were always putting their knife into it, and trying to prove that most of it was fable."

"Yes, I suppose it's the way of the world. Well, I recommend it to you for study this next winter. You'll find yourself stepping into another world altogether before you've done with it."

"Is that your experience?"

General Macdonald gazed rather dreamily over the loch in front of him, then he turned, and Rowena saw a shining, steadfast light in his dark eyes.

"Yes, I've stepped into another environment," he said; "and it's a very good sort of one, I can tell you."

Rowena was silent.

Then Mysie made her appearance. She was munching a cake, but approached Rowena in a mysterious manner.

"I know something," she said.

"So do I," said Rowena, "many things."

"Ah, but this is an event."

Then in rather a loud whisper she asserted:

"I know when your birthday is. The day after to-morrow. Granny is going to make a special cake for it—she's told me so."

Rowena laughed.

"Granny still treats me as if I were six years old. Will you come to tea with me and taste it, Flora?"

The child clapped her hands, then turned to her father with old-fashioned politeness.

"Could you do without me on Friday do you think, Dad?"

"I fancy I might," said her father gravely.

They did not stay longer. Rowena lay still after they had gone, and mused upon what General Macdonald had told her.

"I knew there was something underneath his tired tones. I don't think I have ever met a religious man before. He will be an interesting study, won't he, Shags? But he will be shocked at my sceptical outlook. I rather wish I could believe in the other fuller life after death. But this world is the main one to me. He has stepped into another environment already, he says. It sounded quite uncanny. And yet—and yet—oh, Shags, I do feel a little more responsible and intelligent than you. I don't quite think you and I will merit the same end! No wonder he has grave views about Mysie's future! I fancy she will lead him a dance before he has done with her. But he and his Bible together won't make me give up his friendship. I enjoy listening to him. He has one of the pleasantest voices I've heard for a long time; and he isn't too sanctified yet! For he had one wicked outburst to his child! Oh, Shags, you and I together must keep him as near our world as we can—I can't afford to lose him. He and I are both crippled crocks, and the mad world doesn't need us. I'll talk to him about the Koran next time and see what he has to say to that!"

On Rowena's birthday Mysie appeared in the full glory of a new kilt—the dress Tartan of the Macdonalds.

"Dad got it in Inverness," she said, showing herself off with pride. "He took me there by train yesterday. We had such a day! But I'm going to wish you a happy birthday, and give you a beautiful present. I bought it for you myself yesterday, all by myself."

She put into Rowena's hands a parcel. Then danced up and down in excitement whilst it was being opened.

"I knewed you were fond of books," Mysie's grammar was not always correct. "So I went into a book shop and asked the man what was the best book in the world for anybody who loved reading. He thought hard and then he got me this—at least it was the same book, but I chose a prettier cover. It's the best book in the world, so you're sure to like it."

Rowena opened the parcel. A beautiful little dark red leather Bible lay inside.

She looked up at Mysie with a mixture of curiosity and pleasure in her eyes.

"My dear little Flora What can I say? It's beautiful! I suppose your Dad had a hand in choosing it?"

"He didn't know nothing about it, till I'd brought it home. It was the shopman who showed it to me."

"It's a wonderful gift and a remarkable coincidence," said Rowena thoughtfully.

"I suppose it's what they read in church," said Mysie. "Dad said it was a present fit for a queen. I couldn't have done better, he said. And one day he's going to give me one. Have you got one of any kind? I hope you haven't, but I know Granny Mactavish has. But it isn't red leather like this, is it?"

Rowena put her arm round her and kissed her.

"Thank you a thousand times, Flora darling! I will keep this till I die."

"And what did you call it, not a Bible, but an unmarkable concordance, didn't you?"

"That's near enough," laughed Rowena.

Then they had tea, and Granny's birthday cake was much appreciated. Mysie, of course, was full of the subject of birthdays.

"When is God's birthday?" she asked suddenly. "Does the Bible tell you? I know Jesus' birthday is Christmas Day. I should like to know God's birthday, if He lets people know. He must be very, very, very old."

Rowena was never shocked by Mysie's questions.

"God Almighty has no birthday, for He was never born. There never was a time when He did not exist. But don't puzzle your head over that mystery. Let us talk of other things."

"Dad's birthday is in November," said Mysie after a moment's pause. "Mine is in November too. Isn't that funny? Mine is on the 10th. His is on the 20th. Will you be here on our birthdays? Do you think you could come to tea with us? You could come across the loch in your fiat boat. That would be fun, wouldn't it? And we'd have a birthday cake as good as Granny's."

"We must wait and see. I dare say I shall be here, but the fairies may have wafted you off somewhere before November. Perhaps to school."

"Ah," said Mysie, shaking her head, "Dad talks about school, but the fairies and I may manage something better. I'll go round one of their hills; if you go nine times the wrong way, at sunset, I think, you'll find a door leading you inside. And if I once go inside I shan't come back for years and years!"

"That would be a pity. I shouldn't do anything that would make you into a prisoner."

"Would I be a prisoner? Well then, I should find a way to escape. That would be most exciting."

"I would rather try school."

"Would you? But I couldn't live away from the Highlands, I should die. The great Flora didn't go to school. She had governesses. I know all about her."

"Oh, yes, she did go to school. I have a life of her here," said Rowena.

"Then Angus told me wrong. Perhaps I will go to school then—only I must come back for all the holidays."

Mysie sat and talked, then she had a romp with Shags, and departed about seven o'clock.

"I have to be back by eight, Dad said so. He's a very particular man. Angus says it's because he's a soldier."

Rowena lay thinking after Mysie had left her. The advent of the red Bible had not altogether pleased her.

"I suppose, Shags, it means that I shall have to read it, but as to studying it, I shouldn't have the faintest notion how to set about it. I think I'll wait till I see the General again. He may be able to give me a tip about it. Is it a case of thought telepathy between father and child, I wonder?"

[CHAPTER V]

FRIENDLY TALKS

"Faith alone is the master-key
To the strait gate and narrow road,
The others but skeleton pick-locks be,
And you never shall pick the locks of God."
Walter Smith.

ROWENA did not see her friends for ten days, for a week of storm and rain set in, and she managed to catch a cold which settled on her chest, and forced her to remain indoors and be nursed by Granny. She was solaced by a budget of Indian letters, and she straightway replied to her brother:

"DEAR OLD TED,—"
"It was good to see your fist again. I am as hoarse as a raven, and Granny has got full possession of me. You know what a dragon she is. I suppose the knowledge of her superior power keeps her from feeling the pellets of abusive epithets with which I pelt her! Shags, my devoted one, lies at the bottom of my bed, ready for the least spark of fun that can be got out of his mistress. He and I, of course, hold long conversations together. I don't know which speaks most intelligently—his stumpy tail, his two wicked little ears, or his sparkling brown eyes. I sometimes wish humans had that eighth sense, a tail! It would give one away too much, I expect! I often wonder whether it is entirely under Shags' control or whether it gives an independent wag of its own on occasions. If so, it must be rather unpleasant to poor Shags."
"Well, I must try to write sober sense if I can. I congratulate you on your polo match. I sometimes get a strong yearning to leave my prison, and get some movement into my slow torpid existence. No—I am not torpid. I feel my brain is keener than ever. You will laugh at a literary effort of mine. I was reading a minister's account of his village, historically, botanically, geologically, and legendarily. So I've started a book on our loch and neighbourhood, and I can't tell you what an interest it is. I have routed out some of your old books here, and I've sent to Mudie's for a few more, and I hope to borrow some from Hugh Macdonald, who has become quite friendly. I can see he thinks me harmless, so has accepted my friendship accordingly. I am also getting hold of a lot of old folk-lore from Donald, who, though grimly sceptical of certain traditions, holds others fast and firm. The Frasers are here, and have paid me one visit. I don't think they will trouble me much. Granny told me this morning that the pretty cottage at the top of our glen has just been taken by a single lady, a Miss Falconer. She is a connection of the Grants, Granny says. I don't know where she gets her information from! Our garden here is a dream. Colin is a good hard-working boy. Picture our herbaceous border a riot of pink and white and blue colour. The phloxes are luxuriant, so are the delphiniums. And our roses go on and on, blooming for ever! I lie here and enjoy nature, and I'm learning an awful lot about the birds and insects. Hugh Macdonald has quite adopted his child, and amuses me by his high ideas of training and education. She is too independent for him. He said to me the other day: 'But she's a girl—why is she so assertive, and so strong-willed and fearless?' I reminded him that our sex is that way inclined nowadays, and he must make the best of it. But he didn't see it. I think she wakes him up and keeps him lively. Anne has given up the charge of her rather unwillingly, but still keeps a motherly eye on her, and there is jealousy between her and his housekeeper."
"This won't interest you. Oh, Ted, do you, from the depths of your heart, believe that I am going to be a sound member of humanity again? I am beginning to doubt it. My spinal cord has gone to smithereens! I can't sit up for five minutes without feeling it, and it makes me rant and roar against fate in general."
"This is the lament of Brer Tarrypin 'Loungin' round an' sufferin'.' If you were to walk in at this moment, you would grin broadly, and tell me that I know how to do myself! For I'm in my green room with a cheerful wood fire. Bowls of flowers are everywhere, and an appetizing lunch of beef-tea and crisp toast has just appeared and I've written myself into a smiling humour again. My fits of depression don't last long. I'm as happy as I can be away from you all. Good-bye—a thousand kisses to the bunch of you."
"ROWENA."

As Rowena was finishing this letter, Granny came into the room.

"'Tis the minister and his mither called to speir for ye. I telled them ye were just lyin' by, and wud na' be seein' folk for a wee bit."

"Oh, I should like to see Mrs. Macintosh. I promise not to talk more than I do to you, Granny. Don't be a dragon. Bring her in."

Granny shook her head doubtfully; but presently ushered in the visitor, raising a warning finger at her as she did so.

"Ye'll no mak' me young leddy force her speech. She micht bring on inflammation o' the lungs an' throat, for she's sair vexed wi' hoarseness just noo."

"My dear, I am sorry for you," said Mrs. Macintosh, taking the seat Granny had placed for her. "I have been long in coming, but I have been laid up for six weeks with a severe bout of my enemy, rheumatic-gout, and am only just able to get about again."

"Bodies are troublesome items," said Rowena; "but I'm quite convalescent again. Granny makes the worst of me, for she dreads my going out-of-doors before I'm perfectly well. Tell me all the news of the neighbourhood, and I'll lie and listen. I quite understand how bedridden folk are entranced to hear that there has been a quarrel between Mr. and Mrs. Black, and that Mr. White's cat has stolen Mrs. Green's cream, and that Billy Smith saw John Wood and Mary Tibbs walking out together! Tell me all and everything that has happened to the outside world since I left it."

Mrs. Macintosh laughed.

"It is so easy to gossip," she said; "and I'll do it with a right good will. Of course the first bit of news is that the Macdonald child is living with her father. They have been to the kirk every Sabbath, and very well behaved the little lassie is. But she stopped Robert last Sabbath when she saw him come out of the kirk."

"'Do be a wee bit shorter next Sunday, will you,' she said with her mischievous eyes gleaming with fun. 'I get pins and needles in my legs, and Dad requires that I should keep still. He says a fidgety neighbour is worse than a fidgety horse.'"

"We are wondering what her father will do with her in the way of learning. Robert called on him the other day, and was very pleased with his visit. It seems the laird is keenly interested in prophecy, and Robert's soul is full of it. They talked for three or four hours."

"They would," said Rowena, laughing.

"And I suppose you have heard of the new arrival?" Mrs. Macintosh went on. "It is a Miss Falconer at Glen Cottage. I went over to see her and she has been once or twice to us. She is very friendly. A sweet-looking young woman. It seems that she is very clever. Has been to Girton and is a B.A., and for some time taught in one of the big English High Schools. Then she had a bad illness and has never been very strong since. She came in to a little money, and determined to get a cottage somewhere up here. Her mother was a Grant, she is well connected. She loves the quiet and seclusion here, but longs to be busy. I was talking about the Macdonald child and she begged me to ask the laird if she could teach his little daughter. She said she would prefer to walk over to the house every day and give her as many hours' tuition as he thought necessary, for in that way she would get air and exercise. So I broached the subject to the laird, and he is going to think it over. It does seem the very thing for the child, does it not? Robert is hoping the laird means to settle down here. It will be so good for the place and the people."

"I always feel I'm back in the feudal times when I'm over here," said Rowena. "You are all so devoted to your chief. I think I should like to know Miss Falconer. I wonder if she would waive ceremony and come and see me?"

"I am sure she would be delighted to do so. May I tell her?" Mrs. Macintosh continued to give her all the local news, then when she declared she had got to the end of it, she said:

"And now I am going to ask you a favour. We have a little sale of work every year for parish needs. Will you do one of your beautiful rugs for it?"

Rowena pursed up her mouth.

"I never, on principle, do any work for bazaars."

"May I ask what the principle is?"

Rowena laughed.

"You've driven me into a corner—on the principle of selfishness I always refuse—because in town there's a never-ending stream of charity bazaars, and if you work for one, you must work for all."

"And you think if you work for us, you will be worried by other people?"

"I suppose I must say 'yes' to you; but I really was going to stop my rug-making. I'm doing something so much more interesting. I'm writing a book."

"You are writing? How delightful!"

"I'm making a history of Abertarlie and its glen and loch."

Mrs. Macintosh forgot her sale of work and became quite enthusiastic.

"Robert could help you; he has legends and folk-lore at his finger ends. Oh, my dear, may I tell him? He will be so interested and pleased."

"Tell him to give me information about the kirk and all the ministers there. Wasn't there a certain Hamish McGregor who drew his sword in the pulpit, hearing a fray going on outside, shouting, 'My text is, "In the name of the Lord I will destroy them." Brethren, we will carry this precept into practice immediately,' and down the kirk he flew, the whole congregation after him, and the next moment he and they were fighting for all they were worth with the rival clan?"

"Oh, yes, I have heard that story. May I bring Robert in to see you? He may have reference books he could lend you."

"Bring him in, but don't tell Granny. After all it is a minister's business to visit his sick parishioners."

So Robert came in, and he and Rowena talked about Abertarlie with great zest and interest.

Mrs. Macintosh left them together and went out to see Granny in the kitchen. Just before Robert left, his eyes fell on Rowena's little red Bible which was lying on her table. He looked quite pleased and put his hand gently upon it.

"I'm so glad you read this," he said.

"But I don't. I never have. That absurd child Mysie gave it to me for a birthday present. I always consider it so out of date. Isn't it audacity on my part to speak so to a minister?"

The young man shook his head at her with a smile.

"It's the fashion of the world to talk so," he said; "but these are days in which this out of date Book surprises all who study it, by its accurate prophecy. Its truth and inspiration are being proved up to the hilt. Do you know, I put down all the unrest and godlessness of our country to the neglect of the Word of Life, and the Lamp to our feet!"

"Ah, yes; I knew you would speak so; but then it is your profession to place it highly. You see I have studied other religious textbooks. The Koran—the writings of Confucius and of Socrates, and Mrs. Eddy's book of Christian Science. The Bible is only one of many."

"I deny that."

The young minister spoke hotly.

"Those other works may appeal to the intellect, to the head, but the Bible is the only book that reaches the heart, and wins the love of its readers for the Author of it. The books you mention lay down moral laws, but they don't give you the secret for keeping them; they don't bring peace and happiness to an aching restless soul."

"I think Christian Science does," said Rowena slowly.

"Self-hypnotism," said Robert curtly. "Ignoring facts does not efface them. And I have seen the breakdown of their faith stagger and distress poor souls to the extent of making them unbelievers of everybody and everything!"

"You are severe. We won't have an argument. I like you much better when you are talking about fairies' mounds and folk-lore!"

Robert smiled and said no more.

When he and his mother had gone, Rowena put out her hand for her red Book.

"Well, I must make a beginning. I'll read the New Testament through. I don't expect I shall find anything fresh in it. I'll take a chapter a day. Shags, I don't like young ministers. They are so dogmatic. I wonder if the laird will talk in the same strain. I shall test him when he comes next time."

General Macdonald came over to see her the first day she was out again on her couch beneath the shady trees on the lawn. He expressed his regret at her bad cold, and settled down to smoke and talk like an old friend.

"I really think I've fixed up Mysie's education," he said. "A most charming young woman has arrived in these parts, a full-fledged and certificated teacher. She's not obliged to teach, but she loves it, and she's started coming over to give the child lessons every day from nine to one. Have you made her acquaintance yet?"

"No. I've heard about her. She makes a favourable impression upon everybody. I am quite anxious to see her. You do seem lucky. Is she fond of children?"

"I should think so. She's fond of teaching—the two go together. She has great ideas about education. I could hardly follow her, after a certain time. But her heart and soul are in it."

"And how does Mysie like her?"

"I have not asked. She's too critical—that child. She began at once to say she didn't like people who smiled when they said nasty things. I shut her up. Told her that governesses were not to be criticized. That they were to be respected and obeyed. And then what do you think she said?"

"Something to the point, I expect."

"'When I grow up, I shall trample obedience to the ground, and do all the things I'm told not to do now.' What do you think of that for a child of nine?"

"Oh, she means nothing. It's a fit of petulance. I used to talk like that when I was young."

"You are very comforting," he said with a grave smile. "I would like Mysie to grow up like you."

"Oh, never!" cried Rowena. "You don't mean it. I hope she'll do something more with her life than I have with mine. I have never done so much introspecting in all my days as I have since I've been on my back. I've been too busy and one just lives without questioning the whys and wherefores of life. But I'm beginning to see I haven't much to show for my years of life, so far."

"How do you regard life?" asked General Macdonald.

"Not as seriously as you do," said Rowena promptly; then laying her hand on her red Bible, she added, "nor half as seriously as this Book would have us do. I am a frivolous, careless person by nature."

"How are you getting on with the study of it?"

"What? My Bible? Oh, I haven't begun to study it. I am reading it. Well, I haven't answered your question. I think I regard life as a journey in which we are bound to help our fellow-travellers by the way, and keep a cheery heart. That's my creed. At least it was, but now I'm beginning to think I might have contributed towards bettering the bad conditions that exist."

"And the end of the journey?"

Rowena shrugged her shoulders.

"An unknowledgeable finish, I am afraid. You know I don't regard the Bible as you do. It is one of many religious textbooks."

"Yes, that was my belief; but Cuff Mackenzie knocked that on the head. His life was a living vital force—inspired by what he got out of the Bible. And he was one of the best chaps going. I have now proved what he did: that it solves all life's puzzles, and brings one into touch with a glorious new world, and a certain hope, and a mighty Power."

"Anything more?"

General Macdonald turned steady, glowing eyes upon her.

"It makes one acquainted with the Saviour of the World." Rowena was absolutely silent for some moments, then she said:

"I wonder if I shall get out of it what you do?"

"I dare say you will get more."

"You see," she said somewhat wistfully, "it is only since I have had so much time alone that I have begun to think. But I don't feel, even now, that I am dissatisfied or want more than I can get. I mean I don't need the Bible as a prop or guide."

"Perhaps you have never had a flash of light showing you our cause of existence."

"I haven't. I think the only thing I was born for was to be kind to Ted."

General Macdonald was silent. Then Rowena suddenly turned the subject, and told him of her attempt at literature. He was interested at once.

"I'll lend you our clan book. As this is our part of the world, there's a lot of local information in it. I congratulate you on the idea. When one is on one's back, writing is an immense resource. It is even better than reading for taking away from oneself."

"Have you done anything in that way yourself?"

"Yes, I have done a few articles for magazines—chiefly military subjects. I believe I have a book on the lochs of this part. Would you care for it as a reference?"

"I should be charmed. I envy you your library! Being shut up for the greater part of the year, this house does not own many books."

General Macdonald looked at her thoughtfully.

Rowena was always good to look at. Her face was extraordinarily alive with interest and emotion. One of her friends said that her soul seemed to be leaping forth from her body. Now, as she lay back among her cushions, there was a magnificent energy and force in every feature of her face.

She drew a long breath.

"Oh, it's good to be learning new things," she said. "This small attempt of mine has taught me so much of this dear place! By the by, do you know our new young minister? He is very interested in all local history, and has the superstitious soul of the Highlander in spite of his religion."

"I have met him and like him. I lent him an old book of mine the other day, written by one of those early divines, and its quaint phraseology pleased me. I copied a bit out for you. Tell me how you like it?"

General Macdonald produced a notebook out of his pocket and read the following:

"I walk the world now with the World's Creator."
"He opens many doors for me. One door I fain would have open,
but He opens it not. I know He will do it on the Great Surprise day,
and till then I wait patiently and serenely, being assured verily
that were I to have all doors unlocked now, I should lose that
goodly champion Hope."
"This one closed door has many crowds about it. Some tamper with the
lock and endeavour to spy through the keyhole. They do not endeavour
long, but depart with high head and pouting lips; saying that
because of their inability to see through to the other side, there
remaineth no other side at all."
"And others sit down and weave imaginary conceits about it which
they pass on proudly to the unimaginative ones."
"And I, with my hand in the Almighty one, have learned and am
still learning daily how to love the Unseen Presence which leads
and surrounds me."
"I know His keys will be used as He sees fit."
"And one day that last door shall be opened to me."
"Till then I am content to smile and trust and wait."

"I like it," said Rowena emphatically. "It is sound philosophy. I have no patience with those who have cravings for the moon. Nor do I wish just yet to attain all my desires. Hope is a goodly companion. I suppose this experience is yours. You told me a new world had opened out to you and taken possession of you."

"It's my aim to make it mine," General Macdonald said slowly. Then he gave a short laugh. "Meanwhile I think great thoughts, and lose my temper at the least provocation! I nearly swore at the child this morning! Her continual motion gets on my nerves. Thank goodness Miss Falconer will keep her quiet for half every day now. She's an ideal companion when one wants to lounge or laze, but not when one wants to read and attend to business matters. And in the early morning I'm testy and crusty—always have been."

"I do like you when you're human," said Rowena, laughing. "Why is it that absolutely perfect people never appeal to one? I suppose one likes to be surprised. The dead monotony of the virtuous good ..."

He put out his hand as if to stop her.

"Don't!" he said. "There's no chance of monotony with the best people in the world! They ought always to be rising higher."

Rowena gave a little groan.

"I hope you won't try to rise to a higher plane than your present one. You are quite far-away from me as it is."

He shook his head.

"Have you heard of the Hermit of Abertarlie? You ought to bring him into your book."

"No, do tell me."

"He made himself a hut at the bottom of the glen. If you look opposite you'll see a very old oak down by the edge of the loch."

"I know it well. There are not many trees that I do not know. I lie here and look-out at them all day long. Was his hut over there?"

"It is said so. Of course he was a very devout man, and every morning and evening he knelt down at the water's edge and said his prayers. But, the tale goes, the water fairies used to rise up and mock at him, and having been a keen fisherman before he turned hermit, he found the rising trout and salmon too much for his peace of mind. They mixed up too much with his prayers."

"'I have made a mistake,' he said. 'I am too close to the earth, too low down—too far from heaven.' So he moved his hut to the top of the glen, just in the thicket where Miss Falconer's cottage now stands. But the high road over the moor passed too close to him. He was annoyed by the drovers driving their cattle to market. He heard their bad language. 'Too close to wickedness,' he sighed. He finally climbed a very thick beech tree, and up there made another home for himself."

"'The birds will not disturb me,' he assured himself; 'they live too near heaven.'"

"But a storm came one night and, the legend goes, not only swept him out of his tree, but swept him from the top of the glen to the bottom, and when he woke to consciousness, it was to find himself with a broken back lying by the edge of the loch once again."

"'Ah!' he breathed, just as he was dying, 'I am afraid I have been mistaken. Close to the earth I was born; close to the earth I die. Close to the earth I was meant to live. I tried to change my atmosphere too soon. It was before my Maker's time!'"

"What a good moral!" said Rowena delightedly. "I shall certainly put that legend in my book."

Macdonald got up to go. She looked up at him with her laughing eyes.

"'Close to the earth you are meant to live,'" she quoted. "The Frasers consider you a hermit already. And I am glad that you have such an unsaintly little daughter! She will keep you in your right atmosphere."

He smiled gravely as he walked away. And Rowena's eyes softened as she looked after him.

"I hope he won't become too saintly to enjoy a talk with a sinner like myself," she murmured.

[CHAPTER VI]

MISS FALCONER

"Who gives himself airs of importance exhibiteth the credentials
of impotence."
Lavater.

AUGUST came, and gradually the neighbourhood began to grow lively with visitors and tourists. Once or twice Rowena had visits from the Frasers. And then one day Miss Falconer came. Rowena had written to her and asked her to come to tea. Mysie had had a good deal to tell Rowena about her new governess.

"You won't mind anything I say, will you? I beseech you to let me talk anyhow! When I'm with Dad I don't. He says I must respect and obey Miss Falconer."

"So you must, you little imp! But you can tell me anything you like."

"Then can you really like a person you respect and obey?"

"Rather. You can't like people unless you do respect them. You respect your Dad. I hope you respect me.'

"And I hope you respect me," put in Mysie eagerly. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do," Rowena said promptly. "I respect your feelings, and wouldn't hurt them for the world."

"Then," said Mysie with big earnest eyes; "that's just what's the matter with Miss Falconer, she's always hurting me inside. She smiles, and she never loses her temper; but she says things that shows me she's mocking me. And I can bear it all except her laughing at fairies and all the stories Angus tells me. Dad says she's not a true Highlander, but she says she's related to them. And she laughs at Flora—she calls her a misguided, 'motional female; and Prince Charlie, she actually calls him a rascal, and says he lived to be a bad old man!"

"She's not a Jacobite," said Rowena. "Lots of good people didn't like Prince Charlie. They were staunch and loyal to their own king."

She found it rather difficult to comfort Mysie. And when Miss Falconer came to see her, she resolved she would say something to her about her little pupil's romantic tendencies. She found her an extremely pleasant and clever young woman. Her fair golden hair, delicate pointed pale face, and large dark eyes gave her a very refined and youthful look. But her conversation was stimulating and Rowena quite enjoyed her little talk with her on the current topics of the day.

"My friends tell me I am burying myself alive here," said Miss Falconer; "but all through my busiest times I looked forward to a country cottage as a far-away ideal to be realized. And when I came into a little money and had a breakdown I thankfully came off here. My cousin, Lady Grant, told me about it. They will be coming here in September. I suppose you know them?"

"The Grants of Dalghetty? Yes."

"I have wanted to see you so much. I heard that you, like myself, are driven by your health into forced seclusion. Does the quiet really rest you, or does it after a time irritate and bore you?"

"It doesn't irritate me," said Rowena. "But I dare say in my case the contrast is not so marked. I have not been like you, one of the world's workers."

"But during the war surely you did something?"

"Nothing but look after my sister-in-law and her children."

Miss Falconer's face expressed surprise and disapproval.

"I was working at fever heat those four years. I could not give up my teaching. I was at a High School in Hampstead, but in my off hours I did canteen work. And, in addition, I was coaching Ambulance classes. I longed to go abroad. But I could not be spared. That was a real grief to me. When I first came here, I felt exhausted with life; then, after a good bit of rest, I began to long to communicate myself to somebody. Do you know that craving? I have so much that I feel I must give out—share with my fellow-creatures. I tried to befriend the parish schoolmaster. What an antiquated, conservative bit of humanity he is! and so slow in his drawling speech that I have not the patience to listen to him! It was through him that I heard of little Mysie Macdonald. I hope he does not bear me a grudge for taking her away from him, but really, what kind of education do you think he could give her? I dare say he may do very well for the Highland children, but Mysie is too quick and clever to be placed in their groove."

"Then you find her clever?"

"On the surface, very—but she is sadly wanting in stability of thought and in solid perseverance."

"She's rather small for that."

"My dear Miss Arbuthnot, a child's never too small to be trained in good habits."

"She's a fascinating monkey. A very pleasant companion I find her. I love her mystical and romantic beliefs in all our Highland folk-lore. Whatever you do, don't take that from her."

"Oh, all that comes from her being brought up by these Highland servants. If I were not so intensely fond of teaching, I should be rather downhearted sometimes. For, my dear Miss Arbuthnot, it is hard to get some children to learn, but it is a thousand times more difficult to get them to unlearn. And that is the bed-rock with Mysie. I must shatter some of her ignorant prejudices before I can start to build."

"Don't shatter her faith. It's such a precious quality."

"Would you have a clever child believe in witches, and incantation, and barbaric superstitions?"

"Yes, I would," said Rowena with a little laugh, "till they can replace them with other things. A child ought to have strong faith when she is young. You'll turn her into a critical unhuman little prig if you make her sceptical of all the beautiful childish imaginary folk-lore we have here."

"And what about religion?"

"Oh, her father will teach her that. He has enough himself and to spare."

"A growing girl has such an infinite amount to learn," said Miss Falconer; "the growth of her threefold nature demands it. Mysie is past the age for pretty fancies. I want to teach her the worth of her body, soul and spirit. Her body and her soul, or intellect, I feel I am well able to cope with, but as regards her religion I want to have a talk with her father about that. I keep an open mind myself. I have had Roman Catholic pupils, Anglican and Nonconformist. I have had one or two Mohammedan pupils, and my rule is to train them absolutely in their parents' creed and faith."

Rowena felt this delicate young woman was rather astonishing her.

"Can you teach what you do not believe yourself?" she inquired.

"Assuredly. I have always had the power of throwing my whole soul into the subject which I am studying. My head grips it and holds it, though my heart remains untouched."

"Mere mechanical motion," murmured Rowena; "well, machinery accomplishes wonders nowadays. But you cannot inspire them with enthusiasm if you do not feel it yourself."

"Enthusiasm is not good in religion," said Miss Falconer calmly. "It leads to fanaticism, which is unhealthy."

"And are you enthusiastic about nothing?" asked Rowena.

Miss Falconer's eyes glowed.

"Ah, you ask me a great question. I want to train the girlhood of England to know their value. In these times it is more than necessary. Our sex has made great strides in all that they have put their hands to. They are the most valuable asset of the nation. Is there a single position of power or influence which woman is now not competent to fill?"

"The biggest position of power and influence for a woman is the home," said Rowena very quietly.

Miss Falconer looked at her, and once as often before Rowena's eyes misled her.

"You are laughing at me. Thank goodness we have enlarged our borders, and broken the chains of subservient, degrading service under the male."

"And now we'll have tea," said Rowena, turning to welcome Janet with the tea tray. "Whatever the modern woman has learnt, she has not yet broken away from the thrall of the tea-cup."

She refused to be drawn into serious discussion again, but showed her most ridiculous and frivolous side for the rest of Miss Falconer's visit, and when she had gone she said to her dear dog:

"Shags, my dear, you took a good sniff at her, what is your honest opinion of her? I am afraid she is somewhat of a firebrand. I hardly like to think of darling warm-hearted little Mysie being brought into conformance with her will and teaching. I wonder if the laird has any idea of the character of his governess? I would enjoy hearing them have a religious talk together! Well, my dear young woman, you have a strong belief in yourself and your own power. But personally I would like you to fall head over ears in love with a man who would box your ears when you dared contradict him! You are very, very young in your self-assertiveness, and you make me feel very, very old when I am talking to you!"

It was some time before Rowena saw General Macdonald. He went up to London on business and was away ten days. Mysie seemed settling down with her governess, but the day before her father returned, she came flying over to Rowena.

"I am so excited I can't keep still. I do hope Dad won't forget to come home to-morrow. I want to ask you something. It's very solemn and sober—so you're not to laugh, and you're to shut your eyes and listen—just like people do in a long sermon."

"All right. Go ahead."

Rowena was always ready to oblige her little friend. She shut her eyes obediently.

"I am ready," she said, "and my ears are stretched as wide as they can be, quite impatient to hear."

"You know Miss Falconer talks and talks and talks to me, and she thinks it wrong of me to be always wishing I'm a boy. She says girls are the best people that God has made. And she says I must be proud I'm a woman, for women are going to rule the world. I asked her if that meant that they need not obey anybody—and she said yes. Full freedom and liberty was a woman's, now. So I asked her why I need obey grown-up people now—and she said it was necessary—and I asked her how long—and she said I would know when I grew up. So I said that when I was twenty need I obey Dad? And she said when I was twenty-one, I was of age, and could live my own life like a man, and then she asked me what I was going to do, that I ought to make up my mind to earn my own living, and be free of everybody. I rather like that; and I've made up my mind to be a traveller and discover new places. I shall travel in an airship—and just think if I could find my way to one of the stars! And Dad won't be able to say 'No' to me when I'm grown-up."

"I rather think he will," said Rowena gravely. "Of course Miss Falconer hasn't got a Dad to look after and to love; but your Dad will want you with him, I am sure. And by the time you will have lived with him a few more years, you will love him so much that you won't want to leave him."

"Perhaps he would like to come with me in my airship, but I should have to be captain. Miss Falconer says all men are worn out, and women are getting fresher and stronger every day. Dad is rather tired, you know; he says he is worn out. But I shan't be, and when I grow big I shall be stronger than him in every way. Isn't that splendid to think of?"

Rowena felt a blank dismay settle upon her as she listened to the child. She wondered how her father would like this style of teaching. Mysie was full of the superiority of the female sex and could talk of nothing else. It was quite a new idea to her, and she had seized hold of it with the greatest avidity. And Rowena felt it was impossible to contradict her governess's statements, for fear of upsetting her authority.

"Well," she said, "what do you really want to ask me?"

Mysie pursed her lips into a round ball.

"I want you to ask Dad to give me a dear little flying machine for my birthday. I really shan't care for anything else now. Miss Falconer told me girls can fly just as well as men. They can do everything better, she says. And I want to learn as soon and as fast as I can."

"That is a very big ask," said Rowena. "I think Dad would say you must grow up first, and by the time you have grown-up, Flora, the air machine will have grown less dangerous, and more easy to manage in every way."

"Ah, but I don't like easy things, and Miss Falconer says men have always given the easiest softest jobs to women, and they won't take them now."

"But you are not a woman, only a little girl. Look at Shags, he has been thumping his tail on the ground for ever so long to attract your attention. He hates these grave grown-up talks. And so do I. We won't grow up, Flora, just yet. I like to pretend I'm just your age. And I'm going to ask you to come out on the loch with me now. I said I would go this afternoon. And I'm going to pretend we have been shipwrecked, and are on a raft searching for land."

In a moment Mysie's knitted brow had cleared. She clapped her hands joyfully.

"Hurra! And I'll row you—and you'll be dying for water, and we daren't drink the sea all round us. And then I'll be desp'rate and drink a lot and go mad in the boat! Oh, it will be fun! Come on! Shall I call Granny's Colin to take you out?"

Rowena was almost sorry she had proposed such a game, but she trusted to her authority and to Colin's stolid good sense to be able to curb Mysie's high spirits when in the boat.

They had a very enjoyable time on the loch that afternoon. And Rowena had the satisfaction of seeing that for the time the problem of the woman in the world no longer troubled the curly head of her little friend. When Mysie finally left her, she said:

"Oh, I wish Miss Falconer would make up games and play with me; but she goes away directly lessons are over. She thinks everything but lessons is waste of time. I'm glad I only have her half a day!"

A few days later General Macdonald came over.

He looked more cheerful than usual, and began to tell Rowena of some new books he had read in town, and which he thought might interest her. He always took the greatest interest in what she was doing, and rarely mentioned his own affairs till other topics of conversation were finished.

"I suppose Mysie's in the seventh heaven of delight at having you back again?" Rowena said presently.

He smiled.

"I have her in my dressing-room every morning when she is dressed, to read me ten verses out of the Bible. I don't keep her long. She was reading about the centurion and our Lord. We had a talk about 'under authority' and what it means. She had some wild idea in her head that men and women when full grown were not under any authority, that no law need touch them. I fancy I made her understand a little more about that matter than she has ever done yet."

"You think she is getting on with Miss Falconer?"

"Excellently. I had a most interesting talk with Miss Falconer yesterday. It was raining, so she stayed to lunch; and whilst we were having coffee in the library afterwards, she spoke to me about the child's religious training. She seemed to grasp my ideas at once. I should say she was a sincere Christian woman, and I'm thankful to think the child's training is in her hands."

Rowena was dumb.

"She's a most interesting talker," he went on; "she quite held me spellbound. And young though she is, she seems to have had tremendous experience of life. She told me a little of her family history. I'm so glad you know her. She seems a lonely little soul, and has met with little sympathy through her life."

"I have only seen her once. She is a great talker, so I learnt a lot about her different views. She was absolutely frank with me. Very broad-minded, I should say. She has dipped into many creeds."

"Perhaps you did not get into such deep waters as we did. She agreed with my views entirely, and means conscientiously to train the child's spiritual part as well as her intellectual."

Rowena began to feel bored. She turned the conversation into other channels.

"It is none of my business," she assured herself when the visit was over. "And I'm not religious myself. She seems so adaptable that I dare say she will train Mysie in a mechanical way as he wishes her to be trained. He must discover for himself whether she is training her rightly. She is not my child, and I shan't bother my head about her."

But it was one thing to say, another to act, and Rowena's mind was much exercised over Mysie's education. She thought about it day and night.

"Mysie will come to loggerheads with her father sooner or later and then there will be disaster. Miss Falconer is sowing seeds of rebellion against authority in that small mind. I wonder how it will end? Surely the child herself will repeat some of her governess's speeches to her father."

But that was just what Mysie did not seem to do. She threw her small self into the affairs of the moment. When lessons were over, her fishing or boating or riding with her father were of paramount importance; lessons and Miss Falconer were forgotten. Only the enjoyment of the moment remained.

Gradually Rowena became aware that Miss Falconer was impressing the father, as well as the child. Her strong personality could not but be felt in the laird's house. And yet, to the General, she seemed a type of all that was feminine and sweet. One day they all came over to tea with Rowena. Jeannie Falconer was at her very best. Bright and sympathetic, not self-assertive, rather appealing to the General for his opinion upon subjects, and by her interested silence making him believe that she was an appreciative listener. Mysie was unusually quiet. Rowena thought that she seemed a little afraid of her governess. Once, when General Macdonald took Miss Falconer round the garden, Mysie crept very close to Rowena's couch.

"We don't see each other often now," she said wistfully. "Miss Falconer tells Dad I oughtn't to go about the country alone. And if he doesn't come over, I can't. Dad is very nice to go about with, but he doesn't quite understand like you do. Why do you understand so well?"

"Understand what, you whipper-snapper?"

"Oh, how I feel sometimes."

"I remember how I used to feel when I was as little as you," said Rowena rather gravely. "I was a wild bit of a girl myself. But you're a happy child to have such a father."

"I do worship him!" Mysie said fervently. "But I can't talk to him about lessons as I do you. He says I'm a happy child to have such a good governess. But Miss Falconer isn't always good to me."

She held out one small hand to Rowena, palm upwards.

"See that red mark; she hits me with the ruler when I make awful mistakes. And she makes me cry when she laughs at Prince Charlie—she likes me to cry, I know she does."

"Oh, Flora darling, I'm sure she cannot."

"But she does. I don't talk to her now, for I won't be laughed at!"

There was a vindictive tone in her voice that made Rowena draw her close to her. And then Mysie, always so self-controlled, surprised Rowena by beginning to sob.

Clasping her round the neck she cried:

"Oh, get Dad to send me to school. I'd like it better than Miss Falconer. She's too heavy upon me. I feel I can't rise up. I think, do you know, that she stamps upon my soul inside. She always seems to know what I'm thinking, and then she mocks me!"

No more could be said, for Mysie's father returned. She and her governess walked home first, General Macdonald was going on to a farm. When they had gone Rowena suddenly resolved to speak.

"General Macdonald, do you think that Mysie is happy with Miss Falconer?"

"Certainly I do. Do you doubt it?"

"The child seems to have lost her joyous spirits. From Miss Falconer's talk to me, I should think her more fitted for older girls than a child of Mysie's age and sensibilities. She doesn't understand imaginative children. She seems to me, if I may criticize, an admirable machine, capable of managing and controlling girls en masse, but having no love for individuals."

"You astonish me! She seems so very sympathetic. Of course Mysie was let run wild too long. I think she has improved wonderfully with Miss Falconer: much quieter and more tractable."

"Oh, I love originality," said Rowena with a snap in her tone. "I don't like a child modelled according to pattern. Win Mysie's confidence. Let her pour out her soul to you, for I assure you she won't pour it out to Miss Falconer. And it is bad for a child to be secretive and reserved."

"I am very sorry you do not like Miss Falconer," said General Macdonald somewhat stiffly. "I can tell from your tone that you do not. She has my full confidence and regard."

She only felt strong arms lift her.

And Rowena threw prudence to the winds.

"I don't trust her. I think she adapts herself to anybody, and does not let you know her real opinions, which are not what you think them to be. I wouldn't let her have the handling of a little niece of mine for all the world!"

"My dear Miss Arbuthnot!" General Macdonald was gazing at her perturbedly. "Don't you think you may be mistaken in your estimate of her? I have had more opportunity than you of judging. You have only seen her once or twice. They say women never understand each other. And yet she speaks so warmly of you. Thinks you are so patient under affliction. She told me she is torn by pity when she looks at you!"

Rowena gave a little snort, then began to laugh.

"I dare say I seem a brute! I will shut up. But I love Mysie, she's a darling, and I hate seeing her spirits broken. Get her to talk to you about her lessons. Ask her what Miss Falconer talks to her about. You know half an hour of her lessons every day consists in a monologue of Miss Falconer upon topical subjects and the present state of the world. Afterwards Mysie has to write out as much as she can remember of it. Get her to show you some of her papers. You will judge then whether Miss Falconer is suitable for a little child of nine. And do forgive my interference, and be friends with me still."

Rowena held out her hand, and spoke in her most winning tone.

General Macdonald took it as he rose to leave her.

"You have given me food for thought," he said; "but I think and hope you are mistaken."

He went, and Rowena turned to Shags.

"Oh, aren't men great simple blundering darlings? How easily they can be taken in! We certainly are their superiors in diplomacy and deceit! Shags, I have become a mischief-maker, and I am not a bit sorry for what I have done!"

[CHAPTER VII]

COMPELLED TO THINK

"Unlike Philosophy, the Gospel has an ideal Life to offer."
Jowett.

IT was some time before Rowena saw either Mysie or her father again. Mrs. Macintosh came over to see her one afternoon, and began speaking about them.

"I am glad to think that Miss Falconer has been such a success," she said; "and really people begin to think that she may one day change her role from governess to mother. Forgive this gossip. But the laird seems greatly taken with her, and for myself I would like to see him married to some good woman. Every house wants a mistress, especially where there are children. Robert and I went to lunch one day last week; the laird is becoming a bit more sociable, neighbours tell us; but Miss Falconer was there and did the honours of the table very prettily. I wish you and she were a little nearer to one another. I suppose you do not see much of her?"

"No, she is otherwise engaged," said Rowena.

"She and Robert found plenty to say. Robert loves an argument, and he does not see eye to eye with her on woman suffrage. The laird seemed quite surprised to hear her views, but I thought it was quite touching the apologetic way in which she kept turning to him."

"'I know this will shock you,' she kept saying, 'but these are the views I was taught at college.'"

"'Then Mysie shall never go to college,' said the laird, in that stern tone of his. And Miss Falconer smiled up at him."

"'Ah well,' she said, 'as we grow older we see the error of our ways. I am not so keen as I was on these questions. The war has altered many things.' I was glad to hear her speak so. And the laird seemed to watch every word and movement of hers. I should like to hear that they are engaged."

"You are a regular matchmaker," laughed Rowena. "I do not think General Macdonald a marrying man. He told me once that matrimony was always a risk, and a little of it went a long way."

"A very unchivalrous speech to make to a lady," said Mrs. Macintosh in a tone of disapproval.

Rowena laughed gaily.

"He is not a man who makes pretty speeches," she said. When her visitor went, she subsided into grave thought. Shags tried to attract her attention, and failed. At last she roused herself.

"My dear young woman," she apostrophized herself; "at your time of life, you ought to expect anything and everything. They say any woman can marry a man if she sets her heart and will upon it. And if it will mean giving up some of her misguided but cherished principles it will be a very good thing for the fair falcon! As long as her talons are clipped and she is not allowed to hurt my little Mysie, I don't care. Men must take care of themselves. But Hugh Macdonald is just the man to blunder into another unsatisfactory marriage!"

She said these words aloud, but her eyes had lost their sparkle, and when Granny came to help her into the house she said:

"You look tired out, mem. Are you feeling your back again?"

"I am feeling rotten," said Rowena with a short laugh; "but don't for pity's sake take any notice of me. Life is a very crooked stick, and it's quite impossible to bend it the way one wants to. So the only thing is to smile at it, and adjust oneself to the crookedness."

A few days afterwards, Rowena went out in her punt. It was a still grey day, rather sultry and oppressive, and she longed to feel the coolness of the water round her Colin took her out a good way upon the loch, and for a wonder a boat came up to him with Angus in it, and a stranger. Rowena guessed at once it must be the man to whom her brother had let the fishing and shooting. Her first instinct was to let them pass her without a word or sign of recognition; but Angus prevented that.

"An' hoo are ye this day, mem?" he said, pulling in his oars and beaming upon her with his fatherly smile. "'Tis Mr. Crawford I will be takin' to Abertarlie."

Rowena acknowledged the introduction by a bow.

"You have taken my brother's shooting," she said in her clear pleasant voice. "I hope you are enjoying it. You must excuse my getting up. I am quite an invalid at present. I heard the guns going yesterday. Did you have good sport?"

"Splendid!" was the quick enthusiastic reply. "I had thought of calling upon you, Miss Arbuthnot, as I hear you have a wonderful book on the deer forests about here, and I wondered if I might ask for the loan of it. Did we not meet some years ago at Cowes?"

"Yes, at the regatta," said Rowena. "I thought I had seen you before. You were with the Radcliffe-Murrays. Of course you may have the book; I will send it over to you. Are you staying at 'The Antlers' in Abertarlie?"

"Yes, they do one first-rate! I have two cousins with me and a nephew. Don't trouble to send. I am often past your way, and I will call in for it, if I may."

"I will look it out and have it ready for you."

"May I say how sorry I am for your accident? It was out hunting, was it not? I heard about it."

"Yes, it's rotten luck, but thank goodness I'm only temporarily laid up. I have to be a year on my back. I mustn't keep you. Good-bye."

"There be a storm on the way," said Angus a little anxiously; "you'd best get back, mem."

"All right, Angus. We can't afford to run risks with this craft." She laughed as she spoke. Angus plied his oars in one direction, and Colin in another, but before they came to the shore the storm burst upon them. Rowena watched the waves lash round her with serenity, but Colin got agitated, and seemed to lose his nerve.

"Och, mem, whatever will happen?" he ejaculated.

"I feel like a trussed pig!" said Rowena. "But if you really can't manage, I can, at a pinch, sit up and take an oar. I must! I don't want to be drowned."

She had hardly said the words before a hurricane of wind swept down upon them, and the next moment the punt was engulfed in the waves, and Rowena and Colin were in the water. With wonderful presence of mind Rowena threw out her arms and floated on her back. Colin, completely losing his head, made for the punt instead of for Rowena.

But help was at hand! A boat shot out from the Arbuthnot's landing-stage and pulled rapidly towards them. In a very few minutes Rowena was rescued. She was hardly conscious as to how she got into the boat, for the waves had washed over her more than once, and she was in a very exhausted state. She only felt strong arms lift her, and a voice she seemed to know said:

"Thank God I'm in time!"

The next thing that she knew was finding herself in her own bed, and Granny bending over her.

"Eh, mem, the Lord be praised! Ye are safe an' soun'! An' noo it's just this wee drappie o' whusky ye'll be takin'."

Rowena meekly obeyed, then looked up with her irresistible smile.

"Oh, Granny, I'm not dead yet! I shall live to continue to plague you, but it was a near shave. Who came out to us?"

"Why, sure it was the laird! Him an' me saw ye caught, and never shall I forget the sight of your boat in the ragin' wind and waves! The laird, he set his teeth and wi'out a wor-r-rd tore at the boat an' was after ye! An' when he put ye oot o' his ar-rms, he said, 'Mrs. Mactavish, she must live—there are not mony like her.' He helped me get ye to bed an' rubbed and chafed ye, an' noo he's awa' to get the doctor—an is pretty well soaked to his skin. That Colin be a puir creater! Niver will ye be gain' oot wi' him agen, mem—niver! He cam' back wi' his heid fair mazed—an' all he cud cry was, 'Wae's me—the young leddy be drownded and 'twill be I which have doon it!'"

Rowena smiled but could not speak.

Presently she made the effort.

"The laird must have his clothes dried. See to him, Granny!"

"Deid an' I will, if so be he gives me a chance!"

It was not very long before the doctor arrived, but Rowena hearing that General Macdonald had returned with him, sent him out a message of thanks and begged him to let Granny attend to him. Then she saw the doctor.

"Don't examine my poor back to-night. I don't believe I am any the worse. The salt water may have strengthened it. I did not strain it in any way."

And it was marvellous that she was not seriously the worse for her accident. She kept to her bed for three or four days, then was moved out to her couch, but the doctor forbade any more loch expeditions.

"The weather is too treacherous, be content to lie by the side of it; the open-air is good for you, but don't attempt the punt again."

"Oh," groaned Rowena, "instead of widening my borders, I have to narrow them!"

She felt very low and depressed for a day, then recovered her spirits. General Macdonald, coming to inquire for her, found her outside on the terrace, looking rather white, but with her usual bright smile.

"Well," he said, "I thought it was all up with you the other day, and now I hear you are none the worse for your spill."

"Not a bit worse," said Rowena, "but I have been thinking rather hard. What a bit of luck you came this way! I don't believe Colin would have ever towed me to shore. He's a good swimmer, but his one idea was to get hold of the punt and then come for me. And I don't think I should have lasted out long enough."

"I don't believe in luck," said the General gravely. "I had no intention of coming over to see you that afternoon. I was reading in my study and I came across a bit that I liked in one of my old books, and suddenly thought I would like to share it with you. But when I got out into the hall Mysie begged me to take her upon the moors. I very nearly did; but a strong persistent sense of wanting to get to you made me send her away disconsolate, and I came off post haste. I had only just arrived when the squall came on, and we saw your punt capsize from the terrace here. Don't you think I was sent to you?"

"By whom? By my guardian angel, I suppose, if I have one. If you had not come and I had gone down, I wonder where I should be to-day?"

There was a silence, then Rowena looked straight at him with shining eyes.

"Well, honestly, I didn't feel quite ready to leave this world. I thought it out as I floated on the water, and I think I prayed the first fervent prayer in my life. I wanted to be spared. I wanted it desperately. I suppose the love of life is hard to kill, because I am leading a very useless existence at present, and there's no particular reason for me to be spared, when so many others are taken."

"Your prayer was answered."

"Yes, and I am digging into my Bible furiously; I have read it for an hour at a time. I want to discover the secret that the early Christians had, and which enabled them to go through fire and water unmoved. The Epistles are interesting me. I told you what a heathen I was, didn't I? What a high ideal we are supposed to have of our purpose in this world. It staggers me; I don't like feeling small, but there's no doubt the Bible does that."

"Infinitesimally small," said General Macdonald. "But you've read the paradox: 'When I am weak then I am strong.'"

"I don't understand half I read."

She looked at him with a mixture of shame and amusement.

"I wish you would preach me a dear little sermon, General Macdonald. I know you could do it quite as well as our young minister. I never get to church."

"No; I could never preach," said General Macdonald seriously; "but I think I can tell you the secret of the early Christians' faith and endurance. They 'endured as seeing Him Who is invisible,' we are told. Our Master's last words were: 'Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.'"

"I think," said Rowena very slowly with downcast eyes, "the result of my Bible study is that I want to have Him with me."

General Macdonald looked at her with a sudden brightness in his eyes. He murmured to himself, but just loud enough for her to hear: "'But one thing is needful—she hath chosen that good part which shall not be taken away from her.'"

There was silence again.

Suddenly Rowena brushed her hand lightly across her eyes, but not before the General had seen some glittering drops on the ends of her long lashes.

"And now we'll leave this uninteresting subject of myself," she said abruptly. "Tell me about Mysie."

"What shall I tell you? She is making good progress with her lessons, I hope. Do you remember your words about Miss Falconer? I am thankful to find that you are mistaken in your estimate of her. She has a very high ideal of woman's position in the world, and is trying to train Mysie accordingly. I want her to grow up an honourable, pure, and devout woman, and I believe Miss Falconer will be influential in making her this. I gathered that you did not care about Miss Falconer, but if you would have a serious and confidential talk with her about the deep things of life, you would find her a real help to you, I am sure. She is going away for a fortnight or three weeks to her relations, the Grants. When she comes back I hope you will try to see something of her."

Rowena looked at him now with a mocking light in her eyes. Her soft serious mood was over.

"Miss Falconer and I are antipathetic," she said. "If she and I were on a desert island, I would live on the farthest edge of the island away from her. But I am glad you are pleased with her. Only if she spoils my dear Mysie, I shall never forgive her, nor you for not discovering it."

"I wish you would explain yourself."

"I hardly ever see Mysie now," said Rowena irrelevantly. "Will you, as it is holiday time, let her come over and spend a day with me?"

"She will be delighted. I will send her to-morrow, for I have to go down to Glasgow on business, and it may keep me away a night."

"Then let her sleep here. Granny will look after her, and of course you may trust me not to say a word of criticism on the subject of her governess."

So it was settled. Just before he took his leave, as he was shaking hands with her, he said:

"We could ill have spared you." Then he added with a whimsical smile: "It's odd at my time of life to be blessed with two women friends like yourself and Miss Falconer. Since my poor wife's death I have kept away from women, but having a girl child to bring up does make me value the advice and counsel of your sex."

"Please don't apologize for knowing me," said Rowena gaily. "I value your friendship whether for the sake of the child or not."

And when he was gone she caught up Shags and laughed till she shook.

"You dear, ridiculous man! I hope we shan't turn you into an old woman between us. You look quite careworn when you talk about your child! I think I shall advise some shooting and golf for a change."

Mysie appeared the next day in high spirits at the thought of a day and a night away from home.

"You haven't forgotten me?" Rowena asked, as the little arms went round her neck and hugged her.

"I couldn't never forget you. You're my best friend, but Miss Falconer simply won't let me come and see you. She throws excuses in the way, and she told me I bored you, and that it wasn't fair to worry you so. Do I bore you? Do I worry you? Now I know I don't. Your eyes tell me I don't! I don't like Miss Falconer's eyes—they never laugh, only look round the corner at you. But she's gone away, and I'm pretending that she's not in the world at all, and never coming back."

"We won't mention her. And now, little Flora, how shall we map out the day? I'm unfortunately forbidden to go on the loch again, isn't that a trial?"

"Oh, it's ripping anyhow with you! I love to talk and play with Shags. And there will be the meals. I love meals away from home, they're so lovely. And oh! I do love and adore you when you call me Flora!"

Another hug followed, then in more sober tones Mysie said:

"Dad came back and told me how nearly drownded you were! I told him if you went dead, I would never smile again. I couldn't! My heart would be broken right in two. And when your eyes twinkle and smile at me as they are doing now, it gives me a lump of joy in my chest. Do you know the feeling?"

"I know you're a darling little bundle of emotion and Highland sensitiveness!" said Rowena. "And as I'm very much alive, we won't talk of that disaster of mine any more. Tell me all you've been doing since we last met."

Mysie began at once.

"We won't talk of the lessons—or of Miss Falconer. I'm rather afraid of her, you know; Angus says she's wanting in soul. What does that mean? She says Angus is an ignorant fool. I'll tell you about the other day. I got in a scrape—it was the day Miss Falconer left. I went riding up the moor with Angus and then I got away from him—and then I saw far-away two darling deer—and I tied my pony up and I crept up to them like Angus does—only he calls it stalking. And I didn't know there were other people creeping about, until I saw a man with a gun. And then I knew he meant to shoot them, and my blood boiled up, and I clapped my hands and screamed, and the deer scampered away, but the man came out of the bushes with his gillie, and they both swore at me. They were frightfully angry, and the man said if I didn't make tracks for home he'd lay a stick across my back. And fancy, he called me a boy! I stood still and just told him who I was. It made him rather surprised. I told Dad about it, and he said it was a wicked thing of me to do, but I said it was wicked to shoot the poor deer—I love them all. I had a little tame deer once before its horns grew."

So Mysie chatted on, and Rowena lay and listened. Then she read her some of her legends and folk-lore which she was collecting for her book. Once started on that subject, Mysie's tongue went faster than ever. The day was a complete success. But when Mysie was on her way to bed, she said:

"I wish—I wish you were my governess! Don't you think you could be, when you get up from your back and walk again? I am sure you know quite as much as Miss Falconer does, and a good deal more. Don't be angry, like Dad, if I tell you quite privately, that I hate and detest and abhor her! I went down to the tom na hurisch and besought the fairies to come and take her one night. There's a little rowan tree outside her window, and I'm afraid that keeps her safe. Angus won't hear of it being cut down, as he says it will bring us bad luck—I want bad luck to be brought to Miss Falconer!"

"Oh, hush! Now I really am shocked, and must protest!" said Rowena. "Never wish ill-luck to come to anyone, even to your worst foe. It isn't generous or right. And this is holiday time: we are not going to think about lessons or about Miss Falconer."

Mysie shook her curls a little defiantly.

"Dad doesn't know what I know, or else he wouldn't like her so much."

"Good night, little Flora; pleasant dreams!"

And Mysie said no more, but went obediently to bed.

[CHAPTER VIII]

THE LAIRD'S AWAKENING

"Yet to be loved makes not to love again;
Not at my years, however it hold in youth."
Tennyson.

MYSIE stayed with Rowena till the afternoon of the following day, and very unwillingly departed. She had hardly gone before another visitor was announced, and this was Mr. Crawford whom Rowena had met on the loch with Angus. He was full of her accident, and told her they had hardly got to the shore themselves before the storm burst upon them.

"Upon my honour, I'd half a mind to row back and look for your remains," he said. "We felt convinced you would be upset, and then we saw a small boat go to your rescue. Donald was beside himself till he heard you were none the worse for your immersion. It was risky being upon the loch a day like that."

"Yes, that pleasure is over," said Rowena regretfully. "I shall no longer be able to enjoy my punt, for it is now a forbidden pastime. If General Macdonald had not happened to be at hand, it would have been all up with me."

"Oh, he's the laird of Abertarlie, isn't he? I was dining at the Grants' yesterday evening, and he was under discussion. A Miss Falconer amused us very much. It seems she is teaching a small girl of his—more as a pastime than anything else. She's one of these modern women—you should have heard her take him off! He has those old-fashioned mid-Victorian ideas of women, and wants his small daughter patterned after their style. Miss Falconer is the wrong sort of person to do that. She's an awfully good sort. Have you met her?"

"Yes," said Rowena; "but I have not seen much of her."

"How do you get through your time? You must be bored stiff, aren't you?"

"No," said Rowena, smiling at him. "I lie here and watch the eternal patience of the hills, and get a little of the spirit of Nature to solace me. Look over the loch now, did you ever see such a play of light and shade? I have a never-ending panorama passing before my eyes. I am Highland to my heart's core. You don't know the magic of our lochs and glens. In your eyes they are only places where you can fish and shoot; to us they are something more."

"I believe that," said Mr. Crawford sincerely. "There's a look in the eyes of the Highland folk that is peculiar to their part of the country. They gaze at their burns and their braes—like a lad gazes at his first love!"

Rowena nodded. "And then there's such history behind them all. You see our moors lying peacefully under the summer sunshine; we see them alive, and bristling with conflicts and battles—the glens trodden by refugees fleeing from death, the caves sheltering heroes, the lochs full of legends and romance. We feel the atmosphere of the past impregnating that of the present, and we love every blade of grass that grows! To you the moors hold deer and grouse; beyond that you do not go!"

"We are just matter-of-fact butchers!" said Mr. Crawford with a laugh. "Now will you, in spite of my inferiority to a Highlander, bestow upon me that book on your deer forests? You promised me the loan of it."

"It is here waiting for you," said Rowena, putting out her hand upon a small parcel which lay on her book table by her side, "but I should say you get little time for reading now."

"That's a fact—but I like a smoke and read after dinner."

They chatted away in very friendly fashion, and when Mr. Crawford departed he determined he would come again very soon, for all men liked Rowena, and not even her invalidism could make her uninteresting to them.

General Macdonald made his appearance very soon again.

"I am being drawn into society now against my will," he said; "the Grants insist upon my going to dine with them next week. Lady Grant met me out to-day and won't take a refusal. She and Miss Falconer came in and had some tea. I don't often entertain visitors, but they are an exception. My small girl did not show up. She seems to disapprove of Miss Falconer visiting her in the holidays, and though I sent her a message to make her appearance, I saw her flying across the lawn, and she has not come back when I left. I must punish her for disobedience. I am not going to have my orders set aside. But punishments are not in my line. Give me advice."

"Oh, don't ask me," said Rowena; "you will think me too indulgent. I should give Mysie a good scolding and tell her whether she liked a thing or not, do it she must, if you wish her to. A talk is sometimes more efficacious than a punishment. Children are reasonable creatures. When I was small, punishments were too common! We hardly took any notice of them—Ted and I!"

"Yes," said General Macdonald slowly; "but I find she often worsts me in a talk. She is apt to be argumentative, and then I lose my temper. I've a hot one, as I dare say you know; and I'm not accustomed to deal with children."

"I want to read you a lovely legend about your house," said Rowena, trying to turn the subject. "I got it out of a book Mr. Macintosh gave me."

The General's brow cleared. He and Rowena were soon absorbed in their local history. It was about six o'clock, and a slight mist was sweeping down from the moor. Rowena was in her green room, as the air was damp and cold. Suddenly they heard a pony gallop along the drive outside, and the next moment Mysie dashed open the door in a state of wild excitement: She looked greatly taken aback at the sight of her father, but in her impulsive fashion threw herself upon Rowena.

"I've come to you to tell you! I had to! I won't believe it, and you must stop it, my darling prisoner, oh, you'll know how to!"

"What is the matter?" asked Rowena, laughing, yet regarding the child with some sympathy. "Have you heard any more guns shooting your beloved stags?"

"Oh, it's a hundred times worse!"

"I wonder where you have been, since I summoned you to tea?" said General Macdonald rather severely.

Mysie stood up, twisting her small hands together in agony. "I knewed you would be angry," she said; "but I just felt I couldn't be smiling at Miss Falconer. I was tired out of her. And she always says she hates grown-ups and children mixed together. Oh, Dad, don't be angry but if it's true, I shall run away from you. I shall go back to Nan, and if she won't have me, I shall hunt for a water kelpie and let him drown me, or I shall go round and round the fairies' hill till they take me in."

"Tell us what the trouble is."

Rowena had drawn the hot excited child to her, and was holding one of her little hands in hers. Then Mysie burst into a passion of tears.

"Dad is going to marry Miss Falconer. They all say so. She's coming to live with us for ever! And—b-b-b-be my stepmother! Oh, stop it, stop it, won't you? Miss Falconer says women can always manage men; do try to manage Dad and make him not do it. I can't live in the house with Miss Falconer for my stepmother. I told you how I hate her! I do! I do! She tries to make me cry, so that she can laugh at me."

Rowena looked across at General Macdonald rather helplessly. But if Mysie was excited, he became more so. Rising impatiently from his chair, with a warm flush in his thin brown cheeks and blazing eyes, he thundered forth:

"Stop this foolish nonsense at once, child! Who has been putting such a preposterous idea into your head?"

"They've all been saying it. Mrs. Dalziel and Angus, and even Nan; and Miss Falconer is always saying what she would do if she was mistress! I can't bear to think of it!"

"How did you come here?" he asked hotly.

"On the pony. Dad, don't be angry with me. I'm sorry I disobeyed you. It was Elsie who was doing my hair; she said of course I was to go down and see my new mamma, and I wouldn't believe her, and then I went to Mrs. Dalziel in the kitchen, and she said that folks were saying so, and I rushed away to Nan and Angus, and they've been saying it too; and then I went away into the woods and I was miser-rubble; and then I thought I'd come to my darling prisoner, and she might prevent you doing it!"

"Now look here! You go straight back on your pony and tell Mrs. Dalziel that if I hear she is circulating such mischievous gossip and lies, she will leave my service at once. I have no intention of marrying. And then go off to Angus and tell him and his wife the same. Off with you at once!"

A thunder-cloud was on his brow, but Mysie stopped sobbing, and then she flung herself on her father and wound her small arms round him.

"I'll be good, I'll be good—if you never give me a mother! Oh, I'm so very, very glad you aren't going to marry her."

Her father turned sharply away from her.

When she had disappeared, he paced the room in angry silence. Rowena waited. Like Mysie, the relief of realizing her fears were groundless, brought strange content to her soul. At last she spoke.

"Well, we seem to have had a storm over nothing."

"It's not a trivial matter to me," said the General sharply. "It's unspeakably annoying. I, who have kept away from women ever since my poor wife's death until I came here, and to find that I can't be friendly with my child's governess without this confounded gossip starting! It's outrageous! Marry a girl like that! A girl who is young enough to be my daughter!"

"Perhaps you praised her to others as much as you did to me," said Rowena demurely. "You should be more cautious. I am sorry for the annoyance it has caused you, but no harm has been done. Mysie will forget it."

"I shall send the child to school and shut up the house."

"And run away? Don't do that! Ignore such gossip—but I do advise you to change your governess."

"I shall never have another. I am more annoyed than I can say. I have a great mind to send Mrs. Dalziel straight away. She ought to be thoroughly ashamed of herself. An elderly respectable woman like her, to chatter of me and my governess to my child! It's abominable—iniquitous!"

Rowena waited till he had calmed down.

Presently he turned to her with a rueful face.

"And now you see how I lose my temper! What am I to do? Am I not to show any kindly feeling for any woman that comes across my path without having it said that I mean to marry her?"

Rowena began to laugh. She could not help it.

"I beg your pardon. I know it is no laughing matter to you; I do sometimes realize that men are the sheep, and women the wolves. And it is rather awkward being asked to counsel you. Because you know that I have an aversion to Miss Falconer, so that my views must be prejudiced. Of course, my advice is to decline any further educational help from her. She does not consider herself your governess, but a friend who loves teaching so much that she is taking Mysie in hand out of sheer kindness of heart. I hope you will dine with the Grants next week; then you will see Miss Falconer from another point of view."

"Lady Grant told me I ought to be very grateful to her," General Macdonald said more quietly. "I suppose I have acted like a fool. However, no more governesses for me; Mysie shall go to a boarding school at once."

Then he stopped in his restless pacing up and down the room. Looking at Rowena with a fierce frown he said:

"May I ask if you have heard these ridiculous reports? It would have been only kind if you had warned me."

"Oh, nobody likes to repeat gossip. I am not a mischief-maker," said Rowena a little impatiently. "I did hear something after Miss Falconer had presided over a luncheon-party at your house; but people always like to make up matches. Romance appeals to all of us. Take it lightly."

"No one can say I have said or done anything to warrant such talk," the General said huffily. "Well, I shan't be good company for you to-day, so I had better go. I'll shut up the house and go abroad. Why, the next thing will be that they will gossip over my coming to see you!"

"Oh, I think I am safe, as an invalid," said Rowena, looking at him with her laughing eyes.

General Macdonald met her glance, and smiled in spite of himself. Then he held out his hand.

"Good-bye for the present."

"And don't go and pack up and flee from gossip," said Rowena; "for you get that everywhere. It's best to have a thick skin and ignore it. My love to Mysie, and don't vent your anger upon her."

"You do think me a brute!"

"No, only a helpless man."

Rowena was left with the last word. Shags immediately received her confidence when the General was gone.

"The fair falcon is beaten, Shags! And I'm enough of a heathen still to rejoice in her discomfiture. I hate humbug and insincerity. Thank goodness Mysie will escape out of her clutches. What a storm in a tea-cup! But I shall miss his visits if he goes. He wants a wife to laugh at him and rub off his angles—to give him a little petting, and make him realize that he is a very human man, and not a cast-iron statue to be worshipped, but never to be approached at close quarters! I wish he had a little more humour! I wonder if he would be boring if one lived with him!"

She was rather surprised in two days' time to get a letter from General Macdonald, the first that she had ever received.

"DEAR MISS ARBUTHNOT,—"
"I thought you would like to know how things are going with us. I quite accidentally met Miss Falconer out the other day. She had called at the house for a book of hers, and we met as she was returning to the Grants. I suppose I ought to be glad the matter has been taken out of my hands. She began to talk about Mysie at once, then said that her people wanted her to give up teaching—that Lady Grant did not like her living alone, and was trying to persuade her to leave the cottage and come and stay with them for a long visit. I told her I quite agreed with Lady Grant, and that I could easily make other plans for Mysie. It seemed so easy—the whole thing—that I was surprised when she seemed so disconcerted; said she was afraid I was not satisfied with her. I told her I thought she had done wonders with Mysie, and so she has in the way of teaching her manners and self-control. We parted friends, I hope. I told her I should be sending Mysie to school."
"Mysie herself is a radiant piece of goods at present. I suppose she looks forward to a long holiday, but she does not seem to have liked Miss Falconer. I cannot fathom the reason of her dislike. I am having an old pal of mine to stay for a fortnight's shooting. May I bring him over to see you one day?"
"Yours,"
"HUGH MACDONALD."

A few days after this Rowena was rather surprised to get a visit from Miss Falconer. She arrived in the Grants' car.

"I took the opportunity of coming to see you," Miss Falconer explained, "as Lady Grant wanted to call upon the Macintoshes at Abertarlie. It will be a good-bye visit. I am leaving this part. I only meant to stay in my cottage for the summer, and of course I never meant to take up my job of teaching beyond that time, though the dear general seemed to think that I was a fixture here. I flatter myself that even in these couple of months I have made an impression upon his wild little tomboy. She has brains. It is a pity they are not going to be developed in the right way."

"You don't think that school will develop them?"

"Not a private school—but don't let us talk of education. I am off it. Do you know Mr. Crawford? He has taken your brother's shooting. We have seen a great deal of each other lately. He is always at the Grants'. I don't know why I tell you this, but you're a sympathetic person. Yesterday we came to the conclusion that we liked each other, and I am engaged."

"My congratulations," said Rowena warmly. "I always felt that marriage was more your vocation than teaching. I know him, and should think he's a very good sort."

"Why do you think marriage my vocation?"

"Because you were so bent on persuading me that you were superior to its attractions," said Rowena, laughing, "and those sort of natures are the first to succumb."

Miss Falconer did not look very pleased.

"We are agreed on the equalities of the sexes," she said. "He is not narrow and old-fashioned and prejudiced, like that dear friend of yours, Mysie's father. Of all dull, commonplace, uninteresting men, he takes the cake, as they say! I'm thankful to have severed all connection with him."

"He is simple-minded," said Rowena quietly, "and easily taken in. He does not understand diplomacy."

The glance that Jeannie Falconer flashed towards her was not friendly.

"Oh," she said, "how I pity you! This Highland life would kill me. I have had only a few months of it, but it has sapped all the energy out of me already. I have told Herbert that London must be our permanent home, and he quite agrees. I am thankful that he is English to the core."

She did not stay much longer. Rowena was amused by her visit, but her heart felt as light as a feather. Never till now had she realized how thoroughly she had believed in the gossip of the neighbourhood.

[CHAPTER IX]

DEPARTURE

"But none shall more regretful leave
These waters and these hills than I,
Or distant fonder dream how eve
Or dawn is painting wave and sky."
Whittier.

NOTHING would deter General Macdonald from placing Mysie at school. He came over to Rowena with a most cheerful face, and introduced his friend, a Colonel Cavanagh, to her. He was an Irishman, and Rowena could see at once that his cheery personality had already done the laird good.

"Cavanagh knows of a first-rate school in Edinburgh, where his own daughters are, and I have written to the lady, and she says she can take Mysie at once. The term will be just beginning."

"Then it is all arranged?" queried Rowena. "I hope you have asked her to be lenient to the poor little wild bird when first she is caged?"

"Oh," said Colonel Cavanagh, with a hearty laugh; "Miss Gordon has had experience with wild birds. My girls were as wild as hawks when first she took them; but she has a way with her, and they're quite devoted to her now."

"That sounds nice! Mysie can be led easier than driven."

"Miss Arbuthnot has seen me do the heavy father so often that she speaks from experience," said the General.

"No," said Rowena, "you have got Mysie's affection. Nothing matters when that is won."

Then General Macdonald told her he was going over to Ireland with his friend for a visit.

"And we'll send him back ten years younger," said the cheery Colonel. "He wants to laugh more and think less. We're not given to deep thinking in Ireland."

They did not stay long. As they walked away from the house, Colonel Cavanagh said:

"I'd soon lose my heart to that woman. Why, hasn't she bucked you up, old chap? The very look of her does one good. It's amazing how a woman on her back can get so much fun out of life."

"I'm very fond of Miss Arbuthnot," said General Macdonald, in his simple way. "We have been good chums since I came back, and my small daughter adores her."

Colonel Cavanagh looked at his friend with a spark of amusement in his eye.

"Ah, well, she's not dangerous, down on her back. If she were up and about, it would be a different matter."

General Macdonald said nothing. He would not be drawn. Mysie came over to wish Rowena good-bye; and there were some tears shed.

"Of course, I'm not a baby," she said valiantly; "and Dad says I shall be home for Christmas, and he'll be here too, but I feel as if I'm going to be a prisoner now. And if it gets beyond bearing, I shall run away. I know I shall, and then what will happen?"

"You will be caught and sent back again. I wouldn't do that if I were you. Only cowards run away from disagreeables. A Flora Macdonald never would!"

Mysie tossed her curls back and snorted like a thoroughbred horse.

"Of course I couldn't be a coward. Didn't you say Flora Macdonald went to school in Edinburgh?"

"Yes, I believe so, but I don't know where."

"How wonderful if it was my school she went to!" Rowena laughed.

"I imagine it was," she said.

And Mysie's wonderful eyes grew dreamy and soft, as she thought of her heroine.

She went off fairly happy; but Rowena felt, when both father and child had gone, as if she were bereft of all her friends. If it had not been for Mrs. Macintosh and her son, these autumn months would have been very lonely. The lodges and shooting boxes were soon vacated, and the country round became deserted; wet and storms set in. But Rowena's spirits were never down for long. She was deep in her Highland book, and her bright wood fire and cosy comfort all round her prevented her from feeling the inclemency of the weather. She wrote continually to her brother, and her Indian letters were the delight of her heart. Occasionally the young doctor arrived over to see her. Shags was her constant companion, and Granny was always ready to come in for a "crack."

Snow fell towards the end of November, and Rowena lay looking out at the fairy-like scene with keen enjoyment.

Mrs. Macintosh paid her a visit before it went. She arrived over in a sledge.

"You brave intrepid woman," said Rowena, when she saw her. "How can you venture out in such weather?"

"I am very hardy. It is a real treat to have a talk with you, so don't pity me. I only wish we were nearer you. It is an unnatural life for you to live. You are so young to be so much alone."

"But I feel very matured and old," said Rowena, "especially since my dear Mysie has left me. A child keeps one young."

"Do you have good accounts of her?"

"We write to each other once a fortnight; I believe she is getting on, but a child never expresses her feelings as we should."

"Her father has shut up his house for the winter?"

"I fancy he will come back for Mysie's holidays."

"I was so thankful that my match did not come off! I heard several things afterwards about Miss Falconer that surprised me very much. But I am sure she was in love with him."

Rowena laughed; and Mrs. Macintosh said hurriedly:

"I know you think me an old gossip! But in the wilds here we can't help taking an interest in our neighbours. And I would like to see the laird married again; he is not an old man, and he wants some one to brighten him up, and make him younger!"

"I think he's having a good time over in Ireland," said Rowena. "Perhaps he'll bring back an Irish bride. He is in a house full of young people. Colonel Cavanagh has an old-fashioned family, five daughters and three boys, and three of his daughters have finished schooling and are at home."

"I wish I had a daughter," said Mrs. Macintosh somewhat wistfully. "Robert is a good son to me, but his heart and soul are with his parishioners and his books; and I'm human enough to want a little, idle, frivolous talk sometimes. I have not the 'stability' of the Scotch nature."

"Don't try to get it," said Rowena. "You and I must leaven these Scotch folk with a little seasonable froth."

"Don't think I don't admire goodness," said Mrs. Macintosh hastily. "I do from the bottom of my heart. But a good person need not be dull."

"No," said Rowena, in a more thoughtful tone; then she said abruptly: "I am having fresh aspirations this winter. I wonder if you will see any difference in me by the time the spring is here. I am very slowly going through a transformation. My outlook on life is altering, I am seeing everything from a different standpoint. Pardon my egotism, but tell me, what is your experience? Is life here an enigma to you, or have you the key to it?"

Mrs. Macintosh's whole face softened at once.

"I think I found the key long ago," she said. "Nothing is a puzzle, nothing is a mystery, if you have enough love and trust."

"Ah," said Rowena, with a long-drawn breath, "and that is what I am slowly discovering."

Mrs. Macintosh laid her hand very gently on the little red leather book that was never very far-away from Rowena's couch.

"You are learning out of this," she said.

Rowena nodded brightly.

"It is a new book to me. I have never really studied it in my life before, and it's simply wonderful. It does what the other religious writings never do—it leads you straight to a Person Who becomes more real than anyone else in the world!"

Then there was silence between them which Rowena broke.

"So you see," she said gaily, "I can't be lonely or desolate; it is quite impossible. I have so much lost time to make up, so much to learn and discover."

She did not often open her heart to anyone, and Mrs. Macintosh was touched by it.

After this little talk, she and Rowena drew closer together. And Mrs. Macintosh tried to come over and see her as often as she could.

Rowena had one or two letters from General Macdonald. Then, as December was drawing towards a close, she had one which much distressed her.

"I have just been wired for. Mysie is dangerously ill of
pneumonia. I leave to-morrow. Pray for her. Yours.
HUGH MACDONALD."

Rowena found it hard to lie patiently under this blow. Mysie, with her laughing eyes and active spirits to be stretched on a bed of suffering! It brought an ache to her heart as she thought of her. She longed to rise up from her bed and go off to her. Granny was loud in denunciation of Edinburgh schools.

"The wee lassie hasna the constitootion for that freezin' toon. I aye was once awa' there, an' niver shall I forget et. I cudna keep body and sperrit together. 'Tis the Highlands for soft sweet air, an' winds that blaw aisy, not wi' knives piercin' into your bones!"

Rowena could only write her sympathy and possess her soul in patience. She got a wire one day, when Mysie's life was in danger, and then another to say she was pulling through. Christmas found Mysie still very ill, and her father in an Edinburgh hotel, learning day by day how much he loved his child.

And then when Mysie was quite convalescent, her father wrote that he was bringing her home.

Rowena wrote promptly:

"Will you let Granny and me have her here, to pet her and nurse her
back to health again? She is not too fond of that worthy housekeeper
of yours, and I should love to have her."

By return of post she heard from the General:

"I can't say how good I think it of you! There is no one I would
have her with more willingly. I have business in town, and did not
want to return just yet. I will bring her down myself the first day
the doctor says she can travel."

And so one day, a very frail white little Mysie arrived, but her eyes were blazing with delight and rapture.

When Rowena's arms were round her, she looked up into her face with passionate devotion.

"I've never had anyone to talk to like you! And I've been just sick with wanting you and the glen and the loch!"

"Keep a bit of your heart for your old father," said General Macdonald.

His face looked worn and weary, but Rowena saw that he had improved in health and spirits. His step was brisker, he held himself more alertly.

Mysie looked up at him affectionately.

"Dad has been so kind," she informed Rowena; "he used to play halma with me in bed, and told me stories, almost as good as yours."

When she had been packed off to bed, her father began to talk about her.

"She has not the constitution for a town life, and the doctors advised me to let her go easily for the next year. The schoolmistress said she was, if anything, too eager and quick over her lessons; but her appetite failed, and she had constant headaches; and then, in this last spell of extreme cold, she did not seem to have the strength to withstand it. I don't want to lose her. Do advise me. What shall I do? Not try another governess?"

Rowena laughed.

"Let me have her. We shall be company for each other, and then you roam the world as you will. I don't believe you will settle down here."

"I want to do something with my life," said the General earnestly. "I'm not keen about politics, I'm afraid; but I've been offered a post by a friend of Cavanagh's. It has to do with the welfare of the deserving unemployed, and they want me to be secretary. It will entail a few months in town, and a good deal of travelling round, but I shall feel I am working again. At the same time, I am not going to live entirely apart from my child, and I have my duties as a landlord here. So the spring will see me opening the house again. I will gladly leave Mysie with you till then."

The matter was settled, and he departed.

Rowena and Mysie were supremely content. The child's rapture at being in the Highlands again was extremely touching.

"I hate towns and houses and people—they make me giddy. When I smelt the air coming in the train from the hills, I nearly cried. I told Dad I couldn't never live away from the Highlands, and he said he didn't think I could, and he wouldn't ask me to. Isn't he a darling! And the girls thought a kilt shocking! But you'll let me wear mine again, won't you? Oh, dearest prisoner, how happy you and me will be! Will Shags be jealous, do you think? He's looking at me out of the corners of his eyes, something like Miss Falconer did. And oh I do just look at the darling loch. Isn't it perfectly sweet with the sun on it? There's nothing for the sun to shine on in Edinburgh. When it did come out, it must have been rather disgusted only to have the streets and houses to shine on, instead of the loch and hills and moor. I kissed the earth when we got out at the station. The only thing I really enjoyed at school was learning poetry. I learnt a lovely piece, but when I had to say it, I cried instead, and Miss Gordon wasn't cross, she said she understood, but I wouldn't not have learnt it for anything. It began:

"'The Highlands, the Highlands, oh, gin I were there,
Though the mountains and moorlands be rugged and bare;
Tho' cold be the climate and scanty the fare,
Oh, my dearly loved Highlands, oh, gin I were there.'"

"And it ends:

"'The Highlands, the Highlands, my once happy home
Through thy glens and thy straths my delight was to roam;
Though on a bright shore, where all nature is fair,
My heart's in the Highlands, oh, gin I were there!'"

"I think it was rather cruel to make you learn that," said Rowena; "but we won't think of the time you were away, little Flora; we'll only think of the good time we're going to have now. Do you know, I'm counting the months to my freedom? Only three more months and then I'll be staggering to my feet. I shall have to learn to walk again, shan't I?"

"And you'll lean on my arm," said Mysie with shining eyes; "and then in a few days you'll be riding and rowing and fishing with me. Oh, it will be glorious!"

Time slipped away very pleasantly. Mysie fast regained her health and strength; and then Rowena suggested a couple of hours at lessons every morning. She was delighted with Mysie's quick intelligence, and Mysie was very naïve in her comments upon Rowena's knowledge.

"Why, you know heaps and heaps more than I do! You're as clever as Miss Falconer, and yet you never show off like she did!"

And then spring came, a late spring in the Highlands, but a marvellously beautiful one.

Rowena had her couch moved out-of-doors for an hour in the sunshine sometimes, and she lay and gazed at the soft shadows chasing each other across the distant hills and loch, and watched the green buds bursting into blossom, and the pale primroses in the banks.

"I may never see another spring here," she said rather sadly once to Mysie. "I feel I'm a bit of the soil, but I shall have to depart when my legs are given back to me."

Mysie was loud in her laments.

"Don't try to get well! We can't spare you. Nobody wants you in India half so bad as Dad and I want you here."

But Rowena shook her head, and very soon her brother Ted received a letter from her which rejoiced his heart.

"DEAR OLD TED,—"
"My year is over! I can hardly believe it, and actually old Niddy-Noddy took it into his wise old head to take his holiday in Scotland this spring. Of course he came on to see me, and much against my will he brought some other old wiseacre from Edinburgh—a chum of his—and they examined me and poked me about, and were highly pleased with the result of my year's rest. I am at present like a baby trying to walk! I am to go slowly, but they say my unused muscles will harden in time, and my back is really cured. What a wonderful thing it is to have a body which will go! I never valued mine properly before, and I assure you I'm going to be very careful and cautious with such a precious possession now. My first walk was taken two days ago. Mysie and Granny nearly cried with the excitement of it. And I staggered and rolled like a drunken tar. But I'm walking more respectably now—only the fatigue of it! I ask myself am I a Rip Van Winkle, and have I spent a hundred years instead of one upon my bed?"
"Well, this is enough about my body."
"Now about plans. You and Geraldine are very impatient to have me. It is rather pleasant to feel I am wanted so much, and of course the thought of being with you so soon makes me want to dance a jig! This is May. Shall I come out the end of August? Will it be in the middle of the monsoon? But that will be a matter of indifference to me. I must tell you frankly that I shall say good-bye to the Highlands with real concern. My heart has been stolen by its soft air and elusive colours, and the dear simple Gaelic people, not to speak of the charming personality of Mysie Macdonald. And Granny and I have grown into each other's ways, so that it will be hard to snap ourselves asunder."
"I have written to the laird. He's in a predicament about his child, feeling that school has been a failure, and yet governesses are worse. I wish I knew a dear old motherly body who would teach and love the little darling with the same breath. How are your chicks? Grown out of knowledge, I expect. I can't believe that I shall be with you before very long now. Good-bye. My love and kisses to the batch of you. And tell Geraldine that I will stop in town and be fitted up with frocks before I sail, so as not to disgrace her. Your last cheque was far too generous."
"Ever your"
"ROWENA."

General Macdonald arrived over one afternoon. He had returned from town unexpectedly, and had told no one of his coming. Mysie was out when he came. Rowena received him in her green room. The couch was absent. At first he looked quite dazed when he saw a radiant vision crossing the room to meet him. Rowena looked so very much alive, as if every pulse in her body were beating with intense vitality.

"Don't you recognize me?" she said with her mellow laugh.

"Hardly. I did not realize you would be so tall. It is a resurrection. May I say how glad I am!"

His eyes met hers with smiling admiration, then when they were seated his brows contracted.

"Is it true that you're leaving this part for good?"

"I am going to join my brother and family in India."

"But do they want you?"

"How can you be so uncomplimentary! Of course they do!"

He drew a breath.

"I was hoping, for the child's sake—for our sakes—that you would be here a little longer. What am I to do with her? Can you advise me?"

"What do you think about the Macintoshes? Mrs. Macintosh is such a nice woman. She might be inclined to take her, and later on perhaps she would be strong enough to go back to school."

"I can't afford to lose her, but I like Mrs. Macintosh, and if her son would give her an hour or two of lessons every day, it would be the very thing. What a wonderful woman you are for lightening my burdens! I will go to them on my way home and see if they would be willing to do it. I think I shall be away on and off all the summer. There will be no inducement to come down here with you gone."

He stopped and looked at her as Rowena had never seen him look before. She was conscious of the quickened beating of her heart.

Then he compressed his lips.

Rowena said lightly:

"You must be more sociable this coming summer. For your little daughter's sake, you must be; and you will find it better for yourself to mix more with your fellow-creatures. I have come to the conclusion that my enforced seclusion has had its purposes, but it would not be good for me to continue it. A solitary life tends to selfishness; don't you think so?"

"Not in your case," he said warmly; "I have never met with such sympathy and understanding in my life before!" Then abruptly he rose to his feet. "I will go to the Macintoshes now. You will hear from me, if I do not come over to-morrow."

He took his departure. Rowena shook her head when he had gone.

"My dear," she soliloquized to herself, "you're not a young romantic girl! Remember your age and experience. You have had many men friends. Don't expect this particular man to mean anything more than mere platonic friendship. A very good and useful thing in its way!"

The next day came, and the next, but no letter from the laird.

Then at the end of the week Mrs. Macintosh came over and told Rowena that she had promised to give Mysie a home for the summer. And Rowena heard that the laird had gone off suddenly to town. She still waited for his letter, but it did not come, and the next thing was a wire from her brother, asking her to sail at once in the Lesbia, a P. & O. steamer going in a fortnight's time. Mysie went off to Mrs. Macintosh. She felt the parting from Rowena keenly, but, child-like, intended to enjoy her life at the manse. Rowena hastily packed up her things and went up to town. She knew General Macdonald's address there, and one day had talk with him through the telephone.

It was strangely unsatisfactory.

Rowena told him she was going sooner than she had thought, and had left Mysie comfortably settled in the manse. His replies were cold and grave. He wished her a safe journey, and thanked her for all she had done for his little girl.

At the end of the interview, he said:

"I understood your silence, so have not troubled you with any more correspondence."

Rowena was about to inquire what he meant, but they were cut off, and she did not see or hear from him again.

Later she puzzled over his words, then strove to put them from her.

"My Highland life and Highland friends will be only a memory now," she assured herself. "That chapter is closed. I am in another atmosphere altogether."

And she sailed for India with a smiling face and an aching heart.