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Updated: June 3, 2025
The peat-cutting had increased the difficulty of reaching the central fastness of the Wild, for the ink-black tarns had been cunningly united, and the wide morass in front, where from black pools great bubbles for ever rose and lazily burst, had been dammed till it overflowed the meadows and lapped the sand-dunes behind the house of Abbey Burnfoot.
Indian soldier, statesman, and historian, b. at Burnfoot, Dumfriesshire, went to India in 1782, studied Persian, was employed in many important negotiations and held various distinguished posts, being Ambassador to Persia and Governor of Bombay 1826-30.
The same thought must have been in Archie's head, for he dropped on his belly and began to crawl softly seawards. I followed, and Tam, with sundry complaints, crept after my heels. Between the cliffs and the fire lay some sixty yards of debris and boulders above the level of all but the high spring tides. Beyond lay a string of seaweedy pools and then the hard sands of the burnfoot.
The cliffs are so undercut that unless a watcher on the coast were on their extreme edge he would not see the burnfoot sands. Archie, the skilled tracker, was the one who all but betrayed us. His knee slipped on the seaweed, and he rolled off a boulder, bringing down with him a clatter of small stones.
He had found both, as it were dropped from heaven, in a corner of his stable, but Tam Eident, whom he had carefully catechized, knew nothing about the matter. He had, he averred, been asleep at the time in his bed in the stable-loft. Doubtless the Free Traders thought they were paying for some complaisance on the part of the master of Abbey Burnfoot.
He did not love the man nor his family. But Ferris was a gentleman and a neighbour. Only let him get to London. He would make the ears of these Hanover rats lie back when he told them an honest man's opinion of them on some day of great debate. Oh, it was not the first time he had spoken. Hear him they must and hear him they should. Earl Raincy reached the new house of Abbey Burnfoot in safety.
He would have been sure, either that the girl was sickening for a serious illness, or that he had mortally offended her. "How did you leave the Wise Uncle this morning?" he asked, with a nod of his head in the direction of the house by the Abbey Burnfoot. Both had begun to climb a little way up out of the path by the waterside. They did so without any words.
Nairn's smile was half a sigh. "There were no books and no many amusements when I was young. We sat through the long winter forenights, counting stitches, in the old gray house at Burnfoot, under the Scottish moors. That, my dear, was thirty years ago." She shook hands with Vane as he left the house with Jessy, and standing on the stoop she watched them cross the lawn.
He is to go home immediately. His Royal Highness the Duke is at Abbey Burnfoot!" "What duke?" the baronet fairly gasped. "The Duke of Lyonesse, of course, on his way from Ireland," said the officer, "he was junior attaché to Mr. Wemyss at Vienna!" "Good God!" said the baronet, "I wonder if Wemyss will bring him to Bunny House."
Abbey Burnfoot was the picturesque modern fancy of a cultured man of the world, who had come thither to live his life between his books, his paintings, his music, and the eternally fresh wash of the sea in the little white bay of pebble and shell underneath his windows.
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