The Heather-Moon
We wandered almost sadly through the splendid rooms where Queen Mary
first saw the light, the week her father died: through "the King's
room," with its secret staircase under a trap door, and its view over a
blue lake where swans floated like winged water-lilies. Then, when we
had bought a specially bound copy of "Marmion" (which ought to be read
at Linlithgow), and post cards and souvenirs that seemed important at
the moment and useless afterward, we took the road to Stirling.
There was no time to stop in Falkirk (when is there ever time to stop in
motoring?), for the car was running unusually well for Blunderbore. So
instead of pausing to meditate over battle scenes, as Vanneck pretended
he wished to do, we sailed through the long, straight street which seems
practically to constitute the town. Here we had almost our first glimpse
of industrial Scotland as opposed to picturesque Scotland, which was in
these August days becoming the playground of Britain and America.
Falkirk is a coalfield as well as a battlefield, and the murk of
collieries and iron works darkens the sky as once did the smoke of
gunpowder: but the place holds its old interest for the mind; and not
far off we came to the Wallace Monument; then to Bannockburn. Because of
Barrie's love for the Bruce, we got out and walked to the Bore Stone
where he stood to direct the battle so fatal to the English. After this
we were close to St. Ninian's, and to Stirling, though the day was still
young; but there was lots to see, and I wanted to go on before dusk, to
spend the night in Crieff. We lunched at one of those nice old-fashioned
hotels whose heraldic names alone are worth the money; and as we started
on foot to walk through the ancient town and mount to its high crown,
the Castle, I began to appreciate Aline's arrangements for my benefit.
Maud Vanneck being a model of wifely jealousy, kept Fred to herself, and
Barrie was my companion. This was delightful. No such good thing had
come to me since making her acquaintance. On the way up the quaint,
steep street, there came a shower of rain, and I had to shelter her with
my umbrella. It was an umbrella of blessedly mean proportions, which
meant that she must keep close to my side, and I said, "Come what may I
shall have this and a few other things to remember!"
Up in the Castle, we two decided that we had after all made a mistake in
calling Edinburgh Castle Scotland's heart. Here was that organ, and we
could almost feel it throbbing under our feet. We forgot that we had
selected several other hearts for Scotland. Here was the right one at
last!
What a view to look out upon, with the One Girl by your side! Over our
heads and far away, clouds turned the rolling mountains to snowpeaks
that dazzled in the sun, and under our eyes seemed to lie all Scotland,
spread out like a vast brocaded mantle of many colours: the plain of the
Forth, the Ochil hills and the hills of Fife; the purple peaks round
Loch Lomond, and here and there a glitter of water like broken glass on
a floor of gold. Ten counties we could see, and eight great battlefields
which helped to make Scotland what it is. The horizon was carved in
shapes of azure--strange, wild, mountainous shapes; and the noble heads
of Ben Lomond, Ben Ledi, and Ben A'an were laurelled and jewelled for us
by memories of Scott.
Sitting where Queen Mary sat on her velvet cushions, and looking through
her peephole in the thick stone wall, I was almost irresistibly tempted
to make love to Barrie. My heart so went out to her that it seemed she
must respond: and the Vannecks had wandered to another part of the
battlements; but she kept me to my task of cicerone. I had to answer a
dozen questions. I had to tell her about Agricola forging his chain of
forts across the narrow land between the Clyde, and the Forth "that
bridles the wild Highlander." She would be satisfied with nothing less
than the unabridged stories of Edward I's siege of this "gray bulwark of
the North," the murder of the powerful Douglas by his treacherous host
King James II; the building of and the mysterious curse upon Mar's Work,
and twenty other human documents not half so moving, had she but known
it, as the story of Basil Norman's first and only love. Once or twice I
thought she guessed that I wished to speak of myself and her, and that
she deliberately held me at arm's length, like a young person of the
world dealing with an ineligible at the end of her second season. I
almost hated King Edward, and more especially Agricola!
Then, worst of all, before we had half finished our tour of the Castle
and its wonders, rain began to fall out of one cloud stationed directly
over our heads in the midst of a sun-bright sky. I could almost have
believed that Somerled in spite had sent it after us, like a wet
blood-hound to track us down. We took shelter in the room where the
Douglas was murdered; and who could make love against such a background?
Not I: though perhaps gay King James V might have been equal to it. One
does not hear that any ghost dogged his footsteps as he crept joyously
in disguise out from that dark little chamber into the subterranean
passage, which led the "Guid man of Ballangeich" to his Haroun
Al-raschid adventures in the night.
* * * * *
The next few days live in my memory as dreams live. They were beautiful.
They would have been more beautiful if I could have flattered myself
that Barrie was learning to care for me in the way she might have cared
for Somerled, if we had left them in peace. But she was always the
same--except that, as the world grew more enchanting in beauty and
poetic associations, she blossomed into a sweet expansiveness, losing
the reserve in which she had been veiled when first we started.
It ought to have been ideal, this moving from scene to scene with the
one girl I ever wanted for my own, since I was thirteen and worshipped a
tank mermaid in green spangles. That was the hard part! It ought to have
been ideal and--it wasn't. I should think a rather well meaning Saracen
chieftain who had captured a Christian maiden might have felt somewhat
as I felt from day to day. He had got her. She couldn't escape from him
and his fortress; but, even with her hand in his, she contrived to elude
him.
So it was with me. Old Blunderbore went well on the whole, not counting
a few minor ailments of second childhood which attacked him occasionally
when he saw a stiff hill ahead, or when he had heard me say I was in a
hurry. The Vannecks were perfection as chaperons, not through
supernatural tact and unselfishness, but because Maud feared the effect
upon Fred of too much Barrie. She laid herself out to charm her husband.
Never an "I told you so!" Never a nagging word or look. She chatted to
Fred in the car, and saw sights with him out of the car. This, she said,
was almost like a second honeymoon. But of the heather moon she had
never heard. It was ours--Barrie's and mine: yet I could not induce the
girl to speak of it. For all she would say, she might have forgotten its
existence. Always, especially when the heather moon tried to give us its
golden blessing, an invisible presence seemed to stand between us, as if
Somerled had sent his astral body to keep us apart.
As to Somerled in the flesh, there was a mystery at this time. To me at
Perth came a telegram from Aline saying:
"S. has left his car and chauffeur here and gone away without a
word to any one. Has he come after you? Wire immediately."
I obeyed, replying:
"Seen and heard nothing of S. Will let you have all news. Hope you
will do the same by me. Am sending you our route, but suppose you
will arrive in few days."
Her answer came to St. Andrews, at a jolly, golfing sort of hotel where
I ought to have been as happy as the day was long.
"As S. has not joined you prefer stop on here. Eyes not well yet.
Mr. Bennett's sister has influenza. She would prefer Maud and Fred
visit Round House later--say toward end of next week."
I had no faith in that attack of influenza. The microbe was probably
hatched in conversation between Aline and Mrs. Bal, who had by this time
become tremendous allies. My theory was that Aline, knowing Somerled not
to be near Barrie, had settled down to enjoy the fleeting moment. She
might not be happy, but I could understand that the society of Mrs. Bal
(who evidently wanted her) was preferable to motoring with a brother,
and a girl of whom she was jealous.
The same day came a long expensive wire to Barrie from her mother:
"So sorry darling but unfortunately must put you off. Don't come
first of Glasgow week. Wait till Saturday, arriving late afternoon
or evening. Mrs. West says her friends and brother will like
keeping you till then so you needn't worry. We can have nice visit
together later and settle everything for you in some delightful
way. Making plans now. Don't forget you for a moment. Best reasons
for delay. Will explain when we meet. Sending you letter with
little present of money. Don't stint yourself. Write often. Tell me
all that interests you. Ever your loving Barbara."
"Why do you suppose she can't have me the first of the week?" Barrie
asked piteously, when she had shown this message.
"I can't say, I'm sure," I cautiously replied. This was literally true.
I could not say: but I could guess. And a letter from Aline which came
two or three days later, confirmed my Sherlockian deductions.
"My DEAR OLD BOY" [she wrote]: "I was so glad to get your
telegram, and meant to have written at once, but waited on second
thoughts to have a little more news. It is a relief to know that
Ian hasn't followed that girl. Of course I feel it as much for your
sake as my own, for he is a dangerous rival to any man. It _is_ odd
where he can have gone; though he may turn up here again any day,
as he has left his car and chauffeur. If he had wanted to be nice,
he might have offered me the use of both while he was away; but I
suppose he blames me for lending myself to Mrs. Bal's wishes about
Barrie. Very unreasonable of him, as you have a perfect right to do
what you like with the car you've hired, and if Mrs. Bal didn't
want her daughter to see too much of _him_, what fault is it of
mine?
"I try to amuse myself as well as I can and forget my worries,
however, and Mrs. Bal and Morgan Bennett are being very nice. I
don't think he's proposed yet, or she would have told me, for we're
great friends; but she's pretty sure to land him before he leaves
for America, as he is to do the end of her Glasgow week, for a
short business trip. I expect to be asked to congratulate them the
night before he sails! What a good thing for her and _every one_
that the Vannecks can stand by you longer than we planned. I think,
unless you wire me that Ian has appeared upon the scene, I'll stay
with Mrs. Bal for her Glasgow week, as she has invited me, and
then, when the Vannecks go to the Round House, you can bring Barrie
back to her mother."
This explained Mrs. Bal's "best of reasons."
Days went on, and Somerled did not come to our part of the world, which
was by this time the heart of the Highlands; but I felt in my bones that
Barrie was hearing from him, writing to him; that she knew what I did
not know, the mystery of his absence. Of course I could have found out
if she were receiving letters from him, for Somerled's handwriting is
unmistakable; but villain or no villain, I had to draw the line
somewhere, and I drew it at spying upon her.
Aline did go to Glasgow with Mrs. Bal. She wrote to tell me how, with