The Last of Their Race

by Annie S. Swan

"I haven't any plans," Malcolm admitted.

This answer incensed the old man extremely. He looked at the strong, well-knit figure of his nephew in the full prime and strength of his young manhood with critical displeasure.

"Then the sooner you get some, my man, the better it will be for you. It is a thousand pities that you resigned your commission when you did, and since it is somebody to make a proposition that you seem to need, mine is that you apply to the proper authorities and get back to the army as soon as possible. It's undoubtedly the very best thing you can do."

The silence deepened. It was broken by the falling of a glowing log from the bars to the hearth, and, under pretence of restoring it to the grate, Isla moved and bent towards it.

"I never approved of what you did," went on Sir Tom, "and if anybody's advice had been asked it would never have been permitted. I don't like back-draughts, but I can't help saying now, as we're discussing family business, that I'm sure that your father would have been the very last man to have sanctioned your sending in your papers--that is to say, if he'd been in his full mind and faculties. And I think that the best tribute of respect you can show to his memory is to get back to the army as soon as possible and try to follow in the steps of the finest fellow and the bravest soldier that ever earned a sword."

It was a long speech for Sir Tom to make, and at the end he cleared his throat and dashed something from his eyes. He was glad to have got this off his chest--as he might have expressed it. It had lain heavily there for some time; in fact, ever since he had been able to grasp the full significance of his nephew's action. To him it seemed disastrous, unnecessary, and foolish in the extreme. For if a man cannot afford to live on his estate, or if it does not offer him sufficient occupation, surely it were infinitely better for him to take up some honourable calling in which he would have a chance to rise and to distinguish himself.

The Mackinnons, at least the handful that was left, had all been proud of the gallant old General, and, now that it was open to his son to carry on the fine traditions of the race, it seemed incredible and discreditable that he should not be willing and eager to do it.

"I can't do that, Uncle Tom," said Malcolm, shifting uneasily from one foot to another. "I've left the army for good."

"But that's no reason why you shouldn't go back. If representations to the proper quarter were made, I can't see any insuperable obstacles in the way. Can you, Isla?"

She made no answer, and he went on.