"Ida has not what I call an earnest mind," replied Harold. "She has plenty of intelligence, but no intellectuality; some philosophy, but no imagination; she is enjoyable, but not lovable. La voilà!" "Well done, Harold!" exclaimed Auber, laughingly; "that's a critical analysis of the belle of the season. Why there is not a man in town who does not thrill if she honour him with a bow, while you would scarcely do as much for a kiss!" CHAPTER IX. HOSPITALITY-SUNDAY AT GLENBENROUGH. How many a day in blithe spring time, Oh, Fortune's flowers wi' thorns are rife, Ae day gie me o' youthful life At the back o' Benachie! THE day after the lunch on the peak of Corrieandhu, Normal came down to breakfast with a note in his hand, brought by a gillie from Arduashien: a bearer in these districts is always a much swifter conveyance than the post. He said it was from his father, who desired his return that evening. "It is also time for me to go," he added, " for my shooting shoes are done for: I gave them to one of those English valets to get dried yesterday, and he must have put them on the gridiron; they cracked from heel to toe when I tried to put them on. They don't wear brogues at Dreumah, evidently." Glenbenrough told him that as he must go, he should arrange with his father to be at the Dual Ghu within ten days: he might send Ewen over in a week to hear the exact date and plans. "I think you had better not take Ewen to the Dual Ghu, Normal," Norah whispered; "he is disagreeable to Mr. March moram.' 66 No, I won't," he replied. "I am afraid Ewen is going to join again in the working of that still, which Cameron the shepherd and old Ian Mohr have again set a-going." "No, Normal," she answered with a smile; "my climb yesterday was enough." "Enough! Enough in every way? Well, well, we go on then in our different paths. For myself, I prefer a rugged and steep one any day to the smooth slippery flat; but it is diversity that keeps up the interest in our long pilgrimage here." 66 "I don't like a straight line, however cultured and ornamented, Normal," Esmé replied, looking up at him; "though I like going out of the old ways sometimes: we may lose a great deal of unguessed pleasure otherwise." "I agree," he said; "but I like a good bold run of it at once, for myself: I am getting tired of home." And with a sigh, half bitter, half softened, Normal strode away. Glenbenrough, always hospitable, having heard a few days later that young Lord Harry Temple had been upset in his dogcart within a few miles from Dreumah, when on the way to Braemorin from his shooting box, and of his being carried to the lodge as the nearest residence, where he occupied Marchmoram's room there with a bruised head, wrote and entreated Marchmoram to come to Glenbenrough, where he might shoot unlimitedly over that ground, or his own, as it suited him. A reply came, thanking Glenbenrough for his invitation, and accepting it; accordingly, by dinner time Marchmoram had arrived. He was under Glenbenrough's roof tree now, and when he retired to his large airy old room that night, he could not but feel himself as much at home as a born Highland cousin. The Strathshielie party were to leave two days after, as Lady Mac Neil required her children's assistance in entertaining expected guests; so, next day, Marchmoram and the young Mac Neils beat the river woods, and had a battue along the banks. That night he said good-by to Marion and Julia, for he was to be up by the dawn next morning, deerstalking on a distant beat. He was far out of sight when the four cousins drove away, waving their adieus to Glenbenrough and his daughters. The family party were now alone, and Marchmoram became intimate at Glenbenrough: almost like a brother. He did not shoot much after the first two days; but spent his time in the open air with the three girls. When Glenbenrough was in his writing-room, or away with his factor at a sheep farm some ten or twelve miles off, Marchmoram was rowing on the river, or scrambling on the rocks, or romping through the garden. Esmé and Ishbel loved romping-yes, rustic romping: but that word bears very different meanings. Their blood coursed their veins like quicksilver in their bracing native air; they had always been accustomed to activity, and life was buoyant in their limbs. All mountaineers enjoy dancing: it seems necessary to them; and no dancing is more demonstrative than that of the Highlands. Esmé and Ishbel had the national temperament, and were not checked in it either by precept or example; though Norah, being graver, did not share in the wild childish glee which she allowed to them. Marchmoram joined Esmé in running races down the Roua Pass, and in trying feats of horsemanship. She and Ishbel also played at deer-stalking, circumventing him on the hills while he went in search; then a flying pursuit would take place, and woe betide Marchmoram if his footing failed in following over rock and water: the ringing laughter would reach Norah where she sat. There was excitement in this, and Marchmoram's eye flashed and darkened in these merry hours: his constitution required impetus, and he enjoyed it here, both morally and physically. At a little distance from the birchen bower on the river bank, where the fishing-rods were kept, an old gray ruined cross was upreared, which was said to have been erected to an Irish monk who had died there some six or seven hundred years before. Almost at the foot, and under its shadow, a clear spring bubbled up, trickling down to the river. This was Esme's spring she used daily to go there with a small crystal jug, which she filled for use at dinner. Marchmoram would occasionally go there with her and Ishbel; and much waste was there of that precious water on those days. prudently changed her crystal jug for one of stone, during Marchmoram's stay, for she feared some accident to the former. Esmé Though Marchmoram thus became admitted intimately into the girlish circle, still there was a certain secret influence of restraint, imperceptible but felt, in their intercourse. When he became excited, his face worked too strongly for merry play: there was too much fire in that sunshine. The nature of the lion showed itself in those gambols: the flash of his carefully study to avoid aught that might jar his feelings or provoke criticism; while little Ishbel never would have dared a defiant smile after a passing frown on that massive brow. His was the influence of a character made for rule, energy, and command; a character born to achieve success. But as yet the giant Ambition, which was henceforth to command these vassal gifts, sat quietly enthroned, possessor of that restless soul. Ambition, the remorseless power which hurries on its possessor, heedless of love, memory, and pity, though destined to rule Marchmoram, its rival passion might make one struggle yet. Esmé was the one who least felt the outward effect of Marchmoram's sterner influence. She was fearless: knowing his strength, yet fearing it not: she was like Una with the lion, his strength was health to her, and might be shelter. She learned to delight in his force: in his rugged decision and clear-shaped views. Marchmoram was to Esmé the master mind; with Auber she had felt purely intellectual delight, but she perceived a sensible difference in communion with Marchmoram. Sunday arrived. Glenbenrough, in common with most Scotchmen, liked to follow strictly the commandment to keep that day holy, and though the parish church was nigh four miles from the house, he and his daughters always walked to service there when practicable; or, if not, they remained at home, thus avoiding labour to man or beast. This was a bright autumn morning, and they all started after breakfast; the girls carried a Bible each, and wore bonnets instead of their usual hats or wideawakes. The church was also the parish church of Dreumah; but the distance thence being very much greater than from Glenbenrough, the sportsmen rarely, if ever, attended it. It was a small, bleak building, on the edge of a large sullen loch, on whose banks a few dark pines were scattered. The manse, a thin, cold house, lay opposite. The Gaelic service was not concluded when they arrived, and the English congregation were assembled in the little churchyard. The women, wrapped in their home-spun blue cloaks, sat on the tomb-stones; generally with their heads buried in their cloaks, and faces bent reverently to the earth. The men, in their shepherd plaids, stood in groups, silently and abstractedly; or leant against the walls, their eyes covered by their sun-burnt hands. There was no move, and scarce any attention paid, as the family of Glenbenrough entered the enclosure; even Florh Mackenzie, who was seated there, only looked up with a quiet passing smile of recognition. The bell tolled forth, and out came the Gaelic congregation. As the party from Glenbenrough turned to enter, Esmé showed Marchmoram a little gold vinaigrette. "This is my Sunday luxury," she said, "and don't you be too proud to ask for it by-and-by. A Highland church, which is never aired, is trying to the nerves, I assure you." Marchmoram agreed with Esmé at a later period, though from a different cause. Dr. Macconochie preached better in Gaelic than in English: he was profuse in verbiage, but frequently misapplied his words painfully; and as he swelled. out his sentences, striking ponderous blows upon his desk as he hurled down dogma for doctrine, Marchmoram bit his lip to restrain his risibility. It is said that, with their Calvinistic tendency, a congregation of the Highland lower classes will benefit by unintelligible enthusiasm in the pulpit; so that the more violent and inflated the delivery, the more do they bow to the exhortation conveyed in demonstrative threats of voice and gesture. Weather-beaten faces of men and women gazed up in reverent awe, while young lads and lasses sat with open mouth and vacant eye, as Dr. Macconochie preached to them. Miss Christy Macpherson was seated in the gallery, and gazed full upon the Glenbenrough seat near the pulpit. The psalm being given out, a long, low, canine chorus from shepherds' dogs scattered through the church, arose with the voice of the people, and howls in discord mingled with the earnest, untuneful singing. The noise was so great that a low laugh, which escaped Esmé as she caught sight of Marchmoram's agonised face, was unheard; but Miss Christy saw it, and shook her head in well-timed rebuke, from the gallery. Service over, there was a small gathering of friendly groups in the churchyard, ere all turned homeward. Norah joined Mrs. Macconochie, and Dr. Macconochie himself appeared, hastily putting on his great coat, and urging Glenbenrough to come to the manse for a glass of wine. Miss Christy came hastening up, saying, |