The Last of Their Race

by Annie S. Swan

She shook hands with Sadie, but it was at the brother that she looked.

And she was well pleased with what she saw. She was not concerned at all about the impression she might be making on them. The only thing that mattered was that the people who were coming to Achree should not be objectionable.

Just for a moment she had been a trifle dismayed by Miss Rosmead's very obvious nationality--by the twang in her voice and by the familiarity of her manner. Isla's own manner inclined to hauteur. She fought against it, for the person who has goods to sell cannot afford to be too high and mighty in procedure. Yet she carried herself, in spite of her efforts to the contrary, like one who had a favour to bestow.

An intensely good-natured person, overflowing with the milk of human kindness, Sadie Rosmead did not even notice this characteristic manner, but not a shade of it was lost on Rosmead himself. It did not, however, either irritate or repel him. He had an immense gift of understanding, and he knew what this interview meant to the girl before them, whose face, now that the little flush of excitement had died from it, was pale, and even a little haggard.

"I am sorry you did not let me know, so that you could have been met at the station and could have come to luncheon. Have you had any?"

"Oh, yes," answered Sadie, "a very good snack at the station buffet at Glasgow, hadn't we, Peter? We should like a cup of tea perhaps, by and by, after we have seen the house. I have heard of your Scotch scones and butter and honey. They have very good imitations of them at the hotels, but we've been told--haven't we, Hylton?--that they don't begin to taste like the real thing."

Isla noticed the change of name, and she decided that the more dignified one suited the brother better. "Peter" was certainly ridiculous, and yet it had a kindly human sound and she preferred to think of him as kindly to thinking of him as dignified at the moment. Achree so much needed kindness, and she--poor girl!--more than all, though she was hardly conscious of her own need.

Rosmead was fully conscious of it. He had never in the whole course of his experience met with anything that touched or appealed to him more than the sight of this tall, slight girl upon whose shoulders rested what made her life a burden--the whole responsibility of the house of her fathers. Cattanach, a discerning man, had told him just sufficient to arouse his compassionate interest. Though he spoke so little, Isla felt comforted by his presence. The thing that had been a nightmare resolved itself, under his kindly touch, into something that might not only be possible, but might also prove good.

This man, of alien race though he was, would never harry Achree, nor would he bring to it strange new ways of life and thought. He looked strong, generous, and simple--as the truly strong always are.

While this subtle bond was being established between these two thus so strangely brought together, Sadie did the talking.