Aground in the Shallows. A novel

Front matter

JUST OUT. AT EVERY LIBRARY. A MODERN IAGO. a Jiobrl. BT C. DESPARD, AUTHOR OF "CHASTE AS ICE: PURE AS SNOW," " WANDERING LIGHTS," ETC. 2 Vols., Cloth 21/. REMINGTON & CO., 5, Aeundel Street, Steand, W.C. AGROUND IN THE SHALLOWS. a Jicibrl, IN TWO VOLUMES. BY C. RAY. Translator of " The Emperor and the Qalilean," from the Norwegian of B. Ibsen. Author of " Farm on the Fjord," " Catalan Bay," " Edelraute,'' etc. VOL. II. iLoriuon : REMINGTON AND CO., e, Arundet. Street, Strand, W.C i879 [All Rights Reserved.] AGROUND IN THB SHALLOWS.

Chapter I

" A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind." As the two women bent over Mrs Ramsay's insensible form, Miss Honey Vinegar feebly offered to stay and help, but conscious that her nursing qualifications were not of the best order, she did not urge it after the first refusal, and took her departure at the time appointed, unattended, except by the boat man who fetched her luggage. It was some time before Mrs. Ramsay came round, and for a day or two the shock to the nervous system made itself known by intense restless ness and moody silence. Not a word was said about Donald. Edith expected every hour some message would be brought. After three days a boatman appeared with a note, vol. ir. B asking her to pack up the clothes and books he had at Inverardoch Cottage. He said, in conclusion, that Harry Carmichael and he had taken rooms together on the lake, and that, sorry as he was at the cause of the parting, he was already feeling a great deal jollier than he ever was at home.

Mothers and sons were best apart when they could not agree. As for money, he hoped to earn enough by his pen to pay for his rooms and board, and he must try and make his allowance go further than he had hitherto done. Would she write and tell Uncle Aleck about the quarrel. He did not care to do it. The letter was not sufficiently satisfactory to show Mrs. Ramsay. Edith questioned the messenger, and gathered within a little where Donald was to be found. She determined to write at once to Uncle Aleck, then either he or she must hunt Donald up, and try and smooth matters over. Meanwhile should .she go and see Maggie ? After many pros and cons, she decided in the negative, and so three weeks passed away. Uncle Aleck wrote, after the lapse of some days ; his letter was not long. He was sorry for what had happened, but so long as it did not interfere with his studies for the next examination, he was not sure that a little roughing away from the comforts of home would not be healthy for Donald, he had had too easy a life of it, riding roughshod over his mother and sister.

The postcript was, as is not often the case in gentlemen's letters, the most interesting part of it to Edith. He had just met Montague Dewar. " He is look ing horribly ill," it said, " and he told me he had been laid by in Brussels with fever; had never, in fact, got beyond that city. I felt sorry for him, but, of course, Edith, you can judge of your own affairs best ; as for Donald's engagement, it will soon blow over, as such things do with young men. Every one of them goes through a succession of desperate love affairs, as children do through scarlet fever, whooping cough and measles, but it will end all right, and he will marry, like other people, at last, one of his own set." Montague had been ill, was ill now, and one after another blamed her for what she had done. It was certainly a hard case, only Aunt Isabel knew her sacrifice and her sorrow.

Except God, and from Him alone could she now draw comfort, and strive to wait patiently for whatever might come. One day Mrs. Ramsay insisted on calling at Grlenbruach. Edith perfectly understood that it was to see Maggie, but she and her uncle had gone an expedition over the moun tains together; doing the civil to the minis ter's homely wife was all labour lost. The mother's gratitude for the supposed compli ment to herself provoked her visitor, while the plain, ill-bred children, made anything but a favourable impression on the fastidious woman of fashion. She frightened them by her brusque manner, and made them more awkward than they were by nature ; and she returned more sullen than before the visit. About a month after Donald's departure, the restlessness of her own mind made Mrs. Ramsay propose a day's shopping in Edin burgh.

Edith, with the secret hope of seeing Montague Dewar, assented eagerly. Her wish was gratified. As they turned out of one of the shops in George street, he sud denly confronted them, face to face, as he stood talking with a friend. Edith was for a moment aghast. She had expected to see him pale, thin, and, perhaps, a good deal altered ; but not to such an extent as a moment's glance revealed. He looked almost a shadow of his former self — eyes sunken, cheeks hollow, and hair sprinkled with grey. She noticed that, as he raised his hat, and steadied himself by the lamp-post near. Mrs. Ramsay made no remark — neither did she, like Edith, return his greeting. The latter wished she had not seen him — that face, with its look of intense sadness, would haunt her night and day. Full of her own sorrow, Edith escaped next day from the gloom of the deserted house, where Donald's voice and step no longer broke the quiet monotony of their daily life, and wandered up the glen.

The first frosts had turned a few leaves on the trees — the air felt chill and depressing. Mists were clinging to the mountain slopes, and dimming the brightness of the lakes. The summer was well-nigh gone, and decay begun. Before long winter would be there. The idea sent a shiver through her frame, and the thought of what the trial of meeting Montague Dewar would be, took from her the little heart and spirit left after Donald's un happy departure. She leaned against a damp rock, and fairl v burst into tears. At one time, she had so little cause to weep ; now, tears seemed like her daily food. " Ah ! dear lady," said a voice near her, and looking up, she encountered a pair of soft eyes, expressive of the tenderest pity, but full of glistening drops, themselves ready to fall over the long lashes.

" Maggie ! " Edith exclaimed, stretching out her hands, and the two stood for some moments unable to speak, their mutual grasp saying more than words. "Have youseen Donald?" Edith was the first to speak. " Yes — have you ? " " No." " Oh ! go and fetch him home soon, dear Miss Edith," said Maggie, with entreaty written on every feature. " I do not like the companions he is with. Get him back to his mother — to you." " What has happened ? " asked Edith, only too ready to take alarm. "Not much, perhaps, yet; but I am in fear and dread of evil coming to him. You are not angry with me?" Maggie said, with earnest entreaty. " I know your mother is; but, indeed, I have always told him it could not be." " I heard you tell him so with my own ears, Maggie. I saw you both one day, near here, when neither of you were aware of my presence.

I am very, very sorry for you, Maggie. I do not blame you. Donald has been selfish and thoughtless. He ought to have had more regard both for you and us." Maggie looked wistfully at her. " I knew you would not like me to be your sister — poor Maggie Græme ! " She hid her face in her hands. Edith put hers on her two shoulders, and spoke softly — " Maggie, you are not alone in having to give up the man you love." The hands were withdrawn. " Have you had to do that ? " " Yes, and it was almost entirely on Donald's account — that nothing might be prejudicial to him which I could help; but he would not give you up for my sake — 1 am sure of that." Maggie stood for a moment in thought. Then laying her hands on Edith's, as they still rested on her shoulders, she said, with a look of intense sadness — " It is not that we must think of now.

He must be saved from wicked companions — from beginning evil ways, if we are not already too late. Oh ! get him back to you again. Maggie was speaking with passionate earnestness. " What do you mean, Maggie ? Are there others beside Mr. Carmichael ? " " Three or four — not like Donald — wild, ill-doing young fellows ; they will make him as bad as themselves if we do not save him." " How do you know this, Maggie ? When did you see him ? " " He came to me at once after the quarrel with his mother. You will believe that I did all I could to make him return, and say he was sorry. I told him again I would not be his wife, that I did not care for him — in that way." Here Maggie's tears gave doubtful confir mation of her words — ■ "He was angry — said it would make no difference ; he should not go home again, and that I need not drive him to worse things.

It is that I am as raid of. Oh ! Miss Edith ! " " Poor child ! " exclaimed Edith, sorrowfully. There was no doubt about the real nature of her feelings to Donald, nobly as she was endeavouring to act with regard to his pro posals. " I hope things are not so serious as you picture them. There cannot be much harm done yet. I will go and see after him to morrow. Can you tell me if he is still at the place where he first wrote to me ? " " Yes ; he came again to see me last week, and I rowed him part of the way back ; he seemed worn, and tired, and unhappy. I think all his money is gone ; he would not let me go quite up to the hotel — he said he did not wish those men to see me — but I have seen them, and him, too, since." " Where, Maggie ? When ? " " As we were coming down from Ben Lomond. They were all at the hotel at the foot of it.

Oh ! it was a dreadful sight ! They did not see me, nor uncle either." " What was it ? " said Edith, almost inarticulately — the power to speak seemed numbed by dread. " He was making fun for them — red, and excited, and singing a horrid song — he was — ; " the word was scarcely audible, breathed into Edith's ear; "they all were." Again the women's hands clasped convul sively ; both knew too well the dread import of that word for Donald — Edith, perhaps, more than Maggie — and for all who loved him. " Meet me here to-morrow morning at ten, Maggie — -bring a boat — it is out of sight of Inverardoch, you are right, no time must be lost. How could I let him remain so long unsought! I will write again to my uncle, his guardian ; but, meanwhile, you and I, per haps, can do more than men could, in inducing him to return ; can you get a man to row us, or shall we drive ?

" " Let us go by boat," said Maggie ; " we can stay a little way off the place, and send the man on with a message. If we can only get him to talk with us, it might be all right ; we would not let him return." " Your plan seems admirable, Maggie ; I will not be later than ten. God bless you, dear girl," she said, turning suddenly round, and pressing her lips to her forehead. " He will not forget your kindness to us all, neither shall I." Maggie looked up with grateful eyes, and then stooped over Edith's proffered hand and kissed it, not with servile humility, but as an acknowledgment she was conscious of the difference between them in station. Edith felt that her mother was the next person who had to be talked into a reasonable view of circumstances. Accordingly, in the twilight of the fast closing October evening, she began her difficult task.

" Mother, I am afraid Donald is not going on satisfactorily ; he must be brought away from the place he is living at, if possible." " Where is he ? " asked Mrs. Ramsay ; " did you, or any one else, with any sense, expect that he would go on well ? " " We must do our part, mother, in meeting him half-way on the road to reconciliation. He is at a small hotel on the lake with Harry Carmichael, and a set of wild young fellows. I am going to try and persuade him to return home with me to-morrow." " Miss Ramsay tramping about from one public-house to another as a drunken cobbler's wife does after her husband ! " " Oh ! mother, it is not so hard as that ; but there is no telling what may be, by-and-by, if the mischief is not stopped at once. You will let him come back, won't you ? " " I haven't a heart as hard as the nether mill-stone yet, Edith.

Do you really suppose I would turn my son away ? " "But you will not reproach him about what has past? " " I had better, perhaps, have Miss Maggie Græme here ready to receive him, on the principle of ' be a good boy, and you shall have a sugar plum ! ' No, Edith, I cannot go quite so far as to say I will never re monstrate with him on the subject." " Nor do I ask that you should, mamma ; only do not be constantly exasperating him, and rubbing him the wrong way." " It is a new state of things, now-a-days, when the children, not the parent, are to be considered." " I fear it was always, more or less, the case," answered Edith. " David had his Absalom, Eli and Samuel their unruly sons, they all needed patience and careful manage - ment." " And all came to destruction in the end, whether they had it or not," said Mrs. Ramsay, gloomily.

" God forbid it should be so with Donald," said Edith fervently. " I shall get him back then, mother, if it be not too late, and you will be glad to see him." Edith stood by her mother's chair, and her eyes pleaded more earnestly than her words. "Ay, ay, child," said Mrs. Ramsay, with a traitorous tremour in her tone, and thus the discussion ended. Next morning, at the hour appointed, she found Maggie ready with a boat and man. A little qualm of conscience troubled her, as to the justice of availing herself of the girl's affectionate anxiety. She had no doubt what her mother's opinion would have been. " After all, it is only social pride that stands in the way of their engagement," she said to herself, as she watched Maggie deftly hand ling the second oar, " she is pure and gentle, and certainly beautiful as a rosebud."

Maggie seemed labouring to work off excite ment, the boat flew over the water, past the banks where the bracken was turning yellow and brown, and the trees were as gay as the red whortleberry beneath them. The morning mists had crept some way up the moun tains, and clung like a swan's-down tippet on the shoulders of Ben Lomond ; blue and sharp, the summit reared itself above them. " Is it not lovely ? " exclaimed MagoiP) resting for a moment on her oars, and looking up; " why do people need any other pleasure than the sight of such beauty ? " As they steered towards the place where Donald lived, they were suddenly hailed by a figure on shore. "Why, it is Willie!" exclaimed E lith ; " what brings him here ? Let us row to shore and fetch him." As soon as they reached the edge he jumped in, and stared wonderingly at Maggie.

" Miss Græme," said Edith, by way of intro duction ; " she is staying at Glenbruach with her uncle, Mr. Macnaughten." Willie was evidently quite innocent of the relations be tween Maggie and his brother. " How pretty she is, Edith ! " he said, too low for her to hear ; " but I wish she were any where else just at this moment. I was on my way to tell you about Donald." "What is the matter?" asked Edith. " Everything is the matter ! He has been spending money right and left, with Harry vol. II. c Carmichael and his crew ; drinking hard into the bargain ; he wrote to me for money, begging me to think of some way of getting him away from them. I don't care to repeat the words he used in describing their life. I came over an hour ago with what cash I have, and found him in bed ill, or pretending to be, perhaps, to keep out of the other fellows way.

What a kettle of fish you seem to have cooked up since I was at home a month ago." o Edith looked at him in surprise ; there was a decision of manner and voice, quite unusual, as if denoting a totally different being. How did you leave the Carshaltons ? " Willie looked oddly at her. " I have not been there." " Where have you been ? " she asked, in wardly dreading some fresh complications in family affairs. " In Switzerland," he answered ; " Mr. McCorquedaile gave me permiss ion to take a fortnight's holiday, and what is more, sent me a cheque to pay my expenses, and an invitation to join them there. Oh ! Edith, I have had a jolly time." " Why did you not tell us, Willie ? " " I thought you would not care. I know mother does not take a bit of interest in me." Edith's heart smote her ; she had scarcely thought of him all the past month ; strangers were gladdening him with the kindness he missed at home ; " and Mrs. Carnegie and Nellie, how are they ?

" " Both send their love ; they will be home in another month, but you will not hurry away. The McCorquedailes came home with me. What a brick that man is, Edith ; one of Nature's aristocrats of God's own making." Here was Willie giving her a lesson. Edith felt, what, if her discarded, distrusted lover were one of Nature's aristocrats ? Their talk had gone on in a low voice all the time. At last the boatman and Maggie shipped their oars. " Had we not better stay here, Miss Ramsay ? " Maggie looked uneasily at Willie. " Will your brother go up to the inn instead of the boatman ? " She knew Donald's brother very well by sight, though she had never before spoken to him, and could only judge of his character from her lover's dis paraging, not to say sometimes contemptuous descriptions of him. His appearance dis turbed her the more on this occasion as she doubted his having the necessary tact and skill to manage the affair of getting Donald away — he had spoken too low for her to hear of his having sent for him.

" Yes, tell him we are here, Willie — Maggie Græme and I — be sure you say that. We can wait any length of time, if you can only get him to return with us. Never mind his luggage, we will send for that later." " Miss Græme has become quite an inti mate acquaintance since I was at home, I presume," said Willie, in some bewonder ment of mind. " Yes, and one I am very glad to have made," said Edith, with a bright look at Maggie, whose blushes as she busied herself over the oars, added to her beauty. " I ought to apologise for having allowed you to row so far," Willie said ; " but to tell truth, I am no oarsman, and hesitated at displaying my incompetency before you, Miss Græme," so saying, he lifted his hat and left them.

Chapter II

" If thou seek this or that, and wouldst be here or there, the better to enjoy thine own profit or pleasure, then thou shalt never be at peace, nor free from trouble of mind." As Edith and Maggie sat waiting and wonder ing, so often the part left to women in the stirring events of this world, both were thinking of Willie. Edith, astonished and grateful for his coming out in such a new light at the moment his help was most needed. Maggie wondering, lest this brother, whom she had only heard of as shy, and odd, and queer, should just spoil all their en deavours. The inn was a rustic little place, frequented by fishermen and sportsmen, and occasionally an artist; sometimes, also, as now, the resort of a set of wild young men, who, under the pretence of using the rod and gun, spent their time in drunken idling, if the active debasement of such a time ought not rather to be called drunken mischief.

Donald was still in bed, but Harry Car michael and his friends had departed on some expedition for the day. This Willie learned of the landlord, before he went upstairs. Ignoring the fact of his being ill, Willie opened the bedroom door, and said — " Get up, Donald ; who do you think are here?" " How should I know? and what do I care?" grumbled Donald. "I don't feel well enough, nor yet inclined to see any one. " You are not likely to get much better if you lie stewing in bed with the window shut ; the room is like an oven." Willie strode round the bed, and opened the lattice, letting in the fresh air. Donald coughed. " I tell you what it is, Donald, if you carry on this little game much longer, you will go into a consumption ; what business have you with a cough ? " " It hurts me here," said Donald, putting his hand to his left side.

He was evidently frightened and nervous about himself. " You ought to see a doctor, and get some good nursing," replied Willie, decidedly ; " but don't you want to know who is here ? " " No," said Donald, " I don't want to see any one;" he was ashamed to meet any of his decent acquaintances ; " if Edith knew I was ill, she might perhaps come." " Exactly what she has done — not that she was at all aware you were out of sorts, until I told her. She has such a pretty girl with her." " Why, in the name of goodness, didn't she come alone ? " said Donald, turning on the pillow, and dragging up the clothes he had partly thrown off him. " I wondered why she brought her; " said Willie. " Who is she ? " " Some acquaintance made since I was in Switzerland." " You are a lucky dog," replied Donald, " I wish I were in New Ze dand, or some where a few thousand miles away."

"Lying in bed won't help you there. Get •up. She is a Miss Græme — Maggie, Edith called her." " Who ! " exclaimed Donald, sitting up in bed with great vigour; " Maggie Græme, and with Edith?" " Yes ; what the dickens is the matter with you ? not much if you can kick the clothes about like that. You seem pretty firm on your pins, too, for a sick man ; get your things on and come down; they are waiting for you in a boat, up there, behind the rock." Donald needed no second injunction to make haste. As he thrust his hands into his empty pockets, he said — " Have you stopped the old beggar's mouth downstairs ? " "Partly; I think Edith will see to the rest; but, Donald, it's an awful sum to have spent in one month. I don't know what Uncle Aleck will say." " Hang Uncle Aleck, and everybody else," muttered Donald ; " I know I've been a fool, but that doesn't say I mean to go on being one ; hold your tongue, Willie, and don't preach ; you need not fear you will not get your money back again.

Magnus will send me something soon, I hope." " I was not thinking of my money," Willie said, hurt and angry, aud inclined to say some sharp things, but his mind turned to the people and prospects that now made his life happy, and kept silence. " However came Maggie to be with Edith?" repeated Donald, thinking aloud. " Is she a lady ? " asked Willie ; " she is very pretty, but I observed she was not at home; there were certain little things — " Donald kicked an unfortunate footstool out of his way with a violence that warned Willie he was on dangerous ground. " Don't you know who she is ? " asked his brother, at last, fiercely ; " she is little wee Maggie at the farm, where I was nursed after my accident, years ago. She may not be so fine, or distinguee, as the girls of the period, but if I don't marry her, I will marry no one, to the day of my death.

That's what the quarrel with my mother was about." " 0 h ! " said Willie, and a long silence ensued. Whatever he thought, this was no time to say it ; only Edith's having her in the boat seemed more inexplicable than ever. That was what the squabble had been about. " Shall I go down to them and tell them you are coming ? They will wonder what we are about." " Yes, and I'll write a letter to Harry to say he need not expect me back ; he'll be in a rage when he comes and finds me gone." "So much the better," said Willie. "I could wish him at the bottom of the lake, if it were pious to do so." " I didn't know you set up for saintliness," sneered Donald. " Is that Nellie Carnegie's style ? You are a deuced long-headed fellow, Willie ! becoming McCorquedaile's right hand, and looking after his niece — the pro bable heiress of her uncle's fortune.

You can afford to patronise your scapegrace younger brother." Willie would have willingly kicked the much-persecuted footstool now, but he bit his lips, and ran downstairs. "Is he coming?" was Edith's question from the boat ; it was hanging also on poor Maggie's lips, but she felt that Willie was looking curiously at her. Somehow the difference of rank made itself felt during this first acquaintance with Donald's family. Maggie wished herself at home, in the old farm, or that the days of childhood could come back again ; that would be best of all. The tears gathered unbidden in her eyes, but the two were talking busil}7, and she had time to wipe them away unseen. She caught sight of Donald walking rather feebly down the path. She wanted to go forward and break the awkwardness of the first meeting, but the brother and sister were nearer to him in all ways than she was at that moment.

At last Edith became aware of his approach, and sprang out of the boat. Maggie clasped her hands, as he stooped and kissed his sister, and, forgetful of Willie, dropped them upon her lap with a murmured " Thank God ! " She remembered his presence instantly. " I know all about it, Maggie," he said, stretching out his hand kindly ; " you are glad as we are to get him back again." The fair young face had touched him ; the true love in it appealed to those same happy thoughts which had kept him from quarrel liag with poor Donald. His eyes had been searching in the boat long before he reached it. He was pale, his eyes had a glassy look ; everything spoke of late hours, and the foolish, furious drinking. His flesh was puffy and flabby ; he was not the Donald of old, and never could be again. The foul, loathsome life of the past month had set its signs upon him, that he would never lose while he breathed.

He knew it, when Maggie involuntarily rose to steady him as he got into the boat. He condescended to let her help him, man as he was ; he could only say " Maggie ! " with a humbled, troubled look. " Shall I take the oar ? " he said, with intuitive courtesy ; " Willie is no rower." " No, thank you ; I like it," Maggie an swered, and he was aware he could scarcely pull a dozen strokes with that dragging pain in his side. As for Maggie, it was fortunate for her she had something to do ; she did not dare to look at the alteredf ace ; she felt ashamed with, as well as for him. The big eyes, she knew, were seeking hers, speaking penitence, and imploring forgiveness ; but she bent to the oar, and looked anywhere except at him. " Where are we going ? " Donald asked at length of Edith. "Home to Inverardoch," she answered; " mamma expects us."