“I know him. He is a fine fellow; quiet, cool-blooded, has little to say, and wastes no strength in emotion. There’s wisdom for you––but go on with thy talk, woman; it hurts me, but I must hear it to the end.”
“Well, then, Kenneth McLeod has the appearance of a gentleman, though he is only a trader.”
“Say smuggler, Rahal, and you might call him by a truer name.”
“Many whisper the same word. Of a smuggler, a large proportion of our people think no wrong. That you know. He is a kind of hero to some girls. Many grand parties these McLeods give––music and dancing, and eating and drinking, and the young officers of the garrison are there, as well as our own gay young men; and where these temptations are, young women are sure to go. His aunt is mistress of his house.
“Now, then, this thing happened when Boris was last here. One night he heard two men talking as they went down the street before him. The rain was pattering on the flagged walk and he did not well understand their conversation, but it was altogether of the McLeods and their entertainments. Suddenly he heard the name of Sunna Vedder. Thrice he heard it, and he followed the men to the public house, called for whiskey, sat down at a table near them and pretended to be writing. But he grew more and more angry as he heard the free and easy talk of the men; and when again they named Sunna, he put himself into their conversation and so learned they were going to McLeod’s as soon as the hour was struck for the dance. Boris permitted them to go, laughing and boastful; an hour afterwards he followed.”
“With whom did he go?”
“Alone he went. The dance was then in progress, and men and women were constantly going in and out. He followed a party of four, and went in with them. There was a crowd on the waxed floor. They were dancing a new measure called the polka; and conspicuous, both for her beauty and her dress, he saw Sunna among them. Her partner was Kenneth McLeod, and he was in full McLeod tartans. No doubt have I that Sunna and her handsome partner made a romantic and lovely picture.”
“What must be the end of all this? What the devil am I to think?”