Our Home in the Silver West: A Story of Struggle and Adventure. Stables Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ beyond death and the grave. He ended his brief oration with that little word which means so much, "Good-bye." But scarcely would they let him go. Old, bare-headed, white-haired men crowded round the carriage to bless their chief and press his hand; tearful women held children up that he might but touch their hair, while some had thrown themselves on the heather in paroxysms of a grief which was uncontrollable. Then the pipes played once more as the carriage drove on, while the voices of the young men joined in chorus —

      "Youth of the daring heart, bright be thy doom

      As the bodings that light up thy bold spirit now.

      But the fate of M'Crimman is closing in gloom,

      And the breath of the grey wraith hath passed o'er his brow."

      'When,' added Townley, 'a bend of the road and the drooping birch-trees shut out the mournful sight, I am sure we all felt relieved. Your father, smiling, extended his hand to your mother, and she fondled it and wept no more.'

      For a time our life, to all outward seeming, was now a very quiet one. Although Donald and Dugald were sent to that splendid seminary which has given so many great men and heroes to the world, the 'High School of Edinburgh,' Townley still lived on with us as my tutor and Flora's.

      What my father seemed to suffer most from was the want of something at which to employ his time, and what Townley called his 'talent for activity.' 'Doing nothing' was not father's form after leading so energetic a life for so many years at Coila. Like the city of Boston in America, Edinburgh prides itself on the selectness of its society. To this, albeit we had come down in the world, pecuniarily speaking, our family had free entrée. This would have satisfied some men; it did not satisfy father. He missed the bracing mountain air, he missed the freedom of the hills and the glorious exercise to which he had been accustomed.

      He missed it, but he mourned it not. His was the most unselfish nature one could imagine. Whatever he may have felt in the privacy of his own apartment, however much he may have sorrowed in silence, among us he was ever cheerful and even gay. Perhaps, on the whole, it may seem to some that I write or speak in terms too eulogistic. But it should not be forgotten that the M'Crimman was my father, and that he is – gone. De mortuis nil nisi bonum.

      The ex-chief of Coila was a gentleman. And what a deal there is in that one wee word! No one can ape the gentleman. True gentlemanliness must come from the heart; the heart is the well from which it must spring – constantly, always, in every position of life, and wherever the owner may be. No amount of exterior polish can make a true gentleman. The actor can play the part on the stage, but here he is but acting, after all. Off the stage he may or may not be the gentleman, for then he must not be judged by his dress, by his demeanour in company, his calmness, or his ducal bow, but by his actions, his words, or his spoken thoughts.

      'Chesterfields and modes and rules

      For polished age and stilted youth.

      And high breeding's choicest school

      Need to learn this deeper truth:

      That to act, whate'er betide,

      Nobly on the Christian plan,

      This is still the surest guide

      How to be a gentleman.'

      About a year after our arrival in Edinburgh, Townley was seated one day midway up the beautiful mountain called Arthur's Seat. It was early summer; the sky was blue and almost cloudless; far beneath, the city of palaces and monuments seemed to sleep in the sunshine; away to the east lay the sea, blue even as the sky itself, except where here and there a cloud shadow passed slowly over its surface. Studded, too, was the sea with many a white sail, and steamers with trailing wreaths of smoke.

      The noise of city life, faint and far, fell on the ear with a hum hardly louder than the murmur of the insects and bees that sported among the wild flowers.

      Townley would not have been sitting here had he been all by himself, for this Herculean young parson never yet set eye on a hill he meant to climb without going straight to the top of it.

      'There is no tiring Townley.' I have often heard father make that remark; and, indeed, it gave in a few words a complete clue to Townley's character.

      But to-day my aunt Cecilia was with him, and it was on her account he was resting. They had been sitting for some time in silence.

      'It is almost too lovely a day for talking,' she said, at last.

      'True; it is a day for thinking and dreaming.'

      'I do not imagine, sir, that either thinking or dreaming is very much in your way.'

      He turned to her almost sharply.

      'Oh, indeed,' he said, 'you hardly gauge my character aright, Miss M'Crimman.'

      'Do I not?'

      'No, if you only knew how much I think at times; if you only knew how much I have even dared to dream – '

      There was a strange meaning in his looks if not in his words. Did she interpret either aright, I wonder? I know not. Of one thing I am sure, and that is, my friend and tutor was far too noble to seem to take advantage of my aunt's altered circumstances in life to press his suit. He might be her equal some day, at present he was – her brother's guest and domestic.

      'Tell me,' she said, interrupting him, 'some of your thoughts; dreams at best are silly.'

      He heaved the faintest sigh, and for a few moments appeared bent only on forming an isosceles triangle of pebbles with his cane.

      Then he put his fingers in his pocket.

      'I wish to show you,' he said, 'a ring.'

      'A ring, Mr. Townley! What a curious ring! Silver, set with a ruby heart. Why, this is the ring – the mysterious ring that belonged to the priest, and was found in his box in the vault.'

      'No, that is not the ring. The ring is in a safe and under seal. That is but a facsimile. But, Miss M'Crimman, the ring in question did not, I have reason to believe, belong to the priest Stewart, nor was it ever worn by him.'

      'How strangely you talk and look, Mr. Townley!'

      'Whatever I say to you now, Miss M'Crimman, I wish you to consider sacred.'

      The lady laughed, but not lightly.

      'Do you think,' she said, 'I can keep a secret?'

      'I do, Miss M'Crimman, and I want a friend and occasional adviser.'

      'Go on, Mr. Townley. You may depend on me.'

      'All we know, or at least all he will tell us of Murdoch's – your nephew's – illness, is that he was frightened at the ruin that night. He did not lead us to infer – for this boy is honest – that the terror partook of the supernatural, but he seemed pleased we did so infer.'

      'Yes, Mr. Townley.'

      'I watched by his bedside at night, when the fever was at its hottest. I alone listened to his ravings. Such ravings have always, so doctors tell us, a foundation in fact. He mentioned this ring over and over again. He mentioned a vault; he mentioned a name, and starting sometimes from uneasy slumber, prayed the owner of that name to spare him – to shoot him not.'

      'And from this you deduce – '

      'From this,' said Townley, 'I deduce that poor Murdoch had seen that ring on the left hand of a villain who had threatened to shoot him, for some potent reason СКАЧАТЬ