he said, in a voice still bitter with mortification, “if I could not protect you against my own followers. I would not have had this happen for a thousand pounds. I can offer you no apologies that are deep enough for such an outrage.”
“Except for the loss of some buttons, I am not much the worse,” replied Keith dryly without turning his head.
“But I am,” he heard the Highlander say behind him in a low voice.
Nothing more passed between them until they had arrived at the level of the loch, but by that time a rather remarkable change had come upon Keith. Much better and more dignified to make light of the outrage which he had just suffered than to exaggerate it by sulking over it. Besides, he was beginning to be sorry for the palpable distress of that punctilious young man, Mr. Cameron of Ardroy, who could not in very justice be blamed for what had happened.
So he stopped and turned round. “Mr. Cameron,” he said frankly, “I have no one but myself to thank for the rough handling I received up yonder. You warned me not to go far afield; and moreover I acted like a fool in staying there to watch. Will you forgive my ill-temper, and let me assure you that I shall think no more of the episode except to obey your warnings more exactly in future?”
Ardroy’s face cleared wonderfully. “You really mean that, sir?”
“Assuredly. I ran my head into the lion’s mouth myself. I shall be obliged if you will not mention my folly to the ladies; a soldier’s self-esteem, you know, is easily hurt.” His smile went up a little at the corner.
A sparkle came into Ewen Cameron’s eyes. “You are generous, Captain Windham, and I am not deceived by your plea for silence. I am so ashamed, however, that I welcome it for the sake of my own self-esteem.”
“But I mean what I say,” returned Keith. (He was quick enough in the uptake, this young chief of barbarians!) “It was the act of an utter fool for me, in this uniform, to stand gaping at . . . at what was going on up there. You know what it was, I presume?” he added, with a lift of the eyebrows.
“Naturally,” said Ewen without embarrassment. “It was that which brought me up there—most fortunately. But now,” he went on with a frown, “now I am not sure that I shall allow those arms to be carried by men in my tail who have so disgraced themselves and me.—Let us go on, if you will, for when I have escorted you to the house I shall return to deal with that question.”
“You seemed,” observed Keith, as they went on once more, “to be dealing with it pretty satisfactorily just now!” (So he proposed, as a punishment, to debar the offenders from the pleasures of armed rebellion!)
“At least, before I consent to their following me on Monday,” said the dispenser of justice, striding on, “they shall all beg your pardon!”
“Oh, pray excuse them that!” exclaimed Keith, not at all welcoming the prospect. “I should be horribly embarrassed, I assure you. Moreover, I can almost sympathise with their zeal—now that there is no prospect of my being thrown into the lake here with a stone round my neck.”
His captor stopped. “Was that what they were going to do?” he asked in a horrified tone.
“They spoke of it, since I would not promise to keep silence on what I had seen. They were quite logical, you know, Mr. Cameron, for what I saw was certainly not meant for the eyes of an English officer!”
“You were my prisoner—my guest—they had no excuse whatever!” declared the young man, wrath beginning to seize on him again. “Neil and Lachlan knew that, if the others did not. And Angus—what was Angus about not to stop them?”
“Is that the blind veteran who takes such an interest in the natural history of these parts?”
“What do you mean?” asked his companion.
“Why,” answered Keith, who was after all enjoying a kind of secret revenge by quizzing him, “that he was particular to enquire, through his estimable son, your piper, whether I had encountered a heron before I made your acquaintance yesterday.”
The mention of that fowl appeared for the second time to startle his host (though until that moment Keith had forgotten its effect upon him last night). “Ah, my foster-father asked you that?” he murmured, and looked upon the Englishman with a rather troubled and speculative gaze. But Keith had found a new subject of interest. “Is the old gentleman really your foster-father?” he enquired. “But of course he must be, if his sons are your foster-brothers.”
“I think,” said the foster-son somewhat hastily, “that you can return safely from here, so, if you will excuse me, Captain Windham, I will now go back to Slochd nan Eun.”
“To execute judgment,” finished Keith with a smile. “Indeed, I am not so devoid of rancour as to wish to hinder you. But if you do condemn your foster-relations to stay at home,” he added rather meaningly, “you will be doing them a good turn rather than an ill one.”
It seemed doubtful, however, if Ewen Cameron had heard this remark, for he was already striding lightly and quickly back in the direction of the mountain path, his kilt swinging about his knees as he went.
* * * * *
It was an odd coincidence that at supper that evening, after Angus MacMartin’s name had come up in some talk between Miss Cameron and Mr. Grant, the former should turn to Captain Windham and ask if he had seen their taibhsear or seer? Seeing instantly from Ardroy’s face that he was regretting the introduction of his foster-father’s name into the conversation, Keith made malicious haste to reply that he had contrived to get as far as the soothsayer’s dwelling, and that his reception there had been a memorable experience. Immediately the ladies asked if Angus had ‘seen’ anything while the visitor was there, to which Keith, with a glance at his host, replied with great suavity that such might well have been the case, since he appeared, towards the end of the visit, to be entirely withdrawn from outward events.
“He left the honours to his interesting sons,” he explained with a smile, “who entertained me so . . . so wholeheartedly that if Mr. Cameron had not appeared upon the scene I might be there still.” But at this point Ewen, with a heightened colour, forcibly changed the conversation.
CHAPTER IV
In spite of a certain amount of turmoil earlier in the day, almost the usual Sunday calm lay on the house of Ardroy between five and six that evening, and in it Alison Grant sat at one of the windows of the long living-room, her arms on the sill, her cheek on her joined hands. Her father had gone to Achnacarry, Ewen was she knew not where, her aunt, she believed, in her bedchamber. It would be better, Alison thought, if she were in hers, upon her knees.
But she could pray here, too, looking out on this blue and purple loveliness of distance, and here she might get a passing glimpse of Ewen, busy though he was, and would not thus be missing any of these precious last moments of him. The sands were slipping so fast now . . .
Alison pulled herself up. The sands were indeed running out, but towards how glorious an hour! Prayed for and wrought for with so much faith and selfless devotion (as well as with so much crooked counter-plot and intrigue), it was to strike to-morrow, when his banner would proclaim to all the winds that the fairy prince of the hopes of a generation was here at last on Scottish soil.
