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    The Master of Ballantrae
    The Master of Ballantrae
    The Master of Ballantrae
    Ebook324 pages4 hours

    The Master of Ballantrae

    By Robert Louis Stevenson

    3.5/5

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    Set in 18th-century Scotland, this brooding historical romance unfolds amid the Jacobite Rebellion. A struggle between good and evil begins in the old Scottish castle of Durrisdeer — the ancestral home of the Durie clan — where James Durie, Master of Ballantrae, persists in his lifelong rivalry with his younger brother as well as his relentless quest for the family fortune.
    From Durrisdeer, the fast-paced adventure shifts to sea voyages and encounters with pirates, intrigue at the French court and in India, and an attempt to recover buried treasure in New York's Adirondack Mountains — all leading to a shocking climax in the American wilderness. An engrossing tale played out against the backdrop of three continents, The Master of Ballantrae stands among the most vivid and exciting of Robert Louis Stevenson' tales.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDover Publications
    Release dateApr 18, 2012
    ISBN9780486110844

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    Reviews for The Master of Ballantrae

    3.5/5

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    • 4/5
      The Master of Ballantrae by Robert Louis Stevenson is a sweeping adventure story about the rivalry between two brothers that unfolds over many years and is set in Scotland and the early American wilderness. One brother is evil and one is good, but most people find the evil brother charming while the good one is solid and rather boring. When the favored son and heir, James joins Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden in 1745 he leaves behind his younger brother Henry, his father and his fiancee, Alison. When he is presumed dead after the defeat of the rebels, the younger brother becomes the Master of Ballantrae and marries the fiancee but is always second best with his father, his wife and his tenants. When the news is brought that the egotistical and abusive James is still alive the torment of the younger brother begins. The author uses the themes of good and evil, life and death to spin a colorful tale of adventure, sorrow and revenge. This book was first published in 1889 and certainly stands the test of time as it is still a page turner. Although it can be a little over the top in terms of drama, there is plenty of action that keeps the story interesting and moving along. The Master of Ballantrae is a dark romanticized story of a divided family and the consequences of extreme hatred.
    • 3/5
      The Master of Ballantrae is not one of Stevenson's better novels but I knew that before going into it. It's been sometimes described as "masterly", and since I've rarely read any Stevenson I didn't like, I gave it a try. The psychological battle between two brothers is the sub-text of this Scott-like epic historical tale with elements of James Fenimore Cooper's Leatherstocking Tales, Treasure Island and Kidnapped. However unlike Scott and Cooper, who had nationalistic designs, Stevenson's is a darker more inward looking story of psychology. The overall effect is strange and a bit sensational (ala Woman in White). Not to my taste, but I understand Stevenson was influenced by Scott growing up and wanted ultimately to write a series of Scottish historical romances that would help with Scotland's independence movement. But instead he wrote Ballantrae in the middle of winter (thus "A Winter's Tale") in the Adirondack Mountains of New York on his way to the Pacific, far away from Scotland, to which he would never return. Rather than a national epic it is an odd sort of genre-bending thriller probably best read today for the psychological struggle between two brothers.
    • 5/5
      An overlooked classic and maybe Stevenson's greatest work. A Gothic adventure with the same sense of fated family tragedy as Wuthering Heights. As profound and technically interesting as Bronte's classic, but a more exciting read.
    • 4/5
      This book lacks the high levels of suspense, action, and adventure in some of Stevenson's better-known works (though there is some piracy and a trek through the American wilderness). Instead, it focuses mostly on the relationship between two brothers, as described by an admittedly partisan old servant. As such, it's an interesting read -- is the older brother really as evil as he's painted? Is the younger brother some sort of martyr, or just a whinging grump? I'm not sorry to have read this book . . . but I won't be reading it again.
    • 4/5
      Two brothers lives are entwined though they are very different characters, even in death they are not separated.
    • 4/5
      A novel of adventure and action on one level; a novel of psychological terror on another. Stevenson structures his narrative around themes of family pride, rivalry between brothers, and psychotic dominance whose power eventually destroys everyone. The story of the Durie family is "framed" in the discovery of a hundred-year old manuscript written by the narrator, Ephriam Mackellar. A feud between the two Durie brothers: James, the elder and the Master of Ballantrea, and Henry, the younger, his pawn, span the period of history of the Scottish rebellion and battle of Culloden to the early settlement in the New World. The Master, supporter of the losing side in the rebellion and reported killed,actually escapes. Henry, not aware that his brother still lives, succeeds to the title, the estate and his brother's betrothed, Alison Graeme. The Master returns, to the surprise of his family, and proceeds to squander all the money he can get from the estate. A third level of the narrative twines within this action, through the discovery of papers written by a fellow soldier of the Master, who related their adventures after fleeing from Culloden(captured by pirates and becomming pirates themselves, acquiring and hiding treasure, committing a series of murders evidently for gain as well as for the fun of it). Meanwhile the psychological "cat and mouse" game between James and Henry reaches flash point when Henry realizes that the evil James is planning to corrupt Henry's son as well as seduce his wife. They fight a duel. James is killed but his body mysteriously disappears before the family can establish his actual death. Eventually James reappears, alive and well, at Ballantrea and the family decides to flee secretly to America. James discovers their new home and follows them. Meanwhile there is a political attempt (though feeble) to reinstate James as true Master of Ballantrae in England which causes Henry to loose his reason. The eventual show-down between the two brothers results in one of the worst fates of an evil-doer in literature. Let me just say that the "cat and mouse" game intensifies, the hidden treasure (real or imaginary) spurs horrific consequences to the searchers and James pays the price. Power and control over others through psychological intimidation winds throughout the narrative. Vital pieces of information are witheld at crucial points from crucial characters and there is uncertainty of the reliability of certain narrators. Stevenson places the reader in the delicious position of sorting out what exactly is happening and attemping to determine the how and why of James and Henry's actions. The Master of Ballantrae will keep you thinking long after you finish the novel.
    • 1/5
      This book has the atmosphere of a Gothic novel - dark and dismal. The plot reminds me very much of Jack London's The Sea Wolf. Both works represent a diabolical antagonist who philosophizes about his wicked practices, and a first-person narrator who is appalled by those practices. Just as the narrator of The Sea Wolf tries to protect his female counterpart from the horrors of the ship's captain, so does Mr. Mackellar - the narrator in The Master of Ballantrae - try to protect Lord Durrisdeer from his evil brother. No humor alleviates the oppressive mood of this work, and nothing good ever happens. Stevenson's characters are two-dimensional - either perfectly good or perfectly evil, in spite of his attempts to paint Mr. Mackellar as a coward. I did not enjoy this work.
    • 4/5
      The story of two brothers, one good and one bad. James, the wicked one, is heir to the family fortune, is daddy's favorite, and can charm the rattle off a snake. The good brother, Henry, is quiet and self-effacing and not much liked by anybody. The novel is set in England in 1745. James, "the Master", runs off to join Bonnie Prince Charlie who is striving to restore the Stuarts to the throne. When James does not return after several years, he is presumed dead and Henry marries Allison, his brother's fiancée, and becomes the new heir.
    • 5/5
      Gosh, I love RLS. He was the man. Adventure, intrigue, travel, romance, gothic suspense...gosh I love RLS. He would have made a terrific screenwriter during cinema's golden age, all swash and buckle. This ripping yarn just doesn't let you leave. You may pretend you're working or gardening or conversing with others during your everyday boring life, but really, you're just thinking about the Brothers Durie. Which one is really good and which one is really evil?

      This specific edition is from 1968 (perfect year for Sean Connery and Oliver Reed to play the siblings) and is large type for those who need extra help. If you don't need the extra help for the eyes, it's kinda weird, but perfect really because this baby will knock about your bag and car and bus and will wind up very well-thumbed. I'd like a leather-bound edition, just so I can watch it sitting on my shelf. RLS!

      Two Duries in Durrisdeer
      One to stay and one to ride,
      An ill day for the groom
      And a worse day for the bride.

      Book Season = Year Round
    • 4/5
      Having previously failed miserably to read either Treasure Island, or Kidnapped, I was a little anxious approaching this book. And in the first instance it did seem that my fears were well grounded, as I struggled with the Scottish dialect. But, further in, the dialect was less prevalent and, having surmounted these early teething problems, the book proved to be surprisingly readable, a gripping adventure yarn that entices you swiftly through the pages.The story is told in the main by Ephraim McKellar, steward of Durrisdeer, and concerns the fates of the two Durie brothers, both during and after the Jacobite rebellion. In order to preserve the estate they will take opposing sides in the conflict. Against the wishes of his family, the heir and favourite, James, insists on joining the uprising, whilst Henry, well-intentioned, but beloved of no-one but McKellar, supports King George. When the uprising fails and James is reported dead, Henry becomes heir and takes all that formerly belonged to James, who retains only his title, Master of Ballantrae. However, James has survived, and bitterly blames Henry for his losses.I did endeavour to consider the themes en route, but was initially rather dismissive of the whole thing as a fairly straightforward morality tale. It put me strongly in mind of a passage between Frodo and Aragorn in the Fellowship of the Rings, where Frodo suspects that the spies of the Enemy would ‘seem fairer and feel fouler,’ whilst Aragorn, as he himself quips, looks foul and feels fair.It seemed an obvious point to make, that what looks well may be ill, and vice versa, but maybe that was not the point. Maybe the point was that we may know this, and still not feel it. I must reluctantly admit to a sneaking admiration for the Master, whilst experiencing a hint of contempt for Henry that would not be repressed.Having apparently nailed it, the morality becomes more complex, as the Master’s few admirable qualities (namely courage and resolve) come to the fore, whilst Henry seems to become petty, vindictive and wholly unlikeable. Halfway through the book McKellar is seduced by the Master and it feels as though the reader is asked to pour their scorn on his hapless head. However, by the end of the book, certainly from my perspective, the reader is also won over by the Master, and must therefore question their own judgement, and reassess that of McKellar.But… the waters are further muddied by the nature of the two narrators, both of whom are proven unreliable. We suspect that the Chevalier Burke exaggerates the wickedness of the Master to minimise his own culpability, and McKellar likewise impugns the Master, whilst praising Henry, as a function of his partiality.This could also provide an explanation for our changing feelings toward the characters; but, as McKellar becomes enthralled by the Master, does his narrative become more impartial or does it in fact swing in the other direction?There are too many variables to pin this story down; which left me with the following questions:-Why did James insist on going to war? It must have been clear that the uprising stood little chance of success, and that he would suffer the consequences. Throughout the book it is obvious that James projects the right image. This is why he is favoured. Maybe his choice serves to emphasize that he intends to prosper through his charm which, he believes, will negate the nature of his actions.James is permitted to keep his title 'Master of Ballantrae,' which should have passed to Henry's son. This effectively traps James in the position of heir apparent, whilst the natural progression to Lord is denied him. Is this a calculated act of cruelty, provoking and also symbolising James' inability to progress beyond the hand fate dealt him?Does Henry, as McKellar suggests, really lose his reason, or is this only McKellar's rationale to explain Henry's undesirable behaviour and his own lack of judgement?My favourite part of the book is where we learn that McKellar, (not, it must be said, my favourite character) was ultimately fired by the final Lord Durrisdeer; presumably on grounds of intolerable interference!
    • 2/5
      I generally adore Stevenson, but this one was enough of a trial that I stopped reading mid-way. The book is memorable to me for some very (very!) striking passages in the Master's early life, including piracy described with no gilding and, one fears, great accuracy. But in the second half the pace slows, and the tone flags. Also, I dislike reading about detestable people, and hate more when no one lifts a finger to stop them...
    • 3/5
      This was interesting for the setting, early America, immigrant fleeing from Scotland and all that. The story itself did not move me much, rather typical of its times. Not my favorite Stevenson, but others may disagree.
    • 4/5
      This is a dramatic account of a desperate rivalry between two brothers of the Scottish Durie family, James, the eponymous Master, and his younger sibling Henry. Their antipathy is sparked off when, during the 1745 rebellion of Bonnie Prince Charlie, their father decides to hedge his bets by having one son side with the rebellion and the other side with British King George II. James, despite being the eldest and the heir to his father's estates, gets to be the one to support the rebellion, but is more motivated by mischief making than political principle. He regularly returns to taunt his brother and father, considering himself abandoned when Henry inherits the title after he is believed to be dead. The struggle eventually costs their father his life, and the struggle transfers over the Atlantic to New York where it ends in double tragedy in the American wilderness. A good read, lacking the overall impact and colourful characters of Treasure Island, but probably a better structured novel.

    Book preview

    The Master of Ballantrae - Robert Louis Stevenson

    Preface by the Author

    ALTHOUGH an old, consistent exile, the editor of the following pages revisits now and again the city of which he exults to be a native; and there are few things more strange, more painful, or more salutary, than such revisitations. Outside, in foreign spots, he comes by surprise and awakens more attention than he had expected; in his own city, the relation is reversed, and he stands amazed to be so little recollected. Elsewhere he is refreshed to see attractive faces, to remark possible friends; there he scouts the long streets, with a pang at heart, for the faces and friends that are no more. Elsewhere he is delighted with the presence of what is new; there tormented by the absence of what is old. Elsewhere he is content to be his present self; there he is smitten with an equal regret for what he once was and for what he once hoped to be.

    He was feeling all this dimly, as he drove from the station, on his last visit; he was feeling it still as he alighted at the door of his friend Mr. Johnstone Thomson, W.S., with whom he was to stay. A hearty welcome, a face not altogether changed, a few words that sounded of old days, a laugh provoked and shared, a glimpse in passing of the snowy cloth and bright decanters and the Piranesis on the dining room wall, brought him to his bedroom with a somewhat lightened cheer, and when he and Mr. Thomson sat down a few minutes later, cheek by jowl, and pledged the past in a preliminary bumper, he was already almost consoled, he had already almost forgiven himself his two unpardonable errors, that he should ever have left his native city, or ever returned to it.

    I have something quite in your way, said Mr. Thomson. I wished to do honour to your arrival; because, my dear fellow, it is my own youth that comes back along with you; in a very tattered and withered state, to be sure, but—well!—all that’s left of it.

    A great deal better than nothing, said the editor. But what is this which is quite in my way?

    I was coming to that, said Mr. Thomson: Fate has put it in my power to honour your arrival with something really original by way of dessert. A mystery.

    A mystery? I repeated.

    Yes, said his friend, a mystery. It may prove to be nothing, and it may prove to be a great deal. But in the meanwhile it is truly mysterious, no eye having looked on it for near a hundred years; it is highly genteel, for it treats of a titled family; and it ought to be melodramatic, for (according to the superscription) it is concerned with death.

    I think I rarely heard a more obscure or a more promising annunciation, the other remarked. But what is it?

    You remember my predecessor’s, old Peter M‘Brair’s business?

    I remember him acutely; he could not look at me without a pang of reprobation, and he could not feel the pang without betraying it. He was to me a man of a great historical interest, but the interest was not returned.

    Ah well, we go beyond him, said Mr. Thomson. I daresay old Peter knew as little about this as I do. You see, I succeeded to a prodigious accumulation of old law papers and old tin boxes, some of them of Peter’s hoarding, some of his father’s, John, first of the dynasty, a great man in his day. Among other collections, were all the papers of the Durrisdeers.

    The Durrisdeers! cried I. My dear fellow, these may be of the greatest interest. One of them was out in the ’Forty-five; one had some strange passages with the devil—you will find a note of it in Law’s ‘Memorials,’ I think; and there was an unexplained tragedy, I know not what, much later, about a hundred years ago—

    More than a hundred years ago, said Mr. Thomson. In 1783.

    How do you know that? I mean some death.

    Yes, the lamentable deaths of my Lord Durrisdeer and his brother, the Master of Ballantrae (attainted in the troubles), said Mr. Thomson with something the tone of a man quoting. Is that it?

    To say truth, said I, I have only seen some dim reference to the things in memoirs; and heard some traditions dimmer still, through my uncle (whom I think you knew). My uncle lived when he was a boy in the neighbourhood of St. Bride’s; he has often told me of the avenue closed up and grown over with grass, the great gates never opened, the last lord and his old maid sister who lived in the back parts of the house, a quiet, plain, poor, humdrum couple it would seem—but pathetic too, as the last of that stirring and brave house—and, to the country folk, faintly terrible from some deformed traditions.

    Yes, said Mr. Thomson. Henry Graeme Durie, the last lord, died in 1820; his sister, the Honourable Miss Katharine Durie, in ’Twenty-seven; so much I know; and by what I have been going over the last few days, they were what you say, decent, quiet people, and not rich. To say truth, it was a letter of my lord’s that put me on the search for the packet we are going to open this evening. Some papers could not be found; and he wrote to Jack M‘Brair suggesting they might be among those sealed up by a Mr. Mackellar. M‘Brair answered, that the papers in question were all in Mackellar’s own hand, all (as the writer understood) of a purely narrative character; and besides, said he, ‘I am not bound to open them before the year 1889.’ You may fancy if these words struck me: I instituted a hunt through all the M‘Brair repositories; and at last hit upon that packet which (if you have had enough wine) I propose to show you at once.

    In the smoking-room, to which my host now led me, was a packet, fastened with many seals and enclosed in a single sheet of strong paper thus endorsed:

    Papers relating to the lives and lamentable deaths of the late Lord Durrisdeer, and his elder brother James, commonly called Master of Ballantrae, attainted in the troubles: entrusted into the hands of John M‘Brair in the Lawnmarket of Edinburgh, W.S., this 20th day of September Anno Domini 1789; by him to be kept secret until the revolution of one hundred years complete, or until the 20th day of September 1889: the same compiled and written by me.

    EPHRAIM MACKELLAR,

    For near forty years Land Steward

    on the estates of his Lordship.

    As Mr. Thomson is a married man, I will not say what hour had struck when we laid down the last of the following pages; but I will give a few words of what ensued.

    Here, said Mr. Thomson, is a novel ready to your hand: all you have to do is to work up the scenery, develop the characters, and improve the style.

    My dear fellow, said I, they are just the three things that I would rather die than set my hand to. It shall be published as it stands.

    But it’s so bald, objected Mr. Thomson.

    I believe there is nothing so noble as baldness, replied I, and I am sure there is nothing so interesting. I would have all literature bald, and all authors (if you like) but one.

    Well, well, said Mr. Thomson, we shall see.

    Introduction

    1745 . . .

    Exiled Bonnie Prince Charlie, prince of the defeated royal house of Stuart, had just returned to Scottish soil.

    A weighty choice faced every Scottish man. Should he stitch a white cockade to his hat and join the fight to restore James, Prince Charlie’s father, to the British throne? Or should he stay at home and back George II, the reigning king?

    In the Scottish Highlands there were few ties felt to England, and little to lose. In Lowland towns the choice was more complex.

    One noble Lowland family, the Duries of Durrisdeer and Ballantrae, believed they’d found a clever way to sidestep the decision. With the toss of a coin, a choice was made that would haunt their lives forever.

    I

    SUMMARY OF EVENTS DURING THE MASTER’S WANDERINGS

    THE full truth of this odd matter is what the world has long been looking for, and public curiosity is sure to welcome. It so befell that I was intimately mingled with the last years and history of the house; and there does not live one man so able as myself to make these matters plain, or so desirous to narrate them faithfully. I knew the Master; on many secret steps of his career I have an authentic memoir in my hand; I sailed with him on his last voyage almost alone; I made one upon that winter’s journey of which so many tales have gone abroad; and I was there at the man’s death. As for my late Lord Durrisdeer, I served him and loved him near twenty years; and thought more of him the more I knew of him. Altogether, I think it not fit that so much evidence should perish; the truth is a debt I owe my lord’s memory; and I think my old years will flow more smoothly, and my white hair lie quieter on the pillow, when the debt is paid.

    The Duries of Durrisdeer and Ballantrae were a strong family in the southwest from the days of David First. A rhyme still current in the countryside—

    Kittle folk are the Durrisdeers,

    They ride wi’ ower mony spears—

    bears the mark of its antiquity; and the name appears in another, which common report attributes to Thomas of Ercildoune himself—I cannot say how truly, and which some have applied—I dare not say with how much justice—to the events of this narration:

    Twa Duries in Durrisdeer,

    Ane to tie and ane to ride,

    An ill day for the groom

    And a waur day for the bride.

    Authentic history besides is filled with their exploits, which (to our modern eyes) seem not very commendable: and the family suffered its full share of those ups and downs to which the great houses of Scotland have been ever liable. But all these I pass over, to come to that memorable year 1745, when the foundations of this tragedy were laid.

    At that time there dwelt a family of four persons in the house of Durrisdeer, near St. Bride’s, on the Solway shore; a chief hold of their race since the Reformation. My old lord, eighth of the name, was not old in years, but he suffered prematurely from the disabilities of age; his place was at the chimneyside; there he sat reading, in a lined gown, with few words for any man, and wry words for none: the model of an old retired housekeeper; and yet his mind very well nourished with study, and reputed in the country to be more cunning than he seemed. The Master of Ballantrae, James in baptism, took from his father the love of serious reading; some of his tact, perhaps, as well; but that which was only policy in the father became black dissimulation in the son. The face of his behaviour was merely popular and wild: he sat late at wine, later at the cards; had the name in the country of an unco man for the lasses; and was ever in the front of broils. But for all he was the first to go in, yet it was observed he was invariably the best to come off; and his partners in mischief were usually alone to pay the piper. This luck or dexterity got him several ill-wishers, but with the rest of the country enhanced his reputation; so that great things were looked for in his future, when he should have gained more gravity. One very black mark he had to his name; but the matter was hushed up at the time, and so defaced by legends before I came into those parts that I scruple to set it down. If it was true, it was a horrid fact in one so young; and if false, it was a horrid calumny. I think it notable that he had always vaunted himself quite implacable, and was taken at his word; so that he had the addition among his neighbours of an ill man to cross. Here was altogether a young nobleman (not yet twenty-four in the year ’Forty-five) who had made a figure in the country beyond his time of life. The less marvel if there were little heard of the second son, Mr. Henry (my late Lord Durrisdeer), who was neither very bad nor yet very able, but an honest, solid sort of lad, like many of his neighbours. Little heard, I say; but indeed it was a case of little spoken. He was known among the salmon fishers in the firth, for that was a sport that he assiduously followed; he was an excellent good horse doctor besides; and took a chief hand, almost from a boy, in the management of the estates. How hard a part that was, in the situation of that family, none knows better than myself; nor yet with how little colour of justice a man may there acquire the reputation of a tyrant and a miser. The fourth person in the house was Miss Alison Graeme, a near kinswoman, an orphan, and the heir to a considerable fortune which her father had acquired in trade. This money was loudly called for by my lord’s necessities; indeed, the land was deeply mortgaged; and Miss Alison was designed accordingly to be the Master’s wife, gladly enough on her side; with how much good will on his is another matter. She was a comely girl, and in those days very spirited and self-willed; for the old lord having no daughter of his own, and my lady being long dead, she had grown up as best she might.

    To these four came the news of Prince Charlie’s landing and set them presently by the ears. My lord, like the chimney keeper that he was, was all for temporising. Miss Alison held the other side, because it appeared romantical; and the Master (though I have heard they did not agree often) was for this once of her opinion. The adventure tempted him, as I conceive; he was tempted by the opportunity to raise the fortunes of the house, and not less by the hope of paying off his private liabilities, which were heavy beyond all opinion. As for Mr. Henry, it appears he said little enough at first; his part came later on. It took the three a whole day’s disputation before they agreed to steer a middle course, one son going forth to strike a blow for King James, my lord and the other staying at home to keep in favour with King George. Doubtless this was my lord’s decision; and, as is well known, it was the part played by many considerable families. But the one dispute settled, another opened. For my lord, Miss Alison, and Mr. Henry all held the one view: that it was the cadet’s part to go out; and the Master, what with restlessness and vanity, would at no rate consent to stay at home. My lord pleaded, Miss Alison wept, Mr. Henry was very plain spoken: all was of no avail.

    It is the direct heir of Durrisdeer that should ride by his King’s bridle, says the Master.

    If we were playing a manly part, says Mr. Henry, there might be sense in such talk. But what are we doing? Cheating at cards!

    We are saving the house of Durrisdeer, Henry, his father said.

    And see, James, said Mr. Henry, if I go, and the Prince has the upper hand, it will be easy to make your peace with King James. But if you go, and the expedition fails, we divide the right and the title. And what shall I be then?

    You will be Lord Durrisdeer, said the Master. I put all I have upon the table.

    I play at no such game, cries Mr. Henry. I shall be left in such a situation as no man of sense and honour could endure. I shall be neither fish nor flesh! he cried. And a little after he had another expression, plainer perhaps than he intended. It is your duty to be here with my father, said he. You know well enough you are the favourite.

    Ay? said the Master. And there spoke Envy! Would you trip up my heels—Jacob? said he, and dwelled upon the name maliciously.

    Mr. Henry went and walked at the low end of the hall without reply; for he had an excellent gift of silence. Presently he came back.

    I am the cadet, and I should go, said he. And my lord here is the master, and he says I shall go. What say ye to that, my brother?

    I say this, Harry, returned the Master, that when very obstinate folk are met, there are only two ways out: Blows—and I think none of us could care to go so far; or the arbitrament of chance—and here is a guinea piece. Will you stand by the toss of the coin?

    I will stand and fall by it, said Mr. Henry. Heads, I go; shield, I stay.

    The coin was spun, and it fell shield. So there is a lesson for Jacob, says the Master.

    We shall live to repent of this, says Mr. Henry, and flung out of the hall.

    As for Miss Alison, she caught up that piece of gold which had just sent her lover to the wars, and flung it clean through the family shield in the great painted window.

    If you loved me as well as I love you, you would have stayed, cried she.

    ‘I could not love you, dear, so well, loved I not honour more,’ sang the Master.

    O! she cried, you have no heart—I hope you may be killed! and she ran from the room, and in tears, to her own chamber.

    It seems the Master turned to my lord with his most comical manner, and says he, This looks like a devil of a wife.

    I think you are a devil of a son to me, cried his father, you that have always been the favourite, to my shame be it spoken. Never a good hour have I gotten of you since you were born; no, never one good hour, and repeated it again the third time. Whether it was the Master’s levity, or his insubordination, or Mr. Henry’s word about the favourite son, that had so much disturbed my lord, I do not know; but I incline to think it was the last, for I have it by all accounts that Mr. Henry was more made up to from that hour.

    Altogether it was in pretty ill blood with his family that the Master rode to the north; which was the more sorrowful for others to remember when it seemed too late. By fear and favour he had scraped together near upon a dozen men, principally tenants’ sons; they were all pretty full when they set forth, and rode up the hill by the old abbey, roaring and singing, the white cockade in every hat. It was a desperate venture for so small a company to cross the most of Scotland unsupported; and (what made folk think so the more) even as that poor dozen was clattering up the hill, a great ship of the King’s navy, that could have brought them under with a single boat, lay with her broad ensign streaming in the bay. The next afternoon, having given the Master a fair start, it was Mr. Henry’s turn; and he rode off, all by himself, to offer his sword and carry letters from his father to King George’s government. Miss Alison was shut in her room, and did little but weep, till both were gone; only she stitched the cockade upon the Master’s hat, and (as John Paul told me) it was wetted with tears when he carried it down to him.

    In all that followed, Mr. Henry and my old lord were true to their bargain. That ever they accomplished anything is more than I could learn; and that they were anyway strong on the King’s side, more than I believe. But they kept the letter of loyalty, corresponded with my Lord President, sat still at home, and had little or no commerce with the Master while that business lasted.

    Nor was he, on his side, more communicative. Miss Alison, indeed, was always sending him expresses, but I do not know if she had many answers. Macconochie rode for her once, and found the Highlanders before Carlisle, and the Master riding by the Prince’s side in high favour; he took the letter (so Macconochie tells), opened it, glanced it through with a mouth like a man whistling, and stuck it in his belt, whence, on his horse passageing, it fell unregarded to the ground. It was Macconochie who picked it up; and he still kept it, and indeed I have seen it in his hands. News came to Durrisdeer of course, by the common report, as it goes travelling through a country, a thing always wonderful to me. By that means the family learned more of the Master’s favour with the Prince, and the ground it was said to stand on: for by a strange condescension in a man so proud—only that he was a man still more ambitious—he was said to have crept into notability by truckling to the Irish. Sir Thomas Sullivan, Colonel Burke, and the rest, were his daily comrades, by which course he withdrew himself from his own country folk. All the small intrigues he had a hand in fomenting; thwarted my Lord George upon a thousand points; was always for the advice that seemed palatable to the Prince, no matter if it was good or bad; and seems upon the whole (like the gambler he was all through life) to have had less regard to the chances of the campaign than to the greatness of favour he might aspire to, if, by any luck, it should succeed. For the rest, he did very well in the field; no one questioned that: for he was no coward.

    The next was the news of Culloden, which was brought to Durrisdeer by one of the tenants’ sons—the only survivor, he declared, of all those that had gone singing up the hill. By an unfortunate chance John Paul and Macconochie had that very morning found the guinea piece—which was the root of all the evil—sticking in a holly bush; they had been up the gait, as the servants say at Durrisdeer, to the change house; and if they had little left of the guinea, they had less of their wits. What must John Paul do but burst into the hall where the family sat at dinner, and cry the news to them that Tam Macmorland was but new lichtit at the door, and—wirra, wirra—there were nane to come behind him?

    They took the word in silence like folk condemned; only Mr. Henry carrying his palm to his face, and Miss Alison laying her head outright upon her hands. As for my lord, he was like ashes.

    I have still one son, says he. And, Henry, I will do you this justice—it is the kinder that is left.

    It was a strange thing to say in such a moment; but my lord had never forgotten Mr. Henry’s speech, and he had years of injustice on his conscience. Still it was a strange thing, and more than Miss Alison could let pass. She broke out and blamed my lord for his unnatural words, and Mr. Henry because he was sitting there in safety when his brother lay dead, and herself because she had given her sweetheart ill words at his departure, calling him the flower of the flock, wringing her hands, protesting her love, and crying on him by his name—so that the servants stood astonished.

    Mr. Henry got to his feet, and stood holding his chair. It was he that was like ashes now.

    O! he burst out suddenly, I know you loved him.

    The world knows that, glory be to God! cries she; and then to Mr. Henry: There is none but me to know one thing—that you were a traitor to him in your heart.

    God knows, groans he, it was lost love on both sides.

    Time went by in the house after that without much change; only they were now three instead of four, which was a perpetual reminder of their loss. Miss Alison’s money, you are to bear in mind, was highly needful for the estates; and the one brother being dead, my old lord soon set his heart upon her marrying the other. Day in, day out, he would work upon her, sitting by the chimneyside with his finger in his Latin book, and his eyes set upon her face with a kind of pleasant intentness that became the old gentleman very well. If she wept, he would condole with her like an ancient man that has seen worse times and begins to think lightly even of sorrow; if she raged, he would fall to reading again in his Latin book, but always with some civil excuse; if she offered, as she often did, to let them have her money in a gift, he would show her how little it consisted with his honour, and remind her, even if he should consent, that Mr. Henry would certainly refuse. Non vi sed saepe cadendo was a favourite word of his; and no doubt this quiet persecution wore away much of her resolve; no doubt, besides, he had a great influence on the girl, having stood in the place of both her parents; and, for that matter, she was herself filled with the spirit of the Duries, and would have gone a great way for the glory of Durrisdeer; but not so far, I think, as to marry my poor patron, had it not been—strangely enough—for the circumstance of his extreme unpopularity.

    This was the work of Tam Macmorland. There was not much harm in Tam; but he had that grievous weakness, a long tongue; and as the only man in that country who had been out—or, rather, who had come in again—he was sure of listeners. Those that have the underhand in any fighting, I have observed, are

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