Annie o' the Banks o' Dee

by Charles King

over. Do you know, dear, that it is almost sinful togrieve so long for the dead?"

  "Dead!" cried Annie. "Who knows, or can tell?"

  "Oh, darling, I can no longer conceal it from you. Perhaps I shouldhave told you a year ago. Here is the newspaper. Here is the veryparagraph. The figurehead of the unfortunate _Wolverine_ and one of herboats have been picked up in the midst of the Pacific Ocean, and therecan remain no doubt in the mind of anyone that she foundered with allhands. The insurance has been paid."

  Annie sat dumb for a time--dumb and dry-eyed. She could not weep much,though tears would have relieved her. She found voice at last.

  "The Lord's will be done," she said, simply but earnestly.

  Laird Fletcher said no more _then_. But he certainly was very far fromgiving up hope of eventually leading Annie to the altar.

  And now the poor sorrowing lassie had given up all hope. She was, likemost Scotch girls of her standing in society, pious. She had learnt topray at her mother's knee, and, when mother and father were taken away,at her uncle's. And now she consoled herself thus.

  "Dear uncle," she said, "poor Reginald is dead; but I shall meet him ina better world than this."

  "I trust so, darling."

  "And do you know, uncle, that now, as it is all over, I am almostrelieved. A terrible charge hung over him, and oh! although my verysoul cries out aloud that he was not guilty, the evidence might have ledhim to a death of shame. And I too should have died."

  "You must keep up your heart. Come, I am going to Paris for a few weekswith friend Fletcher, and you too must come. Needn't take more thanyour travelling and evening dresses," he added. "We'll see plenty ofpretty things in the gay city."

  So it was arranged. So it was carried out. They went by steamer, thismode of travelling being easier for the old Highlander.

  Fletcher and McLeod combined their forces in order to give poor Annie "areal good time," as brother Jonathan would say. And it must beconfessed at the end of the time, when they had seen everything and goneeverywhere, Annie was calmer and happier than she ever remembered beingfor years and years, and on their return from Paris she settled downonce more to her old work and her old ways.

  But the doctor advised more company, so she either visited some friends,or had friends to visit her, almost every night.

  Old Laird McLeod delighted in music, and if he did sit in his easy-chairwith eyes shut and hands clasped in front of him, he was not asleep, butlistening.

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  How little do we know when evil is about to befall us!

  It was one lovely day in spring. Annie had kissed her uncle on hisbald, shining head, and gone off to gather wildflowers, chaperoned byJeannie, her maid, and accompanied by Laird Fletcher. This man was anaturalist--not a mere classifier. He did not fill cases with beetlesor moths, give them Latin names, and imagine that was all. He knew thelife story and habits of almost every flower and tree, and everycreature that crept, crawled, or flew.

  So he made just the kind of companion for Annie that she delighted in.When he found himself thus giving her pleasure he felt hopeful--nay,sure--that in the end his suit would be successful.

  It was indeed a beautiful morning. Soft and balmy winds sighing throughthe dark pine tree tops, a sky of moving clouds, with many a rift ofdarkest blue between, birds singing on the bonnie silver birches, theirwild, glad notes sounding from every copse, the linnet on the yellowpatches of whins or gorse that hugged the ground and perfumed the airfor many a yard around, and the wild pigeon murmuring his notes of lovein every thicket of spruce. Rare and beautiful wildflowers everywhere,such as never grow in England, for every country has its own sweetflora.

  The little party returned a few minutes before one o'clock, not onlyhappy, but hungry too. To her great alarm Annie found her uncle stillsitting on his chair, but seemingly in a stupor of grief. Near hischair lay a foolscap letter.

  "Oh, uncle dear, are you ill?"

  "No, no, child. Don't be alarmed; it has pleased God to change ourfortunes, that is all, and I have been praying and trying hard to say`Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven,'--I cannot yet. I mayere long."

  But Annie was truly alarmed. She picked up the lawyer's letter and readit twice over ere she spoke. And her bonnie face grew ghastly pale now.

  "Oh, uncle dear," she said at last, "what does this mean? Tell me, tellme."

  "It means, my child, that we are paupers in comparison to the state inwhich we have lived for many years. That this mansion and grounds areno longer our own, that I must sell horses and hounds and retire to somesmall cottage on the outskirts of the city--that is all."

  "Cheer up, uncle," said Annie, sitting down on his knee with an armround his neck, as she used to do when a child. "You still have me, andI have you. If we can but keep Jeannie we may be happy yet, despite allthat fate can do."

  "God bless you, my child! You have indeed been a comfort to me. Butfor you, I'd care nothing for poverty. I may live for ten years andmore yet, to the age of my people and clansmen, but as contentedly in acottage as in a castle. God has seen fit to afflict us, but in Hismercy He will temper the wind to the shorn lamb."

  Luncheon was brought in, but neither McLeod nor his niece did muchjustice to it. The weather, however, remained bright and clear, and asthe two went out to the beautiful arbour and seated themselves, theycould hear the birds--mavis, chaffinch, and blackie--singing their wild,ringing lilts, as if there was no such thing as sorrow in all this wideand beautiful world.

  "Uncle," said Annie at last, "tell me the sad story. I can bear itnow."

  "Then, dear, I shall, but must be very brief. I love not to linger oversorrow and tribulation. The young fellow Francis Robertson, then, whonow lays claim to the estate, is, to tell the honest truth, a _roue_ anda blackguard from the Australian diggings. He is but twenty-two. Evenwhen a boy he was rough and wild, and at fifteen he was sentenced to sixyears' imprisonment for shooting a man at the gold diggings. He has butrecently come out of gaol and found solicitors in Australia and here totake up the cudgels for him. His father disappeared long, long ago, andI, not knowing that, before his death, he had married, and had one son,succeeded to this estate. But, ah me! the crash has come."

  "But may this young fellow not be an impostor?"

  "Nay, child, nay. You see what the letter says: that if I go to law Ican only lose; but that if I trouble and tire Robertson with a lawsuithe will insist upon back rents being paid up. No," he added, after apause, "he is fair enough. He may be good enough, too, thoughpassionate. Many a wild and bloody scene is enacted at the diggings,but in this case the police seem to have been wonderfully sharp. Ah,well; he will be here to-morrow, and we will see."

  That was an anxious and sleepless night for poor Annie. In vain did hermaid try to sing her off into dreamland. She tossed and dozed all nightlong.

  Then came the eventful day. And at twelve o'clock came young FrancisRobertson, with a party of witnesses from Australia.

  McLeod could tell him at once to be the heir. He was the express imageof his dead father.

  The Laird and his solicitor, hastily summoned from Aberdeen, saw themalone in the drawing-room, only Annie being there. Robertson was tall,handsome, and even gentlemanly. The witnesses were examined. Theirtestimony under oath was calm, clear, and to the point. Not a questionthey did not answer correctly. The certificate of birth, too, wasclear, and succinct. There were no longer any doubts about anything.

  Then Laird McLeod--laird now, alas! only by courtesy--retired with hisadvocate to another room to consult.

  Said the advocate: "My dear Laird, this is a sad affair; but are youconvinced that this young fellow is the rightful owner?"

  "He is, as sure as yonder sun is shining."

  "And so am I convinced," said the advocate. "Then there must be nolawsuit?"

  "No, none."

  "That is right. At your age a l
ong and troublesome lawsuit would killyou."

  "Then, my dear Duncan," said Laird McLeod, "look out for a prettycottage for me at once."

  "I will do everything for you, and I know of the very place you want--acharming small villa on the beautiful Rubislaw Road. Choose the thingsyou want. Have a sale and get rid of the others. Keep up your heart,and all will yet be well. But we must act expeditiously."

  And so they did. And in a fortnight's time all was settled, and thelittle villa furnished.

  Till the day of the sale Francis Robertson was a guest at the Hall.

  Now I must state a somewhat curious, but not altogether rare,occurrence. The young man, who really might be rash, but was notbad-hearted, sought audience of the Laird on the very day before thesale.

  "My dear uncle," he said, "I would rather you did not leave. Be as youwere before. I will occupy but a small portion of the house. Stay withme."

  "Francis Robertson," replied McLeod, "we _go_. I'll be no man's guestin a house that once was mine."

  "Be it so, sir. But I have something further to add."

  "Speak on."

  "From the first moment I saw her I fell in love with Miss Annie Lane.Will you give me her hand?"

  "Have you spoken to herself?"

  "I have not dared to." McLeod at once rang the bell and summoned Annie,his niece.

  "Annie, dear, this gentleman, your relation, says he loves you, and asksfor your hand. Think you that you could love him?"

  Annie drew herself haughtily up. She said but one word, a decisive andemphatic one: "_No_."

  "You have had your answer," said McLeod. Francis bowed and wentsomewhat mournfully away.

  CHAPTER TEN.

  "WHAT MUST BE MUST--'TIS FATE."

  The old Laird McLeod possessed that true Christian feeling which we sorarely see displayed in this age, and as he left the door of the oldmansion where he had lived so long and so happily he held out his handto Francis.

  "God bless you, lad, anyhow. Be good, and you'll prosper."

  "The wicked prosper," said Francis.

  "All artificial, lad, and only for a time. Never can they be said to betruly happy."

  "Good-bye--or rather, _au revoir_."

  "_Au revoir_."

  Then the old man clambered slowly into the carriage. Poor Annie wasalready there. She cast just one longing, lingering look behind, thenburst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. But the day was beautiful,the trees arrayed in the tender tints of spring, while high above,against a fleecy cloud, she could see a laverock (lark), though shecould not hear it. But his body was quivering, and eke his wings, withthe joy that he could not control. Woods on every side, and to theright the bonnie winding Dee, its wavelets sparkling in the sunshine.

  Everything was happy; why should not she be? So she dried her tears,and while her uncle dozed she took her favourite author from hersatchel, and was soon absorbed in his poems.

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  After they had settled down in McLeod Cottage, as the snow-white prettyvilla had now been called, I do believe that they were happier than whenin the grand old mansion, with all its worries and work and trouble.They were not very well off financially, that was all.

  But it was a new pleasure for Annie and her maid to do shopping alongUnion Street the beautiful, and even round the quaint old New Market.She used to return happy and exultant, to show her uncle the bargainsshe had made.

  One night Annie had an inspiration. She was a good musician on pianoand zither. Why not give lessons?

  She would. Nor was she very long in finding a pupil or two. This addedconsiderably to the fund for household expenditure. But neverthelessthe proud old Highlander McLeod thought it was somewhat _infradignitate_. But he bore with this because it seemed to give happinessto the child, as he still continued to call her.

  So things went on. And so much rest did the Laird now have that for atime, at least, his life seemed all one happy dream. They soon madefriends, too, with their neighbours, and along the street wherever Anniewent she was known, for she was always followed by a grand and nobledog, a Great Dane, as faithful and as true as any animal could well be.

  One evening she and Jeannie, her maid, were walking along a lovelytree-shaded lane, just as the beams of the setting sun were glimmeringcrimson through the leafy grandeur of the great elms. For some purposeof his own the dog was in an adjoining field, when suddenly, at the bendof the road, they were accosted by a gigantic and ragged tramp, whodemanded money on the pain of death. Both girls shrieked, and suddenly,like a shell from a great gun, darted the dog from the hedge, and nextmoment that tramp was on his back, his ragged neckerchief and still moreragged waistcoat were torn from his body, and but for Annie his throatwould have been pulled open.

  But while Jeannie trembled, Annie showed herself a true McLeod, thoughher name was Lane. She called the dog away; then she quickly possessedherself of the tramp's cudgel. Annie was not tall, but she was strongand determined.

  "Get up at once," she cried, "and march back with us. If you make theleast attempt to escape, that noble dog shall tear your windpipe out!"

  Very sulkily the tramp obeyed.

  "I'm clean copped. Confound your beast of a dog!"

  Within a few yards of her own door they met a policeman, who on hearingof the assault speedily marched the prisoner off to gaol.

  When she related the adventure to her uncle he was delighted beyondmeasure, and must needs bless her and kiss her.

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  They had parted with the carriage. Needs must where poverty and thedevil drives! But they still had a little phaeton, and in this the oldman and his niece enjoyed many a delightful drive. He would take her toconcerts, too, and to the theatre also, so that, on the whole, life wasby no means a galling load to anyone.

  But a very frequent visitor at McLeod Cottage was Laird Fletcher. Notonly so, but he took the old man and Annie frequently out by train. Hiscarriage would be waiting at the station, and in this they drove away tohis beautiful home.

  The house itself was modern, but the grounds, under the sweet joy ofJune, looked beautiful indeed. It was at some considerable distancefrom the main road, and so in the gardens all was delightfully still,save for the music of happy song-birds or the purr of the turtle-dove,sounding low from the spreading cedars.

  "A pleasing land of drowsyhead it was, Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, For ever flushing round a summer sky. There eke the soft delights, that witchingly Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast, And the calm pleasures always hovered nigh; But whate'er smacked of 'noyance or unrest Was far, far off expelled from this delicious nest."

  Through these lovely rose-gardens and tree-shaded lawns frequently nowwandered Annie, alone with Fletcher. He was so gentle, winning, andtrue that she had come to like him. Mind, I say nothing of love. Andshe innocently and frankly told him so as they sat together in a naturalbower beneath a spreading deodar cedar. He was happy, but he would notrisk his chance by being too precipitate.

  Another day in the same arbour, after a moment or two of silence, shesaid: "Oh, I wish you were my uncle!" Fletcher winced a little, butsummoned up courage to say:

  "Ah, Annie, could we not be united by a dearer tie than that? Believeme, I love you more than life itself. Whether that life be long orshort depends upon you, Annie."

  But she only bent her head and cried, childlike.

  "Ah, Mr Fletcher," she said at last, "I have no heart to give away. Itlies at the bottom of the sea."

  "But love would come."

  "We will go to the house now, I think," and she rose.

  Fletcher, poor fellow, silently, almost broken-heartedly, followed, and,of course, the Great Dane was there.

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  That night she told her uncle all. He said not a word. She told hermaid in the bedroom.

  "Oh, Miss Annie," said Jeanie, "I think you are very, very foolish. Yourefuse to marry this honest and faithful man, but your mourning willnot, cannot restore the dead. Reginald Grahame is happier, a thousand,million times more happy, than anyone can ever be on this earth.Besides, dear, there is another way of looking at the matter. Your poorUncle McLeod is miles and miles from the pines, from the heath and theheather. He may not complain, but the artificial life of a city istelling on him. What a quiet and delightful life he would have at LairdFletcher's!"

  Annie was dumb. She was thinking. Should she sacrifice her young lifefor the sake of her dear uncle? Ah, well, what did life signify to hernow? _He_ was dead and gone.

  Thus she spoke:

  "You do not think my uncle is ill, Jeannie?"

  "I do not say he is _ill_, but I do say that he feels his present lifeirksome at times, and you may not have him long, Miss Annie. Now go tosleep like a baby and dream of it."

  And I think Annie cried herself asleep that night.

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  "It becomes not a maiden descended from the noble clan McLeod to beotherwise than brave," she told herself next morning. "Oh, for dearuncle's sake I feel I could--" But she said no more to herself justthen.

  Fletcher called that very day, and took them away again to his bonnieHighland home. It was a day that angels would have delighted in. Andjust on that same seat beneath the same green-branched cedar Fletcherrenewed his