Part 57 (1/2)

Afterwards, fearing to hurt the religious sentiments of the Highland servants by playing ping-pong on Sunday in the hall, she instructed him elsewhere, and clandestinely, in that pastime till the hour of tea arrived.

Merton did not appear at the tea-table. Tired of this Castle of Indolence, loathing Blake, afraid of more talk with Lady Bude, eating his own heart, he had started alone after luncheon for a long walk round the loch. The day had darkened, and was deadly still; the water was like a mirror of leaden hue; the air heavy and sulphurous.

These atmospheric phenomena did not gladden the heart of Merton. He knew that rain was coming, but he would not be with _her_ by the foaming stream, or on the black waves of the loch. Climbing to the top of the hill, he felt sure that a storm was at hand. On the east, far away, Clibrig, and Suilvean of the double peak, and the round top of Ben More, stood shadowy above the plain against the lurid light. Over the sea hung 'the ragged rims of thunder' far away, veiling in thin shadow the outermost isles, whose mountain crests looked dark as indigo. A few hot heavy drops of rain were falling as Merton began to descend. He was soaked to the skin when he reached the door of the observatory, and rushed up stairs to dress for dinner. A covered way led from the observatory to the Castle, so that he did not get drenched again on his return, which he accomplished punctually as the gong for dinner sounded.

In the drawing-room were the Budes, and Mr. Macrae was nervously pacing the length and breadth of the room.

'They must have taken refuge from the rain somewhere,' Lady Bude was saying, and 'they' were obviously Blake and the daughter of the house.

Where were they? Merton's heart sank with a foolish foreboding.

'I know,' the lady went on, 'that they were only going down to the cove--where you and I were yesterday evening, Mr. Merton. It is no distance.'

'A mile and a half is a good deal in this weather, said Merton, 'and there is no cottage on this side of the sea loch. But they must have taken shelter,' he added; he must not seem anxious.

At this moment came a flash of lightning, followed by a crack like that of a cosmic whip-lash, and a long reverberating roar of thunder.

'It is most foolish to have stayed out so late,' said Mr. Macrae. 'Any one could see that a storm was coming. I told them so, I am really annoyed.'

Every one was silent, the rain fell straight and steady, the gravel in front of the window was a series of little lakes, pale and chill in the wan twilight.

'I really think I must send a couple of men down with cloaks and umbrellas,' said the nervous father, pressing an electric k.n.o.b.

The butler appeared.

'Are Donald and Sandy and Murdoch about?' asked Mr. Macrae.

'Not returned from church, sir;' said the butler.

'There was likely to be a row at the Free Kirk,' said Mr. Macrae, absently.

'You must go yourself, Benson, with Archibald and James. Take cloaks and umbrellas, and hurry down towards the cove. Mr. Blake and Miss Macrae have probably found shelter on the way somewhere.'

The butler answered, 'Yes, sir;' but he cannot have been very well pleased with his errand. Merton wanted to offer to go, anything to be occupied; but Bude said nothing, and so Merton did not speak.

The four in the drawing-room sat chatting nervously: 'There was nothing of course to be anxious about,' they told each other. The bolt of heaven never strikes the daughters of millionaires; Miss Macrae was indifferent to a wetting, and n.o.body cared tremulously about Blake. Indeed the words 'confound the fellow' were in the minds of the three men.

The evening darkened rapidly, the minutes lagged by, the clock chimed the half-hour, three-quarters, nine o'clock.

Mr. Macrae was manifestly growing more and more nervous, Merton forgot to grow more and more hungry. His tongue felt dry and hard; he was afraid of he knew not what, but he bravely tried to make talk with Lady Bude.

The door opened, letting the blaze of electric light from the hall into the darkling room. They all turned eagerly towards the door. It was only one of the servants. Merton's heart felt like lead. 'Mr. Benson has returned, sir; he would be glad if he might speak to you for a moment.'

'Where is he?' asked Mr. Macrae.

'At the outer door, sir, in the porch. He is very wet.'

Mr. Macrae went out; the others found little to say to each other.

'Very awkward,' muttered Bude. 'They cannot have been climbing the cliffs, surely.'

'The bridge is far above the highest water-mark of the burn, in case they crossed the water,' said Merton.