the crackling of the blazing logsand the mournful moaning of the wind without, "you want to do somethingquite new. Well, I've got an idea."
"Oh, do tell us what it is?" cried Ralph and Rory, both in one breath.
"No, no; not to-night," said McBain, laughing; "besides, it wantsworking out a bit, so I'm off to bed to dream about it. Good night."
"Depend upon it," said Allan McGregor, as he parted with his friends attheir chamber door, "that whatever it is, McBain's idea is a good one,and he'll tell us all about it to-morrow. You'll see."
CHAPTER THREE.
LIFE AT THE OLD CASTLE--MCBAIN EXPLAINS HIS "IDEA"--ALLAN'S DREAM.
To say that our heroes, Ralph and Rory, were not a little impatient toknow something about the scheme McBain was to propose for the purpose ofgiving them pleasure, would be equivalent to saying that they were notboys, or that they had men's heads upon boys' shoulders. So I willinglyconfess that it was the very first thing they thought about nextmorning, immediately after they had drawn up the blinds, to peep out andsee what kind of a day it was going to be.
But this peeping out to ascertain the state of the weather was not soeasily accomplished, as it would have been in the south of England. Forfairy fingers seemed to have been at work during the night, and thepanes were covered with a frost-work of ferns and leaves, morebeautifully traced, more artistically finished, than the work of anyhuman designer that ever lived. The whole seemed floured over withpowdered snow. It was a pity, so thought Rory, to spoil the pattern oneven one of the panes, but it had to be done, so by breathing on it forquite half a minute, a round, clear space was obtained; and gazingthrough this he could see that it was a glorious morning, that theclouds had all fled, that the sky was bluer than ever he had seen a skybefore, that the wind was hushed, and the sun shining brightly overhills of dazzling white. The stems of the leafless trees looked likepillars of frosted silver, while their branches were more lovely by farthan the coral that lies beneath the blue waves of the Indian Ocean.
"How different this is," said Rory, "from anything we ever see inEngland! Ah! sure, it was a good idea our coming here in winter."
"I wonder where McBain is this morning?" said Ralph.
"And I know right well," said Rory, "what you're thinking about."
"Perhaps you do," Ralph replied.
"Ay, that I do," said Rory; "but don't be an old wife, Ralph--neverevince undue curiosity, never exhibit impatience. In other words, don'tbe a squaw."
"Oho!" cried Ralph, "now I see where the land lies. `Don't be a squaw,'eh? You've been reading Fenimore Cooper, you old rogue, you! Thecentre of a great forest in the Far West of America--midnight--a councilof war--chiefs squatting around the camp fire--smoking the calumet--enter Eagle-eye--scats himself in silence--everybody burning to hearwhat he has to say, but no one dares ask for the world--ugh! and allthat sort of thing. Am I right, Rory?"
"Indeed you are," said the other, laughing; "you've bowled me out, Iconfess. But, after all, you know, it will be just as well not to seemimpatient, and so I move that we never speak a word to McBain about whathe said last night until he is pleased to open the conversation."
"Right," said Ralph; "and now let us go down to breakfast."
Both Mrs McGregor and Allan's sister Helen were very different fromwhat Ralph and Rory had expected to find them. They had taken theirnotions of Highland ladies from the novels of Walter Scott and otherliterary worthies. Before they had come to Glentroom they had picturedto themselves Mrs McGregor as a kind of Spartan mother--tall, stately,dark, and proud, with a most exalted idea of her own importance, with aninexorable hatred of all the Saxon race, and an inordinate love ofspinning. Her daughter, they had thought, must also be tall, and, ifbeautiful, of a kind of majestic and stately beauty, repellent more thanattractive, and one more to be feared than loved. And they felt surethat Mrs McGregor would be almost constantly bending over herspinning-wheel, while Helen, if ever she condescended to bend overanything, which they had deemed a matter of doubt, would be bending overa very ancient piece of goods in the shape of a harp.
These were their imaginings prior to their arrival at the castle, butthese ideas were all wrong, and very delighted were the young men tofind them so. Here in Mrs McGregor was no stiff fastidious lady; shewas a very _woman_ and a very _mother_, loving her children tenderly,and devoted to their interests, and rejoiced to hold out the hand ofwelcome to her children's friends. On the sunny side of fifty, she wasslightly inclined to _embonpoint_, extremely pleasant both in voice andmanner as well as in face. Rory first, and Ralph soon afterwards, feltas much at home in her presence and company as if they had known her alltheir lives.
As to Helen Edith, I do not think that any one would have been able toguess her nationality had they met her in society in town. She had beeneducated principally abroad, and could speak both the Italian and Frenchlanguages, not only fluently, but, if I may be allowed the expression,mellifluently, for she possessed perfection of accent as well asexceeding sweetness of voice. She was rather small in stature, withpretty and shapely hands, and a nice figure.
Was she beautiful? you may ask me. Well, had you asked her brother hewould have said, "Indeed, I never gave the matter a thought," but Roryand Ralph would have told you that she _was_ beautiful, and they wouldhave added the words, "and sisterly." I do not know whether or notHelen was a better or a worse musician than most young girls of herage--she was just turned seventeen. She sang sweetly, though notloudly; she never screamed, but sang with expression, as if she feltwhat she sang; and she accompanied herself on the harp. But as for MrsMcGregor's spinning-wheel, why, our young heroes cast their eyes aboutin vain for it.
The portion of the castle now occupied by the McGregors was furnished ina far more luxurious style than probably accorded with their fallenfortunes, but everywhere there was evidence of refinement of taste. Theold hall and the picture gallery delighted Rory most; he could fit aromance into every rusty coat of mail, and fix a poem to every spear andhelmet.
"What a grand thing," he said to Allan, "it is to have had ancestors!Never one had I, that I know of--leastways, none of them ever troubledthemselves to sit for their portraits. More by token, perhaps, theycouldn't afford it."
If Ralph enjoyed himself at the castle--and I might say that heundoubtedly did--he did not say a very great deal about it. To givevocal expression to his pleasure was not much in Ralph's line, but itwas in Rory's, who, by the way, although nearly as old as his companion,was far more of a boy.
The feelings of the young chief of the McGregors, while showing hisfriends over the old castle, the ancient home of his fathers, were thoseof sadness, mingled with a very little touch of pride. Every room hadits story, every chamber its tale--often one of sorrow; and these werelistened to by Ralph and Rory with rapt attention, although every nowand then some curious or quaint remark from the lips of the latter wouldset the other two laughing, and often materially damage some relation ofevents that bordered closely on the romantic.
"If ever I'm rich enough," said Allan, leading the way into the ancientbanqueting-hall, "I mean to re-roof and re-furnish the whole of theolder portion of the castle."
"But wherever has the roof gone to?" asked Rory, looking upwards at thesky above them.
"Fire would explain that," replied Allan; "the whole of this wing of thebuilding was burned by Cumberland in '45--he who was surnamed the BloodyDuke, you know."
"Were your people `out,' as you call it, in '45?" asked Ralph.
Allan nodded, and bit his lips; the memory of that terrible time was nota pleasant one to this Highland chief.
The little turret chambers were a source of both interest and curiosityto Allan's companions.
"Bedrooms and watch-towers, are they?" said Ralph, viewing themcritically. "Well, you catch a beautiful glimpse of the glen, and thehills, and woods, and lake from that little narrow window, with itssolitary iron stanchion; but I say, Allan--bedrooms, eh? Aren't youjoking, old man? Fancy a great tal
l lanky fellow like me in a bedroomthis size; why, I'd have to double up like a jack-knife!"
"Oh! look, Ralph, at these dark, mysterious stains on the oaken floor,"cried Rory--"blood, of course? Do you know, Allan, my boy, whatparticular deed of darkness was committed in this turret chamber?"
"I do, precisely," replied Allan.
"Och! tell us, then--tell us!" said Rory.
"Ay, do," said Ralph. "I shall lean against the window here and lookout, for the view is delightful, but I'll be listening all the same."
"Well, then," said Allan, "I made this little room my
The Cruise of the Snowbird: A Story of Arctic Adventure Page 5