The Thirteenth Brydain. A novel

Front matter

THE "GREENBACK SERIES" POPULAR l\6 NOVELS. By AUTHORS OF THE DAY. (Crown %vo, Cloth.) Uniform with "The Thirteenth Brydain." i. LOUIS DRAYCOTT. By Mrs. Lp.ith Adams, 2nd Edition. j. GEOFFREY STIRLING. By Mrs. Leith Adams. sth Edition. 3. BONNIE KATE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 2nd Edition. 4. A NEW OTHELLO. By Hon. Iza Dueeus Hardy, 2nd Ed. 5. THE MAID OF LONDON BRIDGE. By Somervillk Gibnev. 3rd F.dition. 6. EVELINE WELLWOOD. By Major Norris Paul, and Ed. 7. OLD LATTIMER'S LEGACY. By J. S. Fletcher. 2nd Ed. 8. THAT LITTLE GIRL. By Curtis Yorke. sth Edition. 9. DUDLF.V. By Curtis Yorke. 4th Edition. io. THE WILD RUTHVENS. Bv Curtis Yorke. 5th Edition. ti. THE BROWN PORTMANTEAU, and other Stories. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 12. HUSH ! By Curtis Yorke. 4th Edition, 13. ONCE ! By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 14.

A ROMANCE OF MODERN LONDON. By Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. 15. HIS HEART TO WIN. By Curtis Yorke. and Edition. 16. DARRELL CHEVASNEY. By Curtis Yorke. 17. BETWEEN THE SILENCES. By Curtis Yorke. iS. THE PEVTON ROMANCE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 3rd Ed. 19. THE GOLDEN MILESTONE. By Scott Graham. 3rd Ed. -■o. A RECORD OF DISCORDS. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 2t. "CHFRTt.V RIP" !" Bv Helen Mathers. 8th Edition. 22. STORY OF A SIN. By Helen Mathers. 5th Edition. 23. EYRE'S ACQUITTAL. (Sequel.) Bv Helen Mathers. 4th Ed. --.. TOCK O' HAZELOREEN. By Helen Mathers. 4th Ed. -.*;. MY L4DY GREEN SLEEVES. By Helen M athers. 6th Ed. ,6. FOUND OUT. Bv Helen Mathers. 103rd Thousand. -.7. THE MEDLICOTTS. Ry Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. -.8. THE HE\RT OF A MYSTERY. Ry T. W. Speight. -.9. MAN PROPOSES. Bv Mrs. A. Phillips. 2nd Edition. 30.

THE LAST OF THE HAnDONS. By Mrs. E. Newman. 31. M.1, \NSONS T.TTTLE WOMAN. By Eastwood Kidson. ,2. I.TNDS-tV'S CTRL. Rv Mrs. Herbert Martin. 2nd Edition. !3. WRONGLY CONDEMNED. By Mrs. Bacot Harte, Author of " Rianca." &c 34- THE THIRTEENTH BRYDAIN. By Margaret Moule, Author of "Wingrove's Ways," "Dick's Wife," "Miss Miidment," Ike. 3*;. THROUGH ANOTHER MAN'S EYES. By Eleanor Holmes. 3*. MRS. WYLDE. Bv Linda Gardii-fer. -7. A PRINCE OF COMO. Bv E. M. Davy. 2nd Edition. 38. RUTH FARMER. Bv Agnes Marchrank. [Tkt>u™nd 39- THE LOVELY MALINCOURT. Pv Helen Mathers. Sixth 10. A GARRISON ROMANCE. By Mrs. Leith Adams, -ird Ed 11 HARUM S^ARUM. Bv Esme Stuart. 12. A RO'T FROM THE BLUE. Bv S<-ott Graham. Shnrtlv (3. IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT. By T. W. Speight. Shortly. OTHERS IN PREPARATION. LONDON: JARROLD b-£&r?S,-io and n, Warwick Lane, E.C. A NOVEL BY MARGARET MOJILE Author of '" Wingrtrvi 's Ways" "Miss Maidment" "Dick's Wife" etc., etc.

Chapter I. The Grey Stone House

IT was an April afternoon, but the air was full of east wind. The clouds which had gathered slowly all the morning lay in heavy grey masses, very low, and very near to the earth ; and their nearness so intensified their heaviness as to make it seem almost oppressive. It was very dark, from the effect of these same masses of clouds. Once or twice during the after noon the clouds had broken suddenly and left a long, silver edged rift, from which a cold ray of light had streamed out ; but this was only for a moment at a time. The next, they had rolled heavily together again, and were again driven slowly before the east wind. Side by side with the darkness caused by the clouds, and seeming to struggle with it, was the clear, cold glare which is an inseparable accompaniment of an east wind. It is not light in itself; neither does it give any light; it merely accentuates, by reason of the clear distinctness which it brings to every detail in a landscape, the bitter keenness of the sword-edged wind that is sweeping across it with merciless cutting power.

In its clearness the hills, on this cold spring afternoon, stood out against the grey clouds' with a sharp outline j and every tuft of withered brown heather on them, every grey crag of stone, even the dead fragments of last year's bracken, stood THE THLRTEENTH BRYDALN. out also. The road that led over the brow of the nearest hill gleamed in the cold clearness like a broad, white ribbon. At the foot of the hills lay a deep ravine, which seemed to cut off the hills abruptly from the landscape opposite. The ravine was wooded on either bank, and every branch and every trunk of the trees in it, bent as they were before the wind, seemed to be defined and separated from its fellow, so distinct were their outlines in the clear glare. Just above the ravine, on the opposite side to the hills, lay a little village ; and to-day every angle of its cottage roofs, every twist in the crooked little chimneys, and every curl of blue smoke that struggled up from them, looked as if it had been drawn with a sharp and t ery dark pencil against a heavy, indefinite background.

The village ran irregularly along the bank of the ravine to its head, where, just above the spot at which it suddenly ended, stood, dark and lowering against the sky, a grey stone house, tall and square, with an octagonal turret at one corner. If the rest of the landscape looked bleak and dreary in the bitter wind, the grey stone house seemed to attract to itself all the most gloomy characteristics of the day, and by its form and presence to accentuate them a hundredfold. The wind seemed to gain an added sharpness as it whistled round the four gaunt grey walls ; the cold light seemed more weird and unnatural for touching the panes of glass in the narrow windows, and the dreary stretch of moorland behind seemed far more dreary for the tall, forbidding outline on its edge. All day long the grimness of that grey stone building had seemed to possess an irresistible attraction for the inhabitants of Brydain— the little village which for centuries had lain on the bank of the ravine and faced those dark Perthshire hills.

Very few of its inhabitants had left their own houses on this bitter day, but of those who had, none had gone out or none come in without a glance at the tall, gaunt building. Of the men who, at five o'clock, were beginning to come home from their outdoor work with steps that were Quick and THE GREY STONE HOUSE. 9 hurrying in their desire to gain shelter from the cold misery of the day, no one of them as they entered the village was, as usual, speculating on the next day's weather, or talking over his neighbour's concerns with his comrades ; but one and all directed their eyes to the grey stone house, and looked at it with a distinct look of curiosity and unusual interest. Just as three or four of them approached the village, a door of one of the cottages, at the end furthest from the grey stone house, was opened, and an old woman came out holding a kettle in her hand.

She was withered and bent with age, and the high cap she wore seemed by its size to make her small frame look smaller still. She clasped her shawl across her tightly as she felt the first breath of the east wind. "Ech, but it's cauld!" she said to herself; and she also, as if instinctively, turned towards the grey house. Then, seeming to remember the kettle she held, she crossed the road with trembling steps and tried to fill it at the little burn which ran down the side of the ravine to join a wider stream at the bottom. But her hands trembled with cold as well as with age, and the handle of the kettle slipped from her shaking old fingers and rolled down the bank. The old woman stood watching it helplessly until it was caught and held by a tuft of brushwood, and then she looked around almost imploringly as if for help to recover it.

Just at this moment the little group of men who had been approaching the village reached it, and the foremost, catching sight of her face, quickened his steps. He was a lad of about nineteen, stalwart and strong, though short and thick-set. "What ails you, Elspeth?" he said. "What is it you are wanting ? " The old woman, in a quavering voice, explained what had happened, and in another moment Sandy Macfarlane was actively scrambling down among the heather and brushwood beside the burn in pursuit of the kettle. Meanwhile, the other men had come up, and, after a glance at Sandy, seemed to find comments unnecessary. f THE THLRTEENTH BR YDALN. 10 " He'll be back just now," observed the most communicative ; and then they, like the old woman, turned towards the grey stone house. She turned with them, apparently forgetting, for the moment, Sandy, the kettle, and the bitter wind, for she let her shawl fall apart as she held out her hand towards the stone house.

"And so the Laird's end came to him the same way as his forbears," she said. "It's plain they must all dree their weird." "His burying was a gran' sight," said the man who had spoken before; after an almost imperceptible pause during which he seemed to be striving to find a different channel for the conversation, " and the minister was gran' at the grave." "And the laddie'll be by his lane," continued old Elspeth, '• and he'll be by his lane till his life's end," she added reflectively. " And what'll he be doing the day, think you, puir bit laddie ? " " Is it Brydain you're calling a bit laddie, then ? " asked another man, who looked about five-and-twenty. " He will be of one age with myself." " And what other will you call yourself, Tammas Macgregor ? " said the old woman, turning round on him sharply.

" I held you in my arms when you wore your swathing-clothes, and I held Brydain the same ! It'll be wae for him up there by his lane with Mackenzie," she added, after a pause, in which she took breath after her brief outburst of wrath. "The young Laird'll marry on a wife," struck in Sandy Macfarlane, cheerily. He had joined the group unobserved, a moment or two before, holding the recovered kettle in his hand. But with his words an odd silence fell. There was a pause, and then old Elspeth's voice sounded a little more tremulous as she said slowly : "He'll no' be for marrying, ye ken." Sandy Macfarlane, and the young man of whose age Elsneth had been so contemptuous, simultaneously turned to her at THE GREY STONE HOUSE. 11 this. There was a mixed expression on both their faces, consisting of incredulous disagreement with her words, or their meaning, which they seemed fully to understand, and a depre catory respect for her age, which made them both hesitate.

But young Macgregor apparently overcame this, for he was just about to speak when the words were checked on his very lips by a sudden movement on the part of Elspeth. "The laddie himsel' ! " she said. And the men, with a hasty glance round at the road, touched their caps roughly but heartily. The salutation was returned by a young man who had come up the village street unnoticed, and now passed the little group with one or two rapid strides. In the clear, cold glow every line of his figure and face was as distinct as the details of the scene around. He was tall — his height could not have been far short of six feet — and he was very broad-shouldered. His head was bowed, so as to avoid the full blast of the wind, but his face, or what could be seen of it above the plaid that was thrown round his shoulders, and the cap which was pulled rather low on his forehead, was evidently handsome.

A pair of very keen, very deep-set blue eyes glanced at the group as he saluted them, and the hair which showed below it was of a bright golden-brown. He was wearing a dark tweed suit, with a band of wide crape on his left arm. There was something rather pathetic and incongruous about the strong young figure and its signs of mourning that seemed, as the young man passed on, to stop Thomas Macgregor and Sandy Macfarlane from begin ning the argument they had prepared for old Elspeth. They watched the tall figure for a moment in silence, and then, with a brief good-night, Sandy handed Elspeth her kettle, and the group scattered itself into its component fragments, Sandy and the other men respectively seeking their various homes, while old Elspeth very slowly recrossed the road to her cottage with the kettle, which, besides recovering, Sandy had filled for her.

" Puir bit laddie ! " she said again, as she opened the door. " It's no' to be expected that I should live to see his end, for which of us can tell how it'll be fulfilled ? " THE THLRTEENTH BR YDALN. 12 Meanwhile the tall young man had walked on, past all the cottages of Brydain that were near enough and regular enough to consider themselves as part of the street. They grew more and more straggling towards the end, and finally were succeeded by very bare-looking fields, separated from the rough track along which he was walking by a low grey stone wall. A little later the fields and the track ended together, and the stone wall, taking a sharp turn, crossed the young man's path. There was in it a large, rough wooden gate ; he opened it with a quick touch to its clumsy latch, and it swung back wide, leaving exposed the dreary stretch of moorland on which stood the grey stone house.

Across this, from the gate, led a rough road — in reality only a bridle-path, widened by years and centuries of use into something approaching a carriage-road. It was undivided in any way from the moor until about half way between the gate and the house, where it was bordered on each side by trees — straggling, twisted pine-trees and larches, whose stems were completely bare of branches on the windward side. The young man strode along the road, and under the trees, towards the grey stone house, which seemed with nearness to grow gaunter and grimmer still. The " Great House," as it was called in Brydain, must have been named from comparison alone, for, intrinsically, the name was inappropriate enough. It was built round a very small inner square, and it was in itself by no means large. The high walls were of smooth squared stone, which had no ivy or creeping plants to soften its hard surface.

The windows were few and very small ; many of them still retained the lancet form which the builder of the house had probably found the best adapted for security from his enemies. They had been slightly altered on the side facing the dark hills, and widened : but even those which had been so treated still presented the idea rather of a necessary outlook for the dwellers within„than that of windows to admit sun and air. On the side to which the approach, edged by the wind-blown THE GREY STONE HOUSE. 13 pines, led up there were no windows at all. The cold grey fa§ade was broken only by a heavy doorway, with stone mouldings ending in a crest, consisting of a lion's head. The turret, which stood at the eastern corner, was pierced with several lancets in its upper storey. From the ground below they seemed only like darker slits in a grey ground ; but in reality they commanded a wide view down the ravine, to the crest of the hills, and over the dreary moor.

There was no garden ; the house was bordered by a narrow strip of ground shut in by a wire fence. But the enclosure contained only a few stunted shrubs. On the southern side — that facing the moor — the enclosure was a little wider, and bore traces of what had apparently once been a few flower-beds ; but they were bare and empty enough. There was no sign of any life about them, and their very outlines were indistinct and vague. The young man passed under the last of the trees, reached the stone doorway, lifted the heavy twisted iron ring that served as a handle to the dark oak door, opened it, and entered, letting the door fall together behind him with a crash.

Chapter II

"MASTER OF HIS FATE." THREE hours had passed since the young man had let himself in at the heavy stone doorway. It was past eight o'clock, and he was sitting by a fire in a room bright and warm with its dancing flames. The room was not inconsistent with the outer aspect of the house — that is to say its furniture was not. It was sombre, and dark, and scanty. There was a square oak table in the middle of the room, with no cloth upon it, and its shining surface bore in places marks of long and rough use. There was a smaller table which might have been a writing table between two^ of the windows, and there were a few uncushioned oak chairs set against the walls. At the end opposite to the fireplace stood an enormous oak sideboard or dresser. It was so large, high, and altogether disproportionate to the wall against which it stood as to give the impression of having been put together where it stood ; and such, indeed, was the case.

It was darker even than the table, and carved, at each corner of the curious canopy which formed its heading, with the same lion's head that made the finials of the mouldings on the doorway. Its darker recesses seemed deeper and darker for two brilliantly polished silver tankards and a silver tray which shone conspicuously on one of its shelves. There was neither carpet nor curtain in the room, and the windows were closed only with massive shutters. But in spite "MASTER OE HLS BATE." 15 of its scanty furnishing, the room was by no means uncomfort able or cheerless. There was over all the sombre appointments an air of careful keeping and familiar use which would have made them look welcoming, and to a certain degree inviting, even to a stranger. The firelight danced up and down the young man's figure, making it and his face even more distinct against the dark back ground than it had been in the cold light as he walked through Brydain village three hours earlier.

Now that his face was free from the shelter of plaid or cap, all its points showed, and the beauty of his deep-set blue eyes and straight brows was decidedly added to by his firm, square chin and the heavy moustache that was golden-brown, like his hair. He was leaning back in his chair, his feet on the hearthstone, and of his hands, one was behind his head, the other laid on his knee. They were curious hands, strong and tanned ; they were evidently the hands of a man used to an athletic, outdoor life, but at the same time they were long and rather thin, and the fingers had a flexible unusual form that seemed, taken with their strength, to speak of a mixed and unusual nature in their owner. His blue eyes were unusual also. They were so deep set as to be remarkable from that characteristic alone ; and their blue was that deep, clear, yet not actually dark blue that is very seldom seen.

The expression in them at the moment was dreamy and abstracted, and though they were fixed on the flames, it was very evident that the young man saw none of their dancing light. This expression was indefinably increased by a thin line that ran between them, across his forehead — a thin blue vein, at moments almost imperceptible, at others, as at this, curiously conspicuous through the bronzed skin. About his whole figure, as he sat alone in the long bright room, there was the same curious pathos that had so uncon sciously influenced old Elspeth and the men in Brydain village. The flames grew higher and higher and curled faster and faster round the great logs of wood ; but the young man did THE THLRTEENTLL BRYDALN. not move nor alter his position in the least. The flames reached their height and began to sink a little, and to retreat from the charred wood like a fast ebbing tide from the shore, while the wood itself began to glow a deep red.

As if the alteration in the light of the room, made by their sinking, had unconsciously reached and affected the far-distant current of his thoughts, the young man stirred slightly, and as he stirred he sighed heavily, and his eyes wandered from the fire to rest wistfully on the empty chair with the worn old red cushion which stood opposite to him. As they rested there, their blue grew rather dim, and the young man raised one hand and brushed it across them hastily. Turning back to the fire, he kicked one of the great logs until a shower of sparks flew from its glowing mass up the chimney. At this moment the door of the room, which was in the shadow of the great dresser, opened quickly. The pale yellow light of a candle streamed across the red glow, carried by a man, who walked up the room with hasty steps.

He was not to be described exactly as an old man, though his years were far past those of middle age. He stooped a little, and his walk lacked vigour, but his hair, though scanty, was not grey, and in the eyes that shone out of a thin, withered face, was evidence of keen intelligence. He wore black clothes, which, from their evident newness and stiffness, gave him an angular appearance. "Master Keith !" he exclaimed; "and what for have ye no licht, when it's awaitin' ye at your hand ? " He set down his candle as he spoke, and coming behind the young man's chair, took an unlighted lamp from a bracket by his side. " I've not required a lamp, thank you, Mackenzie," answered the young man. "And if that's so," was the instant response, "that's no' sayin' you'd no' ha' been the better of one ! " He lighted the lamp, set it again on the bracket, and went out of the room, to return a moment later with a cloth over "MASTER OF L1LS FATE." 17 his arm.

This he spread on the upper end of the table, and proceeded to set supper upon it. During this last process he fidgeted about the room far more than was necessary, and cast at the same time many looks at his silent young master. More than once he seemed to be about to speak, but each time his courage seemed to fail him, and to evaporate in an increase of energy directed towards the appointments of the table. Finally, he came up to the hearth and placed a log on the fire, bending over it and adjusting it to a nicety. "Supper's ready," he said, laconically. Then, as if em boldened by accumulated effort : " If you'll no' be finding me ower bold, Master Keith — I ask your pardon — Brydain " " I'm in no hurry to be called Brydain," put in the young man in a low voice. " I was going to ask you what ye would be doing ?

You willna bide by your lane ? " " I've thought of many plans, Mackenzie, and I believe I have decided." " Ye'll no' decide to bide your lane — no' at the first ? " said Mackenzie. "You'll ask anither to bide here wi' ye for a bit. Couldna ye ask any o' your London friends? Or there's the young laird at Greystanes. You'll forgive my liberty, Brydain," he ended, breaking off suddenly, with a deprecating look on his face. " It's not a liberty, Mackenzie," answered the young man. "You are, now" — the mist gathered again before the blue eyes, only to be instantly repressed — "you are my oldest friend ; you have known me all my life, and it would be odd, indeed, if I did not tell you what I have decided. Come back after supper and I'll tell you all my plans." Mackenzie, with a look of great satisfaction on his withered face, made a gesture that was half assent and half respect, and taking up his candle, went out of the room.

Twenty minutes later the young man rose from the table at which he had half mechanically taken his place on Mackenzie's departure and rang the bell. It was responded to by b TLLE THIRTEENTH BRYDALN. 18 Mackenzie so quickly as to suggest the possibility of his having awaited it somewhere very near at hand. " It's gey sma' the supper you'll have eaten the nicht ! " he said, reproachfully, as he reached the table. The young man, who had gone back to his chair by the fire, looked up absently. " Supper ! Oh, I'm not hungry, Mackenzie," he said, simply. Mackenzie made no answer in words, but with a jerk of his head, proceeded to clear away the supper with great rapidity. When he had accomplished this, and given a polish to the table with a duster he produced from his coat-tail pocket, he shut the door and presented himself before his master by the fire.

" Yon lamp's flaring, Brydain," he said, abruptly. " It's ower likely. Even when they are well looked to, lamps gang an ill gait. They are of sma' use compared to candles." The last discursive remarks were intended as a prelude to draw his master's attention to himself, and it was not wholly unnecessary, for the young man's thoughts seemed to have wandered as far as they had done before supper. "You have come to talk to me, Mackenzie," he said, sitting up in his chair quickly. " Sit down, will you ? " With an instinct as quick as it was delicate, Mackenzie averted his face from the empty place with the red cushion, and drawing an ordinary chair from the table sat down in it, and waited for his master to speak. " You want to know what I mean to do ? " he said. His voice was rather low, and he spoke slowly.

" Well, Mackenzie, it will surprise you to hear what it is, perhaps. I mean to go to London." " To London ! " echoed Mackenzie, apparently so taken aback that he could find no comment whatever. " Yes," went on the young man ; " I have decided to go to London for a time at all events." " To London ! " repeated Mackenzie again. But though the "MASTER OF L/LS BATE." 19 words were only repetition, there was a great difference tliis time in Mackenzie's tone. He spoke the few syllables with a voice full of horror, and he added nothing more. "You remember," his master said, "my uncle Kingston?" Mackenzie's only answer being a nod, he went on without a pause. " I am going to write to him. He has a great deal of influence of various sorts, and I am sure he will help me to find something to do." "And why are you for doing anything?" interrupted Mac kenzie.

" And what reason should the Lairds of Brydain have for doing anything, save it were to look after their ain lands ? " " I don't know how all my ancestors have felt about it," said the young man, with a little smile. "Things are different, Mackenzie ; or, perhaps, I am different. At any rate, I want to be doing something more." " And couldna ye be doing something more in Brydain, then, syne you're so set on it ? " said Mackenzie, eagerly. " There is not anything for me to do in Brydain, Mackenzie ; you know that as well as I, I must be where other men are working." "I dinna ken," said Mackenzie, "what good is like to come of working where there's so many afield before." The young man seemed to consider for a moment, then he said : " This is how it is, Mackenzie, you see. I don't know a bit what I can do, or what I am good for.

But I believe I can do something, and when I get among every one else, I should find out. Besides, I want to see the world." Mackenzie, who had watched his master as he spoke with an anxiety and intentness which no shade of expression could escape, met the end of this statement with a sigh. "To see the world, ye say, Brydain. Are ye considerin' what the meanin' o' your words may be ? " " I think I am, Mackenzie," said the young man, smiling a-rain slightly. " I know what my meaning of them is." " But yours isna the only one ; there's many meanings to be TLLE THLRTEENTH BR YDAIN. 20 thocht on." Mackenzie's voice, from being eager, had grown to be excited, and he leant forward as he spoke, and looked with keen intentness into his master's face. " I've thought of all of them, Mackenzie," he answered ; but he was not smiling now.

Something from Mackenzie's eyes seemed to have communicated itself to his own expression. The room was perfectly still; the wind outside had sunk suddenly, and the only sound was the cracking of the logs on the hearth. Mackenzie waited for a moment or so, and then, with a glance all round the room, as if to assure himself that no other presence was there, he said in a very low tone : "There's ower mony women in London ; ye canna hope to be as safe as in your ain place." There was something in Mackenzie's tone as he spoke — something in its strained and eager anxiety that showed plainly that all his former objections to Brydain's scheme had been mere fencing, and that these words alone contained the real one. "Women? What if there are women in London, Mac kenzie ? " The young man spoke in a defiant tone ; but the strange expression that his face had caught from Mackenzie's had not faded from it.