Macleod of Dare | Page 4

am dead. Come, mother, have you no message for Norman Ogilvie?"
The old lady had nerved herself again, though her hands were still trembling.
"I hope he will come back with you, Keith," she said.
"For the shooting? No, no, mother. He was not fit for the shooting about here: I have seen that long ago. Do you think he could lie for an hour in a wet bog? It was up at Fort William I saw him last year, and I said to him, 'Do you wear gloves at Aldershot?' His hands were as white as the hands of a woman."
"It is no woman's hand you have, Keith," his cousin said; "it is a soldier's hand."
"Yes," said he, with his face flushing, "and if I had had Norman Ogilvie's chance--"
But he paused. Could he reproach this old dame, on the very night of his departure, with having disappointed all those dreams of military service and glory that are almost the natural inheritance of a Macleod of the Western Highlands? If he was a stay-at-home, at least his hands were not white. And yet, when young Ogilvie and he studied under the same tutor--the poor man had to travel eighteen miles between the two houses, many a time in hard weather--all the talk and aspirations of the boys were about a soldier's life; and Macleod could show his friend the various trophies, and curiosities sent home by his elder brothers from all parts of the world. And now the lily-fingered and gentle-natured Ogilvie was at Aldershot; while he--what else was he than a mere deer-stalker and salmon-killer?
"Ogilvie has been very kind to me, mother," he said, laughing. "He has sent me a list of places in London where I am to get my clothes, and boots, and a hat; and by the time I have done that, he will be up from Aldershot, and will lead me about--with a string round my neck, I suppose, lest I should bite somebody."
"You could not go better to London than in your own tartan," said the proud mother; "and it is not for an Ogilvie to say how a Macleod should be dressed. But it is no matter, one after the other has gone; the house is left empty at last. And they all went away like you, with a laugh on their face. It was but a trip, a holiday, they said: they would soon be back to Dare. And where are they this night?"
Old Hamish came in.
"It will be time for the boat now, Sir Keith, and the men are down at the shore."
He rose, the handsome young fellow, and took his broad, blue bonnet with the badge of juniper.
"Good-by, cousin Janet," said he, lightly. "Good-by, mother. You are not going to send me away in this sad fashion? What am I to bring you back--a satin gown from Paris? or a young bride to cheer up the old house?"
She took no heed of the passing jest. He kissed her, and bade her good-by once more. The clear stars were shining over Castle Dare, and over the black shadows of the mountains, and the smoothly swelling waters of the Atlantic. There was a dull booming of the waves along the rocks.
He had thrown his plaid round him, and he was wondering to himself as he descended the steep path to the shore. He could not believe that the two women were really saddened by his going to the south for awhile; he was not given to forebodings. And he had nearly reached the shore, when he was overtaken by some one running, with a light step behind him. He turned quickly, and found his cousin before him, a shawl thrown round her head and shoulders.
"Oh, Keith," said she, in a bright and matter-of-fact way, "I have a message for you--from myself--and I did not want aunt to hear, for she is very proud, you know, and I hope you won't be. You know we are all very poor, Keith; and yet you must not want money in London, if only for the sake of the family; and you know I have a little, Keith, and I want you to take it. You won't mind my being frank with you. I have written a letter."
She had the envelope in her hand.
"And if I would take money from any one, it would be from you, Cousin Janet; but I am not so selfish as that. What would all the poor people do if I were to take your money to London and spend it?"
"I have kept a little," said she, "and it is not much that is needed. It is ��2000 I would like you to take from me, Keith. I have written a letter."
"Why, bless me, Janet, that is nearly all the money you've got!"
"I