Annie o' the Banks o' Dee Part 9

"Well, go on."

"Well, sir, they were engaged. Then one day Craig comes to the Hall, and there was terrible angry words. Craig cursed Grahame and called him all the ill names he could lay his tongue to."

"And did Grahame retaliate?"

"Indeed did he, sir; he didn't swear, but he said that as soon as he was well, the _quarrel should end in blood_." (Sensation in court.) "Had Craig any other enemy?"

"That he had--old Laird Fletcher. They met at the riverside one day, and had a row, and fought. I saw and heard everything. Craig Nicol told the old Laird that he would have n.o.body snuffling round his lady love. Then they off-coat and fought. Man! it was fine! The Laird put in some good ones, but the young 'un had it at last. Then he flung the Laird into the river, and when he got out he threatened to do for poor Craig Nicol." (Sensation.)

Sandie paused to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, and took snuff before he could proceed.

"You think," said the coroner, "that Laird Fletcher meant to carry out his threat?"

"I don't know. I only know this--he was in doonright devilish earnest when he made it."

"I am here," said Laird Fletcher, "and here, too, are five witnesses to prove that I have not been twice outside my own gate since Craig Nicol started for Aberdeen. Once I was at the Hall, and my groom here drove me there and back; I was too ill to walk."

The witnesses were examined on oath, and no alibi was ever more clearly proven. Laird Fletcher was allowed to leave the court without a stain on his character.

"I am sorry to say, gentlemen," addressing the jury, "that there appears no way out of the difficulty, and that his poverty would alone have led Grahame to commit the terrible deed, to say nothing of his threat that the quarrel would end in blood. Poor Craig Nicol has been robbed, and foully, brutally murdered, and Reginald Grahame sails almost immediately after for the South Seas. I leave the verdict with you."

Without leaving the box, and after a few minutes of muttered conversation, the foreman stood up.

"Have you agreed as to your verdict?"

"Unanimously, sir."

"And it is?"

"Wilful murder, sir, committed by the hands of Reginald Grahame."

"Thank you. And now you may retire."

Ill news travels apace, and despite all that f.a.n.n.y and Annie's maid could do, the terrible accusation against her lover soon reached our poor heroine's ears.

At first she wept most bitterly, but it was not because she believed in Reginald's guilt. No, by no means. It was because she felt sorrow for him. He was not here to defend himself, as she was sure he could.

Perhaps love is blind, and lovers cannot see.

But true love is trusting. Annie had the utmost faith in Reginald Grahame--a faith that all the accusations the world could make against him could not shake, nor coroners' verdicts either.

"No, no, no," she exclaimed to her maid pa.s.sionately, through her tears, "my darling is innocent, though things look black against him. Ah! how unfortunate that he should have gone to the city during those three terrible days!" She was silent for a couple of minutes. "Depend upon it, Jeannie," she added, "someone else was the murderer. And for all his alibi, which I believe to be got up, I blame that Laird Fletcher."

"Oh, don't, dearest Annie," cried the maid, "believe me when I say I could swear before my Maker that he is not guilty."

"I am hasty, because in sorrow," said Annie. "I may alter my mind soon.

Anyhow, he does not look the man to be guilty of so terrible a crime, and he has been always kind and fatherly to me, since the day I ran away from the arbour. Knowing that I am engaged, he will not be less so now.

But, oh, my love, my love! Reginald, when shall I ever see thee again?

I would die for thee, with thee; as innocent thou as the babe unborn.

Oh Reginald my love, my love!"

Her perfect confidence in her lover soon banished Annie's grief. He would return. He might be tried, she told herself, but he would leave the court in robes of white, so to speak, able to look any man in the face, without spot or stain on his character. Then they would be wedded.

A whole month flew by, during which--so terrible is justice--an expedition was sent to San Francisco overland, with policemen, to meet the _Wolverine_ there, and at once to capture their man.

They waited and waited a weary time. Six months flew by, nine months, a year; still she came not, and at last she was cla.s.sed among the s.h.i.+ps that ne'er return.

Reginald Grahame will never be seen again--so thought the 'tecs--"Till the sea gives up the dead."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

BUYING THE BONNIE THINGS.

To say that Annie was not now in grief would be wrong. Still hope told a flattering tale. And that tale sufficed to keep her heart up.

He must have been wrecked somewhere, but had she not prayed night and day for him? Yes, he was safe--must be. Heaven would protect him.

Prayers are heard, and he _would_ return safe and sound, to defy his enemies and his slanderers as well.

Fletcher had been received back into favour. Somewhat penurious he was known to be, but so kind and gentle a man as he could never kill. Had she not seen him remove a worm from the garden path lest it might be trodden upon by some incautious foot?

He kept her hopes up, too, and a.s.sured her that he believed as she did, that all would come right in the end. If everybody else believed that the _Wolverine_ was a doomed s.h.i.+p, poor Annie didn't.

There came many visitors to the Hall, young and middle-aged, and more than one made love to Annie. She turned a deaf ear to all. But now an event occurred that for a time banished some of the gloom that hung around Bilberry Hall.

About two months before this, one morning, after old Laird McLeod had had breakfast, Shufflin' Sandie begged for an audience.

"Most certainly," said McLeod. "Show the honest fellow in."

So in marched Sandie, bonnet in hand, and determined on this occasion to speak the very best English he could muster.

"Well, Sandie?"

"Well, Laird. I think if a man has to break the ice, he'd better do it at once and have done with it. Eh? What think _you_?"

"That's right, Sandie."

"Well, would you believe that a creature like me could possibly fall in love over the ears, and have a longing to get married?"

"Why not, Sandie? I don't think you so bad-looking as some other folks call you."

Sandie smiled and took a pinch.

"Not to beat about the bush, then, Laird, I'm just awfully gone on f.a.n.n.y."

"And does she return your affection?"

"That she does, sir; and sitting on a green bank near the forest one bonnie moonlit night, she promised to be my wife. You wouldn't turn me away, would you, sir, if I got married?"