Annie o' the Banks o' Dee Part 31

Then the sad partings. I refuse to describe them. I would rather my story were joyful than otherwise, and so I refrain.

It was a long, weary journey that to New York, but it ended at last, and Reginald found himself a prisoner on board the _B--Castle_ bound for Britain's far-off sh.o.r.es.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

MEETING AND PARTING.

Reginald was infinitely more lonely now and altogether more of a prisoner too. Neither Captain d.i.c.kson nor the four sailors returned by the same s.h.i.+p, so, with the exception of the detective, who really was a kind-hearted and feeling man, he had no one to converse with.

He was permitted to come up twice a day and walk the deck forward by way of exercise, but a policeman always hovered near. If the truth must be told, he would have preferred staying below. The pa.s.sengers were chiefly Yankees on their way to London Paris, and the Riviera, but as soon as he appeared there was an eager rush forward as far as mids.h.i.+ps, and as he rapidly paced the deck, the prisoner was as cruelly criticised as if he had been some show animal or wild beast. It hurt Reginald not a little, and more than once during his exercise hour his cheeks would burn and tingle with shame.

When he walked forward as far as the winch, he turned and walked aft again, and it almost broke his heart--for he dearly loved children--to see those on the quarter-deck clutch their mothers' skirts, or hide behind them screaming.

"Oh, ma, he's coming--the awful man is coming?"

"He isn't so terrible-looking, is he, auntie?" said a beautiful young girl one day, quite aloud, too.

"Ah, child, but remember what he has done. Even a tiger can look soft and pleasant and beautiful at times."

"Well," said another lady, "he will hang as high as Haman, anyhow!"

"And richly deserves it," exclaimed a sour-looking, scraggy old maid.

"I'm sure I should dearly like to see him strung. He won't walk so boldly along the scaffold, I know, and his face will be a trifle whiter then!"

"Woman!" cried an old white-haired gentleman, "you ought to be downright ashamed of yourself, talking in that manner in the hearing of that unfortunate man; a person of your age might know just a little better!"

The old maid tossed her yellow face. "And let me add, madam, that but for G.o.d's grace and mercy you might occupy a position similar to his.

Good-day, miss!"

There was a barrier about the spot where the quarter-deck and mids.h.i.+ps joined. Thus far might steerage pa.s.sengers walk aft, but no farther.

To this barrier Reginald now walked boldly up, and, while the ladies for the most part backed away, as if he had been a python, and the children rushed screaming away, the old gentleman kept where he was.

"G.o.d bless you, sir," said Reginald, loud enough for all to hear, "for defending me. The remarks those unfeeling women make in my hearing pierce me to the core."

"And G.o.d bless you, young man, and have mercy on your soul." He held out his hand, and Reginald shook it heartily. "I advise you, Mr Grahame, to make your peace with G.o.d, for I cannot see a chance for you.

I am myself a New York solicitor, and have studied your case over and over again."

"I care not how soon death comes. My hopes are yonder," said Reginald.

He pointed skywards as he spoke.

"That's good. And remember:

"'While the lamp holds out to burn, The greatest sinner may return.'

"I'll come and see you to-morrow."

"A thousand thanks, sir. Good-day."

Mr Scratchley, the old solicitor, was as good as his word, and the two sat down together to smoke a couple of beautiful Havana cigars, very large and odorous. The tobacco seemed to soothe the young man, and he told Scratchley his story from beginning to end, and especially did he enlarge on the theory of somnambulism. This, he believed, was his only hope. But Scratchley cut him short.

"See here, young man; take the advice of one who has spent his life at the Bar. Mind, I myself am a believer in spiritualism, but keep that somnambulism story to yourself. I must speak plainly. It will be looked upon by judge and jury as c.o.c.k-and-bull, and it will a.s.suredly do you more harm than good. Heigho!" he continued. "From the bottom of my heart I pity you. So young, so handsome. Might have been so happy and hopeful, too! Well, good-bye. I'll come again."

Mr Scratchley was really a comfort to Reginald. But now the voyage was drawing near its close. They had pa.s.sed the isles of Bute and Arran, and had entered on the wild, romantic beauties of the Clyde.

It was with a feeling of utter sadness and gloom, however, that the prisoner beheld them. Time was when they would have delighted his heart. Those days were gone, and the darkness was all ahead. The glad suns.h.i.+ne sparkled in the wavelets, and, wheeling hither and thither, with half-hysterical screams of joy, were the white-winged, free, and happy gulls; but in his present condition of mind things the most beautiful saddened him the most.

Two days are past and gone, and Reginald is now immured in gaol to await his trial. It was lightsome and comfortable, and he had books to read, and a small, cheerful fire. He had exercise also in the yard, and even the gaolers talked kindly enough to him; but all the same he was a prisoner.

His greatest trial had yet to come--the meeting with--ah! yes, and the parting from--Annie--his Annie--Annie o' the Banks o' Dee.

One day came a letter from her, which, though it had been opened and read by the authorities, was indeed a sweet boon to him. He read it over and over again, lover-like. It burned with affection and love, a love that time and absence had failed to quench. But she was coming to see him, "she and her maid, Jeannie Lee," she continued. Her uncle was well and hearty, but they were no longer owners of the dear old house and lands of Bilberry. She would tell him all her story when she saw him. And the letter ended: "With unalterable love, your _own_ Annie."

The ordeal of such a meeting was one from which Reginald naturally shrank; but this over, he would devote himself entirely to communion with Heaven. Only Heavenly hopes could now keep up his heart.

The day came, and Annie, with Jeannie, her maid, arrived at the prison.

He held Annie at arms' length for a few seconds. Not one whit altered was she. Her childlike and innocent beauty was as fresh now, and her smile as sweet, though somewhat more chastened, as when he had parted with her in sorrow and tears more than three years ago. He folded her in his arms. At this moment, after a preliminary knock at the door, the gaoler entered.

"The doctor says," he explained, "that your interview may last an hour, and that, fearing it may be too much for you, he sends you this. And a kindly-hearted gent he is."

He placed a large gla.s.s of brandy and water before Reginald as he spoke.

"What! Must I drink all this?"

"Yes--and right off, too. It is the doctor's orders."

The prisoner obeyed, though somewhat reluctantly. Even now he needed no Dutch courage. Then, while Jeannie took a book and seated herself at some little distance, the lovers had it all to themselves, and after a time Annie felt strong enough to tell her story. We already know it.

"Yes, dear, innocent Reginald, we were indeed sorry to leave bonnie Bilberry Hall, and live in so small a cottage. And though he has kept up wonderfully well, still, I know he longs at times for a sight of the heather. He is not young now, darling, and yet he may live for very many years. But you were reported as lost, dear, and even the figurehead of the _Wolverine_ and a boat was found far away in the Pacific. Then after that, dearest, all hope fled. I could never love another. The new heir of Bilberry Hall and land proposed to me. My uncle could not like him, and I had no love to spare. My heart was in Heaven with you, for I firmly believed you drowned and gone before.

Then came Laird Fletcher. Oh, he was very, very kind to us, and often took uncle and myself away in his carriage to see once more the bonnie Highland hills. And I used to notice the tears standing in dear uncle's eyes when he beheld the glory and romance of his own dear land, and the heather. And then I used to pity poor uncle, for often after he came home from a little trip like this he used to look so forlornly at all his humble surroundings. Well, dear, from kindness of every kind Fletcher's feelings for me seemed to merge into love. Yes, true love, Reginald. But I could not love him in return. My uncle even pleaded a little for Fletcher. His place is in the centre of the Deeside Highlands, and, oh, the hills are high, and the purple heather and crimson heath, surrounded by dark pine forests, are a sight to see in autumn. Well, you were dead, Reginald, and uncle seemed pining away; and so when one day Fletcher pleaded more earnestly than ever, crying pathetically as he tried to take my hand, 'Oh, Annie, my love, my life, I am unworthy of even your regard, but for sake of your dear old uncle won't you marry me?' then, Reginald, I gave a half-consent, but a wholly unwilling one. Can you forgive me?"

He pressed her closer to his heart by way of answer.

How quickly that hour sped away lovers only know. But it ended all too soon. The parting? Ay, ay; let this too be left to the imagination of him or her who knows what true love is.

After Annie had gone, for the first time since his incarceration Reginald collapsed. He threw himself on his bed and sobbed until verily he thought his heart would break. Then the gaoler entered.

"Come, come, my dear lad," said the man, walking up to the prisoner and laying a kindly and sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Keep up, my boy, keep up. We have all to die. G.o.d is love, lad, and won't forsake you."

"Oh," cried the prisoner, "it is not death I fear. I mourn but for those I leave behind."

A few more weeks, and Reginald's case came on for trial.