Annie o' the Banks o' Dee. Stables Gordon

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      No more gentle or kind nurse could Reginald have had than Annie.

      To the guileless simplicity of a child was added all the wisdom of a woman. And she obeyed to the very letter all the instructions the doctor gave her. She was indefatigable. Though Fanny relieved her for hours during the day, Annie did most of the night work.

      At first the poor fellow was delirious, raving much about his mother and sisters. With cooling lotions she allayed the fever in his head. Ay, she did more: she prayed for him. Ah! Scots folk are strange in English eyes, but perhaps some of them are saints in God’s.

      Reginald, however, seemed to recover semiconsciousness all at once. The room in which he lay was most artistically adorned, the pictures beautifully draped, coloured candles, mirrors, and brackets everywhere. He looked around him half-dazed; then his eyes were fixed on Annie.

      “Where am I?” he asked. “Is this Heaven? Are you an – an – angel?”

      He half-lifted himself in the bed, but she gently laid him back on the snow-white pillows again.

      “You must be good, dear,” she said, as if he had been a baby. “Be good and try to sleep.”

      And the eyes were closed once more, and the slumber now was sweet and refreshing. When he awoke again, after some hours, his memory had returned, and he knew all. His voice was very feeble, but he asked for his friend, Craig Nicol. But business had taken Craig away south to London, and it would be a fortnight before he could return.

      Ah! what a happy time convalescence is, and happier still was it for Reginald with a beautiful nurse like Annie – Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee.

      In a week’s time he was able to sit in an easy-chair in the drawing-room. Annie sang soft, low songs to him, and played just as softly. She read to him, too, both verse and prose. Soon he was able to go for little drives, and now got rapidly well.

      Is it any wonder that, thrown together in so romantic a way, these two young people fell in love, or that when he plighted his troth Annie shyly breathed the wee word Yes?

      Craig Nicol came back at last, and he saw Reginald alone.

      Reginald – impulsive he ever was – held out his hand and asked for congratulations on his engagement to Annie.

      Craig almost struck that hand away. His face grew dark and lowering.

      “Curse you!” he cried. “You were my friend once, or pretended to be. Now I hate you; you have robbed me of my own wee lamb, my sweetheart, and now have the impudence – the confounded impertinence – to ask me to congratulate you! You are as false as the devil in hell!”

      “Craig Nicol,” said Reginald, and his cheeks flushed red, “I am too weak to fight you now, but when I am well you shall rue these words! Au revoir. We meet again.”

      This stormy encounter took place while the young doctor sat on a rocking-chair on the gravelled terrace. Shufflin Sandie was close at hand.

      “Gentlemen,” said Sandie, “for the Lord’s sake, don’t quarrel!”

      But Craig said haughtily, “Go and mind your own business, you blessed Paul Pry.”

      Then he turned on his heel and walked briskly away, and soon after his horse’s hoofs might have been heard clattering on the road as he dashed briskly on towards his farm of Birnie-Boozle.

      Annie Lane came round from the flower-garden at the west wing of Bilberry Hall. She carried in her hand a bouquet of autumnal roses and choice dahlias – yellow, crimson, and white; piped or quilled cactus and single. She was singing low to herself the refrain of that bonnie old song:

      Perhaps she never looked more innocently happy or more beautiful than she did at that moment.

      But when she noticed the pallor on her lovers cheek she ceased singing, and advanced more quickly towards him.

      “Oh, my darling,” she cried, “how pale you are! You are ill! You must come in. Mind, I am still your nursie.”

      “No, no; I am better here. I have the fresh air. But I am only a little upset, you know.”

      “And what upset you, dear Reginald?”

      She had seated herself by his side. She had taken his hand, and had placed two white wee fingers on his pulse.

      “I’ll tell you, Annie mine – ”

      “Yes, I’m yours, and yours only, and ever shall be.”

      “Craig Nicol has been here, and we have quarrelled. He has cursed and abused me. He says I have stolen your heart from him, and now he must for ever hate me.”

      “But, oh, Reginald, he never had my heart!”

      “I never knew he had sought it, dearest.”

      “Yet he did. I should have told you before, but he persecuted me with his protestations of love. Often and often have I remained in my room all the evening long when I knew he was below.”

      “Well, he cursed me from the bottom of his heart and departed. Not before I told him that our quarrel could not end thus, that I was too proud to stand abuse, that when well I should fight him.”

      “Oh, no – no – no! For my sake you must not fight.”

      “Annie, my ain little dove, do you remember these two wee lines:

      “There is no hatred so deep and bitter as that between two men who have once been friends. No; both Craig and I will be better pleased after we fight; but this quarrel I fear must end in blood.”

      Poor Annie shuddered. Just at that moment Shufflin’ Sandie appeared on the scene. He was never far away.

      “Can I get ye a plaid, Mr Grahame, to throw o’er your legs? It’s gettin’ cold now, I fear.”

      “No, no, my good fellow; we don’t want attendance at present. Thank you all the same, however.”

      Oscar, Reginald’s great Newfoundland, came bounding round now to his master’s side. He had been hunting rats and rabbits. The embrace he gave his master was rough, but none the less sincere. Then he lay down by his feet, on guard, as it were; for a dog is ever suspicious.

      Annie was very silent and very sad. Reginald drew her towards him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. But tears bedimmed her blue eyes, and a word of sympathy would have caused her to burst into a fit of weeping that would probably have been hysterical in its nature. So Reginald СКАЧАТЬ