His sister, who knew all, and who would have carried--oh! how gladly!--on her own heart, and for all her life long, that bitter burden, pleaded to be allowed to go with him on what she knew full well was a journey of sorrow and sore pain, but this he would not permit. This sorrow and pain which were his own, he would share with no one, and least of all with her upon whose life he had already cast so dark a shadow. Hence she was at the house alone, her father not having yet returned from an important meeting at a neighbouring village, when a young man came to the door asking for young Mr. Cameron.
"Who is it, Kirsty?" she inquired anxiously, a new fear at her heart for her brother.
"I know not, but he has neffer been in this Glen before whateffer," replied Kirsty, with an ominous shake of the head, her primitive instincts leading her to view the stranger with suspicion. "But!" she added, with a glance at her young mistress' face, "he iss no man to be afraid of, at any rate. He is just a laddie."
"Oh, he is a YOUNG man, Kirsty?" replied her mistress, glancing at her blue serge gown, her second best, and with her hands striving to tuck in some of her wayward curls.
"Och, yess, and not much at that!" replied Kirsty, with the idea of relieving her young mistress of unnecessary fears.
Then Moira, putting on her grand air, stepped into the parlour, and saw standing there and awaiting her, a young man with a thin and somewhat hard face, a firm mouth, and extraordinarily keen, grey eyes. Upon her appearing the young man stood looking upon her without a word. As a matter of fact, he was struggling with a problem; a problem that was quite bewildering; the problem, namely, "How could hair ever manage to get itself into such an arrangement of waves and curls, and golden gleams and twinkles?" Struggling with this problem, he became conscious of her voice gravely questioning him. "You were wishing to see my brother?" The young man came back part way, and replied, "Oh! how does it--? That is--.
I beg your pardon." The surprise in her face brought him quite to the ground, and he came at once to his business. "I am Mr. Martin," he said in a quick, sharp voice. "I know your brother and Mr. Dunn." He noted a light dawn in her eyes. "In fact, I played with them on the same team--at football, you know."
"Oh!" cried the girl, relief and welcome in her voice, "I know you, Mr. Martin, quite well. I know all about you, and what a splendid quarter-back you are." Here she gave him both her hands, which Mr. Martin took in a kind of dream, once more plunged into the mazes of another and more perplexing problem, viz., Was it her lips with that delicious curve to them? or her eyes so sunny and brown (or were they brown?) with that alluring, bewitching twinkle? or was it both lips and eyes that gave to the smile with which she welcomed him its subtle power to make his heart rise and choke him as it never had been known to do in the most strenuous of his matches?
"I'm awfully glad," he heard himself say, and her voice replying, "Oh, yes! Allan has often and often spoken of you, Mr. Martin."
Mr. Martin immediately became conscious of a profound and grateful affection to Allan, still struggling, however, with the problem which had been complicated still further by the charm of her soft, Highland voice. He was on the point of deciding in favour of her voice, when on her face he noted a swift change from glad welcome to suspicion and fear, and then into her sunny eyes a sudden leaping of fierce wrath, as in those of a lioness defending her young.
"Why do you look so?" she cried in a voice sharp and imperious.
"Is it my brother--? Is anything wrong?"
The shock of the change in eyes and voice brought Martin quite to himself.
"Wrong? Not a bit," he hastened to say, "but just the finest thing in the world. It is all here in this letter. Dunn could not come himself, and there was no one else, and he thought Cameron ought to have it to-day, so here I am, and here is the letter. Where is he?"
"Oh!" cried the girl, clasping her hands upon her heart, her voice growing soft, and her eyes dim with a sudden mist. "I am so thankful! I am so glad!" The change in her voice and in her eyes so affected Mr. Martin that he put his hands resolutely behind his back lest they should play him tricks, and should, without his will, get themselves round her and draw her close to his heart.
"So am I," he said, "awfully glad! Never was so glad in all my life!" He was more conscious than ever of bewilderment and perplexity in the midst of increasing problems that complicated themselves with mist brown eyes, trembling lips, and a voice of such pathetic cadences as aroused in him an almost uncontrollable desire to exercise his utmost powers of comfort. And all the while there was growing in his heart a desperate anxiety as to what would be the final issue of these bewildering desires and perplexities; when at the extremity of his self-control he was saved by the girl's suggestion.
"Let us go and find my brother."
"Oh, yes!" cried Martin, "for heaven's sake let us."
"Wait until I get my hat."
"Oh! I wouldn't put on a hat," cried he in dismay.
"Why?" enquired the girl, looking at him with surprised curiosity.
"Oh! because--because you don't need one; it's so beautiful and sunny, you know." In spite of what he could do Mr. Martin's eyes kept wandering to her hair.
"Oh, well!" cried Moira, in increasing surprise at this strange young man, "the sun won't hurt me, so come, let us go."
Together they went down the avenue of rugged firs. At the highway she paused. Before them lay the Glen in all the splendid sweep of its beauty.
"Isn't it lovely!" she breathed.
"Lovely!" echoed Martin, his eyes not on the Glen. "It is so sunny, you know."
"Yes," she answered quickly, "you notice that?"
"How could I help it?" said Martin, his eyes still resting upon her. "How could I?"
"Of course," she replied, "and so we call it the Glen Cuagh Oir, that is the 'Glen of the Cup of Gold.' And to think he has to leave it all to-morrow!" she added.
The pathetic cadences in her voice again drove Martin to despair.
