My heart's in the Highlands

"We know That we have power over ourselves to do And suffer: What—we know not till we try." Shelley.

"I DO wish you would be serious!"

"Why on earth should I be?"

Rowena Arbuthnot leant her elbows on the wide windowsill and looked in upon her sister-in-law from the garden, with her mischievous blue-grey eyes which always seemed to twinkle with some hidden joke. Rowena's eyes had been the cause of her continually getting into trouble, from the time she had been a child, when the rector of the parish had requested her not to laugh at him in the pulpit.

She was older now; and had gone through more trouble than most girls of her age. But though her lips were grave, and a trifle sad when in repose, yet her eyes had never lost their gleam of hidden laughter.

Young Mrs. Arbuthnot, sitting in her pretty drawing-room, stitching away at a white frock for her youngest child, felt impatient with Rowena.

"I never shall understand you," she said; "I thought you and Ted were so devoted, that if you had not cared a button about the children or me, you would be disappointed at not coming with us. Our home has been yours for the last four years; and we have always looked upon you as one of the family."

"My dear Geraldine, tears are too expensive a luxury to be wasted in public. Shall I conjure up two for your benefit? I might if I tried hard."

"I hate you when you are facetious!"

"I won't be. Let us talk wisely and soberly. Is it my fault that Ted was cheated in the horse deal, that I mounted a half-broken vixen, and was pitched out of the saddle on the very hardest bit of ground going? Is it my fault that that dear old Niddy-Noddy should insist upon my lying low for a year? I don't want to be an invalid for life. It isn't an attractive prospect. And you wouldn't like a bedridden crock to be attached to you for evermore. Isn't it worthwhile to escape that fate if I can? To forgo my journey to the East with you is, of course, a trial. But what am I, if I can't take my share of disappointments philosophically?"

"Yes, yes, I know you've got an inexhaustible fund of philosophy and patience; but where are you going, what are you going to do? If only Ted had not let the house! But we're so hard up—and—really, Rowena, you ought to be lying down at this moment! What is the good of only following half Dr. North's advice?"

Rowena held up a bunch of dew-sparkling roses.

"My dear, I'm coming in—but I must have these to refresh me." She slipped in over the low window, and went to a couch in the farthest corner of the room. For a moment or two she occupied herself in putting her roses into a bowl of water by the side of the couch; then quietly laid herself down among the cushions with a little sigh—or was it a long-drawn breath of pain?

"Now talk away, Geraldine! I'm chained here till luncheon, and you can say all you have in your mind, but we won't grumble over what cannot be helped."

"Well, have you any idea what is to become of you?"

"Not the slightest. You see Niddy-Noddy only sprang my fate upon me yesterday, and you are the only one who has seen Ted. I was in bed when he returned last night, and he was off to town before I got up this morning."

"He has so many arrangements to make before we sail. And Ted is no good for practical common sense. If you only had money of your own, how easy it would make things!"

It was not often Geraldine Arbuthnot alluded to Rowena's penniless condition; and the girl laughed to hide the hurt of it.

"Yes—and a crippled beggar is worse off than a healthy spry one. I allow I am in an evil case! It's a pity you and Ted set your faces against the job offered me."

"Ted has some pride," said Mrs. Arbuthnot with raised head. "It isn't likely he would let his sister be a paid clerk to that bounder Tom Corbett! And I wanted you badly. Goodness knows what I shall do without you now. You weathered me through my bad time three times over, and I shall never forget it. The chicks will be lost without you—and I was quite counting on you to keep them happy on board ship!"

"Oh, yes, you'll miss me," said Rowena with honest conviction. "What craft can I do on my back, I wonder? Not basket-making! I could make rugs—those Eastern ones—I really think that is an idea! But who would buy them? Would that hurt Ted's pride, if I wrote a round robin—to our friends, asking for their support? How would it run? After this style:"

"'An invalid much in want of the necessities of life, is starting rug-making. Orders received and promptly executed. Designs straight from India and Persia; and colours to blend with purchaser's rooms.'"

"Oh, do be quiet, Rowena. Don't talk such nonsense. Here are the chicks. Nurse, bring them in here."

Mrs. Arbuthnot leant out of the window as she spoke, and a moment after, two little fair-haired boys burst open the door, their baby sister struggling in her nurse's arms to follow them.

"Where's Aunt Rony?"

"Here, Buttons, here; in my little corner!"

Buttons flung himself upon the couch.

"Are you playing a game? Are you in bed?"

For the next few minutes the children's chatter filled the room, but the nurse soon took them off; Buttons and his twin Bertie beseeching their aunt to come up to the nursery and have a game with them after tea.

When they were gone there was silence for some minutes; then Mrs. Arbuthnot folded up her work.

"Well, Rowena, we seem to come to no conclusion. Ted told me to talk it over with you."

"But we have. Ted must lend me a little money—and I'll move into rooms somewhere, and teach myself a craft and pay him back as soon as I can. And then at the end of the year, if I'm cured, I can come out to you if you want me."

"I shall always want you. You do too much for me. I shall never be content to live without you. Well, I must go and write some letters. I'll send Ted to you directly he comes home."

Rowena's bright eyes closed when her sister-in-law left the room. The pain in her back was acute now, and she was glad to rest. Her doctor had told her that there was a slight injury to her spine, and that she must lie on her back for a year, if she wished to be strong again. She had never remembered a day's illness in her life. She rode, she boated, she hunted, and she fished, always in company with her beloved brother. His marriage had not lessened the bond between them, for his wife was devoted to her, and had not a particle of jealousy in her composition. She did encroach on Rowena's good nature, but was conscious of it herself, and told her husband that Rowena was but an unpaid servant in their house.

"She is a companion to me; nurse and governess to the boys; housekeeper and general adviser; and comforter all round. She really deserves double the allowance you give her."

But Ted shook his head.

"She's my sister and chum—I couldn't expect her to take money for her services."

Now he had been summoned to India to join the foreign battalion of his regiment, and Rowena, owing to her unfortunate accident, was to be left behind.

She felt it keenly; she loved the pretty home which lay amongst the Surrey Hills; but would have accompanied her brother cheerfully all over the world. Several times she might have married, but so far, no man had eclipsed Ted's image in her heart. She always compared her lovers with her brother, and always found they lacked his personal attractive qualities.

He came in at five o'clock that June afternoon, and found his way to her almost immediately.