"It was not Miss Chatterton's fault, sir," declared Dane, who, growing slightly confused, wished the iron-master would favor anything else with his fixed attention. He was thankful that the approach of the express prevented the conversation from progressing further in that direction.
A few evenings later, Lilian dismounted from her pony in the shadow of a copse. For some reason she had been restless all day, and sought solace in a ride across the moor. The saddle had slipped a little, and she spent some time tightening the girth. Meanwhile two men came to a standstill in the stubble beyond the hedge, and she recognized Carsluith Maxwell in one spare figure. The sunset beat into his face, and she saw it was stamped with a curious melancholy as he looked down the deep-wooded valley toward Culmeny. Ridges of brown moorland, whose slopes were streaked by dark firs, hemmed the hollow in, and the tower rose blackly in the mouth of it against the shimmer of the sea.
"It is an inheritance to be proud of, sir," Carsluith said. "Perhaps it is because of the contrast with the rank luxuriance of the tropics, and their stifling heat, but each time I come home to the old place and breathe this keen sweet air, I feel that I love it better."
The second man, turning, laid his hand on the speaker's shoulder, and as he did so Lilian recognized the master of Culmeny.
"It will be yours some day which cannot be very distant now," the elder man replied. "It is a barren heritage, and I have long regretted that, after the girls are provided for, its revenues will do little more than cover the interest on the burden you must take up along with it."
"I hope that day will be long in coming, sir; and I shall never rest contented until by some means I win enough to restore our former prosperity. To-morrow will see me on my way to London, and we must hope that my latest venture will prove successful!"
Lilian could not escape without attracting attention, and she was so close to the two men that she heard Brandram Maxwell sigh.
"I do not approve of it, but know I cannot dissuade you," he said, with a certain pride as well as wistfulness in the glance he cast upon his son. "I had hoped you might have settled here--and think she is good as well as bonny--but that was not to be. Prosperity! The old place was aye needy, and its plenishing has cost the life of many of those who have gone before you. You will mind Andrew's answer when he fell out dying in the retreat from Derby: 'I'm not caring greatly where I lie,' said he. 'Our kirkyard is not contracted. It runs from the Low Countries to the sands of Cree.' Maybe it's your destiny, but you will not forget that an old man is longing for the sight of you, longing the more because----"