The Half-Hearted

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The Half-Hearted

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Title: The Half-Hearted
Author: John Buchan

Release Date: November 11, 2005 [eBook #17047]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
HALF-HEARTED***
E-text prepared by MRK

THE HALF-HEARTED

by
JOHN BUCHAN

NOTE
For the convenience of the reader it may be stated that the period of this
tale is the closing years of the 19th Century.

CONTENTS

PART I
I. EVENING IN GLENAVELIN
II. LADY MANORWATER'S GUESTS III. UPLAND WATER IV.
AFTERNOON IN A GARDEN V. A CONFERENCE OF THE
POWERS VI. PASTORAL VII. THE MAKERS OF EMPIRE VIII.
MR. WRATISLAW'S ADVENT IX. THE Episodes OF A DAY X.
HOME TRUTHS XI. THE PRIDE BEFORE A FALL XII.
PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY XIII. THE PLEASURES OF A
CONSCIENCE XIV. A GENTLEMAN IN STRAITS XV. THE
NEMESIS OF A COWARD XVI. A MOVEMENT OF THE POWERS
XVII. THE BRINK OF THE RUBICON XVIII. THE FURTHER
BRINK XIX. THE BRIDGE OF BROKEN HEARTS

PART II
XX. THE EASTERN ROAD

XXI. IN THE HEART OF THE HILLS XXII. THE OUTPOSTS XXIII.
THE DINNER AT GALETTI'S XXIV. THE TACTICS OP A CHIEF
XXV. MRS. LOGAN'S BALL XXVI. FRIEND TO FRIEND XXVII.
THE ROAD TO FORZA XXVIII. THE HILL-FORT XXIX. The
WAY TO NAZRI XXX. EVENING IN THE HILLS XXXI. EVENTS
SOUTH OF THE BORDER XXXII. THE BLESSING OF GAD

THE HALF-HEARTED

CHAPTER I
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PART I
CHAPTER I
EVENING IN GLENAVELIN
From the heart of a great hill land Glenavelin stretches west and south
to the wider Gled valley, where its stream joins with the greater water
in its seaward course. Its head is far inland in a place of mountain
solitudes, but its mouth is all but on the lip of the sea, and salt breezes
fight with the flying winds of the hills. It is a land of green meadows on
the brink of heather, of far-stretching fir woods that climb to the edge
of the uplands and sink to the fringe of corn. Nowhere is there any
march between art and nature, for the place is in the main for sheep,
and the single road which threads the glen is little troubled with cart
and crop-laden wagon. Midway there is a stretch of wood and garden
around the House of Glenavelin, the one great dwelling-place in the
vale. But it is a dwelling and a little more, for the home of the real lords
of the land is many miles farther up the stream, in the moorland house
of Etterick, where the Avelin is a burn, and the hills hang sharply over

its source. To a stranger in an afternoon it seems a very vale of content,
basking in sun and shadow, green, deep, and silent. But it is also a
place of storms, for its name means the "glen of white waters," and mist
and snow are commoner in its confines than summer heats.
On a very wet evening in June a young man in a high dogcart was
driving up the glen. A deer-stalker's cap was tied down over his ears,
and the collar of a great white waterproof defended his neck. A cheerful
bronzed face was shadowed by the peak of his cap, and two very keen
grey eyes peered out into the mist. He was driving with tight rein, for
the mare was fresh and the road had awkward slopes and corners; but
none the less he was dreaming, thinking pleasant thoughts, and now
and then looking cheerily at the ribs of hill which at times were cleared
of mist. His clean-shaven face was wet and shining with the drizzle,
pools formed on the floor of the cart, and the mare's flanks were
plastered with the weather.
Suddenly he drew up sharp at the sight of a figure by the roadside.
"Hullo, Doctor Gracey," he cried, "where on earth have you come from?
Come in and I'll give you a lift."
The figure advanced and scrambled into the vacant seat. It was a little
old man in a big topcoat with a quaint-fashioned wide-awake hat on his
head. In ill weather all distinctions are swept away. The stranger might
have been a statesman or a tramp.
"It is a pleasure to see you, Doctor," and the young man grasped a
mittened hand and looked into his companion's face. There was
something both kindly and mirthful in his grey