"And the young man you speak of," Mary asked, "does he live all by himself—out on that island?" "It’s fit that he should live by himself," said Mr. Purdie, with his eyes beginning to twinkle fiercely again: for any reference to this young man seemed to completely turn his head. "He’s nothing but a savage—brought up as a savage—amongst the rocks and crags—like a wild-goat—from his earliest years. What else could ye expect? There was his mother—a proud woman—proud and vindictive as ever was born—and she hears how her husband is gallivanting from this capital to that—throwing away his money on Italian countesses and riff-raff—indeed there was the one public scandal, but I cannot give ye particulars, Miss Stanley, the story is not for a young lady’s ears at all: but the mother, she determines to go away and live in that island, and bring up her only child there; and there the two o’ them live, like two savages, the laddie growing up as a wild goat would, clambering about the rocks and the shore and the hills. What could ye expect but that he should turn out a poaching, thieving, smuggling rascal, especially with every man, woman, and child in the place—on the mainland here, I mean—ready to serve him and screen him? Truly it is a debasing thing to think of—such supersteetion; but these poor ignorant creatures—a name’s enough for them—any Ross of Heimra, because he’s a Ross of Heimra, is a little God Almighty to them; I think they would perjure their immortal souls for that impudent and brazen-faced young scoundrel out there. Brandy? Oh, ay, brandy! And I dare say he gets them tobacco, too; and makes a good profit on’t; for what else can he live on? Heimra island is the last of all their possessions; if you go scattering your money among Italian countesses, you’ve got to cut up the estate, and fling it into the market, bit by bit, until you come to the final solid lump of it—which your uncle bought, Miss Stanley; and then the deserted wife, left to herself on that island out there, can live on whelks and mussels if she likes! Well, a fine lonely place to nurse pride! Plenty of time to think! The great estate gone—her husband at length dead and buried without ever having come near her—and this young whelp to look after—a wild goat among the rocks! No more grandeur now—though at times Lord This or Lord That, or even a Duke or Duchess, would come in their steam-yacht, or send her presents of game in the autumn—" "Poor woman!" said Mary. "Is she out there still?"