"I hope not, my lad, I hope not. Thank you, thank you. No, no, don't go. You are Kenneth's visitor and friend."

"But do pray tell me what you think of him," whispered Max excitedly.

"I cannot say. We shall have the doctor here soon."

"I should like to stay and hear what he says, sir; and then--perhaps--I ought not to--I shall be--intruding--I ought to go away."

"No, no," said The Mackhai hastily; "certainly not. My boy would not wish you to leave him--that is, if you wish to stay."

"May I?" cried Max, with such intense earnestness that his host looked at him wonderingly.

"I beg you will stay, Mr Blande," he said; "and let's hope that he will be better soon. By the way, I hope you will forget what you heard me say."

Just then Kenneth turned uneasily upon his pillow, muttering quickly the while. Now he seemed to be talking to his dogs, now his words were a confused babbling, and then the occupants of the darkened room started as he burst into a fit of laughter, and said merrily,--

"No, no, Scoody; it's too bad! Poor old Max!"

Max felt the blood rise to his cheeks and gradually pale away; and then, for quite two hours, father and visitor sat watching, the monotony of the vigil being broken by an occasional walk to a window, which commanded the sea, and at last Max was able to announce that the boat was in sight.

"Thank heaven!" muttered The Mackhai.

They had to wait for a full half-hour, though, before they could be satisfied that there was a third person in the boat--all doubt being set at rest by The Mackhai fetching his binocular, whose general use was for deerstalking, but by whose help he was able to see that the third party in the boat was a stern-looking, dark, middle-aged man, who might very well be the doctor.

The doctor it was, and, after a careful examination, he confirmed Tavish's declaration.

"Oh no, my dear sir, I don't think it is as bad as that. The boy has concussion of the brain, and he is a great deal hurt beside; but he is young and vigorous, and I think I may venture to say that we'll pull him through. It would have killed you or me, but he is a boy accustomed evidently to a rough life."

The Mackhai wrung his hand: he could not speak for a few minutes, and the doctor left him to go back to the bedside to replace the coverlid Kenneth had tossed off, but The Mackhai noted that the doctor was too late, for Max was performing this little office, and the father observed that the lad gently laid his hand upon his son's brow.

"Of course you will stay and dine, Mr--?"

"Curzon," said the doctor, smiling.

"Mr Curzon; and then see my boy again before you go?"

"My dear sir, I shall be very glad to do so; but I think, under the circ.u.mstances, I ought to stay the night."

"Will you?" cried The Mackhai eagerly.

"With pleasure. I am down here fishing, and one place is the same to me as another. If I can serve you, I shall only be too glad."

"My good sir," cried The Mackhai, "you are taking a load off my mind!

Pray, pray stay, and if you care to fish, my river and loch are at your service,--tackle, boats, keepers, everything,--while they are mine," he added to himself.

"Then," said the doctor, smiling, "I am your private medical attendant for the next week; and to-morrow, if you will send your boat for my traps from the hotel at Staffey--"

"Yes, to-night," said The Mackhai hastily; and he left the room, thankful for the ray of light which had come into his darkening life, but hurrying back, to find Kenneth holding tightly by Max's hand as he kept on talking, while the doctor was letting a few drops fall from a little bottle he had brought, into a gla.s.s of water.

"There," he said, "we'll get him to take that, and I think we shall get some sleep afterwards. To-morrow we must hope for better things."

But the morrow came, and the hope was not fulfilled. Kenneth Mackhai, in spite of his youth and strength, was dangerously ill, and the doctor's face wore an anxious look.

"I have ordered my men to have everything ready for you, Mr Curzon,"

said The Mackhai, with enforced calmness; and Max darted an angry glance on the man who could think of sport at a time like that.

"What, to fish, Mr Mackhai?" said the doctor quickly. "No, thank you; I'll wait till I can go more at ease."

"Thank you," said The Mackhai, in a husky voice; and Max darted now a grateful look. "But pray speak plainly to me: you think my poor boy very bad?"

"Yes, sir, very bad indeed; but, please G.o.d, we'll pull him through."

The Mackhai drew a long and painful breath, and, as Max looked towards him, he thought he had never seen so sad a countenance before.

He stole out on tip-toe, for it seemed to him that he was not wanted there; but, as he reached the landing, The Mackhai touched him on the shoulder:

"Come back soon," he whispered. "Kenneth seems more restful while you are here."

Max nodded silently, and hurried down to talk for a few moments with Tavish and Scoodrach of the patient's state. Then he hurried back, thinking, as he went up to Kenneth's room, that it must be months since he came, and he wondered how it was that he could feel so much at home.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE DOCTOR'S TASK DONE.

A fortnight's terrible anxiety, during which Max rarely left Kenneth's room. Every morning, though, it grew into a custom that he should go down to the old castle yard, where Tavish, Long Shon, old Donald, and Scoody were always waiting to hear his report of the patient's progress.

"An' has she askit for the pipes?" old Donald whispered mysteriously; and, on receiving an answer in the negative, he looked reproachfully at the speaker. "She's waiting and retty," he would say; "and a good lilt on ta pipes would do her all ta petter as ta physic stuff."

At the end of a week, Donald determined to try his medicine unasked, and struck up "The March of the Mackhai" under Kenneth's window.

The doctor rang the bell furiously, and Grant, who guessed what it meant, ran out and seized the old piper, to bundle him out of hearing.

That day there was nearly murder done, for Donald drew his sgian-dhu and swore he would have the butler's "bluid," to which Grant responded by firing half a pail of water at the furious old man, who was then carried off, foaming and muttering wildly in Gaelic, and was only calmed down by Long Shon telling him it would "kill ta young Chief" if he made so much noise.

Tavish was terribly low-spirited.

"Ta pools are fu' o' saumont," he would say, "and there's naebody to catch them, for the hand that throws a flee better nor ta whole wurrld lies low. Ye'll came and catch a saumont, Maister Max? Ta Chief said she was to shoot and fush, and have ta poat when she liked. Ye'll came the morning?"

"No, Tavish; I can't leave Kenneth; perhaps he'll want me to read to him."

"Rest? wha's ta use o' reating to ta laddie? If it was na for ta toctor, wha's a clever chiel' wi ta rod, what should we do?"

For the doctor stayed on, combining pleasure with work, seeing Kenneth two or three times a day, and fishing in the intervals.

"I shall never be able to repay you for your kindness, Curzon," said The Mackhai one morning.

"My dear sir," said the doctor, "you pay me every day. I never lived better; I never had a more comfortable room; and I never had better fishing."