Annie o' the Banks o' Dee Part 33

"Where did you obtain those notes?" said the judge sternly.

For a moment emotion choked the wretch's utterance. But he found words at last.

"Oh, my lord my lord, I alone am the murderer! I killed one man--Craig Nicol--I cannot let another die for my crime! I wanted money, my lord, to help to pay for my new house, and set me up in life, and I dodged Nicol for miles. I found Mr Grahame asleep under a hedge, and I stole the stocking knife and left it near the man I had murdered. When I returned to the sleeping man, I had with me--oh, awful!--some of the blood of my victim that I had caught in a tiny bottle as it flowed from his side,"--murmurs of horror--"and with this I smeared Grahame's hands."

Here Sandie collapsed in a dead faint, and was borne from the court.

"Gentlemen of the jury," said the judge, "this evidence and confession puts an entirely new complexion on this terrible case. The man who has just fainted is undoubtedly the murderer." The jury agreed. "The present prisoner is discharged, but must appear to-morrow, when the wretched dwarf shall take his place in the dock."

And so it was. Even the bloodstained clothes that Sandie had worn on the night of the murder had been found. The jury returned a verdict of guilty against him without even leaving the box. The judge a.s.sumed the black cap, and amidst a silence that could be felt, condemned him to death.

Reginald Grahame was a free man, and once more happy. The court even apologised to him, and wished him all the future joys that life could give.

But the wretched culprit forestalled justice, and managed to strangle himself in his cell. And thus the awful tragedy ended.

"I knew it, I knew it!" cried Annie, as a morning or two after his exculpation Reginald presented himself at McLeod Cottage. And the welcome he received left nothing to be desired.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE LAST CRUISE TO THE ISLAND OF FLOWERS.

In quite a ship-shape form was poor Reginald's release from prison, and from the very jaws of death. Met at the door by his friends and old shipmates. d.i.c.kson was there, with his four brave sailors, and many was the fellow-student who stretched out his hands to shake Reginald's, as pale and weakly he came down the steps. Then the students formed themselves into procession--many who read these lines may remember it-- and, headed by a bra.s.s band, marched with d.i.c.kson and the sailors, who bore Reginald aloft in an armchair, marched to the other end of Union Street, then back as far as a large hotel. Here, after many a ringing cheer, they dismissed themselves. But many returned at eventide and partook of a sumptuous banquet in honour of Reginald, and this feast was paid for by d.i.c.kson himself. The common sailors were there also, and not a few strange tales they had to tell, their memories being refreshed by generous wine.

And now our story takes a leap of many months, and we find the _Highland Mary_, a most beautiful yacht, somewhat of the _Wolverine_ type, far, far at sea, considerable to nor'ard of the Line, however, but bounding on under a spread of whitest canvas, over just such a sea as the sailor loves. No big waves here, but wavelets of the darkest steel-blue, and each one wrinkled and dimpled with the warm, delightful breeze, kissed by the sunlight, and reflecting the glory in millions of broken rays, as if the sea were besprinkled with precious stones and diamonds of purest ray serene.

Let us take a look on deck. We cannot but be struck with the neatness and brightness of everything our eyes fall upon. The fires are out.

There is no roaring steam, no clouds of dark, dense smoke, no grind and grind of machinery, and no fall of black and sooty hailstones from the funnel. Ill indeed would this have accorded with the ivory whiteness of the quarter-deck, with the snow-white table linen, which one can catch a glimpse of down through the open skylight. But worst of all would it accord with the dainty dresses of the ladies, or the snowy sailor garb of the officers. The ladies are but two in reality, Annie herself--now Mrs Reginald Grahame--and daft, pretty wee Matty. But there is Annie's maid, Jeannie Lee, looking as modest and sweet as she ever did. Annie is seated in a cushioned chair, and, just as of old, Matty is on Reginald's knee. If Annie is not jealous of her, she certainly is not jealous of Annie. In her simple, guileless young heart, she believes that she comes first in Reginald's affections, and that Annie has merely second place.

I daresay it is the bracing breeze and the sunshine that makes Matty feel so happy and merry to-day. Well, sad indeed would be the heart that rejoiced not on such a day as this! Why, to breathe is joy itself; the air seems to fill one with exhilaration, like gladsome, sparkling wine.

Here is Captain d.i.c.kson. He never did look jollier, with his rosy, laughing face, his gilt-bound cap and his jacket of blue, than he does now. He is half-sitting, half-standing on the edge of the skylight, and keeping up an animated conversation with Annie. Poor Annie, her troubles and trials seem over now, and she looks quietly, serenely happy; her bonnie face--set off by that tiny flower-bedecked bride's bonnet--is radiant with smiles.

But Matty wriggles down from Reginald's knee at last, and is off to have a game of romps with Sigmund, the splendid Dane. Sigmund is four-and-thirty inches high at the shoulder, shaped in body somewhat like a well-built pointer, but in head like a long-faced bull-terrier.

His coat is short, and of a slatey-blue; his tail is as straight and strong as a capstan bar. At any time he has only to switch it across Matty's waist, when down she rolls on the ivory-white decks. Then Sigmund bends down, and gives her cheek just one loving lick, to show there is no bad feeling; but so tickled is he at the situation, that with lips drawn back and pearly teeth showing in a broad smile, he must set out on a wild and reckless rush round and round the decks from winch to binnacle. If a sailor happens to get in his way, he is flung right into the air by the collision, and is still on his back when Sigmund returns. But the dog bounds over the fallen man, and continues his mad gallop until, fairly exhausted, he comes back to lie down beside Matty, with panting breath, and about a yard, more or less, of a red-ribbon of tongue depending from one side of his mouth.

Matty loves Sigmund, but she loves Oscar more, and wonders if she will ever see him once again; and she wonders, too, if Sigmund and Oscar will agree, or if they will fight, which would be truly terrible to think of.

Yonder is McGregor. He is elevated to the rank of bo's'n, and the three other sailors that came home in the _Vulcan_ are here too. With the pile in gold and pearls they made on the Isle of Flowers, they needn't have been now serving before the mast. This would probably be their last voyage, for they meant to go into business on sh.o.r.e. But they loved the sea, and they loved Reginald and d.i.c.kson too. So here they were, and many more tars also; and when the main-brace was spliced of a Sat.u.r.day night, it would have been good for anyone to have come forward to the bows and listened to the songs sung and the tales told by honest Jack.

But how came Matty on board? The story is soon told, and it is a sad one. A few weeks after his marriage, being in London, and dropping into the Savoy Hotel on the now beautiful Embankment, Reginald found Mr Hall standing languid and lonely by the bar with a little gla.s.s of green liquor in his hand.

"Delighted to see you! What a pleasant chance meeting to be sure!"

Then Matty ran up for her share of the pleasure, and was warmly greeted.

Ah! but Mr Hall had a sad story to tell. "I am now a lonely, childless man," he said. "What!" cried Reginald--"is Ilda--"

"She is dead and gone. Lived but a week in Italy--just one short week.

Faded like a flower, and--ah, well, her grave is very green now, and all her troubles are over. But, I say, Grahame, we have all to die, and if there is a Heaven, you know, I daresay we shall be all very happy, and there won't be any more partings nor sad farewells."

Reginald had to turn away his head to hide the rising tears, and there was a ball in his throat that almost choked him, and quite forbade any attempt at speaking.

The two old friends stayed long together, and it was finally arranged that Mr Hall should pay a long visit to the old Laird McLeod, and that Reginald should have the loan of his little favourite Matty in a voyage to the South Sea Island.

The cruise of the _Highland Mary_ was a long but most pleasant and propitious one. They steamed through the Straits of Magellan, and were delighted when the yacht, under, a favouring breeze, went stretching west and away out into the blue and beautiful Pacific Ocean.

d.i.c.kson had taken his bearings well, and at last they found themselves at anchor in the bay off the Isle of Flowers, opposite the snow-white coralline beach and the barracks and fort where they had not so long ago seen so much fighting and bloodshed.

Was there anyone happier, I wonder, at seeing her guests, her dear old friends, than Queen Bertha? Well, if there was, it was honest Oscar on meeting his long-lost master.

Indeed, the poor dog hardly knew what to do with joy. He whined, he cried, he kissed and caressed his master, and scolded him in turns.

Then he stood a little way off and barked at him. "How could you have left your poor Oscar so long?" he seemed to say. Then advancing more quietly, he once more placed a paw on each of his master's shoulders and licked his ear. "I love you still," he said.

After this he welcomed Matty, but in a manner far more gentle, for he ever looked upon her as a baby--his own baby, as it were. And there she was, her arms around his ma.s.sive neck, kissing his bonnie broad brow-- just a baby still.

The Isle of Flowers was very lovely now, and the valley--

"Oh?" cried Annie, in raptures, as she gazed down the verdant strath.

"Surely this is fairyland itself!"

The ladies, and Jeannie as well, were the guests of the Queen during the long, happy month they stayed on the island.

There was no more gold-seeking or pearl-fishing to any great extent.

Only one day they all went up the valley and had a delightful picnic by the winding river and under the shade of the magnolia trees. Reginald and d.i.c.kson both waded into the river, and were lucky enough, when they came out with their bags full of oysters, to find some rare and beautiful pearls. They were as pure as any Scotch ever taken from the Tay, and had a pretty pinkish hue.

But now Jeannie Lee herself must bare her shapely legs and feet and try her luck. She wanted one big pearl for her dear mistress, she said, and three wee ones for a ring for somebody. Yes, and she was most successful, and Annie is wearing that large pearl now as I write. And the three smaller? Well, I may as well tell it here and be done with it. McGregor, the handsome, bold sailor, had asked Jeannie to be his wife, and she had consented. The ring was for Mac.

On Lone Tree Mountain, a.s.sisted by the men, d.i.c.kson and Reginald soon set to digging, and found all their gold and pearls safe and sound.

And now parting time came, and farewells were said, the Queen saying she should live in hopes of seeing them back again.

"G.o.d bless you all, my children."

"And G.o.d bless you, Queen Bertha."