CHAPTER XII.
BAD NEWS AT HOME.
PON seeing Norman approaching, Mr. MacDonald hurried forward to meet him, so excited and alarmed that he could not speak.
"What is it, grandfather?" asked Norman, anxiously, as he half supported his aged relative, while they began to move slowly up the path. " Something has happened since I went away. Have — have Rilma's injuries proved more serious than we thought ?"
" It's nae that, ma laddie. It's th' sorriest bit o' news I hae heard since comin' tae this place. A man has been here this day an' telt me that this hame is nae oors — that we maun leave it! "
It was some time before Norman could fully understand the incoherent account of his grandfather, but gradually he learned the truth. Two men had been there and served a notice for them to move away from the place, which they claimed was theirs.
" Tae think we are again fugitives ! " moaned the broken-hearted man. "What hae I dune tae merit this ? An auld man i' th' wilda', far frae the terrible scenes whaur I've suffered an' lost sae muckle, I hae hoped for peace, — a few days o' quiet to see the sun o' my life set. Weel, it is feint tae be. An' this seems the mair cruel deed o' them a', an' God wists the last was terrible. A refugee amang strangers in an alien wilda' ! "
By the time they reached the house he was weeping like a child, and, leading him to one of the seats, Norman placed his hand on his gray head, saying,
softly:
" Do not despair, grandfather; it may not be as bad as you think. Who came to see you, and what did he say ? "
" There were twa o' them, laddie, an' ilk said we're on lan' which is theirs. I denied the lee, when they ca'cl me a thief an' a leear! Oh, could I but laid my haun' on my staff then I wadna hae spared the skellum! I — "
" I hope you did not strike one of them, grand-lather," said Norman, who could see that such a course would only add to the seriousness of their situation.
" I clinna care ! I dinna care!" moaned the old Highlander.
It seemed that neither of the visitors had given any name, but from such fragments of description as Norman could gather, he concluded that one of them had been Gunwad. Now that he came to think of it, he remembered that he had not seen the deer reeve at the shooting-match or the fire. No doubt, upon his failure to prove his charges of shooting deer out of season, he had taken this move to renew his persecution. How serious it might become he had yet no way of judging.
When Mr. MacDonald became calmer, he was able to converse with Norman more intelligently.
" I hae kep' this frae Rilma," he said. " Puir bairn ! I couldna bear to hae her ken it. Hoo lang it seemed afore ye cam ! "
" But I have come safely, grandfather, and I come free! They did not prove me guilty, and let us hope this new trouble will be as easily overcome. How is dear sister ?"
Before a reply could be given her own sweet voice fell on their ears, and, looking around, they were. surprised to find her standing in the opening leading to the inner apartment.
" I am better, dear brother," she said. " Please do not blame me, but I have heard every word that has been said, so I know your troubles, as it is right I should. Why did you want to rob me of the privilege of trying to comfort you in your grief, grandfather ? Is it because you prize home more than me ?"
" The gude Lord forgie me, bonnie lassie! Ae kiss frae your sweet lips is worth mair than a' the hames in the wilda'."
" Here is the kiss, dearest of grandfathers, with one for count! So cheer up and let the sun shine. Tears ill become a MacDonald."
"Till ye hae seen a MacDonald weep ye canna ken what weepin' is. But forgie me, bonnie lassie, sic a little angel as ye is enough to cheer the heart o' an auld man, though it be hardened as leather."
She had twined her arms about his neck and was kissing away the tear-drops, while he folded her to his bosom.
" Easy, grandfather," said Norman ; " remember the hurts on her tender shoulders."
" Never mind them, grandfather, but hug just as hard as you want to. You don't hurt a mite, and I was never so happy in my life !"
Rilma's tender entreaties were not without avail, for soon the other lifted his gray head, and as she brushed back the thin locks from the noble temple, he said, in a merry tone :
" I dinna ken how tae thank ye, ma bonnie lassie. Ye hae lifted the load frae ma heart. See ! I smile ! I'm a MacDonald again."
The childish joy of the old Highlander was something pathetic to witness. Knowing how quickly it might be driven away, Norman turned aside to conceal his emotion. Rilma, younger, more confiding and confident, continued her caresses, until he laughed in genuine happiness.
" What do we care for an old log cabin, grandfather ? Norman can build another, better than this ; but he cannot bring us another grandfather like you. I am going to enjoy your dear old self while I can."
Her light-heartedness was contagious, and it wasn't long before all three were chatting as merrily as if no unscrupulous enemy were trying to rob them of home and peace of mind.
" There is one thing certain, grandfather," said Norman, "this Gunwad cannot say we robbed knowingly. The good names of MacDonald and McNiel — "
" Wheesht, ma laddie! wad ye mar the sunlicht by the darkness o' that name ? Ye dinna ken what ye say," and as his transition from childlike grief to childlike joy had been swift, so did he instantly assume something of the fire of his earlier years. The broad, high brow contracted with a frown, and the deep, sunken eyes flashed with a lustre which gave a wild appearance to his countenance, showing the intensity of his pent-up feelings. The slim, bony fingers clutched his staff closely, while he brought it smartly down upon the floor.
This sudden change in his demeanour frightened Rilma, but Norman showed that he was prepared for it. Instead of trembling for what he had said, he exclaimed, boldly:
" I am sorry to have pained you, grandfather, by my words. Why is it you always fly into a rage when father's name — Please do not interrupt me, or think me rude. I must speak and I will! I claim the right to speak his name to you, who have been so kind to me. You know I have persisted in bearing it, when you have wished me to take that of MacDonald. I do not love it less for that, neither will I believe in the dishonour of McNiel until I know some reason for doing so. You have never allowed me to speak of father, but the time has come when you must speak. I am old enough and brave enough to know the truth, be it ever so dreadful. Nothing can be worse to me than this bitter silence."
" Lad, hae I e'er been unkind to ye ? "
" You have been as kind as any father to Rilma and me, dear grandfather, in everything but this silence. I would not pain you for the world by asking that which it seemed to me I had no right to hear. But I do believe I ought to know this secret hanging over my father's name and mine, for what he bore must I bear."
"Ye hae trouble enough o' yer ain withoot that that anither was only owergled tae lay doon. Lad, it is better I remain silent as I hae sae lang."
" You wrong us all when you say that, grandfather. It is your duty ter tell ; it is my duty and Rilma's to know. If you persist much longer in keeping it from me, I will learn it from some other source, if I have to cross the sea and get it from strangers. I have for some time been thinking of asking it of you, and I feel that the occasion has come. Now, under the cloud of this other oppression, let me know all, — remember, be it ever so shameful or ever so sad, all."
Robert MacDonald buried his face in his hands and groaned aloud, saying, while his young companions waited anxiously:
" Alas ! it never rains but it pours ! Maun I tell it ? A', Jeannette, ma ain wranged, kilt bairn, the dearest, sweetest that e'er blessed a fond faither's heart, shall I speak anither word ?"
Then, as he lifted his head and met Norman's clear, unflinching gaze, and beheld Rilma's innocent surprise, his heart seemed to tell him it was right that he should tell all.
As he began, unheard and unobserved by the three, the figure of the Woodranger appeared in the doorway, he having drawn near with his natural silence, but with no thought of listening to that which might not concern him. At the sound of the narrator's voice he stopped, and something in the old Highlander's tones or words caused him to remain motionless as a statue, his long rifle resting its butt on the ground, while it supported on its muzzle the forester's bearded chin.
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BAD NEWS AT HOME.
| U |
PON seeing Norman approaching, Mr. MacDonald hurried forward to meet him, so excited and alarmed that he could not speak.
"What is it, grandfather?" asked Norman, anxiously, as he half supported his aged relative, while they began to move slowly up the path. " Something has happened since I went away. Have — have Rilma's injuries proved more serious than we thought ?"
" It's nae that, ma laddie. It's th' sorriest bit o' news I hae heard since comin' tae this place. A man has been here this day an' telt me that this hame is nae oors — that we maun leave it! "
It was some time before Norman could fully understand the incoherent account of his grandfather, but gradually he learned the truth. Two men had been there and served a notice for them to move away from the place, which they claimed was theirs.
" Tae think we are again fugitives ! " moaned the broken-hearted man. "What hae I dune tae merit this ? An auld man i' th' wilda', far frae the terrible scenes whaur I've suffered an' lost sae muckle, I hae hoped for peace, — a few days o' quiet to see the sun o' my life set. Weel, it is feint tae be. An' this seems the mair cruel deed o' them a', an' God wists the last was terrible. A refugee amang strangers in an alien wilda' ! "
By the time they reached the house he was weeping like a child, and, leading him to one of the seats, Norman placed his hand on his gray head, saying,
softly:
" Do not despair, grandfather; it may not be as bad as you think. Who came to see you, and what did he say ? "
" There were twa o' them, laddie, an' ilk said we're on lan' which is theirs. I denied the lee, when they ca'cl me a thief an' a leear! Oh, could I but laid my haun' on my staff then I wadna hae spared the skellum! I — "
" I hope you did not strike one of them, grand-lather," said Norman, who could see that such a course would only add to the seriousness of their situation.
" I clinna care ! I dinna care!" moaned the old Highlander.
It seemed that neither of the visitors had given any name, but from such fragments of description as Norman could gather, he concluded that one of them had been Gunwad. Now that he came to think of it, he remembered that he had not seen the deer reeve at the shooting-match or the fire. No doubt, upon his failure to prove his charges of shooting deer out of season, he had taken this move to renew his persecution. How serious it might become he had yet no way of judging.
When Mr. MacDonald became calmer, he was able to converse with Norman more intelligently.
" I hae kep' this frae Rilma," he said. " Puir bairn ! I couldna bear to hae her ken it. Hoo lang it seemed afore ye cam ! "
" But I have come safely, grandfather, and I come free! They did not prove me guilty, and let us hope this new trouble will be as easily overcome. How is dear sister ?"
Before a reply could be given her own sweet voice fell on their ears, and, looking around, they were. surprised to find her standing in the opening leading to the inner apartment.
" I am better, dear brother," she said. " Please do not blame me, but I have heard every word that has been said, so I know your troubles, as it is right I should. Why did you want to rob me of the privilege of trying to comfort you in your grief, grandfather ? Is it because you prize home more than me ?"
" The gude Lord forgie me, bonnie lassie! Ae kiss frae your sweet lips is worth mair than a' the hames in the wilda'."
" Here is the kiss, dearest of grandfathers, with one for count! So cheer up and let the sun shine. Tears ill become a MacDonald."
"Till ye hae seen a MacDonald weep ye canna ken what weepin' is. But forgie me, bonnie lassie, sic a little angel as ye is enough to cheer the heart o' an auld man, though it be hardened as leather."
She had twined her arms about his neck and was kissing away the tear-drops, while he folded her to his bosom.
" Easy, grandfather," said Norman ; " remember the hurts on her tender shoulders."
" Never mind them, grandfather, but hug just as hard as you want to. You don't hurt a mite, and I was never so happy in my life !"
Rilma's tender entreaties were not without avail, for soon the other lifted his gray head, and as she brushed back the thin locks from the noble temple, he said, in a merry tone :
" I dinna ken how tae thank ye, ma bonnie lassie. Ye hae lifted the load frae ma heart. See ! I smile ! I'm a MacDonald again."
The childish joy of the old Highlander was something pathetic to witness. Knowing how quickly it might be driven away, Norman turned aside to conceal his emotion. Rilma, younger, more confiding and confident, continued her caresses, until he laughed in genuine happiness.
" What do we care for an old log cabin, grandfather ? Norman can build another, better than this ; but he cannot bring us another grandfather like you. I am going to enjoy your dear old self while I can."
Her light-heartedness was contagious, and it wasn't long before all three were chatting as merrily as if no unscrupulous enemy were trying to rob them of home and peace of mind.
" There is one thing certain, grandfather," said Norman, "this Gunwad cannot say we robbed knowingly. The good names of MacDonald and McNiel — "
" Wheesht, ma laddie! wad ye mar the sunlicht by the darkness o' that name ? Ye dinna ken what ye say," and as his transition from childlike grief to childlike joy had been swift, so did he instantly assume something of the fire of his earlier years. The broad, high brow contracted with a frown, and the deep, sunken eyes flashed with a lustre which gave a wild appearance to his countenance, showing the intensity of his pent-up feelings. The slim, bony fingers clutched his staff closely, while he brought it smartly down upon the floor.
This sudden change in his demeanour frightened Rilma, but Norman showed that he was prepared for it. Instead of trembling for what he had said, he exclaimed, boldly:
" I am sorry to have pained you, grandfather, by my words. Why is it you always fly into a rage when father's name — Please do not interrupt me, or think me rude. I must speak and I will! I claim the right to speak his name to you, who have been so kind to me. You know I have persisted in bearing it, when you have wished me to take that of MacDonald. I do not love it less for that, neither will I believe in the dishonour of McNiel until I know some reason for doing so. You have never allowed me to speak of father, but the time has come when you must speak. I am old enough and brave enough to know the truth, be it ever so dreadful. Nothing can be worse to me than this bitter silence."
" Lad, hae I e'er been unkind to ye ? "
" You have been as kind as any father to Rilma and me, dear grandfather, in everything but this silence. I would not pain you for the world by asking that which it seemed to me I had no right to hear. But I do believe I ought to know this secret hanging over my father's name and mine, for what he bore must I bear."
"Ye hae trouble enough o' yer ain withoot that that anither was only owergled tae lay doon. Lad, it is better I remain silent as I hae sae lang."
" You wrong us all when you say that, grandfather. It is your duty ter tell ; it is my duty and Rilma's to know. If you persist much longer in keeping it from me, I will learn it from some other source, if I have to cross the sea and get it from strangers. I have for some time been thinking of asking it of you, and I feel that the occasion has come. Now, under the cloud of this other oppression, let me know all, — remember, be it ever so shameful or ever so sad, all."
Robert MacDonald buried his face in his hands and groaned aloud, saying, while his young companions waited anxiously:
" Alas ! it never rains but it pours ! Maun I tell it ? A', Jeannette, ma ain wranged, kilt bairn, the dearest, sweetest that e'er blessed a fond faither's heart, shall I speak anither word ?"
Then, as he lifted his head and met Norman's clear, unflinching gaze, and beheld Rilma's innocent surprise, his heart seemed to tell him it was right that he should tell all.
As he began, unheard and unobserved by the three, the figure of the Woodranger appeared in the doorway, he having drawn near with his natural silence, but with no thought of listening to that which might not concern him. At the sound of the narrator's voice he stopped, and something in the old Highlander's tones or words caused him to remain motionless as a statue, his long rifle resting its butt on the ground, while it supported on its muzzle the forester's bearded chin.
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