Fiona M'Iver: a romance of the Western Isles

Front matter

FIONA M'lVER FIONA M'lVER a TRomance of tbe Mestern Jsles c\ ARTHUR JENKINSON MINISTER OF THE PARISH OF INNELLAN, ARGYLLSHIRE AND EMILY J. JENKINSON LONDON : HUTCHINSON AND CO. 34 PATERNOSTER ROW CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. FIONA AND LUATH ... 1 II. A FATAL SHOT . . . .14 III. NIAL MOR'S NIGHT RIDE . . 3O IV. THE WRECK ON THE BLACK GULLS . 44 V. IN THE PRIEST'S CAVE . . .58 VI. TORQUIL M'lVER AND GEOFFREY WALDE- GRAVE . . . .68 VII. AN EAVESDROPPER . . -79 VIII. THE TRIUMPHS OF THE ELECT . . 93 IX. THE BEST LAID SCHEMES . . 108 X. WALDEGRAVE AND FIONA IN THE priest's CAVE . . .119 XI. EILEAN DUBH . . . .138 XII. IN THE SRUTHAN POST-OFFICE . • JSS XIII. NIAL MOR'S DEN . . 1 69 XIV. BY BRONACH WATER . . .186 XV. A soul's ECLIPSE . . . 204 XVI. FIONA AND NIAL MOR . . . 220 XVII. A CRUEL BLOW . . . 236 XVIII.

THE BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE . . VI CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE XIX. TEARS, IDLE TEARS . • . 2Q-J XX. A STORMY NIGHT ON THE ATLANTIC . 284 XXI. THE NEXT MORNING . • ■ 3OJ XXII. EVENING . . • • 3*7 XXIII. NIGHT . . . • ■ 327 XXIV. ALONE — ALL, ALL ALONE . - 339 XXV. INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH . ■ 3S2 XXVI.

Epilogue

Chapter I Fiona And Luath

' Down, Luath ; down, sir ! How dare you come up here? ' cried Fiona, with a little stamp of her foot. The dog obeyed slowly, descending to the foot of the stairs with many a backward glance. There he lay whisking his long bushy tail to and fro, and eagerly watching her bedroom door. Presently she appeared drawing on her gloves, and he sprang to his feet with a short bark. He bounded half-way up the stairs and then down again. He rushed round the entrance hall, send ing the mats flying in all directions, and chased the old black cat into the kitchen. This pre liminary outburst of youthful exuberance over, he ran towards the door in a quiver of excitement. ' Oh, shame, Luath ! to frighten poor puss,' said the Highland girl, with feigned severity. ' I've half a mind not to take you with me.' The handsome creature crept to her feet, and A 3fiona flO'Jver looked up penitently.

She opened the door, and a flood of sunlight poured in. It brightened up the sombre old hall, sparkled in the dog's big brown eyes, and made his glossy coat shine like dusky gold. ' And Luath would very much like to go ? ' He understood her changed tone, answered with another joyous bark, and dashing through the open door, raced across the lawn, on which a soft mantle of snow had fallen during the night He cleared the gate with a bound, only to reappear the next moment on the top of the wall, where he im patiently watched the slower movements of his young mistress. As she neared the gate, he sprang down and recommenced his frolic. The snow was a new, strange thing, which he could not quite understand. He sniffed it, ran his nose into it, and finding something delightfully soft, tossed it in the air, and rolled himself among it.

Then he raced round and round, leaping and barking, mad with the prospect of a morning out of doors. Fiona having gained the summit of a cliff, scanned the surrounding scene, and then called the dog from his gambols. ' Look ! ' she said, addressing him in Gaelic ; ' you see your master ? ' Luath turned his keen eyes in the direction ndicated, and wagged his tail. jfiona anb Xnatb 3 ' Now go and ask him to come here,' she com manded, and like a flash of light he was off. It was a lovely morning in February — a pet day, as they would call it in that bleak north ; and the scene on which Fiona's eyes rested was one of lonely, awe-inspiring splendour. The Atlantic spread before her, a wide, wide expanse of blue waters overarched with the glory of the illimitable heavens. Here and there the sunbeams splashed like a dropping shower of diamonds, or flooded the sea with molten silver.

Iona was wrapped in a grey haze ; Staffa rose dreamlike and shadowy ; while far away the white shoulders of the Treshnish Isles glistened above a pearly veil. Nearer still the deeply indented and rock-girt shores of Ulva and Mull appeared dis tinct and clear, their lower ridges — from which the snow had already melted — bare and brown, their upper corries and crags gleaming white, or flecked with cool grey shadows. Turning round, she faced a region lying for the most part in shadow. An elevated vale torn by angry torrents, yet affording good pasturage, extended along the coast. Fas-Ghlac — the desolate valley, it was called, because of its lonely seclusion. From the sea it was shut off by an irregular line of pre cipitous cliffs, whose grey sides yawned with sombre caves, and stretched in bold headlands or ssiona flO'Jver 4 black saw-like reefs far into the deep.

On the further side, it was flanked by a range of wild mountains, gashed and thunder-scarred by the storms of a thousand ages, which formed a well nigh impassable boundary to the wide uplands of deer forest that swept inland. Nestling at the base of one of these gaunt mountains stood her home. Tigh-an-Fhasaich — the house in the wilderness, her Highland forefathers had named it ; a big, rambling old place, not with out an air of stateliness and refinement, but grey and weather-beaten, and gazing down on a savage and iron shore. Far, far away from the busy haunts of men, and difficult to reach even yet, at the time of our story this was an almost inaccessible region, isolated from the outer world by stormy seas, barren mountains, and dark, lonely glens, unvisited and unknown. There life went on its old way, much as it had done for hundreds of years.

There the long, strong arm of law and government ultimately penetrated, and great wrongs were avenged ; but the movement was uncertain and tedious, and many acts of illegality and high-handed oppression were borne in silence. In this wild and secluded land Fiona M'lver lived. She had spent a few years in London for the sake of her education, and also had resided for jfiona anb Xnatb 5 a time with her father in Paris ; but her heart was glad when she returned to the North. She loved her Highland home, and lived much out of doors. There was not a glen, or cave, or mountain pass in the district whose inmost recesses she had not explored. She had sailed up the wildest lochs, visited the loneliest islands, climbed the steepest crags, and knew the haunts and habits of every wild thing. Sometimes the appalling majesty of the scenes amid which she lived blanched her cheek.

But for the most part it only enriched the mystical vein, naturally strong in her, until she had come to look on Nature with a ' superstitious eye of love ' — to use Wordsworth's phrase — as the self-revelation of a spirit akin to her own. The beauty of this February morning strangely touched her. It seemed to come to her with dim suggestions of the nearness of something more in life than the senses could grasp, with hints of a silent mystery of love, of a sweet secret to be revealed by-and-bye ; and she was still standing rapt in deep reverie, when a familiar voice from behind cried — ' And where is my bonnie lassie going this fine morning?' She started, and turned to the speaker with a smile. ' For a sail in the " Fionnaghal." Will you not come with me ? ' A stranger looking into their faces would have needed no second glance to assure him that they were father and daughter.

They had the same regular features, dark, well-defined eyebrows, and large expressive eyes. But there the likeness ended. Torquil M'lver was an elderly gentleman, with a pale, pathetic face and stooping figure. His daughter was about twenty-two, lithe, erect, strong and graceful as a young mountain pine. Her forehead was low and broad, eyes luminous and fringed with long, dark lashes, while her every movement was suggestive of rich, vigorous life. She wore a close-fitting gown of dark blue cloth, and a scarlet Tam-o'-Shanter cap. Evidently in her a nobler strain had been grafted on the old family stock, and it had blossomed forth into a shoot of surprising vitality and beauty. ' You see I have already taken advantage of this bright morning,' replied Torquil M'lver, with a slight Highland accent.

He held up some wild ducks. ' But I am very tired now, and will be glad to go in and rest' ' You've been too far for your strength, father,' exclaimed Fiona, with an anxious glance into his weary face. ' I'll return with you.' ' Not at all ; on no account, my birdie. A sail will do you good, if you wrap up well. Where are you going ? ' tfiona anb Xnatb 7 ' To see my old nurse, Elspeth, and carry her some tea and a few other things. And while I'm there, Ronald will go to Sruthan, and enquire if there are any letters for us. I dare say he'll be glad of a word with Sybil Grant,' she added, with an arch smile. ' Ah ! is that the way the wind blows ? I should not have thought it. Well, I hope he has carried down plenty of warm things for you ' Yes ; I've seen to that. ' Well, well, good-bye, my child : don't forget that the days are short' He turned to go. ' Can Ronald bring you anything ? ' No, my lass ; — stay, yes, I forgot.

I would like him to bring me some good cigars, if Mrs Grant has any ; and if not, some of her very best tobacco.' Fiona gave a glance of surprise. Her father did not smoke. ' Yes,' he proceeded with more than the ordinary hesitation of one accustomed mostly to think and speak in Gaelic. ' I have a notion that Nial Mor Duff will be coming over to Fas-Ghlac very soon ; and I would like to have a cigar to offer him.' ' Nial ! has he come home again ? ' asked Fiona, as the colour mounted swiftly to her cheeks, and then as quickly disappeared. ' Oh, yes ; did I not tell you ? ' replied her father, watching her changing colour intently ' Mr Fergus Duff has not been so well, and may have to go away to the south of England. It was in Glen More I met Nial, yesterday.' 'Oh!' ' Yes, and a very fine young fellow he has grown, indeed ; and you will hardly know him when you see him, Fiona.' She looked wistfully into his face, and noted how sad and wan he appeared. ' Well, I must go,' she said softly ; ' good-bye, father, I'll not be long.

Come, Luath ; you must be quiet now, and carry my basket.' Luath ceased his play with the other dogs, took the handle in his mouth, and trotted forward with a new sense of importance and dignity. Torquil M'lver watched them until they dis appeared down the path to the sea ; then he turned homewards with a sigh. ' Ah,' he mused, ' it is a pity. She cares no more for him now than she did before he left home. And it is no use trying to force a young lass to marry against her will, and it is all a chance whom she may like. Still it is a pity Fiona does not care for Nial M6r. He is very fond of her, more than she will believe. It is a very great pity, but it cannot be helped.' Fiona descended to a rough stone quay, where Ronald Campbell was impatiently waiting for her. The ' Fionnaghal,' a trim Httle craft with a single jfiona anb Xuatb 9 sail, lay in readiness, and Fiona had no sooner taken her seat than Ronald pulled out of the bay.

He was a big, strong-limbed young crofter, with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes. His father was dead, but he and his mother remained on the old croft, and were strongly attached to Mr M'lver and his daughter. In addition to working his croft — which was near the shore, a mile or so from Tigh-an-Fhasaich — Ronald was an expert lobster fisher, owned a boat, and had so far improved his position as to think of taking to himself a wife. This morning he was clean-shaven, dressed in his best suit of homespun, with a bright coloured handkerchief round his neck, and was anticipating his visit to the post-office with an interest that the pretty face of Sybil Grant could better explain than any expectations regarding letters. A few strokes of the oars took them out of the bay, and then Ronald ran up the sail, and the ' Fionnaghal ' swept swan-like over the shining waters.

But as the young crofter sat amidships, even his thoughts about Sybil Grant could not keep back the wonder why Miss Fiona was so grave and silent. And Luath, also, seemed to feel that something was wrong ; for he crept to the stern, and laid his head gently in her lap, and looked up into her jflona flO'Jver 10 thoughtful face with an expression in his large eyes of dumb sympathy, as though he would fain share the trouble of his mistress if he only knew how. Fiona, however, only patted him in a half conscious way, and continued to steer the boat with a pre-occupied air. The news about Nial Duff troubled her. She had known him all her life, but when two years previously he had asked her to be his wife, she had refused, saying that she did not love him sufficiently to marry him. Had she been an enlightened society girl of to day, possibly she would have acted otherwise.

For he was from the social standpoint an extremely eligible suitor. But Fiona had not enjoyed the blessing of our advanced ideas. Her life was lonely. Her mother was dead, and she had no brothers or sisters. At Fas-Ghlac there was no society beyond a few crofters and fisher-folk. Mr Fergus Duff lived in Sruthan Castle on the other side of a lofty range of hills, and was their nearest neighbour. And so in the great solitude of her Highland home she had emerged into womanhood, thinking her own thoughts, and silently unfolding a character romantic, and remarkable for its reserve of con centrated strength and passion. Above all, she had cherished a belief that love was a sacred jfiona anb Xuatb 11 reality without which there could be no true marriage. Hence her dismissal of Nial Duff. And yet it grieved her to go against a wish which she knew her father had cherished for years.

He was a gentle-hearted and sorrow-stricken old man, and she clung to him with beautiful rever ence and affection. And now quite lately he had suffered losses, the extent of which he had not divulged to her, but they had greatly shattered his strength, and re-awakened his regret about Nial in so poignant a form that Fiona was led to think that he had some reason for desiring their union beyond any he had disclosed. So she sat perplexed and silent. There are no situations in life so tragic as those which involve a struggle between our noblest instincts and interests. Fiona feared she might have to face such a dilemma. What was she to do if Nial was returning to Fas- Ghlac only to renew his suit? Ought she to remain true to herself and her ideals ? Ought she to yield to the filial instinct, and comply with her father's wish ?

Was it her duty to suppress herself, sacrifice herself, if by so doing she could smooth and brighten her parent's closing years ? There were no limits in her devotion to her father ; she could do anything to make him happy. But were there not sacrifices that ought not to be made even for our nearest and dearest ? But there was a practical as well as a romantic jfiona flO'Jver 12 vein in Fiona's character, and at last she put the subject from her. After all, she might escape the dilemma. Much had happened during the two years Nial had been away. He had changed; so much so, that her father said she would hardly know him. She herself was no longer the same. Above all, there had been the great reversal in her father's fortunes. Nial might no longer want her or care for her. Life was never exactly what we hoped, and still less what we feared.

The un expected was always happening. When Nial came she would meet him with an open mind, put aside old prejudices, and endeavour to start on a new footing. Having reached that reflection, she brightened and began to chat with Ronald, and speedily led him into conversation about Sybil Grant, during which he confessed that so far the young post mistress had shown herself very coy and indifferent to his wooing. Fiona had expected as much, and considered whether she could not further his interests. She knew that Sybil was particularly fond of jewellery, and she now drew from her pocket a little leather case containing a silver brooch. ' You must give this to Sybil,' she said, handing it to Ronald, ' and thank her for the careful way in which she always attends to our letters.' Ronald was delighted, gazed at the shining bit of ffiona anb Xuatb 13 jewellery with admiration, and expressed his thanks in a few manly words.

They had now reached the spot where Fiona wished to land ; so she ran the boat beside a jutting rock, and jumped out, preceded by Luath. She told Ronald to return in two hours, and then handing her basket to the dog, went on her visit to her old nurse. ' You are a dear, good doggie, Luath,' she said, as he trotted proudly by her side. ' And when we return you shall have a glorious scamper over the hills.'

Chapter II

A FATAL SHOT Sybil Grant was a pretty Highland coquette, with grey-blue eyes, golden hair, and pink and white complexion. Few of the young unmarried crofters and fisher men within a dozen miles or so passed her without a love-lorn glance ; while several openly avowed themselves ardent admirers who sought the honour of her hand. But Sybil had exalted views of her personal charms, and much too thoroughly enjoyed the homage of half-a-dozen lovers to surrender herself hastily to the solicitations of any one. Like most pretty women, she took immense in terest in her dress, though, unlike many of them, she knew instinctively what suited her. She never made a mistake about the shape of a hat, or the colour of a gown ; and whether she wore a ribbon or a rose, it was sure to become her. Her father and mother were careful people, who, in addition to their croft, kept a shop, and took charge a jfatal Sbot 15 of the remote sub-office of Sruthan, where letters arrived once a week, and remained till called for.

Sybil did not care for house or farm work. Washing-days were an abomination to her, and she detested milking the cows. But she liked to sit in the shop, and attend to the few customers that dropped in, especially to the young men who asked for tobacco, and who seldom departed without a look or a word that gratified her vanity. And then she had charge of the mails, a work quite to her mind ; for there was always an interest in speculating about the letters, — whom they came from and were going to : an interest which, so far, had never led her to open them, though sometimes she had held them up to the light, and done her best to spell out a word or two of their contents. These duties in the shop and post-office in creased in interest during the summer season, when the few large houses and shooting-lodges were full of company, and young sportsmen and their gillies were moving about.

Then Sybil would give an extra half-hour to the curling of her hair, put on her brightest ribbons, and endeavour to keep her small hands unsoiled by other work. She was not a bad girl, but love of admiration and finery exposed her to temptation, more par ticularly as she had got it into her foolish little head that possibly some day one of those hand- ;jfiona flO'Jver 16 some, pleasant-speaking gentlemen might fall in love with her, and carry her off and marry her. But never in the height of the summer season had Sybil been more particular about her appear ance than on this bright February morning. It was not the sunshine that had made her so careful, nor any expectation of seeing Ronald Campbell, but something immensely more interesting to her. It was nothing less than the hope of a visit from the young laird.

He often used to come in and chat with her long ago, and had made her many little presents for looking after his letters. And she had never forgiven Fiona M'lver for winning his love, and then driving him from home. Ever since, she had hated the very sight of her. And it is truly wonderful what evil passions a girl with innocent, doll-like features can cherish. Sybil had seen Nial return home on the previous Saturday. And on the Sunday, though it was stormy, and there was a danger of spoiling her best hat, she had gone to church in the hope of seeing him. She was not disappointed ; he was there in full Highland dress. The two years of absence had made a wonderful change in him. She had never before seen him look so handsome, though she was disappointed that he gave her no nod or smile of recognition as he used often to do.

But two or three times a jfatal Sbot 17 during the service she was quite sure that he was looking at her. And afterwards they had met at the church door, and he had shaken hands and asked her when the next mail arrived — though he could not have forgotten. Sybil was confident that it was only a hint for her to be in the office when he called for his letters ; and so she was there, looking as attractive as a spring flower, for she really was a pretty girl. But she was disappointed. Either she had mistaken his intentions, or he had changed his mind. For instead of coming to the post-office, he had sent Lachlan M'Cuaig, who was of all men the one Sybil most disliked, and when he was gone she almost cried with vexation. While, however, she was sitting knitting, and still in no amiable mood, she heard the wheels of an approaching carriage, and hastening to the window, saw Mr Fergus Duff and his 'son drive past.

So much had her thoughts been occupied with them, that, slipping out of a side door, she ran to her father's croft, where she could watch the carriage again as it turned a corner of the road. Yes, there it was, and there was old Mr Duff, looking white and aged, and there was Mr Nial in a Highland shooting suit, his gun by his side. The colour rose to Sybil's cheeks as she watched them, and when she turned to retrace her steps, B ffiona flO'Jver 18 her little head was full of vague dreams and longings. But she had forgotten that her father, that very morning, had permitted a neighbour to put a bull of uncertain temper in his field. And to her dismay she now found herself confronted by the angry beast, excited by the sudden display of her bright coloured dress. What was she to do ? How could she escape ?

She could not retreat, for behind her was a stone dyke. She could not advance, for there the bull stood watching her menacingly. In mortal terror she gave a scream of alarm. At the same moment the door from which she had emerged was thrown open and Ronald Camp bell sprang out with a stout ash stick. ' Surely it iss not the bull that will fright ye, iss it, Sybil ? ' he cried. ' It's a diversion at the hin'er end I will fery soon give to him. And seizing the bull by the tail he belaboured it with the stick. The angry beast, astonished at this unexpected attack in the rear, gave a loud roar, and endea voured to reach its assailant by turning suddenly upon him ; but Ronald held tenaciously to the tail, and kept out of reach of the animal's horns. ' Frighten a young lassie, will ye ? ' he cried, plying his ash stick freely about the bull's fat sides. ' Ye old gomeril, ye ill-mannered brute, I'll teach ye to leave the ladies alone.' The enraged creature flung itself round and round, and stamped and roared mightily ; but Ronald clung to the tail like a live lobster, and whichever way the creature turned, it received a stinging cut.

When, however, the young crofter saw that Sybil had reached the house, he released the terrified beast with a parting sweep of the stick that sent it flying heels in the air to the further side of the field. ' It would hef been a dark day for me, Sybil,' he said as he entered the shop, ' if any harm had come to you.' She thanked him very gratefully ; and then added that her mother was out, but that he must come into the back parlour and rest. Ronald very readily accepted the invitation. Never had he found the pretty coquette more gracious. She brought him a glass of milk and a biscuit, and blushed very consciously over his reference to her smart dress, and was much delighted with the silver brooch. Her disappointment at the non-appearance of Mr Nial Duff found some compensation in the presence of Ronald.

The morning's toilet had not been wholly in vain. For this Highland lassie possessed more than an jfiona flO'Jver 20 average measure of feminine diplomacy. She not only contrived to learn all about what was going on at Fas-Ghlac— especially that Nial Mor had not been there — but also to prepare for eventu alities by making herself very agreeable to her admirer, and drawing him further into her net. For Ronald Campbell was a good fellow, far superior to all the other young men who were over head and ears in love with her. Lachlan M'Cuaig was the man her mother favoured, because he had the most money laid up ; but he had only one eye, was bandy-legged, and over forty, — she would not have him on any account. Ronald was something like a man, tall, sensible, industrious, with a large croft and boat of his own ; and Sybil was inclined to look favourably on him, in the event of nothing more brilliant coming her way.

So the time passed quickly, and when at last Ronald said that he really must go, she said that she would never forget how he had saved her from that horrid bull, and hoped that he would return again very soon. Meanwhile the carriage containing Mr Duff and his son proceeded on its way. Mr Duff lay back, half-buried in wraps, looking very white and thin, while he tugged nervously at the ends of his moustache. Even Nial Mor seemed ill at ease. That morning he had given his father a shock of surprise. In answer to an enquiry concerning his plans, he had declared his intention of going to Fas-Ghlac on the morrow, and also, when pressed, that he was more determined than ever to win Fiona M'lver. Then he had abruptly broken off the conversation and left the room. It was not, however, in accordance with his father's character to let a matter drop in which he was deeply interested.

He was one of those men in whom a strange conglomerate of faith and superstition covers a hard vein of worldly craft ; men of whom there has never been any lack of shining examples since the days of the patriarch Jacob. Such men are usually remarkable for their adroitness and persistency, and for their skill in drawing the cloak of piety over the most sordid and unscrupulous schemes. Mr Fergus Duff knew that it would be useless to attempt to erect any final barrier against his son's wishes. Nial Mor might be led, but he was not one to be openly opposed. Besides, until lately Mr Duff had been even more desirous than Mr M'lver to see Nial and Fiona married. The two estates of Sruthan and Fas-Ghlac marched, and united would form one of the most considerable properties in that part of the Highlands.

The Fas-Ghlac lands had come down to Torquil M'lver through an uncle, who had burdened and tfiona flO'Jver 22 impoverished them by a long course of reckless extravagance. Fortunately the new owner was rich, and proud of the home of his ancestors, and he had lavishly expended his wealth in clearing off the accumulated burdens and in improving the property. As Fergus Duff watched these proceedings it became one of the ambitions of his life to join his neighbour's lands to his own ; and for a time he cherished the hope of realising his wish through the union of Nial and Fiona. From Torquil M'lver's standpoint also the project appeared equally advantageous ; and so the boy and girl were thrown often together. But very early Fiona had exhibited an independence of character and indifference to Nial which rendered the issue so doubtful that Mr Duff began to despair of ever seeing his desire gratified unless his neighbour would exercise more authority over his daughter than he seemed willing to do.