CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.
A SAD PARTING.
"So you're off to-morrow, Max?" said Kenneth sadly.
"Yes. How beautiful everything looks, now I am going away!"
"Yes," said Kenneth, with a quaint glance first at the distant islandsrising all lilac and gold from the sapphire sea; "how beautifuleverything looks, now I am going away!"
"Oh, Ken!"
"And oh, Max! There, don't turn like that, old chap. It's the fortuneof war, as they say. Good luck to you. I feel now as if I'd rather youhad Dunroe than anybody else. I say, let's call Scoody, and get out theboat, and have one last sail together."
"Yes, do," cried Max eagerly.
"All right. I'll go and find Scoody. Get the lines. We may as welltry for some mackerel as we go."
Kenneth ran out of the room, and Max went to the little study, got thelines, and then was about to follow his friend, when he recalled thefact that he had not been to see old Donald since he had been better.
So, going out into the courtyard, he made for the old man's quarters,knocked, was told to come in, and entered, to find the piper propped upin an easy-chair, and Long Shon and Tavish keeping him company.
The old man glared at him strangely, and grasped at something he had inhis lap which emitted a feeble squeak, and Max saw that they were hispipes, about which his thin fingers played.
"I'm going away to-morrow, Donald," said Max, "and wanted to know howyou were."
The old man neither moved nor spoke, but his deeply-sunken eyes seemedto burn, as he glared fiercely, and his breathing sounded deep andhoarse.
"I hope you are better?"
There was no reply.
"He is better, is he not, Tavish?"
The great forester gazed straight before him at the wall, but made noreply.
"What is the matter, Shon?" said Max uneasily.
Long Shon took a pinch of snuff, and gazed at the floor.
"Look here!" cried Max earnestly; "I wanted to thank you all for yourkindness to me since I have been here, and I may not have anotherchance. Donald, Long Shon, Tavish--just a little remembrance, and thankyou."
As he spoke, he slipped a sovereign into the hands of the two firstnamed, and two into that of the forester. But, as if moved by the sameidea, all three dashed the money at his feet, the gold coins jinglingupon the stone floor.
Max's eyes dilated, and he gazed from one to the other.
"I am very sorry," he said, after a painful pause. "Good-bye. It isnot my fault."
He went slowly out, and before he had gone half a dozen yards the moneystruck him on the back, and Long Shon cried hoarsely,--
"Tonal' sends ye his curse for blasting ta home o' ta Mackhais!"
Once more the coins fell jingling down, and, flinching away, shrinkingwith shame, sorrow, and indignation, Max returned into the house,feeling that he could not go boating now, and wishing that the next dayhad come, and he were on the road back to London.
But, just as he reached the hall, he heard the voice of the man incharge raised loudly, and, looking out, he saw the second man runningalong the natural rock terrace, below which lay the bathing cavern andthe rugged platform from which they would take boat.
The next moment Scoodrach's voice rose in shrill and angry tones, and hecould see that Kenneth was holding him back.
Max ran down with his pulses throbbing, for he felt that something wasvery wrong.
"I'll have the law of him," the bailiff was saying, as Max ran up. "Hestruck me, and drew his knife on me. I'll have him locked up before heknows where he is."
"Let her go, let her go, Maister Ken!" yelled Scoodrach, strugglingfuriously. "She'll hae her bluid! Let her go, and she'll slit herweam!"
"Be quiet, Scood," said Kenneth, holding the young gillie fast, butspeaking in a low, despondent tone. "Here, Max, take the knife awayfrom this mad fool."
"Nay, nay," cried Scoodrach; "if the Southron comes she'll hae her bluidtoo."
Instinctively grasping what was the matter, and with his cheeks flushedwith indignation, Max dashed at Scoodrach, seized his wrist, and twistedthe knife out of his hand.
"What does this mean?" he cried, turning angrily upon the bailiff.
"Mean, sir? My orders are to let nothing go off the premises, and thisyoung gentleman comes doon wi' this young Hieland wild cat, and tries toget oot the boat."
"Well?"
"Well, sir, I said it was not to go, and then this cat-a-mountain struckme."
"She insulted ta young Chief," panted Scoodrach.
"Be quiet, Scoody; there is no young Chief now," said Kenneth sadly.
"Hey, but ta Mackhai will never tie!" yelled Scoodrach.
"Do you mean to say that you hindered Mr Kenneth here from taking theboat for a sail?" cried Max angrily.
"My orders air that naething is to go off the place," said the bailiffsturdily.
"Then you stopped him from taking his own boat?"
"No, sir," cried the bailiff; "it's not his boat, but Mr Blande's, ofLincoln's Inn, London."
"It is not. The boat and everything here is mine," cried Max fiercely."Take the boat, Ken, and if this insolent scoundrel dares to interfere,knock him down."
"Hurray!" yelled Scoodrach, breaking loose and throwing his bonnet inthe air. "Weel done, Maister Max! But na, na; it's no' her poat, andnaething here is hers, ye ken."
"Come on, Ken."
"Well, sir, I shall report all this to--"
"Ye ill-faured loon, stan' awa'," yelled Scoodrach, as Max laid his handon Kenneth's shoulder; and they went down together to the boat, whilethe bailiff and his man walked muttering back to the house.
"Jump in, Scoodrach, and cast her loose," cried Max; but Kenneth's handclosed tightly on his wrist.
"No, Max," he said slowly and sadly. "Let's get back into the house. Idon't feel as if I could go for a sail to-day."
"Oh, Ken!" whispered Max; "and I said everything was mine. I did notmean it. I couldn't take a thing."
"Let's go indoors."
"But if by law the boat is mine, it's yours again now. Come, take mefor one more ride."
"No, no! I can't go now."
There was a dead silence on the old grey terrace for a few minutes. Thegulls wailed as they swept here and there over the glistening sea, andthe golden-red and brown weed washed to and fro among the rocks.
"I ask you to go, Ken," said Max gently. "Don't refuse me this. Scood,my things are packed; fetch them down. Kenneth Mackhai, I shall goto-day; take me to meet the steamer, just as you came to meet me sixweeks ago."
Ken looked at him half wonderingly.
"Do you mean it?" he said hoarsely.
"Yes. You will?"
"Yes."
An hour had not passed before the white-sailed boat was softly bendingover to the breeze, and almost in silence the three lads sat gazingbefore them, heedless of the glorious panorama of mountain, fiord, andfall that seemed to be gliding by, till far away in the distance theycould see the red funnel of David Macbrayne's swift steamer pouringforth its trailing clouds of black smoke, which seemed to reach formiles.
Then by degrees the steamer grew plainer, the white water could be seenfoaming behind the beating paddles, and the figures of the passengers ondeck. Then the faces grew clearer, and there was a scurry by thegangway, and almost directly after the paddles ceased churning up theclear water, the sail dropped down. Scoodrach caught the rope that wasthrown; the portmanteaus, gun-case, and rods were passed up, and, nottrusting himself to speak, Max grasped Scoodrach's hand, pressing acouple of sovereigns therein, seized Kenneth's for a moment, and thenleaped on board.
The rope was cast off; there was a loud ting from the captain's bell,the paddles revolved, the boat glided astern, with Kenneth sittingdespondently on one of the thwarts, and some one at Max's elbow said toanother hard by,--
"See that red-headed Scotch boy?"
"Yes; but did you see what he did?"
"Yes; threw something i
nto the sea."
"Did you see what it was?"
"No."
"A couple of sovereigns."
"No!"
"Yes. I saw them go right down through the clear water."
"Then he must be mad."
"Not mad," said Max to himself; "but as full of pride as of love for TheMackhai."
He made his way astern, and took off and waved his bonnet.
The effect was electrical. Kenneth sprang up and waved his bonnet inreturn, and, a few minutes later, Scoodrach, whose ire had passed away,began to wave his, and Max stood watching and wondering why they did nothoist the sail and return.
And then he did not wonder, but stood leaning over the rail, watchingthe boat grow less and the figures in her smaller, till they seemed todie away in the immensity of the great sea.
But Max did not move even then. His heart was full, and it was with asensation of sorrow and despondency such as he had never felt beforethat the rest of the journey was made, boat changed for train, andfinally, and with a reluctance such as he could not have believedpossible, he reached London, and stood once more before his father, whomet him coolly enough, with,--
"Well, Max, back again?"
"Yes, father; and I want to ask you something about Dunroe."
"Humph!" said the old lawyer, about half an hour later; "so you thinklike that, do you, Max?"
"Yes, father."
"Well, you'll grow older and wiser some day."
"But you will not turn them out?"
"When I want to take you into counsel, Master Max, I shall do so. Nowplease understand this once for all."
"Yes, father?"
"Never mention the names of the Mackhais again."
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
RESTITUTION.
Time glided on, and Mr Andrew Blande's plans did not seem to turn outquite as he wished. The customary legal proceedings were got through,and he became full possessor of Dunroe, with the right, as the deedssaid, to enjoy these rights. But he was a very old man, one who hadmarried late in life, to find that he had made a mistake, for themarriage was hurried on by the lady's friends on account of his wealth,and the lady who became his wife lived a somewhat sad life, and diedwhen her son Max was ten years old.
To make Max happy, his father had been in the habit of letting him leada sedentary life, and of telling him how rich he would some day be, andhad gone on saving and hoarding, and gaining possession of estate afterestate.
But when he had obtained Dunroe, he did not enjoy it. He went down onceto stay there, but he never did so again; and finding, in spite of allhe could say, that Max would not enjoy it either, and seemed to have adetermined objection to become a Scottish country gentleman, he placedthe estate in the hands of his agent to let, and it was not long beforea tenant was found for the beautiful old place.
As the years glided on, Max went to college, and kept up a regularcorrespondence with Kenneth, who, as soon as it could be managed aftertheir leaving Dunroe, went to Sandhurst, his father contenting himselfwith quiet chambers in town near his club.
But Max and Kenneth did not meet; the troubles at Dunroe seemed to keepthem separate. Still, there was always a feeling on the part of boththat some day they would be the best of friends once more, and the moneyquestion be something that was as good as forgotten.
One day, Max, who had six months previously been summoned to London onvery important business, received a letter which had followed him fromCambridge to the dingy old house in Lincoln's Inn.
The young man's face flushed as he opened and read the long epistle,whose purport was that The Mackhai had gone to Baden-Baden for a coupleof months, that the writer was alone at his father's chambers, andasking Max to renew some of their old friendly feeling by coming to staywith him for a few days.
Six months before, Max would have declined at once, but now he wroteaccepting the invitation with alacrity.
It was for the next day but one, and in due course Max drove up with hisportmanteau, and was ushered by a red-haired, curly-headed footman toKenneth's room.
"The maister's not in," said the footman; "but she was to--I was to saythat he'd soon be pack--back, and--"
"Why, Scoody, I didn't know you," cried Max. "How you have grown!"
"Yes, she's--I mean, sir, I have grown a good deal and master says Ihaven't done."
There was the rattle of a latch-key in the outer door, and a tall,handsome young fellow, thoroughly soldierly-looking in every point,strode into the room.
"Max, old chap!" he cried, catching his hands and standing shaking themheartily. "Why, what a great--I say, what a beard."
"And you six feet!"
"No, no--five feet ten."
"And moustached, and a regular dragoon!"
"How did you know that?"
"Know that?"
"Yes; I've just got my commission in the Thirtieth Dragoons."
"I congratulate you!" cried Max. "`Full many a shot at random sent,'etcetera."
"Then you did not know? Well, never mind that; only it isn't allpleasure. The governor says it is too expensive a service for me to goin. The old fellow's not very flush of money, you see."
"Indeed?" said Max quietly.
"Well, never mind that either. But I say, what are you going in for--Church or Law?"
"Neither. I think I shall settle down as a country gentleman."
"Yes, of course," said Kenneth hastily. "Here, let me show you yourroom. We'll have a snug _tete-a-tete_ dinner, and talk about our oldfishing days, and the boating."
"Yes," cried Max; "and the fishing and boating to come."
"Ah!" said Kenneth thoughtfully; and the conversation drifted off intominor matters, and about Kenneth's prospects as a soldier.
The _tete-a-tete_ dinner was eaten, and they became as it were threeboys again, Scoodrach trying to look very sedate, but his cheeks shiningand eyes flashing as he listened, while pretending to be busy over hiswork. Then at last the young men were seated together over theircoffee, and the conversation took a fresh turn.
"My father?" said Kenneth, in answer to a question; "oh, very well andjolly. I say, do you two go down much to--to Dunroe?"
"No," said Max huskily. "You do not seem to know my father has beendead these six months."
"I beg your pardon, Max, old fellow. I ought to have known. Shall yougo down to Dunroe much now?"
"I hope so--often," said Max.
Kenneth was silent, and sat gazing dreamily before him, while Maxwatched him curiously.
"And I hope--I shall see you there often," said Max.
"Eh? what?" said Kenneth, flushing and frowning. "No, no, it's wellmeant, Max, old chap, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't go there again."
There was another silence, and, to Kenneth's great relief, Max rose andleft the room without a word.
"Poor old chap!" said Kenneth; "I've offended him, I suppose. I did notmean to. It was very blundering and foolish of him, though, to proposesuch a thing."
He sat gazing before him sternly.
"Poor old Dunroe!" he said sadly. "How I can see the dear old placeagain, with its rocks all golden-ruddy weed, its shimmering sea, and thedistant blue mountains. Ah, what days those were! I should like to seethe dear old place again. But no, no! I couldn't go and stay therenow."
He leaped up, and strode once or twice up and down the room.
"Here, what a pretty host I am! I must fetch him down. I've hurt him,and he always was such a sensitive chap."
He was half across the room when Max returned, with a large leatherlock-up folio under his arm.
"Oh, you needn't have fetched that down," said Kenneth. "Plenty ofwriting materials here. But you are not going to write to-night?"
"No, not to-night," said Max quietly, taking a little silver key fromoff his watch-chain, and opening the folio, which was made with a coupleof very large pockets. "Do you take any interest in old writings?"
"Not a bit, my boy. I've had enough to do to stud
y up and pass myexams. But what have you got there?"
"The old mortgage and the title-deeds of Dunroe," said Max quietly.
"But--I say, old fellow, don't do that. I'm pretty hard, but the nameof Dunroe always gives me a choky feeling in the throat."
"So it does me, Ken, old fellow!" cried Max, with his voice trembling.
"Then why--?"
"Wait a moment. Do you remember how we two were gradually drawntogether up there in the north?"
"Yes, of course," said Kenneth huskily.
"I never had a brother, Ken, and I used to feel at last that I had foundone in you."
"And I used to think something of the kind, but--"
"Why not, Ken?"--Max was holding out his hand.
Kenneth stood a moment looking in his eyes, and then grasped theextended hand firmly.
"Yes," he cried; "why not? It's the same old Max after all."
"Then you'll act as a brother to me if I ever ask you to help me in somecritical point of my life?"
"Indeed I will."
"Then help me now, Ken, as a brother should, to make a greatrestoration, and me a happier man."
"I--I don't understand," cried Kenneth wonderingly. "What do you mean?"
"Your father's while he lives, Ken; yours after as his heir."
"Are you mad, Max?"
"Yes, with delight, old fellow!" he cried, as he forced the folio andits contents into his old friend's hands.
"But--"
"Not another word. My father left me very rich, and in a codicil to hiswill he said he hoped I should make good use of the wealth he left me,and that it might prove a greater source of happiness to me than it hadbeen to him."
"But, Max--"
"I think he would approve of what I am doing now; and if you do not askme down for a month or two every year, I'll say you are not the KenMackhai I used to know."
The objections to and protestations against Max Blande's munificent giftwere long and continued. The Mackhai was summoned over from Baden, andhe declared it to be impossible.
But all was arranged at last, and Max's fortune suffered very little byhis generosity.
The Mackhais took possession of the old home once again, and Max Blandewas present at the rejoicings; when fires were lit on each of the fourold towers, when there was a feast for all comers, and Tavish wentthrough the evolutions of the sword-dance, while torches were heldaround, and old Donald, who had to sit to play, poured feebly forth someof his favourite airs.
Max even felt that the pipes were bearable that night, as he poured outsome whisky for the ancient piper, and received his blessings nowinstead of a furious curse.
And somehow, Max used to declare to Ken, he found ten times moreenjoyment in the place now than if it had been his own.
And time went on once more.
"Remember?" said a bronzed cavalry officer to a tall, sedate-lookingyoung country gentleman, as they sat together on the deck of TheMackhai's yacht, gliding slowly up the great sea loch.
"Do I remember what?"
"Where I picked you up from the steamer when you first came down?"
"To be sure I do, Ken, old fellow! Why, it must have been just here.Why, Ken, that's fifteen years ago!"
"Exactly, almost to a month. And I've been all around the world sincethen. How does it make you feel?"
"How?" cried Max, laying his hand upon the other's shoulder; "as if wewere boys again. And you?"
"As if the memories of boyhood can never die."
THE END.
Three Boys; Or, The Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai Page 33
