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СКАЧАТЬ the speed and agility of one, but before he had arrived at their level Ian saw that his face was that of a man of five and forty or so—and a very attractive face it was too, even if its beauty was almost too ethereal for masculine taste. (But it occurred to Ian that a woman might not think so.) A very sweet smile dawned upon it now as, just a trifle out of breath with haste, he arrived at the rocky shoulder.

      “My dearest Olivia!” he said, and kissed her hand. “I feared I should not find you. I went first to your lodging at the cottage, and was fortunate in happening upon your good Elspeth there, otherwise——”

      “But how did you know that I was here at all—and still more, why are you here?” asked Olivia, laughing, and slipping her hand in a most intimate manner into the newcomer’s arm.

      “I knew that you were here from a letter of your father’s, and I am here because Kilrain lies on my way to Lochaber, whither I am bound on affairs,” the gentleman replied, putting his other hand over the one reposing on his arm.

      “What good luck!” cried Olivia gaily. “But, dear me, what a centre of travel this little spot is becoming! For here is Mr. Ian Stewart of Invernacree, of whose prowess and kindness I wrote to you. He also was passing through the clachan. Mr. Stewart, let me present you to my oldest friend, Mr. Maitland of Strathmory, whom I sometimes call my godfather.”

      Ian came forward and bowed. Mr. Maitland held out his hand.

      “Indeed I have heard of you, sir, from Miss Campbell; and if I may, as so old a friend of hers, I should like to add my thanks to those of her family!”

      His manner and his look a good deal disarmed Ian. And, after all, Olivia could hardly contemplate marriage with a man of twice her age whom she called, even occasionally, her godfather!

      There was some further talk up by the rock. Mr. Maitland wished to know if the young lady were really in need of a sojourn “at the whey”; he had hoped that it was only a whim of her father’s, to which Olivia emphatically responded that his hope was justified. She seemed to Ian quite to have shaken off the sadness consequent upon their recent interview, in the pleasure of seeing this elderly friend of hers. It was no doubt just as well. . . .

      Presently they were all going down the side of the hill together, for Mr. Maitland announced that he must push on at once. Miss Campbell asked him where he was going and on what business, but the traveller returned no definite answer.

      “Well, my dear Olivia,” said he when they reached his busily grazing horse, “I hope that the rest of your stay will be agreeable and beneficial to you. It has been a great pleasure to have had this glimpse of you; I am only sorry that it must be so short.”

      “You might have had a glimpse before this, and a longer one,” replied Miss Campbell with a little pout. “Do you know that you have not visited us at Cairns since some time early in ’53—more than two years ago!”

      “Is it really so long!” exclaimed the gentleman. “I certainly deserve censure for that.” He began to alter a stirrup leather, and then to examine his horse’s girths, and Ian, who, since he happened to be at the animal’s head, had put an instinctive hand upon its bridle, was struck by the swift change which came over his face. As he turned away from the girl it was as though a mask had slipped off it, and, when he raised himself from his examination, Ian’s impression of sudden metamorphosis was even strengthened. Why, the man looked tragically harassed, as well as ill! Ian was startled by it. Then Mr. Maitland turned round again to Olivia, and she too must have observed some change, for Ian heard her say, “I don’t think you look very well, Mr. Maitland. ’Tis you should be staying here, not I!”

      “A touch of tertian fever, my dear, which I had a few days ago,” replied he carelessly. “ ’Tis nothing—save perhaps a sign of advancing years. So, by your leave, I’ll not let myself be overtaken by the night.” He kissed her hand again (Ian wondering whether he were not accustomed, at any rate in the absence of strangers, to kiss her cheek or brow) gave her a message to her father, mounted, saluted Ian and was off.

      Ian looked after him and his vanishing grey horse. He too ought to be riding along that road. Why prolong this pain? He said: “I think my own mare must be reshod by now, a thing I found she needed; but the smith was indisposed this morning and could not shoe her.” It was in fact the discovery of this necessity and of the difficulty in remedying it—for, in more brutal language, the blacksmith was drunk—which had caused his delay in coming to Olivia’s cottage. “May I escort you back to your lodging before I set out?” he added.

      Olivia assented, and they began to walk back along the road.

      “There is a path,” said Ian after a moment or two, indicating one on their left which began to mount from the road. “I fear this is rough walking for you, and the path would be somewhat shorter too, probably.”

      “Do you wish it to be, I wonder?” murmured Miss Campbell to herself. But she did not say it aloud.

      It was a wider path than some, and they went along it side by side. For a while it pushed by great bushes of broom, whose golden glory was now departed; ahead was a little wood, a mere copse of oak and hazel.

      “Do you know, Mr. Stewart,” said Olivia suddenly, as Ian held aside a branch for her to pass, “that the gentleman who has just left us is a living argument against the conviction which . . . which you hold, for Mr. David Maitland has been a friend of my father’s for as long as I can remember; yet he is a Jacobite.”

      “There are Jacobites and Jacobites, Miss Campbell.”

      “But Mr. Maitland is not one of your theoretical Jacobites,” returned Olivia with vivacity. “He was ‘out’ in the Forty-five; he fought at Falkirk. I believe he only escaped proscription through the good offices of my father. And yet you see,” she ended with a little sigh, “he is our intimate friend.”

      “It was not a friend that I wished to be,” said Ian in a voice unlike his own. The sentiment, or something else, produced a silence between them, during which they reached the coppice; and the path, dipping slightly, brought them to the banks of a little woodland stream which it immediately crossed by means of stepping-stones. They came to a halt.

      “And so,” said Olivia slowly, looking at the sparkle of the water, “you will not in future be able to think of me as a friend?”

      Ian caught his breath. “I hope that I shall be able to avoid thinking of you at all,” he said harshly, a man in pain not always measuring his words. Olivia bit her lip and turned her head away; then, not answering, she placed her foot on the first of the stepping-stones. It rocked a little, even beneath her light weight. The next moment she was caught by both elbows and steadied.

      “Step on to the flat stone in the middle,” came Ian’s voice. She obeyed, and he instantly released her.

      “The stone was loose,” she said, excusing herself. “Indeed I can usually cross a burn without falling in.”

      Her companion was standing in the shallow water beside her. “I do not doubt it. But, lest there be other loose stones. . . .” He offered his hand.

      Olivia took it, and next moment was safely on the opposite bank. Before she could make a remark of any kind Ian, still holding her hand, began to speak again, the words tumbling out, and checking, too, like the water-course at their feet.

      “Forgive me . . . forgive me for saying that! It is not true. I shall always think of you, I am afraid. It СКАЧАТЬ