



Produced by Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan & the online
Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/American Libraries.)









                     THE WIZARD'S SON

                         A Novel

                     BY MRS. OLIPHANT

    AUTHOR OF "THE CURATE IN CHARGE," "YOUNG MUSGRAVE," ETC.


    IN THREE VOLUMES
    VOL. III.

    London
    MACMILLAN AND CO.
    1884

    [_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved_]

    LONDON:
    R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,
    BREAD STREET HILL.




THE WIZARD'S SON.




CHAPTER I.


Was this then the conclusion of all things--that there was nothing so
perfect that it was worth a man's while to struggle for it; that any
officious interference with the recognised and existing was a mistake;
that nothing was either the best or the worst, but all things mere
degrees in a round of the comparative, in which a little more or a
little less was of no importance, and the most strenuous efforts tended
to failure as much as indifference? Walter, returning to the old house
which was his field of battle, questioned himself thus, with a sense of
despair not lessened by the deeper self-ridicule within him, which
asked, was he then so anxious for the best, so ready to sacrifice his
comfort for an ideal excellence? That he, of all men, should have this
to do, and yet that, being done, it should be altogether ineffectual,
was a sort of climax of clumsy mortal failure and hopelessness. The
only good thing he had done was the restoration of those half-evicted
cotters, and that was but a mingled and uncertain good, it appeared.
What was the use of any struggle? If it was his own personal freedom
alone that he really wanted, why here it was within his power to
purchase it--or at least a moderate amount of it--a comparative freedom,
as everything was comparative. His mind by this time had ceased to be
able to think, or even to perceive with any distinctness the phrase or
_motif_ inscribed upon one of those confused and idly-turning wheels of
mental machinery which had stood in the place of thought to him. It was
the afternoon when he got back, and everything within him had fallen
into an afternoon dreariness. He lingered when he landed on the waste
bit of grass that lay between the little landing-place and the door of
the old castle. He had no heart to go in and sit down unoccupied in that
room which had witnessed so many strange meetings. He was no longer
indeed afraid of his visitor there, but rather looked forward with a
kind of relief to the tangible presence which delivered him from
meetings of the mind more subtle and painful. But he had no expectation
of any visitor; nor was there anything for him to do except to sit down
and perhaps attempt to read, which meant solely a delivering over of
himself to his spiritual antagonists--for how was it possible to give
his mind to any fable of literature in the midst of a parable so urgent
and all-occupying, of his own?

He stood therefore idly upon the neglected turf, watching the ripple of
the water as it lapped against the rough stones on the edge. The breadth
of the loch was entirely hidden from him by the projection of the old
tower, which descended into the water at the right, and almost shut off
this highest corner of Loch Houran into a little lakelet of its own.
Walter heard the sound of oars and voices from the loch without seeing
any one: but that was usual enough, and few people invaded his privacy:
so that he was taken by surprise when, suddenly raising his eyes, he was
aware of the polished and gilded galley from Birkenbraes, in which
already Mr. Williamson, seated in the stern, had perceived and was
hailing him. "Hallo, my Lord Erradeen! Here we've all come to see ye
this fine afternoon. I told them we should find ye under your own vine
and your own fig-tree." This speech was accompanied by a general laugh.
The arrival of such a party, heralded by such laughter in a desolate
house, with few servants and no readiness for any such emergency, to a
young man in Walter's confused and distracted condition would not, it
may be supposed, have been very welcome in any case, and at present in
his exhaustion and dismay he stood and gazed at them with a sort of
horror. There was not even a ready servitor like Hamish to assist in the
disembarkation. Duncan had rowed cheerfully off upon some other errand
after landing his master, and old Symington and old Macalister were
singularly ill-adapted for the service. Lord Erradeen did his best,
with a somewhat bad grace, to receive the boat at the landing-place. The
gravity of his countenance was a little chill upon the merry party, but
the Williamsons were not of a kind that is easily discouraged.

"Oh, yes, here we all are," said the millionnaire. "I would not let our
English visitor, Mr. Braithwaite here, leave without showing him the
finest thing on the loch. So I just told him I knew I might take the
liberty. Hoot! we know ye have not your household here, and that it is
just an old family ruin, and not bound to produce tea and scones like
the Forresters' isle. Bless me! I hope we have a soul above tea and
scones," Mr. Williamson cried with his hearty laugh.

By this time the young, hardy, half-clad rowers had scrambled out, and
grouped themselves in various attitudes, such as would suit a new and
light-hearted Michael Angelo--one kneeling on the stones holding the bow
of the boat, another with one foot on sea and one on shore helping the
ladies out. Walter in his dark dress, and still darker preoccupied
countenance, among all those bronzed and cheerful youths looked like a
being from another sphere: but the contrast was not much to his
advantage either in bodily or mental atmosphere. He looked so grave and
so unlike the joyous hospitality of a young housekeeper surprised by a
sudden arrival, that Katie, always more on her guard than her father,
looked at him with a countenance as grave as his own.

"I am not the leader of this expedition, Lord Erradeen," she said; "you
must not blame me for the invasion. My father took it into his head, and
when that happens there is nothing to be done. I don't mean I was not
glad to be brought here against my will," she added, as his face, by a
strain of politeness which was far from easy to him, began to brighten a
little. Katie was not apt to follow the leading of another face and
adopt the woman's _rôle_ of submission, but she felt herself so
completely in the wrong, an intruder where she was very sure she and her
party, exuberant in spirits and gaiety, were not wanted, that she was
compelled to watch his expression and make her apologies with a
deference quite unusual to her. "I hope it will not be a very
great--interruption to you," she said after a momentary pause.

"That could never matter," Walter said, with some stateliness. "I could
have wished to have notice and to have received my friends at
Auchnasheen rather than here. But being here--you must excuse the
primitive conditions of the place."

"Hoot! there is nothing to excuse--a fine old castle, older than the
flood--just the very thing that is wanted for the picturesque, ye see,
Braithwaite; for as ye were remarking, we are in general too modern for
a Highland loch. But you'll not call this modern," said Mr. Williamson.
"Will that old body not open the door to ye when he sees ye have
friends? Lord! that just beats all! That is a step beyond Caleb
Balderstone."

"Papa!" cried Katie in keen reproof, "we have been quite importunate
enough already. I vote we all go over to Auchnasheen--the view there is
much finer, and we could send over for Oona----"

"Is it common in this country," said the member of Parliament, "to have
two residences so very near? It must be like going next door for change
of air when you leave one for the other, Lord Erradeen."

At this there was that slight stir among the party which takes place
when an awkward suggestion is made; the young men and the girls began to
talk hurriedly, raising up a sort of atmosphere of voices around the
central group. This however was curiously and suddenly penetrated by the
reply which--who?--was it Walter? made, almost as it seemed without a
pause.

"Not common--but yet not unknown in a country which has known a great
deal of fighting in its day. The old castle is our family resource in
danger. We do our family business here, our quarrels: and afterwards
retire to Auchnasheen, the house of peace (perhaps you don't know that
names have meanings hereabouts?) to rest."

There was a pause as slight, as imperceptible to the ignorant, as
evident to the instructed as had been the stir at the first sound of
those clear tones. Walter himself to more than one observer had seemed
as much startled as any of them. He turned quickly round towards the
speaker with a sudden blanching of his face which had been pale enough
before; but this was only momentary; afterwards all that was remarkable
in him was a strange look of resolution and determined self-control.
Perhaps the only one completely unmoved was the Englishman, who at once
accepted the challenge, and stepped forward to the individual who it was
evident to him was the only duly qualified cicerone in the party, with
eager satisfaction.

"That is highly interesting. Of course the place must be full of
traditions," he said.

"With your permission, Walter, I will take the part of cicerone," said
the new voice. To some of the party it seemed only a voice. The ladies
and the young men stumbled against each other in their eager curiosity
about the stranger. "I will swear there was nobody near Erradeen when we
landed," said young Tom Campbell in the nearest ear that presented
itself; but of course it was the number of people about which caused
this, and it could be no shadow with whom the M.P. went forth delighted,
asking a hundred questions. "You are a member of the family?" Mr.
Braithwaite said. He was not tall, and his companion was of a splendid
presence. The Englishman had to look up as he spoke and to quicken his
somewhat short steps as he walked to keep up with the other's large and
dignified pace. Katie followed with Walter. There was a look of
agitation and alarm in her face; her heart beat she could not tell why.
She was breathless as if she had been running a race. She looked up into
Lord Erradeen's face tremulously, not like herself. "Is this
gentleman--staying with you?" she said in a scarcely audible voice.

Walter was not agitated for his part, but he had little inclination to
speak. He said "Yes" and no more.

"And we have been--sorry for you because you were alone? Is it
a--relation? is it--? You have never," said Katie, forcing the words out
with a difficulty which astonished her, and for which she could not
account, "brought him to Birkenbraes."

Walter could not but smile. A sort of feeble amusement flew over his
mind touching the surface into a kind of