are you there?” He had come in by the door from the hall, and now threw himself down beside her on the window seat. “Hardly a word have I had with you this livelong day! And now I must ride over to Achnacarry for Mac Dhomhnuill Duibh’s final orders, and shall not be back till late, I fear me. But all’s ready here, I think.”
“I wish I were more ready,” thought Alison, devouring him with her eyes. His bright hair grew down in such an enchanting square on his wide forehead, and a desire came upon her to pass her hand over some of its thick waves. “Ah, to see the Prince at last, at last, Ewen, with one’s own eyes!”
“You’ll see him yourself before long, Alison, I hope, in Edinburgh, or maybe Perth—or even, before that, at Achnacarry, if he honours it. Who knows? Meanwhile you can be practising your curtsy, m’eudail!”
“You do not know what His Royal Highness will do after the standard is set up?”
“I’ve not a notion. But I shall contrive to send you word of our movements, never fear. I suppose that somewhere or other we shall be obliged to try conclusions with Sir John Cope and the Government troops.”
The words reminded Alison of the commission just laid upon her. She took up the buttons from the window-sill and held them out towards him.
“Ewen, these have just been brought down from Slochd nan Eun.”
Her lover looked at them with a surprise not quite free from embarrassment. “They must have come off Captain Windham’s uniform,” he observed non-committally. “I will give them back to him.” And he took them from her.
“I must tell you that I have just heard how it was that he lost them,” confessed the girl.
Ewen’s mouth tightened. He laid the buttons on the sill again. “How came that? I had hoped——”
“Yes, dearest, I know; but the matter came out by reason of Neil’s bringing the buttons to Aunt Margaret this afternoon as a kind of peace-offering, it would seem. But, Ewen, what a shocking thing to have happened. I do not wonder that you were angry.”
By the laird of Ardroy’s looks, he was angry still. Alison trusted that he would never look at her, on her own account, in that stern way; and perhaps indeed Ewen realised that he was frowning on the innocent, for his brow relaxed and he took her hand into his as if in apology.
“Indeed, Alison, my heart was in my mouth when I came upon the MacMartins and the rest up there yesterday; for all I knew they had dirked Captain Windham. It seems they had thought of throwing him into the loch. He should not have gone so far from the house; I had warned him against it. But he behaved very well over the affair, and we agreed not to tell you or Aunt Margaret, so you must neither of you say a word to him about the matter this evening.”
“But he must have been greatly offended and incensed. It is true that he was very agreeable at supper, even though Aunt Margaret asked him had he seen Angus.” She paused, wrinkling her brows. “Ewen, do you think that he was only feigning?”
“No, I do not think so, although he was very angry at first—and naturally. Afterwards he made to treat the affair almost as a joke. But I do not think that in his heart he can have considered it as a joke. And considering that his person should have been held sacred, it was a very black disgrace for me, and I did well to be angry. I am still angry,” he added somewhat unnecessarily, “and I have not yet resolved whether I shall allow the two MacMartins to accompany me to-morrow.”
“Not take Neil and Lachlan to Glenfinnan—not take your piper and your right-hand man!” exclaimed Alison, almost incredulous. “But, Ewen, dearest, you will break their hearts for ever if you leave them behind! That punishment is too great! It was surely in ignorance that they sinned; you yourself said that Captain Windham should not have gone there, and in that uniform they must naturally have thought——”
“Neil and Lachlan did not sin in ignorance,” interrupted Ewen sternly. “I had particularly told them that morning what was Captain Windham’s position here. The others, if you like, had more excuse, though why Angus did not prevent their setting upon him, as he could have done, I cannot think. The reason he gave was so——” He broke off, and pushed about the buttons on the sill for a moment or two, then, raising his head, said, “I have not yet told you, Alison, how Angus ‘saw’ last month that this fellow Windham and I would meet.”
“Angus ‘saw’ that you would meet!” repeated Alison, wide-eyed. “Oh, Ewen, why did you not tell me?”
“Because I forgot all about it till last Friday night. Yes, and what is more, it appears that we are to keep on meeting, confound him!”
“Do you then dislike Captain Windham so much?” asked Alison quickly.
“I do not dislike him at all,” Ewen assured her, “though I confess that I cannot quite make him out. But I have no desire for the continual rencontres with him which Angus promises me. And I am sure that Captain Windham cannot possibly view me with anything but dislike for capturing him—and now comes yesterday’s affair.—Don’t look so troubled, my heart!”
“Tell me what Angus said.”
Ewen looked at her a moment as if considering. “But you must not believe it too implicitly, darling; I do not. Though I admit,” he added, as though wishing to be quite just, “that the old man’s predictions have sometimes fulfilled themselves in an extraordinary way. . . . This one began by something about a heron.”
“That, then, was why you were so much surprised on Friday evening,” interpolated Alison in a flash. “I mean, when Captain Windham said that a heron had brought down his horse. I saw it, Ewen. But how——”
“I will tell you from the beginning,” said her betrothed. He got up and put a knee on the window seat. “It was that day at the end of last month when Lochiel’s message came about the Prince’s landing—you remember? Early that morning Lachlan had been very troublesome, wanting to shoot the heron that lives on the island in the loch, because his father had been having a vision about one. I forbade him to do it.—That reminds me, I have not seen the bird of late, but I do not think that Lachlan dare have disobeyed me.—After I had taken leave of you that evening, darling, and was just about to set off to Achnacarry, I met Angus by the Allt Buidhe burn. He had come down from Slochd nan Eun on purpose to see me, and he told me very solemnly that I should soon meet with a man whose destiny would in some unknown way be bound up with mine, and that I should meet him through the agency of a heron. Angus went on to say, ‘And as the threads are twisted at your first meeting, foster-son, so will they always shape themselves at all the rest—a thread of one colour, a thread of another.’ I said on that, ‘At all the rest, Angus? How many more, then?’ and he thought a while and answered, ‘I saw you meeting five times. The first time and the last were by water . . . but always the place changed. Oh, my son, if only I could know what it means!’ I asked then whether I ought to avoid this man, and Angus said, ‘You will not be able to avoid him; the heron by the waterside will bring you to him.’ ‘Ah,’ said I, ‘that then is why Lachlan wanted to shoot the curra this morning!’ But Angus shook his head and muttered, ‘A man cannot change the future in that way. What is to be will be.’
“I thought at the time, Alison,” went on Ewen explanatorily, looking down at her intent face, “that I should come on this man some day, if ever I did, when I was out with a fowling-piece, or something of the sort, and then, to tell truth, I forgot all about the matter in the stir of the news from Moidart; and thus it never crossed my mind when I encountered Captain Windham that he could be the man . . . till he mentioned the heron which startled his
