In Face and Name.

Evening Post, Volume LXXIII, Issue 129, 1 June 1907, Page 10

In Face and Name.

By tne Hon. Mrs. W. E. D. Forbis, Anthor of "Blight," "A Gentleman," eto.

(All Eights Reserved.)

Miss D^umraond of Glenernan was the ruior of a state. She was also an autocrat, but the yoke of her autocracy was such that her people hugged it closely to their faithful hearts. They had never said that the King could do no wrong, kings not -passing habitually their way ; but> that a Drummorid of Glenernan could not err they knew, and wouid maintain, gainsay it who would, la days long past many such had been found, and much blood had been spilt to prove where lay the right; after the rising of '45, however, there was not much spare blood to spill ; folk stayed nt homje and minded their own bdsiness; and this Drummonds of Glenernan by thrift and industry gradually regained dome of the -wealth which their inherently saving and careful hands had flung forth lavishly at ftinoe Charlie's call. They had gi\en him of their best, risking land and life, but as Mks Drmnmond - was wont to remark when shs told the tale of those days, as her grandmother had told it to her, "There is no luck with the name of Stuart." Truly enough it had brought none to Glenernan, but the Drummonds were mode of sterner stuff, and most««f their broad lands had been won back by the time that Margaret Drummond, only child of Sir lan and Dame Elinor, his •wife, became mistress of Glenernan. Scarce five- and twenty summers had passed over her head when her father died, followed a few months later by the gentle wife who was so used — lean upon him that she could neither stand alone nor trust to the support of others. Her daughter, however, had 6eemingly no inclination to !ern upon any one, and all the anxiety felt and expressed upon th? estate as to who Misa Margaret would take for her "man" proved needless, since when more than another five and twenty years had passed, she was ftiiss Margaret still. Some whispers there w:ro of a young soldier who nad cotno to bid her farewell whin starting for the Crimean War -and who had never returned : but •whether it was for his sake that Glenernan lacked a master none knew, and the locked frame, which had stood on the table in Miss Drutnmond's room for thirty-odd years, kept the secret of the face "it held from all save her who wofe its key about h-er neck. ' Mks Drummond's room was large and airy, and comfortably furnished. It opened into what she termed her busi- . ness-room, and few rooms have better ' deserved the name, for everything done . or contemplated upon Miss Drummond'a estate was either evolved or examined ' by Miss Drummond herself. Upon this particular June morning, 1 however, neither plans nor accounts were engrossing her attention". The sheets of note-paper she held in her slender fingers were of such texture as to suggest that their owner was some dainty luxurious woman to whom soft Jiving and smooth ways were as the breath of life. Yet that the fine elegant writing perturbed the reader considerably was evident. • The little Btraight line between her eyebrows deepened and widened, and the hand which held her gold-rimmed glasses tapped impatiently upon the table. It was her habit to carry glasses attached to her waist-belt, but she seldom remembered to use them, having in truth no occasion so to do. She was a very picturesque figure as the sun shone in upon the bright silver hair, turned back over a cushion and smoothly coiled beneath the lappets of old lace that matched the bow at her nctk. A large white muslin apron covered the front of her grey gown, and white turned-back cuffs protected her sleeves. Spotlessness, both as to the outer and the inner man, was a creed at Glenernan. "What an exceedingly tiresome person Adelaide is," Miss Druinmond esclaimed, as she laid the closely-written sheets upon the table, "I have no patience with her. People have no business to have children if they don't know how to manage them. Now if I had had a girl — ". She stopped, and a sigh closed the sentence. "May I come in, Cousin Margaret?" cried a bright young voice from the doorway, and with a little abrupt shake of the head, Miss Drummond banished the sadness that had crept into her eyes as she answered, "Of course you may, my dear. Indeed, I rather Wanted to eeb you."' "Oh ! You have had a letter from mother." Majorie Grant cried, and the big blue eyes clouded like a child's as they fell upon the fine writing which rovered the pages beneath her cousin's hand. "Yes, I have heard from your mother." Miss Drummond answered ■lowly, and paused : then, turning pudflefaly towards the girl, who etood a littje behind her, she asked gently, '.'Why did not you tell me of this — tfiis gallant of yours, Marjorie?" Ip an instant the girl was kneeling beside her, with her arms about her Wajst, as she answered. "f wanted to, oh ! so badly, but somehoW) I don't know why, I just ■souldn't," and she buried her crimson cheeks in Consin Margaret's apron. Miss Drummond smiled as her hand {smoothed the curly head caressingly, and there was sadness as well as tenderness in her smile. _"I understand," she said quietly, and Marjorie caught the slim white hand lind kissed it gratefully. "You love him very dearly?" Miss Drummond • continued, .more in asseiv . tioh than interrogation ; but Marjorie answered firmly, though her tone was 1&W, and her cheeks burning. "Yea, Cousin Margaret." "And he, I am very sure, loves you," her cousin answered, "but that is not what we have to discuss," and she tighed impatiently as she glanced asknnce at Lady Adelaide's letter. "You "know, dear child," she added slowly, in the tones of one trying to recall some srrmon read long since and inoro iitan half forgotten, "love is cot a livelihood, and your pother says Capfain Graham is penniless." At this Marjorie raised her head impetuously, and her eyes blazed angrily •s she cried, "He is not pennilera. He lub' got three hundred a year and his pfty. Her tono could not have been pftnldcr, indeed it deems more than probable that it would not have been l>roud at all, had sho mentioned millions ! "Three hundred a year and his pay," Miss Drummond repeated, "and you, my Marjories have just what your mother chooses to give you." "Which will be nothing if I marry Malcolm, she says ; but neither he nor I care for that," the girl cried iccklewly. "Malcolm," her cousin repeated, and x shadow of remembrance crossed her face. "Is his name Mulcolm?" "Yes, isn't it a delightful name?" Marjorie cried appealingiy. '.'lt is the name I like best in nil 'the world," Miss Drummond answered dreamily; then, teeing the look of surprise in the girt* face, she added hastily, "But we aro not discussing name*, ir.y dear, bat way* and means — and obedience to par«nta." This last cbuite, an obvious afterthought, made

Marjorie s mouth take a mutinous curve, but her cousin continued: — '"No one, I think, sympathises mor* with love, real legitimate love, than I do. I would let every girl have her ewcetheart if I could ; you amongst tho first, Marjorie ; but you see, when tho sweetheart turns into a husband, and his dinners and — and other things — nave to be provided for, you will want another banker besides lovo." "But we don't mind a bit about our dinners," the girl protested, "Mnicolm doesn't cara what he eats, end you know I don't !" "Don't talk nonsense, child ; Captain Graham U in a good regiment, and that means a good incss, and it will seem to him a matter of courso that home dinners should be nt least as good as regimental ones; while as for you, like most people who say they aro not particular about food, you have never even ee«n a badly cooked chop iv your life !" Marjorie'a face fell. She recollected that her' mother always had a French chef, and that she invariably refused to go to any house where it was possible that the cuisine might be inferior to her own. "You are a foolish child," Mise Drummond continued, "and your mother has, of course, much reason on her sidewhen she says that it ia preposterous — yes, preposterous is her word — to sign aw?y yoiir whole life at seventeen, and agree to wait for what perhaps may never come." Tho words were wise, but the- voico that spoke them gave too clearly tho idea of inverted commas to carry a conviction to the hearer that the speaker evidently lacked, and tho sigh in which tha sentence ended mended matters not a whit. i "Oh ! mother always his go much reason on her side," Marjorie cried impatiently. "But when one cares for a person ono doesn't reason, ono jit-t cares." "That is not a respectful way to speak of your mother, Marjoris," her cousin said reprovingly. "I suppose it's not," the girl assented, "but you know one can't dd respectful about mother. She's so r.ggaivating." "That is worse still," said Miss Drummond. "You aro quite wrong, and wo will not discuss the subject." Ths faintest hint of a smile played round the corneia of tho girl's mouth. She was well used to her cousin's abrupt methods of closing a conversation, and knew that they were frequently employed when she felt bound by duty to one side, while sympathy drew her to the other. "Your mother tells nje," Miss Drummond continued, taking up the letter before her and reading from it, "that Captain Graham had the impertinence — that is your mother's expression, my dear I and doubtless under thu circurnstatices I it is quite how it would strike her — but, however that niay be, hs in effect declined to regard her decision as final, and deelaied his intention of coming up he-re to get his answer from yourself " Miss DrummOnd ljid down the glasses, which she had held between her eyes and the letter, and looked at Marjoril enquiringly. "Yes, Cousin Alargaret," she answer- | ed, and her voice was low and a little tremulous. • "And how do you know t" Miss Drummond ;isk«d. "He wrote to me." "Oh! indeed, did he? I suppose ycu aro aware that it ii quite incoirect l"r young men and young women to write to each other when they are not nigaged?" "But that is not our fault," (he eirl pleaded. "So I suppose. In fact you probably regard it as your misfortune. But may I ask when this young man may be expected here?" "To-day," Marjorie answered, and her oyes fell to the level cf her shoebuckles. "Oh, indeed ! He is apparently prompt in action, as a soldier should be — But i> he aware that Glenernan is twenty miles from the station, and thit ! cabs do not ply tho moors "for hire?"' "He will walk out," Marjoiie anrwer- j ed shortly. "Ah ! If he will walk twenty miles — " her cousin answered, and she paused, as though listening for some distant footfall, i Something in her tone ssnt a of courage to the girl's Heart. "Might I — might I go just a litjtls way to meet him?" she said beseechingly. The dreamy look faded from Mis? Drummond'a face as she shook her heaj in swift decision. "Certainly not.' sbe answered briefly. "But, Cousin Margaret," the girl ventured, only to be cut short by — "We will- not discuss it, my dear,' When Captain Graham arrives, which I conclude he cannot do before four o'clock, I will receive him, and — and ; perhaps I will send him to you after- . wards—That is, of course, if he pleases i me, and if you are a good child." "Oh ! I will be good, so good*" Marjorio cried as she flung her arms about Miss Drummond's neck and kissed 1-ci "And you said that Malcolm v.'iH the nicest name in all the world, and he ie nicer than his name. "Ah ! But a name means different things to all of us," Mies Drumnvrd answered elowly ; then added, .13 she kiscsd the face turned up to her, "Now run, away, dear, I am bu6y," and Marjorie went, her eyes aglow with hope. 11. Mica Drummond had slighly miscalculated the pace at which it ia possible to traverse twenty miles of moorland rond when Love is a motive power, and the great clock in tho stilble yard had i.ot yet struck four when the servant opPii"J the door of her sitting room and announced, "Captain Malcolm Mac Donald." Tbo paper in Miss Drummond's handn fell to the floor, and tho colour fled from hpr cheeks as a tall breadshouldered young man entered the room, nnd bowing courteously, stood silently before her. A shudder ran through her whole frame as she looked at him. She stretched out hor hands na though fearful. "You — You — " she murmured, and her vdicc faltered and failed. Captain Graham looked at her in amazement, but an it was evident that the sentence thua commenced waß not to be completed, he said, in a singularly clear and musical voice. "It in Vo v y good of you to receive me, Miss Drunimond." Sho passed her hands wearily across her eyes. "I do not understand," f-he raid brokenly, "It i« tho same name, the same face, the snmo voices — and yet — I am old and grey — he hnS not aged a day." Malcolm Graham \vn» utterly perplexed : Marjorie had never hinted that her cousin was mao 1 . Sho had indeed always spoken of her wiih an affection •h-<t was almost wrerent, yet Miss Drummond's reception of him was decidedly peculiar. He rclt that something must bo done to relieve the situation. "I hope," ho said gently, "that you will allow me to 6es MU« Grant?" "To see — whom did you &ay?" • "Mice Grant," he repeated. . > "Miis Grant?— Oh, Marjorie^-l'ou came- to sco Marjorie— not moT

! Captain Graham flushed. "I hoped you might consent to sco me," he said, "and I thought that M — Miss Grant would have told yon that I sail for — "' "Ah ! You are going to tho Crimea," Miss Drummond cried. Decidedly ths poor lady waa mad, Captain Graham thought. He must be careful not to excite her. "No," ho said quietly, "not to the Crimea, but to South Africa." Again Miss Drummond drew her hand across her eyes. "I am very stupid," she said. "I don't know what has happened, but I cannot understand. Tell mo your name ? "Groham," he answered, "Mnicolm Mac Donald Graham." The look of bewilderment cleared away from Margaiot Drummond's brow. "Macdonalcl Graham," eha repeated, "I thought my servant said 'Malcolm MocDonnld,' " and hor voico softened wonderfully as it touched the names. "So he did," Captain Graham responded, "I gave him my card whereon all my names are fully set forth, and he missed out the last." "But why aro you 'Malcolm MacDonald?'" Miss Drumniond asked. Again Captain Graham looked at her in surprises as he answered. "I am called after my uncle, Malcolm MagDonald, who was in tho Grenadier Guards nnd was killed at Inkerman. He and my mother were twins." As ho spoke Miss Drummond's grnep upon the carved high-backed chair whereon she had laid her hand tightened until the wood pressed so closely into tho flesh as to leave its pattern graven thereon ; but sho did not feel it. All her life seemed to hang upon the young man's words. "Ah ; the sister," she said softly, and sho came a step or two towards him, "I remember now — so liko him that when lie first joined hia regiment and she tried on his uniform she deceived both father nnd mother." "Yes," tho young man assented quickly. "My mother often spoks of that — You knew her?" | "No; I never knew your mother," | Miss Drummond said slowly. "Then it waa my uncle who told you — Ah !" he exclaimed, a sudden flash of recollection ringing in his voice, "forgive me, but — aro you Pearl?" and his eager look scanned her face closely, [ searching for something that he seemed half to divine, as men do tho contours of an Eastern beauty hidden by the veil of the harem. A sharp sigh, near nkin to a sob, broke from Margaret Drummond as she heard tho name. "To him, yes," she said brokenly, "always P-sarl to him — only to him." "Then," said Captain Grnhnm, ns he drow something from his waistcoat i pocket, "I nave found you at last." It was only a little leather case, faded and frayed, but Miss Drummond's eyas filled with tears, and hsr hand shook p-iinfully, »is she took it. Slowly, softly, she touched the spring : tho lid flew back and disclosed in an oval gott,ing of pstirls the face of a beautiful young girl — on tho back of the mini.itiuc there vfaa !i 6hort inscription. The cngmving was faint nnd worn, but deir r.s daylight to tht eyes Turn bent upon it. ''My Pearl, 1856," it snid, and beneath these two initials, "AI.M." Silently Cabtiin Grcham looked fiom the smiling gUVs feature") to the sail woman's face. He had found whnt he sought. The renl Pearl hsld the pictured Pearl in her trembling hands. "It v.ts cent to my mother — afterwards," he said. "My unilc ahuiys wore it lound his neck. My mother knew only that Parl vas the name of the girl he loved nnd hoped to return to marry : but h?r father had refused to sanction an engagement on Iho eve of war, and Hid made my uncle promise that he would mention hrr n:'mc to no one. 'Plo.T'e God, she will bcr.r mint soon," he said to my mother. 'Until then, she must *be Pearl to you n6 to me.' " Miss Drummond had crrricd the minii'tuie to the window and hor back was turned to him. Thera was ;i pause, and then, moving suddenly towards a curtained dooiway, ehu drew back the velvet folds and passed through. In another moment sho reappeared, a locked frame m her hand. Sikntly she drew a long firiu chain of gold and pearla from inside her dres3 ; attached to it was a little golden key. Fitting it into the lock of the frame, and turning it gently, the doors flew bade and Mr.lcolm Graham &i\v whnt seemed his own face framed in tho heid-dress of half a century ago. "You see ,now," sho said, "why I thought that the dead had returned." Captain Graham bci^t swiftly over tho white hand thnt held the frame, and kissed it as he answered, "If the dead could return it would bo here." A silencs foil between them. Miss Drummond's eyes were bent upon the miniature ehe held. At la«t she spoke, "And so you love Marjorie?'' s-he said. "Yes." Captain Graham answered simply ; but' his tone told Marjories cousin all shs desired to know. *'It is wrong for children to marry against the wishes of their parents," sho I remarked. "But in thii case—" Malcolm Graham began tentatively, when ho was cut short. : "No case can be exempt from a moral law whose effect is generally acknowledged to be beneficial," Miss Drummond said. "Wo will not discuss the | subject ; but I sco no reason why, her i mother's consent obtained, Marjorio should not marry you as soon aa you | please." I "Unfortunately, however, Lady Adelaide has absolutely refused her 1 consent," Captain Graham replied. "That," said Miss Drummond, '"is merely a preliminary detail. > I know Imy poor cousin's widow intimately, while you, I think, huvo seen her'eomo half-dozen times or less. I think I can assure you of nor assent. ■ Captain Graham bowed. lam in your hands," hd sdid. "And I very much doubt," Miss Graham commented, "if you could find yourself in better. Now go and pee .iiiarjorie. Sho is out there, in tho roee-gnrdeh," nnd sho pointed tln'ough the window to the glint of a white, gown seen through a trellis of roseleaves. "Bring her to me presently." "I will," Malcolm rejoined, and the door closed behind him Miss Drummond turned to her writingtable, and unlocking a drawer, drow forth Lady Adelaide Grant's letter and read it through carefully from tho first word to the 'lnsfc. "It is obviously so,"' sho said aloud, "(v mere question of money. Wo live in a vulgar age. I am, I know, old-fashioned ; but there seems to mo something not quite delicate in this making a- bargain of a girl's heart. 'Without money there can bo no happiness,' sho fcayc 'How caft sho know : a womnn without a henrt to fed happiness, or a. head to understand it? 'Ho is of good enough family,' sho add*, which is mighty condescending of her, to bo sure, but family counti for nothing nowadays.' Well, really!" cried Miss Drummond, laying down the loiter in exasperation. "I wonder her ancestors don't arise and disown her ! Howovor, her mother, though well-born enough, was but a weakly English lassie, nnd ir Ad^ldido's blood is blue, it's sadly thin." She put tho letter buck into its envelope, and turned from it to the two miniatures which she had laid at her right hand. Sho wae still looking at them when the door opon-4 behind her, and in another instant ooft nrmn wero round hor neck and a soft chotk pressed to here, i'and a glacV voicd murmured in her oax, '"I-'am" so' happy, dear cousin Margaret, bo kappy,"

| "God bless you, my darling," Margaret Drummond answered, and turning, saw Malcolm Graham standing in the doorw.iy. "Come in," she said. "Come in. It seems to me that from to-day what I have to say concerning , the ono will coucorn the other also." \ "Please God it will," Malcolm answered earnestly, and Marjorio, though her cheeks grew rosy, and her long lashes drooped to hid a her eyes, 6tolo ;> hand caiessingly into his. "Have your told Marjorio?" Misa Drummond asked him, as sho glanced from him to his uncle's picture. "Yos, Cousin iViargaiet," the girl said, and with a swift movement she flung h?r arms about Miss Drummonci's neck and kissed her. Hor cousin felt the sympathy in her touch. "Thank you, dear child," sho said gently. "It is an old story now, though never old to me," and sho sighj cd. But at this moment it concerns you both, and there aro come do- ! tnils_ that you do not know. You, j Marjorie, aro of course awn re that I nt my _ death Glenernan passes to your cousin Douglas, bnt you do not, I think, know that when I was only a child my godmother left mo a large sum qji money, the disposition of which is mine absolutely. Twenty thousand pounds of this money would have been Eettled upon Malcolm MacDonald had ho lived to marry me, and it is this pum which his nephew will settlo upon you." Captain Graham started forward. "Wo, no!" he cried, "I cannot take i it." I "And why not?". Mis 3 Drummond asked. "You have taken all I hold dear ; his name, his face, his very voico. What is money besides these things." "It is not mine," he said. "But it will hs," sho answered, "as it should have been your uncle's." "Ah ! It is good, great, generous beyond words," Malcolm cried, "but — " "I have made up my mind," Margaret Drummond said decisively, "and wo will not discuss' ths 6uoject." "But Lady Adelaide?" Captain Graham queried "We will not discuss her either," Miss Drummond answered. "Tho dres-fiing-bell has gone, and I nover allow people to bo hito for dinner, so be off to dress, both of you," and she gathered up the miniatures from the writing-table and left tho room. When, a year later, Malcolm Graham returned from South Africa, a major nnd a V.C., ho was most affectionately I welcomed by his mother-in-law, who felt a'o sho frnnkly told her intimates, that Providence had approved her yielding to the claims of love. "Margaret Drummond was quite romantic about it, ehe explnined, "You know, dear, old maids who have nover had any love-affairs of thsir own are always so j enthusiastic — Really sho quite carried j ne away, and as I found that Captain I Graham was able to make a more suitable settlement than I had anticipated, I felt that theio was nothing leally | wrong in giving vent to my feelings, and | : Mowing them to bo married before he 1 sailed."