The Greatest Historical Novels & Romances of D. K. Broster. D. K. Broster

That evening, his last there, Mr. Oliphant preached on the Gospel for the day, on the parable of the tares, and this time Ewen was among the congregation. Yes, one had to be denied the exercise of one’s religion truly to value it, to listen hungrily as he found himself listening. He had not so listened to Mr. Hay’s discourses, good man though he was, in the days when Episcopalian worship was tolerated.

      Next morning, after a moving scene of leave-taking, the old priest left Kilmory under Ewen’s escort. Many of his temporary flock would have desired to come part of the way with him, but it was judged wiser not to risk attracting attention. Mr. Oliphant now meaning to visit Salen, on Loch Sunart, and Strontian, Ardroy intended to go with him as far as Salen; and he had a further plan, which he developed as they walked, that after he had visited Sunart and Ardgour Mr. Oliphant should follow him into Appin, staying with Mr. Stewart of Invernacree, where, all Stewarts of that region being, as their religious and political opponents put it, ‘madly devoted to the Episcopal clergy’ he would be sure of a most ready welcome.

      They were discussing this plan as they went along the side of Loch Mudle, where the road led above the little lake in wild, deer-haunted country. The water had a pleasant air this morning, grey winter’s day though it was, and the travellers stopped to look at it.

      “To tell truth,” said Mr. Oliphant, “I was not aware that Ardnamurchan possessed any loch of this size. It minds me a little of——”

      He stopped, for Ewen had gripped his arm. “Forgive me, sir; but I heard just then a sound not unlike a groan. Could it be?”

      They both listened intently. For a while there was nothing but the silence which, in very lonely places, seems itself to have the quality of noise. Then the sound came again, faint and despairing, and this time Mr. Oliphant too heard it. It was not easy to be sure of its direction, but it appeared to come from the tree-covered slope above them, so Ewen sprang up this and began to search among the leafless bushes, helped after a moment or two by catching sight of a gleam of scarlet. That colour told him what he was going to find. He climbed a little higher, parted the stems, took one look at the figure sprawled in a tangle of faded bracken, and called down to his companion.

      “Mr. Oliphant—here he is . . . and it must be the missing officer from Mingary Castle.” Then he pushed his way through and knelt down by the unfortunate man.

      It seemed a marvel that he was still alive. One arm was shattered, the white facings of his uniform were pierced and bloodstained, and half his face—not a young face—was a mask of blood. Yet he was semi-conscious, his eyes were partly open, and between the faint moans which had drawn attention to him he uttered again and again the word ‘water’. From the condition of the fern round him it looked as if he had tried to drag himself along to the tiny streamlet which could just be heard whispering down at a little distance. But he had never got there.

      “Is this murder, think you?” asked Mr. Oliphant in a horrified voice. “Ah, you have some brandy with you; thank God for that!”

      But Ewen had by now caught sight of something lying a little way off. “No, sir, not murder; nor has he been gored by a stag, as I thought at first. ’Tis a burst fowling-piece has done it—there it lies. And he has been here, poor wretch, nearly two days!”

      They wetted the dried, blackened lips with brandy and tried to get a little down the injured man’s throat, but he seemed unable to swallow, and Mr. Oliphant feared that the spirit might choke him. “Try water first, Mr. Cameron,” he suggested, “if you can contrive to bring some in your hands from the burn there.”

      Holding his hollowed palms carefully together, Ewen brought it.

      “We must, by some means or other, inform the garrison of Mingary at once,” said the old priest, carefully supporting the ghastly head. “I wish we had Callum with us; speed is of the first importance. Shall I lower his head a little?”

      “Yes, it would be better. But I can reach Mingary as quickly as the lad would have done,” said Ewen, without giving a thought to the undesirability of approaching that stronghold. “I’m spilling this; he’s past drinking, I fear. Certainly if help is not soon——” He gave a sudden violent exclamation under his breath, and, letting all the rest of the water drain away, sank back on his heels staring as though he had come on some unclean sight. For under the trickles of water and brandy the dried blood had become washed or smeared off the distorted face, sufficiently at least to make it recognisable to a man who, even in the mists of fever, and seven years ago, had during twenty-four hours seen more than enough of it.

      “What is wrong, then?” asked Mr. Oliphant, but he did not glance up from the head on his arm, for he had begun cautiously to try the effect of brandy again.

      Ewen did not answer for a moment. He was rubbing one wet hand upon the ground as though to cleanse it from some foul contact.

      “I doubt it is worth going for help,” he said at last in a half-strangled voice. “If one had it, the best thing would be to finish this business . . . with a dirk.”

      “I suppose you are jesting, Mr. Cameron,” said the old man in a tone which showed that he did not like the jest. “How far do you think it is to Mingary Castle?”

      “The distance does not concern me,” answered Ewen. “I am not going there.”

      And at that Mr. Oliphant looked up and saw his face. It was not a pleasant sight.

      “What—what has come to you?” he exclaimed. “You said a moment ago that if assistance were not brought——”

      “I had not seen then what we were handling,” said Ewen fiercely. He got to his feet. “One does not fetch assistance to . . . vermin!”

      “You are proposing that we should leave this unfortunate man here to die!”

      Ewen looked down at him, breathing hard. “I will finish him off if you prefer it. ’Tis the best thing that can happen to him and to all the inhabitants of Ardnamurchan. You have heard what his reputation is.” And turning away he began blindly to break a twig off the nearest birch-tree.

      Mr. Oliphant still knelt there for another second or two, silent, perhaps from shock. Then he gently laid down the head which he was supporting, came round the prostrate scarlet figure and over to his metamorphosed companion.

      “Mr. Cameron, it is not the welfare of Ardnamurchan which you have in your mind. This man has done you some injury in the past—is it not so?”

      Ewen was twisting and breaking the birch twig as though it were some sentient thing which he hated.

      “But for God’s mercy he had made a traitor of me,” he said in a suffocated voice. “Yet that I could forgive . . . since he failed. But he has my friend’s blood on his hands.”

      There was a silence, save for the faint moaning behind them.

      “And for that,” said Mr. Oliphant sternly, “you will take his blood on yours?”

      “I have always meant to, if I got the chance,” answered Ewen, with dreadful implacability. “I would it had been in fair fight—this is not what I had desired. But I am certainly not going to save his worse than worthless life at the expense, perhaps, of your liberty and mine . . . I am not going to save it in any case. He slew my best friend.”

      “You made mention just now, Mr. Cameron, of God’s mercy.”

      “Ay, so I did,” said Ewen defiantly. “But God has other attributes too. This,” he looked for a moment over his shoulder, “this, I think, is His justice.”

      “That is possible; but you are not God. You are a man who only yesterday received the greatest of His earthly gifts with, as I believed, a humble and a thankful heart. To-day you, who so lately drank of the cup of salvation, refuse a cup of cold water to a dying enemy.”

      Ewen said nothing; what was there to say? He stood looking down through the trees on to the loch, his mouth set like a vice.

      “Are