Annie o' the Banks o' Dee Part 13

"Nay, child, nay. You see what the letter says: that if I go to law I can only lose; but that if I trouble and tire Robertson with a lawsuit he will insist upon back rents being paid up. No," he added, after a pause, "he is fair enough. He may be good enough, too, though pa.s.sionate. Many a wild and b.l.o.o.d.y scene is enacted at the diggings, but in this case the police seem to have been wonderfully sharp. Ah, well; he will be here to-morrow, and we will see."

That was an anxious and sleepless night for poor Annie. In vain did her maid try to sing her off into dreamland. She tossed and dozed all night long.

Then came the eventful day. And at twelve o'clock came young Francis Robertson, with a party of witnesses from Australia.

McLeod could tell him at once to be the heir. He was the express image of his dead father.

The Laird and his solicitor, hastily summoned from Aberdeen, saw them alone in the drawing-room, only Annie being there. Robertson was tall, handsome, and even gentlemanly. The witnesses were examined. Their testimony under oath was calm, clear, and to the point. Not a question they did not answer correctly. The certificate of birth, too, was clear, and succinct. There were no longer any doubts about anything.

Then Laird McLeod--laird now, alas! only by courtesy--retired with his advocate to another room to consult.

Said the advocate: "My dear Laird, this is a sad affair; but are you convinced that this young fellow is the rightful owner?"

"He is, as sure as yonder sun is shining."

"And so am I convinced," said the advocate. "Then there must be no lawsuit?"

"No, none."

"That is right. At your age a long and troublesome lawsuit would kill you."

"Then, my dear Duncan," said Laird McLeod, "look out for a pretty cottage for me at once."

"I will do everything for you, and I know of the very place you want--a charming small villa on the beautiful Rubislaw Road. Choose the things you want. Have a sale and get rid of the others. Keep up your heart, and all will yet be well. But we must act expeditiously."

And so they did. And in a fortnight's time all was settled, and the little villa furnished.

Till the day of the sale Francis Robertson was a guest at the Hall.

Now I must state a somewhat curious, but not altogether rare, occurrence. The young man, who really might be rash, but was not bad-hearted, sought audience of the Laird on the very day before the sale.

"My dear uncle," he said, "I would rather you did not leave. Be as you were before. I will occupy but a small portion of the house. Stay with me."

"Francis Robertson," replied McLeod, "we _go_. I'll be no man's guest in a house that once was mine."

"Be it so, sir. But I have something further to add."

"Speak on."

"From the first moment I saw her I fell in love with Miss Annie Lane.

Will you give me her hand?"

"Have you spoken to herself?"

"I have not dared to." McLeod at once rang the bell and summoned Annie, his niece.

"Annie, dear, this gentleman, your relation, says he loves you, and asks for your hand. Think you that you could love him?"

Annie drew herself haughtily up. She said but one word, a decisive and emphatic one: "_No_."

"You have had your answer," said McLeod. Francis bowed and went somewhat mournfully away.

CHAPTER TEN.

"WHAT MUST BE MUST--'TIS FATE."

The old Laird McLeod possessed that true Christian feeling which we so rarely see displayed in this age, and as he left the door of the old mansion where he had lived so long and so happily he held out his hand to Francis.

"G.o.d bless you, lad, anyhow. Be good, and you'll prosper."

"The wicked prosper," said Francis.

"All artificial, lad, and only for a time. Never can they be said to be truly happy."

"Good-bye--or rather, _au revoir_."

"_Au revoir_."

Then the old man clambered slowly into the carriage. Poor Annie was already there. She cast just one longing, lingering look behind, then burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. But the day was beautiful, the trees arrayed in the tender tints of spring, while high above, against a fleecy cloud, she could see a laverock (lark), though she could not hear it. But his body was quivering, and eke his wings, with the joy that he could not control. Woods on every side, and to the right the bonnie winding Dee, its wavelets sparkling in the sunshine.

Everything was happy; why should not she be? So she dried her tears, and while her uncle dozed she took her favourite author from her satchel, and was soon absorbed in his poems.

After they had settled down in McLeod Cottage, as the snow-white pretty villa had now been called, I do believe that they were happier than when in the grand old mansion, with all its worries and work and trouble.

They were not very well off financially, that was all.

But it was a new pleasure for Annie and her maid to do shopping along Union Street the beautiful, and even round the quaint old New Market.

She used to return happy and exultant, to show her uncle the bargains she had made.

One night Annie had an inspiration. She was a good musician on piano and zither. Why not give lessons?

She would. Nor was she very long in finding a pupil or two. This added considerably to the fund for household expenditure. But nevertheless the proud old Highlander McLeod thought it was somewhat _infra dignitate_. But he bore with this because it seemed to give happiness to the child, as he still continued to call her.

So things went on. And so much rest did the Laird now have that for a time, at least, his life seemed all one happy dream. They soon made friends, too, with their neighbours, and along the street wherever Annie went she was known, for she was always followed by a grand and n.o.ble dog, a Great Dane, as faithful and as true as any animal could well be.

One evening she and Jeannie, her maid, were walking along a lovely tree-shaded lane, just as the beams of the setting sun were glimmering crimson through the leafy grandeur of the great elms. For some purpose of his own the dog was in an adjoining field, when suddenly, at the bend of the road, they were accosted by a gigantic and ragged tramp, who demanded money on the pain of death. Both girls shrieked, and suddenly, like a sh.e.l.l from a great gun, darted the dog from the hedge, and next moment that tramp was on his back, his ragged neckerchief and still more ragged waistcoat were torn from his body, and but for Annie his throat would have been pulled open.

But while Jeannie trembled, Annie showed herself a true McLeod, though her name was Lane. She called the dog away; then she quickly possessed herself of the tramp's cudgel. Annie was not tall, but she was strong and determined.

"Get up at once," she cried, "and march back with us. If you make the least attempt to escape, that n.o.ble dog shall tear your windpipe out!"

Very sulkily the tramp obeyed.

"I'm clean copped. Confound your beast of a dog!"

Within a few yards of her own door they met a policeman, who on hearing of the a.s.sault speedily marched the prisoner off to gaol.

When she related the adventure to her uncle he was delighted beyond measure, and must needs bless her and kiss her.