"You are a droll la.s.s," said Bryde, with a frown on his face--"a droll la.s.s, and very beautiful--so Mistress Margaret . . ." but Helen broke into his talk.

"Am I beautiful to you, M'sieu? I am honoured," but her eyes were soft--"but what would the proud Margaret say to that?"

"We will forget her, Mistress Helen--what have I to be doing except to be a loyal kinsman to her?" and here the drollest laughing came over Helen.

"I am sure she will be loving _that_," said she, "a loyal kinsman."

And although her breath was still flurried with her swift rage, her eyes were laughing at the man.

"I can never be in anger with you, Bryde," said she. "I wish it were not so."

"Are you wishing to be angry with me now?" said he in a deep voice, with one great arm round her shoulder, and his face bent to her. And as she looked at him a sort of fierceness came over Helen. She flung her arms round the man, and stood on tiptoe to be reaching up to him.

"Some day I will be forgetting my convent teaching," said she, "and then I will make you love me, and you will be mine _altogether_."

"There will be something in that," said Bryde, and laughed a loud ringing laugh, as the drollness of the business came on him. And when he looked down, there was the la.s.s all humbled, and tears standing in her eyes, and a pitiful little mouth on her.

"You are laughing at me, Bryde," said she in a little voice, shakily.

"No, dear, no," said he, "I would be thinking of the Laird of Scaurdale if he kent, and me with a name to be making. Do not be greetin'," said he, "there will be nothing at all to be greeting for," and he set her on her horse gently, and they rode on by the burnside, and watched the brown trout flash in below the boulders, and darting across the amber pools, just as they do to-day.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE HALFLIN'S MESSAGE.

I mind that there was a good back-end that year, as we say, with plenty of keep for the beasts, and the stacks under thatch of sprits by the end of September, and I would be standing in the stackyard as a man will, just pleased to be seeing things as they were, and swithering if I should be taking a step to the Quay Inn, when the halflin lad from Bryde's place came up to me.

"He is not yonder," said he, in a daft-like way. "He will not be in his own place any more."

And then I got at him with the questions.

"The mother will be sitting all day and not greeting terrible," says he, "and Betty will be oching and seching like a daith in the house; and I came to be telling you--and he will have the thin sword with him."

And the lad lisped and boggled at the English, till I shook the Gaelic into him--and there was the story.

It would be two nights ago that Bryde McBride came into the loft where the halflin was sleeping, and bade him dress.

"He would be all in his good claes," said the lad, "and the sword on him," and he told me how the two of them had carried a kist through the hill and down behind the Big House--"there would still be a light in the young leddy's chamber," for Bryde McBride had stood looking at it, and talking in the Gaelic. "And," said the lad, looking over his shoulder half fearfully, "he said, 'If ever there is a word comes out of your mouth about this, Homish, I will be ramming three feet o' blue steel through your gizzard,' and we would be carrying the kist down to the herrin' slap (Bealach an agadan) and to the sh.o.r.e. There was a skiff lying there all quiet and three men waiting, and when we would be among them they took the kist, and wan of the sailors wa.s.s saying they would be in Fowey soon, but the master turned on me, and he had money for me.

"'You will be minding the place until I come back to you,' he said, 'or I'll reive the skin from you for a bridle,' and he made me go away from the rocks and to be going back, but I lay among the trees, and I would be seeing the men put the kist on board, and then they rowed away with the master sitting at the stern and looking back, for I would be seeing his face white in the moon," and at that the poor lad was so near the greetin' that I took him to the kitchen for a meal of meat, and it all came plain to me as I sat there among the serving bodies and the dogs.

I minded the way the boy had taken the sword from me, as he lay in his bed. "This will be clearing the way," he had said, and now he would be started to the clearing, and then there was Margaret.

"You will not be bringing her here again, for I am not strong enough lying here."

That would be at the time he would be lying with Hugh's sword-stroke in his thigh, and calling himself a misbegot, and not fit to be speaking to decent folk. And I minded the pride of him, and kent the very feelings that had sent him away, but I was wishing he could have stayed for all that, for his mother's sake.

At that time I had no word of what had happened at the ford of the burn at Lagavile, or that Mistress Helen in her rage had turned Margaret's words to her own purpose, but that I got later from Margaret herself.

Well, I went into the house and told them, and there was the tiravee; and Margaret like to go out at the rigging, for indeed she was a little spoiled. And Hugh it was that got the rough edge of her tongue, until "I will go and fetch him back," said he.

"You!" says she, "you! As well might the hoodie-craw bring back the kestrel," and at that the mother bridled.

"What kind of talk is this in my house?" said she, "and to your brother. Mend your manners, mistress. What is this fly-by-night (to say nothing worse) to you?"

"He will be all the man ever I will have," said Margaret, standing up, and her eyes flashing, and at that her father, roused by her bravery, laughed aloud.

"Capital," he cried, "capital,"--and then, "Hoot, my wee la.s.s," said he, "you're young yet. Come away wi' me," and she went out with him, leaving us sitting mumchance.

"The best thing that could have happened," said the mistress, and made her way to the kitchen, for if things were not right she must have some work on her hands.

The very next day I made my way to the stable and found Margaret's horse gone.

"She is away like the devil spinning heather," said old Tam. "She'll be at Bothanairidh by noo," and so it was, for when I came to the farm on the moor there was Margaret, thrang at the talking to the halflin, and looking blither than I had thought to see her; and thinks I to myself, he will have been telling her about Bryde and the lighted window--and that I was right I know, although Margaret would never be telling me what it was that Bryde said that night; and the halflin I would not be asking, but I would be telling the la.s.s about the three feet of blue steel in the lad's gizzard, and at that she would laugh at me.

"I will be giving him a golden guinea for every foot o' blue steel,"

said she, "and when I will have Bryde back he will be giving him the double of it, for telling me these good words," and I believe the daft la.s.sie did just that.

But Belle would be fit for nothing but sitting and mourning. "Oh, why did I leave my own folk and the tents and the horses, the laughter o'

the little ones, and the winding roads, to be left desolate on this weary moor--desolate, desolate, and mourning like the Israelitish women--the father is not, and now is the son gone from me."

And when Margaret would have comforted her, "Are not you of the same folk, maiden?" she cried, turning her eyes bright and hard and dry on the la.s.s, "the same cruel proud breed"; and then again, "He was a good son--there never was woman blessed with such a son, kind and brave and loving, the very beasts would come to his whistle."

"But this will not be the finish," said I; "the dogs are not howling,"

and at that old Betty brisked herself.

"Yess, yess, the dogs will not be greeting Belle, woman, and that is a sure sign," said she, wonderfully cheered. "Bryde will be coming back a great man, and bringing old Betty a silk dress and good whisky--yess."

"Where is Fowey, Hamish?" said Margaret.

"On the coast of England, a place the smugglers frequent," said I.

"Bryde will be with the smuggling laads," cried Betty, clapping her hands. "Is he not the brisk lad, and he will be bringing the whisky sure--maybe it will be brandy moreover."

And we left them a little cheered that day, and Margaret still looked happy with her thoughts.

It was in October, the fair day, that Mistress Helen came to visit Margaret, and Hugh had carried her the news of Bryde's going.

"Your cousin has gone to his tall ships," said she to Margaret, "the tall ships and the black cannon and the cutla.s.ses, you remember, ma belle."

"Bryde has gone away truly," said Margaret, and then the two retired to their confidences. But the next day it was that Margaret told me of the meeting by the ford.

"I am hating that woman, Hamish," said she, "with her bravery and her beauty, and her charms that will be working backwards. . . ."

"Who was it that started these same spells?" says I. "Was it not in your mind to be trying these havers on Bryde yourself?"