My Heart's in the Highlands
Copyright© 2024 by Amy Le Feuvre
Chapter 8: The Laird’s Awakening
“Yet to be loved makes not to love again;
Not at my years, however it hold in youth.”
Tennyson.
MYSIE stayed with Rowena till the afternoon of the following day, and very unwillingly departed. She had hardly gone before another visitor was announced, and this was Mr. Crawford whom Rowena had met on the loch with Angus. He was full of her accident, and told her they had hardly got to the shore themselves before the storm burst upon them.
“Upon my honour, I’d half a mind to row back and look for your remains,” he said. “We felt convinced you would be upset, and then we saw a small boat go to your rescue. Donald was beside himself till he heard you were none the worse for your immersion. It was risky being upon the loch a day like that.”
“Yes, that pleasure is over,” said Rowena regretfully. “I shall no longer be able to enjoy my punt, for it is now a forbidden pastime. If General Macdonald had not happened to be at hand, it would have been all up with me.”
“Oh, he’s the laird of Abertarlie, isn’t he? I was dining at the Grants’ yesterday evening, and he was under discussion. A Miss Falconer amused us very much. It seems she is teaching a small girl of his—more as a pastime than anything else. She’s one of these modern women—you should have heard her take him off! He has those old-fashioned mid-Victorian ideas of women, and wants his small daughter patterned after their style. Miss Falconer is the wrong sort of person to do that. She’s an awfully good sort. Have you met her?”
“Yes,” said Rowena; “but I have not seen much of her.”
“How do you get through your time? You must be bored stiff, aren’t you?”
“No,” said Rowena, smiling at him. “I lie here and watch the eternal patience of the hills, and get a little of the spirit of Nature to solace me. Look over the loch now, did you ever see such a play of light and shade? I have a never-ending panorama passing before my eyes. I am Highland to my heart’s core. You don’t know the magic of our lochs and glens. In your eyes they are only places where you can fish and shoot; to us they are something more.”
“I believe that,” said Mr. Crawford sincerely. “There’s a look in the eyes of the Highland folk that is peculiar to their part of the country. They gaze at their burns and their braes—like a lad gazes at his first love!”
Rowena nodded. “And then there’s such history behind them all. You see our moors lying peacefully under the summer sunshine; we see them alive, and bristling with conflicts and battles—the glens trodden by refugees fleeing from death, the caves sheltering heroes, the lochs full of legends and romance. We feel the atmosphere of the past impregnating that of the present, and we love every blade of grass that grows! To you the moors hold deer and grouse; beyond that you do not go!”
“We are just matter-of-fact butchers!” said Mr. Crawford with a laugh. “Now will you, in spite of my inferiority to a Highlander, bestow upon me that book on your deer forests? You promised me the loan of it.”
“It is here waiting for you,” said Rowena, putting out her hand upon a small parcel which lay on her book table by her side, “but I should say you get little time for reading now.”
“That’s a fact—but I like a smoke and read after dinner.”
They chatted away in very friendly fashion, and when Mr. Crawford departed he determined he would come again very soon, for all men liked Rowena, and not even her invalidism could make her uninteresting to them.
General Macdonald made his appearance very soon again.
“I am being drawn into society now against my will,” he said; “the Grants insist upon my going to dine with them next week. Lady Grant met me out to-day and won’t take a refusal. She and Miss Falconer came in and had some tea. I don’t often entertain visitors, but they are an exception. My small girl did not show up. She seems to disapprove of Miss Falconer visiting her in the holidays, and though I sent her a message to make her appearance, I saw her flying across the lawn, and she has not come back when I left. I must punish her for disobedience. I am not going to have my orders set aside. But punishments are not in my line. Give me advice.”
“Oh, don’t ask me,” said Rowena; “you will think me too indulgent. I should give Mysie a good scolding and tell her whether she liked a thing or not, do it she must, if you wish her to. A talk is sometimes more efficacious than a punishment. Children are reasonable creatures. When I was small, punishments were too common! We hardly took any notice of them—Ted and I!”
“Yes,” said General Macdonald slowly; “but I find she often worsts me in a talk. She is apt to be argumentative, and then I lose my temper. I’ve a hot one, as I dare say you know; and I’m not accustomed to deal with children.”
“I want to read you a lovely legend about your house,” said Rowena, trying to turn the subject. “I got it out of a book Mr. Macintosh gave me.”
The General’s brow cleared. He and Rowena were soon absorbed in their local history. It was about six o’clock, and a slight mist was sweeping down from the moor. Rowena was in her green room, as the air was damp and cold. Suddenly they heard a pony gallop along the drive outside, and the next moment Mysie dashed open the door in a state of wild excitement: She looked greatly taken aback at the sight of her father, but in her impulsive fashion threw herself upon Rowena.
“I’ve come to you to tell you! I had to! I won’t believe it, and you must stop it, my darling prisoner, oh, you’ll know how to!”
“What is the matter?” asked Rowena, laughing, yet regarding the child with some sympathy. “Have you heard any more guns shooting your beloved stags?”
“Oh, it’s a hundred times worse!”
“I wonder where you have been, since I summoned you to tea?” said General Macdonald rather severely.
Mysie stood up, twisting her small hands together in agony. “I knewed you would be angry,” she said; “but I just felt I couldn’t be smiling at Miss Falconer. I was tired out of her. And she always says she hates grown-ups and children mixed together. Oh, Dad, don’t be angry but if it’s true, I shall run away from you. I shall go back to Nan, and if she won’t have me, I shall hunt for a water kelpie and let him drown me, or I shall go round and round the fairies’ hill till they take me in.”
“Tell us what the trouble is.”
Rowena had drawn the hot excited child to her, and was holding one of her little hands in hers. Then Mysie burst into a passion of tears.
“Dad is going to marry Miss Falconer. They all say so. She’s coming to live with us for ever! And—b-b-b-be my stepmother! Oh, stop it, stop it, won’t you? Miss Falconer says women can always manage men; do try to manage Dad and make him not do it. I can’t live in the house with Miss Falconer for my stepmother. I told you how I hate her! I do! I do! She tries to make me cry, so that she can laugh at me.”
Rowena looked across at General Macdonald rather helplessly. But if Mysie was excited, he became more so. Rising impatiently from his chair, with a warm flush in his thin brown cheeks and blazing eyes, he thundered forth:
“Stop this foolish nonsense at once, child! Who has been putting such a preposterous idea into your head?”
“They’ve all been saying it. Mrs. Dalziel and Angus, and even Nan; and Miss Falconer is always saying what she would do if she was mistress! I can’t bear to think of it!”
“How did you come here?” he asked hotly.
“On the pony. Dad, don’t be angry with me. I’m sorry I disobeyed you. It was Elsie who was doing my hair; she said of course I was to go down and see my new mamma, and I wouldn’t believe her, and then I went to Mrs. Dalziel in the kitchen, and she said that folks were saying so, and I rushed away to Nan and Angus, and they’ve been saying it too; and then I went away into the woods and I was miser-rubble; and then I thought I’d come to my darling prisoner, and she might prevent you doing it!”
“Now look here! You go straight back on your pony and tell Mrs. Dalziel that if I hear she is circulating such mischievous gossip and lies, she will leave my service at once. I have no intention of marrying. And then go off to Angus and tell him and his wife the same. Off with you at once!”
A thunder-cloud was on his brow, but Mysie stopped sobbing, and then she flung herself on her father and wound her small arms round him.
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