Part 65 (1/2)

It is such a fine thing to sleep--when one has been fretting all the night, and spasms of fire go through the brain! Ogilvie, Ogilvie, do you remember the laughing d.u.c.h.ess? do you think she would laugh over one's grave; or put her foot on it, and stand relentless, with anger in her eyes? That is a sad thing; but after it is over there is sleep.

”All came to the rare old fellow, Who laughed till his eyes dropped brine, As he gave them his hand so yellow, And pledged them, in Death's black wine!

Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! for the coal-black wine!”

Hamis.h.!.+--Hamis.h.!.+--will you not keep her away from me! I have told Donald what pibroch he will play; I want to be at peace now. But the bra.s.s-band--the bra.s.s-band--I can hear the blare of the trumpets; Ulva will know that we are here, and the Gometra men, and the sea-birds too, that I used to love. But she has killed all that now, and she stands on my grave. She will laugh, for she was light-hearted, like a young child.

But you, Hamish, you will find the quiet grave for me; and Donald will play the pibroch for me that I told him of; and you will say no word to her of all that is over and gone.

See--he sleeps. This haggard-faced man is stretched on the deck; and the pale dawn, arising in the east, looks at him; and does not revive him, but makes him whiter still. You might almost think he was dead. But Hamish knows better than that; for the old man comes stealthily forward; and he has a great tartan plaid in his hand's; and very gently indeed he puts it over his young master. And there are tears running down Hamish's face; and he says ”The brave lad! the brave lad!”

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE END.

”Duncan,” said Hamish, in a low whisper--for Macleod had gone below, and they thought he might be asleep in the small, hushed stateroom, ”this is a strange-looking day, is it not? And I am afraid of it in this open bay, with an anchorage no better than a sheet of paper for an anchorage.

Do you see now how strange-looking it is?”

Duncan Cameron also spoke in his native tongue; and he said,--

”That is true, Hamish. And it was a day like this there was when the _Solan_ was sunk at her moorings in Loch Hourn. Do you remember, Hamish?

And it would be better for us now if we were in Loch Tua, or Loch-na-Keal, or in the dock that was built for the steamer at Tiree. I do not like the look of this day.”

Yet to an ordinary observer it would have seemed that the chief characteristic of this pale, still day, was extreme and settled calm.

There was not a breath of wind to ruffle the surface of the sea; but there was a slight, gla.s.sy swell, and that only served to show curious opalescent tints under the suffused light of the sun. There were no clouds; there was only a thin veil of faint and sultry mist all across the sky; the sun was invisible, but there was a glare of yellow at one point of the heavens. A dead calm; but heavy, oppressed, sultry. There was something in the atmosphere that seemed to weigh on the chest.

”There was a dream I had this morning,” continued Hamish, in the same low tones. ”It was about my little granddaughter Christina. You know my little Christina, Duncan. And she said to me, 'What have you done with Sir Keith Macleod? Why have you not brought him back? He was under your care, grandfather.' I did not like that dream.”

”Oh, you are becoming as bad as Sir Keith Macleod himself?” said the other. ”He does not sleep. He talks to himself. You will become like that if you pay attention to foolish dreams, Hamish.”

Hamish's quick temper leaped up.

”What do you mean, Duncan Cameron, by saying, 'as bad as Sir Keith Macleod?' You--you come from Ross: perhaps they have not good masters there. I tell you there is not any man in Ross, or in Sutherland either, is as good a master, and as brave a lad, as Sir Keith Macleod--not any one, Duncan Cameron!”

”I did not mean anything like that, Hamish,” said the other, humbly.

”But there was a breeze this morning. We could have got over to Loch Tua. Why did we stay here, where there is no shelter and no anchorage?

Do you know what is likely to come after a day like this?”

”It is your business to be a sailor on board this yacht; it is not your business to say where she will go,” said Hamish.

But all the same the old man was becoming more and more alarmed at the ugly aspect of the dead calm. The very birds, instead of stalking among the still pools, or lying buoyant on the smooth waters, were excitedly calling, and whirring from one point to another.

”If the equinoctials were to begin now,” said Duncan Cameron, ”this is a fine place to meet the equinoctials! An open bay, without shelter; and a ground that is no ground for an anchorage. It is not two anchors or twenty anchors would hold in such ground.”

Macleod appeared; the man was suddenly silent. Without a word to either of them--and that was not his wont--he pa.s.sed to the stern of the yacht.