Pearl of Pearl Island

NOTE.-It would be impossible to depict the Sark of to-day without using the names native to the Island. All such names here employed, however, are used without any reference whatever to any actual persons who may happen to bear similar names in Sark. The characters are to be taken as types. The incidents are in many cases fact.

If you want murders, mysteries, or mud-pass on! This is a simple, straightforward love-story.

"Jock, my lad," said Lady Elspeth softly, nodding her head very many times, in that very knowing way of hers which made her look like a Lord Chief Justice and a Fairy Godmother all in one, "I've found you out."

And when the shrewd old soul of her looked him gently through and through in that fashion, he knew very much better than to attempt any evasion.

"Ah!" he said meekly, "I was afraid someone would, sooner or later. I've been living in constant dread of it. But it's happened before, you know, between you and me. What is it this time, dear Lady Elspeth?"

"Here have I been imputing grace to you for your kindly attentions to a poor old woman whose race is nearly run, and setting you up above the rest of them therefor, and lo, my idol--"

"Ah!" he said again, with a reproving wag of the head, for he knew now what was coming,-"idols are perverse, camstairy things at best, you know, and a bit out of date too. And, besides,"-with a touch of remonstrance-"at your age and with your bringing-up--"

"Ay, ay, ye may be as insulting as ye choose, my laddie, and fling my age and my upbringing in my face like a very man--"

"There isn't a face like it in all England, and as to--"

"I prefer ye to say Britain, as I've told ye before. Your bit England is only a portion of the kingdom, and in very many respects the poorest portion, notably in brains and manners and beauty. But ye cannot draw me off like that, my laddie, whether it's meant for a compliment or no. I was just about telling you you were a fraud--"

"You hadn't got quite that length, you know, but--"

"Will I prove it to you? Haven't you been coming here as regular as the milkman for a month past--"

"Oh, come now!-Only once a day. I've an idea milkie comes twice, and besides--"

"And what did ye come for, my lad?" with an emphatic nod and a menacing shake of the frail white hand, pricelessly jewelled above, comfortably black-silk-mittened below. "Tell me that now! What did ye come for?"

"To see the dearest old lady in England-Britain, I mean. And-"

"Yes?-And?-" and she watched him, with her head a little on one side and her eyes shining brightly, like an expectant motherly robin hopping on treasure trove.

He smiled back at her and said nothing. He knew she knew without his telling.

"And so I was only second fiddle-" she began, with an assumption of scornful irascibility which became her less than her very oldest cap.

"Oh, dear me, no! Leader of the orchestra!-Proprietor of the house!-Sole director and manager and-"

"Tuts! It was Margaret Brandt you came to see," and the twinkling brown eyes held the merry gray ones with a steady challenge.

"Partly,-and I was just about to say so when you interrupted me-"

"Ay! Were you now? Ye can out with things quick enough at times, my laddie!"

"Well, you see, there are some things one does not speak about until one feels one has an absolute right to."

"You'd have told your mother, Jock."

"Perhaps, I'm not sure,-not yet-not, at all events, until-"

"And wasn't I to take her place when she left you all alone?"

"And so you have. You're just the dearest and sweetest old-"

"Second fiddle! Come away and we'll talk of Margaret, since that's all you come for."

"And isn't she worth coming for? Did you ever in all your life see anything more wonderful than Margaret Brandt?"

And she looked at him for half a minute with a twinkle in the shrewd old eyes, which had surely seen many strange and wonderful things since the first wonders passed and gave place to the common things of life. Beautiful eyes they were still,-of a very tender brown, and shining always with kindly feeling and deepest interest in the person she was talking to.

I do not know how it may be with you, but, personally, I detest people whose eyes and thoughts go wandering away over your left shoulder while you are talking with them. It may be, of course, that you are not much of a talker and are simply boring them, but, all the same, mental squinters are not to my liking.

But Lady Elspeth was never bored-visibly, at all events, and while you talked with her you were the one person in the world in whom she was interested.

Margaret's eyes had something of the same in them, but they were very deep blue, and there was in them just that touch of maidenly reserve which best becomes a maiden's eyes, until, to one at all events, she may lay it aside and let her heart shine through.

Lady Elspeth looked at him, then, for half a minute, with a starry twinkle, and then said, with a finality of conviction that made her dearer to him than ever-

"Never!" and he kissed her hand with fervour,-and not ungracefully, since the action, though foreign to him, was absolutely spontaneous.

"But-!" she said firmly. And he sat up.

"But me no buts," he said. "And why?"

"Well, you see, Margaret is by way of being an heiress-and you are not."

"I'm sorry. But, you see, I couldn't very well be if I tried. Still I'm not absolutely penniless, and-"

"Tuts, boy! What you have is just about enough to pay Jeremiah Pixley's servants' wages."

"D-hang Jeremiah Pixley!"

"D-hang is not a nice expression to use before a lady, let me tell you. What you have, as, I was saying, is just enough to make or mar you-"

"It's going to make me. I can live on it till things begin to come my way."

"Everyone writes nowadays," she said, with a dubious shake of the head. "Who reads all the books passes my comprehension. I suppose you have all just to buy one another's to make a bit of a living out of it."

"Like those washing people! But it's not quite as bad as all that. There are still some intelligent people who buy books-good books, of course, I mean."

"Not many, I'm afraid. They read reviews and chatter as though they'd read the books. And if they really want to read them they get them out of a library. You don't see bought books lying on the tables, as you used to do when I was a girl, and they were scarcer and dearer. How is this last one going?"

"I have reason to believe my publishers are not absolutely broken-hearted over it, which leads me to think that they have probably done pretty well out of it. They are not what you might call a gushing race, you know, but they have given me a kind of cautious half-hint that they might not refuse to look at my next if I offered it to them on my bended knees. But let us get back to our-to Miss Brandt. I had no idea she was an heiress. I have really never thought of money in the matter, except as to how I could earn enough to offer it to her."

"She has a fair portion-about two thousand a year, I believe. Her father was Danish Consul in Glasgow, and had a shipping business there. I should not be surprised if Mr. Pixley had views of his own concerning Margaret's portion and his son-and of course Margaret herself."

"Will you permit me to say, 'Hang Mr. Pixley!' dear Lady Elspeth? It would be such a relief-if you're sure you don't mind."

"You may say 'Hang Mr. Pixley!' though it is not an expression I am in the habit of using myself. But please don't begin it with a D."

"Hang Mr. Pixley, and Mr. Pixley's son, and all his intentions!" he said fervently and with visible relish.

"Yes," she nodded slowly, as though savouring it; and then added, with a delicious twinkle of the soft brown eyes, "There is something in that that appeals to me. Jeremiah Pixley is almost too good for this world. At least-"

"He is absolutely unwholesomely good. My own private opinion is that he's a disreputable old blackg-I mean whited sepulchre."

"Unwholesomely good!" She nodded again. "Yes,-that, I think, very fairly expresses him. 'Unco' guid,' we would say up north. But, all the same, he is Margaret's uncle and guardian and trustee. He is also the kind of man whom nothing can turn from a line he has once adopted."

"I know. Pigheaded as a War-Office-mule," he side-tracked hastily.

For she had looked at him with a momentary bristle of enquiry in the gentle brown eyes, and he remembered, just in time, that her husband had once held the reins in Pall Mall for half a year, when, feeling atrophy creeping on, he resigned office and died three months later.

He hastened to add,-"The ordinary Army-mule, you know, is specially constructed with a cast-iron mouth, and a neck of granite, and a disposition like-like Mr. Pixley's. I imagine Mr. Pixley can be excessively unpleasant when he tries. To me he is excessively unpleasant even to think of, and without any exertion whatever on his part."

"Yes. Mrs. Pixley would rather convey that impression. She is always depressed and apprehensive-looking. But she is very fond of Margaret, and that no doubt is why-But I suppose she really has no choice in the matter, until she comes of age-"

"Mrs. Pixley?"

"Until Margaret comes into her own she is no doubt obliged to submit to her guardian's views. It is difficult to imagine anyone not a Pixley living in the Pixley atmosphere of their own free will. What is the son like? I have only seen him once or twice. Does he take after his father?"

"He's about twice as tall, and several times as wide in some respects, I should say,-certainly in the matter of the enjoyment of life. He's not bad-looking-in a kind of a way, you know,-that is, for those who like that kind of looks,-a trifle fleshy perhaps. But he's a fair dancer, and sings a song well, and can talk about nothing as nicely as any man I ever met. It's an accomplishment I often envy."

"I wouldn't trouble about it, if I were you. There are things more worth doing in the world. And that reminds me. We were talking of your books. I've been wanting to tell you that your love-scenes are not altogether to my liking. They are just a little-well, not quite-"

"Yes, I know," he said sadly. "You see, I lack experience in such things. Now, if Margaret-"

"Don't tell me you want to use her simply as a model," she began, with another incipient gentle bristle.

"I want her as a model and a great many other things besides, dear Lady Elspeth. I love Margaret Brandt with every atom of good that is in me."

"And she?" with a nod and a sparkle.

"Ah! There now-that's what I don't know. She's not one to wear her heart on her sleeve. At times I have dared to hope. Then again I have feared-"

"That is quite right. That is quite as it should be. Anything more, so early as this, would imply unmaidenliness on her part."

"Truly? You mean it? You are, without exception, the most charming old lady in the world! You relieve my mind immensely. You see, she is always so sweet and charming. But then she could not be anything else, and it may really mean nothing. Do you really think I may hope?"

"'White-handed Hope, thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings,'" she quoted, with a smile.

"That's Margaret," he murmured rapturously.

"It's a poor kind of man that gives up hope until he lies in his coffin, and even then-" and she nodded thoughtfully, as though tempted to a descent into metaphysics.

"Let us talk of bridal wreaths. They are very much nicer to think of than coffins when one is discussing Margaret Brandt."

"She is very sweet and very beautiful-"

"There never was anyone like her in this world-unless it was my mother and yourself."

"Let Margaret be first with you, my boy. That also is as it should be. Neither your dear mother nor I stand in need of empty compliments. Margaret Brandt is worthy any good man's whole heart, and perhaps I can be of some help to you. But, all the same, remember what I've said. You may be too late in the field."

"You are just the splendidest old lady in the world," he said exuberantly; and added, with a touch of gloom, "She was talking of going off to the Riviera."

"Ah, then, I suppose I shall be in eclipse also, until she returns."

"Oh no, you won't. We can talk of her, you know," at which Lady Elspeth's eyes twinkled merrily.

"What would you say to convoying a troublesome old lady to the Riviera, yourself, Jock?"

"You?" and he jumped up delightedly,-and just at that point old Hamish opened the door of the cosy room, and announced-

"Miss Brandt, mem!"