CHAPTER NINETEEN.
A TELEGRAM.
It was a very shamefaced Margot who made her appearance at the dinner-table that evening; but, to her unspeakable relief, she found that therewas no cause for embarrassment. Instead of the meaning glances andjoking remarks which she had dreaded, she was greeted with the ordinarykindly prosaic welcome, and not even Mrs Macalister herself ventured aninnuendo. The Chieftain was the only one who alluded to the non-appearance of the searchers, and the manner in which he did so was atriumph of the commonplace.
"Muddled up that hide-and-seek finely, didn't we?" he cried cheerily."Afraid you had all your trouble for nothing. I happened to catch aglimpse of you heading off in the wrong direction, so turned into `It'myself, and rooted them all out of their lairs. Then we played somesensible, middle-aged, sitting-down games, and strolled home in time fora siesta before dinner. Very good picnic, I call it. Great success!We'll have another, one of these fine days."
"'Deed yes, and we will!" assented Mrs Macalister genially. "It stirsa body up to have an outing now and then. I was thinking, why shouldn'twe drive over to B-- and see the old castle and all the sights? I'vebeen hankering to go ever since we arrived; but it mounts up when youdrive about by yourselves. If we shared two carriages between us, itwould make all the difference, and it seems foolish-like to be in aneighbourhood and not see what there is to be seen. You can getcarriages from Rew, they tell me, if you order them a day or twobefore."
To the amazement of the company, it was George Elgood of all others whohastened to second the proposal.
"A capital idea!" he cried. "B-- is one of the finest old ruins inScotland. Of course we must go; it would be worse than foolish to gohome without seeing it. I have been before, so I could act as guide,and those who possess cameras had better take them also, as the place isrich in subjects."
The clergyman and his son pricked up their ears at this, photographybeing with them only a degree less absorbing a pastime than that ofwalking; Ron awoke suddenly to the remembrance that his half-platecamera had never been unpacked since his arrival; and the three viedwith each other in asking questions about the proposed excursion, and inurging that a date should be fixed. Before the meal had come to aconclusion, plans were mapped out, and a division of labour made, bywhich one person was held responsible for the hiring of carriages,another for the promised food, while George Elgood was left to arrangethe plan of campaign.
"We are a happy family, we are, we are, we are!" hummed the Chieftain,under his breath, as he cast a twinkling glance across the table towhere Margot sat, as demure to outward seeming as she was excited atheart.
"Why do you avoid me?" he demanded of her plumply, the next morning,when, after several unsuccessful attempts, he ran her to earth by theside of the tarn. "Scurry out of my way like a frightened bunnywhenever I come along. Won't do, you know! Not going to trouble myselfto do you good turns, if you round on me afterwards, and avoid me as ifI were the plague. What's it all about?"
"Nothing," stammered Margot confusedly. "I only felt rather-- You _do_tease, you know, and your eyes twinkle so mischievously that I felt thatdiscretion was the better part of valour."
"Well, don't do it again then, that's all, or I may turn rusty and upsetthe apple-cart. No reason that I know of why I should be ostracised,because I try to help my fellow-creatures. What are you doing overhere? Reading? What a waste of time! Much better come and chuckstones into the lake with me."
Margot's brown eyes widened in reproof.
"Don't you like books?"
"Hate the sight of 'em! Especially on a holiday. Never want to see asmuch as a line of print from the time I leave home to the time I return.Especially,"--his eyes twinkled in the mischievous manner to whichexception had just been taken--"especially poetry! Don't mind my sayingso, do you?"
"Not a bit," returned Margot promptly, tossing her first stone into thelake with a vehemence which held more than a suspicion of temper. "Ofcourse I never--one would never--_expect_ you to like it. It would bethe last thing one would expect--"
"Too fat?"
She blushed at that, and had the grace to look a trifle distressed.
"Oh, not that altogether. It's a `_Je ne sais quoi_,' don't you know.One could tell at a glance that you were not a literary man."
The Chieftain chuckled, bent down to gather a handful of stones, andraised a red smiling face to hers.
"Well, well, we can't all be geniuses, you know! One in a glen is aboutas much as you can expect to meet in these hard times. But I can chuckstones with the best of 'em. That one was a good dozen yards beyondyour last throw. Put your back into it, and see what you can do. It'sa capital way of letting off steam."
Margot was tempted to protest against the accusation, but reflectionprompted silence, since after all she _was_ cross, and there was nodenying it.
She took the little man's advice, and "let off steam" by the vigour anddetermination with which she hurled pebbles into the lake, making themskim along the surface in professional manner for an ever longer andlonger space before finally disappearing from sight.
The Chieftain cheered her on with example and precept, and, as usual,irritation died a speedy death in the presence of his bright, cheerypersonality. While they were still laughing and cheering each other onto fresh exploits, a lad from the post office passed along the road, andthe Chieftain wheeled round to call out the usual question--
"Anything for me? Is the post in already?"
The lad shook his head. He was a red-headed sociable-looking creaturewho seemed only too glad to enliven his walk by a chat _en route_. Histeeth showed in a cheerful smile as he replied--
"The post willna be here for an hour or mair. It's just a telegram!"
A telegram! It said much for the peaceful seclusion of the Glen thatthe very sound of the word brought a chill of apprehension to thelistening ears. No one received telegrams at the Nag's Head. One andall the visitors had sojourned thither with the aim of getting away asfar as possible from the world of telegrams, and electric trams, andtube railways, and all the nerve-shattering inventions of modern life.Their ambition was to outlive the sense of hurry; to forget that such athing as hurry existed, and browse along in peaceful uninterrupted ease.
To-day, however, in that far-away world beyond the heather-cladmountains something must have happened of such importance to some memberof the little party that it could not wait for the leisurely medium ofthe post, but for good or ill had demanded instant attention.
Margot and the Chieftain stood in silence for a moment before he askedthe second question.
"Who is it for?--What's the name?"
"Macalister!"
The name was pronounced with the lengthy drawl to which the hearers weregrowing familiar. They looked at each other with sighs of relief,followed swiftly by contrition.
"I hope nothing is wrong! I hope it's not bad news. Poor MrMacalister's `nearves'!"
"No, no! Nothing of the sort. Why imagine evil? Always look at thebright side as long as you can. Take for granted that it is good news,splendid news--the news he would like most to hear. Cut along, laddie!People pay for telegrams with the intention of getting them to theirdestination as quickly as possible. We'll defer the pleasure of aconversation to our next merry meeting."
The red-headed one grinned complacently and continued on his way,whistling as he went. There was about him no suggestion of a harbingerof bad tidings; the sun shone from a cloudless sky, and awoke sparklingreflections in the water; the scene was one of unbroken peace andhappiness, and yet, and yet,--some shadow seemed to have fallen onMargot's soul, so that she could no longer take any interest in the merethrowing of stones. Her heart followed the footsteps of the messengerdown the winding path, and stood still as he entered the inn.
"What is it, little girl? You look as if you had seen a ghost!"
The Chieftain stood observing her with an expression of kindly concern,for the pretty face had t
urned white beneath its tan, and the brown eyeswere wide and tense, as if beholding something hidden from ordinarygaze. She gazed fixedly, not back in his face, but past him down thelane towards the inn.
"I'm--afraid! I _feel_ it is not good news. It means trouble--bigtrouble! It is hanging over me like a cloud!"
He looked at her swiftly, and his face changed.
"Come then," he said quietly, "we will go back. If it is trouble, wemay be able to help. I never ignore presentiments; they are sent to usall from time to time, and if we are faithful we obey them, like asummons. One came to me years ago. It was late at night, and I wasjust off to bed, when suddenly it came--the remembrance of a friend faroff; the insistent remembrance; the certainty that he needed me, andthat I must hasten to help. By all the laws of common sense I shouldhave shrugged my shoulders and gone to sleep; but what are we, to judgeby our own poor knowledge the great unknown forces of God? I went outthere and then, caught a midnight train, and was at his house by sevenin the morning. His wife met me on the stair and said, `How did youknow?' ... He lay dying in his bed, and all that night he had beencalling for me. There was something I could do for him, better than anyone else. He wished to place it in my hands before he went, and God hadmercifully provided the opportunity. Never say that anything isimpossible in this world, little girl! According to your faith so shallit be unto you."
Margot did not answer except by a faint, strained smile. Her eyes werefixed upon the doorway of the inn, waiting for the reappearance of themessenger, but he did not come, and the delay lent weight to herapprehension.
They spoke no more, but walked silently side by side, until they drewnear to the inn, when suddenly the silence of the Glen was broken by astrange, unaccustomed sound. What was it? Whence did it come? Fromsome animal surely; some animal in pain or fear, piteously making knownits needs! It could not be the moan of human woe! Yet even as shepassionately denied the thought, Margot recognised in her heart that itwas true, and darting quickly forward made her way into the inn parlour.The messenger still stood outside the door, waiting in stolid patiencefor instructions, and by his side was Mrs McNab, wiping floury hands inher apron, in evident perturbation of spirit.
On the plush-bedecked sofa in the corner of the parlour the half-inanimate form of Mrs Macalister swayed helplessly to and fro, while oneither side stood two men--her husband and George Elgood--looking on inhelpless, masculine fashion. Her cap had fallen back from her head, herruddy face was bleached to a livid grey, from her lips came from time totime that pitiful, hopeless wail. At first it seemed to have nodefinite sound, but as one listened it took to itself words,--always thesame words, repeated again and again--
"My lassie! My Lizzie! Oh, my lassie!"
"Nay, dearie, nay! You mustna give way. She's better off. You must bestrong. We'll bear it together."
It was Mr Macalister who spoke; but Margot hardly recognised the voice,hardly recognised the face, which, for all its pallor and quiver ofpain, was yet strong and calm. All trace of the peevish discontent thathad hung like a cloud over the man had vanished like a mist; his bowedback seemed to have straightened itself and grown erect; the whiningvoice was composed and full of courage. He had forgotten his nerves inthe presence of a great calamity; nay, more than that--he had forgottenhimself; his one care and anxiety was for his wife!
The tears smarted in Margot's eyes; she ran forward, dropped on herknees before the chair, and clasped her strong young arms round theswaying figure, steadying it with loving, gentle pressure. The wan eyesstared at her unrecognisingly for a moment, then, at the sight of hergirlish beauty, old memories returned, and the tears began to rain.
"Lizzie's gone! Lizzie's gone! I'll never see her again. All in amoment, and me so far away. My little Lizzie!... I canna bear it!..."
"She never suffered, mother. She knew nothing about it. It's betterfor her than a long, painful illness. You must be thankful for hersake." Mr Macalister looked down at Margot, and bravely essayed anexplanation. "It was an accident. We've just heard. Instantaneous,they say. The mother's sore upset, but she's a brave woman. She'llbear it bravely for all our sakes. We'll need to get back to Glasgow."
"Yes. I'll help! I'll pack for her. Don't trouble about anything.I'll see that it is all right. You'll let me help you, dear, won'tyou?" Margot put up a tender hand, to straighten the cap on the poor,dishevelled head; and something in the simple, daughterly action seemedto reach the poor woman's heart, and bring with it the first touch ofcalmness. She sat up and looked blankly from side to side.
"I--I'm sorry! I shouldna give way. I never lost a child before, yousee, and Lizzie was such a one for her mother. I wrote to her only lastnight. She leaves two bairnies of her own, but they are so young.They'll never remember her!" The pitiful trembling began again,whereupon George Elgood's hand held out a glass of water, and Margottook it from him to lift it to the quivering lips.
"They will need you all the more, and you must be strong for theirsakes. That's what she would wish, isn't it?"
"Yes, yes. I must take care of the children. And Fred--poor Fred! buthe hasn't loved her as I have done for nearly thirty years. Father,when can we get back?"
"I'll see, my dearie. I'll see! Leave all to me. I'll settle it all,and this good lassie will pack your things. Ye need trouble fornothing, my lass,--ye need trouble for nothing."
He laid his broad hand on his wife's shoulder with a gesture infinitelytender, then turned and went stumbling out of the room, while Margot'seyes met the tear-drenched ones above her with a flash of enthusiasm.
"He is--_splendid_!"
Even at that moment Mrs Macalister showed a faint kindling of response.
"Didn't I tell ye? When a man's out of health ye canna judge. Whenhe's in his usual, there's no one to touch Mr Macalister."
With an instinctive movement Margot turned her head upward till her eyesmet those of George Elgood, and exchanged a flash of mutualunderstanding. It heartened her like a drink of water in a thirstyland, for underlying the pity and the kindliness she recognisedsomething else; something that existed for herself alone, and whichseemed to bring with it an electric thrill of happiness.
Outside in the "lobby" the Chieftain was looking up trains in his own_Bradshaw_, and arranging with Mrs McNab for the long drive to thestation, while Mr Macalister was writing out a return message withtrembling fingers.
"Come upstairs with me, dear!" said Margot gently. "You shall lie onthe bed while I do the packing. It's a long journey, and you must be asfresh as possible when you arrive. They will be waiting for you, youknow, and expecting you to comfort them. You have told me how they allrely upon you. You wouldn't like to fail just when they need you most!"
Mrs Macalister raised herself feebly from her chair, but her poor facequivered helplessly.
"I'm a broken reed for any one to lean on. I can only remember thatLizzie's gone. There's no strength left in me. She was the flower ofthe flock. And me so far away!"
For the next hour the poor woman lay on the bed in her room, now sobbingin helpless paroxysms of grief, now relating pitiful, commonplaceanecdotes of the dead daughter so dearly beloved, a dazed helplesscreature, unable to do a hand's turn for herself, while her husbandcrept in and out, quiet, resourceful, comforting, full of unselfishcompassion. Margot had hard work to keep back her own tears, as heclumsily pressed his own services upon her, picking up odd garments,folding them carefully in the wrong way, and rummaging awkwardly throughthe drawers.
The trap was to be ready to start by twelve o'clock, and ten minutesbefore the time Margot carried a sponge and basin of water to thebedside, bathed the poor, tear-stained face, brushed the stragglinglocks of grey hair, and helped to fasten bonnet and cloak. It waspathetic to see the helplessness into which grief had stricken thiscapable, bustling woman. She lifted her chin, to allow the strings ofher bonnet to be tied by Margot's hands, and sat meekly while the"dolman" was hooked. It was like dress
ing a big docile baby; like achild, too, the manner in which she clung to her husband's arm down thenarrow stair.
Mrs McNab was standing below in the lobby, her hard face flushed to anunnatural red. She held a basket in her hand filled with dainty paperpackages containing fruit, sandwiches, and cakes. Unable to voice hersympathy, she had put it into deeds, striving to ensure some comfort forthe long journey ahead.
Mrs Macalister smiled a pitiful travesty of a smile in acknowledgment,and her friends pressed her hand, mercifully refraining from speech.When it came to parting from Margot, however, that was a differentmatter. Mrs Macalister stooped from the seat of the trap to kiss thegirl's cheek once and again.
"You're a guid lassie," she said, trembling. "I would have been lostwithout you! The Lord bless you, my dear!"
"Ay! and she _shall_ be blessed!" added Mr Macalister's voice, deeply.
Margot thrilled at the sound of those words, and stood back on the pathwatching the departing wheels through a mist of tears. They had gone,those two good, loving, simple creatures, and in all likelihood shewould never see them again; for a moment their lives had touched, butthe currents had swept them apart; they were as ships that had passed inthe night. To the end of time, however, she must be the better for themeeting, for in their need they had leant upon her, and she had beenable to help. They had blessed her in patriarchal fashion, and thesound of their words still rang in her ears--
"The Lord bless you!"
"Ay! and she _shall_ be blessed?"