From over the water. A story of two promises. By the author of 'The chorister brothers' [i.e. M. C. J. Leith], etc

Front matter

FEOM OVER THE WATER, FROM OVER THE WATER % Siorg of ®foo promises. BY THE AUTHOK OF THE CHORISTER BROTHERS,' ' LIKE HIS OWN DAUGHTER. etc., etc. ■ ' When thou art far awa' Thou'lt dearer grow to me ; But change o' place an' change o' folk May gar thy fancy jee." — S. Blamire. "Had he seen thee, when he ewore He would love but me alone ? " — E. B. Browning. Itonbott : WALTER SMITH (Late Mozlet), 34, KING STREET, COVENT GAEDEN. 1884. n n q a n : CLAY AND TATT.OR, PBINTEBS. CONTENTS.

Book I. How The Promises Were

Ma-IDE. CHAP. PAGE 1. AN OLD WORLD VILLAGE ... ... ... 3 II. ARDHILL ... ... ... ... 13 III. MES. DARE'S ROOF ... ... ... 21 IV. NATIVE TALENT ... ... ... ... 31 V. NATIVE BEAUTY ... ... ... ... 40 VI. LIZZIE MATHIESON GOES TO THE POST ... 49 VII. A ROMANTIC STORY ... ... ... 50 VIII. IN THE WOOD ... ... ... ... 63 IX. IN THE HAYFIELD ... ... ... 71 X. A RIDE FOR THE DOCTOR ... ... ... 7G XI. A VISIT TO MONTY ... ... ... 83 XII. IN WHICH SELAH BIDS GOOD-BYE TO TWO FRIENDS 92 XIII. OLD JIM ... ... ... ... CONTENTS. VI PAGE CHAP. 111 XIV. SELAH LOSES HER WAY XV. " WHEN'S YOU AND ME TO GET SPLICED 1 " XVI. "TO-MORROW tea-time" ... 121 133 143 XVII. THE LETTER THAT SELAH BROUGHT XVIII. CROSS CURRENTS 147 XIX OLD jim's advice 161 167 XX. A TRYST AND A TROTHPLIGHT

Book II. How The Promises Were Kept

CHAP. PAGE I. A HEAVY STORM ... ... ... ... 181 II. THE SWEETHEART IN THE NORTH ... ... 192 III. NEWS OF THE VOYAGERS ... ... ... 197 IV. ANOTHER WALK TO DERING ... ... 203 V. MR. MAC CONFESSES ... ... ... 213 VI. THE LAD BASTIANI ... ... ... 219 VII. MINNIE WARHAM GIVES HER ADVICE ... 230 VIII. IS WHICH LIN TAKES A HOUSE ... ... 237 IX. A LAST TRYST ... ... ... ... 250 X. WHAT MRS. DARE FOUND ... ... ... 263 XI. REST FOR THE WEARY ... ... ... 271 XII. THE EVENING EXPRESS ... ... ... CONTENTS. VII CHAP. PAGE XIII. MRS. DARE ABDICATES ... ... ... 287 XIV. THE BURIAL FROM THE GREAT HOUSE ... 300 XV. IN WHICH MR. MAC MAKES A PURCHASE ... 308 XVI. MRS. DARE SPEAKS OUT ... ... ... 317 XVII. CANARY STATION ... ... ... 324 XVIII. CONFESSION AND PARDON ... ... 335 XIX. TWO PAIRS OF LOVERS ... ... ... 344 XX. MRS. MAC ... ... ... ... 349 XXI. HOME AT LAST ... ... ... ...

BOOK I. HOW THE PEOMISES WEEE MADE.

" He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me. He's a bonnie Hieland laddie, and ye be na he." Old Ballad. B

Chapter I. An Old-world Village

In no part of southern England is the hand of spring more lavish, her reign more beneficent and genial, than in that sea-girt tract — so narrowly divided from the mainland, yet in all its attributes so essentially and un conquerably insular — whose primrose-garlanded knolls, and violet-sprinkled banks, and greenest fields shining and twinkling with cowslips, buttercups, and daisies, have deservedly gained for it the appellation of the " Garden Isle." The steep narrow winding lane of a turnpike road — practically inconvenient, but how picturesquely beautiful in its high hedgerows and over-arching trees, leading through and past Cheveley viUage — had surely never looked more cool and shady to wayworn travellers than one calm bright evening late in May, which saw the old ReHance ' coach, with its four sturdy steaming greys, B its motley dusty passengers, and red-coated guard, come to a standstill before the little wicket-gate of the modest cottage tenanted by Archelaus Whitmore and Sarah his sister.

That was a regular typical old English cottage of the better sort, spacious and two-storied, with a neat rustic porch, and snug dormer windows nestling in the deep thatch. On either side of the porch was trained a magnificent rose tree "in full bearing" — sight to gladden a florist's eye — one with red, the other with yellow blooms ; and a trimly-kept gravel path led from gate to porch, through an old-fashioned and well-stocked garden, bright and sweet with early summer flowers. Inside, the dwelling corresponded with its exterior, and on this present occasion both house and inmates wore a certain appearance of extra brightening-up — of prepar ation and expectation, in short ; possibly to be accounted for in the unwonted halt of the daily evening coach, for Cheveley was still many miles from the railway line, and depended chiefly upon this old-world conveyance.

Miss Whitmore, the presiding female genius of the cottage, was a woman of nearly sixty : tall, handsome, and active, with dark hair but slightly threaded with silver, an upright vigorous form and taper waist, and a characteristic faultless neatness of attire. Take Sarah Whitmore when you might, you never caught her with a bow or a plait awry. Yet she could work as hard as any woman in England, and seldom deputed any of her household tasks to a subordinate. She was sober and staid of demeanour, as became her age and position ; though she was by no means wanting in a touch of dry humour occasionally, combined with shrewd common sense. She had lived for eighteen years with an old and invalid lady, to whom she devoted herself entirely, and for whose sake she declined any offered change or prefer ment.

At her death her grateful mistress remembered her to the extent of a comfortable little annuity, which rendered her independent for life of further service. Her brother, old Arky, as his neighbours called him for brevity, had been by no means so prosperous a character. To say the truth, he had been something of a rolling stone, trying a little of one business after another, and not making much at any of them ; finish ing with a small farm " over the water," which may be said to have finished him, for after three years he failed completely. He was not an unsteady man : he did not drink, bet, or affect low company ; he was only shiftless, and, as he would say himself, unlucky. He had lost his wife early and had no family ; consequently it was a great matter for him that his independent sister Sarah (after helping him to an extent that made a large hole in her own fortune) was able and willing to cast in her lot with his, and become joint tenant of Lily bank Cottage, with power to sub-let the rooms they did not require to a better class of lodger.

Sarah agreed only on condition that she should have entire charge of the expenditure, an arrangement as conducive to Arky's comfort as to her own. Already, when our tale begins, they had had several lodgers. One or two of Mr. Owen the rector's curates had boarded with them; but the present curate was married, and required a larger house, so they were vacant this year. Thus it had been arranged, when a new bailiff from the north was to succeed the island patri arch who had lately died in that capacity at Cheveley Grange, that they should accommodate him for the present ; he being an unmarried man, and the late bailiff's old and decrepit widow being desired by the squire to retain possession of her cottage for life. Now the inhabitants of Cheveley village were no less insular than their neighbours, and one way in which their insularity manifested itself was in a strong belief in themselves, coupled with a certain implied contempt for " over-uns " — by which title they designated those persons whose misfortune rather than their fault it was to have been born and bred on the opposite side of the Solent.

When, therefore, it was known that one of the chief places of trust and responsibility on Cheveley Grange estate was to be filled by an over-un — one, moreover, coming from no nearer than the north of Scotland — it might be expected that there should be a feeling not altogether favourable to the prospective bailiff. The appointment indeed (which had been recommended to the young squire of Cheveley by an experienced and far-seeing relative, with property both in the north and the south) had been duly discussed and canvassed by such as it might (and many whom it might not) concern ; and the Whitmores had had their share in the discussion, especially as the subject touched themselves in the present instance. Not that it should be inferred that Arky and Sarah were prejudiced against their prospective lodger, though they were to a certain extent doubtful as to how they might like him.

Their present acquaintance with Scotchmen was limited to the typical Highlander of the snuff-shops; and though they did not actually imagine that the new bailiff would arrive in that guise, they speculated not a little as to what his manners, tastes, and habits might be. Thus it was with a little inward trepidation, notwithstanding her outward dignity and trimness of aspect, that Miss Whitmore, in her afternoon dress of black alpaca, and cap with the violet ribbons, sallied forth from her doorway at the sound of the horn, just in time to see a brisk active-looking man drop quietly from the back of the coach, while the guard handed out two portmanteaus, a light box, and a hamper — which latter appeared to contain something alive, and was the object of chief solicitude to its owner. Mr. Whitmore also came out, a little in the background, and was rather dubiously regarding the portmanteaus, which were weightier than anything he was in the habit of lifting.

" Best get Haynes next door to give a hand in with them," Sarah observed; but the new-comer, having paid his fare, turned round now. "Don't you trouble, ma'am — I'll easy lift them across. This is a beautiful evening ! " by way of salutation ; and so saying he took first one, then another of the packages, and deposited them severally in the doorway, ending with the hamper. "Just a young pup I brought with me," he explained. " I'll let him out, I suppose ? And perhaps you could give me a bowl of water to him." Sarah was, to say the truth, a Httle taken aback by this additional lodger. Her ideas were rather severe on the subject of indoor pets. "A strange dog to be messing in and out in all weathers with its muddy feet, fighting with Spot and chasing the cat, as Hkely as not," was not what she expected, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

And indeed if she had been a good deal less sweet-tempered than she was, she could hardly but have been propitiated by the good-tempered face of her visitor. For that was what struck her most. She did not (as a younger maiden might) consider whether or no he was young and good-looking — in point of fact he was twenty-eight, and possessed a very tolerable share of good looks ; but she saw that his eyes smiled as they looked at her. When a man's eyes smile as they meet yours, you cannot help feeling that his dispositions are friendly towards you, at any rate. So Sarah bustled about and attended in the first place to the wants of the unexpected visitor, a black-and-tan collie pup, larger at three months than Arky's little terrier of more years, and further produced from some of the back premises a comfortable-looking little cask, which mi^ht be appropriated to the puppy's use as a home, beinoanxious to establish it in its proper place at once.

Arky's Spot of course was privileged to go whither its master would, in or out, up or down ; but the stranger was quite another thing. When this point was settled she addressed herself to her lodger on the subject of his own refreshments. " The tea is just ready, Mr. Mack Harthur," so the good woman translated the stranger's cognomen of Me Arthur. " And will you please to take yours in your own room, or sit down along of us ? " That had been matter of speculation to Miss Whitmore beforehand. " Well, thanks, if it is convenient I would prefer to join you to-night," said McArthur, cheerily. And before the meal was half through, those kindly eyes and quiet sensible tones had won Sarah Whitmore's heart as thoroughly as if she had been at least twenty years younger ; while Arky showed his approval of the visitor by asking him to take a pipe with him in the garden after tea.

For a message had been sent from the Grange that the squire was dining out, and would not be home till late, but would be glad to see the new bailiff next morning by ten o'clock. Arky was a knowing old fellow, and was well aware that much of his comfort in life might depend upon friendly relations with the new bailiff. The late one indeed had been a great crony of his, and many a snug evening's rabbiting on the Cheveley downs had Mr. Whitmore enjoyed in past days, entirely with the connivance of that official. Arky took his new lodger to a warm cosy corner at the top of his strip of garden, where, across and beyond the rows of early peas and flourishing potatoes and old fashioned rose and gooseberry bushes, they looked over a stretch of green fields and hedgerows in tender spring foliage ; one or two picturesque farms interposing between the foreground and the ever-present horizon sweep of blue sea, dotted visibly with many a sail and many a steamer traveUing along this strip of the great ocean highway.

" It has the appearance of a rich country," observed McArthur, as his practised eye took stock of the various tracts of cultured ground : here a full green wheat-field, looking wonderfully advanced for the season to his northern ideas; there a darker turnip patch; or, again, a luxuriant clover meadow, or slope of reddening sanfoin. " Is that one of our Cheveley farms ? " as he pointed to a manorial-looking building embosomed in ancestral elms. " That ! Yes ; Mayfield, you mean," answered his companion. " A large house," said the other, meditatively. " Yes, it be — too large 'most for a farmer, it be. Leastways last tenant found it so," with a little chuckle. " What way was that ? " " Failed," replied Arky, laconically. " Bad management — or bad seasons possibly ? " Again the old man chuckled.

" Farmers, they be goin' ahead too fast now-a-days," he said. " Why, when I was young, some forty years gone, the farmer minded his own work, and was content to let his boys and girls attend the parish school ; and when they came up, they minded the work too, and the gals minded the dairy ; and they'd something to spare even if seasons was a bit behind. But now, why, dear me, they must keep their hunters, and their peeanos, and have the best of schooling and teachers for their children, and a heap o' servants to do then work ; and of course wages is high ; and then comes a bad year or two, and unless rent's lowered, why, stands to reason they must come to a smash." Alas, it had not needed hunters and schools to bring poor Arky to that sad consummation. "And how does the present tenant get on ?

" " Mr. Hillier ? Oh, well, I don't say as he's doing badly. But he ain't been long here. He's a terrible one for new-fangled ways — machines and what not — more than what there's any good for, seems to me. But we shall see." McArthur made no comment on this aloud, but he inwardly set down Mr. Hillier as a man of progress. He was rather amused at being the recipient of old Arky's opinions upon his neighbours and things in general, though Arky's opinions might by no means coincide with his own. They chatted on for some time longer, till the even ing dews began to fall, and the new acquaintances, having finished their pipes, turned towards the house. McArthur withdrew into his own allotted apartment, to unpack and arrange his possessions, write a letter or two, and finally to bestow himself in Miss Whit more's well-aired and white dimity-curtained bed, with all the satisfaction of a man who has arrived at the end of a long and somewhat fatiguing three days' voyage and journey.

ARDHILL. CHAPTER, II. ARDHILL. We must transport our readers for a short space to a scene very distant and very different from that in which our hero has made his first appearance. It is a small wayside station on a railway line in the north of Scotland ; a very small one, no town around it, only a neat, thriving little village of a few cottages, a shop or two, a couple of kirks (of course), and the inevitable burn possessed by most villages in that part of the world. It lay in a plain open agricultural district, redeemed from ugliness, however, by one grand range of moorland hill, lifting itself into several rocky points, or "taps," and clothed along and around its base with dark rich firwoods, in some places creeping far up its purple sides. There is little to describe in the station itself, one is so like another on this line ; the same trim slated building, with a snug garden, and trellised gate leading round to the master's house at the back; the neat gravelled platform, the wooden benches, the old round clock-face peeping out of a garland of convolvulus — who that has travelled in the north does not know them ?

The station of which I speak was distinguished a little, perhaps, by having its name— ARDHILL— neatly cut out in large letters in a piece of green turf beside it : otherwise it was just like its fellows. Mr. Mathieson, the station agent, was a poor little man, with a pale, delicate, rather discontented face, and a slight lameness. He was about forty-five, and a widower ; he lived here with his two daughters — and his canaries. Every available bit of spare wall, in his office or in his parlour, was taken up by cages containing pet or prize birds in every stage of progress ; and in fine weather the cages overflowed into the covered part of the platform, so that " Canary Station," as it was nicknamed by familiars to the line, was quite a cynosure of attraction to passing travellers' eyes. That May evening which seemed so warm and sultry to the passengers of the ' Reliance ' in the far south, was bracing even to frostiness at the back of Benachie — so the high hill which I have described is named — to the extent that the warmth of the fire was certainly grateful, which sparkled in the little living-room at the back of the station-house, where the agent's two daughters sat at their work.

Both girls were busily employed ; but while the fingers of the younger -moved rapidly over her knitting, her large widely-opened grey eyes wandered round with the sad vacant expression that told of darkness within. Poor Maggie Mathieson was quite blind. She had not been so born ; the ARDHILL. 15 affliction had come on after a severe illness in her twelfth year, and by this time — she was turned seven teen — she had become, to a certain extent, reconciled, and even cheerful under it ; being able to grope her way alone about the familiar cottage and garden, to occupy her hands, besides, in various useful tasks ; being solaced as far as was possible' by her father's consideration, and the entire devotion and care of her elder sister, Lizzie. Mr. Mathieson was not a demonstratively affectionate father; he was, more correctly speaking, fidgety over Maggie rather than fond.

Still, all the consideration and affection at his command seemed centred upon the blind girl, whose trial was a great and ever-present source of disappointment to him ; while he appeared to look upon his eldest daughter as merely born for a household drudge, whose personal wishes, privileges, and prospects were to be surrendered absolutely and entirely to his own and Maggie's convenience and comfort. Lizzie was four years the elder. She was a slight quiet girl, with a pale face, large grey eyes, and fair hair, in no way remarkable either for beauty or clever ness, but gentle, grave, and essentially self-forgetting. Neither she nor her sister were robust ; but while every " little finger-ache " of Maggie's was duly noted, com passionated, and alleviated by her sister and father, Lizzie often underwent far severer bodily discomfort or indisposition without asking for sympathy, or intermit ting any of her manifold and arduous duties.

Lizzie Mathieson's life was not all prose, however. Young and simple, plain and insignificant as many would consider her, tied down to the " common round " of her monotonous home-tasks, her romance had come to her, her heart had been sought and bestowed — might it only be in safe keeping ! Lizzie's romance was centred in a "photograph, sacredly concealed from curious eyes in the depths of her work-box, but often taken out to be conned and communed with in secret. It was the 'likeness, of course, of a young man — her young man, in short ; and was a pleasant enough portrait to look at, though it was a trifle old and faded and brown. A well-looking stalwart young fellow he was, this lover of hers, with an honest' manly face ; the eyes had something of that beamy look about them which, as we have seen, had captivated Miss Sarah Whitmore in the new Cheveley bailiff.

Too handsome and too clever by far for this poor little pale shrinking wayside flower, so many might say; so Lizzie in her humility was fain to admit to herself, in the pride and joy of her secret consciousness of his love ; but he might search far ere he found one to love him with such faithful and entire devotion. And here, perhaps, it will not be out of place to say something of his history. His father had been a self-made man, having raised him self by his abilities and integrity from a lowly position to one of high responsibility and trust : for many years he had been general overseer and manager of the local or land business of a large estate in the parish of ARDHILL. Ardhill. He had married a woman considerably his superior in birth and education, by whom he had one son and one daughter.

He was extremely proud of this smart promising good-looking son, on whom he had bestowed the most liberal education in his reach ; and for some years before his death, having failed in health and activity, he was allowed to keep the youth as his lieutenant and active helper in his office. At his death, however, the son was stiU too young to step into his father's place and assume the full responsi bility of so great a charge ; consequently a situation also of trust, though less onerous, was obtained by him — it matters not its particular nature — as a stepping stone. He could scarcely, however, realize his good fortune when, after working steadily, faithful in little things, for some four years, he was hit upon by a neighbouring laird who was well acquainted with his antecedents, as "the very man" for general factotum and overseer to a young relative in the south of England.

There had come a day when Lizzie Mathieson had stood at the furthest end of the little gravelled platform to bid a long farewell to her friend of the photograph. Last words are hard to say, and Lizzie was at all times a girl of few words and reserved temperament ; besides that various conflicting emotions made it difficult for her to express herself now. "And you'U be faithful to me then, Lizzie," he said, " you'll not ' forget auld friends when far away . ' ' " Faithful ! " She could not answer more than by a c half-reproachful exclamation ; and then she stopped, and hesitated, and almost gave way. Something was in her mind to say to him, something that had lain heavy on it for some time ; she felt she ought, this was her last opportunity ; but it was so hard, so hard. At last she began — " Ye know, I was thinking — " but stopped again.

" What was that ye were thinking . " " Ye know, you're going away — " "Just exactly. But it's no to say I'll never be back — to the ' back o' Benachie,' as the song says. I doubt my heart will be there the most of the time." She smiled a tearful little smile. "I've been thinkin', ye know," she went on, quite earnestly and gravely, " that it is not right to allow you to bind yourself now." " What way bind myself? " he asked. " To me. Ye're aware it's not likely they'll be able to want* me at home, as far as one can see, and it seems near a sin to you, to wear out your best years waitin' on and waitin' on — " " Tchut ! nonsense ! " he said, shutting her mouth in feigned anger. " If ye've nothing better than that to say to me, you're best not speaking." "It was for good to you I meant," said the girl, almost piteously.

" If I could see any prospect — but the last time I even hinted at the idea to my father, he seemed just to cast it from him, as though it were not for me to think of such a thing." * want, Anglice, do without. ARDHILL. 19 "He'll need to learn one day that your best years are not to be sacrificed altogether to him," the youno man said. " And more than that, what's to hinder him gettin' married himself ? " Lizzie shook her head. "I don't see much Hkelihood of that. Whiles I wish it might be so, if he would be better pleased, for it is a hard matter to please him, at a time. But ye see there's but one / know of would please him in that way, and she's very stiff to move. Forbye that, I don't think I would be very willin' to leave Maggie to a stranger." " Maggie would grow accustomed in time. And I've said often enough Maggie need never want for a home wi' me."

" Ye're so good. But it would be o'er heavy a drag upon you." "Well, well, we'll just need to see. In the mean time, as I've waited three — four years, I'm content to wait a little longer; and maybe ye'll be shown the way, if we've patience for a bit. So you'll just keep up your heart, my lass, and do the best ye can." " Ye'll write to us whiles ? " she said, with a quiver of the lip. " Eh, ay, I'll write. Not just the very first maybe, but after I've had time to look round a bit. And you write me, and tell me all the Ardhill news. See, that's the train ! " The train — a cruel train to these lovers — glided up ; c a long one, and full of faces at the windows, known and unknown, making poor Lizzie shrink into herself, and only bestow upon her friend quite a frigid hand-shake, as he squeezed her fingers in his strong grip, while she whispered, with quivering lips and starting tears, " Gude bless ye, Calder — good-bye !

" So the train glided off again, and Lizzie went round to the entrance of her home, feeling more desolate than she had ever done in her life ; yet, withal, with an un dercurrent of hope and gladness and pride. She had done what she felt was her duty ; she had " delivered her soul." But it did not matter ; her lover was wil ling to wait and keep true to her ; and while he was unchanged, her lot could never be altogether a mournful one. So she went home, to live on patience and hope, and her photograph.

Chapter III. Mrs

DARE'S ROOF. Cheveley Grange was a large picturesque ram bling old manor-house, standing at the upper end of the village, encircled by noble woods and grassy slopes and luxuriant meadows. Quite an old-fashioned place, with its trim garden walks, and quaint box and yew hedges, and smooth turf; but the large broad terrace in front of the house was partitioned now into two tennis courts, and the general appearance and equip ments of the old entrance hall bore tokens of modern refinements and youthful inhabitants. It was a big house, too big by far for a boy and girl to live in by themselves; but the present owner was little more than a boy in years, and nothing but a well-grown schoolboy in his tastes and pursuits. He had not long come of age ; both his parents were dead, and having plenty of means, and no profession to take up his time and thoughts, he had settled down thus early upon his inheritance, to take charge of it as well as he could, with the help of his only sister, a few years his senior.