"Well," said Young Donald, "he has cut a few drains and covered them in; but the sheriff found that this was counterbalanced by his neglect of other parts of the croft, and that there was no just claim. His other reason for refusal was that he wanted an allowance made to him for Mr. Watson's sheep being permitted to graze over the Cruagan crofts after the crops were reaped."
"And why not?" said Mary again. "Why should Mr. Watson's sheep graze over the crofts? That seems to me a great injustice – unless compensation is given."
"Well, it is a practice of long standing," said the young man (and Käthchen, who cared very little about rents and holdings and drains, nevertheless thought he had so agreeable a voice that it was quite a pleasure to listen to him). "The crofters took the crofts knowing of this condition, and the rents were fixed accordingly. However, this is the present state of affairs, that the sheriff-substitute has decided against Macdonald – as he was bound to do, I admit. He has found him liable for arrears of rent, with interest and costs; and he has granted a warrant to turn him out. Now Macdonald is a stiff-necked man, a difficult man to deal with; and he doesn't know much English; it will be no use for the sheriff-officer to argue, and say he is only doing his duty – "
"I disapprove of the whole proceedings," said Mary, with decision. "Mr. Purdie had no right to go to such extremes without consulting me – and I will take care that it does not happen again. By the mail-car, did you say? Well, that won't be coming by Cruagan before half-past two; and I can be there by then. The sheriff's officer and his – his what did you call them?"
"His concurrents – assistants."
"They must wait for further instructions; and I will inquire into the matter myself."
He rose.
"I hope you will forgive me, Miss Stanley," said he, as he had said before, "for seeming to interfere. I have no wish to do anything of the kind. But I thought you ought to know in case there might be any trouble – which you could prevent."
"Mr. Ross," said she, "I am very much obliged to you. I – I don't get very much help – and – and I want to do what little I can for the people."
"Good morning!" said he; and he bowed to Kate Glendinning: he was going away without so much as shaking hands with either of them, so distant and respectful was his manner. But Mary, in a confused kind of fashion, did not seem to think this was right. She accompanied him to the door; and that she left open; then she went out with him into the hall.
"I cannot believe that James Macdonald should have any serious grudge against me," she said, "for I told Mr. Purdie to tell him that the tax for the dyke was abolished, and also that fifteen years of it was to be given back. And, besides that, I said to Macdonald myself that thirty shillings an acre was too much for that land; and I propose to have it reduced to a pound an acre when I have all the rents of the estate looked into."
"Do you think Purdie did tell him?" young Donald Ross asked coldly.
"If he has not!" said Mary … "But I am almost sure he did – I spoke to Macdonald myself almost immediately afterwards. And – and I wished to tell you, Mr. Ross," she continued (as if she were rather pleading for favour, or at least expecting approval), "that I have been down to the stranger fishermen at Ru-Minard, and I think it is all settled, and that they are going away peaceably. I am paying them for the lobster-traps that were burned – and perhaps a little more; and they understand that the Vagrant Act can be brought to bear on any others who may think of coming."
"Oh, they are going away?" said he.
"Yes."
"Mr. Purdie will be sorry for that."
"Why?"
"He could have had them removed, if he had wanted; but so long as they were an annoyance and vexation to the people here, he allowed them to remain – naturally."
These accents of contemptuous scorn: she was sorry to hear them somehow; and yet perhaps they were justified – she did not know.
"Good-bye," said she, at the hall door, and she held out her hand. "I am so much obliged to you."
And then of course he did shake hands with her in bidding her farewell – and raised his cap – and was gone.
Mary returned to the dining-room.
"Well, Mamie," said Käthchen, with a demure smile, "that is about the most extraordinary interview I ever heard of. A most handsome young gentleman calls upon a young lady – his first visit – and there is nothing talked of on either side but sheriff officers and summonses, rent, compensation, drains, crofts, grazing, and Acts of Parliament. Of course he was quite as bad as you; but all the same, you might at least have asked the poor man to stay to lunch."
"Oh, Käthchen!" Mary exclaimed, starting to her feet, her face on fire. "Shall I send Barbara after him? I never thought of it! How frightfully rude of me – and he has come all the way over from Heimra to tell me about this eviction. What shall I do? Shall I send after him?"
"I don't think you can," said Käthchen; "it would make the little oversight all the more marked. You'd better ask him the next time you see him – if you have forgotten certain warnings."
"What warnings?"
"Why, about his general character and his occupations," said Kate Glendinning, regarding her friend.
Mary was silent for a moment or two; then she said —
"We need not believe the worst of any one; and when you think of that old woman coming all the way from Canada to see him, that of itself is a testimonial to character that not many could bring forward – "
"But you must remember," said Käthchen, "the young master was a little boy of ten when Mrs. Armour left; and little boys of ten haven't had time to develop into dangerous criminals."
"Dangerous criminal?" said Mary, rather sharply; "that is hardly the – the proper phrase to use – with regard to – to a stranger. However, it is not of much consequence. Käthchen, are you going to drive with me to Cruagan to get that sheriff's officer and his men sent back?"
"Yes, certainly," said Käthchen, in her usual business-like fashion, "as soon as we have had lunch. And remember, Mamie, it wasn't I who forgot to ask him to stay."
Luncheon did not detain them long, and immediately thereafter they got into the waggonette that was waiting for them, and drove off. But it was not of the eviction and the possibility of another riot that Mary was mostly thinking; something very different was weighing, and weighing heavily, on her mind. They drove through the village in silence; they crossed the bridge; and they had begun the ascent of the steep hill before she spoke.
"The more I consider it," she said, "the more ashamed I am."
"Consider what?" said Käthchen.
"Why, neglecting to ask him to stay to lunch," she made answer – for this was what she had been brooding over.
"Why should you worry about such a trifle!" Käthchen protested.
"It isn't a trifle – in a Highlander's estimation, as you know well enough. They pride themselves on their hospitality; and they judge others by their own standards; so that I cannot but keep wondering what he must be thinking of me at this moment. Remember, Käthchen, when we went over to Heimra, even the old housekeeper entertained us, and did her best for us, in that out-of-the-world place; and here he comes to Lochgarra House – his first visit – he comes to do me a kindness – he comes to prevent mischief – and comes into the house that once was his own – and I don't offer him even a biscuit and a glass of sherry – "
"Really, Mary, you needn't worry about such a mere trifle!" Käthchen protested again.
"But I do worry!" she said. "I can imagine what he thought of me as he went away. For you must not forget this, Käthchen: it was a very awkward position he put himself into in order to do me a good turn. Think of his coming to the house, that ought to be his own – asking the servants if he might be admitted – sending up his name as a stranger – then he remains