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THE BROOCH OF LINDISFARNE

By JESSIE A. GAUGHAN

Author of "The Plucking of the Lily "

CHAPTER XIX

HOW THINGS HAD GONE IN DUNYVAIG

THE Earl of Lindisfarne had found life in Islay very much to his taste. What though the chief's family and principal officers alone could converse with him in his own speech, and that the names of soon familiar spots were full of strange twists for his Saxon tongue ?

Sir Angus MacDonald was a lavish and noble entertainer, who spared no pains to make his guest forget his many causes for anxiety. There were deer in plenty on the Islay mountains and noble hunting dogs in the kennels at Dunyvaig. Lindisfarne had but to express a wish for the noblest sport, and it was his. There was no lack of wild fowl, and many a time he rode a-hawking. Did he desire more quiet sport, there were lovely rivers where salmon lay in the shade of over-hanging trees, and beautiful locks where trout abounded. Horses there were for him to ride, and boats at his command; and when each glorious Summer day had been passed in pleasant fashion, there were evenings spent in Sir Angus MacDonald's room beside a blazing fire of peat listening to stirring tales and strange new legends while red wine sparkled in the cups.

Sometimes Sir Angus harped upon his quarrel with Sir Lauchlan MacLean, and found his guest a patient listener, ready with bold counsel. He had carried Lindisfarne by boat from Dunyvaig round by the Mull of Oa and across the wide bay of Laggan into Loch Indaal, and landed him at Tralaig in the Rhinns of Islay. There he had shown him the disputed lands, and the Earl grasped at once the force of MacDonald's argument that the loss of the Rhinns would mean, sooner or later, the loss of all Islay. The Rhinns would merely whet MacLean's appetite for land; his covetousness would compass the rest of the island.

Sir Angus had been, to say the least, taken by surprise at

the revelation of his daughter's love for Hector MacLean, though at King James's command he had been unable to refuse to allow the betrothal ; and his distaste for the wedding was in no whit lessened by the elder MacLean's offer to consider the Rhinns as Ella's dowry. It was a relief to him to be able fully to unburden his mind to the Earl.

All Islay was a playground for Lindisfarne, whose keenest sorrow was that he so seldom had the playmate his heart desired. Had the fertile and beautiful Queen of the Hebrides been but a barren rock, life there would still have been full of charms for him, spent, as it was, near Grace MacDonald of Rathlin. And yet he knew-he had learned it in most positive terms from her own lips-that she hated the men of his nation.

Little did poor Grace think, as she stated her reasons for this strong dislike of Englishmen, how well the Englishman who heard her understood.

The Earl of Lindisfarne had been deeply interested in the lovely daughter of Antrim from his first sight of her in Holyrood ballroom and his feelings had deepened almost at once into love. Often when he looked at her, he wondered whether her hatred of his race extended to him personally, and then he would turn away and smile quietly to himself as a powerful argument presented itself to his mind and convinced him that she should love instead of hate him, however she might regard all other Englishmen.

Unknown to herself or to any of her friends, Grace MacDonald lived under a deep debt to Lindisfarne, and he, pondering this debt, longed to tell her of it, especially when, as often happened, she received some service or graceful compliment with chilly thanks or mere indifference. But he controlled his desire. Some day when she had learned to care a little for him, he would explain to her the debt and demand repayment with usurious interest-not a mere Shylock's pound of flesh, but her whole being. Less than her heart's love would not content him, but meanwhile he was satisfied to have her near him, as it were a living security.

Days are not always fine in Islay, even in Summer time, and when rain prevented outdoor pursuits, the Earl of Lindisfarne became in his turn the entertainer, sitting with the ladies and striving to amuse them as best he might.

He could tell a tale as well as any sennachie of the Highlands to while away the time. Many a gallant deed and daring exploit of his relatives the Percys did he detail for them, but

beyond what they already knew he was altogether silent concerning his own doings. He could play upon the lute many airs that were new to them and sang to his own accompaniment, in a rich tenor, songs in English and Spanish, while the ladies. embroidered. Very much he loved to sing to them, for he had not many opportunities of paying to Grace MacDonald the flattering compliments he wished. They would have required no other hearers, but he could sing songs of tenderness meant all for Grace even in the presence of her aunt and cousins.

Sometimes he told them of other lands; it seemed he had travelled much. Again, he spoke of the English Court; but all. his songs and tales and smiles were plainly meant for the Irish maid.

The Countess ClanConnell, watching the Earl of Lindisfarne paying his court to Grace, saw into his heart and perceived also that slowly Grace seemed to lose her dislike for one at least of the English race. She had cherished the hope that Coll might yet win Grace MacDonald, but now she began to fear that Lindisfarne would prove a rock strong enough to shatter that hope.

Grace, indeed, was fascinated by the man. He was so different from all others she had known, so accomplished, so polished, and he did not seem to resent her detestation of all Saxons, but rather to commend it; and there was that about him-some strange compelling influence-that forced her to look at him. and listen when she fain would have gone from his presence.

And he was artful, too. If he had not her love, he would have at least her pity. A mind like his that could think out plots was quick to see and seize upon her sympathy for Mary Stuart. Many a time he lamented over the failure of the plan for Mary's rescue, touching lightly but skilfully upon his own losses.

Grace's whole nature was sympathetic. In merest politeness she could not but join with Muriel and Ella in compassionating him. Then he would craftily turn the talk to Ireland, and it was refreshing to Grace to hear him condemn in hottest fashion his countrymen's doings there. When all other subjects of conversation failed this always succeeded in drawing Grace out of herself; her eloquence in defence of her own and in detailing her country's wrongs was a delight to the Earl, even though it was directed against his race. He seemed to condemn Queen Elizabeth's Irish policy more strongly than did Grace herself.

Lady ClanConnell wondered in how much he was sincere. To do him justice he was so deeply in love with Grace MacDonald that he hated as she hated.

By degrees, and almost against her will, Grace began to have a leaning towards this Englishman. His generous expressions of sympathy with Ireland rang in her ears when he was absent, and often she found herself thinking of him; but then she would rage against herself for treating, as it were, with one of the race of oppressors. Ah, but was he not himself oppressed? Was he not also a victim immolated on the altar of Elizabethan policy? She could have found pity in her heart for even a hunted wolf and she came to pity the Earl of Lindisfarne unreservedly; though she blamed herself for what she considered her weakness towards him.

Sometimes, when she had time for thought, the recollection of Coll MacDonald's words in Holyrood gardens overwhelmed her, and made the blood course like fire through her veins. At such times a thousand memories stirred within her of Coll's visits to Dunluce and Rathlin all the years she had known him, and especially of his last stay in Dunluce, and so vivid were these memories that often she felt as though he were physically present with her.

Much was becoming clear to her during these quiet days in Islay. Things that had seemed a cousin's right assumed far other meaning, and Grace MacDonald began to recognise that she had cast lightly from her, with no more thought than if it had been a broken toy, a love both strong and deep. How far more strong and deep than she could fathom.

CHAPTER XX

A RIPENING PLOT

ON the very night of Sir Lauchlan MacLean's visit to the Soothsayer, when darkness had fallen upon Dunyvaig, Sir Angus MacDonald sat deep in conversation with the Earl of Lindisfarne.

Out upon the castle roof the sentinels sought what shelter they could find from the strong keen wind and the driving rain. Down in the dungeons the prisoners of MacDonald groaned in anguish, as they restlessly tossed on their miserable pallets, while the sea fretted and raged about the castle rock.

Some distance from Dunyvaig on the shore of Lagavulin Bay stood the workshop of Black Duncan, MacDonald's smith. A red glow, the brighter for the blackness of the night, hung over the forge, from which issued broken jerky snatches of song mingled with the ringing clang of metal upon metal. Black Duncan himself was busily engaged finishing some special work for the chief. The furnace light played full upon him, showing well the strong swart man he was, till in the lurid glare he seemed like a demon presiding over some mysterious rite. Inferior spirits, leather-clad like him, worked the mighty bellows and skipped hither and thither obeying his commands.

The fire roared and the bellows sighed a fit accompaniment to the Gaelic song chanted by the smith. Piles of rusty weapons and disused armour lay along the smithy walls, but in all those heaps, search would have been vain for any instrument of husbandry. MacDonald was a warrior and Black Duncan was his armourer. To inferior smiths, the less noble work. The skill of the best armourer in the South Isles was not to be wasted on mere ploughs and harrows.

The smith had almost finished the work at which he was employed when a man appeared out of the night, his figure red framed in the doorway for an instant before he strode into the forge.

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MacDonald's smith works late," quoth he familiarly, going over to the furnace.

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Aye, and MacDonald's lieutenant walks late," replied the smith, as he surveyed the newcomer, whose soaked garments and dishevelled appearance betokened a long struggle with the storm.

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The chief's business stops not when the ploughman seeks his rest," said the lieutenant, wringing out his dripping plaid on the smithy floor, while admiring the strong sure blows dealt by Black Duncan on a huge iron hinge.

"Right, MacKay!" exclaimed the smith briefly, emphasizing the remark by a deft blow just where it was required.

These two men, Hugh MacKay and Duncan MacIndeor, were cousins; and though MacKay was MacDonald's vassal, he was a petty chieftain in the Rhinns of Islay, being distinguished from others of his name by the title "of the Rhinns." They were such a pair as might have followed a king. Neither was tall, but both were broad shouldered and strong as lions, Neither, as a rule, was given to much speaking, but on this occasion there was some underlying cause that loosened their

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