SHORT STORIES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3017, 10 January 1912, Page 89

SHORT STORIES.

By Ethel 3?. Heddle.

[All Rights Resehved.l SHIPWRECKED ON A KINGDOM I

Everything would have gone well, I if we had not met Pracatti, the ola Italian Count, who seecned to oast an evil eye upon me, (l was sure he was not Italian at all, but a Jew who. had bought his title.) My mother had taught me to believe in the evil eye, in Scotland, and to say “ Lick the eye ” when it was cast upon one, as they do there- And when he looked at me, and then began to pay me compliments, and by-and-bye begun to flatter my father, I felt certain of evil! _ Till then my father bad been quite willing that Gregor and I should be affianced. Gregor was poor, but then so were we! We were all Scotch refugees —ever since the fatal ’45 we had been exiles. And though we had had no dealings with the Jacobites since then, my father spoke too openly and too daringly for us to have any chance of returning to England. I had, indeed, never’ seen our Highland home, though I knew my heart was often sick with the longing for it. It made him mad to sec any picture of it. Indeed, we rarely talked of home, but I would see him look up sometimes at a group of Scotch firs, with a kind of stifled longing and bitter, hopeless regret, that softened and changed all his face.

“I shall never see them again!” he once &aid. “ I shall die and sleep my last sleep far from the Hebrides! I have lost any inheritance—but I would dt> it all again for my King!” His King, of course, was not King George, the ‘‘wee German lairdae,” the usurper; it was Prince, now King, Charles, whom people called the ” Pretender.” At first, when I was a child, my father told me many stories of him—-how he had kept court, such a gay court, in Holyrood ! and how every maid and matron xn the Scotch capital was fairly daft about him. How they sent their gayest brocades to deck his palace' walls, pledged their fairest jewels to replenish his coffers, wore his badge, hung on his every look! “And where is he now, father?” I would ask. “ Oh, if I could have but seen him then—-before they defeated him at sad Culloden—before he had to winder lonely ; and . homeless through the hill©, ragged and starving.” - -•;» My father did not answer. It was only when I grew up that I began dimly to understand why. Somehow the gay and frallant Prince, the brave, and the dauntess, who had suffered so bravely and had faced .the wild storms of_ adversity so staunchly, had. sunk now into a dim phantom of royalty, whom people rarely spoke of, at whom the scornful mocked, at whose name the faithful moved away, silent and' sad-hearted. , But I little thought I was to see him face to face, and that the meeting was to mould my destiny! ’ , After the rich Jewish Count paid me the attentions to which I have referred, Gregor had been sent away, and we parted very heavy hearted. I was not of age till I was" 21, and then I should inherit my mother’s little fortune. Her inheritance —for she' was a Campbell of Loch Awe—had been attainted when my father was exiled, but still one or two loyal tenantry managed to send us a few rents, and these would be mine when I was of age. I told Gregor I would wait for him till then, but it was four long years to wait! He had gone to take service with the French King, and we were wandering through Belgium. ‘‘Count Fracatti,” as he called himself, was always with us. He lent my father money, he led him on to play high. Oh! how I hated him ! ' And every week my father 'grew more stony-hearted when I spoke of Gregor—-last of all he forbade my speaking of him at all. I was to wed Fracatti! At last one night Fracatti had to go to the Hague on business,-and we were left in Brussels, where he was to join us. There was some kind of great religious festival going on, and we could not pet rooms in the first hotel we went" to. It was growing late, and was beside a dreadful night of storm, when at last a landlord said we might come in, if we agreed to share the dining saloon with “Le Prince,” whom, however, we were not to a-m roach or disturb. I supposed it was one of the usual German princelets. I .was tired and heavyhearted, and when the landlord showed us into a large," draughty room, at the end of which, near the fire, some gentlemen were flinging dice, I scarcely looked at them. ' " ■ '' Supper was ordered, and then my father said he would see about our rooms. I had thrown off my cloak and hood. I had been too tired to make any toilet, but I pulled the tartan "ribbon which encoded my hair straight by the aid of a tarnished mirror which hung above our table, and as I did so I suddenly noticed that one of the gentlemen seemed to observe either me or the ribbon, for he was staring at me, and I could see" the reflection of the strange, pale face behind rnc. I stood quite still looking at him as the cards dropped from his hands. I thought it was the most we-ary, the most listless and heart-sick face I had ever seen in my life. He was dressed richly_ but negligently in a satin coat of a kind of anemone" pink that was much stained and rather torn; the lace at his neck was awry, his wig was unkempt and uncurled, and" yet there was a curious kind of imperious look about the ryhole figure} a strange dignity, never met before in my experience, surrounded him. I could

scarcely ee© bfe features plainly, but I noticed that the'eyes were blue and large, though very dull and lustreless, and that h© had curious lips with downward curves. - I was still gazing- at f him in the mirror / • when my father re-entered the room, and we took our supper. As we did so the two men who were playing cards with, > “he Princs” bowed and withdrew, and he was left solitary by the fire. He was so silent that I thought he had fallen • ' asleep, for he was seated with his head = hanging forward on his breast and his hands resting idly on the carved sides of the ] chair. Very white, long fingers, on one of which shone a deep blood-red stone. My father said- he would smoke down- . stairs, and casting an indifferent look at the sleeping figure and at the flask of wine - at his elbow, he shrugged his shoulders significantly, and left ‘ the room. v “He will not annoy you. Flora! Soma U German or Russian noble. He is asleep; you have your book?'’ „t I nodded, and he went away. I think bo had spoken louder than lie / knew. When I glanced again at fine sleeper he had started up. He was storing at me wildly. When I looked he made ' an imperious gesture for me to approach. “Come hither, mademoiselle!” I went at once, and he stood looking down on me, the firelight flickering oa . his strange dross and on his weary, die* solute, haggard face. “ What did he call yon, that man whe has just gone? Of what nationality are you?” .... * : - “ “ Scotch, sir. , He called me ‘ Flora ’ I** “ Flora!” I can, never express to you the strange / way in which he spoke the .word! Thera was a tragedy in it—the epitome of a ■ life’s tragedy ! ~ .! . , %: “Flora! Flora! O my God!” j_y The misery of his voice went to my , heart, and I advanced, speaking pitifully, “ What pains you, sir? Have you known • someone of that name? And is slue dead?” ’■ “Dear, yes-—dead to me! Do ypu : eea me, child? This wreck—this/ phantom! . Once they called me Prince'—King! Hour , I am a phantom, a ghost] Already I am forgotten—better dead, oh! .far better dead, before the best dies I Why do ea many of us die in heart Ibefore we perish \ in the body?” ■ ■ - I wdnderfed vaguely, pitifully, if he , :i were mad! He,, a king! Impossible! - Kings do not live in second-rate Belgian / hotels-, do not play dice with such men, sit thus alone, sick, weary, in such attire! A And yet I Was strangely sorry for him —* strangely touched. * • _ ' • fo" “I am called after bur great Flora/* I said timidly. ■“ She who watched over our Prince. You have heard of her, sir? Flora Macdonald?” •. He gave a kind, of groan and turned <; away and leant, his forehead on the huge -i painted mantelshelf, When he, turned : again there were traces of I had never before seen a man weep—-on .• his cheeks. His eyes were bloodshot, hiss face was flushed, wild-eyed! * - ■ h “Heard of her? am Charles Edward Stuart!” 1 -V I shrank back in-, a kind of terror. This our Prince—this? ■ / I suppose he saw my expression, for he fl laughed suddenly and bitterly. • ,/■ “You scarce believe mp, hut it is true! | You see now why X said I was a ghost I The real Charles Edwaird is dead kmg ago, or he should have been, on Cuhodea h among hie faithful Highlandem—or in the storm while Flora watched), with hat gplemn, serene eyes!- They haunted me, i child,' many and many a day—purer eye* ; were never, seen I I ehofild have /died* ; Hunted, trapped, - starving, desolate.

homeless in the wild rocks in far Lochaber I lived —to rot here! ’ I had fallen hack. 1 was staring at him affrighted, shocked. And yet as his voice died away, and I saw one hand hangnng listless by his side, I only remembered the past. I did not see the phantom: I saw the Prince! I took the hand and pressed my lips to it, “ My Prince I” I whispered, “ wc are loyal! We are your subjects, your loving servants!”

And then, as if my words touched him inexpressibly, I felt his hand rest on m.y head. When I looked up his face had softened, melted. The horror ani shame and the agony had died out of it.” “ Have all Floras magic about them ? Healing?” he said “ Child, you have brought comfort to a sad heart; you have reawakened memory! Your eyes are like hers, ye it I thank God they are not Flora’s. What are you doing here? Scotch? I heai’d the accent, yet I thought J ivas mad or dreaming!” I told him all, and he listened attentively. I told him I was supposed to be affianced to the Jew. ‘‘And this Fracatti —you are his fiancee? He is not surely the Jew —the moneylender? He is not for such as you!” As he spoke, frowning sharply, hope sprang in my heart. ‘‘Do you know him, sire?” I gasped. “Oh, if you would speak to my father when he returns! He is your loyal subject ! He drinks to you every day! He would hear you! I love Gregor MacGregor—a young Scot, exiled, like ourselves, for his father’s loyalty! If you would say a word! Here is my father.” The King had slightly nodded his head. As he waited for my father to approach, J thought he ■ locked better, more kingly than I had seen him; it was as if he

drew his mantle of royalty about him. He beckoned to my father and held out his delicate hand. “Sir, I have only a few minutes to epate, for Madame ia Duchesse d’Albany will be returning from the palace. But your daughter has told me your name and history—permit me to tell you who I ami Your King would thank you personally—if he can —for service,- for exile, borne for his sake!” I had never seen my father so amazed, so dumbfounded. He drew back, staring wildly ; then fell on his knee, and took the King’s hand. “Sire. I had no notion—l did not know >—l little guessed ” ' . “To find me thus, and here!” the King smiled wearily. “The years have not brought me to St. James’s, monsieur, or back to Holyrood, you see! They never will! And now I am so tired and old and beaten, I scarcely they should ! Charles Edward’s soul is dead, though It may occupy his body still! Have you learnt that, sir? That we die, some of us, long years before they nail us down, or coffin us under the sod?” My father made no reply, and then, as if breaking off from this, the King turned on him abruptly. “Your daughter has told her King her story. This Fraoatti! You cannot wed her to him. I have had dealings with him. The man is rich, but he is a spy! He would have sold me if he could, with a man, half a devil, called Pickle! And he is, besides, roue and dissolute! Let her marry her Highland Gregor. Let her wear this as a gift from her King!” He had taken a ring from his finger, and he handed it to my father, who kissed the thin hand. “Have I vour promise?”

“My King commands, I obey!” He smiled at that, as if surprised and ;yell pleased; it was a strange smile, and one that transfigured his face. I could think, then, of the “bonnie Prince” ; I could see the gallant and the gay Stuart, who had won so many loving and brave hearts to give up their all and die for him gladly. And then, sinking on his chair feebly, he said languidly ; “I thank you. You have been absent ong from Scotland?” My father’s face clouded and darkened. “Sire, for twenty years!” “You think of it sometimes, still?” “Ay, I think of it"! And then, as if the words stung, and yet unlocked his heart, my father stood up and his eves flashed fire. “ Cap one forget, sir?” he cried. “ My heart like to break sometimes! They 'pall it cold and bleak—rugged, frowning: out it was home, and where I was born was lovely as a dream! I eee it only in a dream—the blue loch, and the sky that was never once the same! I have" sometimes been sick for the heather, and for the whin, for Cuohillan’s peaks, for the misty islands, for the pines and the rowans! I think of it—sometimes! You say, well!” I think lie misunderstood the King; I. who was a woman, knew better, but "even mv father was to understand, too. And I think of it, too!” Charles cried, darting to his feet almost wildly. “Do yon think I forget? I too, in my dreams, see it all! —the Cuchillan peaks, with the mild sunset sky over Coruisk, the dull purple muir, stained red with the heaps of Hiain, at Culloden ! They loved me, my brave Highlanders, and died gladly! Oh. the mist wreaths tm tile hills I The waves around the boat where I slept, while the English gunboats dogged i:s like sleuthhounds, and Flora watched me with her sleepless eyes! The long nights in the cave in the cliff, with the seven men of Glenmoriston! Skye! Lochaher! Mon sieur, I can see the light creep up the grey side of Nevis as if it were yesterday! I stand again By Loch Shiel, and wait and wait, while the winds shriek and rave! And then I see them come by the deep pass, I hear them shout, I hear the skirl of the pipes, I see the red swing of the tartan. T was their Prince, and they loved me ! I was a prince then •—I was a prince! Now—now—shipwrecked —dead —the good in me drowned and tbs courage—a phantom—ljetter dead! Gulled by false promises, dui>ed

deceived—a mock king in a mock court! Oh, why did I live after Culloden! Why do I live?” He had sunk down, with a great and exceeding bitter cry, hiding his face on the table. We had both advanced aghast and appalled, when the door opened, and a tall woman swept in imperiously, her rich robes floating over the pa.rquelte, her head with its jewelled coronet held. high. As she took in the scene she almost glared upon us. She swept mo aside and laid her hand on his arm. ‘‘ Father!” He did not move. He was sobbing wildly. ‘ Sir,” ©he said haughtily to my father, “who are you? And what do you with his Highness!” “ A Scot, madam! A servant of his Majesty’s.” “A Scot! You have been speaking to him of the Highlands'? How dared you? That is a forbiden subject! Bo "one!” We crept away. She was dreadful in her anger. When we were at the dclor 1 looked back at the hidden face, at the weary, bowed, broken figure. The Shipwreck of a King! She had her arms around him, and I heard her say “ Father!” eutreatingly. But he did not move or look up. I never saw that weary face again.

My father kept his word, for I marr : ed my Gregor, and the years passed. By-and-bye we went home to Scotland. Long before that we had heard of the King’s death in Rome. Tbev have laid him in St. Peter’s. People say King George is to raise a marble monument to his relative, and to the last of a most unhappy race. But he needs no monument in the land which loved and would not betray him for all English gold in the world! For in death he passes again to the old place in our hearts. We forget what he came to be ; we see him once_more the brave, the gifted, the hopeful! Fighting for his own, his three kingodsm! Death is kind, and wo love him for the might-have-been! Ay, and for what may be again, pure and unstained, in the country which is better far than this!