When his wife died Drummond was inconsolable. He seemed to care no more for yachting, because at sea everything spoke to him of that gentle lady and mother of his children who had always been by his side in fair weather or in foul.
He was, at the commencement of this story, as handsome a specimen of the true Highlander as one could wish to see. But honourable, strict, and sternly religious. He had, moreover, that pride of birth and lineage which we find clings to the scions of Scottish chiefs, be they ever so poor.
The result, therefore, of an interview that Kep had with his sturdy father, some days after Madge's adventure on the cliff, is not to be wondered at.
"Father," said Kep, peeping round the edge of the library door, "may I come?"
"Certainly, my dear boy."
"Sure you are not too much pre-occupied to listen to what I have to say?"
"Unbend, my boy, unbend," cried Drummond, laughing, "that is hardly conversational English. What do you want? A new pony? Or have you taken the motor-car fever?"
"Oh no, my handsome and dearest father. I should smash a motor-car to pieces in a week. A steam-launch would be more in my way."
"And that shall be yours, Keppel, if you really think you can't live without it."
"I can live without it, father, and mean to. But I am a man now--fourteen last month--and so I want to go down to the sea in ships and see the Lord's wonders in the mighty deep."