diff options
Diffstat (limited to '16554-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 16554-h/16554-h.htm | 13803 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 16554-h/images/image1.jpg | bin | 0 -> 26799 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 16554-h/images/image2.png | bin | 0 -> 1090 bytes |
3 files changed, 13803 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/16554-h/16554-h.htm b/16554-h/16554-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d4c2111 --- /dev/null +++ b/16554-h/16554-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13803 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Foes, by Mary Johnston</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em;} + + .author {text-align: right; margin-right: 5%;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; } + pre {font-size: 8pt;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Foes, by Mary Johnston</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Foes</p> +<p>Author: Mary Johnston</p> +<p>Release Date: August 20, 2005 [eBook #16554]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOES***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst, Diane Monico,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (https://www.pgdp.net/)</h4> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p class="figcenter" style="width: 369px;"> +<img src="images/image1.jpg" width="369" height="575" alt="cover: FOES" title="" /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h1>FOES</h1> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Books By</span></p> + +<p class="center">MARY JOHNSTON</p> + + +<p class="center">FOES<br /> +SIR MORTIMER<br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + +<p class="center"><small>HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK</small></p> + +<p class="center"><small>[<span class="smcap">Established 1817</span>]</small></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>FOES</h1> +<h2><i>A Novel</i></h2> + + +<h4>BY</h4> +<h3>MARY JOHNSTON</h3> + + +<p class="center"><i>Author of</i><br /> +"TO HAVE AND TO HOLD" "AUDREY" "LEWIS RAND"<br /> +"SIR MORTIMER" "THE LONG ROLL"<br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + +<p class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/image2.png" width="100" height="135" alt="" title="" /> +<br /><br /><br /></p> + + +<p class="center">HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br /> +<small>NEW YORK AND LONDON</small></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<p class="center">FOES</p> + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1918, by Mary Johnston<br /> +Printed in the United States of America<br /> +Published September, 1918 +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>CHAPTER XVIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>CHAPTER XIX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>CHAPTER XX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>CHAPTER XXI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>CHAPTER XXII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><b>CHAPTER XXIV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><b>CHAPTER XXV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><b>CHAPTER XXVI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"><b>CHAPTER XXVII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"><b>CHAPTER XXVIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"><b>CHAPTER XXIX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX"><b>CHAPTER XXX</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI"><b>CHAPTER XXXI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII"><b>CHAPTER XXXII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII"><b>CHAPTER XXXIII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV"><b>CHAPTER XXXIV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV"><b>CHAPTER XXXV</b></a><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a>FOES</h1> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + + +<p>Said Mother Binning: "Whiles I spin and whiles +I dream. A bonny day like this I look."</p> + +<p>English Strickland, tutor at Glenfernie House, +looked, too, at the feathery glen, vivid in June sunshine. +The ash-tree before Mother Binning's cot +overhung a pool of the little river. Below, the +water brawled and leaped from ledge to ledge, but +here at the head of the glen it ran smooth and still. +A rose-bush grew by the door and a hen and her chicks +crossed in the sun. English Strickland, who had been +fishing, sat on the door-stone and talked to Mother +Binning, sitting within with her wheel beside her.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Mother, to have the second sight?"</p> + +<p>"It's to see behind the here and now. Why're +ye asking?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I could buy it or slave for it!" said Strickland. +"Over and over again I really need to see +behind the here and now!"</p> + +<p>"Aye. It's needed mair really than folk think. +It's no' to be had by buying nor slaving. How are +the laird and the leddy?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a>"Why, well. Tell me," said Strickland, "some +of the things you've seen with second sight."</p> + +<p>"It taks inner ears for inner things."</p> + +<p>"How do you know I haven't them?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe 'tis so. Ye're liked well enough."</p> + +<p>Mother Binning looked at the dappling water and +the June trees and the bright blue sky. It was a day +to loosen tongue.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you ane thing I saw. It's mair than +twenty years since James Stewart, that was son of +him who fled, wad get Scotland and England again +intil his hand. So the laddie came frae overseas, +and made stir and trouble enough, I tell ye!... Now +I'll show you what I saw, I that was a +young woman then, and washing my wean's claes in +the water there. The month was September, and +the year seventeen fifteen. Mind you, nane hereabouts +knew yet of thae goings-on!... I sat back +on my heels, with Jock's sark in my hand, and a +lav'rock was singing, and whiles I listened the pool +grew still. And first it was blue glass under blue sky, +and I sat caught. And then it was curled cloud or +milk, and then it was nae color at all. And then I +<i>saw</i>, and 'twas as though what I saw was around +me. There was a town nane like Glenfernie, and a +country of mountains, and a water no' like this one. +There pressed a thrang of folk, and they were Hieland +men and Lowland men, but mair Hieland than +Lowland, and there were chiefs and chieftains and +Lowland lords, and there were pipers. I heard +naught, but it was as though bright shadows were +around me. There was a height like a Good People's +mount, and a braw fine-clad lord speaking and +<a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a>reading frae a paper, and by him a surpliced man +to gie a prayer, and there was a banner pole, and +it went up high, and it had a gowd ball atop. The +braw lord stopped speaking, and all the Hielandmen +and Lowlandmen drew and held up and brandished +their claymores and swords. The flash ran around +like the levin. I kenned that they shouted, all thae +gay shadows! I saw the pipers' cheeks fill with +wind, and the bags of the pipes fill. Then ane drew +on a fine silken rope, and up the pole there went a +braw silken banner, and it sailed out in the wind. +And there was mair shouting and brandishing. But +what think ye might next befall? That gowden +ball, gowden like the sun before it drops, that topped +the pole, it fell! I marked it fall, and the heads +dodge, and it rolled upon the ground.... And then +all went out like a candle that you blaw upon. I +was kneeling by the water, and Jock's sark in my +hand, and the lav'rock singing, and that was all."</p> + +<p>"I have heard tell of that," said Strickland. "It +was near Braemar."</p> + +<p>"And that's mony a lang league frae here! Sax +days, and we had news of the rising, with the gathering +at Braemar. And said he wha told us, 'The +gilt ball fell frae the standard pole, and there's nane +to think that a good omen!' But I <i>saw</i> it," said +Mother Binning. She turned her wheel, a woman +not yet old and with a large, tranquil comeliness. +"What I see makes fine company!"</p> + +<p>Strickland plucked a rose and smelled it. "This +country is fuller of such things than is England that +I come from."</p> + +<p>"Aye. It's a grand country." She continued to +<a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a>spin. The tutor looked at the sun. It was time to +be going if he wished another hour with the stream. +He took up his rod and book and rose from the door-step. +Mother Binning glanced aside from her wheel.</p> + +<p>"How gaes things with the lad at the House?"</p> + +<p>"Alexander or James?"</p> + +<p>"The one ye call Alexander."</p> + +<p>"That is his name."</p> + +<p>"I think that he's had ithers. That's a lad of +mony lives!"</p> + +<p>Strickland, halting by the rose-bush, looked at +Mother Binning. "I suppose we call it 'wisdom' +when two feel alike. Now that's just what I feel +about Alexander Jardine! It's just feeling without +rationality."</p> + +<p>"Eh?"</p> + +<p>"There isn't any reason in it."</p> + +<p>"I dinna know about 'reason.' There's <i>being</i> in +it."</p> + +<p>The tutor made as if to speak further, then, with +a shake of his head, thought better of it. Thirty-five +years old, he had been a tutor since he was +twenty, dwelling, in all, in four or five more or less +considerable houses and families. Experience, adding +itself to innate good sense, had made him slow +to discuss idiosyncrasies of patrons or pupils. Strong +perplexity or strong feeling might sometimes drive +him, but ordinarily he kept a rein on speech. Now +he looked around him.</p> + +<p>"What high summer, lovely weather!"</p> + +<p>"Oh aye! It's bonny. Will ye be gaeing, since +ye have na mair to say?"</p> + +<p>English Strickland laughed and said good-by to +<a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>Mother Binning and went. The ash-tree, the hazels +that fringed the water, a point of mossy rock, hid the +cot. The drone of the wheel no longer reached his +ears. It was as though all that had sunk into +the earth. Here was only the deep, the green, and +lonely glen. He found a pool that invited, cast, and +awaited the speckled victim. In the morning he had +had fair luck, but now nothing.... The water +showed no more diamonds, the lower slopes of the +converging hills grew a deep and slumbrous green. +Above was the gold, shoulder and crest powdered +with it, unearthly, uplifted. Strickland ceased his +fishing. The light moved slowly upward; the trees, +the crag-heads, melted into heaven; while the lower +glen lay in lengths of shadow, in jade and amethyst. +A whispering breeze sprang up, cool as the water +sliding by. Strickland put up his fisherman's gear +and moved homeward, down the stream.</p> + +<p>He had a very considerable way to go. The glen +path, narrow and rough, went up and down, still +following the water. Hazel and birch, oak and pine, +overhung and darkened it. Bosses of rock thrust +themselves forward, patched with lichen and moss, +seamed and fringed with fern and heath. Roots of +trees, huge and twisted, spread and clutched like +guardian serpents. In places where rock had fallen +the earth seemed to gape. In the shadow it looked +a gnome world—a gnome or a dragon world. Then +upon ledge or bank showed bells or disks or petaled +suns of June flowers, rose and golden, white and +azure, while overhead was heard the evening song +of birds alike calm and merry, and through a cleft +in the hills poured the ruddy, comfortable sun.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>The walls declined in height, sloped farther back. +The path grew broader; the water no longer fell +roaring, but ran sedately between pebbled beaches. +The scene grew wider, the mouth of the glen was +reached. He came out into a sunset world of dale +and moor and mountain-heads afar. There were +fields of grain, and blue waving feathers from +chimneys of cottage and farm-house. In the distance +showed a village, one street climbing a hill, +and atop a church with a spire piercing the clear east. +The stream widened, flowing thin over a pebbly bed. +The sun was not yet down. It painted a glory +in the west and set lanes and streets of gold over the +hills and made the little river like Pactolus. Strickland +approached a farm-house, prosperous and venerable, +mended and neat. Thatched, long, white, and +low, behind it barns and outbuildings, it stood +tree-guarded, amid fields of young corn. Beyond +it swelled a long moorside; in front slipped the still +stream.</p> + +<p>There were stepping-stones across the stream. +Two young girls, coming toward the house, had set +foot upon these. Strickland, halting in the shadow +of hazels and young aspens, watched them as they +crossed. Their step was free and light; they came +with a kind of hardy grace, elastic, poised, and very +young, homeward from some visit on this holiday. +The tutor knew them to be Elspeth and Gilian Barrow, +granddaughters of Jarvis Barrow of White Farm. +The elder might have been fifteen, the younger +thirteen years. They wore their holiday dresses. +Elspeth had a green silken snood, and Gilian a blue. +Elspeth sang as she stepped from stone to stone:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><p><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a></p> +<span class="i0">"But I will get a bonny boat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I will sail the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I maun gang to Love Gregor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since he canna come hame to me—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>They did not see Strickland where he stood by the +hazels. He let them go by, watching them with a +quiet pleasure. They took the upward-running lane. +Hawthorns in bloom hid them; they were gone like +young deer. Strickland, crossing the stream, went +his own way.</p> + +<p>The country became more open, with, at this hour, +a dreamlike depth and hush. Down went the sun, +but a glow held and wrapped the earth in hues of +faery. When he had walked a mile and more he +saw before him Glenfernie House. In the modern +and used moiety seventy years old, in the ancient +keep and ruin of a tower three hundred, it crowned—the +ancient and the latter-day—a craggy hill set +with dark woods, and behind it came up like a +wonder lantern, like a bubble of pearl, the full moon.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<p>The tutor, in his own room, put down his +fisherman's rod and bag. The chamber was +a small one, set high up, with two deep windows +tying the interior to the yet rosy west and the clearer, +paler south. Strickland stood a moment, then went +out at door and down three steps and along a passageway +to two doors, one closed, the other open. +He tapped upon the latter.</p> + +<p>"James!"</p> + +<p>A boy of fourteen, tall and fair, with a flushed, +merry face, crossed the room and opened the +door more widely. "Oh, aye, Mr. Strickland, +I'm in!"</p> + +<p>"Is Alexander?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet. I haven't seen him. I was at the +village with Dandie Saunderson."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what he did with himself?"</p> + +<p>"Not precisely."</p> + +<p>"I see. Well, it's nearly supper-time."</p> + +<p>Back in his own quarters, the tutor made such +changes as were needed, and finally stood forth in +a comely suit of brown, with silver-buckled shoes, +stock and cravat of fine cambric, and a tie-wig. +Midway in his toilet he stopped to light two candles. +These showed, in the smallest of mirrors, set of wig +<a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>and cravat, and between the two a thoughtful, +cheerful, rather handsome countenance.</p> + +<p>He had left the door ajar so that he might hear, +if he presently returned, his eldest pupil. But he +heard only James go clattering down the passage +and the stair. Strickland, blowing out his candles, +left his room to the prolonged June twilight and the +climbing moon.</p> + +<p>The stairway down, from landing to landing, lay +in shadow, but as he approached the hall he caught +the firelight. The laird had a London guest who +might find a chill in June nights so near the north. +The blazing wood showed forth the chief Glenfernie +gathering-place, wide and deep, with a great chimneypiece +and walls of black oak, and hung thereon +some old pieces of armor and old weapons. There +was a table spread for supper, and a servant went +about with a long candle-lighter, lighting candles. +A collie and a hound lay upon the hearth. Between +them stood Mrs. Jardine, a tall, fair woman of forty +and more, with gray eyes, strong nose, and humorous +mouth.</p> + +<p>"Light them all, Davie! It'll be dark then by +London houses."</p> + +<p>Davie showed an old servant's familiarity. "He +wasna sae grand when he left auld Scotland thirty +years since! I'm thinking he might remember when +he had nae candles ava in his auld hoose."</p> + +<p>"Well, he'll have candles enough in his new hall."</p> + +<p>Davie lit the last candle. "They say that he is +sinfu' rich!"</p> + +<p>"Rich enough to buy Black Hill," said Mrs. Jardine, +and turned to the fire. The tutor joined her +<a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>there. He had for her liking and admiration, and +she for him almost a motherly affection. Now she +smiled as he came up.</p> + +<p>"Did you have good fishing?"</p> + +<p>"Only fair."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Jardine and Mr. Touris have just returned. +They rode to Black Hill. Have you seen +Alexander?"</p> + +<p>"No. I asked Jamie—"</p> + +<p>"So did I. But he could not tell."</p> + +<p>"He may have gone over the moor and been +belated. Bran is with him."</p> + +<p>"Yes.... He's a solitary one, with a thousand in +himself!"</p> + +<p>"You're the second woman," remarked Strickland, +"who's said that to-day," and told her of +Mother Binning.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jardine pushed back a fallen ember with +the toe of her shoe. "I don't know whether she +sees or only thinks she sees. Some do the tane and +some do the tither. Here's the laird."</p> + +<p>Two men entered together—a large man and a +small man. The first, great of height and girth, +was plainly dressed; the last, seeming slighter by +contrast than he actually was, wore fine cloth, silken +hose, gold buckles to his shoes, and a full wig. The +first had a massive, somewhat saturnine countenance, +the last a shrewd, narrow one. The first had a long +stride and a wide reach from thumb to little finger, +the last a short step and a cupped hand. William +Jardine, laird of Glenfernie, led the way to the fire.</p> + +<p>"The ford was swollen. Mr. Touris got a little +wet and chilled."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>"Ah, the fire is good!" said Mr. Touris. "They +do not burn wood like this in London!"</p> + +<p>"You will burn it at Black Hill. I hope that you +like it better and better?"</p> + +<p>"It has possibilities, ma'am. Undoubtedly," said +Mr. Touris, the Scots adventurer for fortune, set up +as merchant-trader in London, making his fortune +by "interloping" voyages to India, but now shareholder +and part and lot of the East India Company—"undoubtedly +the place has possibilities." He +warmed his hands. "Well, it would taste good to +come back to Scotland—!" His words might have +been finished out, "and laird it, rich and influential, +where once I went forth, cadet of a good family, but +poorer than a church mouse!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jardine made a murmur of hope that he +<i>would</i> come back to Scotland. But the laird looked +with a kind of large gloom at the reflection of fire +and candle in battered breastplate and morion and +crossed pikes.</p> + +<p>Supper was brought in by two maids, Eppie and +Phemie, and with them came old Lauchlinson, the +butler. Mrs. Jardine placed herself behind the silver +urn, and Mr. Touris was given the seat nearest the +fire. The boy James appeared, and with him the +daughter of the house, Alice, a girl of twelve, bonny +and merry.</p> + +<p>"Where is Alexander?" asked the laird.</p> + +<p>Strickland answered. "He is not in yet, sir. I +fancy that he walked to the far moor. Bran is +with him."</p> + +<p>"He's a wanderer!" said the laird. "But he +ought to keep hours."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>"That's a fine youth!" quoth Mr. Touris, drinking +tea. "I marked him yesterday, casting the bar. +Very strong—a powerful frame like yours, Glenfernie! +When is he going to college?"</p> + +<p>"This coming year. I have kept him by me +late," said the laird, broodingly. "I like my bairns +at home."</p> + +<p>"Aye, but the young will not stay as they used +to! They will be voyaging," said the guest. "They +build outlandish craft and forthfare, no matter what +you cry to them!" His voice had a mordant note. +"I know. I've got one myself—a nephew, not a +son. But I am his guardian and he's in my house, +and it is the same. If I buy Black Hill, Glenfernie, +I hope that your son and my nephew may be friends. +They're about of an age."</p> + +<p>The listening Jamie spoke from beyond Strickland. +"What's your nephew's name, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Ian. Ian Rullock. His father's mother was a +Highland lady, near kinswoman to Gordon of Huntley." +Mr. Touris was again speaking to his host. +"As a laddie, before his father's death (his mother, +my sister, died at his birth), he was much with +those troublous northern kin. His father took +him, too, in England, here and there among the +Tory crowd. But I've had him since he was twelve +and am carrying him on in the straight Whig +path."</p> + +<p>"And in the true Presbyterian religion?"</p> + +<p>"Why, as to that," said Mr. Touris, "his father +was of the Church Episcopal in Scotland. I trust +that we are all Christians, Glenfernie!"</p> + +<p>The laird made a dissenting sound. "I kenned," +<a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>he said, and his voice held a grating gibe, "that +you had left the Kirk."</p> + +<p>Mr. Archibald Touris sipped his tea. "I did not +leave it so far, Glenfernie, that I cannot return! In +England, for business reasons, I found it wiser to live +as lived the most that I served. Naaman was permitted +to bow himself in the house of Rimmon."</p> + +<p>"You are not Naaman," answered the laird. +"Moreover, I hold that Naaman sinned!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jardine would make a diversion. "Mr. Jardine, +will you have sugar to your tea? Mr. Strickland +says the great pine is blown down, this side the +glen. The <i>Mercury</i> brings us news of the great +world, Mr. Touris, but I dare say you can give us +more?"</p> + +<p>"The chief news, ma'am, is that we want war +with Spain and Walpole won't give it to us. But +we'll have it—British trade must have it or lower her +colors to the Dons! France, too—"</p> + +<p>Supper went on, with abundant and good food and +drink. The laird sat silent. Strickland gave Mrs. +Jardine yeoman aid. Jamie and Alice now listened +to the elders, now in an undertone discoursed their +own affairs. Mr. Touris talked, large trader talk, +sprinkled with terms of commerce and Indian +policy. Supper over, all rose. The table was +cleared, wine and glasses brought and set upon it, +between the candles. The young folk vanished. +Bright as was the night, the air carried an edge. +Mr. Touris, standing by the fire, warmed himself +and took snuff. Strickland, who had left the hall, +returned and placed her embroidery frame for Mrs. +Jardine.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a>"Is Alexander in yet?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet."</p> + +<p>She began to work in cross-stitch upon a wreath +of tulips and roses. The tutor took his book and +withdrew to the table and the candles thereon. The +laird came and dropped his great form upon the +settle. He held silence a few moments, then began +to speak.</p> + +<p>"I am fifty years old. I was a bairn just talking +and toddling about the year the Stewart fled and +King William came to England. My father had +Campbell blood in him and was a friend of Argyle's. +The estate of Glenfernie was not to him then, but +his uncle held it and had an heir of his body. My +father was poor save in stanchness to the liberties +of Kirk and kingdom. My mother was a minister's +daughter, and she and her father and mother were +among the persecuted for the sake of the true Reformed +and Covenanted Church of Scotland. My +mother had a burn in her cheek. It was put there, +when she was a young lass, by order of Grierson of +Lagg. She was set among those to be sold into the +plantations in America. A kinsman who had power +lifted her from that bog, but much she suffered before +she was freed.... When I was little and sat +upon her knee I would put my forefinger in that +mark. 'It's a seal, laddie,' she would say. 'Sealed +to Christ and His true Kirk!' But when I was +bigger I only wanted to meet Grierson of Lagg, and +grieved that he was dead and gone and that Satan, +not I, had the handling of him. My grandfather +and mother.... My grandfather was among the +outed ministers in Galloway. Thrust from his +<a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>church and his parish, he preached upon the moors—yea, +to juniper and whin-bush and the whaups +that flew and nested! Then the persecuted men, +women and bairns, gathered there, and he preached +to them. Aye, and he was at Bothwell Bridge. +Claverhouse's men took him, and he lay for some +months in the Edinburgh tolbooth, and then by +Council and justiciary was condemned to be hanged. +And so he was hanged at the cross of Edinburgh. +And what he said before he died was '<i>With what +measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you</i>' ... My +grandmother, for hearing preaching in the fields +and for sheltering the distressed for the Covenant's +sake, was sent with other godly women to the Bass +Rock. There in cold and heat, in hunger and sickness, +she bided for two years. When at last they +let her body forth her mind was found to be broken.... +My father and mother married and lived, until +Glenfernie came to him, at Windygarth. I was +born at Windygarth. My grandmother lived with +us. I was twelve years old before she went from +earth. It was all her pleasure to be forth from +the house—any house, for she called them all +prisons. So I was sent to ramble with her. Out of +doors, with the harmless things of earth, she was +wise enough—and good company. The old of this +countryside remember us, going here and there.... +I used to think, 'If I had been living then, I would +not have let those things happen!' And I dreamed +of taking coin, and of dropping the same coin into +the hands that gave.... And so, the other having +served your turn, Touris, you will change back to +the true Kirk?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>Mr. Touris handled his snuff-box, considered the +chasing upon the gold lid. "Those were sore happenings, +Glenfernie, but they're past! I make no +wonder that, being you, you feel as you do. But +the world's in a mood, if I may say it, not to take +so hardly religious differences. I trust that I am +as religious as another—but my family was always +moderate there. In matters political the world's +as hot as ever—but there, too, it is my instinct to +ca' canny. But if you talk of trade"—he tapped +his snuff-box—"I will match you, Glenfernie! If +there's wrong, pay it back! Hold to your principles! +But do it cannily. Smile when there's smart, and +get your own again by being supple. In the end +you'll demand—and get—a higher interest. Prosper +at your enemy's cost, and take repayment for your +hurt sugared and spiced!"</p> + +<p>"I'll not do it so!" said Glenfernie. "But I +would take my stand at the crag's edge and cry to +Grierson of Lagg, 'You or I go down!'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Touris brushed the snuff from his ruffles. +"It's a great century! We're growing enlightened."</p> + +<p>With a movement of her fingers Mrs. Jardine +helped to roll from her lap a ball of rosy wool. "Mr. +Jardine, will you give me that? Had you heard +that Abercrombie's cows were lifted?"</p> + +<p>"Aye, I heard. What is it, Holdfast?"</p> + +<p>Both dogs had raised their heads.</p> + +<p>"Bran is outside," said Strickland.</p> + +<p>As he spoke the door opened and there came in a +youth of seventeen, tall and well-built, with clothing +that testified to an encounter alike with brier and +bog. The hound Bran followed him. He blinked +<a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>at the lights and the fire, then with a gesture of +deprecation crossed the hall to the stairway. His +mother spoke after him.</p> + +<p>"Davie will set you something to eat."</p> + +<p>He answered, "I do not want anything," then, +five steps up, paused and turned his head. "I +stopped at White Farm, and they gave me supper." +He was gone, running up the stairs, and Bran with +him.</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie shaded his eyes and +looked at the fire. Mrs. Jardine, working upon the +gold streak in a tulip, held her needle suspended and +sat for a moment with unseeing gaze, then resumed +the bright wreath. The tutor began to think again +of Mother Binning, and, following this, of the +stepping-stones at White Farm, and Elspeth and +Gilian Barrow balanced above the stream of gold. +Mr. Touris put up his snuff-box.</p> + +<p>"That's a fine youth! I should say that he took +after you, Glenfernie. But it's hard to tell whom +the young take after!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<p>The school-room at Glenfernie gave upon the +hill's steepest, most craglike face. A door +opened on a hand's-breadth of level turf across from +which rose the broken and ruined wall that once +had surrounded the keep. Ivy overgrew this; below +a wide and ragged breach a pine had set its +roots in the hillside. Its top rose bushy above the +stones. Beyond the opening, one saw from the +school-room, as through a window, field and stream +and moor, hill and dale. The school-room had been +some old storehouse or office. It was stone walled +and floored, with three small windows and a fireplace. +Now it contained a long table with a bench and +three or four chairs, a desk and shelves for books. +One door opened upon the little green and the wall; +a second gave access to a courtyard and the rear of +the new house.</p> + +<p>Here on a sunny, still August forenoon Strickland +and the three Jardines went through the educational +routine. The ages of the pupils were not sufficiently +near together to allow of a massed instruction. The +three made three classes. Jamie and Alice worked +in the school-room, under Strickland's eye. But +Alexander had or took a wider freedom. It was his +wont to prepare his task much where he pleased, +<a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>coming to the room for recitation or for colloquy +upon this or that aspect of knowledge and the +attainment thereof. The irregularity mattered the +less as the eldest Jardine combined with a passion +for personal liberty and out of doors a passion for +knowledge. Moreover, he liked and trusted Strickland. +He would go far, but not far enough to strain +the tutor's patience. His father and mother and all +about Glenfernie knew his way and in a measure +acquiesced. He had managed to obtain for himself +range. Young as he was, his indrawing, outpushing +force was considerable, and was on the way, Strickland +thought, to increase in power. The tutor had +for this pupil a mixed feeling. The one constant in +it was interest. He was to him like a deep lake, +clear enough to see that there was something at the +bottom that cast conflicting lights and hints of shape. +It might be a lump of gold, or a coil of roots which +would send up a water-lily, or it might be something +different. He had a feeling that the depths themselves +hardly knew. Or there might be two things +of two natures down there in the lake....</p> + +<p>Strickland set Alice to translating a French fable, +and Jamie to reconsidering a neglected page of +ancient history. Looking through the west window, +he saw that Alexander had taken his geometry out +through the great rent in the wall. Book and student +perched beneath the pine-tree, in a crook made +by rock and brown root, overhanging the autumn +world. Strickland at his own desk dipped quill +into ink-well and continued a letter to a friend in +England. The minutes went by. From the courtyard +came a subdued, cheerful household clack and +<a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>murmur, voices of men and maids, with once Mrs. +Jardine's genial, vigorous tones, and once the laird's +deep bell note, calling to his dogs. On the western +side fell only the sough of the breeze in the pine.</p> + +<p>Jamie ceased the clocklike motion of his body to +and fro over the difficult lesson. "I never understood +just what were the Erinnys, sir?"</p> + +<p>"The Erinnys?" Strickland laid down the pen +and turned in his chair. "I'll have to think a +moment, to get it straight for you, Jamie.... The +Erinnys are the Fates as avengers. They are the +vengeance-demanding part of ourselves objectified, +supernaturalized, and named. Of old, where injury +was done, the Erinnys were at hand to pull the roof +down upon the head of the injurer. Their office was +to provide unerringly sword for sword, bitter cup for +bitter cup. They never forgot, they always avenged, +though sometimes they took years to do it. They +esteemed themselves, and were esteemed, essential to +the moral order. They are the dark and bitter extreme +of justice, given power by the imagination.... +Do you think that you know the chapter now?"</p> + +<p>Jamie achieved his recitation, and then was set +to mathematics. The tutor's quill drove on across +the page. He looked up.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Touris has come to Black Hill?"</p> + +<p>Jamie and Alice worshiped interruptions.</p> + +<p>"He has twenty carriers bringing fine things all +the time—"</p> + +<p>"Mother is going to take me when she goes to +see Mrs. Alison, his sister—"</p> + +<p>"He is going to spend money and make friends—"</p> + +<p>"Mother says Mrs. Alison was most bonny when +<a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>she was young, but England may have spoiled +her—"</p> + +<p>"The minister told the laird that Mr. Touris put +fifty pounds in the plate—"</p> + +<p>Strickland held up his hand, and the scholars, +sighing, returned to work. <i>Buzz, buzz!</i> went the +bees outside the window. The sun climbed high. +Alexander shut his geometry and came through the +break in the wall and across the span of green to +the school-room.</p> + +<p>"That's done, Mr. Strickland."</p> + +<p>Strickland looked at the paper that his eldest +pupil put before him. "Yes, that is correct. Do +you want, this morning, to take up the reading?"</p> + +<p>"I had as well, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"If you go to Edinburgh—if you do as your +father wishes and apply yourself to the law—you +will need to read well and to speak well. You do +not do badly, but not well enough. So, let's begin!" +He put out his hand and drew from the bookshelf +a volume bearing the title, <i>The Treasury of Orators</i>. +"Try what you please."</p> + +<p>Alexander took the book and moved to the unoccupied +window. Here he half sat, half stood, the +morning light flowing in upon him. He opened the +volume and read, with a questioning inflection, the +title beneath his eyes, "'The Cranes of Ibycus'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented Strickland. "That is a short, +graphic thing."</p> + +<p>Alexander read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Ibycus, who sang of love, material and divine, in Rhegium +and in Samos, would wander forth in the world and make his +<a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>lyre sound now by the sea and now in the mountain. Wheresoever +he went he was clad in the favor of all who loved song. +He became a wandering minstrel-poet. The shepherd loved him, +and the fisher; the trader and the mechanic sighed when he +sang; the soldier and the king felt him at their hearts. The old +returned in their thoughts to youth, young men and maidens +trembled in heavenly sound and light. You would think that +all the world loved Ibycus.</p> + +<p>"Corinth, the jeweled city, planned her chariot-races and her +festival of song. The strong, the star-eyed young men, traveled +to Corinth from mainland and from island, and those inner +athletes and starry ones, the poets, traveled. Great feasting +was to be in Corinth, and contests of strength and flights of song, +and in the theater, representation of gods and men. Ibycus, the +wandering poet, would go to Corinth, there perhaps to receive +a crown.</p> + +<p>"Ibycus, loved of all who love song, traveled alone, but not +alone. Yet shepherds, or women with their pitchers at the +spring, saw but a poet with a staff and a lyre. Now he was found +upon the highroad, and now the country paths drew him, and +the solemn woods where men most easily find God. And so he +approached Corinth.</p> + +<p>"The day was calm and bright, with a lofty, blue, and stainless +sky. The heart of Ibycus grew warm, and there seemed a brighter +light within the light cast by the sun. Flower and plant and +tree and all living things seemed to him to be glistening and +singing, and to have for him, as he for them, a loving friendship. +And, looking up to the sky, he saw, drawn out stringwise, a flight +of cranes, addressed to Egypt. And between his heart and them +ran, like a rippling path that the sun sends across the sea, a +stream of good-will and understanding. They seemed a part of +himself, winged in the blue heaven, and aware of the part of him +that trod earth, that was entering the grave and shadowy wood +that neighbored Corinth.</p> + +<p>"The cranes vanished from overhead, the sky arched without +stain. Ibycus, the sacred poet, with his staff and his lyre, went +on into the wood. Now the light faded and there was green +gloom, like the depths of Father Sea.</p> + +<p>"Now robbers lay masked in the wood—"</p></div> + +<p><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>Jamie and Alice sat very still, listening. Strickland +kept his eyes on the reading youth.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Now robbers lay masked in the wood—violent men and +treacherous, watching for the unwary, to take from them goods +and, if they resisted, life. In a dark place they lay in wait, and +from thence they sprang upon Ibycus. 'What hast thou? Part +it from thyself and leave it with us!'</p> + +<p>"Ibycus, who could sing of the wars of the Greeks and the +Trojans no less well than of the joys of young love, made stand, +held close to him his lyre, but raised on high his staff of oak. +Then from behind one struck him with a keen knife, and he sank, +and lay in his blood. The place was the edge of a glade, where the +trees thinned away and the sky might be seen overhead. And +now, across the blue heaven, came a second line of the +south-ward-going +cranes. They flew low, they flapped their wings, and +the wood heard their crying. Then Ibycus the poet raised his +arms to his brothers the birds. 'Ye cranes, flying between earth +and heaven, avenge shed blood, as is right!'</p> + +<p>"Hoarse screamed the cranes flying overhead. Ibycus the poet +closed his eyes, pressed his lips to Mother Earth, and died. The +cranes screamed again, circling the wood, then in a long line +sailed southward through the blue air until they might neither be +heard nor seen. The robbers stared after them. They laughed, +but without mirth. Then, stooping to the body of Ibycus, they +would have rifled it when, hearing a sudden sound of men's +voices entering the wood, they took violent fright and fled."</p></div> + +<p>Strickland looked still at the reader. Alexander +had straightened himself. He was speaking rather +than reading. His voice had intensities and shadows. +His brows had drawn together, his eyes glowed, and +he stood with nostrils somewhat distended. The +emotion that he plainly showed seemed to gather +about the injury done and the appeal of Ibycus. +The earlier Ibycus had not seemed greatly to interest +him. Strickland was used to stormy youth, +<a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>to its passional moments, sudden glows, burnings, +sympathies, defiances, lurid shows of effects with +the causes largely unapparent. It was his trade to +know youth, and he had a psychologist's interest. +He said now to himself, "There is something in his +character that connects itself with, that responds +to, the idea of vengeance." There came into his +memory the laird's talk, the evening of Mr. Touris's +visit, in June. Glenfernie, who would have wrestled +with Grierson of Lagg at the edge of the pit; Glenfernie's +mother and father, who might have had +much the same feeling; their forebears beyond them +with like sensations toward the Griersons of their +day.... The long line of them—the long line of +mankind—injured and injurers....</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Travelers through the wood, whose voices the robbers heard, +found Ibycus the poet lying upon the ground, ravished of life. +It chanced that he had been known of them, known and loved. +Great mourning arose, and vain search for them who had done +this wrong. But those strong, wicked ones were gone, fled from +their haunts, fled from the wood afar to Corinth, for the god +Pan had thrown against them a pine cone. So the travelers took +the body of Ibycus and bore it with them to Corinth.</p> + +<p>"A poet had been slain upon the threshold of the house of song. +Sacred blood had spattered the white robes of a queen dressed +for jubilee. Evil unreturned to its doers must darken the sunshine +of the famous days. Corinth uttered a cry of lamentation +and wrath. 'Where are the ill-doers, the spillers of blood, that +we may spill their blood and avenge Ibycus, showing the gods +that we are their helpers?' But those robbers and murderers +might not be found. And the body of Ibycus was consumed +upon a funeral pyre.</p> + +<p>"The festival hours went by in Corinth. And now began to fill +the amphitheater where might find room a host for number like +the acorns of Dodona. The throng was huge, the sound that it +<a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>made like the shock of ocean. Around, tier above tier, swept the +rows, and for roof there was the blue and sunny air. Then the +voice of the sea hushed, for now entered the many-numbered +chorus. Slow-circling, it sang of mighty Fate: '<i>For every word +shall have its echo, and every deed shall see its face. The word +shall say, "Is it my echo?" and the deed shall say, "Is it my +face?"</i>'—</p> + +<p>"The chorus passes, singing. The voices die, there falls a +silence, sent as it were from inner space. The open sky is above +the amphitheater. And now there comes, from north to south, +sailing that sea above, high, but not so high that their shape is +indistinguishable, a long flight of cranes. Heads move, eyes are +raised, but none know why that interest is so keen, so still. Then +from out the throng rises, struck with forgetfulness of gathered +Corinth and of its own reasons for being dumb as is the stone, a +man's voice, and the fear that Pan gives ran yet around in that +voice. 'See, brother, see! The cranes of Ibycus!'</p> + +<p>"'Ibycus!' The crowd about those men pressed in upon them. +'What do you know of Ibycus?' And great Pan drove them to +show in their faces what they knew. So Corinth took—"</p></div> + +<p>Alexander Jardine shut the book and, leaving the +window, dropped it upon the table. His hand shook, +his face was convulsed. "I've read as far as needs +be. Those things strike me like hammers!" With +suddenness he turned and was gone.</p> + +<p>Strickland was aware that he might not return +that day to the school-room, perhaps not to the +house. He went out of the west door and across +the grassy space to the gap in the wall, through +which he disappeared. Beyond was the rough +descent to wood and stream.</p> + +<p>Jamie spoke: "He's a queer body! He says he +thinks that he lived a long time ago, and then a +shorter time ago, and then now. He says that some +days he sees it all come up in a kind of dark desert."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>Alice put in her word, "Mother says he's many in +one, and that the many and one don't yet recognize +each other."</p> + +<p>"Your mother is a wise woman," said the tutor. +"Let me see how the work goes."</p> + +<p>The pine-tree, outside the wall, overhung a rude +natural stairway of stony ledge and outcropping +root with patches of moss and heath. Down this +went Alexander into a cool dimness of fir and oak and +birch, watered by a little stream. He kneeled by +this, he cooled face and hands in the water, then +flung himself beneath a tree and, burying his head +in his arms, lay still. The waves within subsided, +sank to a long, deep swell, then from that to quiet. +The door that wind and tide had beaten open shut +again. Alexander lay without thinking, without +overmuch feeling. At last, turning, he opened his +eyes upon the tree-tops and the August sky. The +door was shut upon tales of injury and revenge. +Between boy and man, he lay in a yearning stillness, +colors and sounds and dim poetic strains his ministers +of grace. This lasted for a time, then he rose, first +to a sitting posture, then to his feet. Crows flew +through the wood; he had a glimpse of yellow fields +and purple heath. He set forth upon one of the long +rambles which were a prized part of life.</p> + +<p>An hour or so later he stopped at a cotter's, some +miles from home. An old man and a woman gave +him an oat cake and a drink of home-brewed. He +was fond of folk like these—at home with them and +they with him. There was no need to make talk, +but he sat and looked at the marigolds while the +woman moved about and the old man wove rushes +<a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>into mats. From here he took to the hills and +walked awhile with a shepherd numbering his sheep. +Finally, in mid-afternoon, he found himself upon a +heath, bare of trees, lifted and purple.</p> + +<p>He sat down amid the warm bloom; he lay down. +Within was youth's blind tumult and longing, a +passioning for he knew not what. "I wish that +there were great things in my life. I wish that I +were a discoverer, sailing like Columbus. I wish +that I had a friend—"</p> + +<p>He fell into a day-dream, lapped there in warm +purple waves, hearing the bees' interminable murmur. +He faced, across a narrow vale, an abrupt, +curiously shaped hill, dark with outstanding granite +and with fir-trees. Where at the eastern end it +broke away, where at its base the vale widened, +shone among the lively green of elms turrets and +chimneys of a large house. "Black Hill—Black +Hill—Black Hill...."</p> + +<p>A youth of about his own age came up the path +from the vale. Alexander, lying amid the heath, +caught at some distance the whole figure, but as he +approached lost him. Then, near at hand, the +head rose above the brow of the ridge. It was a +handsome head, with a cap and feather, with gold-brown +hair lightly clustering, and a countenance of +spirit and daring with something subtle rubbed in. +Head, shoulders, a supple figure, not so tall nor so +largely made as was Glenfernie's heir, all came upon +the purple hilltop.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<p>Alexander raised himself from his couch in +the heather.</p> + +<p>"Good day!" said the new-comer.</p> + +<p>"Good day!"</p> + +<p>The youth stood beside him. "I am Ian Rullock."</p> + +<p>"I am Alexander Jardine."</p> + +<p>"Of Glenfernie?"</p> + +<p>"Aye, you've got it."</p> + +<p>"Then we're the neighbors that are to be friends."</p> + +<p>"If we are to be we are to be.... I want a +friend.... I don't know if you're the one that is to +answer."</p> + +<p>The other dropped beside him upon the heath. +"I saw you walking along the hilltop. So when you +did not come on I thought I'd climb and meet you. +This is a lonely, miserable country!"</p> + +<p>Alexander was moved to defend. "There are +more miserable! It's got its points."</p> + +<p>"I don't see them. I want London!"</p> + +<p>"That's Babylon.—It's your own country. You're +evening it with England!"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. But you can't deny that it's +poor."</p> + +<p>"There's one of its sons, named Touris, that is +not poor!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>Rullock rose upon one knee. "The wise man gets +rich and the fool stays poor. Do you want to be +friends or do you want to fight?"</p> + +<p>Alexander clasped his hands behind his head and +lay back upon the earth. "No, I do not want to +fight—not now! I wouldn't fight you, anyhow, +for standing up for one to whom you're beholden."</p> + +<p>Silence fell between them, each having eyes upon +the other. Something drew each to each, something +repelled each from each. It was a question, between +those forces, which would gain. Alexander +did not feel strange with Ian, nor Ian with Alexander. +It was as though they had met before. +But how they had met and why, and where and +when, and what that meeting had entailed and +meant, was hidden from their gaze. The attractive +increased over the repellent. Ian spoke.</p> + +<p>"There's none down there but my uncle and his +sister, my aunt. Come on down and let me show +you the place."</p> + +<p>"I do not care if I do." He rose, and the two went +along the hilltop and down the path.</p> + +<p>Ian was the readier in talk. "I am going soon +to Edinburgh—to college."</p> + +<p>"I'm going, too. The first of the year. I am +going to try if I can stand the law."</p> + +<p>"I want to be a soldier."</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I want.... I want to journey—and +journey—and journey ... with a book along."</p> + +<p>"Do you like books?"</p> + +<p>"Aye, fine!"</p> + +<p>"I like them right well. Are there any pretty girls +around here?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>"I don't know. I don't like girls."</p> + +<p>"I like them at times, in their places. You must +wrestle bravely, you're so strong in the shoulder and +long in the arm!"</p> + +<p>"You're not so big, but you look strong yourself."</p> + +<p>Each measured the other with his eyes. Friendship +was already here. It was as though hand had fitted +into glove.</p> + +<p>"What is your dog named?"</p> + +<p>"Hector."</p> + +<p>"Mine's Bran. You come to Glenfernie to-morrow +and I'll show you a place that's all mine. It's +the room in the old keep. I've books there and apples +and nuts and curiosities. There's a big fireplace, +and my father's let me build a furnace besides, and +I've kettles and crucibles and pans and vials—"</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>Alexander paused and gazed at Ian, then gave +into his keeping the great secret. "Alchemy. I'm +trying to change lead into gold."</p> + +<p>Ian thrilled. "I'll come! I'll ride over. I've a +beautiful mare."</p> + +<p>"It's not eight miles—"</p> + +<p>"I'll come. We're just in at Black Hill, you see, +and I've had no time to make a place like that! +But I'll show you my room. Here's the park gate."</p> + +<p>They walked up an avenue overarched by elms, +to a house old but not so old, once half-ruinous, but +now mended and being mended, enlarged, and decorated, +the aim a spacious place alike venerable and +modern. Workmen yet swarmed about it. The +whole presented a busy, cheerful aspect—a gracious +one, also, for under a monster elm before the terrace +<a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>was found the master and owner, Mr. Archibald +Touris. He greeted the youths with a manner meant +to exhibit the expansive heart of a country gentleman.</p> + +<p>"You've found each other out, have you? Why, +you look born to be friends! That's as it should +be.—And what, Alexander, do you think of Black +Hill?"</p> + +<p>"It looks finely a rich man's place, sir."</p> + +<p>Mr. Touris laughed at his country bluntness, but +did not take the tribute amiss. "Not so rich—not +so mighty rich. But enough, enough! If Ian here +behaves himself he'll have enough!" A master workman +called him away. He went with a large wave of +the hand. "Make yourself at home, Alexander! +Take him, Ian, to see your aunt Alison." He was +gone with the workman.</p> + +<p>"I'll take you there presently," said Ian. "I'm +fond of Aunt Alison—you'll like her, too—but she'll +keep. Let's go see my mare Fatima, and then my +room."</p> + +<p>Fatima was a most beautiful young, snowy +Arabian. Alexander sighed with delight when they +led her out from her stable and she walked about +with Ian beside her, and when presently Ian mounted +she curveted and caracoled. Ian and she suited each +other. Indefinably, there was about him, too, something +Eastern. The two went to and fro, the mare's +hoofs striking music from the flags. Behind them +ran a gray range of buildings overtopped by bushy +willows. Alexander sat on a stone bench, hugged +his knees, and felt true love for the sight. Ian had +come to him like a gift from the blue.</p> + +<p>Ian dismounted, and they watched Fatima dis<a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>appear +into her stall. "Come now and see the +house."</p> + +<p>The house was large and cumbered with furniture +too much and too rich for the Scotch countryside. +Ian's room had a great, rich bed and a dressing-table +that drew from Alexander a whistle, contemplative +and scornful. But there were other matters besides +luxury of couch and toilet. Slung against the wall +appeared a fine carbine, the pistols and sword of +Ian's father, and a wonderful long, twisted, and +damascened knife or dirk—creese, Ian called it—that +had come in some trading-ship of his uncle's. And +he had books in a small closet room, and a picture +that the two stood before.</p> + +<p>"Where did you get it?"</p> + +<p>"There was an Italian who owed my uncle a debt. +He had no money, so he gave him this. He said that +it was painted a long time ago and that it was very +fine."</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"It is a Bible piece. This is a city of refuge. This +is a sinner fleeing to it, and here behind him is the +avenger of blood. You can't see, it is so dark. +There!" He drew the window-curtain quite aside. +A flood of light came in and washed the picture.</p> + +<p>"I see. What is it doing here?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I liked it. I suppose Aunt Alison +thought it might hang here."</p> + +<p>"I like to see pictures in my mind. But things like +that poison me! Let's see the rest of the house."</p> + +<p>They went again through Ian's room. Coming to +a fine carved ambry, he hesitated, then stood still. +"I'm going to show you something else! I show it to +<a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>you because I trust you. It's like your telling me +about your making gold out of lead." He opened a +door of the ambry, pulled out a drawer, and, pressing +some spring, revealed a narrow, secret shelf. His +hand went into the dimness and came out bearing a +silver goblet. This he set carefully upon a neighboring +table, and looked at Alexander somewhat aslant +out of long, golden-brown eyes.</p> + +<p>"It's a bonny goblet," said Alexander. "Why do +you keep it like that?"</p> + +<p>Ian looked around him. "Years and years ago +my father, who is dead now, was in France. There +was a banquet at Saint-Germain. <i>A very great person</i> +gave it and was in presence himself. All the gentlemen +his guests drank a toast for which the finest +wine was poured in especial goblets. Afterward each +was given for a token the cup from which he drank.... Before +he died my father gave me this. But of +course I have to keep it secret. My uncle and all +the world around here are Whigs!"</p> + +<p>"James Stewart!" quoth Alexander. "Humph!"</p> + +<p>"Remember that you have not seen it," said Ian, +"and that I never said aught to you but <i>King George, +King George!</i>" With that he restored the goblet to +the secret shelf, put back the drawer, and shut the +ambry door. "Friends trust one another in little and +big.—Now let's go see Aunt Alison."</p> + +<p>They went in silence along a corridor where every +footfall was subdued in India matting. Alexander +spoke once:</p> + +<p>"I feel all through me that we're friends. But +you're a terrible fool there!"</p> + +<p>"I am not," said Ian. His voice carried the truth +<a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>of his own feeling. "I am like my father and mother +and the chieftains my kin, and I have been with certain +kings ever since there were kings. Others think +otherwise, but I've got my rights!"</p> + +<p>With that they came to the open door of a room. +A voice spoke from within:</p> + +<p>"Ian!"</p> + +<p>Ian crossed the threshold. "May we come in, +Aunt Alison? It's Alexander Jardine of Glenfernie."</p> + +<p>A tall, three-leaved screen pictured with pagodas, +palms, and macaws stood between the door and the +rest of the room. "Come, of course!" said the voice +behind this.</p> + +<p>Passing the last pagoda edge, the two entered a +white-paneled parlor where a lady in dove-gray muslin +overlooked the unpacking of fine china. She +turned in the great chair where she sat. "I am truly +glad to see Alexander Jardine!" When he went up +to her she took his two hands in hers. "I remember +your mother and how fine a lassie she was! Good +mind and good heart—"</p> + +<p>"We've heard of you, too," answered Alexander. +He looked at her in frank admiration, <i>Eh, but you're +bonny!</i> written in his gaze.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Alison, as they called her, was something +more than bonny. She had loveliness. More than +that, she breathed a cleanliness of spirit, a lucid +peace, a fibered self-mastery passing into light. +Alexander did not analyze his feeling for her, but it +was presently one of great liking. Now she sat in +her great chair while the maids went on with the +unpacking, and questioned him about Glenfernie and +all the family and life there. She was slight, not tall, +<a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>with hair prematurely white, needing no powder. +She sat and talked with her hand upon Ian. While +she talked she glanced from the one youth to the +other. At last she said:</p> + +<p>"Alexander Jardine, I love Ian dearly. He needs +and will need love—great love. If you are going to +be friends, remember that love is bottomless.—And +now go, the two of you, for the day is getting on."</p> + +<p>They passed again the macaw-and-pagoda screen +and left the paneled room. The August light struck +slant and gold. The two quitted the house and +crossed the terrace into the avenue without again +encountering the master of the place.</p> + +<p>"I will go with you to the top of the hill," said Ian. +They climbed the ridge that was like a purple cloud. +"I'll come to Glenfernie to-morrow or the next day."</p> + +<p>"Yes, come! I'm fond of Jamie, but he's three +years younger than I."</p> + +<p>"You've got a sister?"</p> + +<p>"Alice? She's only twelve. You come. I've been +wanting somebody."</p> + +<p>"So have I. I'm lonelier than you."</p> + +<p>They came to the level top of the heath. The +sun rode low; the shadow of the hill stretched at +their feet, out over path and harvest-field.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, then!"</p> + +<p>"Good-by!"</p> + +<p>Ian stood still. Alexander, homeward bound, +dropped over the crest. The earth wave hid from +him Black Hill, house and all. But, looking back, +he could still see Ian against the sky. Then Ian +sank, too. Alexander strode on toward Glenfernie. +He went whistling, in expanded, golden spirits. +<a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>Ian—and Ian—and Ian! Going through a grove +of oaks, blackbirds flew overhead, among and above +the branches. <i>The cranes of Ibycus!</i> The phrase +flashed into mind. "I wonder why things like that +disturb me so!... I wonder if there's any bottom or +top to living anyhow!... I wonder—!" He looked +at the birds and at the violet evening light at play +in the old wood. The phrase went out of his mind. +He left the remnant of the forest and was presently +upon open moor. He whistled again, loud and clear, +and strode on happily. Ian—and Ian—and Ian!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<p>The House of Glenfernie and the House of Touris +became friends. A round of country festivities, +capped by a great party at Black Hill, wrought bonds +of acquaintanceship for and with the Scots family +returned after long abode in England. Archibald +Touris spent money with a cautious freedom. He +set a table and poured a wine better by half than +might be found elsewhere. He kept good horses and +good dogs. Laborers who worked for him praised +him; he proved a not ungenerous landlord. Where +he recognized obligations he met them punctually. +He had large merchant virtues, no less than the +accompanying limitations. He returned to the +Church of Scotland.</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie and the laird of Black +Hill found constitutional impediments to their being +more friendly than need be. Each was polite to the +other to a certain point, then the one glowered and +the other scoffed. It ended in a painstaking keeping +of distance between them, a task which, when +they were in company, fell often to Mrs. Jardine. +She did it with tact, with a twist of her large, humorous +mouth toward Strickland if he were by. +Admirable as she was, it was curious to see the difference +between her method, if method there were, +and that of Mrs. Alison. The latter showed no +<a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>effort, but where she was there fell harmony. +William Jardine liked her, liked to be in the room +with her. His great frame and her slight one, his +rough, massive, somewhat unshaped personality and +her exquisite clearness contrasted finely enough. +Her brother, who understood her very little, yet +had for her an odd, appealing affection, strange in +one who had so positively settled what was life and +the needs of life. It was his habit to speak of her +as though she were more helplessly dependent even +than other women. But at times there might be +seen who was more truly the dependent.</p> + +<p>August passed into September, September into +brown October. Alexander and Ian were almost +continually in company. The attraction between +them was so great that it appeared as though it +must stretch backward into some unknown seam of +time. If they had differences, these apparently +only served in themselves to keep them revolving +the one about the other. They might almost quarrel, +but never enough to drag their two orbs apart, +breaking and rending from the common center. +The sun might go down upon a kind of wrath, but +it rose on hearts with the difference forgotten. +Their very unlikenesses pricked each on to seek +himself in the other.</p> + +<p>They were going to Edinburgh after Christmas, +to be students there, to grow to be men. Here at +home, upon the eve of their going, rein upon them +was slackened. They would so soon be independent +of home discipline that that independence was to +a degree already allowed. Black Hill did not often +question Ian's comings and goings, nor Glenfernie +<a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>Alexander's. The school-room saw the latter some +part of each morning. For the rest of the day he +might be almost anywhere with Ian, at Glenfernie, +or at Black Hill, or on the road between, or in the +country roundabout.</p> + +<p>William Jardine, chancing to be one day at Black +Hill, watched from Mrs. Alison's parlor the two +going down the avenue, the dogs at their heels. +"It's a fair David and Jonathan business!"</p> + +<p>"David needed Jonathan, and Jonathan David."</p> + +<p>"Had Jonathan lived, ma'am, and the two come +to conflict about the kingdom, what then, and where +would have flown the friendship?"</p> + +<p>"It would have flown on high, I suppose, and +waited for them until they had grown wings to +mount to it."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the laird, "you're one I can follow only +a little way!"</p> + +<p>Ian and Alexander felt only that the earth about +them was bright and warm.</p> + +<p>On a brown-and-gold day the two found themselves +in the village of Glenfernie. Ian had spent the night +with Alexander—for some reason there was school +holiday—the two were now abroad early in the day. +The village sent its one street, its few poor lanes, +up a bare hillside to the church atop. Poor and rude +enough, it had yet to-day its cheerful air. High voices +called, flaxen-haired children pottered about, a mill-wheel +creaked at the foot of the hill, iron clanged in +the smithy a little higher, the drovers' rough laughter +burst from the tavern midway, and at the height +the kirk was seeing a wedding. The air had a tang +of cooled wine, the sky was blue.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>Ian and Alexander, coming over the hill, reached +the kirk in time to see emerge the married pair with +their kin and friends. The two stood with a rabble +of children and boys beneath the yew-trees by the +gate. The yellow-haired bride in her finery, the yellow-haired +groom in his, the dressed and festive +following, stepped from the kirkyard to some waiting +carts and horses. The most mounted and took place, +the procession put itself into motion with clatter and +laughter. The children and boys ran after to where +the road dipped over the hill. A cluster of village +folk turned the long, descending street. In passing +they spoke to Alexander and Ian.</p> + +<p>"Who was married?—Jock Wilson and Janet +Macraw, o' Langmuir."</p> + +<p>The two lounged against the kirkyard wall, beneath +the yews.</p> + +<p>"<i>Marry!</i> That's a strange, terrible, useless word +to me!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know...."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is!... Ian, do you ever think that +you've lived before?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I'm living now!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I think that we all lived before. I think +that the same things happen again—"</p> + +<p>"Well, let them—some of them!" said Ian. "Come +along, if we're going through the glen."</p> + +<p>They left the kirkyard for the village street. Here +they sauntered, friends with the whole. They looked +in at the tavern upon the drovers, they watched the +blacksmith and his helper. The red iron rang, the +sparks flew. At the foot of the hill flowed the stream +and stood the mill. The wheel turned, the water +<a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>diamonds dropped in sheets. Their busy, idle day +took them on; they were now in bare, heathy country +with the breathing, winey air. Presently White +Farm could be seen among aspens, and beyond it the +wooded mouth of the glen. Some one, whistling, +turned an elbow of the hill and caught up with the +two. It proved to be one several years their senior, +a young man in the holiday dress of a prosperous +farmer. He whistled clearly an old border air and +walked without dragging or clumsiness. Coming up, +he ceased his whistling.</p> + +<p>"Good day, the both of ye!"</p> + +<p>"It's Robin Greenlaw," said Alexander, "from +Littlefarm.—You've been to the wedding, Robin?"</p> + +<p>"Aye. Janet's some kind of a cousin. It's a braw +day for a wedding! You've got with you the new +laird's nephew?—And how are you liking Black Hill?"</p> + +<p>"I like it."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you miss grandeurs abune what ye've +got there. I have a liking myself," said Greenlaw, +"for grandeurs, though we've none at all at Littlefarm! +That is to say, none that's just obvious. Are +you going to White Farm?"</p> + +<p>Alexander answered: "I've a message from my +father for Mr. Barrow. But after that we're going +through the glen. Will you come along?"</p> + +<p>"I would," said Greenlaw, seriously, "if I had +not on my best. But I know how you, Alexander +Jardine, take the devil's counsel about setting foot +in places bad for good clothes! So I'll give myself +the pleasure some other time. And so good day!" +He turned into a path that took him presently out +of sight and sound.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>"He's a fine one!" said Alexander. "I like him."</p> + +<p>"Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"White Farm's great-nephew. Littlefarm was +parted from White Farm. It's over yonder where +you see the water shining."</p> + +<p>"He's free-mannered enough!"</p> + +<p>"That's you and England! He's got as good a +pedigree as any, and a notion of what's a man, +besides. He's been to Glasgow to school, too. I +like folk like that."</p> + +<p>"I like them as well as you!" said Ian. "That is, +with reservations of them I cannot like. I'm Scots, +too."</p> + +<p>Alexander laughed. They came down to the +water and the stepping-stones before White Farm. +The house faced them, long and low, white among +trees from which the leaves were falling. Alexander +and Ian crossed upon the stones, and beyond the +fringing hazels the dogs came to meet them.</p> + +<p>Jarvis Barrow had all the appearance of a figure +from that Old Testament in which he was learned. +He might have been a prophet's right-hand man, +he might have been the prophet himself. He stood, +at sixty-five, lean and strong, gray-haired, but with +decrepitude far away. Elder of the kirk, sternly +religious, able at his own affairs, he read his Bible +and prospered in his earthly living. Now he listened +to the laird's message, nodding his head, but +saying little. His staff was in his hand; he was on +his way to kirk session; tell the laird that the account +was correct. He stood without his door as +though he waited for the youths to give good day +and depart. Alexander had made a movement in +<a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>this direction when from beyond Jarvis Barrow came +a woman's voice. It belonged to Jenny Barrow, +the farmer's unmarried daughter, who kept house +for him.</p> + +<p>"Father, do you gae on, and let the young gentlemen +bide a wee and rest their banes and tell a puir +woman wha never gaes onywhere the news!"</p> + +<p>"Then do ye sit awhile, laddies, with the womenfolk," +said Jarvis Barrow. "But give me pardon +if I go, for I canna keep the kirk waiting."</p> + +<p>He was gone, staff and gray plaid and a collie +with him. Jenny, his daughter, appeared in the +door.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Mr. Alexander, and you, too, sir, and +have a crack with us! We're in the dairy-room, +Elspeth and Gilian and me."</p> + +<p>She was a woman of forty, raw-boned but not unhandsome, +good-natured, capable, too, but with +more heart than head. It was a saying with her +that she had brains enough for kirk on the Sabbath +and a warm house the week round. Everybody +knew Jenny Barrow and liked well enough bread +of her baking.</p> + +<p>The room to which she led Ian and Alexander had +its floor level with the turf without the open door. +The sun flooded it. There came from within the +sound, up and down, of a churn, and a voice singing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O laddie, will ye gie to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A ribbon for my fairing?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<p>It grew that Ian was telling stories of cities—of +London and of Paris, for he had been there, and +of Rome, for he had been there. He had seen kings +and queens, he had seen the Pope—</p> + +<p>"Lord save us!" ejaculated Jenny Barrow.</p> + +<p>He leaned against the dairy wall and the sun fell +over him, and he looked something finer and more +golden than often came that way. Young Gilian +at the churn stood with parted lips, the long dasher +still in her hands. This was as good as stories of +elves, pixies, fays, men of peace and all! Elspeth +let the milk-pans be and sat beside them on the +long bench, and, with hands folded in her lap, +looked with brown eyes many a league away. +Neither Elspeth nor Gilian was without book +learning. Behind them and before them were long +visits to scholar kindred in a city in the north +and fit schooling there. London and Paris and +Rome.... Foreign lands and the great world. +And this was a glittering young eagle that had +sailed and seen!</p> + +<p>Alexander gazed with delight upon Ian spreading +triumphant wings. This was his friend. There +was nothing finer than continuously to come upon +praiseworthiness in your friend!</p> + +<p><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>"And a beautiful lady came by who was the king's +favorite—"</p> + +<p>"Gude guide us! The limmer!"</p> + +<p>"And she was walking on rose-colored velvet and +her slippers had diamonds worked in them. Snow +was on the ground outside and poor folk were freezing, +but she carried over each arm a garland of roses +as though it were June—"</p> + +<p>Jenny Barrow raised her hands. "She'll sit yet in +the cauld blast, in the sinner's shift!"</p> + +<p>"And after a time there walked in the king, and +the courtiers behind him like the tail of a peacock—"</p> + +<p>They had a happy hour in the White Farm dairy. +At last Jenny and the girls set for the two cold meat +and bannocks and ale. And still at table Ian was the +shining one. The sun was at noon and so was his +mood.</p> + +<p>"You're fey!" said Alexander, at last.</p> + +<p>"Na, na!" spoke Jenny. "But, oh, he's the bonny +lad!"</p> + +<p>The dinner was eaten. It was time to be going.</p> + +<p>"Shut your book of stories!" said Alexander. +"We're for the Kelpie's Pool, and that's not just a +step from here!"</p> + +<p>Elspeth raised her brown eyes. "Why will you +go to the Kelpie's Pool? That's a drear water!"</p> + +<p>"I want to show it to him. He's never seen it."</p> + +<p>"It's drear!" said Elspeth. "A drear, wanrestfu' +place!"</p> + +<p>But Ian and Alexander must go. The aunt and +nieces accompanied them to the door, stood and +watched them forth, down the bank and into the +<a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>path that ran to the glen. Looking back, the youths +saw them there—Elspeth and Gilian and their aunt +Jenny. Then the aspens came between and hid them +and the white house and all.</p> + +<p>"They're bonny lasses!" said Ian.</p> + +<p>"Aye. They're so."</p> + +<p>"But, oh, man! you should see Miss Delafield of +Tower Place in Surrey!"</p> + +<p>"Is she so bonny?"</p> + +<p>"She's more than bonny. She's beautiful and high-born +and an heiress. When I'm a colonel of dragoons—"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to be a colonel of dragoons?"</p> + +<p>"Something like that. You talk of thinking that +you were this and that in the past. Well, I was a +fighting-man!"</p> + +<p>"We're all fighting-men. It's only what we fight +and how."</p> + +<p>"Well, say that I had been a chief, and they lifted +me on their shields and called me king, the very next +day I should have made her queen!"</p> + +<p>"You think like a ballad. And, oh, man, you talk +mickle of the lasses!"</p> + +<p>Ian looked at him with long, narrow, dark-gold +eyes. "They're found in ballads," he said.</p> + +<p>Alexander just paused in his stride. "Humph! +that's true!..."</p> + +<p>They entered the glen. The stream began to +brawl; on either hand the hills closed in, towering +high. Some of the trees were bare, but to most yet +clung the red-brown or the gold-brown dress. The +pines showed hard, green, and dead in the shadow; +in the sunlight, fine, green-gold, and alive. The +<a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>fallen leaves, moved by foot or by breeze, made a +light, dry, talking sound. The white birch stems +clustered and leaned; patches of bright-green moss +ran between the drifts of leaves. The sides of the hills +came close together, grew fearfully steep. Crags +appeared, and fern-crowded fissures and roots of +trees like knots of frozen serpents. The glen narrowed +and deepened; the water sang with a loud, +rough voice.</p> + +<p>Alexander loved this place. He had known it in +childhood, often straying this way with the laird, +or with Sandy the shepherd, or Davie from the +house. When he was older he began to come alone. +Soon he came often alone, learned every stick and +stone and contour, effect of light and streak of gloom. +As idle or as purposeful as the wind, he knew the +glen from top to bottom. He knew the voice of the +stream and the straining clutch of the roots over the +broken crag. He had lain on all the beds of leaf and +moss, and talked with every creeping or flying or +running thing. Sometimes he read a book here, sometimes +he pictured the world, or built fantastic stages, +and among fantastic others acted himself a fantastic +part. Sometimes with a blind turning within he +looked for himself. He had his own thoughts of +God here, of God and the Kirk and the devil. Often, +too, he neither read, dreamed, nor thought. He might +lie an hour, still, passive, receptive. The trees and +the clouds, crag life, bird life, and flower life, life of +water, earth, and air, came inside. He was so used +to his own silence in the glen that when he walked +through it with others he kept it still. Slightly taciturn +everywhere, he was actively so here. The path +<a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>narrowing, he and Ian must go in single file. Leading, +Alexander traveled in silence, and Ian, behind, not +familiar with the place, must mind his steps, and so +fell silent, too. Here and there, now and then, +Alexander halted. These were recesses, or it might +be projecting platforms of rock, that he liked. Below, +the stream made still pools, or moved in eddies, or +leaped with an innumerable hurrying noise from +level to level. Or again there held a reach of quiet +water, and the glen-sides were soft with weeping birch, +and there showed a wider arch of still blue sky. +Alexander stood and looked. Ian, behind him, was +glad of the pause. The place dizzied him who for +years had been away from hill and mountain, pass +and torrent. Yet he would by no means tell Alexander +so. He would keep up with him.</p> + +<p>There was a mile of this glen, and now the going +was worse and now it was better. Three-fourths of +the way through they came to an opening in the +rock, over which, from a shelf above, fell a curtain +of brier.</p> + +<p>"See!" said Alexander, and, parting the stems, +showed a veritable cavern. "Come in—sit down! +The Kelpie's Pool is out of the glen, but they say +that there's a bogle wons here, too."</p> + +<p>They sat down upon the rocky floor strewn with +dead leaves. Through the dropped curtain they saw +the world brokenly; the light in the cave was sunken +and dim, the air cold. Ian drew his shoulders together.</p> + +<p>"Here's a grand place for robbers, wraiths, or +dragons!"</p> + +<p>"Robbers, wraiths, or dragons, or just quiet dead +<a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>leaves and ourselves. Look here—!" He showed +a heap of short fagots in a corner. "I put these +here the last time I came." Dragging them into +the middle of the rock chamber, he swept up with +them the dead leaves, then took from a great +pouch that he carried on his rambles a box with +flint and steel. He struck a spark upon dry moss +and in a moment had a fire. "Is not that beautiful?"</p> + +<p>The smoke mounted to the top of the cavern, +curled there or passed out into the glen through +the briers that dropped like a portcullis. The fagots +crackled in the flame, the light danced, the warmth +was pleasant. So was the sense of adventure and +of <i>solitude à deux</i>. They stretched themselves beside +the flame. Alexander produced from his pouch +four small red-cheeked apples. They ate and talked, +with between their words silences of deep content. +They were two comrade hunters of long ago, cavemen +who had dispossessed bear or wolf, who might +presently with a sharpened bone and some red +pigment draw bison and deer in procession upon the +cave wall.—They were skin-clad hillmen, shag-haired, +with strange, rude weapons, in hiding here +after hard fighting with a disciplined, conquering foe +who had swords and shining breastplates and crested +helmets.—They were fellow-soldiers of that conquering +tide, Romans of a band that kept the Wall, +proud, with talk of camps and Cæsars.—They were +knights of Arthur's table sent by Merlin on some +magic quest.—They were Crusaders, and this cavern +an Eastern, desert cave.—They were men who +rose with Wallace, must hide in caves from Edward +<a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>Longshanks.—They were outlaws.—They were wizards—good +wizards who caused flowers to bloom in +winter for the unhappy, and made gold here for +those who must be ransomed, and fed themselves +with secret bread. The fire roared—they were +happy, Ian and Alexander.</p> + +<p>At last the fagots were burned out. The half-murk +that at first was mystery and enchantment +began to put on somberness and melancholy. They +rose from the rocky floor and extinguished the +brands with their feet. But now they had this +cavern in common and must arrange it for their +next coming. Going outside, they gathered dead +and fallen wood, broke it into right lengths, and, +carrying it within, heaped it in the corner. With a +bough of pine they swept the floor, then, leaving +the treasure hold, dropped the curtain of brier in +place. They were not so old but that there was +yet the young boy in them; he hugged himself over +this cave of Robin Hood and swart magician. But +now they left it and went on whistling through the +glen:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gie ye give ane, then I'll give twa,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For sae the store increases!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The sides of the glen fell back, grew lower. The +leap of the water was not so marked; there were +long pools of quiet. Their path had been a mounting +one; they were now on higher earth, near the +plateau or watershed that marked the top of the +glen. The bright sky arched overhead, the sun +shone strongly, the air moved in currents without +violence.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>"You see where that smoke comes up between +trees? That's Mother Binning's cot."</p> + +<p>"Who's she?"</p> + +<p>"She's a wise auld wife. She's a scryer. That's +her ash-tree."</p> + +<p>Their path brought them by the hut and its bit +of garden. Jock Binning, that was Mother Binning's +crippled son, sat fishing in the stream. Mother +Binning had been working in the garden, but when +she saw the figures on the path below she took her +distaff and sat on the bench in the sun. When they +came by she raised her voice.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Alexander, how are the laird and the leddy?"</p> + +<p>"They're very well, Mother."</p> + +<p>"Ye'll be gaeing sune to Edinburgh? Wha may +be this laddie?"</p> + +<p>"It is Ian Rullock, of Black Hill."</p> + +<p>"Sae the baith o' ye are gaeing to Edinburgh? +Will ye be friends there?"</p> + +<p>"That we will!"</p> + +<p>"Hech, sirs!" Mother Binning drew a thread +from her distaff. The two were about to travel on +when she stopped them again with a gesture. +"Dinna mak sic haste! There's time enough behind +us, and time enough before us. And it's a strange +warld, and a large, and an auld! Sit ye and crack +a bit with an auld wife by the road."</p> + +<p>But they had dallied at White Farm and in the +cave, and Alexander was in haste.</p> + +<p>"We cannot stop now, Mother. We're bound for +the Kelpie's Pool."</p> + +<p>"And why do ye gae there? That's a drear, wanrestfu' +place!" said Mother Binning.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>"Ian has not seen it yet. I want to show it to +him."</p> + +<p>Mother Binning turned her distaff slowly. "Eh, +then, if ye maun gae, gae!... We're a' ane! There's +the kelpie pool for a'."</p> + +<p>"We'll stop a bit on the way back," said Alexander. +He spoke in a wheedling, kindly voice, for +he and Mother Binning were good friends.</p> + +<p>"Do that then," she said. "I hae a hansel o' +coffee by me. I'll mak twa cups, for I'll warrant +that ye'll baith need it!"</p> + +<p>The air was indeed growing colder when the two +came at last upon the moor that ran down to the +Kelpie's Pool. Furze and moss and ling, a wild +country stretched around without trees or house or +moving form. The bare sunshine took on a remote, +a cool and foreign, aspect. The small singing of +the wind in whin and heather came from a thin, +eery world. Down below them they saw the dark +little tarn, the Kelpie's Pool. It was very clear, +but dark, with a bottom of peat. Around it grew +rushes and a few low willows. The two sat upon an +outcropping of stone and gazed down upon it.</p> + +<p>"It's a gey lonely place," said Alexander. "Now +I like it as well or better than I do the cave, and +now I would leave it far behind me!"</p> + +<p>"I like the cave best. This is a creepy place."</p> + +<p>"Once I let myself out at Glenfernie without any +knowing and came here by night."</p> + +<p>Ian felt emulation. "Oh, I would do that, too, +if there was any need! Did you see anything?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean the kelpie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>"No. I saw something—once. But that time I +wanted to see how the stars looked in the water."</p> + +<p>Ian looked at the water, that lay like a round +mirror, and then to the vast shell of the sky above. +He, too, had love of beauty—a more sensuous love +than Alexander's, but love. This shared perception +made one of the bonds between them.</p> + +<p>"It was as still—much stiller than it is to-day! +The air was clear and the night dark and grand. +I looked down, and there was the Northern Crown, +clasp and all."</p> + +<p>Ian in imagination saw it, too. They sat, chin +on knees, upon the moorside above the Kelpie's +Pool. The water was faintly crisped, the reeds and +willow boughs just stirred.</p> + +<p>"But the kelpie—did you ever see that?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes it is seen as a water-horse, sometimes +as a demon. I never saw anything like that but +once. I never told any one about it. It may have +been just one of those willows, after all. But I +thought I saw a woman."</p> + +<p>"Go on!"</p> + +<p>"There was a great mist that day and it was hard +to see. Sometimes you could not see—it was just +rolling waves of gray. So I stumbled down, and I +was in the rushes before I knew that I had come to +them. It was spring and the pool was full, and the +water plashed and came over my foot. It was like +something holding my ankles.... And then I saw +her—if it was not the willow. She was like a fair +woman with dark hair unsnooded. She looked at +me as though she would mock me, and I thought +she laughed—and then the mist rolled down and +<a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>over, and I could not see the hills nor the water nor +scarce the reeds I was in. So I lifted my feet from +the sucking water and got away.... I do not know +if it was the kelpie's daughter or the willow—but if +it was the willow it could look like a human—or +an unhuman—body!"</p> + +<p>Ian gazed at the pool. He had many advantages +over Alexander, he knew, but the latter had +this curious daring. He did more things with himself +and of himself than did he, Ian. There was +that in Ian that did not like this, that was jealous +of being surpassed. And there was that in Ian +that would not directly display this feeling, that +would provide it, indeed, with all kinds of masks, +but would, with certainty, act from that spurring, +though intricate enough might be the path between +the stimulus and the act.</p> + +<p>"It is deep?"</p> + +<p>"Aye. Almost bottomless, you would think, and +cold as winter."</p> + +<p>"Let us go swimming."</p> + +<p>"The day's getting late and it's growing cold. +However, if you want to—"</p> + +<p>Ian did not greatly want to. But if Alexander +could be so indifferent, he could be determined and +ardent. "What's a little mirk and cold? I want +to say I've swum in it." He began to unbutton +his waistcoat.</p> + +<p>They stripped, left their clothes in the stone's +keeping, and ran down the moorside. The light +played over their bodies, unblemished, smooth, and +healthfully colored, clean-lined and rightly spare. +They had beautiful postures and movements when +<a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>they stood, when they ran; a youthful and austere +grace as of Spartan youth plunging down to the +icy Eurotas. The earth around lay as stripped as +they; the naked, ineffable blue ether held them as +it did all things; the wandering air broke against +them in invisible surf. They ran down the long +slope of the moor, parted the reeds, and dived to +meet their own reflections. The water was most +truly deep and cold. They struck out, they swam +to the middle of the pool, they turned upon their +backs and looked up to the blue zenith, then, turning +again, with strong arm strokes they sent the +wave over each other. They rounded the pool +under the twisted willows, beside the shaking reeds; +they swam across and across.</p> + +<p>Alexander looked at the sun that was deep in the +western quarter. "Time to be out and going!" He +swam to the edge of the pool, but before he should +draw himself out stopped to look up at a willow above +him, the one that he thought he might, in the mist, +have taken for the kelpie's daughter. It was of a +height that, seen at a little distance, might even a tall +woman. It put out two broken, shortened branches +like arms.... He lost himself in the study of possibilities, +balanced among the reeds that sighed around. +He could not decide, so at last he shook himself from +that consideration, and, pushing into shallow water, +stepped from the pool. He had taken a few steps +up the moor ere with suddenness he felt that Ian +was not with him. He turned. Ian was yet out in +the middle ring of the tarn. The light struck upon +his head. Then he dived under—or seemed to dive +under. He was long in coming up; and when he +<a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a>did so it was in the same place and his backward-drawn +face had a strangeness.</p> + +<p>"Ian!"</p> + +<p>Ian sank again.</p> + +<p>"He's crampit!" Alexander flashed like a thrown +brand down the way he had mounted and across the +strip of weeds, and in again to the steel-dark water. +"I'm coming!" He gained to his fellow, caught him +ere he sank the third time.</p> + +<p>Dragged from the Kelpie's Pool, Ian lay upon the +moor. Alexander, bringing with haste the clothes +from the stone above, knelt beside him, rubbed +and kneaded the life into him. He opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Alexander—!"</p> + +<p>Alexander rubbed with vigor. "I'm here. Eh, +lad, but you gave me a fright!"</p> + +<p>In another five minutes he sat up. "I'm—I'm all +right now. Let's get our things on and go."</p> + +<p>They dressed, Alexander helping Ian. The blood +came slowly back into the latter's cheek; he walked, +but he shivered yet.</p> + +<p>"Let's go get Mother Binning's coffee!" said +Alexander. "Come, I'll put my arm about you so." +They went thus up the moor and across, and then +down to the trees, the stream, and the glen. "There's +the smoke from her chimney! You may have both +cups and lie by the fire till you're warm. Mercy me! +how lonely the cave would have been if you had +drowned!"</p> + +<p>They got down to the flowing water.</p> + +<p>"I'm all right now!" said Ian. He released himself, +but before he did so he turned in Alexander's +arm, put his own arm around the other's neck, and +<a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>kissed him. "You saved my life. Let's be friends +forever!"</p> + +<p>"That's what we are," said Alexander, "friends +forever."</p> + +<p>"You've proved it to me; one day I'll prove it +to you!"</p> + +<p>"We don't need proofs. We just know that we +like each other, and that's all there is about it!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's that way," said Ian, and so they came +to Mother Binning's cot, the fire, and the coffee.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + + +<p>Upon a quiet, gray December afternoon, nine +years and more from the June day when he +had fished in the glen and Mother Binning had told +him of her vision of the Jacobite gathering at Braemar, +English Strickland, walking for exercise to the +village and back, found himself overtaken by Mr. +M'Nab, the minister who in his white manse dwelt by +the white kirk on the top of the windy hill. This +was, by every earthly canon, a good man, but a stern +and unsupple. He had not been long in this parish, +and he was sweeping with a strong, new besom. +The old minister, to his mind, had been Erastian and +lax, weak in doctrine and in discipline of the fold. +Mr. M'Nab meant not to be weak. He loathed sin +and would compel the sinner also to loathe it. Now +he came up, tall and darkly clad, and in his Calvinistic +hand his Bible.</p> + +<p>"Gude day, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Good day, Mr. M'Nab!" The two went on side +by side. The day was very still, the sky an even +gray, snow being prepared. "You saw the laird?"</p> + +<p>"Aye. He's verra low."</p> + +<p>"He'll not recover I think. It's been a slow +failing for two years—ever since Mrs. Jardine's +death."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>"She was dead before I came to this kirk. But +once, when I was a young man, I stayed awhile in +these parts. I remember her."</p> + +<p>"She was the best of women."</p> + +<p>"So they said. But she had not that grip upon +religion that the laird has!"</p> + +<p>"Maybe not."</p> + +<p>Mr. M'Nab directed his glance upon the Glenfernie +tutor. He did not think that this Englishman, +either, had much grip upon religion. He +determined, at the first opportunity, to call his +attention to that fact and to strive to teach his +fingers how to clasp. He had a craving thirst for +the saving of souls, and to draw one whole from +Laodicea was next best to lifting from Babylon. +But to-day the laird and his spiritual concerns had +the field.</p> + +<p>"He comes, by the mother's side, at least, of godly +stock. His mother's father was martyred for the +faith in the auld persecuting time. His grandmother +wearied her mind away in prison. His +mother suffered much when she was a lassie."</p> + +<p>"It's small wonder that he has nursed bitterness," +said Strickland. "He must have drunk in +terror and hate with her milk.... He conquered the +terror."</p> + +<p>"<i>'Do not I hate them, O Lord, that hate thee? and +am not I grieved with those that rise up against thee? +I hate them with perfect hatred; I count them my +enemies.'</i>—What else should his heart do but burn +with a righteous wrath?"</p> + +<p>Strickland sighed, looking at the quiet gray hills +and the vast, still web of cloud above. "It's come +<a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a>to be a withering fire, hunting fuel everywhere! I +remember when he held it in bounds, even when for +a time it seemed to die out. But of late years it +has got the better of him. At last, I think, it is +devouring himself."</p> + +<p>M'Nab made a dissenting sound. "He has got +the implicit belief in God that I see sair lack of elsewhere! +He holds fast to God."</p> + +<p>"Aye. The God who slays the Amalekites."</p> + +<p>M'Nab turned his wintry glance upon him. +"And is not that God?"</p> + +<p>The other looked at the hill and at the vast, quiet, +gray field of cloud. "Perhaps!... Let's talk of +something else. I am too tired to argue. I sat +up with him last night."</p> + +<p>The minister would have preferred to continue +to discuss the character of Deity. He turned +heavily. "I was in company, not long ago, with +some gentlemen who were wondering why you +stayed on at Glenfernie House. They said that +you had good offers elsewhere—much better than +with a Scots laird."</p> + +<p>"I promised Mrs. Jardine that I would stay."</p> + +<p>"While the laird lived?"</p> + +<p>"No, not just that—though I think that she +would have liked me to do so. But so long as the +laird would keep Jamie with him at home."</p> + +<p>"What will he do now—Jamie?"</p> + +<p>"He has set his heart on the army. He's strong +of body, with a kind of big, happy-go-luckiness—"</p> + +<p>A horseman came up behind them. It proved +to be Robin Greenlaw, of Littlefarm. He checked +his gray and exchanged greetings with the minister +<a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>and the tutor. "How does the laird find himself +the day?" he asked Strickland.</p> + +<p>"No better, I think, Mr. Greenlaw."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry. It's the end, I jalouse! Is Mr. +Alexander come?"</p> + +<p>"We look for him to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"The land and the folk'll be blithe to see him—if +it was not for the occasion of his coming! If +there's aught a body can do for any at Glenfernie—?"</p> + +<p>"Every one has been as good as gold, Greenlaw. +But you know there's not much at the last that can +be done—"</p> + +<p>"No. We all pass, and they that bide can but +make the dirge. But I'll be obliged if you'll say +to Mr. Alexander that if there <i>is</i> aught—" He +gathered up the reins. "It will be snowing presently. +I always thought that I'd like to part on a +day like this, gray and quiet, with all the color and +the shouting lifted elsewhere." He was gone, +trotting before them on his big horse.</p> + +<p>Strickland and the minister looked after him. +"There's one to be liked no little!" said Strickland.</p> + +<p>But Mr. M'Nab's answering tone was wintry yet. +"He makes mair songs than he listens to sermons! +Jarvis Barrow, that's a strong witness, should have +had another sort of great-nephew! And so he that +will be laird comes home to-morrow? It's little that +he has been at home of late years."</p> + +<p>"Yes, little."</p> + +<p>The manse with the kirk beyond rose before them, +drawn against the pallid sky. "A wanderer to and +fro in the earth, and I doubt not—though we do not +<a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a>hear much of it—an eater of husks!—Will you not +come in, Mr. Strickland?"</p> + +<p>"Another time, Mr. M'Nab. I've an errand in the +village.—Touching Alexander Jardine. I suppose +that the whole sense-bound world might be called by +a world farther on an eater of husks. But I know +naught to justify any especial application of the +phrase to him. I know, indeed, a good deal quite to +the contrary. You are, it seems to me, something +less than charitable—"</p> + +<p>M'Nab regarded him with an earnest, narrow, +wintry look. "I would not wish to deserve that epithet, +Mr. Strickland. But the world is evil, and Satan +stands close at the ear of the young, both the poor +and them of place and world's gear! So I doubt not +that he eats the husks. I doubt not, either, that the +Lord has a rod for him, as for us all, that will drive +him, willy-nilly, home. So I'll say good day, sir. +To-morrow I'll go again to the laird, and so every +day until his summons comes."</p> + +<p>They parted at the manse door. The world was +gray, the snow swiftening its approach. Strickland, +passing the kirk, kept on down the one village street. +All and any who were out of doors spoke to him, +asking how did the laird. Some asked if "the young +laird" had come.</p> + +<p>In the shop where he made his purchase the woman +who sold would have kept him talking an hour: +"Wad the laird last the week? Wad he make friends +before he died with Mr. Touris of Black Hill with +whom he had the great quarrel three years since? +Eh, sirs! and he never set foot again in Touris House, +nor Mr. Touris in his!—Wad Mr. Jamie gae now to +<a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>Edinburgh or on his travels, that had been at home +sae lang because the laird wadna part with him?—Wad +Miss Alice, that was as bonny as a rose and +mair friendly than the gowans on a June lea, just +bide on at the house with her aunt, Mrs. Grizel, that +came when the leddy died? Wad—"</p> + +<p>Strickland smiled. "You must just come up to the +house, Mrs. Macmurdo, and have a talk with Mrs. +Grizel.—I hope the laird may last the week."</p> + +<p>"You're a close ane!" thought the disappointed +Mrs. Macmurdo. Aloud she said, "Aweel, sir, Mr. +Alexander that will be laird is coming hame frae foreign +parts?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Sic a wanderer as he has been! But there!" +said Mrs. Macmurdo, "ony that saw him when he +was a laddie gaeing here and gaeing there by his lane-some, +glen and brae and muir, might ha' said, +'Ye're a wanderer—and as sune as ye may ye'll +wander farther!'"</p> + +<p>"You're quite right, Mrs. Macmurdo," said +Strickland, and took his parcel from her.</p> + +<p>"A wanderer and a seeker!" Mrs. Macmurdo was +loth to let him go. "And his great friend is still +Captain Ian Rullock?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, still."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Macmurdo reluctantly opened the shop door. +"Aweel, sir, if ye maun gae.—There'll be snaw the +night, I'm thinking! Do ye stop at the inn? There's +twa-three sogers in town."</p> + +<p>Strickland had not meant to stop. But, coming to +the Jardine Arms and glancing through the window, +he saw by the light of the fire in the common room +<a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>four men in red coats sitting at table, drinking. He +felt jaded and depressed, needing distraction from +the gray chill day and the laird's dying. Curiosity +faintly stretched herself. He turned into the inn, +took a seat by a corner table, and called for a bottle +of wine. In addition to the soldiers the room had a +handful of others—farmers, a lawyer's clerk from +Stirling, a petty officer of the excise, and two or three +village nondescripts. From this group there now disengaged +himself Robin Greenlaw, who came across to +Strickland's table.</p> + +<p>"Sit down and have a glass with me," said the +latter. "Who are they?"</p> + +<p>"A recruiting party," answered Greenlaw, accepting +the invitation. "I like to hear their talk! I'll +listen, drinking your wine and thanking you, sir! +and riding home I'll make a song about them."</p> + +<p>He sat with his arm over the chair-back, his right +hand now lifting and now lowering the wine-glass. +He had a look of strength and inner pleasure that +rested and refreshed.</p> + +<p>"What are they saying now?" asked Strickland.</p> + +<p>The soldiers made the center of attention. More +or less all in the room harkened to their talk, disconnected, +obscure, idle, and boisterous as much of it +was. The revenue officer, by virtue of being also the +king's paid man, had claimed comrade's right and +was drinking with them and putting questions. He +was so obliging as to ask these in a round tone of +voice and to repeat on the same note the information +gathered.</p> + +<p>"Recruits for the King's army, fighting King Louis +on the river Main.—Where's that?—It's in Germany. +<a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>Our King and the Hanoverians and the King of +Prussia and the Queen of Austria are fighting the +King of France.—Aye, of course ye know that, neighbors, +being intelligent Scots folk, but recapitulation +is na out of order!"</p> + +<p>"Ask them what's thought of the Hanoverians." +It was the lawyer's clerk's question. Thereupon rose +some noisy difference of opinion among the drinking +redcoats. The excise man finally reported. "They're +na English, nor Scots, nor even Irish. But they're +liked weel enough! They're good fighters. Oh, aye, +when ye march and fight alangside them, they're +good enough! They're his Majesty's cousins. God +save King George!"</p> + +<p>The recruiting party banged with tankards upon +the table. One of the number put a question of his +own. He had a look half pedant, half bully, and he +spoke with a one-quarter-drunken, owllike solemnity.</p> + +<p>"I may take it from the look of things that there +are none hereabouts but good Whigs and upholders +of government? No Tories—no damned black +Jacobites?"</p> + +<p>The excise man hemmed. "Why, ye see we're no +sae muckle far from Hielands and Hielandmen, and +it's known what they are, chief, chieftain, and clan—saving +always the duke and every Campbell! And +I wadna say that there are not, here and there, this +side the Hielands, an auld family with leanings the +auld way, and even a few gentlemen who were <i>out</i> +in the 'fifteen. But the maist of us, gentle and simple, +are up and down Whig and Kirk and reigning House.—Na, +na! when we drink to the King we dinna pass +the glass over the water!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>A dark, thin soldier put in his word, well garnished +with oaths. "Now that there's war up and +down and so many of us are going out of the country, +there's a saying that the Pretender may e'en sail +across from France and beat a drum and give a +shout! Then there'll be a sorting—"</p> + +<p>"Them that would rise wouldn't be enough to make +a graveyard ghost to frighten with!"</p> + +<p>"You're mistaken there. They'll frighten ye all +right when they answer the drum! I'm thinking +there's some in the army would answer it!"</p> + +<p>"Then they'll be hanged, drawn, and quartered!" +averred the corporal. "Who are ye thinking would +do that?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not precisely knowing. But there are some +with King George were brought up on the hope of +King James!"</p> + +<p>More liquor appeared upon the table, was poured +and drunk. The talk grew professional. The King's +shilling, and the advantage of taking it, came solely +upon the board, and who might or might not 'list +from this dale and the bordering hills. Strickland +and Robin Greenlaw left their corner.</p> + +<p>"I must get back to the house."</p> + +<p>"And I to Littlefarm."</p> + +<p>They went out together. There were few in the +street. The snow was beginning to fall. Greenlaw +untied his horse.</p> + +<p>"I hope that we're not facing another 'fifteen! +<i>'Scotland's ain Stewarts, and Break the Union!'</i> It +sounds well, but it's not in the line of progression. +What does Captain Ian Rullock think +about it?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>"I don't know. He hasn't been here, you know, for +a long while."</p> + +<p>"That's true. He and Mr. Alexander are still like +brothers?"</p> + +<p>"Like brothers."</p> + +<p>Greenlaw mounted his horse. "Well, he's a bonny +man, but he's got a piece of the demon in him! So +have I, I ken very well, and so, doubtless, has he who +will be Glenfernie, and all the rest of us—"</p> + +<p>"I sit down to supper with mine very often," +said Strickland.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, he's common—the demon! But somehow +I could find him in Ian Rullock, though all +covered up with gold. But doubtless," said Greenlaw, +debonairly, "it would be the much of the fellow +in me that would recognize much in another!" He +put his gray into motion. "Good day, sir!" He was +gone, disappearing down the long street, into the +snow that was now falling like a veil.</p> + +<p>Strickland turned homeward. The snow fell fast +and thick in large white flakes. Glenfernie House +rose before him, crowning the craggy hill, the modern +building and the remnant of the old castle, not a +great place, but an ancient, settled, and rooted, part +of a land poor but not without grandeur, not without +a rhythm attained between grandeur and homeliness. +The road swept around and up between leafless +trees and green cone-bearing ones. The snow was +whitening the branches, the snow wrapped house and +landscape in its veil. It broke, in part it obliterated, +line and modeling; the whole seemed on the point of +dissolving into a vast and silent unity. "Like a dying +man," thought Strickland. He came upon the +<a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>narrow level space about the house, passed the great +cedar planted by a pilgrim laird the year of Flodden +Field, and entered by a door in the southern face.</p> + +<p>Davie met him. "Eh, sir, Mr. Alexander's +come!"</p> + +<p>"Come!"</p> + +<p>"Aye, just! An hour past, riding Black Alan, +with Tam Dickson behind on Whitefoot, and weary +enough thae horses looked! Mr. Alexander wad ha' +gane without bite or sup to the laird's room, but he's +lying asleep. So now he's gane to his ain auld room +for a bit of rest. Haith, sir," said Davie, "but he's +like the auld laird when he was twenty-eight!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + + +<p>Strickland went, to the hall, where he found +Alice.</p> + +<p>"Come to the fire! I've been watching the snow, +but it is so white and thick and still it fair frightens +me! Davie told you that Alexander has come?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. From Edinburgh to-day."</p> + +<p>"Yes. He left London as soon as he had our +letters."</p> + +<p>She stood opposite him, a bright and bonny lass, +with a look of her mother, but with more beauty. +The light from the burning logs deepened the gold +in her hair, as the warmth made more vivid the rose +of her cheek. She owned a warm and laughing +heart, a natural goodness. Strickland, who had +watched and taught her since she was a slip of a +child, had for her a great fondness.</p> + +<p>Jamie entered the hall. "Father's awake now, +but Aunt Grizel and Tibbie Ross will not tell him +Alexander's come until they've given him something +to eat." He came to the fire and stood, his +blue eyes glinting light. "It's fine to see Alexander! +The whole place feels different!"</p> + +<p>"You've got a fine love for Alexander," said +Strickland. So long had he lived with the Jardines +of Glenfernie that they had grown like own folk +<a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>to him, and he to them. He looked very kindly at +the young man, handsome, big, flushed with feeling. +He did not say, "Now you'll be going, Jamie, +and he'll be staying," but the thought was in mind, +and presently Alice gave it voice.</p> + +<p>"He says that he has seen his earth, and that +now he means to be a long time at home."</p> + +<p>Davie appeared. "Mr. Alexander has gone to the +laird's room. Mrs. Grizel wad have ye all come, too, +sae be ye move saftly and sit dumb."</p> + +<p>The three went. The laird's room was large and +somewhat grimly bare. When his wife died he +would have taken out every luxury. But a great +fire burned on the hearth and gave a touch of redemption. +A couch, too, had been brought in for +the watcher at night, and a great flowered chair. +In this now sat Mrs. Grizel Kerr, a pleasant, elderly, +comely body, noted for her housewifery and her garden +of herbs. Behind her, out of a shadowy corner, +gleamed the white mutch of Tibbie Ross, the +best nurse in that countryside. Jamie and Alice +took two chairs that had been set for them near the +bed. Strickland moved to the recess of a window. +Outside the snow fell in very large flakes, large and +many, straight and steady, there being no wind.</p> + +<p>In a chair drawn close to the great bed, on a line +with the sick man's hand lying on the coverlet, sat +the heir of Glenfernie. He sat leaning forward, with +one hand near the hand of his father. The laird's +eyes were closed. He had been given a stimulant +and he now lay gathering his powers that were not +far from this life's frontier. The curtains of the bed +had been drawn quite back; propped by pillows into +<a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>a half-sitting posture, he was plain to all in the room, +in the ruddy light of the fire. A clock upon the wall +ticked, ticked. Those in the room sat very still.</p> + +<p>The laird drew a determined breath and opened +his eyes. "Alexander!"</p> + +<p>"Father!"</p> + +<p>"You look like myself sitting there, and yet not +myself. I am going to die."</p> + +<p>"If that's your will, father."</p> + +<p>"Aye, it's my will, for I've made it mine. I +can't talk much. We'll talk at times and sit still +between. Are you going to stay with me to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed I am, father. Right here beside you."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've missed you. But you had to have +your wanderings and your life of men. I understood +that."</p> + +<p>"You've been most good to me. It is in my heart +and in the tears of my eyes."</p> + +<p>"I did not grudge the siller. And I've had a +pride in you, Alexander. Now you'll be the laird. +Now let's sit quiet a bit."</p> + +<p>The snow fell, the fire burned, the clock ticked. +He spoke again. "It's before an eye inside that +you'll be a wanderer and a goer about yet—within +and without, my laddie, within and without! Do +not forget, though, to hold the old place together +that so many Jardines have been born in, and to +care for the tenant bodies and the old folk—and +there's your brother and sister."</p> + +<p>"I will forget nothing that you say, father."</p> + +<p>"I have kept that to say on top of my mind.... +The old place and the tenant bodies and old folk, +and your brother and sister. I have your word, +<a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>and so," said the laird, "that's done and may drift +by.—Grizel, I wad sleep a bit. Let him go and +come again."</p> + +<p>His eyes closed. Alexander rose from the chair +beside him. Coming to Alice, he put his arm +around her, and with Jamie at his other hand the +three went from the room. Strickland tarried a +moment to consult with Mrs. Grizel.</p> + +<p>"The doctor comes to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Aye. Tibbie thinks him a bit stronger."</p> + +<p>"I will watch to-night with Alexander."</p> + +<p>"Hoot, man! ye maun be weary enough yourself!" +said Mrs. Grizel.</p> + +<p>"No, I am not. I will sleep awhile after supper, +and come in about ten. So you and Tibbie may get +one good night."</p> + +<p>Some hours later, in the room that had been his +since his first coming to Glenfernie, he gazed out of +window before turning to go down-stairs. The +snow had ceased to fall, and out of a great streaming +floe of clouds looked a half-moon. Under it +lay wan hill and plain. The clouds were all of a +size and vast in number, a herd of the upper air. +The wind drove them, not like a shepherd, but like +a wolf at their heels. The moon seemed the shepherd, +laboring for control. Then the clouds themselves +seemed the wolves, and the moon a traveler +against whom they leaped, who was thrown among +them, and rose again.... Then the moon was a +soul, struggling with the wrack and wave of things.</p> + +<p>Strickland went down the old, winding Glenfernie +stair, and came at last to the laird's room. Tibbie +Ross opened the door to him, and he saw it all in +<a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>low firelight and made ready for the night. The +laird lay propped as before in the great bed, but +seemed asleep. Alexander sat before the fire, elbows +upon knees and chin in hand, brooding over the red +coals. Tibbie murmured a direction or two and +showed wine and bread set in the deep window. +Then with a courtesy and a breathed, "Gie ye gude +night, sirs!" she was forth to her own rest. The +door closed softly behind her. Strickland stepped +as softly to the chair beyond Alexander. The couch +was spread for the watchers' alternate use, if so +they chose; on a table burned shaded candles. +Strickland had a book in his pocket. Sitting down, +he produced this, for he would not seem to watch +the man by the fire.</p> + +<p>Alexander Jardine, large and strong of frame, with +a countenance massive and thoughtful for so young +a man, bronzed, with well-turned features, gazed +steadily into the red hollows where the light played, +withdrew and played again. Strickland tried to +read, but the sense of the other's presence affected +him, came between his mind and the page. Involuntarily +he began to occupy himself with Alexander +and to picture his life away from Glenfernie, +away, too, from Edinburgh and Scotland. It was +now six years since, definitely, he had given up the +law, throwing himself, as it were, on the laird's +mercy both for long and wide travel, and for life +among books other than those indicated for advocates. +The laird had let him go his gait—the laird +with Mrs. Jardine a little before him. The Jardine +fortune was not a great one, but there was enough +for an heir who showed no inclination to live and +<a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>to travel <i>en prince</i>, who in certain ways was nearer +the ascetic than the spendthrift.... Before Strickland's +mind, strolling dreamily, came pictures of far +back, of years ago, of long since. A by-wind had +brought to the tutor then certain curious bits of +knowledge. Alexander, a student in Edinburgh, had +lived for some time upon half of his allowance in +order to accommodate Ian Rullock with the other +half, the latter being in a crisis of quarrel with his +uncle, who, when he quarreled, used always, where +he could, the money screw. Strickland had listened +to his Edinburgh informant, but had never divulged +the news given. No more had he told another +bit, floated to him again by that ancient Edinburgh +friend and gossip, who had young cousins at +college and listened to their talk. It pertained to +a time a little before that of the shared income. +This time it had been shared blood. Strickland, +sitting with his book in the quiet room, saw in +imagination the students' chambers in Edinburgh, +and the little throng of very young men, flushed with +wine and with youth, making friendships, and talking +of friendships made, and dubbing Alexander +Damon and Ian Pythias. Then more wine and a +bravura passage. Damon and Pythias opening each +a vein with some convenient dagger, smearing into +the wound some drops of the other's blood, and +going home each with a tourniquet above the right +wrist.... Well, that was years ago—and youth +loved such passages!</p> + +<p>Alexander, by the fire, stooped to put back a +coal that had fallen upon the oak boards, then sank +again into his reverie. Strickland read a paragraph +<a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>without any especial comprehension, after which +he found himself again by the stream of Alexander's +life. That friendship with Ian Rullock utterly held, +he believed. Well, Ian Rullock, too, seemed somehow +a great personage. Very different from Alexander, +and yet somehow large to match.... Where +had Alexander been after Edinburgh—where had +he not been? Very often Ian was with him, but +sometimes and for months he would seem to have +been alone. Glenfernie might receive letters from +Germany, from Italy or Egypt, or from further yet +to the east. He had been alone this year, for Ian +was now the King's man and with his regiment, +Strickland supposed, wherever that might be. +Alexander had written from Buda-Pesth, from Erfurt, +from Amsterdam, from London. Now he sat +here at Glenfernie, looking into the fire. Strickland, +who liked books of travel, wondered what he +saw of old cities, grave or gay, of ruined temples, +sphinxes, monuments, grass-grown battle-fields, and +ships at sea, storied lands, peoples, individual men +and women. He had wayfared long; he must have +had many an adventure. He had been from childhood +a learner. His touch upon a book spoke of +adeptship in that world.... Well, here he was, and +what would he do now, when he was laird? Strickland +lost himself in speculation. Little or naught +had ever been in Alexander's letters about women.</p> + +<p>The white ash fell, the clock ticked, the wind +went around the house with a faint, banshee crying. +The figure by the fire rested there, silent, still, and +brooding. Strickland observed with some wonder +its power of long, concentrated thinking. It sat +<a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>there, not visibly tense, seemingly relaxed, yet as +evidently looking into some place of inner motion, +wider and swifter than that of the night world about +it. Strickland tried to read. The clock hand moved +toward midnight.</p> + +<p>The laird spoke from the great bed. "Alexander—"</p> + +<p>"I am here, father." Alexander rose and went +to the sick man's side. "You slept finely! And +here we have food for you, and drops to give you +strength—"</p> + +<p>The laird swallowed the drops and a spoonful or +two of broth. "There. Now I want to talk. Aye, +I am strong enough. I feel stronger. I am strong. +It hurts me more to check me. Is that the wind +blowing?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is a wild night."</p> + +<p>"It is singing. I could almost pick out the words. +Alexander, there's a quarrel I have with Touris of +Black Hill. I have no wish to make it up. He did +me a wrong and is a sinner in many ways. But his +sister is different. If you see her tell her that I +aye liked her."</p> + +<p>"Would it make you happier to be reconciled to +Mr. Touris?"</p> + +<p>"No, it would not! You were never a canting +one, Alexander! Let that be. Anger is anger, and +it's weakness to gainsay it! That is," said the laird, +"when it's just—and this is just. Alexander, my +bonny man—"</p> + +<p>"I'm here, father."</p> + +<p>"I've been lying here, gaeing up and down in my +thoughts, a bairn again with my grandmither, gaeing +<a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>up and down the braes and by the glen. I want +to say somewhat to you. When you see an adder +set your heel upon it! When a wolf goes by take +your firelock and after him! When a denier and a +cheat is near you tell the world as much and help +to set the snare! Where there are betrayers and +persecutors hunt the wild plant shall make a cup +like their ain!" He fell to coughing, coughing more +and more violently.</p> + +<p>Strickland rose and came to the bedside, and the +two watchers gave him water and wine to drink, +and would have had him, when the fit was over, +cease from all speech. He shook them off.</p> + +<p>"Alexander, ye're like me. Ye're mair like me +than any think! Where ye find your Grierson of +Lagg, clench with him—clench—Alexander!"</p> + +<p>He coughed, lifting himself in their arms. A +blood-vessel broke. Tibbie Ross, answering the calling, +hurried in. "Gude with us! it's the end!" +Mrs. Grizel came, wrapped in a great flowered bed-gown. +In a few minutes all was over. Strickland +and Alexander laid him straight that had been the +laird.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + + +<p>The month was May. The laird of Glenfernie, +who had walked to the Kelpie's Pool, now came +down the glen. Mother Binning was yet in her cot, +though an older woman now and somewhat broken.</p> + +<p>"Oh aye, my bonny man! All things die and all +things live. To and fro gaes the shuttle!"</p> + +<p>Glenfernie sat on the door-stone. She took all +the news he could bring, and had her own questions +to put.</p> + +<p>"How's the house and all in it?"</p> + +<p>"Well."</p> + +<p>"Ye've got a bonny sister! Whom will she +marry? There's Abercrombie and Fleming and +Ferguson."</p> + +<p>"I do not know. The one she likes the best."</p> + +<p>"And when will ye be marrying yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I am not going to marry, Mother. I would +marry Wisdom, if I could!"</p> + +<p>"Hoot! she stays single! Do ye love the hunt +of Wisdom so?"</p> + +<p>"Aye, I do. But it's a long, long chase—and to +tell you the truth, at times I think she's just a wraith! +And at times I am lazy and would just sit in the sun +and be a fool."</p> + +<p>"Like to-day?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>"Like to-day. And so," said Alexander, rising, +"as I feel that way, I'll e'en be going on!"</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking that maist of the wise have inner +tokens by which they ken the fule. I was ne'er +afraid of folly," said Mother Binning. "It's good +growing stuff!"</p> + +<p>Glenfernie laughed and left her and the drone of +her wheel. A clucking hen and her brood, the cot +and its ash-tree, sank from sight. A little longer +and he reached the middle glen where the banks +approached and the full stream rushed with a manifold +sound. Here was the curtain of brier masking +the cave that he had shared with Ian. He drew it +aside and entered. So much smaller was the place +than it had seemed in boyhood! Twice since they +came to be men had he been here with Ian, and they +had smiled over their cavern, but felt for it a tenderness. +In a corner lay the fagots that, the last +time, they had gathered with laughter and left here +against outlaws' needs. Ian! He pictured Ian +with his soldiers.</p> + +<p>Outside the cavern, the air came about him like +a cloud of fragrance. As he went down the glen, +into its softer sweeps, this increased, as did the +song of birds. The primrose was strewn about in +disks of pale gold, the white thorn lifted great +bouquets, the bluebell touched the heart. A lark +sang in the sky, linnet and cuckoo at hand, in the +wood at the top of the glen cooed the doves. The +water rippled by the leaning birches, the wild bees +went from flower to flower. The sky was all sapphire, +the air a perfumed ocean. So beautiful rang +the spring that it was like a bell in the heart, in the +<a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>blood. The laird of Glenfernie, coming to a great +natural chair of sun-warmed rock, sat down to listen. +All was of a sweetness, poignant, intense. But in +the very act of recognizing this, there came upon +him an old mood of melancholy, an inner mist and +chill, a gray languor and wanting. The very +bourgeoning and blossoming about him seemed to +draw light from him, not give light. "I brought the +Kelpie's Pool back with me," he thought. He shut +his eyes, leaning his head against the stone, at last +with a sideward movement burying it in his folded +arms. "More life—more! What was a great current +goes sluggish and landbound. Where again is +the open sea—the more—the boundless? Where +again—where again?"</p> + +<p>He sat for an hour by the wild, singing stream. +It drenched him, the loved place and the sweet +season, with its thousand store of beauties. Its +infinite number of touches brought at last response. +The vague crying and longing of nature hushed before +a present lullaby. At last he rose and went on +with the calling stream.</p> + +<p>The narrow path, set about with living green, with +the spangly flowers, and between the branches fragments +of the blue lift as clear as glass, led down the +glen, widening now to hill and dale. Softening and +widening, the world laughed in May. The stream +grew broad and tranquil, with grassy shores overhung +by green boughs. Here and there the bank extended +into the flood a little grassy cape edged with +violets. Alexander, following the spiral of the path, +came upon the view of such a spot as this. It lay +just before him, a little below his road. The stream +<a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>washed its fairy beach. From the new grass rose a +blooming thorn-tree; beneath this knelt a girl and, +resting upon her hands, looked at her face in the water.</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie stood still. A drooping +birch hid him; his step had been upon moss and was +not heard. The face and form upon the bank, the +face in the water, showed no consciousness of any +human neighbor. The face was that of a woman of +perhaps twenty-four. The hair was brown, the +eyes brown. The head was beautifully placed on a +round, smooth throat. With a wide forehead, with +great width between the eyes, the face tapered to a +small round chin. The mouth and under the eyes +smiled in a thousand different ways. The beauty +that was there was subtle, not discoverable by every +one.—The girl settled back upon the grass beneath +the thorn-tree. She was very near Glenfernie; he +could see the rise and fall of her bosom beneath her +blue print gown. It was Elspeth Barrow—he knew +her now, though he had not seen her for a long +time. She sat still, her brown eyes raised to building +birds in the thorn-tree. Then she began herself +to sing, clear and sweet.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A lad and a lass met ower the brae;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They blushed rose-red, but they said nae word—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woodbine fair and the milk-white slae:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And frae one to the other gaed a silver bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A silver bird.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A man set his Wish all odds before,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sword, with pen, and with gold he stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the Wish and he met on a conquered shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And frae one to the other gaed an ebon bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An ebon bird.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>"God looked on a man and said: ''Tis time!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The broken mends, clear flows the blurred.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You and I are two worlds that rhyme!'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And frae one to the other gaed a golden bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A golden bird."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She sang it through, then sat entirely still against +the stem of the thorn, while about her lips played +that faint, unapproachable, glamouring smile. Her +hands touched the grass to either side her body; +her slender, blue-clad figure, the all of her, smote +him like some god's line of poetry.</p> + +<p>There was in the laird of Glenfernie's nature an +empty palace. It had been built through ages and +every wind of pleasure and pain had blown about it. +Then it had slowly come about that the winds of +pain had increased upon the winds of pleasure. The +mind closed the door of the palace and the nature +inclined to turn from it. It was there, but a sea +mist hid it, and a tall thorn-hedge, and a web +stretched across its idle gates. It had hardly come, +in this life, into Glenfernie's waking mind that it +was there at all.</p> + +<p>Now with a suddenness every door clanged open. +The mist parted, the thorn-wood sank, the web was +torn. The palace stood, shining like home, and it +was he who was afar, in the mist and the wood, and +the web of idleness and oblivion in shreds about him. +Set in the throne-room, upon the throne, he saw the +queen.</p> + +<p>His mood, that May day, had given the moment, +and wide circumstance had met it. Now the hand +was in the glove, the statue in the niche, the bow +upon the string, the spark in the tinder, the sea +<a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>through the dike. Now what had reached being +must take its course.</p> + +<p>He felt that so fatally that he did not think of +resistance.... Elspeth, upon the grassy cape, beneath +the blooming thorn, heard steps down the +glen path, and turned her eyes to see the young +laird moving between the birch stems. Now he was +level with the holding; now he spoke to her, lifting +his hat. She answered, with the smile beneath her +eyes:</p> + +<p>"Aye, Glenfernie, it's a braw day!"</p> + +<p>"May I come into the fairy country and sit +awhile and visit?"</p> + +<p>"Aye." She welcomed him to a hillock of green +rising from the water's edge. "It <i>is</i> fairyland, and +these are the broad seas around, and I know if I +came here by night I should find the Good People +before me!" She looked at him with friendliness, +half shy, half frank. "It is the best of weather for +wandering."</p> + +<p>"Are you fond of that, too? Do you go up and +down alone?"</p> + +<p>"By my lee-lane when Gilian's not here. She's +in Aberdeen now, where live our mother's folk."</p> + +<p>"I have not seen you for years."</p> + +<p>"I mind the last time. Your mother lay ill. +One evening at sunset Mr. Ian Rullock and you came +to White Farm."</p> + +<p>"It must have been after sunset. It must have +been dark."</p> + +<p>"Back of that you and he came from Edinburgh +one time. We were down by the wishing-green, +Robin Greenlaw and Gilian and I and three or four +<a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>other lads and lassies. Do you remember? Mr. +Rullock would have us dance, and we all took hands—you, +too—and went around the ash-tree as though +it were a May-pole. We changed hands, one with +another, and danced upon the green. Then you and +he got upon your horses and rode away. He was +riding the white mare Fatima. But oh," said +Elspeth, "then came grandfather, who had seen us +from the reaped field, and he blamed us sair and +put no to our playing! He gave word to the minister, +and Sunday the sermon dealt with the ill women of +Scripture. Back of that—"</p> + +<p>"Back of that—"</p> + +<p>"There was the day the two of you would go to +the Kelpie's Pool." Elspeth's eyes enlarged and +darkened. "The next morn we heard—Jock Binning +told us—that Mr. Ian had nearly drowned."</p> + +<p>"Almost ten years ago. Once—twice—thrice in +ten years. How idly were they spent, those years!"</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Elspeth, "they say that you have +been to world's end and have gotten great learning!"</p> + +<p>"One comes home from all that to find world's +end and great learning."</p> + +<p>Elspeth leaned from him, back against the thorn-tree. +She looked somewhat disquietedly, somewhat +questioningly, at this new laird. Glenfernie, in his +turn, laid upon himself both hands of control. He +thought:</p> + +<p>"Do not peril all—do not peril all—with haste +and frightening!"</p> + +<p>He sat upon the green hillock and talked of +country news. She met him with this and that ... +White Farm affairs, Littlefarm.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a>"Robin," said Alexander, "manages so well that +he'll grow wealthy!"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! He manages well, but he'll never grow +wealthy outside! But inside he has great riches."</p> + +<p><i>"Does she love him, then?"</i> It poured fear into +his heart. A magician with a sword—with a great, +evil, written-upon creese like that hanging at Black +Hill—was here before the palace.</p> + +<p>"Do you love him?" asked Alexander, and asked +it with so straight a simplicity that Elspeth Barrow +took no offense.</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and those strange smiles played +about her lips. "Robin is a fairy man," she said. +"He has ower little of struggle save with his rhymes," +and left him to make what he could of that.</p> + +<p>"She is heart-free," he thought, but still he feared +and boded.</p> + +<p>Elspeth rose from the grass, stepped from beneath +the blooming tree. "I must be going. It wears +toward noon."</p> + +<p>Together they left the flower-set cape. The laird +of Glenfernie looked back upon it.</p> + +<p>"<i>Heaven sent a sample down.</i> You come here when +you wish? You walk about with the spring and +summer days?"</p> + +<p>"Aye, when my work's done. Gilian and I love +the greenwood."</p> + +<p>He gave her the narrow path, but kept beside +her on stone and dead leaves and mossy root. +Though he was so large of frame, he moved with a +practised, habitual ease, as far as might be from +any savor of clumsiness. He had magnetism, and +to-day he drew like a planet in glow. Now he looked +<a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>at the woman beside him, and now he looked straight +ahead with kindled eyes.</p> + +<p>Elspeth walked with slightly quickened breath, +with knitted brows. The laird of Glenfernie was +above her in station, though go to the ancestors +and blood was equal enough! It carried appeal to +a young woman's vanity, to be walking so, to feel +that the laird liked well enough to be where he was. +She liked him, too. Glenfernie House was talked +of, talked of, by village and farm and cot, talked of, +talked of, year by year—all the Jardines, their virtues +and their vices, what they said and what they +did. She had heard, ever since she was a bairn, +that continual comment, like a little prattling burn +running winter and summer through the dale. So +she knew much that was true of Alexander Jardine, +but likewise entertained a sufficient amount of misapprehension +and romancing. Out of it all came, +however, for the dale, and for the women at White +Farm who listened to the burn's voice, a sense of +trustworthiness. Elspeth, walking by Glenfernie, +felt kindness for him. If, also, there ran a tremor +of feeling that it was very fair to be Elspeth Barrow +and walking so, she was young and it was natural. +But beyond that was a sense, vague, unexplained +to herself, but disturbing. There was feeling in +him that was not in her. She was aware of it as +she might be aware of a gathering storm, though the +brain received as yet no clear message. She felt, struggling +with that diffused kindness and young vanity, +something like discomfort and fear. So her mood +was complex enough, unharmonized, parted between +opposing currents. She was a riddle to herself.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a>But Glenfernie walked in a great simplicity of +faeryland or heaven. She did not love Robin Greenlaw; +she was not so young a lass, with a rose in +her cheek for every one; she was come so far without +mating because she had snow in her heart! +The palace gleamed, the palace shone. All the +music of earth—of the world—poured through. +The sun had drunk up the mist, time had eaten the +thorn-wood, the spider at the gate had vanished +into chaos and old night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + + +<p>The cows and sheep and work-horses, the dogs, +the barn-yard fowls, the very hives of bees at +White Farm, seemed to know well enough that it +was the Sabbath. The flowers knew it that edged +the kitchen garden, the cherry-tree knew it by the +southern wall. The sunshine knew it, wearing its +calm Sunday best. Sights and sounds attuned themselves.</p> + +<p>The White Farm family was home from kirk. +Jenny Barrow and Elspeth put away hood and wide +hat of straw, slipped from and shook out and folded +on the shelf Sunday gowns and kerchiefs. Then +each donned a clean print and a less fine kerchief +and came forth to direct and aid the two cotter +lasses who served at White Farm. These by now +had off their kirk things, but they marked Sunday +still by keeping shoes and stockings. Menie and +Merran, Elspeth and Jenny, set the yesterday-prepared +dinner cold upon the table, drew the ale, and +placed chairs and stools. Two men, Thomas and +Willy, father and son, who drove the plow, sowed +and reaped, for White Farm, came from the barn. +They were yet Sunday-clad, with very clean, shining +faces. "Call father, Elspeth!" directed Jenny, +and set on the table a honeycomb.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a>Elspeth went without the door. Before the house +grew a great fir-tree that had a bench built around +it. Here, in fine weather, in rest hours and on Sunday, +might be looked for Jarvis Barrow. It was +his habit to take the far side of the tree, with the +trunk between him and the house. So there spread +before him the running river, the dale and moor, +and at last the piled hills. Here he sat, leaning +hands upon a great stick shaped like a crook, his +Bible open upon his knees. It was a great book, +large of print, read over in every part, but opening +most easily among the prophets. No cry, no +denunciation, no longing, no judgment from Isaiah +to Malachi, but was known to the elder of the kirk. +Now he sat here, in his Sunday dress, with the +Bible. At a little distance, on the round bench, sat +Robin Greenlaw. The old man read sternly, concentratedly +on; the young one looked at the purple +mountain-heads. Elspeth came around the +tree.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather, dinner is ready.—Robin! we didn't +know that you were here—"</p> + +<p>"I went the way around to speak with the laird. +Then I thought, 'I will eat at White Farm—'"</p> + +<p>"You're welcome!—Grandfather, let me take the +Book."</p> + +<p>"No," said the old man, and bore it himself +withindoors. Spare and unbent of frame, threescore +and ten and five, and able yet at the plow-stilts, +rigid of will, servant to the darker Calvinism, +starving where he might human pride and human +affections, and yet with much of both to starve, +he moved and spoke with slow authority, looked +<a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>a patriarch and ruled his holding. When presently +he came to table in the clean, sanded room with +the sunlight on the wall and floor, and when, standing, +he said the long, the earnest grace, it might +have been taken that here, in the Scotch farm-house, +was at least a minor prophet. The grace +was long, a true wrestling in prayer. Ended, a +decent pause was made, then all took place, Jarvis +Barrow and his daughter and granddaughter, Robin +Greenlaw, Thomas and Willy, Menie and Merran. +The cold meat, the bread, and other food were +passed from hand to hand, the ale poured. The +Sunday hush, the Sunday voices, continued to hold. +Jarvis Barrow would have no laughter and idle +clashes at his table on the Lord's day. Menie and +Merran and Willy kept a stolid air, with only +now and then a sidelong half-smile or nudging request +for this or that. Elspeth ate little, sat with +her brown eyes fixed out of the window. Robin +Greenlaw ate heartily enough, but he had an air +distrait, and once or twice he frowned. But Jenny +Barrow could not long keep still and incurious, +even upon the Sabbath day.</p> + +<p>"Eh, Robin, what was your crack with the +laird?"</p> + +<p>"He wants to buy Warlock for James Jardine. +He's got his ensign's commission to go fight the +French."</p> + +<p>"Eh, he'll be a bonny lad on Warlock! I thought +you wadna sell him?"</p> + +<p>"I'll sell to Glenfernie."</p> + +<p>The farmer spoke from the head of the table. +"I'll na hae talk, Robin, of buying and selling on +<a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>the day! It clinks like the money-changers and +sellers of doves."</p> + +<p>Thomas, his helper, raised his head from a plate +of cold mutton. "Glenfernie was na at kirk. He's +na the kirkkeeper his father was. Na, na!"</p> + +<p>"Na," said the farmer. "Bairns dinna walk +nowadays in parents' ways."</p> + +<p>Willy had a bit of news he would fain get in. +"Nae doot Glenfernie's brave, but he wadna be a +sodger, either! I was gaeing alang wi' the yowes, +and there was he and Drummielaw riding and gabbing. +Sae there cam on a skirling and jumping +wind and rain, and we a' gat under a tree, the yowes +and the dogs and Glenfernie and Drummielaw and +me. Then we changed gude day and they went on +gabbing. And 'Nae,' says Glenfernie, 'I am nae +lawyer and I am nae sodger. Jamie wad be the +last, but brithers may love and yet be thinking far +apairt. The best friend I hae in the warld is a +sodger, but I'm thinking I hae lost the knack o' +fechting. When you lose the taste you lose the +knack.'"</p> + +<p>"I's fearing," said Thomas, "that he's lost the +taste o' releegion!"</p> + +<p>"Eh," exclaimed Jenny Barrow, "but he's a +bonny big man! He came by yestreen, and I +thought, 'For a' there is sae muckle o' ye, ye look +as though ye walked on air!'"</p> + +<p>Thomas groaned. "Muckle tae be saved, muckle +tae be lost!"</p> + +<p>Jarvis Barrow spoke from the head of the table. +"If fowk canna talk on the Sabbath o' spiritual +things, maybe they can mak shift to haud the +<a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>tongue in their chafts! I wad think that what we +saw and heard the day wad put ye ower the burn +frae vain converse!"</p> + +<p>Thomas nodded approval.</p> + +<p>"Aweel—" began Jenny, but did not find just +the words with which to continue.</p> + +<p>Elspeth, turning ever so slightly in her chair, +looked farther off to the hills and summer clouds. +A slow wave of color came over her face and throat. +Menie and Merran looked sidelong each at the +other, then their blue eyes fell to their plates. But +Willy almost audibly smacked his lips.</p> + +<p>"Gude keep us! the meenister gaed thae sinners +their licks!"</p> + +<p>"A sair sight, but an eedifying!" said Thomas.</p> + +<p>Robin Greenlaw pushed back his chair. He saw +the inside of the kirk again, and two miserable, +loutish, lawless lovers standing for public discipline. +His color rose. "Aye, it was a sair sight," he said, +abruptly, made a pause, then went on with the +impetuousness of a burn unlocked from winter ice. +"If I should say just what I think, I suppose, uncle, +that I could not come here again! So I'll e'en say +only that I think that was a sair sight and that I +felt great shame and pity for all sinners. So, feeling +it for all, I felt it for Mallie and Jock, standing +there an hour, first on one foot and then on the +other, to be gloated at and rebukit, and for the +minister doing the rebuking, and for the kirkful all +gloating, and thinking, 'Lord, not such are we!' and +for Robin Greenlaw who often enough himself takes +wildfire for true light! I say I think it was sair +sight and sair doing—"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>Barrow's hand came down upon the table. +"Robin Greenlaw!"</p> + +<p>"You need not thunder at me, sir. I'm done! I +did not mean to make such a clatter, for in this +house what clatter makes any difference? It's the +sinner makes the clatter, and it's just promptly +sunk and lost in godliness!"</p> + +<p>The old man and the young turned in their +chairs, faced each other. They looked somewhat +alike, and in the heart of each was fondness for the +other. Greenlaw, eye to eye with the patriarch, +felt his wrath going.</p> + +<p>"Eh, uncle, I did not mean to hurt the Sunday!"</p> + +<p>Jarvis Barrow spoke with the look and the +weight of a prophet in Israel. "What is your quarrel +about, and for what are ye flyting against the kirk +and the minister and the kirkkeepers? Are ye wanting +that twa sinners, having sinned, should hae +their sin for secret and sweet to their aneselves, +gilded and pairfumed and excused and unnamed? +Are ye wanting that nane should know, and the +plague should live without the doctor and without +the mark upon the door? Or are ye thinking that +it is nae plague at all, nae sin, and nae blame? Then +ye be atheist, Robin Greenlaw, and ye gae indeed +frae my door, and wad gae were ye na my nephew, +but my son!" He gathered force. "Elder of the +kirk, I sit here, and I tell ye that were it my ain +flesh and blood that did evil, my stick and my plaid +I wad take and ower the moor I wad gae to tell +manse and parish that Sin, the wolf, had crept into +the fauld! And I wad see thae folly-crammed and +sinfu' sauls, that had let him in and had his bite, +<a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>set for shame and shawing and warning and example +before the congregation, and I wad say to the minister, +'Lift voice against them and spare not!' And +I wad be there the day and in my seat, though my +heart o' flesh was like to break!" His hand fell +again heavily upon the board. "Sae weak and +womanish is thae time we live in!" He flashed at +his great-nephew. "Sae poetical! It wasna sae +when the Malignants drove us and we fled to the +hills and were fed on the muirs with the word of the +Lord! It wasna sae in the time when Gawin +Elliot that Glenfernie draws frae was hanged for +gieing us that word! Then gin a sin-blasted ane +was found amang us, his road indeed was shawn +him! Aye, were't man or woman! <i>'For while they +be folded together as thorns, and while they are drunken +as drunkards, they shall be devoured as stubble fully +dry!'</i>"</p> + +<p>He pushed back his heavy chair; he rose from +table and went forth, tall, ancient, gray, armored +in belief. They heard him take his Bible from +where it lay, and knew that he was back under the +fir-tree, facing from the house toward moor and hill +and mountain.</p> + +<p>"Eh-h," groaned Thomas, "the elder is a mighty +witness!"</p> + +<p>The family at White Farm ate in silence. Elspeth +slipped from her place.</p> + +<p>"Where are ye gaeing, hinny?" asked Jenny. +"Ye hae eaten naething."</p> + +<p>"I've finished," said Elspeth. "I'm going to +afternoon kirk, and I'll be getting ready."</p> + +<p>She went into the room that she shared with +<a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a>Gilian and shut the door. Robin looked after +her.</p> + +<p>"When is Gilian coming home?"</p> + +<p>"Naebody knows. She is sae weel at Aberdeen! +They write that she is a great student and is liked +abune a', and they clamor to keep her.—Are ye +gaeing to second kirk, Robin?"</p> + +<p>"I do not think so. But I'll walk over the moor +with you."</p> + +<p>The meal ended. Thomas and Willy went forth +to the barn. Menie and Merran began to clear the +table. They were not going to second kirk, and +so the work was left to their hand. Jenny bustled +to get on again her Sunday gear. She would not +have missed, for a pretty, afternoon kirk and all +the neighbors who were twice-goers. It was fair +and theater and promenade and kirk to her in one—though +of course she only said "kirk."</p> + +<p>They walked over the moor, Jarvis Barrow and +Jenny and Robin and Elspeth. And at a crossing +path they came upon a figure seated on a stone +and found it to be that of the laird of Glenfernie.</p> + +<p>"Gude day, Glenfernie!"</p> + +<p>"Good day, White Farm!"</p> + +<p>He joined himself to them. For a moment he and +Robin Greenlaw were together.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I hear them calling you?" +quoth the latter. "I hear them say 'The wandering +laird!'"</p> + +<p>Alexander smiled. "That's not so bad a name!"</p> + +<p>He walked now beside Jarvis Barrow. The old +man's stride was hardly shortened by age. The +<a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a>two kept ahead of the two women, Greenlaw, +Thomas, and the sheep-dog Sandy.</p> + +<p>"It's a bonny day, White Farm!"</p> + +<p>"Aye, it's bonny eneuch, Glenfernie. Are ye for +kirk?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe so, maybe not. I take much of my kirk +out of doors. Moors make grand kirks. That has +a sound, has it not, of heathenish brass cymbals?"</p> + +<p>"It hae."</p> + +<p>"All the same, I honor every kirk that stands +sincere."</p> + +<p>"Wasna your father sincere? Why gae ye not +in his steps?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe I do.... Yes, he was sincere. I trust +that I am so, too. I would be."</p> + +<p>"Why gae ye not in his steps, then?"</p> + +<p>"All buildings are not alike and yet they may +be built sincerely."</p> + +<p>"Ye're wrong! Ye'll see it one day. Ye'll come +round to your father's steps, only ye'll tread them +deeper! Ye've got it in you, to the far back. I +hear good o' ye, and I hear ill o' ye."</p> + +<p>"Belike."</p> + +<p>"Ye've traveled. See if ye can travel out of the +ring of God!"</p> + +<p>"What is the ring of God? If it is as large as I +think it is," said Glenfernie, "I'll not travel out of +it."</p> + +<p>He looked out over moor and moss. There +breathed about him something that gave the old +man wonder. "Hae ye gold-mines and jewels, +Glenfernie? Hae the King made ye Minister?"</p> + +<p>The wandering laird laughed. "Better than +<a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>that, White Farm, better than that!" He was +tempted then and there to say: "I love your granddaughter +Elspeth. I love Elspeth!" It was his intention +to say something like this as soon as might +be to White Farm. "I love Elspeth and Elspeth +loves me. So we would marry, White Farm, and +she be lady beside the laird at Glenfernie." But he +could not say it yet, because he did not know if +Elspeth loved him. He was in a condition of hope, +but very humbly so, far from assurance. He +never did Elspeth the indignity of thinking that a +lesser thing than love might lead her to Glenfernie +House. If she came she would come because she +loved—not else.</p> + +<p>They left the moor, passed through the hollow +of the stream and by the mill, and began to climb +the village street. Folk looked out of door or window +upon them; kirk-goers astir, dressed in their +best, with regulated step and mouth and eyes +set aright, gave the correct greeting, neither more +nor less. If the afternoon breeze, if a little runlet +of water going down the street, chose to murmur: +"The laird is thick with White Farm! What +makes the laird so thick with White Farm?" that +was breeze or runlet's doing.</p> + +<p>They passed the bare, gaunt manse and came to +the kirkyard with the dark, low stones over the +generations dead. But the grass was vivid, and +the daisies bloomed, and even the yew-trees had +some kind of peacock sheen, while the sky overhead +burnt essential sapphire. Even the white of +the lark held a friendly tinge as of rose petals mixed +somehow with it. And the bell that was ending its +<a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>ringing, if it was solemn, was also silver-sweet. +Glenfernie determined that he would go to church. +He entered with the White Farm folk and he sat +with them, leaving the laird's high-walled, curtained +pew without human tenancy. Mrs. Grizel +came but to morning sermon. Alice was with a +kinswoman of rank in a great house near Edinburgh, +submitting, not without enjoyment, to certain fine +filings and polishings and lacquerings and contacts. +Jamie, who would be a soldier and fight the French, +had his commission and was gone this past week +to Carlisle, to his regiment. English Strickland was +yet at Glenfernie House. Between him and the +laird held much liking and respect. Tutor no longer, +he stayed on as secretary and right-hand man. But +Strickland was not at church.</p> + +<p>The white cavern, bare and chill, with small, +deep windows looking out upon the hills of June, +was but sparely set out with folk. Afternoon was +not morning. Nor was there again the disciplinary +vision of the forenoon. The sinners were not set +the second time for a gazing-stock. It was just +usual afternoon kirk. The prayer was made, the +psalm was sung, Mr. M'Nab preached a strong if +wintry sermon. Jarvis Barrow, white-headed, strong-featured, +intent, sat as in some tower over against +Jerusalem, considering the foes that beset her. +Beside him sat his daughter Jenny, in striped petticoat +and plain overgown, blue kerchief, and +hat of straw. Next to Jenny was Elspeth in a +dim-green stuff, thin, besprent with small flowers, +a fine white kerchief, and a wider straw hat. +Robin Greenlaw sat beside Elspeth, and the laird +<a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a>by Greenlaw. Half the congregation thought with +variations:</p> + +<p>"Wha ever heard of the laird's not being in his +ain place? He and White Farm and Littlefarm +maun be well acquaint'! He's foreign, amaist, +and gangs his ain gait!"</p> + +<p>Glenfernie, who had broken the conventions, sat +in a profound carelessness of that. The kirk was +not gray to him to-day, though he had thought it +so on other days, nor bare, nor chill. June was +without, but June was more within. He also +prayed, though his unuttered words ran in and out +between the minister's uttered ones. Under the +wintry sermon he built a dream and it glowed like +jewels. At the psalm, standing, he heard Elspeth's +clear voice praising God, and his heart lifted on that +beam of song until it was as though it came to +Heaven.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In generations all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before thou ever hadst brought forth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mountains great or small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere ever thou hadst formed the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the world abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n thou from everlasting art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To everlasting God."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Love, love, love!" cried Glenfernie's heart. His +nature did with might what its hand found to do, +and now, having turned to love between man and +woman, it loved with a huge, deep, pulsing, world-old +strength. He heard Elspeth, he felt Elspeth +only; he but wished to blend with her and go on +<a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>with her forever from the heaven to heaven which, +blended so, they would make.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... As with an overflowing flood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou carriest them away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They like a sleep are, like the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That grows at morn are they.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At morn it flourishes and grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cut down at ev'n doth fade—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Not grass of the field, O Lord," cried Glenfernie's +heart, "but the forest of oaks, but the stars +that hold for aye, one to the other—"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + + +<p>The glen was dressed in June, at its height of +green movement and song. Alexander and +Elspeth walked there and turned aside through a +miniature pass down which flowed a stream in +miniature to join the larger flood. This cleft led +them to a green hollow masked by the main wall +of the glen, a fairy place, hidden and lone. Seven +times had the two been in company since that +morning of the flower-sprinkled cape and the thorn-tree. +First stood a chance meeting upon the moor, +Elspeth walking from the village with a basket +upon her arm and the laird riding home after business +in the nearest considerable town. He dismounted; +he walked beside her to the stepping-stones +before the farm. The second time he went +to White Farm, and she and Jenny, with Merran +to help, were laying linen to bleach upon the sun-washed +hillside. He had stayed an hour, and though +he was not alone with her, yet he might look at her, +listen to her. She was not a chatterer; she worked +or stood, almost as silent as a master painter's subtle +picture stepped out of its frame, or as Pygmalion's +statue-maid, flushing with life, but as yet tongue-holden. +Yet she said certain things, and they were +to him all music and wit. The third time had been +<a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a>by the wishing-green. That was but for a moment, +but he counted it great gain.</p> + +<p>"Here," she said, "was where we danced! Mr. +Ian Rullock and you and Robin and the rest of us. +Don't you remember? It was evening and there +was a fleet of gold clouds in the sky. It is so near +the house. I walk here when I have a glint of time."</p> + +<p>The fourth time, riding Black Alan, he had stopped +at the door and talked with Jarvis Barrow. He was +thirsty and had asked for water, and Jenny had +called, "Elspeth, bring the laird a cup frae the well!" +She had brought it, and, taking it from her, all the +romance of the world had seemed to him to close +them round, to bear them to some great and fair +and deep and passionate place. The fifth time had +been the day when he went to kirk with White Farm +and listened to her voice in the psalm. The sixth +time had been again upon the moor. The seventh +time was this. He had come down through the +glen as he had done before. He had no reason to +suppose that this day more than another he would +find her, but there, half a mile from White Farm, +he came upon her, standing, watching a lintwhite's +nest. They walked together, and when that little, +right-angled, infant fellow of the glen opened to +them they turned and followed its bright rivulet to +the green hidden hollow.</p> + +<p>The earth lay warm and dry, clad with short turf. +They sat down beneath an oak-tree. None would +come this way; they had to themselves a bright +span of time and place. Elspeth looked at him +with brown, friendly eyes. Each time she met him +her eyes grew more kind; more and more she liked +<a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>the laird. Something fluttered in her nature; like +a bird in a room with many windows and all but one +closed, it turned now this way, now that, seeking +the open lattice. There was the lovely world—which +way to it? And the window that in a dream +had seemed to her to open was mayhap closed, and +another that she had not noted mayhap opening.... +But Glenfernie, winged, was in that world, and +now all that he desired was that the bright bird +should fly to him there. But until to-day patience +and caution and much humility had kept him from +direct speech. He knew that she had not loved, as +he had done, at once. He had set himself to win +her to love him. But so great was his passion that +now he thought:</p> + +<p>"Surely not one, but two as one, make this terrible +and happy furnace!" He thought, "I will +speak now," and then delayed over the words.</p> + +<p>"This is a bonny, wee place!" said Elspeth. "Did +you never hear the old folks tell that your great-grandmother, +that was among the persecuted, loved +it? When your father was a laddie they often used +to sit here, the two of them. They were great +wanderers together."</p> + +<p>"I never heard it," said Alexander. "Almost it +seems too bright...."</p> + +<p>They sat in silence, but the train of thought +started went on with Glenfernie:</p> + +<p>"But perhaps she never went so far as the +Kelpie's Pool."</p> + +<p>"The Kelpie's Pool!... I do not like that place! +Tell me, Glenfernie, wonders of travel."</p> + +<p>"What shall I tell you?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>"Tell me of the East. Tell me what like is the +Sea of Galilee."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie talked, since Elspeth bade him talk. +He talked of what he had seen and known, and that +brought him, with the aid of questions from the +woman listening, to talk of himself. "I had a +strange kind of youth.... So many dim, struggling +longings, dreams, aspirings!—but I think they may +be always there with youth."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they are," said Elspeth.</p> + +<p>"We talked of the Kelpie's Pool. Something like +that was the strangeness with me. Black rifts and +whirlpools and dead tarns within me, opening up +now and again, lifted as by a trembling of the earth, +coming up from the past! Angers and broodings, and +things seen in flashes—then all gone as the lightning +goes, and the mind does not hold what was +shown.... I became a man and it ceased. Sometimes +I know that in sleep or dream I have been +beside a kelpie pool. But I think the better part +of me has drained them where they lay under open +sky." He laughed, put his hands over his face for +a moment, then, dropping them, whistled to the +blackbirds aloft in the oak-tree.</p> + +<p>"And now?"</p> + +<p>"Now there is clean fire in me!" He turned to +her; he drew himself nearer over the sward. "Elspeth, +Elspeth, Elspeth! do not tell me that you +do not know that I love you!"</p> + +<p>"Love me—love me?" answered Elspeth. She +rose from her earthen chair; she moved as if to +leave the place; then she stood still. "Perhaps a +part of me knew and a part did not know.... I will +<a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>try to be honest, for you are honest, Glenfernie! +Yes, I knew, but I would not let myself perceive +and think and say that I knew.... And now what +will I say?"</p> + +<p>"Say that you love me! Say that you love and +will marry me!"</p> + +<p>"I like you and I trust you, but I feel no more, +Glenfernie, I feel no more!"</p> + +<p>"It may grow, Elspeth—"</p> + +<p>Elspeth moved to the stem of the oak beneath +which they had been seated. She raised her arm +and rested it against the bark, then laid her forehead +upon the warm molded flesh in the blue print sleeve. +For some moments she stayed so, with hidden face, +unmoving against the bole of the tree, like a relief +done of old by some wonderful artist. The laird +of Glenfernie, watching her, felt, such was his +passion, the whole of earth and sky, the whole of +time, draw to just this point, hang on just her movement +and her word.</p> + +<p>"Elspeth!" he cried at last. "Elspeth!"</p> + +<p>Elspeth turned, but she stood yet against the +tree. Now both arms were lifted; she had for a +moment the appearance of one who hung upon the +tree. Her eyes were wet, tears were upon her cheek. +She shook them off, then left the oak and came a +step or two toward him. "There is something in +my brain and heart that tells me what love is. +When I love I shall love hard.... I have had fancies.... +But, like yours, Glenfernie, their times are outgrown +and gone by.... It's clear to try. I like you +so much! but I do not love now—and I'll not wed +and come to Glenfernie House until I do."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a>"'It's clear to try,' you said."</p> + +<p>Elspeth looked at him long. "If it is there, even +little and far away, I'll try to bend my steps the +way shall bring it nearer. But, oh, Glenfernie, it +may be that there is naught upon the road!"</p> + +<p>"Will you journey to look for it? That's all I +ask now. Will you journey to look for it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I may promise that. And I do not know," +said Elspeth, wonderingly, "what keeps me from +thinking I'll meet it." She sat down among the +oak roots. "Let us rest a bit, and say no word, +and then go home."</p> + +<p>The sunlight filled the hollow, the wimpling burn +took the blue of the sky, the breeze whispered among +the oak leaves. The two sat and gazed at the day, +at the grass, at the little thorn-trees and hazels +that ringed the place around. They sat very still, +seeking composure. She gained it first.</p> + +<p>"When will your sister be coming home?"</p> + +<p>"It is not settled. Glenfernie House was sad of +late years. She ought to have the life and brightness +that she's getting now."</p> + +<p>"And will you travel no more?"</p> + +<p>He saw as in a lightning glare that she pictured +no change for him beyond such as being laird would +make. He was glad when the flash went and he +could forget what it had of destructive and desolating. +He would drag hope down from the sky above +the sky of lightnings. He spoke.</p> + +<p>"There were duties now to be taken up. I could +not stay away all nor most nor much of the time. +I saw that. But I could study here, and once in a +while run somewhere over the earth.... But now I +<a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>would stay in this dale till I die! Unless you were +with me—the two of us going to see the sights of the +earth, and then returning home—going and returning—going +and returning—and both a great sweetness—"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" breathed Elspeth. She put her hands +again over her eyes, and she saw, unrolling, a great +fair life <i>if</i>—<i>if</i>—She rose to her feet. "Let us +go! It grows late. They'll miss me."</p> + +<p>They came into the glen and so went down with +the stream to the open land and to White Farm.</p> + +<p>"Where hae you been?" asked Jenny. "Here +was father hame frae the shearing with his eyes +blurred, speiring for you to read to him!"</p> + +<p>"I was walking by the glen and the laird came +down through, so we made here together. Where +is grandfather?"</p> + +<p>"He wadna sit waiting. He's gane to walk on +the muir. Will ye na bide, Glenfernie?"</p> + +<p>But the laird would not stay. It was wearing +toward sunset. Menie, withindoors, called Jenny. +The latter turned away. Glenfernie spoke to +Elspeth.</p> + +<p>"If I find your grandfather on the moor I shall +speak of this that is between us. Do not look so +troubled! 'If' or 'if not' it is better to tell. So +you will not be plagued. And, anyhow, it is the +wise folks' road."</p> + +<p>Back came Jenny. "Has he gane? I had for +him a tass of wine and a bit of cake."</p> + +<p>The moor lay like a stiffened billow of the sea, +green with purple glints. The clear western sky +was ruddy gold, the sun's great ball approaching +<a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a>the horizon. But when it dipped the short June +night would know little dark in this northern land. +The air struck most fresh and pure. Glenfernie came +presently upon the old farmer, found him seated upon +a bit of bank, his gray plaid about him, his crook-like +stick planted before him, his eyes upon the western +sea of glory. The younger man stopped beside +him, settled down upon the bank, and gazed with +the elder into the ocean of colored air.</p> + +<p>"Ae gowden floor as though it were glass," said +Jarvis Barrow. "Ae gowden floor and ae river +named of Life, passing the greatness of Orinoco or +Amazon. And the tree of life for the healing of the +nations. And a' the trees that ever leafed or flowered, +ta'en together, but ae withered twig to that!"</p> + +<p>Glenfernie gazed with him. "I do not doubt that +there will come a day when we'll walk over the plains +of the sun—the flesh of our body then as gauze, +moved at will where we please and swift as thought—inner +and outer motion keeping time with the +beat and rhythm of that <i>where we are</i>—"</p> + +<p>"The young do not speak the auld tongue."</p> + +<p>"Tongues alter with the rest."</p> + +<p>Silence fell while the sun reddened, going nearer +to the mountain brow. The young man and the old, +the farmer and the laird, sat still. The air struck +more freshly, stronger, coming from the sea. Far +off a horn was blown, a dog barked.</p> + +<p>"Will ye be hame now for gude, Glenfernie? +Lairds should bide in their ain houses if the land +is to have any gude of them."</p> + +<p>"I wish to stay, White Farm, the greatest part +of the year round. I want to speak to you very +<a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>seriously. Think back a moment to my father and +mother, and to my forebears farther back yet. As +they had faults, and yet had a longing to do the +right and struggled toward it over thick and thin, +so I believe I may say of myself. That is, I struggle +toward it," said Alexander, "though I'm not +so sure of the thick and thin."</p> + +<p>"Your mither wasna your father's kind. She had +always her smile to the side and her japes, and she +looked to the warld. Not that she didna mean to +do weel in it! She did. But I couldna just see clear +the seal in her forehead."</p> + +<p>"That was because you did not look close enough," +said Alexander. "It was there."</p> + +<p>"I didna mind your uphawding your mither. +Aweel, what did ye have to say?"</p> + +<p>The laird turned full to him. "White Farm, +you were once a young man. You loved and married. +So do I love, so would I marry! The woman +I love does not yet love me, but she has, I think, +some liking.—I bide in hope. I would speak to you +about it, as is right."</p> + +<p>"Wha is she?"</p> + +<p>"Your granddaughter Elspeth."</p> + +<p>Silence, while the shadows of the trees in the vale +below grew longer and longer. Then said White +Farm:</p> + +<p>"She isna what they call your equal in station. +And she has nae tocher or as good as nane."</p> + +<p>"For the last I have enough for us both. For the +first the springs of Barrow and Jardine, back in +Time's mountains, are much the same. Scotland's +not the country to bother overmuch if the one +<a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a>stream goes, in a certain place, through a good farm, +and the other by a not over-rich laird's house."</p> + +<p>"Are ye Whig and Kirk like your father?"</p> + +<p>"I am Whig—until something more to the dawn +than that comes up. For the Kirk ... I will tell truth +and say that I have my inner differences. But they +do not lean toward Pope or prelate.... I am Christian, +where Christ is taken very universally—the +higher Self, the mounting Wisdom of us all.... Some +high things you and I may view differently, but I +believe that there are high things."</p> + +<p>"And seek them?"</p> + +<p>"And seek them."</p> + +<p>"You always had the air to me," vouchsafed +White Farm, "of one wha hunted gowd elsewhaur +than in the earthly mine." He looked at the red +west, and drew his plaid about him, and took firmer +clutch upon his staff. "But the lassie does not love +you?"</p> + +<p>"My trust is that she may come to do so."</p> + +<p>The elder got to his feet. Alexander rose also.</p> + +<p>"It's coming night! Ye will be gaeing on over +the muir to the House?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Then, sir, I may come to White Farm, or +meet her when I may, and have my chance?"</p> + +<p>"Aye. If so be I hear nae great thing against +ye. If so be ye're reasonable. If so be that in no +way do ye try to hurt the lassie."</p> + +<p>"I'll be reasonable," said the laird of Glenfernie. +"And I'd not hurt Elspeth if I could!" His face +shone, his voice was a deep and happy music. He +was so bound, so at the feet of Elspeth, that he +could not but believe in joy and fortune. The sun +<a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>had dipped; the land lay dusk, but the sky was a +rose. There was a skimming of swallows overhead, +a singing of the wind in the ling. He walked with +White Farm to the foot of the moor, then said good +night and turned toward his own house.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + + +<p>Two days later Alexander rode to Black Hill. +There had been in the night a storm with thunder +and lightning, wind and rain. Huge, ragged +banks of clouds yet hung sullen in the air, though +with lakes of blue between and shafts of sun. The +road was wet and shone. Now Black Alan must +pick his way, and now there held long stretches of +easy going. The old laird's quarrel with Mr. Archibald +Touris was not the young laird's. The old +laird's liking for Mrs. Alison was strongly the young +laird's. Glenfernie, in the months since his father's +death, had ridden often enough to Black Hill. Now +as he journeyed, together with the summer and +melody of his thoughts Elspeth-toward, he was +holding with himself a cogitation upon the subject +of Ian and Ian's last letter. He rode easily a powerful +steed, needing to be strong for so strongly built +a horseman. His riding-dress was blue; he wore his +own hair, unpowdered and gathered in a ribbon +beneath a three-cornered hat. There was perplexity +and trouble, too, in the Ian complex, but for all that +he rode with the color and sparkle of happiness in +his face. In his gray eyes light played to great +depths.</p> + +<p>Black Hill appeared before him, the dark pine +<a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a>and crag of the hill itself, and below that the house +with its far-stretching, well-planted policy. He +passed the gates, rode under the green elm boughs +of the avenue, and was presently before the porch +of the house. A man presented himself to take +Black Alan.</p> + +<p>"Aye, sir, there's company. Mr. Touris and +Mrs. Alison are with them in the gardens."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie went there, passing by a terrace walk +around the house. Going under the windows of +the room that was yet Ian's when he came home. +Ian still in his mind, he recovered strongly the look +of that room the day Ian had taken him there, in +boyhood, when they first met. Out of that vividness +started a nucleus more vivid yet—the picture in the +book-closet of the city of refuge, and the silver goblet +drawn from the hidden shelf of the aumry. The +recaptured moment lost shape and color, returned +to the infinite past. He turned the corner of the +house and came into the gardens that Mr. Touris +had had laid out after the French style.</p> + +<p>Here by the fountain he discovered the retired +merchant, and with him a guest, an old trade connection, +now a power in the East India Company. +The laird of Black Hill, a little more withered, a +little more stooped than of old, but still fluent, +caustic, and with now and then to the surface a +vague, cold froth of insincerity, made up much to +this magnate of commerce. He stood on his own +heath, or by his own fountain, but his neck had in +it a deferential crook. Lacs—rupees—factories—rajahs—ships—cottons—the +words fell like the +tinkle of a golden fountain. Listening to these two +<a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>stood, with his hands behind his back, Mr. Wotherspoon, +Black Hill's lawyer and man of business down +from Edinburgh. At a little distance Mrs. Alison +showed her roses to the wife of the East India man +and to a kinsman, Mr. Munro Touris, from Inverness +way.</p> + +<p>Mr. Touris addressed himself with his careful +smile to Alexander. "Good day, Glenfernie! This, +Mr. Goodworth, is a good neighbor of mine, Mr. +Jardine of Glenfernie. Alexander, Mr. Goodworth +is art and part of the East India. You have met +Mr. Wotherspoon before, I think? There are Alison +and Mrs. Goodworth and Munro Touris by the +roses."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie went over to the roses. Mrs. Alison, +smiling upon him, presented him to Mrs. Goodworth, +a dark, bright, black-eyed, talkative lady. He and +Munro Touris nodded to each other. The laird of +Black Hill, the India merchant, and the lawyer now +joined them, and all strolled together along the very +wide and straight graveled path. The talk was +chiefly upheld by Black Hill and the great trader, +with the lawyer putting in now and again a shrewd +word, and the trader's wife making aside to Mrs. +Alison an embroidery of comment. There had now +been left trade in excelsis and host and guests were +upon the state of the country, an unpopular war, +and fall of ministers. Came in phrases compounded +to meet Jacobite complications and dangers. The +Pretender—the Pretender and his son—French aid—French +army that might be sent to Scotland—position +of defense—rumors everywhere you go—disaffected +and Stewart-mad—. Munro Touris had +<a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>a biting word to say upon the Highland chiefs. +The lawyer talked of certain Lowland lords and +gentlemen. Mr. Touris vented a bitter gibe. He +had a black look in his small, sunken eyes. Alexander, +reading him, knew that he thought of Ian. +In a moment the whole conversation had dragged +that way. Mrs. Goodworth spoke with vivacity.</p> + +<p>"Lord, sir! I hope that your nephew, now that +he wears the King's coat, has left off talking as he +did when he was a boy! He showed his Highland +strain with a warrant! You would have thought +that he had been <i>out</i> himself thirty years ago!"</p> + +<p>Her husband checked her. "You have not seen +him since he was sixteen. Boys like that have wild +notions of romance and devotion. They change +when they're older."</p> + +<p>The lawyer took the word. "Captain Rullock +doubtless buried all that years ago. His wearing +the King's coat hauds for proof."</p> + +<p>Munro Touris had been college-mate in Edinburgh. +"He watered all that gunpowder in him +years ago, did he not, Glenfernie?"</p> + +<p>"'To water gunpowder—to shut off danger.' +That's a good figure of yours, Munro!" said Alexander. +Munro, who had been thought dull in the old +days, flushed with pleasure.</p> + +<p>They had come to a kind of summer-house overrun +with roses. Mr. Archibald Touris stopped short +and, with his back to this structure, faced the company +with him, brought thus to a halt. He looked +at them with a carefully composed countenance.</p> + +<p>"I am sure, Munro, that Ian Rullock 'watered +the gunpowder,' as you cleverly say. Boys, +<a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>ma'am"—to Mrs. Goodworth—"are, as your husband +remarks, romantic simpletons. No one takes +them and their views of life seriously. Certainly +not their political views! When they come men +they laugh themselves. They are not boys then; +they are men. Which is, as it were, the preface to +what I might as well tell you. My nephew has resigned +his captaincy and quitted the army. Apparently +he has come to feel that soldiering is not, +after all, the life he prefers. It may be that he will +take to the law, or he may wander and then laird +it when I am gone. Or if he is very wise—I meant +to speak to you of this in private, Goodworth—he +might be furnished with shares and ventures in the +East India. He has great abilities."</p> + +<p>"Well, India's the field!" said the London merchant, +placidly. "If a man has the mind and the +will he may make and keep and flourish and taste +power—"</p> + +<p>"Left the King's forces!" cried Munro Touris. +"Why—! And will he be coming to Black Hill, +sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Next week. We have," said Mr. Touris, +and though he tried he could not keep the saturnine +out of his voice—"we have some things to talk +over."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he moved from before the summer-house +into a cross-path, and the others followed him +and his Company magnate. The Edinburgh lawyer +and Glenfernie found themselves together. The +former lagged a step and held the younger man back +with him; he dropped his voice</p> + +<p>"I've not been three hours in the house. I've +<a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a>had no talk with Mr. Touris. What's all this +about? I know that you and his nephew are as +close as brothers—not that brothers are always +close!"</p> + +<p>"He writes only that he is tired of martial life. +He has the soldier in him, but he has much besides. +That 'much besides' often steps in to change a +man's profession."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope you'll persuade him to see the old +gunpowder very damp! I remember that, as a very +young man, he talked imprudently. But he has +been," said the lawyer, "far and wide since those +days."</p> + +<p>"Yes, far and wide."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wotherspoon with a long forefinger turned +a crimson rose seen in profile full toward him. "I +met him—once—when I was in London a year ago. +I had not seen him for years." He let the rose +swing back. "He has a magnificence! Do you know +I study a good deal? They say that so do you. I +have an inclination toward fifteenth-century Italian. +I should place him there." He spoke absently, still +staring at the rose. "A dash—not an ill dash, of +course—of what you might call the Borgia ... good +and evil tied into a sultry, thunderous splendor."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie bent a keen look upon him out of +gray eyes. "An enemy might describe him so, +perhaps. I can see that such a one might do so."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you're his friend!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mr. Wotherspoon, straightening himself +from the contemplation of the roses, "there's +no greater thing than to have a steadfast friend!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>It seemed that an expedition had been planned, +for a servant now appeared to say that coach and +horses were at the door. Mr. Touris explained:</p> + +<p>"I've engaged to show Mr. and Mrs. Goodworth +our considerable town. Mr. Wotherspoon, too, has +a moment's business there. Alison will not come, +but Munro Touris rides along. Will you come, too, +Glenfernie? We'll have a bit of dinner at the +'Glorious Occasion.'"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I have to get home presently. +But I'll stay a little and talk to Mrs. Alison, if I +may."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you may!" said Mrs. Alison.</p> + +<p>From the porch they watched the coach and four +away, with Munro Touris following on a strong and +ugly bay mare. The elm boughs of the avenue +hid the whole. The cloud continents and islands +were dissolving into the air ocean, the sun lay in +strong beams, the water drops were drying from leaf +and blade. Mrs. Alison and Alexander moved +through the great hall and down a corridor to a +little parlor that was hers alone. They entered +it. It gave, through an open door and two windows +set wide, upon a small, choice garden and one wide-spreading, +noble, ancient tree. Glenfernie entered as +one who knew the place, but upon whom, at every +coming, it struck with freshness and liking. The +room itself was most simple.</p> + +<p>"I like," said Alexander, "our spare, clean, precise +Scotch parlors. But this is to me like a fine, +small prioress's room in a convent of learned saints!"</p> + +<p>His old friend laughed. "Very little learned, +very little saintly, not at all prior! Let us sit in +<a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a>the doorway, smell the lavender, and hear the linnets +in the tree."</p> + +<p>She took the chair he pushed forward. He sat +upon the door-step at her feet.</p> + +<p>"Concerning Ian," she said. "What do you make +out of it all?"</p> + +<p>"I make out that I hope he'll not involve himself +in some French and Tory mad attempt!"</p> + +<p>"What do his letters say?"</p> + +<p>"They speak by indirection. Moreover, they're +at present few and short.... We shall see when he +comes!"</p> + +<p>"Do you think that he will tell you all?"</p> + +<p>Alexander's gray eyes glanced at her as earlier +they had glanced at Mr. Wotherspoon. "I do not +think that we keep much from each other!... No, +of course you are right! If there is anything that +in honor he cannot tell, or that I—with my pledges, +such as they are, in another urn—may not hear, we +shall find silences. I pin my trust to there being +nothing, after all!"</p> + +<p>"The old wreath withered, and a new one better +woven and more evergreen—"</p> + +<p>"I do not know.... I said just now that Ian +and I kept little from each other. In an exceeding +great measure that is true. But there are huge +lands in every nature where even the oldest, closest, +sworn friend does not walk. It must be so. Friendship +is not falsified nor betrayed by its being so."</p> + +<p>"Not at all!" said Mrs. Alison. "True friend or +lover loves that sense of the unplumbed, of the infinite, +in the cared-for one. To do else would be +to deny the unplumbed, the infinite, in himself, and +<a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>so the matching, the equaling, the <i>oneing</i> of love!" +She leaned forward in her chair; she regarded the +small, fragrant garden where every sweet and olden +flower seemed to bloom. "Now let us leave Ian, +and old, stanch, trusted, and trusting friendship. +It is part of oneness—it will be cared for!" She +turned her bright, calm gaze upon him. "What +other realm have you come into, Alexander? It was +plain the last time that you were here, but I did +not speak of it—it is plain to-day!" She laughed. +She had a silver, sweet, and merry laugh. "My dear, +there is a bloom and joy, a <i>vivification</i> about you that +may be felt ten feet away!" She looked at him with +affection and now seriously. "I know, I think, the +look of one who comes into spiritual treasures. This +is that and not that. It is the wilderness of lovely +flowers—hardly quite the music of the spheres! It +is not the mountain height, but the waving, leafy, +lower slopes—and yet we pass on to the height by +those slopes! Are you in love, Alexander?"</p> + +<p>"You guess so much!" he said. "You have +guessed that, too. I do not care! I am glad that +the sun shines through me."</p> + +<p>"You must be happy in your love! Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"Elspeth Barrow, the granddaughter of Jarvis +Barrow of White Farm.... You say that I must +be happy in my love. The Lord of Heaven knows +that I am! and yet she is not yet sure that she +loves me in her turn. One might say that I had +great uncertainty of bliss. But I love so strongly +that I have no strength of disbelief in me!"</p> + +<p>"Elspeth Barrow!"</p> + +<p>"My old friend—the unworldliest, the better-<a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>worldliest +soul I know—do not you join in that hue +and cry about world's gear and position! To be +Barrow is as good as to be Jardine. Elspeth is +Elspeth."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know why I made exclamation! Just the +old, dull earthy surprise! Wait for me a moment, +Alexander." She put her hands before her eyes, +then, dropping them, sat with her gaze upon the +great tree shot through with light from the clearing +sky. "I see her now. At first I could not disentangle +her and Gilian, for they were always together. +I have not seen them often—just three or +four times to remember, perhaps. But in April I +chanced for some reason to go to White Farm.... I +see her now! Yes, she has beauty, though it +would not strike many with the edge of the sword.... Yes, +I see—about the mouth and the eyes and +the set of the head. It's subtle—it's like some +pictures I remember in Italy. And intelligence is +there. Enchantment ... the more real, perhaps, +for not being the most obvious.... So you are enchained, +witched, held by the great sorceress!... Elspeth +is only one of her little names—her great +name is just love—love between man and woman.... Oh +yes, the whole of the sweetness is distilled +into one honey-drop—the whole giant thing is +shortened into one image—the whole heaven and +earth slip silkenly into one banner, and you would +die for it! You see, my dear," said Mrs. Alison, +who had never married, "I loved one who died. I +know."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie took her hand and kissed it. "Nothing +is loss to you—nothing! For me, I am more +<a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a>darkly made. So I hope to God I'll not lose Elspeth!"</p> + +<p>Her tears, that were hardly of grief, dropped upon +his bent head. "Eh, my laddie! the old love is +there in the midst of the wide love. But the larger +controls.... Well, enough of that! And do you mean +that you have asked Elspeth to marry you—and +that she does not know her own heart?"</p> + +<p>They talked, sitting before the fragrant garden, +in the little room that was tranquil, blissful, and +recluse. At last he rose.</p> + +<p>"I must go."</p> + +<p>They went out through the garden to the wicket +that parted her demesne from the formal, wide +pleasure-sweeps. He stopped for a moment under +the great tree.</p> + +<p>"In a fortnight or so I must go to Edinburgh to +see Renwick about that land. And it is in my +mind to travel from there to London for a few +weeks. There are two or three persons whom I +know who could put a stout shoulder to the wheel +of Jamie's prospects. Word of mouth is better with +them than would be letters. Jamie is at Windsor. +I could take him with me here or there—give him, +doubtless, a little help."</p> + +<p>"You are a world-man," said his friend, "which +is quite different from a worldly man! Come or +go as you will, still all is your garden that you cultivate.... +Now you are thinking again of Elspeth!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps if for a month or two I plague her not, +then when I come again she may have a greater +knowledge of herself. Perhaps it is more generous +to be absent for a time—"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>"I see that you will not doubt—that you cannot +doubt—that in the end she loves you!"</p> + +<p>"Is it arrogance, self-love, and ignorance if I +think that? Or is it knowledge? I think it, and I +cannot and will not else!"</p> + +<p>They came to the wicket, and stood there a moment +ere going on by the terrace to the front of +the house. The day was now clear and vivid, soft +and bright. The birds sang in a long ecstasy, the +flowers bloomed as though all life must be put into +June, the droning bees went about with the steadiest +preoccupation. Alexander looked about him.</p> + +<p>"The earth is drunk with sweetness, and I see +now how great joy is sib to great pain!" He shook +himself. "Come back to earth and daylight, Alexander +Jardine!" He put a hand, large, strong, and +shapely, over Mrs. Alison's slender ivory one. "She, +too, has long fingers, though her hand is brown. +But it is an artist hand—a picture hand—a thoughtful +hand."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Alison laughed, but her eyes were tender +over him. "Oh, man! what a great forest—what +an ever-rising song—is this same thing you're feeling! +And so old—and so fire-new!" They walked +along the terrace to the porch. "They're bringing +you Black Alan to ride away upon. But you'll come +again as soon as Ian's here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. You may be assured that if +he is free of that Stewart coil—or if he is in it only +so deep that he may yet free himself—I shall say +all that I can to keep him free or to urge him forth. +Not for much would I see Ian take ship in that +attempt!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>"No!... I have been reading the Book of Daniel. +Do you know what Ian is like to me? He is like +some great lord—a prince or governor—in the +court maybe of Belshazzar, or Darius the Mede, +or Cyrus the Persian—in that hot and stately land +of golden images and old rivers and the sound of the +cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and dulcimer +and all kinds of music. He must serve his tyrant—and +yet Daniel, kneeling in his house, in his chamber, +with the windows open toward Jerusalem, +might hear a cry to hold his name in his prayers.... +What strange thoughts we have of ourselves, +and of those nearest and dearest!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wotherspoon says that he is fifteenth-century +Italian. You have both done a proper bit +of characterization! But I," said Alexander, "I +know another great territory of Ian."</p> + +<p>"I know that, Glenfernie! And so do I know +other good realms of Ian. Yet that was what I +thought when I read Daniel. And I had the +thought, too, that those old people were capable +of great friendships."</p> + +<p>Black Alan was waiting. Glenfernie mounted, +said good-by again; the green boughs of the elm-trees +took him and his steed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + + +<p>Ian forestalled Alexander, riding to Glenfernie +House the morning after his arrival at Black +Hill. "Let us go," he said, "where we can talk at +ease! The old, alchemical room?"</p> + +<p>They crossed the grass-grown court to the keep, +entered and went up the broken stair to the stone-walled +chamber that took up the second floor, that +looked out of loophole windows north, south, east, +and west. The day was high summer, bright and +hot. Strong light and less strong light came in +beams from the four quarters and made in the large +place a conflict of light and shadow. The fireplace +was great enough for Gog and Magog to have warmed +themselves thereby. Around, in an orderly litter, +yet stood on table or bench or shelf many of the +matters that Alexander had gathered there in his +boyhood. In one corner was the furnace that when +he was sixteen his father had let him build. More +recent was the oaken table in the middle of the +room, two deep chairs, and shelves with many books. +After the warmth of the sun the place presented a +grave, cool, brown harbor.</p> + +<p>The two, entering, had each an arm over the +other's shoulder. Where they were known their +friendship was famed. Youth and manhood, they +<a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a>had been together when it was possible. When it +was not so the thought of each outtraveled separation. +Their differences, their varied colors of being, +seemed but to bind them closer. They entered +this room like David and Jonathan.</p> + +<p>Ian also was tall, but not so largely made as was +the other. Lithe, embrowned, with gold-bronze +hair and eyes, knit of a piece, moving as by one undulation, +there was something in him not like the +Scot, something foreign, exotic. Sometimes Alexander +called him "Saracen"—a finding of the +imagination that dated from old days upon the +moor above the Kelpie's Pool when they read together +the <i>Faery Queen</i>. The other day, at Black +Hill, this ancient fancy had played through Alexander's +mind while Mr. Wotherspoon talked of +Italy, and Mrs. Alison of Babylonish lords.... The +point was that he relished Paynim knight and Renaissance +noble and prince of Babylon. Let Ian seem +or be all that, and richer yet! Still there would be +Ian, outside of all circles drawn.</p> + +<p>In the room that he called the "alchemical," +Ian, disengaging himself, turned and put both hands +on Alexander's shoulders. "Thou Old Steadfast!" +he cried. "God knows how glad I am to see thee!"</p> + +<p>Alexander laughed. "Not more glad than I am +at the sight of you! What's the tidings?"</p> + +<p>"What should they be? I am tired of being King +George's soldier!"</p> + +<p>"So that you are tired of being any little king +of this earth's soldier!"</p> + +<p>"Why, I think I am—"</p> + +<p>"Kings 'over the water' included, Ian?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a>"Kings without kingdoms? Well," said Ian, +"they don't amount to much, do they?"</p> + +<p>"They do not." The two moved together to the +table and the chairs by it. "You are free of them, +Ian?"</p> + +<p>"What is it to be free of them?"</p> + +<p>"Well, to be plain, out of the Stewart cark and +moil! Pretender, Chevalier de St. George, or uncrowned +king—let it drift away like the dead leaf +it is!"</p> + +<p>"A dead leaf. Is it a dead leaf?... I wonder!... But +you are usually right, old Steadfast!"</p> + +<p>"I see that you will not tell me plainly."</p> + +<p>"Are you so anxious? There is nothing to be +anxious about."</p> + +<p>"Nothing.... What is 'nothing'?"</p> + +<p>Ian drummed upon the table and whistled "Lillibullero." +"Something—nothing. Nothing—something! +Old Steadfast, you are a sight for sair een! +They say you make the best of lairds! Every cotter +sings of just ways!"</p> + +<p>"My father was a good laird. I would not shatter +the tradition. Come with me to Edinburgh +and London, on that journey I wrote you of!"</p> + +<p>"No. I want to sink into the summer green and +not raise my head from some old poetry book! I +have been marching and countermarching until I +am tired. As for what you have in your mind, +don't fash yourself about it! I will say that, at the +moment, I think it <i>is</i> a dead leaf.... Of course, +should the Pope's staff unexpectedly begin to bud +and flower—! But it mayn't—indeed, it only looks +at present smooth and polished and dead.... I left +<a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a>the army because, naturally, I didn't want to be +there in case—just in case—the staff budded. +Heigho! It is the truth. You need not look +troubled," said Ian.</p> + +<p>His friend must rest with that. He did so, and +put that matter aside. At any rate, things stood +there better than he had feared. "I shall be gone +a month or two. But you'll still be here when I +come home?"</p> + +<p>"As far as I know I'll be here through the summer. +I have no plans.... If the leaf remains dry +and dead, what should you say to taking ship at +Leith in September for Holland? Amsterdam—then +Antwerp—then the Rhine. We might see the +great Frederick—push farther and look at the +Queen of Hungary."</p> + +<p>"No, I may not. I look to be a home-staying +laird."</p> + +<p>They sat with the table between them, and the +light from the four sides of the room rippled and +crossed over them. Books were on the table, +folios and volumes in less.</p> + +<p>"The home-staying laird—the full scholar—at last +the writer—the master ... it is a good fortune!"</p> + +<p>As Ian spoke he stretched his arms, he leaned +back in his chair and regarded the room, the fireplace, +the little furnace, and the shelves ranged with +the quaint, makeshift apparatuses of boyhood. He +looked at the green boughs without the loophole +windows and at the crossing lights and shadows, +and the brown books upon the brown table, and +at last, under somewhat lowered lids, at Alexander. +What moved in the bottom of his mind it would be +<a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a>hard to say. He thought that he loved the man +sitting over against him, and so, surely, to some +great amount he did. But somewhere, in the thousand +valleys behind them, he had stayed in an inn +of malice and had carried hence poison in a vial +as small as a single cell. What suddenly made that +past to burn and set it in the present it were hard +to say. A spark perhaps of envy or of jealousy, +or a movement of contempt for Alexander's "fortune." +But he looked at his friend with half-closed +eyes, and under the sea of consciousness crawled, +half-blind, half-asleep, a willingness for Glenfernie +to find some thorn in life. The wish did not come +to consciousness. It was far down. He thought +of himself as steel true to Alexander. And in a +moment the old love drew again. He put out his +hands across the board. "When are we going to +see Mother Binning and to light the fire in the +cave?... There are not many like you, Alexander! +I'm glad to get back."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to have you back, old sworn-fellow, +old Saracen!"</p> + +<p>They clasped hands. Gray eyes and brown eyes +with gold flecks met in a gaze that was as steady +with the one as with the other. It was Alexander +who first loosened handclasp.</p> + +<p>They talked of affairs, particular and general, +of Ian's late proceedings and the lairdship of Alexander, +of men and places that they knew away from +this countryside. Ian watched the other as they +talked. Whatever there was that had moved, +down there in the abyss, was asleep again.</p> + +<p>"Old Steadfast, you are ruddy and joyous! How +<a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>long since I was here, in the winter? Four months? +Well, you've changed. What is it?... Is it love? +Are you in love?"</p> + +<p>"If I am—" Glenfernie rose and paced the +room. Coming to one of the narrow windows, he +stood and looked out and down upon bank and +brae and wood and field and moor. He returned +to the table. "I'll tell you about it."</p> + +<p>He told. Ian sat and listened. The light played +about him, shook gold dots and lines over his green +coat, over his hands, his faintly smiling face, his +head held straight and high. He was so well to +look at, so "magnificent"! Alexander spoke with +the eloquence of a possessing passion, and Ian +listened and felt himself to be the sympathizing +friend. Even the profound, unreasonable, unhumorous +idealism of old Steadfast had its quaint, Utopian +appeal. He was going to marry the farmer's granddaughter, +though he might, undoubtedly, marry +better.... Ian listened, questioned, summed up:</p> + +<p>"I have always been the worldly-wise one! Is +there any use in my talking now of worldly wisdom?"</p> + +<p>"No use at all."</p> + +<p>"Then I won't!... Old Alexander the Great, are +you happy?"</p> + +<p>"If she gives me her love."</p> + +<p>Ian dismissed that with a wave of his hand. +"Oh, I think she'll give it, dear simpleton!" He +looked at Glenfernie now with genial affection. +"Well, on the whole, and balancing one thing +against another, I think that I want you to be +happy!"</p> + +<p>Alexander laughed at that minification. "And +<a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a>my happiness is big enough—or if I get it it will be +big enough—not in the least to disturb our friendship +country, Ian!"</p> + +<p>"I'll believe that, too. Our relations are old and +rooted."</p> + +<p>"Old and rooted."</p> + +<p>"So I wish you joy.... And I remember when you +thought you would not marry!"</p> + +<p>"Oh—memories! I'm sweeping them away! I'm +beginning again!... I hold fast the memory of +friendship. I hold fast the memory that somehow, +in this form or that, I must have loved her from the +beginning of things!" He rose and moved about +the room. Going to the fireplace, he leaned his +forehead against the stone and looked down at the +laid, not kindled, wood. He turned and came back +to Ian. "The world seems to me all good."</p> + +<p>Ian laughed at him, half in raillery, but half in +a flood of kindness. If what had stirred had been +ancient betrayal, alive and vital one knew not when, +now again it was dead, dead. He rose, he put his +arm again about Alexander's shoulder. "Glenfernie! +Glenfernie! you're in deep! Well, I hope the world +will stay heaven, e'en for your sake!"</p> + +<p>They left the old room with its hauntings of a +boy's search for gold, with, back of that, who might +know what hauntings of ancient times and fortress +doings, violences and agonies, subduings, revivings, +cark and care and light struggling through, dark +nights and waited-for dawns! They went down the +stair and out of the keep. Late June flamed around +them.</p> + +<p>Ian stayed another hour or two ere he rode back +<a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>to Black Hill. With Glenfernie he went over Glenfernie +House, the known, familiar rooms. They +went to the school-room together and out through +the breach in the old castle wall, and sat among +the pine roots, and looked down through leafy tree-tops +to the glint of water. When, in the sun-washed +house and narrow garden and grassy court, they +came upon men and women they stopped and spoke, +and all was friendly and merry as it should be in a +land of good folk. Ian had his crack with Davie, +with Eppie and Phemie and old Lauchlinson and +others. They sat for a few minutes with Mrs. Grizel +where, in a most housewifely corner, she measured +currants and bargained with pickers of cherries. +Strickland they came upon in the book-room. With +the Jardines and this gentleman the sense of employed +and employee had long ago passed into a +larger inclusion. He and the young laird talked and +worked together as members of one family. Now +there was some converse among the three, and then +the two left Strickland in the cool, dusky room. +Outside the house June flamed again. For a while +they paced up and down under the trees in the +narrow garden atop the craggy height. Then Ian +mounted Fatima, who all these years was kept for +him at Black Hill.</p> + +<p>"You'll come over to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie watched him down the steep-descending, +winding road, and thought of many roads that, +good company, he and Ian had traveled together.</p> + +<p>This was the middle of the day. In the afternoon +he walked to White Farm.... It was sunset +<a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a>when he turned his face homeward. He looked back +and saw Elspeth at the stepping-stones, in a clear +flame of golden sky and golden water. She had +seemed kind; he walked on air, his hand in Hope's. +Hope had well-nigh the look of Assurance. He was +going away because it was promised and arranged +for and he must go. But he was coming again—he +was coming again.</p> + +<p>A golden moon rose through the clear east. He +was in no hurry to reach Glenfernie House. The +aching, panting bliss that he felt, the energy compressed, +held back, straining at the leash, wanted +night and isolation. So it could better dream of +day and the clasp of that other that with him +would make one. Now he walked and now stood, +his eyes upon the mounting orb or the greater stars +that it could not dim, and now he stretched himself +in the summer heath. At last, not far from midnight, +he came to that face of Glenfernie Hill below +the old wall, to the home stream and the bit of +thick wood where once, in boyhood, he had lain +with covered face under the trees and little by little +had put from his mind "The Cranes of Ibycus." +The moonlight was all broken here. Shafts of black +and white lay inextricably crossed and mingled. +Alexander passed through the little wood and +climbed, with the secure step of old habit, the +steep, rough path to the pine without the wall, +there stooped and came through the broken wall to +the moon-silvered court, and so to the door left open +for him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie was away to Edinburgh +on Black Alan, Tam Dickson with him on +Whitefoot. Ian Rullock riding Fatima, behind him +a Black Hill groom on an iron-gray, came over the +moor to the head of the glen. Ian checked the +mare. Behind him rolled the moor, with the hollow +where lay, water in a deep jade cup, the Kelpie's +Pool. Before him struck down the green feathered +cleft, opening out at last into the vale. He could see +the water there, and a silver gleam that was White +Farm. He sat for a minute, pondering whether he +should ride back the way he had come or, giving +Fatima to Peter Lindsay, walk through the glen. +He looked at his watch, looked, too, at a heap of +clouds along the western horizon. The gleam in the +vale at last decided him. He left the saddle.</p> + +<p>"Take Fatima around to White Farm, Lindsay. +I'll walk through the glen." His thought was, "I +might as well see what like is Alexander's inamorata!" +It was true that he had seen her quite long +ago, but time had overlaid the image, or perhaps he +had never paid especial note.</p> + +<p>Peter Lindsay stooped to catch the reins that the +other tossed him. "There's weather in thae clouds, +sir!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a>"Not before night, I think. They're moving very +slowly."</p> + +<p>Lindsay turned with the horses. Ian, light of +step, resilient, "magnificent," turned from the purple +moor into the shade of birches. A few moments +and he was near the cot of Mother Binning. A +cock crowed, a feather of blue smoke went up from +her peat fire.</p> + +<p>He came to her door, meaning to stay but for a +good-natured five minutes of gossip. She had lived +here forever, set in the picture with ash-tree and +boulder. But when he came to the door he found +sitting with her, in the checkered space behind the +opening, Glenfernie's inamorata.</p> + +<p>Now he remembered her.... He wondered if he +had truly ever forgotten her.</p> + +<p>When he had received his welcome he sat down +upon the door-step. He could have touched Elspeth's +skirt. When she lowered her eyes they +rested upon his gold-brown head, upon his hand in +a little pool of light.</p> + +<p>"Eh, laddie!" said Mother Binning, "but ye grow +mair braw each time ye come!"</p> + +<p>Elspeth thought him braw. The wishing-green +where they danced, hand in hand!... Now she knew—now +she knew—why her heart had lain so cold +and still—for months, for years, cold and still! +That was what hearts did until the sun came.... +Definitely, in this hour, for her now, upon this +stretch of the mortal path, Ian became the sun.</p> + +<p>Ian sat daffing, talking. The old woman listened, +her wheel idle; the young woman listened. The +young woman, sitting half in shadow, half in light, +<a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a>put up her hand and drew farther over her face the +brim of her wide hat of country weave. She wished +to hide her eyes, her lips. She sat there pale, and +through her ran in fine, innumerable waves human +passion and longing, wild courage and trembling +humility.</p> + +<p>The sunlight that flooded the door-stone and +patched the cottage floor began to lessen and withdraw. +Low and distant there sounded a roll of +thunder. Jock Binning came upon his crutches +from the bench by the stream where he made a +fishing-net.</p> + +<p>"A tempest's daundering up!"</p> + +<p>Elspeth rose. "I must go home—I must get +home before it comes!"</p> + +<p>"If ye'll bide, lassie, it may go by."</p> + +<p>"No, I cannot." She had brought to Mother +Binning a basket heaped with bloomy plums. She +took it up and set it on the table. "I'll get the +basket when next I come. Now I must go! Hark, +there's the thunder again!"</p> + +<p>Ian had risen also. "I will go with you. Yes! +It was my purpose to walk through to White Farm. +I sent Fatima around with Peter Lindsay."</p> + +<p>As they passed the ash-tree there was lightning, +but yet the heavens showed great lakes of blue, and +a broken sunlight lay upon the path.</p> + +<p>"There's time enough! We need not go too fast. +The path is rough for that."</p> + +<p>They walked in silence, now side by side, now, +where the way was narrow, one before the other. +The blue clouded over, there sprang a wind. The +trees bent and shook, the deep glen grew gray and +<a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a>dark. That wind died and there was a breathless +stillness, heated and heavy. Each heard the other's +breathing as they walked.</p> + +<p>"Let us go more quickly! We have a long way."</p> + +<p>"Will you go back to Mother Binning's?"</p> + +<p>"That, too, is far."</p> + +<p>They had passed the cave a little way and were +in mid-glen. It was dusk in this narrow pass. The +trees hung, shadows in a brooding twilight; between +the close-set pillars of the hills the sky showed +slate-hued, with pallid feathers of cloud driven across. +Lightning tore it, the thunder was loud, the trees +upon the hilltops began to move. Some raindrops +fell, large, slow, and warm. The lightning ran +again, blindingly bright; the ensuing thunderclap +seemed to shake the rock. As it died, the cataract +sound of the wind was heard among the ranked +trees. The drops came faster, came fast.</p> + +<p>"It's no use!" cried Ian. "You'll be drenched +and blinded! There's danger, too, in these tall +trees. Come back to the cave and take shelter!"</p> + +<p>He turned. She followed him, breathless, liking +the storm—so that no bolt struck him. In every +nerve, in every vein, she felt life rouse itself. It +was like day to old night, summer to one born in +winter, a passion of revival where she had not +known that there was anything to revive. The past +was as it were not, the future was as it were not; +all things poured into a tremendous present. It +was proper that there should be storm without, if +within was to be this enormous, aching, happy +tumult that was pain indeed, but pain that one +would not spare!</p> + +<p><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>Ian parted the swinging briers. They entered +the cavern. If it was dim outside in the glen, it +was dimmer here. Then the lightning flashed and +all was lit. It vanished, the light from the air in +conflict with itself. All was dark—then the flash +again! The rain now fell in a torrent.</p> + +<p>"At least it is dry here! There is wood, but I +have no way to make fire."</p> + +<p>"I am not cold."</p> + +<p>"Sit here, upon this ledge. Alexander and I +cleared it and widened it."</p> + +<p>She sat down. When he spoke of Alexander she +thought of Alexander, without unkindness, without +comparing, without compunction, a thought colorless +and simple, as of one whom she had known and +liked a long time ago. Indeed, it might be said +that she had little here with which to reproach herself. +She had been honest—had not said "Take!" +where she could not fulfil.... And now the laird +of Glenfernie was like a form met long ago—long +ago! It seemed so long and far away that she +could not even think of him as suffering. As she +might leave a fugitive memory, so she turned her +mind from him.</p> + +<p>Ian thought of Alexander ... but he looked, by +the lightning's lamp, at the woman opposite.</p> + +<p>She was not the first that he had desired, but he +desired now with unwonted strength. He did not +know why—he did not analyze himself nor the +situation—but all the others seemed gathered up +in her. She was fair to him, desirable!... He +thirsted, quite with the mortal honesty of an Arab, +day and night and day again without drink in the +<a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>desert, and the oasis palms seen at last on the +horizon. In his self-direction thitherward he was +as candid, one-pointed, and ruthless as the Arab +might be. He had no deliberate thought of harm +to the woman before him—as little as the Arab +would have of hurting the well whose cool wave +seemed to like the lip touch. Perhaps he as little +stopped to reason as would have done the Arab. +Perhaps he had no thought of deeply injuring a +friend. If there were two desert-traversers, or more +than two, making for the well, friendship would not +hold one back, push another forward. Race!—and +if the well was but to one, then let fate and Allah +approve the swiftest! Under such circumstances +would not Alexander outdo him if he might? He +was willing to believe so. Glenfernie said himself +that the girl did not know if she cared for him. If, +then, the well was not for him, anyway?... <i>Where +was the wrong?</i> Now Ian believed in his own power +and easy might and pleasantness and, on the whole, +goodness—believed, too, in the love of Alexander +for him, love that he had tried before, and it held. +<i>And if he made love to Elspeth Barrow need old +Steadfast ever know it?</i> And, finally, and perhaps, +unacknowledged to himself, from the first, he turned +to that cabinet of his heart where was the vial +made of pride, that held the drop of malice. The +storm continued. They looked through the portcullis +made by the briers upon a world of rain. +The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled; in here +was the castle hold, dim and safe. They were as +alone as in a fairy-tale, as alone as though around +the cave beat an ocean that boat had never crossed.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a>They sat near each other; once or twice Ian, rising, +moved to and fro in the cave, or at the opening +looked into the turmoil without. When he did this +her eyes followed him. Each, in every fiber, had +consciousness of the other. They were as conscious +of each other as lion and lioness in a desert cave.</p> + +<p>They talked, but they did not talk much. What +they said was trite enough. Underneath was the +potent language, wave meeting wave with shock +and thrill and exultation. These would not come, +here and now, to outer utterance. But sooner or +later they would come. Each knew that—though +not always does one acknowledge what is known.</p> + +<p>When they spoke it was chiefly of weather and +of country people....</p> + +<p>The lightning blazed less frequently, thunder subdued +itself. For a time the rain fell thick and +leaden, but after an hour it thinned and grew silver. +Presently it wholly stopped.</p> + +<p>"This storm is over," said Ian.</p> + +<p>Elspeth rose from the ledge of stone. He drew +aside the dripping curtain of leaf and stem, and she +stepped forth from the cave, and he followed. The +clouds were breaking, the birds were singing. The +day of creation could not have seen the glen more +lucent and fragrant. When, soon, they came to its +lower reaches, with White Farm before them, they +saw overhead a rainbow.</p> + +<hr style='width: 33%;' /> + +<p>The day of the storm and the cave was over, but +with no outward word their inner selves had covenanted +to meet again. They met in the leafy glen. +It was easy for her to find an errand to Mother +<a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>Binning's, or, even, in the long summer afternoons, +to wander forth from White Farm unquestioned. +As for him, he came over the moor, avoided the cot +at the glen head, and plunged down the steep hillside +below. Once they met Jock Binning in the +glen. After that they chose for their trysting-place +that green hidden arm that once she and the laird +of Glenfernie had entered.</p> + +<p>Elspeth did not think in those days; she loved. +She moved as one who is moved; she was drawn +as by the cords of the sun. The Ancient One, the +Sphinx, had her fast. The reflection of a greater +thing claimed her and taught her, held her like a +bayadere in a temple court.</p> + +<p>As for Ian, he also held that he loved. He was +the Arab bound for the well for which he thirsted, +single-minded as to that, and without much present +consciousness of tarnish or sin.... But what might +arise in his mind when his thirst was quenched? +Ian did not care, in these blissful days, to think of +that.</p> + +<p>He had come on the day of the storm, the cave, +and the rainbow to a fatal place in his very long +life. He was upon very still, deep water, glasslike, +with only vague threads and tremors to show what +might issue in resistless currents. He had been in +such a place, in his planetary life, over and over and +over again. This concatenation had formed it, or +that concatenation; the surrounding phenomena +varied, but essentially it was always the same, like +a dream place. The question was, would he turn +his boat, or raft, or whatever was beneath him, or +his own stroke as swimmer, and escape from this +<a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a>glassy place whose currents were yet but tendrils? +He could do it; it was the Valley of Decision.... +But so often, in all those lives whose bitter and +sweet were distilled into this one, he had not done +it. It had grown much easier not to do it. Sometimes +it had been illusory love, sometimes ambition, +sometimes towering pride and self-seeking, sometimes +mere indolent unreadiness, dreamy self-will. +On he had gone out of the lower end of the Valley +of Decision, where the tendrils became arms of +giants and decisions might no longer be made.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie stayed longer from home +than, riding away, he had expected to do. It +was the latter half of August when he and Black +Alan, Tam Dickson and Whitefoot, came up the +winding road to Glenfernie door. Phemie it was, +at the clothes-lines, who noted them on the lowest +spiral, who turned and ran and informed the household. +"The laird's coming! The laird's coming!" +Men and women and dogs began to stir.</p> + +<p>Strickland, looking from the window of his own +high room, saw the riders in and out of the bronzing +woods. Descending, he joined Mrs. Grizel upon the +wide stone step without the hall door. Davie was +in waiting, and a stable-boy or two came at a run.</p> + +<p>"Two months!" said Mrs. Grizel. "But it used +to be six months, a year, two years, and more! He +grows a home body, as lairds ought to be!"</p> + +<p>Alexander dismounted at the door, took her in +his arms and kissed her twice, shook hands with +Strickland, greeted Davie and the men. "How +good it is to get home! I've pined like a lost bairn. +And none of you look older—Aunt Grizel hasn't a +single white hair!"</p> + +<p>"Go along with you, laddie!" said Aunt Grizel. +"You haven't been so long away!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a>The sun was half-way down the western quarter. +He changed his riding-clothes, and they set food +for him in the hall. He ate, and Davie drew the +cloth and brought wine and glasses. Some matter +or other called Mrs. Grizel away, but Strickland +stayed and drank wine with him.</p> + +<p>Questions and answers had been exchanged. +Glenfernie gave in detail reasons for his lengthened +stay. There had been a business postponement +and complication—in London Jamie's affairs; again, +in Edinburgh, insistence of kindred with whom +Alice was blooming, "growing a fine lady, too!" +and at the last a sudden and for a while dangerous +sickness of Tam Dickson's that had kept them +a week at an inn a dozen miles this side of Edinburgh.</p> + +<p>"Each time I started up sprang a stout hedge! +But they're all down now and here I am!" He +raised his wine-glass. "To home, and the sweetness +thereof!" said Alexander.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to see you back," said Strickland, and +meant it.</p> + +<p>The late sunlight streamed through the open door. +Bran, the old hound, basked in it; it wiped the rust +from the ancient weapons on the wall and wrote +hieroglyphics in among them; it made glow the wine +in the glass. Alexander turned in his chair.</p> + +<p>"It's near sunset.... Now what, just, did you +hear about Ian Rullock's going?"</p> + +<p>"We supposed that he would be here through the +autumn—certainly until after your return. Then, +three days ago, comes Peter Lindsay with the note +for you, and word that he was gone. Lindsay +<a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a>thought that he had received letters from great +people and had gone to them for a visit."</p> + +<p>Alexander spread the missive that had been given +him upon the table. "It's short!" He held it so +that Strickland might read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Glenfernie</span>,—Perhaps the leaf is not yet wholly sere. Be +that as it may be, I'm leaving Black Hill for a time.</p> + +<p class="author"><span class="smcap">Ian Rullock</span>.</p></div> + +<p>"That's a puzzling billet!" said Alexander. "'<i>Glenfernie</i>—<i>Ian +Rullock!</i>'"</p> + +<p>"What does he mean by the leaf not dead?"</p> + +<p>"That was a figure of speech used between us +in regard to a certain thing.... Well, he also has +moods! It is my trust that he has not answered +to some one's piping that the leaf's not dead! That +is the likeliest thing—that he answered and has +gone. I'll ride to Black Hill to-morrow." The sun +set, twilight passed, candles were lighted. "Have +you seen any from White Farm?"</p> + +<p>"I walked there from Littlefarm with Robin +Greenlaw. Jarvis Barrow was reading Leviticus, +looking like a listener in the Plain of Sinai. They +expected Gilian home from Aberdeen. They say +the harvest everywhere is good."</p> + +<p>Alexander asked no further and presently they +parted for the night. The laird of Glenfernie looked +from his chamber window, and he looked toward +White Farm. It was dark, clear night, and all the +autumn stars shone like worlds of hope.</p> + +<p>The next morning he mounted his horse and went +off to Black Hill. He would get this matter of Ian +straight. It was early when he rode, and he came +<a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a>to Black Hill to find Mr. Touris and his sister yet +at the breakfast-table. Mrs. Alison, who might +have been up hours, sat over against a dour-looking +master of the house who sipped his tea and crumbled +his toast and had few good words for anything. +But he was glad and said that he was glad to see +Glenfernie.</p> + +<p>"Now, maybe, we'll have some light on Ian's +doings!"</p> + +<p>"I came for light to you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that he hasn't written you?"</p> + +<p>"Only a line that I found waiting for me. It +says, simply, that he leaves Black Hill for a while."</p> + +<p>"Well, you won't get light from me! My light's +darkness. The women found in his room a memorandum +of ships and two addresses, one a house +in Amsterdam, and one, if you please, in Paris—<i>Faubourg +Saint-Germain!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that he left without explanation +or good-by?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Alison spoke. "No, Archibald does not +mean that. One evening Ian outdid himself in +bonniness and golden talk. Then as we took our +candles he told us that the wander-fever had him +and that he would be riding to Edinburgh. Archibald +protested, but he daffed it by. So the next +day he went, and he may be in Edinburgh. It +would seem nothing, if these Highland chiefs were +not his kin and if there wasn't this round and round +rumor of the Pretender and the French army! There +may be nothing—he may be riding back almost to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>But Mr. Touris would not shake the black dog from +<a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a>his shoulders. "He'll bring trouble yet—was born +the sort to do it!"</p> + +<p>Alexander defended him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're his friend—sworn for thick and thin! +As for Alison, she'd find a good word for the fiend +from hell!—not that my sister's son is anything +of that," said the Scotchman. "But he'll bring +trouble to warm, canny, king-and-kirk-abiding folk! +He's an Indian macaw in a dove-cote."</p> + +<p>They rose from table. Out on the terrace they +walked up and down in the soft, bright morning +light. Mr. Touris seemed to wish company; he +clung to Glenfernie until the latter must mount his +horse and ride home. Only for a moment did +Alexander and Mrs. Alison have speech together.</p> + +<p>"When will you be seeing Elspeth?"</p> + +<p>"I hope this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"May joy come to you, Alexander!"</p> + +<p>"I want it to come. I want it to come."</p> + +<p>He and Black Alan journeyed home. As he rode +he thought now and again of Ian, perhaps in Edinburgh +according to his word of mouth, but perhaps, +despite that word, on board some ship that should +place him in the Low Countries, from which he might +travel into France and to Paris and that group of +Jacobites humming like a byke of bees around a +prince, the heir of all the Stewarts. He thought +with old affection and old concern. Whatever Ian +did—intrigued with Jacobite interest or held aloof +like a sensible man—yet was he Ian with the old +appeal. <i>Take me or leave me—me and my dusky gold!</i> +Alexander drew a deep breath, shook his shoulders, +raised his head. "Let my friend be as he is!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a>He ceased to think of Ian and turned to the +oncoming afternoon—the afternoon rainbow-hued, +coming on to the sound of music.</p> + +<p>Again in his own house, he and Strickland worked +an hour or more upon estate business. That over +and dinner past, he went to the room in the keep. +When the hour struck three he passed out of the +opening in the old wall, clambered down the bank, +and, going through the wood, took his way to +White Farm.</p> + +<p>Just one foreground wish in his mind was granted. +There was an orchard strip by White Farm, and +here, beneath a red-apple tree, he found Elspeth +alone. She was perfectly direct with him.</p> + +<p>"Willy told us that you were home. I thought +you might come now to White Farm. I was watching. +I wanted to speak to you where none was by. +Let us cross the burn and walk in the fields."</p> + +<p>The fields were reaped, lay in tawny stubble. +The path ran by this and by a lichened stone wall. +Overhead, swallows were skimming. Heath and +bracken, rolled the colored hills. The air swam cool +and golden, with a smell of the harvest earth.</p> + +<p>"Elspeth, I stayed away years and years and +years, and I stayed away not one hour!"</p> + +<p>She stopped; she stood with her back to the +wall. The farm-house had sunk from sight, the +sun was westering, the fields lay dim gold and solitary. +She had over her head a silken scarf, the +ends of which she drew together and held with one +brown, slender hand against her breast. She wore +a dark gown; he saw her bosom rise and fall.</p> + +<p>"I watched for you to tell you that this must not +<a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a>go on any longer. I came to my mind when you +were gone, Mr. Alexander—I came to my mind! I +think that you are braw and noble, but in the way +of loving, as love is between man and woman, I +have none for you—I have none for you!"</p> + +<p>The sun appeared to dip, the fields to darken. +Pain came to Glenfernie, wildering and blinding. +He stood silent.</p> + +<p>"I might have known before you went—I might +have known from that first meeting, in May, in the +glen! But I was a fool, and vague, and willing, I +suppose, to put tip of tongue to a land of sweetness! +If, mistaken myself, I helped you to mistake, I am +bitter sorry and I ask your forgiveness! But the +thing, Glenfernie, the thing stands! It's for us to +part."</p> + +<p>He stared at her dumbly. In every line of her, +in every tone of her, there was finality. He was +tenacious of purpose, capable of long-sustained and +patient effort, but he seemed to know that, for this +life, purpose and effort here might as well be laid +aside. The knowledge wrapped him, quiet, gray, +and utter. He put his hands to his brow; he +moved a few steps to and fro; he came to the wall +and leaned against it. It seemed to him that he +regarded the clay-cold corpse of his life.</p> + +<p>"O the world!" cried Elspeth. "When we are +little it seems so little! If you suffer, I am sorry."</p> + +<p>"Present suffering may be faced if there's light +behind."</p> + +<p>"There's not this light, Glenfernie.... O world! +if there is some other light—"</p> + +<p>"And time will do naught for me, Elspeth?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a>"No. Time will do naught for you. It is over! +And the day goes down and the world spins on."</p> + +<p>They stood apart, without speaking, under their +hands the heaped stones of the wall. The swallows +skimmed; a tinkling of sheep-bells was heard; the +stubble and the moor beyond the fields lay in gold, +in sunken green and violet; the hilltops met the sky +in a line long, clean, remote, and still. Elspeth +spoke.</p> + +<p>"I am going now, back home. Let's say good-by +here, each wishing the other some good in, or maybe +out of, this carefu' world!"</p> + +<p>"You, also, are unhappy. Why?"</p> + +<p>"I am not! Do I seem so? I am sorry for unhappiness—that +is all! Of course we grow older," +said Elspeth, "older and wiser. But you nor no +one must think that I am unhappy! For I am not." +She put out her hands to him. "Let us say good-by!"</p> + +<p>"Is it so? Is it so?"</p> + +<p>"Never make doubt of that! I want you to see +that it is clean snapped—clean gone!"</p> + +<p>She gave him her hands. They lay in his grasp +untrembling, filled with a gathered strength. He +wrung them, bowed his head upon them, let them go. +They fell at her sides; then she raised them, drew +the scarf over her head and, holding it as before, +turned and went away up the path between the yellow +stubble and the wall. She walked quickly, dark +clad; she was gone like a bird into a wood, like a +branch of autumn leaves when the sea fog rolls in.</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie turned to his ancient +house on the craggy hill.... That night he made +<a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a>him a fire in his old loved room in the keep. He +sat beside it; he lighted candles and opened books, +and now and then he sat so still before them that he +may have thought that he read. But the books +slipped away, and the candles guttered down, and +the fire went out. At last, in the thick darkness, +he spread his arms upon the table and bowed his +head in them, and his frame shook with a man's +slow weeping.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + + +<p>The bright autumn sank into November, November +winds and mists into a muffled, gray-roofed, +white-floored December. And still the laird of Glenfernie +lived with the work of the estate and, when +that was done, and when the long, lonely, rambling +daily walk or ride was over, with books. The room +in the keep had now many books. He sat among +them, and he built his fire higher, and his candles +burned into late night. Whether he read or did not +read, he stayed among them and drew what restless +comfort he might. Strickland, from his own high +room, waking in the night, saw the loophole slit of +light.</p> + +<p>He felt concern. The change that had come to +his old pupil was marked enough. Strickland's +mind dwelt on the old laird. Was that the personality, +not of one, but of two, of the whole line, +perhaps, developing all the time, step by step with +what seemed the plastic, otherwise, free time of +youth, appearing always in due season, when its +hour struck? Would Alexander, with minor differences, +repeat his father? How of the mother? +Would the father drown the mother? In the enormous +all-one, the huge blend, what would arrive? +Out of all fathers and mothers, out of all causes?</p> + +<p><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a>It could not be said that Alexander was surly. +Nor, if the weather was dark with him, that he tried +to shake his darkness into others' skies. Nor that +he meanly succumbed to the weight, whatever it +was, that bore upon him. He did his work, and +achieved at least the show of equanimity. Strickland +wondered. What was it that had happened? +It never occurred to him that it had happened here +in this dale. But in all that life of Alexander's in +the wider world there must needs have been relationships +of lands established. Somewhere, something +had happened to overcloud his day, to uncover ancestral +resemblances, possibilities. Something, somewhere, +and he had had news of it this autumn.... +It happened that Strickland had never seen Glenfernie +with Elspeth Barrow.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grizel was not observant. So that her +nephew came to breakfast, dinner, and supper, so +that he was not averse to casual speech of household +interests, so that he seemed to keep his health, +so that he gave her now and then words and a kiss +of affection, she was willing to believe that persons +addicted to books and the company of themselves +had a right to stillness and gravity. Alice stayed +in Edinburgh; Jamie soldiered it in Flanders. +Strickland wrote and computed for and with the +laird, then watched him forth, a solitary figure, +by the fir-trees, by the leafless trees, and down the +circling road into the winter country. Or he saw +firelight in the keep and knew that Alexander +walked to and fro, to and fro, or sat bowed over a +book. Late at night, waking, he saw that Glenfernie +still watched.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a>It was not Ian Rullock nor anything to do with +him that had helped on this sharp alteration, this +turn into some Cimmerian stretch of the mind's +or the emotions' vast landscape. If Strickland had +at first wondered if this might be the case, the +thought vanished. Glenfernie, free to speak of Ian, +spoke freely, with the relief of there, at least, a sunny +day. It somewhat amazed and disquieted, even +while it touched, the older man of quiet passions +and even ways, the old strength of this friendship. +Glenfernie seemed to brood with a mother-passion +over Ian. To an extent here he confided in Strickland. +The latter knew of the worry about Jacobite +plots and the drawing of Ian into that vortex—Ian +known now to be in Paris, writing thence twice or +thrice during this autumn and early winter, letters +that came to Glenfernie's hand by unusual channels, +smacking all of them of Jacobite or High +Tory transmissals. Strickland did not see these +letters. Of them Alexander said only that Ian +wrote as usual, except that he made no reference +to sere leaves turning green or a dead staff +budding.</p> + +<p>In the room with only the loophole windows, by +the firelight, Alexander read over again the second +of these letters. "So you have loved and lost, old +Steadfast? Let it not grieve you too much!" And +that was all of that. And it pleased Alexander that +it was all. Ian was too wise to touch and finger +the heart. Ian, Ian, rich and deep and himself almost! +Ten thousand Ian recollections pressed in +upon Alexander. Let Ian, an he would, go a-lusting +after old dynasties! Yet was he Ian! In these +<a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a>months it was Ian memories that chiefly gave +Alexander comfort.</p> + +<p>They gave beyond what, at this time, Mrs. Alison +could give. At considerable intervals he went +to Black Hill. But his old friend lived in a rare, +upland air, and he could not yet find rest in her +clime. She saw that.</p> + +<p>"It's for after a while, isn't it, Alexander? Oh, +after a while you'll see that it is the breathing, living +air! But do not feel now that you are in duty +bound to come here. Wait until you feel like +coming, and never think that I'll be hurt—"</p> + +<p>"I am a marsh thing," he said. "I feel dull and +still and cold, and over me is a heavy atmosphere +filled with motes. Forgive me and let me come to +you farther on and higher up."</p> + +<p>He went back to the gray crag, Glenfernie House +and the room in the keep, the fire and his books, +and a brooding traveling over the past, and, like a +pool of gold in a long arctic night, the image, nested +and warm, of Ian. Love was lost, but there stayed +the ancient, ancient friend.</p> + +<p>Two weeks before Christmas Alice came home, +bright as a rose. She talked of a thousand events, +large and small. Glenfernie listened, smiled, asked +questions, praised her, and said it was good to have +brightness in the house.</p> + +<p>"Aye, it is!" she answered. "How grave and old +you and Mr. Strickland and the books and the hall +and Bran look!"</p> + +<p>"It's heigho! for Jamie, isn't it?" asked Alexander. +"Winter makes us look old. Wait till +springtime!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a>That evening she waylaid Strickland. "What is +the matter with Alexander?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"He looks five years older. He looks as though +he had been through wars."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he has. I don't know what it is," said +Strickland, soberly.</p> + +<p>"Do you think," said Alice—"do you think he +could have had—oh, somewhere out in the world!—a +love-affair, and it ended badly? She died, or +there was a rival, or something like that, and he +has just heard of it?"</p> + +<p>"You have been reading novels," said Strickland. +"And yet—!"</p> + +<p>That night, seeing from his own window the light +in the keep, he turned to his bed with the thought +of the havoc of love. Lying there with open eyes +he saw in procession Unhappy Love. He lay long +awake, but at last he turned and addressed himself +to sleep. "He's a strong climber! Whatever it is, +maybe he'll climb out of it."</p> + +<p>But in the keep, Alexander, sitting by the fire +with lowered head and hanging hands, saw not the +time when he would climb out of it....</p> + +<p>He went no more to White Farm. He went, +though not every Sunday, to kirk and sat with his +aunt and with Strickland in the laird's boxlike, +curtained pew. Mr. M'Nab preached of original +sin and ineffable condemnation, and of the few, the +very, very few, saved as by fire. He saw Jarvis +Barrow sitting motionless, sternly agreeing, and +beyond him Jenny Barrow and then Elspeth and +Gilian. Out of kirk, in the kirkyard, he gave them +<a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>good day. He studied to keep strangeness out of +his manner; an onlooker would note only a somewhat +silent, preoccupied laird. He might be pondering +the sermon. Mr. M'Nab's sermons were +calculated to arouse alarm and concern—or, in the +case of the justified, stern triumph—in the human +breast. White Farm made no quarrel with the +laird for that quietude and withdrawing. In the +autumn he had told Jarvis Barrow of that hour +with Elspeth in the stubble-field. The old man +listened, then, "They are strange warks, women!" +he said, and almost immediately went on to speak +of other things. There seemed no sympathy and +no regret for the earthly happening. But he liked +to debate with the laird election and the perseverance +of the saints.</p> + +<p>Jenny Barrow, only, could not be held from exclamation +over Glenfernie's defection. "Why does +he na come as he used to? Wha's done aught to +him or said a word to gie offense?" She talked to +Menie and Merran since Elspeth and Gilian gave +her notice that they were wearied of the subject. +Perhaps Jenny's concern with it kept her from the +perception that not Glenfernie only was changing +or had changed. Elspeth—! But Elspeth had been +always a dreamer, rather silent, a listener rather +than a speaker. Jenny did not look around corners; +the overt sufficed for a bustling, good-natured life. +Gilian's arrival, moreover, made for a diversion of +attention. By the time novelty subsided again into +every day an altered Elspeth had so fitted into the +frame of life that Jenny was unaware of alteration.</p> + +<p>But Gilian was not Jenny.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a>Each of Jarvis Barrow's granddaughters had her +own small bedroom. Three nights after Gilian's +home-coming she came, when the candles were out, +into Elspeth's room. It was September and, for +the season, warm. A great round moon poured its +light into the little room. Elspeth was seated upon +her bed. Her hair was loosened and fell over her +white gown. Her feet were under her; she sat like +an Eastern carving, still in the moonlight.</p> + +<p>"Elspeth!"</p> + +<p>Elspeth took a moment to come back to White +Farm. "What is it, Gilian?"</p> + +<p>Gilian moved to the window and sat in it. She +had not undressed. The moon silvered her, too. +"What has happened, Elspeth?"</p> + +<p>"Naught. What should happen?"</p> + +<p>"It's no use telling me that.—We've been away +from each other almost a year. I know that I've +changed, grown, in that time, and it's natural that +you should do the same. But it's something besides +that!"</p> + +<p>Elspeth laughed and her laughter was like a little, +cold, mirthless chime of silver bells. "You're fanciful, +Gilian!... We're no longer lassies; we're women! +So the colors of things get a little different—that's +all!"</p> + +<p>"Don't you love me, Elspeth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I love you. What has that to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Has it not? Has love naught to do with it? +Love at all—all love?"</p> + +<p>Elspeth parted her long dark hair into two waves, +drew it before her, and began to braid it, sitting still, +her limbs under her, upon the bed. "I saw you on +<a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>the moor walking and talking with grandfather. +What did he say to you?"</p> + +<p>"You are changed and I said that you were +changed. He had not noticed—he would not be +like to notice! Then he told me about the laird +and you."</p> + +<p>"Yes. About the laird and me."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't love him? They say he is a fine +man."</p> + +<p>"No, I couldn't love him. I like him. He +understands. No one is to blame."</p> + +<p>"But if it is not that, what is it—what is it, +Elspeth?"</p> + +<p>"It's naught—naught—naught, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>"It's a strange naught that makes you like a dark +lady in a ballad-book!"</p> + +<p>Elspeth laughed again. "Didn't I say that you +were fanciful? It's late and I am sleepy."</p> + +<p>That had been while the leaves were still upon +the trees. The next morning and thenceforward +Elspeth seemed to make a point of cheerfulness. It +passed with her aunt and the helpers in the house. +Jarvis Barrow appeared to take no especial note if +women laughed or sighed, so long as they lived +irreproachably.</p> + +<p>The leaves bronzed, the autumn rains came, the +leaves fell, the trees stood bare, the winds began +to blow, there fell the first snowflakes. Gilian, +walking home from the town, was overtaken on +the moor by Robin Greenlaw.</p> + +<p>"Where is Elspeth?"</p> + +<p>"We are making our winter dresses. She would +not leave her sewing."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>The cousins walked upon the moor path together. +Gilian was fairer and more strongly made than Elspeth. +They walked in silence; then said Robin:</p> + +<p>"You're the old Gilian, but I'm sure I miss the +old Elspeth!"</p> + +<p>"I think, myself, she's gone visiting! I rack and +rack my brains to find what grief could have come +to Elspeth. She will not help me."</p> + +<p>"Gilian, could it be that, after all, her heart is +set on the laird?"</p> + +<p>"Did you know about that?"</p> + +<p>"In part I guessed, watching them together. +And then I saw how Glenfernie oldened in a night. +Then, being with my uncle one day, he let drop +a word that I followed up. I led him on and he +told me. Glenfernie acted like a true man."</p> + +<p>"If there's one thing of which I'm sure it is that +she hardly thinks of him from Sunday to Sunday. +She thinks then for a little because she sees him in +kirk—but that passes, too!"</p> + +<p>"Then what is it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I don't know of anybody else. +Maybe no outer thing has anything to do with it. +Sometimes we just have drumlie, dreary seasons +and we do not know why.... She loves the spring. +Maybe when spring comes she'll be Elspeth once +more!"</p> + +<p>"I hope so," said Greenlaw. "Spring makes all +the world bonny again."</p> + +<p>That was in November. On Christmas Eve Elspeth +Barrow drowned herself in the Kelpie's Pool.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + + +<p>There had been three hours of light on Christmas +Day when Robin Greenlaw appeared at +Glenfernie House and would see the laird.</p> + +<p>"He's in his ain room in the keep," said Davie, +and went with the message.</p> + +<p>Alexander came down the stair and out into the +flagged court. The weather had been unwontedly +clement, melting the earlier snows, letting the brown +earth forth again for one look about her. To-day +there was pale sunlight. Greenlaw sat his big gray. +The laird came to him.</p> + +<p>"Get down, man, and come in for Christmas +cheer!"</p> + +<p>"Send Davie away," said Greenlaw.</p> + +<p>Alexander's gray eyes glanced. "You're bringing +something that is not Christmas cheer!—Davie, tell +Dandie Saunderson to saddle Black Alan at once.—Now, +Robin!"</p> + +<p>"Yesterday," said Greenlaw, "Elspeth Barrow +vanished from White Farm. They wanted to send +Christmas fare to old Skene the cotter. She said +she would take a basket there, and so she went away, +down the stream—about ten of the morning they +think it was. It was not for hours that they grew +at all anxious. She's never come back. She did +<a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a>not go to Skene's. We can hear no word of her from +any. Her grandfather and I and the men at White +Farm looked for her through the night. This morning +there's an alarm sent up and down the dale."</p> + +<p>"What harm could happen—"</p> + +<p>"She might have strayed into some lonely place—fallen—hurt +herself. There were gipsies seen the +other day over by Windyedge. Or she might have +walked on and on upon what road she took, and +somehow none chanced to notice her. I am going +now to ride the Edinburgh way."</p> + +<p>"Have you gone up the glen?"</p> + +<p>"That was tried this morning at first light. But +that is just opposite to Skene's and the way she certainly +took at first. She would have to turn and +go about through the woods, or White Farm would +see her." His voice had a haunting note of fear +and trouble.</p> + +<p>Glenfernie caught it. "She was not out of health +nor unhappy?"</p> + +<p>"She is changed from the old Elspeth. When you +ask her if she is unhappy she says that she is not.... +I do not know. Something is wrong. With the +others, I am seeking about as though I expected +each moment to see her sitting or standing by the +roadside. But I do not expect to see her. I do +not know what I expect. We have sent to Windyedge +to apprehend those gipsies."</p> + +<p>"Let me speak one moment to Mr. Strickland to +send the men forth and go himself. Then I am +ready."</p> + +<p>On Black Alan he rode with Robin down the hill +and through the wood and upon the White Farm +<a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a>way. The earth was mainly bare of snow, but +frozen hard. The hoofs rang out but left no print. +The air hung still, light and dry; the sun, far in the +south, sent slanting, pale-gold beams. The two +men made little speech as they rode. They passed +men and youths, single figures and clusters.</p> + +<p>"Ony news, Littlefarm? We've been—or we're +going—seeking here, or here—"</p> + +<p>A woman stopped them. "It was thae gipsies, +sirs! I had a dream about them, five nights syne! +A lintwhite was flying by them, and they gave chase. +Either it's that or she made away with herself! I +had a dream that might be read that way, too."</p> + +<p>When they came to White Farm it was to find +there only Jenny and Menie and Merran.</p> + +<p>"Somebody maun stay to keep the house warm +gin the lassie come stumbling hame, cauld and +hungry and half doited! Eh, Glenfernie, ye that +are a learned man and know the warld, gie us help!"</p> + +<p>"I am going up the glen," said Alexander to +Greenlaw. "I do not know why, but I think it +should be tried again. And I know it, root and +branch. I am going afoot. I will leave Black Alan +here."</p> + +<p>They wasted no time. He went, while Robin +Greenlaw on his gray took the opposed direction. +Looking back, he saw the great fire that Jenny +kept, dancing through the open door and in the +pane of the window. Then the trees and the winding +of the path shut it away, shut away house and +field and all token of human life.</p> + +<p>He moved swiftly to the mouth of the glen, but +then more slowly. The trees soared bare, the water +<a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a>rushed with a hoarse sound, snow lay in clefts. +So well he knew the place! There was no spot where +foot might have climbed, no ledge nor opening where +form might lay, huddled or outstretched, that lacked +his searching eye or hand. Here was the pebbly +cape with the thorn-tree where in May he had come +upon Elspeth, sitting by the water, singing.... +Farther on he turned into that smaller, that fairy +glen, bending like an arm from the main pass. +Here was the oak beneath which they had sat, +against which she had leaned. It wrapt him from +himself, this place. He stood, and space around +seemed filled with forms just beyond visibility. +What were they? He did not know, but they seemed +to breathe against his heart, to whisper.... He +searched this place well, but there were only the +winter banks and trees, the little burn, the invisible +presences. Back in the deep glen a hawk sailed +overhead, across the stripe of pale-blue sky. Alexander +went on by the stream and the projecting +rock and the twisted roots. There was no sound +other than the loud voice of the water, talking only +of its return to the sea. When he came to the cave +he pushed aside the masking growth and entered. +Dark and barren here, with the ashes of an old fire! +For one moment, as it were distinctly, he saw Ian. +He stood so clear in the mind's eye that it seemed +that one intense effort might have set him bodily +in the cavern. But the central strength let the +image go. Alexander moved the ashes of the fire +with his foot, shuddered in the place of cold and +shadow, and, stooping, went out of the cave and on +upon his search for Elspeth Barrow.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a>He sought the glen through, and at last, at the +head, he came to Mother Binning's cot. Her fire +was burning; she was standing in the door looking +toward him.</p> + +<p>"Eh, Glenfernie! is there news of the lassie?"</p> + +<p>"None. You've got the sight. Can you not +<i>see</i>?"</p> + +<p>"It's gane from me! When it gaes I'm just like +ony bird with a broken wing."</p> + +<p>"If you cannot see, what do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I dinna want to think and I dinna want to say. +Whaur be ye gaeing now?"</p> + +<p>"On over the moor and down by the Kelpie's +Pool."</p> + +<p>"Gae on then. I'll watch for ye coming back."</p> + +<p>He went on. Something strange had him, drawing +him. He came out from the band of trees upon +the swelling open moor, bare and brown save where +the snow laced it. Gold filtered over it; a pale sky +arched above; it was wide, still, and awful—a +desert. He saw the light run down and glint upon +the pool. Searchers had ridden across this moor +also, he had been told. He went down at once to +the pool and stood by the kelpie willow. He was +not thinking, he was not keenly feeling. He seemed +to stand in open, endless, formless space, and in +unfenced time. A clump of dry reeds rose by his +knee, and upon the other side of these he noticed +that a stone had been lifted from its bed. He +stooped, and in the reeds he found an inch-long +fragment of ribbon—of a snood.</p> + +<p>He stepped back from the willow. He took off +and dropped upon the moor hat and riding-coat +<a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a>and boots, inner coat and waistcoat. Then he entered +the Kelpie's Pool. He searched it, measure by +measure, and at last he found the body of Elspeth. +He drew it up; he loosened and let fall the stone +tied in the plaid that was wrapped around it; he +bore the form out of the pool and laid it upon the +bank beyond the willow. The sunlight showed the +whole, the face and figure. The laird of Glenfernie, +kneeling beside it, put back the long drowned +hair and saw, pinned upon the bosom of the gown, +the folded letter, wrapped twice in thicker paper. +He took it from her and opened it. The writing +was yet legible.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>I hope that I shall not be found. If I am, let this answer +for me. I was unhappy, more unhappy than you can think. +Let no one be blamed. It was one far from here and you will +not know his name. Do not think of me as wicked nor as a +murderess. The unhappy should have pardon and rest. Good-by +to all—good-by!</p></div> + +<p>In the upper corner was written, "For White +Farm." That was all.</p> + +<p>Glenfernie put this letter into the bosom of his +shirt. He then got on again the clothing he had +discarded, and, stooping, put his arms beneath the +lifeless form. He lifted it and bore it from the +Kelpie's Pool and up the moor. He was a man +much stronger than the ordinary; he carried it as +though he felt no weight. The icy water of the +pool upon him was as nothing, and as he walked +his face was still as a stone face in a desert. So +he came with Elspeth's body back to the glen, and +Mother Binning saw him coming.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a>"Hech, sirs! Hech, sirs! Will it hae been that +way—will it hae been that way?"</p> + +<p>He stopped for a moment. He laid his burden +down upon the boards just within the door and +smoothed back the streaming hair. "Even the +shell flung out by the ocean is beautiful!"</p> + +<p>"Eh, man! Eh, man! It's wae sometimes to +be a woman!"</p> + +<p>"Give me," he said, "a plaid, dry and warm, +to hap her in."</p> + +<p>"Will ye na leave her here? Put her in my bed +and gae tell White Farm!"</p> + +<p>"No, I will carry her home."</p> + +<p>Mother Binning took from a chest a gray plaid. +He lifted again the dead woman, and she happed the +plaid about her. "Ah, the lassie—the lassie! Come +to me, Glenfernie, and I will scry for you who it +was!"</p> + +<p>He looked at her as though he did not hear her. +He lifted the body, holding it against his shoulder +like a child, and went forth. He knew the path so +absolutely, he was so strong and light of foot, that +he went without difficulty through the glen, by the +loud crying water, by the points of crag and the curving +roots and the drifts of snow, by the green +patches of moss and the trees great and small. He +did not hasten nor drag, he did not think. He went +like a bronze Talus, made simply to find, to carry +home.</p> + +<p>Known feature after known feature of the place +rose before him, passed him, fell away. Here was +the arm of the glen, and here was the pebbled cape +and the thorn-tree. The winter water swirled +<a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>around it, sang of cold and a hateful power. Here +was the mouth of the glen. Here were the fields +which had been green and then golden with ripe corn. +Here were the White Farm roof and chimneys and +windows, and blue smoke from the chimney going +straight up like a wraith to meet blue sky. Before +him was the open door.</p> + +<p>He had thought of there being only Jenny and the +two servant lasses. But in the time he had been +gone there had regathered to White Farm, for learning +each from each, for consultation, for mere rest +and food, a number of the searchers. Jarvis Barrow +had returned from the northward-stretching moor, +Thomas and Willy from the southerly fields. Men +who had begun to drag deep places in the stream +were here for some provision. A handful of women, +hooded and wrapped, had come from neighboring +farms or from the village. Among them talked Mrs. +Macmurdo, who kept the shop, and the hostess of +the Jardine Arms. And there was here Jock Binning, +who, for all his lameness and his crutches, +could go where he wished.... But it was Gilian, +crossing upon the stepping-stones, who saw Glenfernie +coming by the stream with the covered form +in his arms. She met him; they went up the +bank to the house together. She had uttered one +cry, but no more.</p> + +<p>"The Kelpie's Pool," he had answered.</p> + +<p>Jarvis Barrow came out of the door. "Eh! God +help us!"</p> + +<p>They laid the form upon a bed. All the houseful +crowded about. There was no helping that, and +as little might be helped Jenny's lamentations and +<a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a>the ejaculations of others. It was White Farm himself +who took away the plaid. It lay there before +them all, the drowned form. The face was very +quiet, strangely like Elspeth again, the Elspeth of the +springtime. All looked, all saw.</p> + +<p>"Gude guide us!" cried Mrs. Macmurdo. "And +I wadna be some at the Judgment Day when come +up the beguiled, self-drownit lassies!"</p> + +<p>Jock Binning's voice rose from out the craning +group. "Aye, and I ken—and I ken wha was the +man!"</p> + +<p>White Farm turned upon him. He towered, the +old man. A winter wrath and grief, an icy, scintillant, +arctic passion, marked two there, the laird of +Glenfernie and the elder of the kirk. Gilian's grief +stood head-high with theirs, but their anger, the old +man's disdaining and the young man's jealousy, was +far from her. In Jarvis Barrow's hand was the +paper, taken from Elspeth, given him by Glenfernie. +He turned upon the cripple. "Wha, then? Wha, +then? Speak out!"</p> + +<p>He had that power of command that forced an +answer. Jock Binning, crutched and with an elfish +face and figure and voice, had pulled down upon +himself the office of revelator. The group swayed +a little from him and he was left facing White Farm +and the laird of Glenfernie. He had a wailing, +chanting, elvish manner of speech. Out streamed +this voice:</p> + +<p>"'Twere the last of June, twa-three days after +the laird rode to Edinburgh, and she brought my +mither a giftie of plums and sat doon for a crack +with her. By he came and stood and talked. +<a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>Syne the clouds thickened and the thunder growlit, +and he wad walk with her hame through the glen—"</p> + +<p>"Wha wad? Wha?"</p> + +<p>"Captain Ian Rullock."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ian Rullock!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Aye, Glenfernie! And after that they never +came to my mither's again. But I marked them +aft when they didna mark me, in the glen. Aye, and +I marked them ance in the little glen, and there they +were lovers surely—gin kisses and clasped arms mak +lovers! She wad come by herself to their trysting, +and he wad come over the muir and down the crag-side. +It was na my business and I never thocht +to tell. But eh! all ill will out, says my mither!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + + +<p>The early sunlight fell soft and fine upon the +river Seine and the quays and buildings of +Paris. The movement and buzz of people had, in +the brightness, something of the small ecstasy of +bees emerging from the hive with the winter pall just +slipped. Distant bells were ringing, hope enticed +the grimmest poverty. Much, after all, might be +taken good-naturedly!</p> + +<p>A great, ornate coach, belonging to a person of +quality, crossed the Seine from the south to the +north bank. Three gentlemen, seated within, observed +each in his own fashion the soft, shining +day. One was Scots, one was English, and the owner +of the coach, a Frenchman. The first was Ian Rullock.</p> + +<p>"Good weather for your crossing, monsieur!" remarked +the person of quality. He was so markedly +of position that the two men whom he had graciously +offered to bring a mile upon their way, and who also +were younger men, answered with deference and followed +in their speech only the lines indicated.</p> + +<p>"It promises fair, sir," said Ian. "In three days +Dunkirk, then smooth seas! Good omens everywhere!"</p> + +<p>"You do not voyage under your own name?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a>"After to-morrow, sir, I am Robert Bonshaw, a +Scots physician."</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, good fortune to you, and to the exalted +person you serve!"</p> + +<p>The coach, cumbrous and stately, drawn by four +white horses, left the bridge and came under old +palace walls, and thence by narrow streets advanced +toward the great house of its owner. Outside was +the numerous throng, the scattering to this side and +that of the imperiled foot travelers. The coach +stopped.</p> + +<p>"Here is the street you would reach!" said the +helpful person of quality.</p> + +<p>A footman held open the door; the Scot and the +Englishman gave proper expression of gratitude to +their benefactor, descended to earth, turned again +to bow low, and waited bareheaded till the great +machine was once more in motion and monseigneur's +wig, countenance, and velvet coat grew things of +the past. Then the two turned into a still and +narrow street overhung by high, ancient structures +and roofed with April sky.</p> + +<p>The one was going from Paris, the other staying. +Both were links in a long chain of political conspiring. +They walked now down the street that was +dark and old, underfoot old mire and mica-like glistening +of fresher rain. The Englishman spoke:</p> + +<p>"Have you any news from home?"</p> + +<p>"None. None for a long while. I had it conveyed +to my kindred and to an old friend that I +had disappeared from Paris—gone eastward, Heaven +knew where—probably Crim Tartary! So my own +world at least, as far as I am concerned, will be off +<a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a>the scent. That was in the winter. I have really +heard nothing for months.... When the dawn +comes up and we are all rich and famed and gay, <i>my-lorded</i> +from John o' Groat's House to Land's End—then, +Warburton, then—"</p> + +<p>"Then?"</p> + +<p>"Then we'll be good!" Ian laughed. "Don't you +want, sometimes, to be good, Warburton? Wise—and +simple. Doesn't it rise before you in the night +with a most unearthly beauty?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think I am so-so good!" answered the +other. "So-so bad, so-so good. What puts you +in this strain?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me and I will tell you! And now I'm going +to Scotland, into the Highlands, to paint a prince +who, when he's king, will, no manner of doubt, +wear the tartan and make every thane of Glamis +thane of Cawdor likewise!... One half the creature's +body is an old, childish loyalty, and the other half's +ambition. The creature's myself. There are also +bars and circles and splashes of various colors, dark +and bright. Sometimes it dreams of wings—wings +of an archangel, no less, Warburton! The next +moment there seems to be an impotency to produce +even beetle wings!... What a weathercock and +variorum I am, thou art, he is!"</p> + +<p>"We're no worse than other men," said Warburton, +comfortably. "We're all pretty ignorant, I +take it!"</p> + +<p>They came to a building, old and not without some +lingering of strength and grace. It stood in the +angle of two streets and received sunshine and light +as well as cross-tides of sound. The Scot and the +<a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a>Englishman both lodged here, above a harness-maker +and a worker in fine woods. They passed +into the court and to a stair that once had known +a constant, worldly-rich traffic up and down. Now +it was still and twilight, after the streets. Both +men had affairs to put in order, business on hand. +They moved now abstractedly, and when Warburton +reached, upon the first landing, the door of his +rooms, he turned aside from Ian with only a negligent, +"We'll sup together and say last things then."</p> + +<p>The Scot went on alone to the next landing and +his own room. These were not his usual lodgings in +Paris. Agent now of high Jacobite interests, shuttle +sent from conspirers in France to chiefs in Scotland, +on the eve of a departure in disguise, he had broken +old nest and old relations, and was now as a stranger +in a city that he knew well, and where by not a few +he was known. The room that he turned into had +little sign of old, well-liked occupancy; the servant +who at his call entered from a smaller chamber was +not the man to whom he was used, but a Highlander +sent him by a Gordon then in Paris.</p> + +<p>"I am back, Donal!" said Ian, and threw himself +into a chair by the table. "Come, give an account +of your errands!"</p> + +<p>Donal, middle-aged, faithful, dour and sagacious, +and years away from loch and mountain, gave account. +Horses, weapons, clothing, all correct for +Dr. Robert Bonshaw and his servant, riding under +high protection from Paris to Dunkirk, where a well-captained +merchant-vessel stayed for them in port. +Ian nodded approval.</p> + +<p>"I'm indebted, Donal, to my cousin Gordon!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a>Donal let a smile come to within a league of the +surface. "Her ainself has a wish to hear the eagle +scream over Ben Nevis!"</p> + +<p>Rullock's hand moved over a paper, checking a +row of figures. "Did you manage to get into my +old lodging?"</p> + +<p>"Aye. None there. All dusty and bare. But +the woman who had the key gave me—since I said +I might make a guess where to find you, sir—these +letters. They came, she said, two weeks ago." +Donal laid them upon the table.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Ian, "they must have gotten through +before I shut off the old passageway." He took +them in his hand. "There's nothing more now, +Donal. Go out for your dinner."</p> + +<p>The man went. Ian added another column of +figures, then took the letters and with them moved +to a window through which streamed the sun of +France. The floor was patched with gold; there +was warmth as well as light. He pushed a chair +into it, sat down, and opened first the packet that +he knew had come from his uncle. He broke the +seal and read two pages of Mr. Touris in a mood of +anger. There were rumors—. True it was that +Ian had now his own fortune, had it at least +until he lost it and his life together in some mad, +unlawful business! But let him not look longer to +be heir of Archibald Touris! Withdraw at once +from ill company, political or other, and return to +Scotland, or at least to England, or take the consequences! +The letter bore date the first week of +December. It had been long in passing from hand +to hand in a troubled, warring world. Ian Rullock, +<a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a>fathoms deep in the present business, held in a +web made by many lines of force, both thick and +thin, refolded the paper and made to put it into +his pocketbook, then bethinking himself, tore it instead +into small pieces and, rising, dropped these into +a brazier where burned a little charcoal. He would +carry nothing with his proper name upon it. Coming +back to the chair in the sunshine, he sat for a moment +with his eyes upon a gray huddle of roofs +visible through the window. Then he broke the +seal and unfolded the letter superscribed in Alexander's +strong writing.</p> + +<p>There were hardly six lines. And they did not +tell of how discovery had been made, nor why, nor +when. They said nothing of death nor life—no +word of the Kelpie's Pool. They carried, tersely, +a direct challenge, the ground Ian Rullock's conception +of friendship, a conception tallying nicely +with Alexander Jardine's idea of a mortal enmity. +Such a fishing-town, known of both, back of such +a sea beach in Holland—such a tavern in this +place. Meet there—wait there, the one who should +reach it first for the other, and—to give all +possible ground to delays of letters, travel, arrangements +generally—in so late a month as April. +"Find me there, or await me there, my one-time +friend, henceforth my foe! I—or Justice +herself above me—would teach you certain +things!"</p> + +<p>The cartel bore date the 1st of January—later +by a month than the Black Hill letter. It dropped +from Ian's hand; he sat with blankness of mind in +the sunlight. Presently he shivered slightly. He +<a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a>leaned his elbows on his knees and his forehead in +his hands and sat still. Alexander! He felt no +hot straining toward meeting, toward fighting, +Alexander. Perversely enough, after a year of impatient, +contemptuous thought in that direction, +he had lately felt liking and an ancient strong +respect returning like a tide that was due. And +he could not meet Alexander in April—that was +impossible! No private affair could be attended to +now.</p> + +<p>... Elspeth, of whom the letter carried no word, +Elspeth from whom he had not heard since in August +he left that countryside, Elspeth who had agreed +with him that love of man and woman was nobody's +business but their own, Elspeth who, when he would +go, had let him go with a fine pale refusal to deal in +women's tears and talk of injury, who had said, indeed, +that she did not repent, much bliss being worth +some bale—Elspeth whom he could not be sure +that he would see again, but whom at times before +his eyes at night he saw.... Immediately upon his +leaving Black Hill she had broken with Glenfernie. +She was clear of him—the laird could reproach her +with nothing!</p> + +<p>What had happened? He had told her how, at +need, a letter might be sent. But one had never +come. He himself had never written. Writing was +set in a prickly ring of difficulties and dangers. +What had happened? Strong, secret inclination +toward finding least painful things for himself +brought his conclusion. Sitting there in the sunshine, +his will deceiving him, he determined that it +was simply that Elspeth had at last told Glenfernie +<a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a>that she could not love him because she loved +another. Probably—persistence being markedly a +trait of Old Steadfast's—he had been after her once +and again, and she had turned upon him and said +much more than in prudence she should have said! +So Alexander would have made his discovery and +might, if he pleased, image other trysts than his own +in the glen! Certainly he had done this, and then +sat down and penned his challenge!</p> + +<p>Elspeth! He was unshakably conscious that +Glenfernie would tell none what Elspeth might +have been provoked into giving away. Old Steadfast, +there was no denying, had that knightliness. +Three now knew—no more than three. If, +through some mischance, there had been wider +discovery, she would have written! The Black +Hill letter, too, would have had somewhat there +to say.</p> + +<p>Then, behind the challenge, stood old and new relations +between Ian Rullock and Alexander Jardine! +It was what Glenfernie might choose to term the +betrayal of friendship—a deep scarification of Old +Steadfast's pride, a severing cut given to his too +imperial confidence, poison dropped into the wells +of domination, "No!" said to too much happiness, +to any surpassing of him, Ian, in happiness, "No!" +to so much reigning!</p> + +<p>Ian shook himself, thrust away the doubtful +glimmer of a smile. That way really did lie +hell....</p> + +<p>He came back to a larger if a much perplexed +self. He could not meet Glenfernie on that sea +beach, fight him there. He did not desire to kill +<a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>Old Steadfast, though, as the world went, pleasure +was to be had in now and then giving superiority +pain. Face to face upon those sands, some blood +shed and honor satisfied, Alexander would be reasonable—being +by nature reasonable! Ian shook himself.</p> + +<p>"Now he draws me like a lodestone, and now I +feel Lucifer to his Michael! What old, past mountain +of friendship and enmity has come around, +full wheel?"</p> + +<p>But it was impossible for him to go to that sea +strand in Holland.</p> + +<p>Elspeth! He wondered what she was doing this +April day. Perhaps she walked in the glen. It was +colder there than here, but yet the trees would be +budding. He saw her face again, and all its ability +to show subtle terror and subtle joy, and the glancing +and the running of the stream between. Elspeth.... +He loved her again as he sat there, somewhat +bowed together in the sunlight, Alexander's challenge +upon the floor by his foot. There came creeping to +him an odd feeling of long ago having loved her—long +ago and more than once, many times more than +once. Name and place alone flickered. There +might be something in Old Steadfast's contention +that one lived of old time and all time, only there +came breaking in dozing and absent-mindedness! +Elspeth—</p> + +<p>He saw her standing by him, and it seemed as +though she had a basket on her arm, and she looked +as she had looked that day of the thunder-storm +and the hour in the cave behind the veil of rain. +Without warning there welled into his mind broken +<a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a>lines from an old tale in verse of which he was +fond:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Me dreamed al this night, pardie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An elf-queen shall my leman be ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An elf-queen wil I have, I-wis,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in this world no woman is<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Worthy to be my mate ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Al other women I forsake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to an elf-queen I me take<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By dale and eke by down."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Syllable and tone died. With his hand he brushed +from his eyes the vision that he knew to be nothing +but a heightened memory. Might, indeed, all +women be one woman, one woman be all women, +all forms one form, all times one time, like event +fall softly, imperceptibly, upon like event until there +was thickness, until there was made a form of all +recurrent, contributory forms? Events, tendencies, +lives—unimaginable continuities! Repetitions and +repetitions and repetitions—and no one able to +leave the trodden road that ever returned upon itself—no +one able to take one step from the circle +into a new dimension and thence see the form +below....</p> + +<p>Ian put his hands over his eyes, shook himself, +started up and stood at the window. Sky, and roofs +on roofs, and in the street below toy figures, pedestrians. +"Come back—come back to breathable air! +Now what's to be done—what's to be done?" After +some moments he turned and picked up the letter +upon the floor and read it twice. In memory and +in imagination he could see the fishing-town, the +inn there, the dunes, the ocean beach fretted by the +<a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a>long, incoming wave. Perhaps and most probably, +this very bright afternoon, the laird of Glenfernie +waited for him there, pacing the sands, perhaps, +watching the comers to the inn door.... Well, he +must watch in vain. Ian Rullock would one day +give him satisfaction, but certainly not now. Vast +affairs might not be daffed aside for the laird of +Glenfernie's convenience! Ian stood staring out of +window at those huddled roofs, the challenge still +in his hand. Then, slowly, he tore the paper to +pieces and committed it to the brazier where was +already consumed Black Hill's communication.</p> + +<p>That evening he supped with Warburton, and the +next morning saw him and Donal riding forth from +Paris, by St.-Denis, on toward Dunkirk. From this +place, four days later, sailed the brig <i>Cock of the +North</i>, destination the Beauly Firth. Dr. Robert +Bonshaw and his man experienced, despite the prediction +of the Frenchman of quality, a rough and +long voyage. But the <i>Cock of the North</i> weathered +tumultuous sea and wind and came, in the northern +spring, to anchor in a great picture of firth and +green shore and dark, piled mountains. Dr. Robert +Bonshaw and his man, going ashore and into Inverness, +found hospitality there in the house of a certain +merchant. Thence, after a day or so, he traveled +to the castle of a Highland chief of commanding +port. Here occurred a gathering; here letters and +asseverations brought from France were read, listened +to, weighed or taken without much weighing, so did +the Highland desire run one way. An old net added +to itself another mesh.</p> + +<p>Dr. Robert Bonshaw, a very fit, invigorating +<a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a>agent, traveled far and near through the Highlands +this May, this June, this July. It was to him an +interesting, difficult, intensely occupied time; he +was far from Lowland Scotland and any echoes +therefrom, saving always political echoes. He had +no leisure for his own affairs, saving always that +background consideration that, if the Stewarts really +got back the crown, Ian Rullock was on the road +to power and wealth. This consideration was not +articulate, but diffused. It interfered not at all +with the foreground activities and hard planning—no +more than did the fine Highland air. It only +spurred him as did the winy air. The time and +place were electric; he worked hard, many hours +on end, and when he sought his bed he dropped at +once to needed sleep. From morn till late at +night, whether in castle or house or journeying +from clan to clan, he was always in company. +There was no time for old thoughts, memories, surmises. +That was one world and he was now in +another.</p> + +<p>Upon the eleventh day of May, the year 1745, was +fought in Flanders the battle of Fontenoy. The +Duke of Cumberland, Königsegge the Austrian, +and the Dutch Prince of Waldeck had the handling +of something under fifty thousand English. Marshal +Saxe with Louis XV at his side wielded a somewhat +larger number of French. The English and +their allies were beaten. French spirits rode on high, +French intentions widened.</p> + +<p>The Stewart interest felt the blood bound in its +veins. The bulk of the British army was on the +Continent and shaken by Fontenoy; King George +<a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a>himself tarried in Hanover. Now was the time—now +was the time for the heir of all the Stewarts +to put his fortune to the touch—to sail from France, +to land in Scotland, to raise his banner and draw +his sword and gather Highland chief and Lowland +Jacobite, the while in England rose for him and his +father English Jacobites and soon, be sure, all English +Tories! France would send gold and artillery +and men to her ancient ally, Scotland. Up at last +with the white Stewart banner! reconquer for the +old line and all it meant to its adherents the two +kingdoms! In the last week of July Prince Charles +Edward, somewhat strangely and meagerly attended, +landed at Loch Sunart in the Highlands. +There he was joined by Camerons, Macdonalds, and +Stewarts, and thence he moved, with an ever-increasing +Highland <i>tail</i>, to Perth. A bold stream +joined him here—northern nobles of power, with +their men. He might now have an army of two +thousand. Sir John Cope, sent to oppose him with +what British troops there were in Scotland, allowed +himself to be circumvented. The Prince, having +proclaimed his father, still at Rome, James III, +King of Great Britain, and produced his own commission +as Regent, marched from Perth to Edinburgh. +The city capitulated and Charles Edward +was presently installed in Holyrood, titularly at +home in his father's kingdom, in his ancient +palace, among his loyal subjects, but actually with +far the major moiety of that kingdom yet to +gain.</p> + +<p>The gracious act of rewarding must begin. Claim +on royal gratitude is ever a multitudinous thing! In +<a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a>the general manifoldness, out of the by no means +yet huge store of honey Ian Rullock, for mere first +rung of his fortune's ladder, received the personally +given thanks of his Prince and a captaincy in the +none too rapidly growing army.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + + +<p>The castle, defiant, untakable save by long siege +and famine, held for King George by a garrison +of a few hundreds, spread itself like a rock lion +in a high-lifted rock lair. Bands of Highlanders +watched its gates and accesses, guarding against +Hanoverian sallies. From the castle down stretched +Edinburgh, heaped upon its long, spinelike hill, to +the palace of Holyrood, and all its tall houses, tall +and dark, and all its wynds and closes, and all its +strident voices, and all its moving folk, seemed to +have in mind that palace and the banner before it. +The note of the having rang jubilation in all its +degrees, or with a lower and a muffled sound distaste +and fear, or it aimed at a middle strain neither high +nor low, a golden mean to be kept until there might +be seen what motif, after all, was going to prevail! +It would never do, thought some, to be at this juncture +too clamorous either way. But to the unpondering +ear the jubilation carried it, as to the eye +tartans and white cockades made color, made high +light, splashed and starred and redeemed the gray +town. There was one thing that could not but +appeal. A Scots royal line had come into its home +nest at Holyrood. Not for many and many and +many a year had such a thing as that happened! +<a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a>If matters went in a certain way Edinburgh might +regain ancient pomp and circumstance. That was +a consideration that every hour arranged a new +plea in the citizen heart.</p> + +<p>Excitement, restless movement, tendency to come +together in a crowd, were general, as were ejaculation, +nervous laughter, declamation. The roll of +drum, call of trumpet, skirl of pipes, did not lack. +Charles Edward's army encamped itself at Duddingston +a little to the east of the city. But its units +came in numbers into the town. The warlike hue +diffused itself. Horsemen were frequent, and a +continual entering of new adherents, men in small +or large clusters, marching in from the country, +asking the way to the Prince. For all the buzzing +and thronging, great order prevailed. Women sat +or stood at windows, or passed in and out of dark +wynds, or, escorted, picked their way at street +crossings. Now and then went by a sedan-chair. +Many women showed in their faces a truly religious +fervor, a passionate Jacobite loyalty, lighting like +a flame. Many sewed white cockades. All Scotland, +all England, would surely presently want +these! Men of all ranks, committed to the great +venture, moved with a determined gaiety and <i>élan</i>. +"This is the stage, we are the actors; the piece is +a great piece, the world looks on!" The town of +Edinburgh did present a grandiose setting. Suspense, +the die yet covered, the greatness of the risk, +gave, too, its glamour of height and stateliness. All +these men might see, in some bad moment at night, +not only possible battle death—that was in the +counting—but, should the great enterprise fail, +<a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a>scaffolds and hangmen. Many who went up and +down were merely thoughtless, ignorant, reckless, or +held in a vanity of good fortune, yet to the eye of +history all might come into the sweep of great +drama. Place and time rang and were tense. Flare +and sonorousness and a deep vibration of the old +massive passions, and through all the outward air +a September sea mist creeping.</p> + +<p>Ian Rullock, walking down the High Street, approaching +St. Giles, heard his name spoken from a +little knot of well-dressed citizens. As he turned +his head a gentleman detached himself from the +company. It proved to be Mr. Wotherspoon the +advocate, old acquaintance and adviser of Archibald +Touris, of Black Hill.</p> + +<p>"Captain Rullock—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wotherspoon, I am glad to see you!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Wotherspoon, old moderate Whig, and the +Jacobite officer walked together down the clanging +way. The mist was making pallid garlands for the +tall houses, a trumpet rang at the foot of the street, +Macdonald of Glengarry and fifty clansmen, bright +tartan and screaming pipes, poured by.</p> + +<p>"Auld Reekie sees again a stirring time!" said +the lawyer.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to have met you, sir," said Rullock. +"I fancy that you can tell me home news. I have +heard none for a long time."</p> + +<p>"You have been, doubtless," said Mr. Wotherspoon, +"too engaged with great, new-time things to +be fashed with small, old-time ones."</p> + +<p>"One of our new-time aims," said Ian, "is to +give fresh room to an old-time thing. But we +<a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a>won't let little bolts fly! I am anxious for knowledge."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wotherspoon seemed to ponder it. "I live +just here. Perhaps you will come up to my rooms, +out of this Mars' racket?"</p> + +<p>"In an hour's time I must wait on Lord George +Murray. But I have till then."</p> + +<p>They entered a close, and climbed the stair of a +tall, tall house, dusky and old. Here, half-way up, +was the lawyer's lair. He unlocked a door and the +two came, through a small vestibule, into a good-sized, +comfortable, well-furnished room. Rullock +glanced at the walls.</p> + +<p>"I was here once or twice, years ago. I remember +your books. What a number you have!"</p> + +<p>"I recall," said Mr. Wotherspoon, "a visit that +you paid me with the now laird of Glenfernie."</p> + +<p>The window to which they moved allowed a +glimpse of the colorful street. Mr. Wotherspoon +closed it against the invading noise and the touch +of chill in the misty air. He then pushed two +chairs to the table and took from a cupboard a +bottle and glasses.</p> + +<p>"My man is gadding, with eyes like saucers—like +the rest of us, like the rest of us, Captain Rullock!" +They sat down. "My profession," said +the lawyer, "can be made to be narrow and narrowing. +On the other hand, if a man has an aptitude +for life, there is much about life to be learned with +a lawyer's spy-glass! A lawyer sees a variety of +happenings in a mixed world. He quite especially +learns how seldom black and white are found in +anything like a pure condition. A thousand thou<a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a>sand +blends. Be wise and tolerant—or to be wise +be tolerant!" He pushed the bottle.</p> + +<p>Ian smiled. "I take that, sir, to mean that you +find <i>God save King James!</i> not wholly harsh and +unmusical—"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not wholly so," said the lawyer. "I +am Whig and Presbyterian and I prefer <i>God save +King George!</i> But I do not look for the world to +end, whether for King George or King James. I +did not have in mind just this public occasion."</p> + +<p>His tone was dry. Ian kept his gold-brown eyes +upon him. "Tell me what you have heard from +Black Hill."</p> + +<p>"I was there late in May. Mr. Touris learned +at that time that you had quitted France."</p> + +<p>"May I ask how he learned it?"</p> + +<p>"The laird of Glenfernie, who had been in the +Low Countries, told him. Apparently Glenfernie +had acquaintances, agents, who traced it out for him +that you had sailed from Dunkirk for Beauly Firth, +under the name of Robert Bonshaw."</p> + +<p>"<i>So he was there, pacing the beach</i>," thought Ian. +He lifted his glass and drank Mr. Wotherspoon's +very good wine. That gentleman went on.</p> + +<p>"It was surmised at Black Hill that you were +helping on the event—the great event, perhaps—that +has occurred. Indeed, in July, Mr. Touris, +writing to me, mentioned that you had been seen +beyond Inverness. But the Highlands are deep and +you traveled rapidly. Of course, when it was known +that the Prince had landed, your acquaintance assumed +your joining him and becoming, as you have become, +an officer in his army." He made a little bow.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a>Ian inclined his head in return. "All at Black +Hill are well, I hope? My aunt—"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Alison is a saint. All earthly grief, I +imagine, only quickens her homeward step."</p> + +<p>"What grief has she had, sir, beyond—"</p> + +<p>"Beyond?"</p> + +<p>"I know that my aunt will grieve for the break +that has come between my uncle and myself. I +have, too," said Ian, with deliberation, "been quarreled +with by an old friend. That also may distress +her."</p> + +<p>The lawyer appeared to listen to sounds from the +street. Rising, he moved to the window, then returned. +"Bonnet lairds coming into town! You +are referring now to Glenfernie?"</p> + +<p>"Then he has made it common property that he +chose to quarrel with me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, chose to—" said Mr. Wotherspoon, reflectively.</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Ian set down his wine-glass, +made a movement of drawing together, of +determination.</p> + +<p>"I am sure that there is something of which I +have not full understanding. You will much oblige +me by attention to what I now say, Mr. Wotherspoon. +It is possible that I may ask you to see that +its substance reaches Black Hill." He leaned back +in his chair and with his gold-brown eyes met the +lawyer's keen blue ones. "Nothing now can be +injured by telling you that for a year I have acted +under responsibility of having in keeping greater +fortunes than my own. That kind of thing, none +can know better than you, binds a man out of his +<a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a>own path and his own choices into the path and +choices of others. Secrecy was demanded of me. +I ceased to write home, and presently I removed +from old lodgings and purposely blurred indications +of where I was or might be found. In this way—the +warring, troubled time aiding—it occurred that +there practically ceased all communication between +me and those of my blood and friendship whose +political thinking differs from mine.... I begin to +see that I know little indeed of what may or may +not have occurred in that countryside. Early in +April, however, there came to my hand in Paris two +letters—one from my uncle, written before Christmas, +one from Alexander Jardine, written a month +later. My uncle's contained the information that, +lacking my immediate return to this island and the +political faith of his side of the house, I was no +longer his nephew and heir. The laird of Glenfernie, +upon an old quarrel into which I need not +enter, chose to send me a challenge simply. <i>Meet +him, on such a sands in Holland</i>.... Well, great +affairs have right of way over small ones! Under +the circumstances, he might as well have appointed +a plain in the moon! The duel waits.... I tell +you what I know of home affairs. I shall be obliged +for any information you may have that I have not."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wotherspoon's sharp blue eyes seemed to +consider it. He drummed on the table. "I am a +much older man than you, Captain Rullock, and an +old adviser of your family. Perhaps I may speak +without offense? That subject of quarrel, now, +between you and the laird of Glenfernie—"</p> + +<p>The other made a movement, impatient and im<a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a>perious. +"It is not likely, sir, that he divulged +that!"</p> + +<p>"He? No! But fate—fortune—the unrolling +course of things—plain Providence—whatever you +choose to call it—seems at times quite below or +above that reticence which we others so naturally +prize and exhibit!"</p> + +<p>"You'll oblige me, sir, by not speaking in riddles."</p> + +<p>The irony dropped from Mr. Wotherspoon's tone. +He faced the business squarely. "Do you mean to +say that you do not know of the suicide of Elspeth +Barrow?"</p> + +<p>The chair opposite made a grating sound, pushed +violently back upon the bare, polished floor. Down +the street, through the window, came the sound of +Cluny Macpherson's pipers, playing down from the +Lawnmarket. Rullock seemed to have thrust his +chair back into the shadow. Out of it came presently +his voice, low and hoarse:</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"They found her on Christmas Day—drowned in +the Kelpie's Pool. Self-murder—murder also of a +child that would have been."</p> + +<p>Again silence. The lawyer found that he must +go through with it, having come so far. "It seems +that there is a cripple fellow of the neighborhood +who had stumbled, unseen, upon your trysts. He +told—spoke it all out to the crowd gathered. There +was a letter, too, upon her which gave a clue. But +she never named you and evidently meant not to +name you.... Poor child! She may have thought +herself strong, and then things have come over her +wave on wave. Her grandfather—that dark up<a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a>bringing +on tenets harsh and wrathful—certainty of +disgrace. Pitiful!"</p> + +<p>There came a sound from the chair pushed back +from the light. Mr. Wotherspoon measured the +table with his fingers.</p> + +<p>"It seems that the countryside was searching for +her. It was the laird of Glenfernie who, alone and +coming upon some trace, entered the Kelpie's Pool +and found her there. They say that he carried her, +dead, in his arms through the glen to White Farm."</p> + +<p>Some proclamation or other was being made at +the Cross of Edinburgh. A trumpet blew and the +street was filled with footsteps.</p> + +<p>"The laird of Glenfernie," said the lawyer, "has +joined, I hear, Sir John Cope at Dunbar. It is not +impossible that you may have speech together from +opposing battle-lines." He poured wine. "My +bag of news is empty, Captain Rullock."</p> + +<p>Ian rose from his seat. His face was gray and +twisted, his voice, when he spoke, hollow, low, and +dry. "I must go now to Lord George Murray.... +It was all news, Mr. Wotherspoon. I—What +are words, anyhow? Give you good day, sir!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Wotherspoon, standing in his door, watched +him down the stair and forth from the house. "He +goes brawly! How much is night, and how much +streak of dawn?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 33%;' /> + +<p>Sir John Cope, King George's general in Scotland, +had but a small army. It was necessary in the +highest degree that Prince Charles Edward should +meet and defeat this force before it was enlarged, +before from England came more and more regular +<a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a>troops.... A battle won meant prestige gained, the +coming over of doubting thousands, an echo into +England that would bring the definite accession of +great Tory names. Cope and his twenty-five hundred +men, regulars and volunteers, approaching Edinburgh +from the east, took position near the village +of Prestonpans. On the morning of the 20th of +September out moved to meet him the Prince and +Lord George Murray, behind them less than two +thousand men.</p> + +<p>By afternoon the two forces confronted each the +other; but Cope had chosen well, the right position. +The sea guarded one flank, a deep and wide field +ditch full of water the other. In his rear were stone +walls, and before him a wide marsh. The Jacobite +strength halted, reconnoitered, must perforce at +last come to a standstill before Cope's natural +fortress. There was little artillery, no great number +of horse. Even the bravest of the brave, Highland +or Lowland, might draw back from the thought +of trying to cross that marsh, of meeting the moat-like +ditch under Cope's musket-fire. Sunset came +amid perturbation, a sense of check, impending +disaster.</p> + +<p>Ian Rullock, acting for the moment as aide-de-camp, +had spent the day on horseback. Released in +the late afternoon, lodged in a hut at the edge of +the small camp, he used the moment's leisure to +climb a small hill and at its height to throw himself +down beside a broken cairn. He shut his eyes, +but after a few moments opened them and gazed +upon the camp of Cope, covering also but a little +space, so small were the armies. His lips parted.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a>"Well, Old Steadfast, and what if you are there, +waiting?..."</p> + +<p>The sun sank. A faint red light diffused itself, +then faded into brown dusk. He rose and went +down into the camp. In the brows of many there +might be read depression, uncertainty. But in open +places fires had been built, and about several of these +Highlanders were dancing to the screaming of their +pipes. Rullock bent his steps to headquarters. An +officer whom he knew, coming forth, drew him aside +in excitement.</p> + +<p>"We've got it—we've got it, Rullock!"</p> + +<p>"What? The plan?"</p> + +<p>"The way through! Here has come to the Prince +the man who owns the marsh! He knows the firm +ground. Cope does not know that it is there! +Cope thinks that it is all slough! This man swears +that he can and will take us across, one treading +behind another. It's settled. When sleep seems to +wrap us, then we'll move!"</p> + +<p>That was what was done, and done so perfectly, late +at night, Sir John Cope sleeping, thinking himself +safe as in a castle. File after file wound noiselessly, +by the one way through the marsh, and upon the +farther side, so near to Cope, formed in the darkness +into battle-lines.... Ian Rullock, passing +through the marsh, saw in imagination Alexander +lying with eyes closed.</p> + +<p>The small force, the Stewart hope, prepared for +onslaught. The dawn was coming, there was a +smell of it in the air, far away a cock crowed. +There stood, in the universal dimness, a first and +strongest line, a second and weaker, badly armed +<a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a>line. The mass of this army were Highlanders, alert, +strong, accustomed to dawn movements, dreamlike in +the heather, along the glen-sides, in the crooked +pass. They knew the tactics of surprise. They had +claymores and targes, and the most muskets. But +the second line had inadequate provision of weapons. +Many here bore scythes fastened to staves. As +they carried these over their shoulders Ian, looking +back, saw them against the palest light like Death +in replica.</p> + +<p>The two lines hung motionless, on stout ground, +now within the defense to which Cope had trusted, +very close to the latter's sleeping camp. There were +sentries, but the night was dark, the marsh believed +to be unpassable, the crossing carried out with +stealthy skill. But now the night was going.</p> + +<p>In the most uncertain, the faintest light, there +seemed to Cope's watchers, looking that way, a line +of bushes not noted the day before. Officers were +awakened. A movement ran through the camp like +the shiver of water under dawn wind. The light +thickened. A trumpet rang with a startled, emphatic +note. Drums rolled. <i>To arms! To arms!</i> +King George's army started up in the dawning. +Infantry hastened into ranks, cavalrymen ran to +their horses. The line of bushes moved, began to +come forward with great rapidity.</p> + +<p>The Highlanders flung themselves upon Cope's +just-forming cavalry. With their claymores they +slashed at the faces of horses. The hurt beasts +wheeled, broke for the rear. Their fellows were +wounded. Amid a whirlwind of blows, screams, +shouts, with a suddenness that appalled, disorder +<a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a>became general. The Highlanders seemed to fight +with a demoniac strength and ferocity and after +methods of their own. They used their claymores, +their dirks, their scythes fastened upon poles, +against the horses, then, springing up, put long arms +about the horsemen and, regardless of sword or +pistol, dragged them down. They shouted their +Gaelic slogans; their costume, themselves, seemed +out of a fiercer, earlier world. A strangeness overclouded +the senses; mist wreaths were everywhere, +and an uncertainty as to the numbers of demons.... +The cavalry broke. Officers tried to save the situation, +to rally the units, to save all from being borne +back. But there was no helping. Befell a panic +flight, and at its heels the Highland rush streamed +into and had its way with Cope's infantry. The +battle was won with a swift and horrible completeness +and became a massacre. Not much quarter +was given; much that was horrible was done and +seen. Immoderate victory sat and sang to the white-cockaded +army.</p> + +<p>Out of the mist-bank before Captain Ian Rullock +grew a great horse with a man upon it of great +stature and frame. It came to the Jacobite like a +vision, with a startling and intense reality. He was +standing with his sword drawn; there was a drift +of mist, and then there was the horse and rider—there +was Alexander.</p> + +<p>He looked down at Ian, and his face was not pale +but set. He made a gesture that seemed full of +satisfaction, and would have dismounted and drawn +his sword. But there came a dash of maddened +horses and their riders and a leaping stream of tar<a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a>taned +men. These drove like a wedge between; +his horse wheeled, would leave no more its fellows; +the tide of brute and man bore him away with it. +Ian watched all go fighting by, a moving frieze, out +of the mist into the mist.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + + +<p>A triumphant Stewart went back to Holyrood, +an exultant army, calling itself, now with +some good show of bearing it through, the "royal" +army, carried into Edinburgh its confident step and +sanguine hue. Victory was with the old line, the +magnificent attempt! The erstwhile doubting throng +began, stage by stage, to mount toward enthusiasm. +It was the quicker done that Charles Edward, or +his wisest advisers, put forth a series of judicious +civic and public measures. And, now that Cope +had fled, King George had in Scotland no regular +troops. Every day there came open accessions to +the Prince's strength. The old Stewarts up again +became a magnet, drawing more and more the filings. +The Prince had presently between five and six +thousand troops. The north was his, Edinburgh, +the Jacobites scattered through the Lowlands. The +moderate Whig and Presbyterian might begin to think +of compounding, of finding virtues in necessity. The +irreconcilables felt great alarm and saw coming upon +them a helplessness.</p> + +<p>But the Stewarts, with French approval behind, +aimed at the recovery of England no less than Scotland. +Windsor might well overdazzle Holyrood. +This interest had received many and strong pro<a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a>testations +of support from a wide swathe of +English nobility and gentry. Lift the victorious +army over the border, set it and the young Prince +bodily upon English ground, would not great family +after great family rouse its tenants, arm them, join +the Prince? So at least it seemed to the flushed +Stewart hope. King George was home from Hanover, +British troops being brought back from the +Continent. Best to fan high the fire of the rising +while it might with most ease be fanned—best to +march as soon as might be into England!</p> + +<p>On the 1st of November they marched, three detachments +by three roads, and the meeting-place +Carlisle. All went most merrily well. On the 10th +of November began the siege of Carlisle. The +Prince had cannon now, some taken at Prestonpans, +some arrived, no great time before, from France, +first fruits of French support. The English General +Wade was at Newcastle with a larger army than +that of the Jacobites. But the siege of Carlisle was +not lifted by Wade. After three days city and castle +surrendered. Charles Edward and his army entered +England.</p> + +<p>From Carlisle they marched to Penrith—to Kendal, +Lancaster, Preston, Manchester—clear, well-conducted +marches, the army held well together +and in hand, here and there handfuls of recruits. +But no flood of loyally-shouting gentry, no bearers +of great names drawing the sword for King James +III and a gallant, youthful Regent! Each dawn +said they will come! Each eve said they have not +come! One month from leaving Edinburgh found +this army of Highland chiefs and their clans, Lowland<a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a> +Scots, a few Englishmen, a few Irishmen, and +a few Frenchmen, led by skilful enough generals and +by a Prince the great-grandson of Charles I, deep in +England, but little advanced in bulk for all that. +Old cavalier England stayed upon its acres. Other +times, other manners! And how to know when an +old vortex begins to disintegrate and a mode of +action becomes antiquated, belated?</p> + +<p>Wade was to one side with his army, and now there +loomed ahead the Duke of Cumberland and ten +thousand English troops. Battle seemed imminent, +yet again the Scots force pushed by. The 4th of +December found this strange wedge, of no great +mass, but of a tested, rapier-like keenness and hardness, +at the town of Derby, with London not a hundred +and thirty miles away. And still no English +rising for the rightful King! Instead Whig armies, +and a slow Whiggish buzzing beginning through all +the country.</p> + +<p>The Duke of Cumberland and Marshal Wade, +two jaws opening for Jacobite destruction, had between +them twenty thousand men. Spies brought +report of thirty thousand drawn up before London, +on Finchley Common. The Prince might have so +many lions of the desert in his Highlanders, but +multitude will make a net that lions cannot break. +At Derby also they had news from that Scotland +now so dangerously far behind them. Royal Scots +had landed from France, the Irish brigade from the +same country was on the seas, and French regiments +besides. Lord John Drummond had in Scotland +now at least three thousand men and good promise +of more. The Prince held council with the Duke of +<a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a>Perth, Lord George Murray, Lord Nairn, the many +chiefs and leading voices. Return to Scotland, make +with these newly gathered troops and with others a +greater army, expect aid from France, stand in a +gained kingdom the onslaught from Hanoverian +England? Or go on—go on toward London? Encounter, +defeat, with half his number, the Duke +of Cumberland's ten thousand, keep Wade from +closing in behind them, meet the Finchley Common +thousands, come to the enemy's capital of half a +million souls? Return where there were friends? +Go on where false-promising friends hugged safety? +Go on to London, still hoping, trusting still to the +glamour and outcry that ran before them, to extraordinary +events called miracles? Hot was the +debate! But on the 6th of December the Jacobite +army turned back toward Scotland.</p> + +<p>It began its homeward march long before dawn. +Not all nor most had been told the decision. Even +the changed direction, eyes upon slow-descending +not upon climbing stars, did not at first enlighten. +It might mean some détour, the Duke being out-maneuvered. +But at last rose the winter dawn and +lit remembered scene after scene. The news ran. +The army was in retreat.</p> + +<p>Ian Rullock, riding with a kinsman, Gordon, +heard, up and down, an angry lamenting sound. +"Little do the clans like turning back!"</p> + +<p>"Hark! The chieftains are telling them it is for +the best."</p> + +<p>"Is it for the best? I do not like this month +or aught that is done in it!"</p> + +<p>A week later they were at Lancaster; three days +<a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a>after that at Kendal. Here Wade might have +fallen upon them, but did not. A day or two and +the main column approached Penrith. The no +great amount of artillery was yet precious. Heavy +to drag over heavy roads, the guns and straining +horses were left in the rear. Four companies of +Lowland infantry, Macdonald of Glengarry and his +five hundred Highlanders, a few cavalrymen, and +Lord George Murray himself tarried with the guns. +The main column disappeared, lost among mountains +and hills; this detached number had the wild +country, the forbidding road, the December day to +themselves. To get the guns and ammunition-wagons +along proved a snail-and-tortoise business. +Guns and escort fell farther and farther behind.</p> + +<p>Ian Rullock, acting still as aide, rode from the +Prince nearing Penrith to Lord George Murray, now +miles to the rear. Why was the delay? and 'ware +the Duke of Cumberland, certainly close at hand! +The delay was greater, the distance between farther, +than the Prince had supposed. Rullock rode through +the late December afternoon by huge frozen waves +of earth, under a roof of pallid blue, in his ears a +small complaining wind like a wailing child. He +rode till nightfall, and only then came to his objective, +finding needed rest in the village of Shap. +Here he sought Lord George Murray, gave information +and was given it in turn, ate, drank, and +then turned back through the December night to +the Prince.</p> + +<p>He rode and the huge winter stars seemed to +watch him with at once a glittering intentness and +a disdain of his pygmy being. Once he looked up to +<a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a>them with a gesture of his head. "Are we so far +apart and so different?" he asked of Orion.</p> + +<p>He was several miles upon his way to Penrith. +Before him appeared a crossroad, noted by him in +the afternoon. A great salient of a hill overhung +it, and on the near side a fir wood crept close. He +looked about him, and as he rode kept his hand +upon his pistol. He did not think to meet an enemy +in strength, but there might be lurkers, men of the +countryside ready to fall upon stragglers from the +army that had passed that way. He had left behind +the crossroad when from in front, around the +jut of the hill, came four horsemen. He turned his +head. Others had started from the wood. He +made to ride on as though he were of their kindred +and cause, but hands were laid upon his bridle.</p> + +<p>"Courier, no doubt—"</p> + +<p>All turned into the narrow road. Half an hour's +riding brought in sight a substantial farm-house and +about it the dimly flaring lights of a considerable +camp, both cavalry and infantry. Rullock supposed +it to be a detachment of Wade's, though it was possible +that the Duke of Cumberland might have +thrust advance troops thus far. He wished quite +heartily that something might occur to warn Lord +George Murray, the Macdonalds and the Prince's +guns, asleep at Shap. For himself, he might, if he +chose, pick out among the glittering constellations +a shape like a scaffold.</p> + +<p>When he dismounted he was brought past a +bivouac fire and a coming and going of men afoot +and on horseback, into the farm-house, where two +or three officers sat at table. Questioned, threat<a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a>ened, +and re-questioned, he had of course nothing +to divulge. The less pressure was brought in that +these troops were in possession of the facts which +the moment desired. His name and rank he gave, +it being idle to withhold them. In the end he was +shut alone into a small room of the farm-house, +behind a guarded door. He saw that there was +planned an attack upon the detachment that with +dawn would move from Shap. But this force of +Wade's or of the Duke's was itself a detachment +and apparently of no great mass. He could only +hope that Lord George and the Macdonalds would +move warily and when the shock came be found +equal. All that was beyond his control. In the +chill darkness he turned to the consideration of his +own affair, which seemed desperate enough. He +found, by groping, a bench against the wall. Wrapping +himself in his cloak, he lay down upon this +and tried to sleep, but could not. With all his will +he closed off the future, and then as best he might +the immediately environing present. After all, +these armies—these struggles—these eery ambitions.... +The feeling of <i>out of it</i> crept over him. It was an +unfamiliar perception, impermanent. Yet it might +leave a trace to work in the under-consciousness, on +a far day to emerge, be revalued and added to.</p> + +<p>This December air! Fire would be good—and +with that thought he seemed to catch a gleam +through the small-paned, small window, and in a +moment through the opening door. He rose from +the bench. A man in a long cloak entered the room, +behind him a soldier bearing a lantern which he +set upon a shelf above a litter of boards and kegs. +<a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a>Dismissed by a gesture, he went out, shutting the +door behind him. The first man dropped his +cloak, drew a heavy stool from the thrust-aside +lumber, and sat down beneath the lantern. He +spoke:</p> + +<p>"Of all our many meeting-places, this looks most +like the old cave in the glen!"</p> + +<p>Ian moistened his lips. He resumed his seat +against the wall. "I wondered, after Prestonpans, +if you went home."</p> + +<p>"Did you?"</p> + +<p>"No, you are right. I did not."</p> + +<p>"At all times it is the liar's wont still to lie. +Small things or great—use or no use!"</p> + +<p>"I am a prisoner and unarmed. You are the +captor. To insult lies in your power."</p> + +<p>"That is a jargon that may be dropped between +us. Yet I, too, am bound by conventions! Seeing +that you are a prisoner, and not my prisoner only, I +cannot give you your sword or pistols, and we cannot +fight.... The fighting, too, is a convention. I +see that, and that it is not adequate. Yet so do +I hold you in hatred that I would destroy you in +this poor way also!"</p> + +<p>The two sat not eight feet apart. Time was when +either, finding himself in deadly straits, would have +seen in the other a sure rescuer, or a friend to perish +with him. One would have come to the other in a +burst of light and warmth. So countless were the +associations between them, so much knowledge, after +all, did they have of each other, that even now, if +they hated and contended, it must be, as it were, a +contention within an orb. To each hemisphere, re<a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a>pelling +the other, must yet come in lightning flashes +the face of the whole.</p> + +<p>Glenfernie, under the lantern-light, looked like +the old laird his father. "No long time ago," he +said, "'revenge,' 'vengeance,' seemed to me words +of a low order! It was not so in my boyhood. +Then they were often to me passionate, immediate, +personal, and vindicated words! But it grew to be +that they appeared words of a low order. It is not +so now. As far as that goes I am younger than I +was a year ago. I stand in a hot, bright light where +they are vindicated. If fate sets you free again, +yet I do not set you free! I shall be after you. I +entered this place to tell you that."</p> + +<p>"Do as you will!" answered Ian. Scorn mounted +in his voice. "I shall withstand the shock of you!"</p> + +<p>The net of name and form hardened, grew more +iron and closer meshed. Each <i>I</i> contracted, made +its carapace thicker. Each <i>I</i> bestrode, like Apollyon, +the path of the other.</p> + +<p>"Why should I undertake to defend myself?" said +Ian. "I do not undertake to do so! So at least I +shall escape the hypocrite! It is in the nature of +man to put down other kings and be king himself!"</p> + +<p>"Aye so? The prime difficulty in that is that the +others, too, are immortal." Glenfernie rising, his +great frame seemed to fill the little room. "Sooner +may the Kelpie's Pool sink into the earth than I +forego to give again to you what you have given! +What is now all my wish? It is to seem to you, +here and hereafter, the avenger of blood and fraud! +Remember me so!"</p> + +<p>He stood looking at the sometime friend with a +<a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a>dark and working face. Then, abruptly turning, he +went away. The door of the small room closed behind +him. Ian heard the bolt driven.</p> + +<p>The night went leadenly by. At last he slept, +and was waked by trumpets blowing. He saw +through the window that it was at faintest dawn. +Much later the door opened and a man brought +him a poor breakfast. Rullock questioned him, but +could gain nothing beyond the statement that to-day +at latest the "rebels" would be wiped from the +face of the earth. When he was gone Ian climbed +to the small window that, even were it open and +unguarded, was yet too small for his body to pass. +But, working with care, he managed to loosen and +draw inward without noise one of the round panes. +Outside lay a trampled farm-yard. A few soldiers, +apparently invalided, lounged about, but there was +no such throng such as he had passed through when +they brought him here. He supposed that the attack +upon the force at Shap might be in progress. +If the Duke of Cumberland's whole power was at +hand the main column might be set upon. All +around him the hills, the farm inclosure, and these +petty walls cut off the outer world. The hours, the +day, limped somehow by. He walked to keep himself +warm. Back and forth and to and fro. December—December—December! +How cold was the +Kelpie's Pool? Poisoned love—poisoned friendship—ambition +in ruin—bells ringing for executions! +To and fro—to and fro. He had always felt life +as sensuous, rich, and warm, with garlands and +colors. It had been large and aglow, with a profusion +of arabesques of imagination and emotion. +<a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a>Thought had not lacked, but thought, too, bore a +personal, passional cast, and was much interested +in a golden world of sense. Just this December day +the world seemed the ocean-bed of life, where dull +creatures moved slowly in cold, thick ooze, and +annihilation was much to be desired.... The day +went by. The same man brought him supper. +There seemed to be triumph in his face. "They'll +be bringing in more prisoners—unless we +don't make prisoners!" Nothing more could be +gained from that quarter. In the night it began +to rain. He listened to its dash against the +window. Black Hill came into mind, and the rain +against his windows there. He was cold, and he +tried, with the regressive sense, to feel himself in +that old, warm nest. His Black Hill room rose about +him, firelit. The fire lighted that Italian painting +of a city of refuge and a fleeing man, behind whom +ran the avenger of blood.... Then it was July, and +he was in the glen with Elspeth Barrow. He fought +away from the recollection of that, for it involved +a sickness of the soul.... Italy! Think of Italy. +Venice, and a month that he had spent there alone—Old +Steadfast being elsewhere. It had been a +warm season, warm and rich, sun-kissed and languorous, +like the fruit, like the Italian women.... +Leave out the women, but try to feel again the sun +of Venice!</p> + +<p>He tried, but the cold of his prison fought with +the sun. Then suddenly sprang clamor without. +The uproar increased. He rose, he heard the bolts +open, the door open. In came light and voices. +"Captain Rullock! We beat them at Clifton! We +<a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a>learned that you were here! Lord George sent us +back for you...."</p> + +<p>Three days later Scotch earth was again beneath +their feet. They marched to Glasgow; they marched +to Stirling; they fought the battle of Falkirk and +again there was Jacobite victory. And now there +was an army of eight thousand.... And then began +a time of poor policy, mistaken moves. And in +April befell the battle of Culloden and far-resounding +ruin.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + + +<p>The green May rolled around and below the +Highland shelter where Ian lay, fugitive, like +thousands of others, after Culloden. The Prince +had stayed to give an order to his broken army. +<i>Sauve qui peut!</i> Then he, too, became a fugitive, +passing from one fastness to another of these glens +and the mountains that overtowered them. The +Stewart hope was sunk in the sea of dead hopes. +Cumberland, with for the time and place a great +force and with an ugly fury, hunted all who had been +in arms against King George.</p> + +<p>Ian Rullock couched high upon a mountain-side, +in a shelter of stone and felled tree built in an angle +of crag, screened by a growth of birch and oak, +made long ago against emergencies. A path, devious +and hidden, connected it first with a hut far +below, and then, at several miles' distance, with the +house of a chieftain, now a house of terror, with +the chieftain in prison and his sons in hiding, and +the women watching with hard-beating hearts. Ian, +a kinsman of the house, had been given, <i>faute de +mieux</i>, this old, secret hold, far up, where at least +he could see danger if it approached. Food had been +stored for him here and sheepskins given for bedding. +He was so masked by splintered and fallen pieces of +<a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a>rock that he might, with great precautions, kindle +a fire. A spring like a fairy cup gave him water. +More than one rude comfort had been provided. +He had even a book or two, caught up from his kinsman's +small collection. He had been here fourteen +days.</p> + +<p>At first they were days and nights of vastly needed +rest. Bitter had been the fatigue, privation, wandering, +immediately after Culloden! Now he was +rested.</p> + +<p>He was by nature sanguine. When the sun had +irretrievably blackened and gone out he might be +expected at least to attempt to gather materials +and ignite another. He was capable of whistling +down the wind those long hopes of fame and fortune +that had hung around the Stewart star. And now +he was willing to let go the old half-acknowledged +boyish romance and sentiment, the glamour of the +imagination that had dressed the cause in hues not +its own. Two years of actual contact with the +present incarnations of that cause had worn the +sentiment threadbare.</p> + +<p>Seated or lying upon the brown earth by the +splintered crag, alone save for the wheeling birds +and the sound of wind and water and the sailing +clouds, he had time at last for the rise into mind, +definitely shaped and visible, of much that had +been slowly brewing and forming. He was conscious +of a beginning of a readjustment of ideas. +For a long time now he had been pledged to personal +daring, to thought forced to become supple and concentrated, +to hard, practical planning, physical +hardship and danger. In the midst of this had be<a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a>gun +to grow up a criticism of all the enterprises upon +which he was engaged. Scope—in many respects +the Jacobite character, generally taken, was amiable +and brave, but its prime exhibit was not scope! +Somewhat narrow, somewhat obsolete; Ian's mind +now saw Jacobitism in that light. As he sat without +his rock fortress, in the shadow of birch-trees, +with lower hills and glens at his feet, he had a pale +vision of Europe, of the world. Countries and times +showed themselves contiguous. "Causes," dynastic +wars, political life, life in other molds and hues, +appeared in chords and sequences and strokes of +the eye, rather than in the old way of innumerable, +vivid, but faintly connected points. "I begin to +see," thought Ian, "how things travel together, like +with like!" His body was rested, recovered, his +mind invigorated. He had had with him for long +days the very elixir of solitude. Relations and associations +that before had been banked in ignorance +came forth and looked at him. "You surely have +known us before, though you had forgotten that +you knew us!" He found that he was taking delight +in these expansions of meaning. He thought, "If +I can get abroad out of this danger, out of old circles, +I'll roam and study and go to school to wider plans!" +He suddenly thought, "This kind of thing is what +Old Steadfast meant when he used to say that I +did not see widely enough." He moved sharply. +A hot and bitter flood seemed to well up within +him. "He himself is seeing narrowly now—Alexander +Jardine!"</p> + +<p>He left the crag and went for a scrambling and +somewhat dangerous walk along the mountain-<a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a>side. +There was peril in leaving that one rock-curtained +place. Two days before he had seen +what he thought to be signs of red-coated soldiers +in the glen far below. But he must walk—he must +exercise his body, note old things, not give too +much time to new perceptions! He breathed the +keen, sweet mountain air; with a knife that he had +he fell to making a staff from a young oak; he +watched the pass below and the shadows of the +clouds; he climbed fairly to the mountain-top and +had a great view; he sang an old song, not aloud, +but under his breath; and at last he must come back +with solitude to his fastness. And here was brooding +thought again!</p> + +<p>Two more days passed. The man from the hut +below in the pass came at dusk with food carefully +sent from the chieftain's hall. Redcoats had gone +indeed through the glen, but they could never find +the path to this place! They might return or they +might not; they were like the devil who rose by +your side when you were most peaceful! Angus +went down the mountain-side. The sound of his +footstep died away. Ian had again Solitude herself.</p> + +<p>Another day and night passed. He watched the +sun climb toward noon, and as the day grew warm +he heard a step upon the hidden path. With a +pistol in either hand he moved, as stealthily, as silently +as might be, to a platform of rock that overhung +the way of the intruder. In another moment the +latter was in sight—one man climbing steadily the +path to the old robber fastness. He saw that it +was Glenfernie. No one followed him. He came +on alone.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a>Rullock put by his pistols and, moving to a chair +of rock, sat there. The other's great frame rose +level with him, stepped upon the rocky floor. Ian +had been growing to feel an anger at solitude. When +he saw Alexander he had not been able to check an +inner movement of welcome. He felt an old—he +even felt a new—affection for the being upon whom, +certainly, he had leaned. There flowed in, in an +impatient wave, the consideration that he must +hate....</p> + +<p>But Glenfernie hated. Ian rose to face him.</p> + +<p>"So you've found your way to my castle? It is +a climb! You had best sit and rest yourself. I have +my sword now, and I will give you satisfaction."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie nodded. He sat upon a piece of fallen +rock. "Yes, I will rest first, thank you! I have +searched since dawn, and the mountain is steep. +Besides, I want to talk to you."</p> + +<p>Ian brought from his cupboard oat-cake and a +flask of brandy. The other shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I had food at sunrise, and I drank from a spring +below."</p> + +<p>"Very good!"</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie sat looking down the +mountain-sides and over to far hills and moving +clouds, much as he used to sit in the crook of the +old pine outside the broken wall at Glenfernie. +There was a trick of posture when he was at certain +levels within himself. Ian knew it well.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I should tell you," said Alexander, +"that I came alone through the pass and that I +have been alone for some days. If there are soldiers +near I do not know of them."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a>"It is not necessary," answered Ian. While he +spoke he saw in a flash both that his confidence was +profound that it was not necessary, and that that +incapacity to betray that might be predicated of +Old Steadfast was confined to but one of the two +upon this rock. The enlightenment stung, then +immediately brought out a reaction. "To each +some specialty in error! I no more than he am +monstrous!" There arose a desire to defend himself, +to show Old Steadfast certain things. He spoke. +"We are going to fight presently—"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"That's understood. Now listen to me a little! +For long years we were together, friends near and +warm! You knew that I saw differently from you +in regard to many things—in regard, for instance, to +women. I remember old discussions.... Well, you +differed, and sometimes you were angry. But for +all that, friendship never went out with violence! +You knew the ancient current that I swam in—that +it was narrower, more mixed with earth, than your +own! But you were tolerant. You took me as I +was.... What has developed was essentially there +then, and you knew it. The difference is that at +last it touched what you held to be your own. +Then, and not till then, the sinner became <i>anathema!</i>"</p> + +<p>"In some part you say truth. But my load of +inconsistency does not lighten yours of guilt."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not. We were friends. Five-sixths of +me made a fair enough friend and comrade. We +interlocked. You had gifts and possessions I had +not. I liked the oak-feeling of you—the great ship +in sail! In turn, I had the key, perhaps, to a few +<a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a>lands of bloom and flavor that you lacked. We +interchanged and thought that we were each the +richer. Five-sixths.... Say, then, that the other +sixth might be defined as no-friend, or as false +friend! Say that it was wilful, impatient of superiorities, +proud, vain, willing to hurt, betray, and +play the demon generally! Say that once it gave +itself swing it darkened some of the other sixths.... +Well, it is done! Yet there was gold. Perhaps, +laird of Glenfernie, there is still gold in the mine!"</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken in your proportions. Gold! +You are to me the specter of the Kelpie's Pool!"</p> + +<p>Silence held for a minute or two. The clouds, +passing between earth and sun, made against the +mountain slopes impalpable, dark, fantastic shapes. +An eagle wheeled above its nest at the mountain-top. +Ian spoke again. His tone had altered.</p> + +<p>"If I do not decline remorse, I at least decline +the leaden cope of it you would have me wear! +There is such a thing as fair play to oneself! Two +years ago come August Elspeth Barrow and I agreed +to part—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, 'agreed'—"</p> + +<p>"Have it so! I said that we must part. She +acquiesced—and that without the appeals that the +stage and literature show us. Oh, doubtless I +might have seen a pierced spirit, and did not, and +was brute beast there! But one thing you have got +to believe, and that is that neither of us knew what +was to happen. Even with that, she was aware of +how a letter might be sent, with good hope of reaching +me. She was not a weak, ignorant girl.... I +went away, and within a fortnight was deep in that +<a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a>long attempt that ends here. I became actively an +agent for the Prince and his father. A hundred +names and their fates were in my hands. You can +fill in the multitude of activities, each seeming small +in itself, but the whole preoccupying every field.... +If Elspeth Barrow wrote I never received her +letter. When my thought turned in that direction, +it saw her well and not necessarily unhappy. Time +passed. For reasons, I ceased to write home, and +again for reasons I obliterated paths by which I +might be reached. For months I heard nothing, +as I said nothing. I was on the very eve of quitting +Paris, under careful disguise, to go into Scotland. +Came suddenly your challenge—and still, though I +knew that to you at least our relations must have +been discovered, I knew no more than that! I did +not know that she was dead.... I could not stay to +fight you then. I left you to brand me as you +pleased in your mind."</p> + +<p>"I had already branded you."</p> + +<p>"Later, I saw that you had. Perhaps then I +did not wonder. In September—almost a year +from that Christmas Eve—I yet did not know. +Then, in Edinburgh, I came upon Mr. Wotherspoon. +He told me.... I had no wicked intent toward +Elspeth Barrow—none according to my canon, +which has been that of the natural man. We met +by accident. We loved at once and deeply. She +had in her an elf queen! But at last the human +must have darkened and beset her. Had I known of +those fears, those dangers, I might have turned homeward +from France and every shining scheme...."</p> + +<p>"Ah no, you would not—"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a>"... If I would not, then certainly I should have +written to Jarvis Barrow and to others, acknowledging +my part—"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you would have done that. Perhaps +not. You might have found reasons of obligation +for not doing so. 'Loved deeply'! You never +loved her deeply! You have loved nothing deeply +save yourself!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. Yet I think," said Ian, "that I would +have done as much as that. But Alexander Jardine, +of course, would not have taken one erring +step!"</p> + +<p>"Have you done now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie rose to his feet. He stood against the +gulf of air and his great frame seemed enlarged, +like the figure of the Brocken. He was like his +father, the old laird, but there glowed an extremer +dark anger and power. The old laird had made +himself the dream-avenger of injuries adopted, not +felt at first hand. The present laird knew the +wounding, the searing. "All his life my father +dreamed of grappling with Grierson of Lagg. My +Grierson of Lagg stands before me in the guise of a +false friend and lover!... What do I care for your +weighing to a scruple how much the heap of wrong +falls short of the uttermost? The dire wrong is +there, to me the direst! Had I deep affection for +you once? Now you speak to me of every treacherous +morass, every <i>ignis fatuus</i>, past and present! +The traveler through life does right to drain the +bogs as they arise—put it out of their power to suck +down man, woman, and child! It is not his cause +<a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a>alone. It is the general cause. If there be a God, +He approves. Draw your sword and let us fight!"</p> + +<p>They fought. The platform of rock was smooth +enough for good footing. They had no seconds, unless +the shadows upon the hills and the mountain +eagles answered for such. Ian was the highly trained +fencer, adept of the sword. Glenfernie's knowledge +was lesser, more casual. But he had his bleak +wrath, a passion that did not blind nor overheat, +but burned white, that set him, as it were, in a +tingling, crackling arctic air, where the shadows +were sharp-edged, the nerves braced and the will +steel-tipped. They fought with determination and +long—Ian now to save his own life, Alexander for +Revenge, whose man he had become. The clash of +blade against blade, the shifting of foot upon the +rock floor, made the dominant sound upon the +mountain-side. The birds stayed silent in the birch-trees. +Self-service, pride, anger, jealousy, hatred—the +inner vibrations were heavy.</p> + +<p>The sword of Ian beat down his antagonist's +guard, leaped, and gave a deep wound. Alexander's +sword fell from his hand. He staggered and vision +darkened. He came to his knees, then sank upon +the ground. Ian bent over him. He felt his anger +ebb. A kind of compunction seized him. He +thought, "Are you so badly hurt, Old Steadfast?"</p> + +<p>Alexander looked at him. His lips moved. "Lo, +how the wicked prosper! But do you think that +Justice will have it so?" The blood gushed; he sank +back in a swoon.</p> + +<p>On this mountain-side, some distance below the +fastness, a stone, displaced by a human foot, rolled +<a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a>down the slope with a clattering sound. The fugitive +above heard it, thought, too, that he caught other +sounds. He crossed to the nook whence he had view +of the way of approach. Far down he saw the redcoats, +and then, much nearer, coming out from +dwarf woods, still King George's men.</p> + +<p>Ian caught up his belt and pistols. He sheathed +his sword. "They'll find you and save you, Glenfernie! +I do not think that you will die!" Above +him sprang the height of crag, seemingly unscalable. +But he had been shown the secret, just possible stair. +He mounted it. Masked by bushes, it swung around +an abutment and rose by ledge and natural tunnel, +perilous and dizzy, but the one way out to safety. +At last, a hundred feet above the old shelter, he +dipped over the crag head to a saucer-like depression +walled from all redcoat view by the surmounted +rock. With a feeling of triumph he plunged +through small firs and heather, and, passing the +mountain brow, took the way that should lead him +to the next glen.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie, rising from the great +chair by the table, moved to the window of the +room that had been his father's and mother's, the +room where both had died. He remembered the +wild night of snow and wind in which his father +had left the body. Now it was August, and the +light golden upon the grass and the pilgrim cedar. +Alexander walked slowly, with a great stick under +his hand. Old Bran was dead, but a young Bran +stretched himself, wagged his tail, and looked beseechingly +at the master.</p> + +<p>"I'll let you out," said the latter, "but I am a +prisoner; I cannot let myself out!"</p> + +<p>He moved haltingly to the door, opened it, and +the dog ran forth. Glenfernie returned to the window. +"Prisoner." The word brought to his strongly +visualizing mind prisoners and prisons through +all Britain this summer—shackled prisoners, dark +prisons, scaffolds.... He leaned his head against +the window-frame.</p> + +<p>"O God that my father and my grandfather +served—God of old times—of Israel in Egypt! I +think that I would release them all if I could—<i>all +but one! Not him!</i>" He looked at the cedar. +"Who was he, in truth, who planted that, perhaps +<a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a>for a remembrance? And he, and all men, had +and have some one deep wrong that shall not be +brooked!"</p> + +<p>He stood in a brown study until there was a tap +at the door. "Come in!"</p> + +<p>Alice entered, bearing before her a bowl of flowers +of all fair hues and shapes. She herself was like a +bright, strong, winsome flower. "To make your +room look bonny!" she said, and placed the bowl +upon the table. To do so she pushed aside the +books. "What a withered, snuff-brown lot! Won't +you be glad when you are back in the keep with all +the books?"</p> + +<p>Glenfernie, wrapped in a brown gown, came with +his stick back to the great chair before the books. +"Bonny—they are bonny!" he said and touched the +flowers. "I've set a week from to-day to be dressed +and out of this and back to the keep. Another week, +and I shall ride Black Alan."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Alice. "You mustn't determine that +you can do it all yourself! There will be the doctor +and the wound!"</p> + +<p>Alexander took her hands and held them. "You +are a fine philosopher! Where is Strickland?"</p> + +<p>"Helping Aunt Grizel with accounts. Do you +want him?"</p> + +<p>"When you go. But not for a long while if you +will stay."</p> + +<p>Alice regarded him with her mother's shrewdness. +"Oh, Glenfernie, for all you've traveled and are so +learned, it's not me nor Mr. Strickland, but the +moon now that you're wanting! I don't know what +your moon is, but it's the moon!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a>Alexander laughed. "And is not the moon a +beautiful thing?"</p> + +<p>"The books say that it is cold and almost dead, +wrinkled and ashen. But I've got to go," said +Alice, "and I'll send you Mr. Strickland."</p> + +<p>Strickland came presently. "You look much +stronger this morning, Glenfernie. I'm glad of that! +Shall I read to you, or write?"</p> + +<p>"Read, I think. My eyes dazzle still when I +try. Some strong old thing—the Plutarch there. +Read the <i>Brutus</i>."</p> + +<p>Strickland read. He thought that now Alexander +listened, and that now he had traveled afar. The +minutes passed. The flowers smelled sweetly, murmuring +sounds came in the open windows. Bran +scratched at the door and was admitted. Far off, +Alice's voice was heard singing. Strickland read +on. The laird of Glenfernie was not at Rome, in +the Capitol, by Pompey's statue. He walked with +Elspeth Barrow the feathery green glen.</p> + +<p>Davie appeared in the door. "A letter, sir, come +post." He brought it to Glenfernie's outstretched +hand.</p> + +<p>"From Edinburgh—from Jamie," said the latter.</p> + +<p>Strickland laid down his book and moved to the +window. Standing there, his eyes upon the great +cedar, massive and tall as though it would build +a tower to heaven, his mind left Brutus, Cæsar, and +Cassius, and played somewhat idly over the British +Isles. He was recalled by an exclamation, not loud, +but so intense and fierce that it startled like a meteor +of the night. He turned. Glenfernie sat still in his +great chair, but his features were changed, his mouth +<a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a>working, his eyes shooting light. Strickland advanced +toward him.</p> + +<p>"Not bad news of Jamie!"</p> + +<p>"Not of Jamie! From Jamie." He thrust the +letter under the other's eyes. "Read—read it +out!"</p> + +<p>Strickland read aloud.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Here is authoritative news. Ian Rullock, after lying two +months in the tolbooth, has escaped. A gaoler connived, it is +supposed, else it would seem impossible. Galbraith tells me he +would certainly have been hanged in September. It is thought +that he got to Leith and on board a ship. Three cleared that +day—for Rotterdam, for Lisbon, and Virginia."</p></div> + +<p>Alexander took the letter again. "That is all of +that import." Strickland once more felt astonishment. +Glenfernie's tone was quiet, almost matter-of-fact. +The blood had ebbed from his face; he +sat there collected, a great quiet on the heels of +storm. It was impossible not to admire the power +that could with such swiftness exercise control. +Strickland hesitated. He wished to speak, but did +not know how far he might with wisdom. The +laird forestalled him.</p> + +<p>"Sit down! This is to be talked over, for again +my course of life alters."</p> + +<p>Strickland took his chair. He leaned his arm +upon the table, his chin upon his hand. He did +not look directly at the man opposite, but at the +bowl of flowers between them.</p> + +<p>"When a man has had joy and lost it, what does +he do?" Glenfernie's voice was almost contemplative.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a>"One man one thing, and one another," said +Strickland. "After his nature."</p> + +<p>"No. All go seeking it in the teeth of death and +horror. That's universal! Joy must be sought. +But it may not wear the old face; it may wear +another."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that true joy has one face."</p> + +<p>"When one platonizes—perhaps! I keep to-day +to earth, to the cave. Do you know," said Alexander, +"why I sit here wounded?"</p> + +<p>"Of outward facts I do not know any more than +is, I think, pretty generally known through this +countryside."</p> + +<p>"As—?"</p> + +<p>Strickland looked still at the bowl of flowers. +"It is known, I think, that you loved Elspeth Barrow +and would have wedded her. And that, while +you were from home, the man who called himself, +and was called by you, your nearest friend, stepped +before you—made love to her, betrayed her—and +left her to bear the shame.... I myself know that +he kept you in ignorance, and that, away from here, +he let you still write to him in friendship and answered +in that tone.... All know that she drowned +herself because of him, and that you knew naught +until you yourself entered the Kelpie's Pool and +found her body and carried her home.... After that +you left the country to find and fight Ian Rullock. +Folk know, too, that he evaded you then. You returned. +Then came this insurrection, and news +that he was in Scotland with the Pretender. You +joined the King's forces. Then, after Culloden, +you found the false friend in hiding, in the moun<a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a>tains. +The two of you fought, and, as is often the +way, the injurer seemed again to win. You were +dangerously wounded. He fled. Soldiers upon his +track found you lying in your blood. You were +carried to Inverness. Dickson and I went to you, +brought you at last home. In the mean time came +news that the man you fought had been taken by +the soldiers. I suppose that we have all had +visions of him, in prison, expecting to suffer with +other conspirators."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have had visions ... outward facts!... Do +you know the inner, northern ocean, where sleep +all the wrecks?"</p> + +<p>"As I have watched you since you were a boy, +it is improbable that I should not have some divining +power. In Inverness, too, while you were fevered, +you talked and talked.... You have walked +with Tragedy, felt her net and her strong whip." +Strickland lifted his eyes from the bowl, pushed +back his chair a little, and looked full at the laird +of Glenfernie. "What then? Rise, Glenfernie, and +leave her behind! And if you do not now, it will +soon be hard for you to do so! Remember, too, +that I watched your father—"</p> + +<p>"After I find Ian Rullock in Holland or Lisbon +or America—"</p> + +<p>Strickland made a movement of deep concern. +"You have met and fought this man. Do you mean +so to nourish vengeance—"</p> + +<p>"I mean so to aid and vindicate distressed Justice."</p> + +<p>"Is it the way?"</p> + +<p>"I think that it is the way."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a>Strickland was silent, seeing the uselessness. +Glenfernie was one to whom conviction must come +from within. A stillness held in the room, broken +by the laird in the voice that was growing like his +father's. "Nothing lacks now but strength, and I +am gaining that—will gain it the faster now! Travel—travel!... All +my travel was preparatory to this."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean," asked Strickland, "to kill him +when you find him?"</p> + +<p>"I like your directness. But I do not know—I +do not know!... I mean to be his following fiend. +To have him ever feel me—when he turns his head +ever to see me!"</p> + +<p>The other sighed sharply. He thought to himself, +"Oh, mind, thy abysses!"</p> + +<p>Indeed, Glenfernie looked at this moment stronger. +He folded Jamie's letter and put it by. He drew +the bowl of flowers to him and picked forth a rose. +"A week—two at most—and I shall be wholly recovered!" +His voice had fiber, decision, even a kind +of cheer.</p> + +<p>Strickland thought, "It is his fancied remedy, at +which he snatches!"</p> + +<p>Glenfernie continued: "We'll set to work to-morrow +upon long arrangements! With you to +manage here, I will not be missed." Without waiting +for the morrow he took quill and paper and +began to figure.</p> + +<p>Strickland watched him. At last he said, "Will +you go at once in three ships to Holland, Portugal, +and America?"</p> + +<p>"Has the onlooker room for irony, while to me it +looks so simple? I shall ship first to the likeliest +<a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a>land.... In ten days—in two weeks at most—to +Edinburgh—"</p> + +<p>Strickland left him figuring and, rising, went to +the window. He saw the great cedar, and in mind +the pilgrim who planted it there. All the pilgrims—all +the crusaders—all the men in Plutarch; the +long frieze of them, the full ocean of them ... all +the self-search, dressed as search of another. "I, +too, I doubt not—I, too!" Buried scenes in his own +life rose before Strickland. Behind him scratched +Glenfernie's pen, sounded Glenfernie's voice:</p> + +<p>"I am going to see presently if I can walk as far +as the keep. In two or three days I shall ride. +There are things that I shall know when I get to +Edinburgh. He would take, if he could, the ship +that would land him at the door of France."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + + +<p>Alexander rode across the moors to the glen +head. Two or three solitary farers that he met +gave him eager good day.</p> + +<p>"Are ye getting sae weel, laird? I am glad o' +that!"</p> + +<p>"Good day, Mr. Jardine! I rejoice to see you +recovered. Well, they hung more of them yesterday!"</p> + +<p>"Gude day, Glenfernie! It's a bonny morn, and +sweet to be living!"</p> + +<p>At noon he looked down on the Kelpie's Pool. +The air was sweet and fine, bird sounds came +from the purple heather. The great blue arch of +the sky smiled; even the pool, reflecting day, seemed +to have forgotten cold and dread. But for Glenfernie +a dull, cold, sick horror overspread the place. +He and Black Alan stood still upon the moor brow. +Large against the long, clean, horizon sweep, they +looked the sun-bathed, stone figures of horse and +man, set there long ago, guarding the moor, giving +warning of the kelpie.</p> + +<p>"None has been found to warn. There is none +but the kelpie waits for.... But punish—punish!"</p> + +<p>He and Black Alan pushed on to the head of the +glen. Here was Mother Binning's cot, and here he +<a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a>dismounted, fastening the horse to the ash-tree. +Mother Binning was outdoors, gathering herbs in +her apron.</p> + +<hr style='width: 33%;' /> + +<p>She straightened herself as he stepped toward her. +"Eh, laird of Glenfernie, ye gave me a start! I +thought ye came out of the ground by the ash-tree!... Wound +is healed, and life runs on to another +springtime?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's another springtime.... I do not think +that I believe in scrying, Mother Binning. But +I'm where I pick up all straws with which to +build me a nest! Sit down and scry for me, will +you?"</p> + +<p>"I canna scry every day, nor every noon, nor +every year. What are you wanting to see, Glenfernie?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just my soul's desire!"</p> + +<p>Mother Binning turned to her door. She put +down the herbs, then brought a pan of water and +set it down upon the door-step, and herself beside +it. "It helps—onything that's still and clear! +Wait till the ripple's gane, and then dinna speak to +me. But gin I see onything, it will na be sae great +a thing as a soul's desire."</p> + +<p>She sat still and he stood still, leaning against the +side of her house. Mother Binning sat with fixed +gaze. Her lips moved. "There's the white mist. +It's clearing."</p> + +<p>"Tell me if you see a ship."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see it...."</p> + +<p>"Tell me if you see its port."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a>"Describe it—the houses, the country, the dress +and look of the people—"</p> + +<p>Mother Binning did so.</p> + +<p>"That's not Holland—that would be Lisbon. +Look at the ship again, Mother. Look at the +sailors. Look at the passengers if there are any. +Whom do you see?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Mother Binning. "There's a braw +wrong-doer for you, sitting drinking Spanish wine!"</p> + +<p>"Say his name."</p> + +<p>"It's he that once, when you were a lad, you +brought alive from the Kelpie's Pool."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mother! That's what I wanted. +<i>Scrying!</i> Who gives to whom—who gives back to +whom? The underneath great I, I suppose. Left +hand giving to right—and no brand-new news! +All the same, other drifts concurring, I think that +he fled by the Lisbon ship!"</p> + +<p>Mother Binning pushed aside the pan of water +and rubbed her hand across her eyes. She took up +her bundle of herbs. "Hoot, Glenfernie! do ye +think that's your soul's desire?"</p> + +<p>Jock came limping around the house. Alexander +could not now abide the sight of this cripple +who had spied, and had not shot some fashion of +arrow! He said good-by and loosed Black Alan +from the ash-tree and rode away. He would not +tread the glen. His memory recoiled from it as +from some Eastern glen of serpents. He and Black +Alan went over the moors. And still it was early +and he had his body strength back. He rode to +Littlefarm.</p> + +<p>Robin Greenlaw was in the field, coat off in the +<a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a>gay, warm weather. He came to Glenfernie's side, +and the latter dismounted and sat with him under +a tree. Greenlaw brought a stone jug and tankard +and poured ale.</p> + +<p>The laird drank. "That's good, Robin!" He put +down the tankard. "Are you still a poet?"</p> + +<p>"If I was so once upon a time, I hope I am so +still. At any rate, I still make verses. And I see +poems that I can never write."</p> + +<p>"'Never'—how long a word that is!"</p> + +<p>Greenlaw gazed at the workers in the field. "I +met Mr. Strickland the other day. He says that +you will travel again."</p> + +<p>"'Travel'—yes."</p> + +<p>"The Jardine Arms gets it from the Edinburgh +road that Ian Rullock made a daring escape."</p> + +<p>"He had always ingenuity and a certain sort of +physical bravery."</p> + +<p>"So has Lucifer, Milton says. But he's not +Lucifer."</p> + +<p>"No. He is weak and small."</p> + +<p>"Well, look Glenfernie! I would not waste my +soul chasing him!"</p> + +<p>"How dead are you all! You, too, Greenlaw!"</p> + +<p>Robin flushed. "No! I hate all that he did that +is vile! If all his escaping leads him to violent +death, I shall not find it in me to grieve! But all +the same, I would not see you narrowed to the wolf-hunter +that will never make the wolf less than the +wolf! I don't know. I've always thought of you +as one who would serve Wisdom and show us her +beauty—"</p> + +<p>"To me this is now wisdom—this is now beauty. +<a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a>Poets may stay and make poetry, but I go after +Ian Rullock!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's poetry in that, too," said Greenlaw, +"because there's nothing in which there isn't +poetry! But you're choosing the kind you're not +best in, or so it seems to me."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie rode from Littlefarm homeward. But +the next day he and Black Alan went to Black +Hill. Here he saw Mr. Touris alone. That gentleman +sat with a shrunken and shriveled look.</p> + +<p>"Eh, Glenfernie! I am glad to see that you are +yourself again! Well, my sister's son has broken +prison."</p> + +<p>"Yes, one prison."</p> + +<p>"God knows they were all mad! But I could not +wish to see him in my dreams, hanging dark from +the King's gallows!"</p> + +<p>"From the King's gallows and for old, mad, +Stewart hopes? I find," said Glenfernie, "that I +do not wish that, either. He would have gone for +the lesser thing—and the long true, right vengeance +been delayed!"</p> + +<p>"What is that?" asked Mr. Touris, dully.</p> + +<p>"His wrong shall be ever in his mind, and I the +painter's brush to paint it there! Give me, O God, +the power of genius!"</p> + +<p>"Are you going to follow him and kill him?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to follow him. At first I thought +that I would kill him. But my mind is changing +as to that."</p> + +<p>Mr. Touris sighed heavily. "I don't know what is +the matter with the world.... One does one's best, +but all goes wrong. All kinds of hopes and plans.<a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a>... When +I look back to when I was a young man, +I wonder.... I set myself an aim in life, to lift me +and mine from poverty. I saved for it, denied for +it, was faithful. It came about and it's ashes in +my mouth! Yet I took it as a trust, and was faithful. +What does the Bible say, 'Vanity of vanities'? +But I say that the world's made wrong."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie left him at last, wrinkled and shrunken +and shriveled, cold on a summer day, plying himself +with wine, a serving-man mending the fire upon +the hearth. Alexander went to Mrs. Alison's parlor. +He found her deep chair placed in the garden +without, and she herself sitting there, a book in +hand, but not read, her form very still, her eyes +upon a shaft of light that was making vivid a row +of flowers. The book dropped beside her on the +grass; she rose quickly. The last time they had +met was before Culloden, before Prestonpans.</p> + +<p>She came to him. "You're well, Alexander! +Thanks be! Sit down, my dear, sit down!" She +would have made him take her chair, but he laughed +and brought one for himself from the room. "I +bless my ancestors for a physical body that will +not keep wounds!"</p> + +<p>She sank into her chair again and sat in silence, +gazing at him. Her clear eyes filled with tears, +but she shook them away. At last she spoke: +"Oh, I see the other sort of wounds! Alexander! +lay hold of the nature that will make them, too, +to heal!"</p> + +<p>"Saint Alison," he answered, "look full at what +went on. Now tell me if those are wounds easy +to heal. And tell me if he were not less than a +<a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a>man who pocketed the injury, who said to the injurer, +'Go in peace!'"</p> + +<p>She looked at him mournfully. "Is it to pocket +the injury? Will not all combine—silently, silently—to +teach him at last? Less than man—man—more +than man, than to-day's appearing man?... I +am not wise. For yourself and the ring of your +moment you may be judging inevitably, rightly.... But +with what will you overcome—and in overcoming +what will you overcome?"</p> + +<p>He made a gesture of impatience. "Oh, friend, +once I, too, could be metaphysical! I cannot now."</p> + +<p>Speech failed between them. They sat with +eyes upon the garden, the old tree, the August blue +sky, but perhaps they hardly saw these. At last +she turned. She had a slender, still youthful +figure, an oval, lovely, still young face. Now there +was a smile upon her lips, and in her eyes a light +deep, touching, maternal.</p> + +<p>"Go as you will, hunt him as you will, do what +you will! And he, too—Ian! Ian and his sins. +Grapes in the wine-press—wheat beneath the flail—ore +in the ardent fire, and over all the clouds of +wrath! Suffering and making to suffer—sinning +and making to sin.... And yet will the dawn come, +and yet will you be reconciled!"</p> + +<p>"Not while memory holds!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, there is so much to remember! Ian has so +much and you have so much.... When the great +memory comes you will see. But not now, it is +apparent, not now! So go if you will and must, +Alexander, with the net and the spear!"</p> + +<p>"Did he not sin?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I also sin. But my sin does not match his! +God makes use of instruments, and He shall make +use of me!"</p> + +<p>"If He 'shall,' then He shall. Let us leave talk +of this. Where you go may love and light go, too—and +work it out, and work it out!"</p> + +<p>He did not stay long in her garden. All Black +Hill oppressed him now. The dark crept in upon +the light. She saw that it was so.</p> + +<p>"He can be friends now with none. He sees in +each one a partisan—his own or Ian's." She did +not detain him, but when he rose to say good-by +helped him to say it without delay.</p> + +<p>He went, and she paced her garden, thinking of +Ian who had done so great wrong, and Alexander +who cried, "My enemy!" She stayed in the garden +an hour, and then she turned and went to play +piquet with the lonely, shriveled man, her brother.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + + +<p>Two days after this Glenfernie rode to White +Farm. Jenny Barrow met him with exclamations.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Alexander! Oh, Glenfernie! And they +say that you are amaist as weel as ever—but to +me you look twelve years older! Eh, and this +warld has brought gray into <i>my</i> hair! Father's gane +to kirk session, and Gilian's awa'."</p> + +<p>He sat down beside her. Her hands went on +paring apples, while her eyes and tongue were +busy elsewhere.</p> + +<p>"They say you're gaeing to travel."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm starting very soon."</p> + +<p>"It's na <i>said oot</i>—but a kind of whisper's been +gaeing around." She hesitated, then, "Are you +gaeing after him, Glenfernie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Jenny put down her knife and apple. She drew +a long breath, so that her bosom heaved under her +striped gown. A bright color came into her cheeks. +She laughed. "Aweel, I wadna spare him if I were +you!"</p> + +<p>He sat with her longer than he had done with +Mrs. Alison. He felt nearer to her. He could be +friends with her, while he moved from the other as +<a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a>from a bloodless wraith. Here breathed freely all +the strong vindications! He sat, sincere and strong, +and sincere and strong was the countrywoman beside +him.</p> + +<p>"Oh aye!" said Jenny. "He's a villain, and I +wad gie him all that he gave of villainy!"</p> + +<p>"That is right," said Alexander, "to look at it +simply!" He felt that those were his friends who +felt in this as did he.</p> + +<p>On the moor, riding homeward, he saw before +him Jarvis Barrow. Dismounting, he met the old +man beside a cairn, placed there so long ago that +there was only an elfin story for the deeds it commemorated.</p> + +<p>"Gude day, Glenfernie! So that Hieland traitor +did not slay ye?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Jarvis Barrow, white-headed, strong-featured, far +yet, it seemed, from incapacitating old age, took his +seat upon a great stone loosened from the mass. +He leaned upon his staff; his collie lay at his feet. +"Many wad say a lang time, with the healing in it +of lang time, since a fause lover sang in the ear of +my granddaughter, in the glen there!"</p> + +<p>"Aye, many would say it."</p> + +<p>"I say 'a fause lover.' But the ane to whom she +truly listened is an aulder serpent than he ... wae +to her!"</p> + +<p>"No, no!"</p> + +<p>"But I say 'aye!' I am na weak! She that +worked evil and looseness, harlotry, strife, and +shame, shall she na have her hire? As, Sunday by +Sunday, I wad ha' set her in kirk, before the con<a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a>gregation, +for the stern rebuking of her sin, so, mak +no doubt, the Lord pursues her now! Aye, He shakes +His wrath before her eyes! Wherever she turns +she sees 'Fornicatress' writ in flames!"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"But aye!"</p> + +<p>"Where she was mistaken—where, maybe, she +was wilfully blind—she must learn. Not the learning +better, but the old mistake until it is lost in +knowledge, will clothe itself in suffering! But that +is but a part of her! If there is error within, there +is also Michael within to make it of naught! She +releases herself. It is horrible to me to see you +angered against her, for you do not discriminate—and +you are your Michael, but not hers!"</p> + +<p>"Adam is speaking—still the woman's lover! I'm +not for contending with you. She tore my heart +working folly in my house, and an ill example, and +for herself condemnation!"</p> + +<p>"Leave her alone! She has had great unhappiness!" +He moved the small stones of the cairn with +his fingers. "I am going away from Glenfernie."</p> + +<p>"Aye. It was in mind that ye would! You and +he were great friends."</p> + +<p>"The greater foes now."</p> + +<p>"I gie ye full understanding there!"</p> + +<p>"With my father, those he hated were beyond +his touch. So he walked among shadows only. +But to me this world is a not unknown wood where +roves, alive and insolent, my utter enemy! I can +touch him and I will touch him!"</p> + +<p>"Not you, but the Lord Wha abides not evil!... How +sune will ye be gaeing, Glenfernie?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a>"As soon as I can ride far. As soon as everything +is in order here. I know that I am going, but I +do not know if I am returning."</p> + +<p>"I haud na with dueling. It's un-Christian. +But mony's the ancient gude man that Jehovah +used for sword! Aye, and approved the sword that +he used—calling him faithful servant and man after +His heart! I am na judging."</p> + +<p>From the moor Glenfernie rode through the village. +Folk spoke to him, looked after him; children +about the doors called to others, "It's tha +laird on Black Alan!" Old and young women, distaff +or pan or pot or pitcher in hand, turned head, +gazed, spoke to themselves or to one another. The +Jardine Arms looked out of doors. "He's unco like +tha auld laird!" Auld Willy, that was over a hundred, +raised a piping voice, "Did ye young things +remember Gawin Elliot that was his great-grandfather +ye'd be saying, 'Ye might think it was Gawin +Elliot that was hangit!'" Mrs. Macmurdo came to +her shop door. "Eh, the laird, wi' all the straw of +all that's past alight in his heart!"</p> + +<p>Alexander answered the "good days," but he did +not draw rein. He rode slowly up the steep village +street and over the bare waste bit of hill until here +was the manse, with the kirk beyond it. Coming +out of the manse gate was the minister. Glenfernie +checked his mare. All around spread a bare and +lonely hilltop. The manse and the kirk and the +minister's figure buttressed each the others with a +grim strength. The wind swept around them and +around Glenfernie.</p> + +<p>Mr. M'Nab, standing beside the laird, spoke +<a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a>earnestly. "We rejoice, Glenfernie, that you are +about once more! There is the making in you of a +grand man, like your father. It would have been +down-spiriting if that son of Belial had again triumphed +in mischief. The weak would have found +it so."</p> + +<p>"What is triumph?"</p> + +<p>"Ye may well ask that! And yet," said M'Nab, +"I know. It is the warm-feeling cloak that Good +when it hath been naked wraps around it, seeing +the spoiler spoiled and the wicked fallen into the +pit that he digged!"</p> + +<p>"Aye, the naked Good."</p> + +<p>The minister looked afar, a dark glow and energy +in his thin face. "They are in prison, and the scaffolds +groan—they who would out with the Kirk +and a Protestant king and in with the French and +popery!"</p> + +<p>"Your general wrong," said Glenfernie, "barbed +and feathered also for a Scots minister's own inmost +nerve! And is not my wrong general likewise? +Who hates and punishes falsity, though it were +found in his own self, acts for the common good!"</p> + +<p>"Aye!" said the minister. "But there must be +assurance that God calls you and that you hate +the sin and not the sinner!"</p> + +<p>"Who assures the assurances? Still it is I!"</p> + +<p>Glenfernie rode on. Mr. M'Nab looked after him +with a darkling brow. "That was heathenish—!"</p> + +<p>Alexander passed kirk and kirkyard. He went +home and sat in the room in the keep, under his +hand paper upon which he made figures, diagrams, +words, and sentences. When the next day came +<a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a>he did not ride, but walked. He walked over the +hills, with the kirk spire before him lifting toward +a vast, blue serenity. Presently he came in sight +of the kirkyard, its gravestones and yew-trees. +He had met few persons upon the road, and here on +the hilltop held to-day a balmy silence and solitude. +As he approached the gate, to which there mounted +five ancient, rounded steps of stone, he saw sitting +on one of these a woman with a basket of flowers. +Nearer still, he found that it was Gilian Barrow.</p> + +<p>She waited for him to come up to her. He took +his place upon the steps. All around hung still and +sunny space. The basket of flowers between them +was heaped with marigolds, pinks, and pansies.</p> + +<p>"For Elspeth," said Gilian.</p> + +<p>"It is almost two years. You have ceased to +grieve?"</p> + +<p>"Ah no! But one learns how to marry grief and +gladness."</p> + +<p>"Have you learned that? That is a long lesson. +But some are quicker than others or had learned +much beforehand.... Where is Elspeth?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she is safe, Glenfernie!"</p> + +<p>"I wanted her body safe—safe, warm, in my +arms!"</p> + +<p>"Spirit and spirit. Meet spirit with spirit!"</p> + +<p>"No! I crave and hunger and am cold. Unless +I warm myself—unless I warm myself—with anger +and hatred!"</p> + +<p>"I wish it were not so!"</p> + +<p>"I had a friend.... I warm myself now in the +hunt of a foe—in his look when he sees me!"</p> + +<p>Gilian smote her hands together. "So Elspeth +<a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a>would have loved that! So the smothered God in +you loves that!"</p> + +<p>"It is the God in me that will punish him!"</p> + +<p>"Is it—is it, Glenfernie?"</p> + +<p>He made a wide gesture of impatience. "Cold—languid—pithless! +You, Robin, Strickland, Alison +Touris—"</p> + +<p>Gilian looked at her basket of marigolds, pinks, +and pansies. "That word death.... I bring these +here, but Elspeth is with me everywhere! There is +a riddle—there is a strange, huge mistake. She +must solve it, she must make that port of all ports—and +you and I must make it.... It is a hard, +heroic, long adventure!"</p> + +<p>"I speak of the pine-tree in the blast, and such +as you would give me pansies! I speak of the +eagle at the crag-top in the storm, and you offer +butterflies!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, then, go and kill her lover and the man +who was your friend!"</p> + +<p>Glenfernie rose from the step, in his face strong +anger and denial. He stood, seeking for words, +looking down upon the seated woman and her +flowers. She met him with parted lips and a straight, +fearless look.</p> + +<p>"Will you take half the flowers, Glenfernie, and +put them for Elspeth?"</p> + +<p>"No. I cannot go there now!"</p> + +<p>"I thought you would not. Now I am Elspeth. +I love her. I would give her gladness—serve her. +She says, 'Let him alone! Do you not know that +his own weird will bring him into dark countries +and light countries, and where he is to go? Is your +<a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a>own tree to be made thwart and misshapen, that +his may be reminded that there is rightness of +growth? He is a tree—he is not a stone, nor will +he become a stone. There is a law a little larger +than your fretfulness that will take care of him! +I like Glenfernie better when he is not a busybody!'"</p> + +<p>Alexander stared at her in anger. "Differences +where I thought to find likeness—likenesses where +I thought to find differences! He deceived me, +fooled me, played upon me as upon a pipe; took +my own—"</p> + +<p>"Ha!" said Gilian. "So you are going a-hunting +for more reasons than one?—Elspeth, Elspeth! +come out of it!—for Glenfernie, after all, avenges +himself!"</p> + +<p>Alexander, looking like his father, spoke slowly, +with laboring breath. "Had one asked me, I should +have said that you above all might understand. +But you, too, betray!" With a sweep of his arms +abroad, a gesture abrupt and desolate, he turned. +He quitted the sunny bare space, the kirkyard and +the woman sitting with her basket of marigolds and +pansies.</p> + +<p>But two nights later he came to this place alone.</p> + +<p>The moon was full. It hung like a wonder lantern +above the hill and the kirk; it made the kirkyard +cloth of silver. The yews stood unreal, or with +a delicate, other reality. It was neither warm nor +cold. The moving air neither struck nor caressed, +but there breathed a sense of coming and going, +unhurried and unperplexed, from far away to far +away. The laird of Glenfernie crossed long grass +to where, for a hundred years, had been laid the +<a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a>dead from White Farm. There was a mound bare +to the sunlight thrown from the moon. He saw +the flowers that Gilian had brought.</p> + +<p>The flowers were colorless in the moonlight—and +yet they could be, and were, clothed with a hue +of anger from himself. They lay before him purple-crimson. +They were withered, but suddenly +they had sap, life, fullness—but a distasteful, reminding +life, a life in opposition! He took them +and threw them away.</p> + +<p>Now the mound rested bare. He lay down beside +it. He stretched his arms over it. "Elspeth!"—and +"Elspeth!"—and "Elspeth!" But Elspeth +did not answer—only the cool sunlight thrown back +from the moon.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + + +<p>Ian traveled toward a pass through the Pyrenees. +Behind him stretched difficult, hazardous, +slow travel—weeks of it. Behind those weeks +lay the voyage to Lisbon, and from Lisbon in a +second boat north to Vigo. From Vigo to this day +of forested slopes and brawling streams, steadily +worsening road, ruder dwellings, more primitive, +impoverished folk, rolled a time of difficulties small +and great, like the mountain pebbles for number. +It took will and wit at strain to dissolve them all, +and so make way out of Spain into France—through +France—to Paris, where were friends.</p> + +<p>Spanish travel was difficult at best—Spanish travel +with scarcely any gold to travel on found the "best" +quite winnowed out. Slow at all times, it grew, +lacking money, to be like one of those dreams +of retardation. Ian gathered and blew upon his +philosophy, and took matters at last with some +amusement, at times, even, with a sense of the +enjoyable.</p> + +<p>He was not quite penniless. Those who had +helped in his escape from Edinburgh had provided +him gold. But, his voyage paid for, he must buy +at Vigo fresh apparel and a horse. When at last +he rode eastward and northward he was poor enough! +<a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a>Food and lodging must be bought for himself and +his steed. Inns and innkeepers, chance folk applied +to for guidance, petty officials in perennially +suspicious towns—twenty people a day stood ready +to present a spectral aspect of leech and gold-sucker! +He was expert in traveling, but usually he had +borne a purse quite like that of Fortunatus. Now +he must consider that he might presently have to +sell his horse—and it was not a steed of Roland's, +to bring a great price! He might be compelled to +go afoot into France. He might be sufficiently +blessed if the millennium did not find him yet living +by his wits in Spain. It was Spanish, that prospect! +Turn what? Ian asked himself. Bull-fighter—fencing-master—gipsy—or +brigand? He played +with the notion of fencing-master. But he would +have to sell his horse to provide room and equipment, +and he must turn aside to some considerable +town. Brigand would be easier, in these wild forests +and rock fortresses that climbed and stood upon the +sky-line. Matter enough for perplexity! But the +sweep of forest and mountain wall was admirable—admirable +the air, the freedom from the Edinburgh +prison. Except occasionally, in the midst of some +intensification of annoyance, he rode and maneuvered +undetected.</p> + +<p>Past happenings might and did come across him +in waves. He remembered, he regretted; he pursued +a dialectic with various convenient divisions +of himself. But all that would be lost for long +times in the general miraculous variety of things! +On the whole, going through Spain in the autumn +weather, even with poverty making mouths along<a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a>side, +was not a sorry business! Zest lived in pitting +vigor and wit against mole hills threatening an +aggregation into mountains! As for time, what was +it, anyhow, to matter so much? He owned time +and a wide world.</p> + +<p>Delay and delay and delay. In one town the +alcalde kept him a week, denying him the road +beyond while inquiries were made as to his identity +or non-identity with some famed outlaw escaping +from justice. Further on, his horse fell badly lame +and he stayed day after day in a miserable village, +lounging under a cork-tree, learning patois. There +was a girl with great black eyes. He watched her, +two or three times spoke to her. But when she saw +how he must haggle over the price of food and +lodging she laughed, and returned to the side of a +muleteer with a sash and little bells upon his hat.</p> + +<p>All along the road fell these retardations. Then +as the mountains loomed higher, the spirit of contradiction +apparently grew tired and fell behind. +For several days he traveled quite easily. "My +Lady Fortune," asked Ian, "what is up your sleeve?"</p> + +<p>The air stayed smiling and sweet. In a town +half mountain, half plain, he made friends at the +inn with Don Fernando, son of an ancient, proud, +decaying house, poor as poverty. Don Fernando +had been in Paris, knew by hearsay England, and +had heard Scotland mentioned. Spaniard and Scot +drank together. The former was drawn into almost +love of Ian. Here was a help against boundless +ennui! Ian and his horse, and the small mail +strapped behind the saddle, finally went off with +Don Fernando to spend a week in his old house on +<a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a>the hillside just without the town. Here was poverty +also, but yet sufficient acres to set a table and +pour good wine and to make the horse forget the +famine road behind him. Here were lounging and +siesta, rest for body and mind, sweet "do well a +very little!" Don Fernando would have kept the +guest a second week and then a third.</p> + +<p>But Ian shook his head, laughed, embraced him, +promised a return of good when the great stream +made it possible, and set forth upon his further +travel. The horse looked sleek, almost fat. The +Scot's jaded wardrobe was cleaned, mended, refreshed. +Living with Don Fernando were an elder +sister and an ancient cousin who had fallen in love +with the big, handsome Don, traveling so oddly. +These had set hand-maidens to work, with the result +that Ian felt himself spruce as a newly opened +pink. And Don Fernando gave him a traveling-cloak—very +fine—a last year's gift, it seemed, from +a grandee he had obliged. Cold weather was approaching +and its warmth would be grateful. Ian's +great need was for money in purse. These new +friends had so little of that that he chose not to +ask for a loan. After all, he could sell the cloak!</p> + +<p>The day was fine, the country mounting as it +were by stairs toward the mountains. Before him +climbed a string of pack-mules. The merchant +owning them and their lading traveled with a guard +of stout young men. For some hours Ian had the +merchant for companion and heard much of the +woes of the region and the times, the miseries of +travel, the cursed inns, bandits licensed and unlicensed, +craft, violence, and robbery! The mer<a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a>chant +bewailed all life and kept a hawk eye upon +his treasure on the Spanish road. At last he and +his guard, his mules and muleteers, turned aside +into a skirting way that would bring him to a town +visible at no great distance. Left alone, Ian viewed +from a hilltop the roofs of this place, with a tower +or two starting up like warning fingers. But his +road led on through a mountain pass.</p> + +<p>The earth itself seemed to be climbing. The +mountain shapes, little and big, gathered in herds. +Cliffs, ravines, the hoarse song of water, the faces +of few human folk, and on these written "Mountains, +mountains! Live as we can! Catch who catch +can!" After a time the road was deprived of even +these faces. The Scot thought of home mountains. +He thought of the Highlands. Above him and at +some distance to the right appeared a distribution +of cliffs that reminded him of that hiding-place +after Culloden. He looked to see the birchwood, +the wheeling eagle. The sun was at noon. Riding +in a solitude, he almost dozed in the warm light. +The Highlands and the eagle wheeling above the +crag.... Black Hill and Glenfernie and White Farm +and Alexander.... Life generally, and all the funny +little figures running full tilt, one against another....</p> + +<p>His horse sprang violently aside, then stood trembling. +Forms, some ragged, some attired with a violent +picturesqueness, had started from without a +fissure in the wood and from behind a huge wayside +rock. Ian knew them at a glance for those brigands +of whom he had heard mention and warning enough. +Don Fernando had once described their practices.</p> + +<p>Resistance was idle. He chose instead a genial +<a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a>patience for his tower, and within it keen wits to +keep watch. With his horse he was taken by the +fierce, bedizened dozen up a gorge to so complete +and secure a robber hold that Nature, when she +made it, must have been in robber mood. Here +were found yet others of the band, with a bedecked +and mustached chief. He was aware that property, +not life, answered to their desires. His horse, his +fine cloak, his weapons, the small mail and its contents, +with any article of his actual wearing they +might fancy, and the little, little, little money within +his purse—all would be taken. All in the luck! +To-day to thee, to-morrow to me. What puzzled +him was that evidently more was expected.</p> + +<p>When they condescended to direct speech he +could understand their language well enough. Nor +did they indulge in over-brutal handling; they +kept a measure and reminded him sufficiently of old +England's own highwaymen. Of course, like old +England's own, they would become atrocious if they +thought that circumstances indicated it. But they +did not seem inclined to go out of their way to be +murderous or tormenting. The only sensible course +was to take things good-naturedly and as all in the +song! The worst that might happen would be that +he must proceed to France afoot, without a penny, +lacking weapons, Don Fernando's cloak—all things, +in short, but the bare clothing he stood in. To make +loss as small as possible there were in order suavity, +coolness, even gaiety!</p> + +<p>And still appeared the perplexing something he +could not resolve. The over-fine cloak, the horse +now in good condition, might have something to +<a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a>do with it, contrasting as they certainly did with +the purse in the last stages of emaciation. And +there seemed a studying of his general appearance, +of his features, even. Two men in especial appeared +detailed to do this. At last his ear caught +the word "ransom."</p> + +<p>Now there was nobody in Spain knowing enough +or caring enough of or for Ian Rullock to entertain +the idea of parting with gold pieces in order to save +his life. Don Fernando might be glad to see him +live, but certainly had not the gold pieces! Moreover, +it presently leaked fantastically out that the +bandits expected a large ransom. He began to suspect +a mistake in identity. That assumption, increasing +in weight, became certainty. They looked +him all around, they compared notes, they regarded +the fine cloak, the refreshed steed. "English, señor, +English?"</p> + +<p>"Scots. You do not understand that? Cousin +to English."</p> + +<p>"English. We had word of your traveling—with +plenty of gold."</p> + +<p>"It is a world of mistakes. I travel, but I have +no gold."</p> + +<p>"It is a usual lack of memory of the truth. We +find it often. You are traveling with escort—with +another of your nation, your brother, we suppose. +There are servants. You are rich. For some great +freak you leave all in the town down there and ride +on alone. Foreigners often act like madmen. +Perhaps you meant to return to the town. Perhaps +to wait for them in the inn below the pass. You +have not gold in your purse because there is bounti<a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a>ful +gold just behind you. Why hurt the beautiful +truth? Sancho and Pedro here were in the inn-yard +last night."</p> + +<p>Sancho's hoarse voice emerged from the generality. +"It was dusk, but we saw you plainly enough, we +are sure, señor! In your fine cloak, speaking English, +discussing with a big tall man who rode in +with you and sat down to supper with you and was +of your rank and evidently, we think, your brother +or close kinsman!"</p> + +<p>The chief nodded. "It is to him that we apply +for your ransom. You, señor, shall write the letter, +and Sancho and Pedro shall carry it down. It +will be placed, without danger to us, in your brother's +hand. We have our ways.... Then, in turn, your +brother shall ride forth, with a single companion, +from the town, and in a clear space that we shall indicate, +put the ransom beneath a certain rock, turning +his horse at once and returning the way he came. +If the gold is put there, as much as we ask, and +according to our conditions, you shall go free as a +bird, señor, though perhaps with as little luggage +as a bird. If we do not receive the ransom—why, +then, the life of a bird is a little thing! We shall +put you to death."</p> + +<p>Ian combated the profound mistake. What was +the use? They did not expect him to speak truth, +but they were convinced that they had the truth +themselves. At last it came, on his part, to a +titanic whimsicalness of assent. At least, assenting, +he would not die in the immediate hour! Stubbornly +refuse to do their bidding, and his thread of life +would be cut here and now.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a>"All events grow to seem unintelligible masks! +So why quarrel with one mask more? Pen, ink, +and paper?"</p> + +<p>All were produced.</p> + +<p>"I must write in English?"</p> + +<p>"That is understood, señor. Now this—and +this—is what you are to write in English."</p> + +<p>The captive made a correct guess that not more +than one or two of the captors could read Spanish, +and none at all English.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, señor," said the chief, "you will +know that if the gold is not put in that place and +after that fashion that I tell you, we shall let you +die, and that not easily! So we think that you will +not make English mistakes any more than Spanish +ones."</p> + +<p>Ian nodded. He wrote the letter. Sancho put +it in his bosom and with Pedro disappeared from +the dark ravine. The situation relaxed.</p> + +<p>"You shall eat, drink, sleep, and be entirely comfortable, +señor, until they return. If they bring +the gold you shall pursue your road at your pleasure +even with a piece for yourself, for we are nothing +if not generous! If they do not bring it, why, then, +of course—!"</p> + +<p>Ian had long been bedfellow of wild adventure. +He thought that he knew the mood in which it was +best met. The mood represented the grist of much +subtle effort, comparing, adjustment, and readjustment. +He cultivated it now. The banditti admired +courage, coolness, and good humor. They had provision +of food and wine, the sun still shone warm. +The robber hold was set amid dark, gipsy beauty.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a>The sun went down, the moon came up. Ian, +lying upon shaggy skins, knew well that to-morrow +night—the night after at most—he might not see +the sun descend, the moon arise. What then?</p> + +<p>Alexander Jardine, sailing from Scotland, came +to Lisbon a month after Ian Rullock. He knew the +name of the ship that had carried the fugitive, and +fortune had it that she was yet in this port, waiting +for her return lading. He found the captain, +learned that Ian had transhipped north to Vigo. He +followed. At Vigo he picked up a further trace and +began again to follow. He followed across Spain on +the long road to France. He had money, horses, +servants when he needed them, skill in travel, a tireless, +great frame, a consuming purpose. He made +mistakes in roads and rectified them; followed +false clues, then turned squarely from them and +obtained another leading. He squandered upon +the great task of dogging Ian, facing Ian, showing +Ian, again and again showing Ian, the wrong that +had been done, patience, wealth of kinds, a discovering +and prophetic imagination. He traveled until +at last here was the earth, climbing, climbing, and +before him the forested slopes, the mountain walls, +the great partition between Spain and France. An +eagle would fly over it, and another eagle would follow +him, for a nest had been robbed and a friendship +destroyed!</p> + +<p>As the mountains enlarged he fell in with an Englishman +of rank, a nobleman given to the study of +literature and peoples, amateur on the way to connoisseurship, +and now traveling in Spain. He journeyed +<i>en prince</i> with his secretary and his physician, +<a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a>servants and pack-horses, and, in addition, for at +least this part of Spain, an armed escort furnished +by the authorities, at his proper cost, against just +those banditti dangers that haunted this strip of +the globe. This noble found in the laird of Glenfernie +a chance-met gentleman worth cultivating +and detaining at his side as long as might be. They +had been together three or four days when at eve +they came to the largest inn of a town set at a short +distance from the mountain pass through which +ran their further road. Here, at dusk, they dismounted +in the inn-yard, about them a staring, +commenting crowd. Presently they went to supper +together. The Englishman meant to tarry a while +in this town to observe certain antiquities. He +might stay a week. He urged that his companion +of the last few days stay as well. But the laird of +Glenfernie could not.</p> + +<p>"I have an errand, you see. I am to find something. +I must go on."</p> + +<p>"Two days, then. You say yourself that your +horses need rest."</p> + +<p>"They do.... I will stay two days."</p> + +<p>But when morning came the secretary and the +physician alone appeared at table. The nobleman +lay abed with a touch of fever. The physician reported +that the trouble was slight—fatigue and a +chill taken. A couple of days' repose and his lordship +would be himself again.</p> + +<p>Glenfernie walked through the town. Returning +to the inn, he found that the Englishman had +asked for him. For an hour or two he talked or +listened, sitting by the nobleman's bed. Leaving +<a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a>him at last, he went below to the inn's great room, +half open to the courtyard and all the come and go +of the place. It was late afternoon. He sat by a +table placed before the window, and the river +seemed to flow by him, and now he looked at it +from a rocky island, and now he looked elsewhere. +The room grew ruddy from the setting sun. An +inn servant entered and busied himself about the +place. After him came an aged woman, half gipsy, +it seemed. She approached the seat by the window. +Her worn mantle, her wide sleeve, seemed to touch +the deep stone sill. She was gone like a moth. +Glenfernie's eye discovered a folded paper lying in +the window. It had not been there five minutes +earlier. Now it lay before him like a sudden outgrowth +from the stone. He put out a hand and +took it up. The woman was gone, the serving-man +was gone. Outside flowed the river. Alexander unfolded +the paper. It was addressed to <i>Señor Nobody</i>. +It lay upon his knee, and it was Ian's hand. His +lips moved, his vision blurred. Then came steadiness +and he read.</p> + +<p>What he read was a statement, at once tense +and whimsical, of the predicament of the writer. +The latter, recognizing the confusion of thought +among his captors, wrote because he must, but did +not truly expect any aid from Señor Nobody. The +writing would, however, prolong life for two days, +perhaps for three. If at the end of that time ransom +were not forthcoming death would forthcome. +Release would follow ransom. But Señor Nobody +truly could not be expected to take interest! Most +conceivably the stranger's lot must remain the +<a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a>stranger's lot. In that case pardon for the annoyance! +If, miraculously, the bearer did find +Señor Nobody—if Señor Nobody read this letter—if +strangers were not strangers to Señor Nobody—if +gold and mercy lay alike in Señor Nobody's keeping—then +so and so must be done. Followed three or +four lines of explicit directions. Did all the above +come about, then truly would the undersigned, living, +and pursuing his journey into France, and +making return to Señor Nobody when he might, +rest the latter's slave! Followed the signature, +<i>Ian Rullock</i>.</p> + +<p>Alexander sat by the window, in the rocky island, +and the Spanish river flowed by. It was dusk. +Then came lights, and the English secretary and +physician, with servants to lay the table and bring +supper. Glenfernie ate and drank with the two +men. His lordship was reported better, would +doubtless be up to-morrow. The talk fell upon +Greece, to which country the nobleman was, in the +end, bound. Greek art, Greek literature, Greek +myth. Here the secretary proved scholar and enthusiast, +a liker especially of the byways of myth. +He and Alexander voyaged here and there among +them. "And you remember, too," said the secretary, +"the Cranes of Ibycus—"</p> + +<p>They rose at last from table. Secretary and +physician must return to their patron. "I am +going to hunt bed and sleep," said Glenfernie. +"To-morrow, if his lordship is recovered, we'll go +see that church."</p> + +<p>In the rude, small bedchamber he found his Spanish +servant. Presently he would dismiss him, but +<a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a>first, "Tell me, Gil, of the banditti in these mountains."</p> + +<p>Gil told. The foreigner who employed him asked +questions, referred intelligently from answer to +answer, and at last had in hand a compact body of +information. He bade Gil good night. Ways of +banditti in any age or place were much the same!</p> + +<p>The room was small, with a rude and narrow bed. +There was a window, small, too, but open to the +night. Pouring through this there entered a vagrant +procession of sound, with, in the interstices, a silence +that had its own voice. As the night deepened the +procession thinned, at last died away.</p> + +<p>When he undressed he had taken the letter to +Señor Nobody and put it upon the table. Now, +lying still and straight upon the bed in the dark +room, there seemed a blacker darkness where it lay, +four feet from him, a little above the level of his +eyes. There it was, a square, a cube, of Egyptian +night, hard, fierce, black, impenetrable.</p> + +<p>For a long time he kept a fixed gaze upon it. Beyond +and above it glimmered the window. The +larger square at last drew his eyes. He lay another +long while, very still, with the window before him. +Lying so, thought at last grew quiet, hushed, subdued. +Very quietly, very sweetly, like one long +gone, loved in the past, returning home, there +slipped into view, borne upon the stream of consciousness, +an old mood of stillness, repose, dawn-light +by which the underneath of things was seen. +Once it had come not infrequently, then blackness +and hardness had whelmed it and it came no more. +He had almost forgotten the feel of it.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a>Presently it would go.... It did so, finding at this +time a climate in which it could not long live. But +it was powerfully a modifier.... Glenfernie, dropping +his eyes from the window, found the square that +was the letter, a square of iron gray.</p> + +<p>A part of the night he lay still upon the narrow +bed, a part he spent in slow walking up and down the +narrow room, a part he stood motionless by the +window. The dawn was faintly in the sky when +at last he took from beneath the pillow his purse +and a belt filled with gold pieces and sat down to +count them over and compare the total with the +figures upon a piece of paper. This done, he dressed, +the light now gray around him. The letter to Señor +Nobody lay yet upon the table. At last, dressed, +he took it up and put it in the purse with the gold. +Leaving the room, he waked his servant where he +lay and gave him directions. A faint yellow light +gleamed in the lowest east.</p> + +<p>He waited an hour, then went to the room where +slept the secretary and the physician. They were +both up and dressing. The physician had been to +his patron's room. "Yes, his lordship was better—was +awake—meant after a while to rise." Glenfernie +would send in a request. Something had occurred +which made him very desirous to see his +lordship. If he might have a few minutes—? +The secretary agreed to make the inquiry, went and +returned with the desired invitation. Glenfernie +followed him to the nobleman's chamber and was +greeted with geniality. Seated by the Englishman's +bed, he made his explanation and request. He had +so much gold with him—he showed the contents +<a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a>of the belt and purse—and he had funds with an +agent in Paris and again funds in Amsterdam. +Here were letters of indication. With a total unexpectedness +there had come to him in this town +a call that he could not ignore. He could not explain +the nature of it, but a man of honor would feel +it imperative. But it would take nicely all his gold +and so many pieces besides. He asked the loan of +these, together with an additional amount sufficient +to bring him through to Paris. Once there he could +make repayment. In the mean time his personal +note and word—The Englishman made no trouble +at all.</p> + +<p>"I'll take your countenance and bearing, Mr. +Jardine. But I'll make condition that we do travel +together, after all, as far, at least, as Tours, where +I mean to stop awhile."</p> + +<p>"I agree to that," said Glenfernie.</p> + +<p>The secretary counted out for him the needed +gold. In the narrow room in which he had slept +he put this with his own in a bag. He put with it +no writing. There was nothing but the bare gold. +Carrying it with him, he went out to find the horses +saddled and waiting. With Gil behind him, he went +from the inn and out of the town. The letter to +Señor Nobody had given explicit enough direction. +Clear of all buildings, he drew rein and took bearings. +Here was the stream, the stump of a burned mill, +the mountain-going road, narrower and rougher +than the way of main travel. He followed this +road; the horses fell into a plodding deliberateness +of pace. The sunshine streamed warm around, but +there was little human life here to feel its rays. +<a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a>After a time there came emergence into a bare, +houseless, almost treeless plain or plateau. The +narrow, little-traveled road went on upon the edge +of this, but a bridle-path led into and across the +bareness. Alexander followed it. Before him, +across the waste, sprang cliffs with forest at their +feet. But the waste was wide, and in the sun +they showed like nothing more than a burnished, +distant wall. His path would turn before he reached +them. The plain's name might have been Solitariness. +It lay naked of anything more than small +scattered stones and bushes. There upgrew before +him the tree to which he was bound. A solitary, +twisted oak it shot out of the plain, its protruding +roots holding stones in their grasp. Around was +shelterless and bare, but the heightening wall of cliff +seemed to be watching. Alexander rode nearer, +dismounted, left Gil with the two horses, and, the +bag of gold in his hand, walked to the tree. Here +was the stone shaped like a closed hand. He put +the ransom between the stone fingers and the stone +palm. There was no word with it. Señor Nobody +had no name. He turned and strode back to the +horses, mounted, and with Gil rode from the naked, +sunny plain.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + + +<p>The Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle lay a year in the +future. Yet in Paris, under certain conditions +and auspices, Scot or Englishman might dwell in +security enough. The Jacobite remnant, foe to the +British government, found France its best harbor. +A quietly moving Scots laird, not Jacobite, yet +might be lumped by the generality with those forfeited +Scots gentlemen who, having lost all in a +cause urged and supported by France, now, without +scruple, took from King Louis a pension that put +food in their mouths, coats on their backs, roofs +over their heads. Alexander Jardine, knowing the +city, finding quiet lodgings in a quiet street, established +himself in Paris. It was winter now, cold, +bright weather.</p> + +<p>In old days he had possessed not a few acquaintances +in this city. A circle of thinkers, +writers, painters, had powerfully attracted him. +Circumstances brought him now again into relation +with one or two of this group. He did not seek +them as formerly he had done. But neither could +he be said to avoid companionship when it came +his way. It was not his wish to become singular +or solitary. But he was much alone, and while he +waited for Ian he wandered in the rich Paris of old, +<a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a>packed life. Street and Seine-side and market knew +him; he stood in churches, and before old altarpieces +smoked by candles. Booksellers remarked +him. Where he might he heard music; sometimes +he would go to the play. He carried books to his +lodging. He sat late at night over volumes new +and old. The lamp burned dim, the fire sank; +he put aside reading and knowledge gained through +reading, and sat, sunk deep into a dim desert within +himself; at last got to bed and fell to sleep and to +dreams that fatigued, that took him nowhere. +When the next day was here he wandered again +through the streets.</p> + +<p>One of his old acquaintances he saw oftener than +he did others. This was a scholar, a writer, an +encyclopedist of to-morrow who liked the big Scot +and to be in his company. One day, chance met, +they leaned together upon the parapet of a bridge, +and watched the crossing throng. "One's own +particles in transit! Can you grasp that, Deschamps?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard it advanced. No. It is hard to +hold."</p> + +<p>"It is like a mighty serpent. You would think +you had it and then it is gone.... If one could hold +it it would transform the world."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it would. At what are you staring?"</p> + +<p>"The serpent is gone. I thought that I saw one +whom I do not hold to be art and part with me." +He gazed after a crossing horseman. "No! There +was merely a trick of him. It is some other."</p> + +<p>"The man for whom you are waiting?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a>Deschamps returned to the subject of a moment +before. "It is likely that language bewrays much +more than we think it does. I say 'the man.' +You echo it. And I am 'man.' And you are 'man.' +'Man'—'Man'! Every instant it is said. Yet the +identity that we state we never assume!"</p> + +<p>"I said that we could not hold the serpent."</p> + +<p>Ten days afterward he did see Ian. The latter, +after a slow and difficult progress through France, +came afoot into Paris. He sought, and was glad +enough to find, an old acquaintance and sometime +fellow-conspirator—Warburton.</p> + +<p>"Blessed friendship!" he said, and warmed himself +by Warburton's fire. Something within him +winced, and would, if it could, have put forward a +different phrase.</p> + +<p>Warburton poured wine for him. "Now tell your +tale! For months those of us who remained in +Paris have heard nothing but Trojan woes!"</p> + +<p>Ian told. Culloden and after—Edinburgh—Lisbon—Vigo—travel +in Spain—Señor Nobody—</p> + +<p>"That was a curious adventure! And you don't +know the ransomer's name?"</p> + +<p>"Not I! Señor Nobody he rests."</p> + +<p>"Well, and after that?"</p> + +<p>Ian related his wanderings from the Pyrenees up +to Paris. Scotland, Spain, and France, the artist in +him painted pictures for Warburton—painted with +old ableness and abandon, and, Warburton thought, +with a new subtlety. The friend hugged his knees +and enjoyed it like a well-done play. Here was +Rullock's ancient spirit, grown more richly appealing! +Trouble at least had not downed him. Warburton, +<a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a>who in the past year had been thrown in contact +with a number whom it had downed, and who had +suffered depression thereby, felt gratitude to Ian +Rullock for being larger, not smaller, than usual.</p> + +<p>At last, the fire still burning, Ian warmed and refreshed, +they wheeled from retrospect into the present. +Warburton revealed how thoroughly shattered +were Stewart hopes.</p> + +<p>"I begin to see, Rullock, that we've simply passed +those things by. We can't go back to that state +of mind and affairs."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go back."</p> + +<p>"I like to hear you say that. I hear so much +whining the other way! Well, as a movement it's +over.... And the dead are dead, and the scarred +and impoverished will have to pick themselves up."</p> + +<p>"Quite so. Is there any immediate helping hand?"</p> + +<p>"King Louis gives a pension. It's not much, but +it keeps one from starving. And as for you, I've in +keeping a packet for you from England. It reached +me through Goodworth, the India merchant. I've +a notion that your family will manage to put in +your hand some annual amount. Of course your +own fortune is sequestered and you can return +neither to England nor to Scotland."</p> + +<p>"My aunt may have had faith that I was living. +She would do all that she could to help.... No, I'll +not go back."</p> + +<p>"Your chance would lie in some post here. Take +up old acquaintances where they have power, and +recommend yourself to new ones with power. +Great ladies in especial," said Warburton.</p> + +<p>"We haven't passed that by?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a>"Not yet, Rullock, not yet!"</p> + +<p>Ian dreamed over the fire. At last he stretched +his arms. "Let us go sleep, Warburton! I have +come miles...."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is late. Oh, one thing more! Alexander +Jardine is in Paris."</p> + +<p>"Alexander!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what he is doing here. In with +the writing, studying crew, I suppose. I came +upon him by accident, near the Sorbonne. He did +not see me and I did not speak."</p> + +<p>"I'll not avoid him!"</p> + +<p>"I remember your telling me that you had quarreled. +That was the eve of your leaving Paris in +the springtime, before the Prince went to Scotland. +You haven't made it up?"</p> + +<p>"No. I suppose we'll never make it up."</p> + +<p>"What was it over?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you that.... It had a double thread. +Did he come to Paris, I wonder, because he guessed +that I would bring up here?" He rose and stood +staring down into the fire. "I think that he did +so. Well, if he means to follow me through the +world, let him follow! And now no more to-night, +Warburton! I want sleep—sleep—sleep!"</p> + +<p>The next day and the next and the next began +a new French life. He had luck, or he had the +large momentum of a personality not negligible, an +orb covered with a fine network of enchanter's +symbols. The packet from England held money, +with an engagement to forward a like sum twice +a year. It was not a great sum, but such as it was +he did not in the least scorn it. It had come, after +<a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a>all, from Archibald Touris—but Ian knew the influence +behind that.</p> + +<p>Warburton presented his name to the Minister +who dispensed King Louis's fund for Scots gentlemen +concerned in the late attempt, losers of all, and +now destitute in France. So much would come out +of that! The two together waited upon monseigneur +in whose coach they had once crossed the Seine. +He had blood ties with Stewart kings of yesterday, +and in addition to that evidenced a queer, romantic +fondness for lost causes, and a willingness to ferry +across rivers those who had been engaged in them. +Now he displayed toward the Englishman and the +Scot a kind of eery, distant graciousness. Ah yes! +he would speak here and there of Monsieur Ian +Rullock—he would speak to the King. If there +were things going <i>ces messieurs</i> might as well have +some good of them! Out of old acquaintances in +Paris Ian gathered not a few who were in position +to further new fortunes. Some of these were men +and some were women. He took a lodging, neither +so good nor so bad. Warburton found him a servant. +He obtained fine clothes, necessary working-garb +where one pushed one's fortune among fine +folk. The more uncertain and hazardous looked his +fortunes the more he walked and spoke as though +he were a golden favorite of the woman with the +wheel.</p> + +<p>All this moved rapidly. He had not been in Paris +a week ere again, as many times before, he had the +stage all set for Success to walk forth upon it! But +it had come December—December—December, and +he looked forward to that month's passing.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a>He had not seen Alexander. Then, in the middle +of the month he found himself one evening in a +peacock cluster of fine folk, at the theater—a famous +actress to be viewed in a comedy grown the rage. +The play was nearly over when he saw Alexander +in the pit, turned from the stage, gazing steadily +upon him. Ian placed himself where he might +still see him, and returned the gaze.</p> + +<p>Going out when the play was over, the two met +face to face in the lighted space between the doors. +Each was in company of others—Ian with a courtier, +decked and somewhat loudly laughing group, Glenfernie +with a painter of landscape, Deschamps, and +an Oriental, member of some mission to the West. +Meeting so, they stopped short. Their nostrils +dilated, there seemed to come a stirring over their +bodies. Inwardly they felt a painful constriction, +a contraction to something hard, intent, and fanged. +This was the more strongly felt by Alexander, but +Ian felt it, too. Did Glenfernie mean to dog him +through life—think that he would be let to do so? +Alone in a forest, very far back, they might, at this +point, have flown at each other's throat. But they +had felled many forests since the day when just +that was possible.... The thing conventionally in +order for such a moment as the present was to act +as though that annihilation which each wished upon +the other had been achieved. All that they had +shared since the day when first they met, boys on a +heath in Scotland, should be instantaneously blotted +out. Two strangers, jostled face to face in a playhouse, +should turn without sign that there had +ever been that heath. So, symbolically, annihila<a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a>tion +might be secured! For a moment each sought +for the blank eyes, the unmoved stone face.</p> + +<p>As from a compartment above sifted down a dry +light with great power of lighting. It came into +Alexander's mind, into that, too, of Ian.... How +absurd was the human animal! All this saying the +opposite left the truth intact. They were not +strangers, each was quite securely seated in the +other. Self-annihilation—self-oblivion!... All +these farcical high horses!... Men went to see +comedies and did not see their own comedy.</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie and Ian Rullock each very +slightly and coldly acknowledged the other's presence. +No words passed. But the slow amenity of +life bent by a fraction the head of each, just parted +the lips of each. Then Alexander turned with an +abrupt movement of his great body and with his +companions was swallowed by the crowd.</p> + +<p>On his bed that night, lying straight with his +hands upon his breast, he had for the space of one +deep breath an overmastering sense of the suaveness +of reality. Crudity, angularity, harshness, +seemed to vanish, to dissolve. He knew dry beds +of ancient torrents that were a long and somewhat +wide wilderness of mere broken rock, stone piece +by stone piece, and only the more jagged edges lost +and only the surface worn by the action, through +ages, of water. It was as though such a bed grew +beneath his eyes meadow smooth—smoother than +that—smooth as air, air that lost nothing by yielding—smooth +as ether that, yielding all, yielded +nothing.... The moment went, but left its memory. +As the moment was large so was its memory.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a>He fought against it with tribes of memories, +lower and dwarfish, but myriads strong. The bells +from some convent rang, the December stars blazed +beyond his window, he put out his arms to the +December cold.</p> + +<p>Ian, despite that moment in the playhouse, looked +for the arrival of a second challenge from Glenfernie. +For an instant it might be that they had seen that +things couldn't be so separate, after all! That there +was, as it were, some universal cement. But instants +passed, and, indubitably, the world was a +broken field! Enmity still existed, full-veined. It +would be like this Alexander, who had overshot +another Alexander, to send challenge after challenge, +never to rest satisfied with one crossing of weapons, +with blood drawn once! Or if there was no challenge, +no formal duel, still there would be duel. +He would pursue—he would cry, "Turn!"—there +would be perpetuity of encounter. To the world's +end there was to be the face of menace, of old reproach—the +arrows dropped of pain of many sorts. +"In short, vengeance," said Ian. "Vengeance deep +as China! When he used to deny himself revenge +in small things it was all piling up for this!... What +I did slipped the leash for him! Well, aren't we +evened?"</p> + +<p>What he looked for came, brought by Deschamps. +The two met in a field outside Paris, with seconds, +with all the conventionally correct paraphernalia. +The setting differed from that of their lonely fight +on a Highland mountain-side. But again Ian, still +the better swordsman, wounded Alexander. This +time he gave—willed perhaps to give—a slight hurt.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a>"That is nothing!" said Glenfernie. "Continue—" +But the seconds, coming between them, would not +have it so. It was understood that their principals +had met before, and upon the same count. Blood +had been drawn. It was France—and mere ugly +tooth-and-claw business not in favor. Blood had +flowed—now part!</p> + +<p>"'Must' drives then to-day," said Alexander. +"But it is December still, Ian Rullock!"</p> + +<p>"Turn the world so, if you will, Glenfernie!" +answered the other. "And yet there is June somewhere!"</p> + +<p>They left the field. Alexander, going home in a +hired coach with Deschamps, sat in silence, looking +out of the window. His arm was bandaged and +held in a sling.</p> + +<p>"They breed determined foes in Scotland," said +Deschamps.</p> + +<p>"That Scotland is in me," Glenfernie answered. +"That Scotland and that December."</p> + +<p>Three days later he wandered alone in Paris, +came at last to old stone steps leading down to the +river, in an unpopulous quarter. A few boats lay +fastened to piles, but the landing-place hung deserted +in the winter sunlight. There lacked not a +week of Christmas. But the season had been mild. +To-day was not cold, and stiller than still. Glenfernie, +his cloak about him, sat upon the river steps +and watched the stream. It went by, and still it +stood there before him. It came from afar, and it +went to afar, and still it shone where his hand +might touch it. It turned like a wheel, from the +gulf to the height and around again. He followed +<a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a>its round—ocean and climbing vapor, cloud, rain, +and far mountain springs, descent and the mother +sea. The mind, expanding, ceased to examine +radius by radius, but held the whole wheel. Alexander +sat in inner quiet, forgetting December.</p> + +<p>Turning from that contemplation, he yet remained +still, looking now at the sunshine on the +steps.... There seemed to reach him, within and +from within, rays of color and fragrance, the soul of +spice pinks, marigolds, and pansies.... Then, +within and from within, Elspeth was with him.</p> + +<p>Dead! She was not dead.... Of all idle words—!</p> + +<p>It was not as a shade—it was not as a memory, +or not as the poor things that were called memory! +But she came in the authority and integrity of herself, +that was also, most dearly, most marvelously, +himself as well—permeative, penetrative, real, a +subtle breath named Elspeth! So subtle, so wide +and deep, elastic, universal, with no horizons that +he could see.... To and fro played the tides of +knowledge.</p> + +<p>Elspeth all along—sunshines and shadows—Elspeth +a wide, living life—not crushed into the two +moments upon which he had brooded—not the +momentary Elspeth who had walked the glen with +him, not the momentary Elspeth lifted from the +Kelpie's Pool, borne in his arms, cold, rigid, drowned, +a long, long way! But Elspeth, integral, vibrant, +living—Elspeth of centillions of moments—Elspeth +a beautiful power moving strongly in abundant +space....</p> + +<p>His form stayed moveless upon the river steps +while the wave of realization played.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a>The experience linked itself with that of the +other night when the stony bed of existence, broken, +harsh, irregular, had suddenly dissolved into connections +myriad wide, deep, and fine.... He had +prated with philosophers of oneness. Then what +he had prated of had been true! There was a great +difference between talking of and touching truth....</p> + +<p>But he could not hold the touch. The wings +flagged, he fell into the jungle of words. His body +turned upon the steps. The caves and dens of his +being began to echo with cries and counter-cries.</p> + +<p>Hurt? Had she not been hurt at all? But she +<i>was</i> hurt—poisoned, ruined, drawn to death! Had +she long and wide and living power to heal her own +harm? Still was it not there—he would have it +there!</p> + +<p>Ian Rullock! With a long, inward, violent recoil +Alexander shrank into the old caves of himself. All, +the magic web of color and fragrance dwindled, +came to be a willow basket filled with White Farm +flowers placed upon the kirkyard steps.</p> + +<p>Ian Rullock had stolen her—Ian, not Alexander, +had been her lover, kissed her, clasped her, there in +the glen! Ian, the Judas of friendship—thief of a +comrade's bliss—cheat, murderer, mocker, and injurer!</p> + +<p>The wave of oneness fled.</p> + +<p>Glenfernie, looking like the old laird his father, +his cloak wrapped around him, feeling the December +air, left the river steps, wandered away through +Paris.</p> + +<p>But when he was alone with the night he tried to +recover the wave. It had been so wonderful. Even +<a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a>the faint, faint echo, the ghostly afterglow, were exquisite; +were worth more than anything he yet had +owned. He tried to recover the earlier part of the +wave, separating it from the later flood that had +seemed critical of righteous wrath, just punishment. +But it would not come back on those terms.... +But yet he wanted it, wanted it, longed for it even +while he warred against it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + + +<p>That was one December. The year made twelve +steps and here was December again. With it +came to Ian a proffer from the nobleman of the +coach across the Seine. Some ancient business, +whether of soul or sense, carried him to Rome. +Monsieur Ian Rullock—said to be for the moment +banished from a certain paradise—might find it in +his interest to come with him—say as traveling +companion. Ian found it so. Monseigneur was +starting at once. Good! let us start.</p> + +<p>Ian despatched his servant to the lodging known +to be occupied by the laird of Glenfernie. The man +had a note to deliver. Alexander took it and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Glenfernie</span>,—I am quitting Paris with the Duc de ——, +for Rome.—<span class="smcap">Ian Rullock</span>.</p></div> + +<p>The man gone, Alexander put fire to the missive +and burned it, after which he walked up and down, +up and down the wide, bare room. When some +time had passed he came back to chair and table, +inkwell and pen, and a half-written letter. The +quill drove on:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>... None could do better by the estate than you—not I nor +any other. So I beg of you to stay, dear Strickland, who have +stayed by us so long!</p></div> + +<p><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a>There followed a page of business detail—inquiries—expressed +wishes. Glenfernie paused. Before him, +propped against a volume of old lore, stood a small +picture;—Orestes asleep in the grove of the Furies. +He sat leaning back in his chair, regarding it. He +had found it and purchased it months before, and +still he studied it. His eyes fell to the page; he +wrote on:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>You ask no questions, and yet I know that you question. +Well, I will tell you—knowing that you will strain out and give +to others only what should be given.... He has been, and I +have been, in Paris a year. He and I have fought three times—fought, +that is, as men call fighting. Once upon that mountain-side +at home, twice here. Now he is going—and I am +going—to Rome. Shall I fight him again—with metal digged +from the earth, fashioned and sharpened in some red-lighted +shop of the earth? I am not sure that I shall—rather, I think +that I shall not.... Is there ever a place where a kind of growth +does not go on? There is a moonrise in me that tells me that +that fighting is to be scorned. But what shall I do, seeing that he +is my foe?... Ah, I do not know—save haunt him, save bring +and bring again my inner man, to clinch and wrestle with and +throw, if may be, his inner man. And to see that he knows +that I do this—that it tells back upon him—through and +through tells back!... It has been a strange year. Now and +then I am aware of curious far tides, effects from some giant +orb of being. But I go on.... For my daily life in Paris—here +it is, your open page!... You see, I still seek knowledge, for all +your gibe that I sought darkness. And now, as I go to Rome—</p></div> + +<p>He wrote on, changing now to details as to communication, +placing of moneys, and such matters. +At length came references to the last home news, +expressions of trust and affection. He signed his +name, folded, superscribed and sealed the letter, +then sat on, studying the picture before him.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a>Monseigneur, with gold, with fine horses, with an +eery, swooping, steadiness of direction, journeyed fast. +He and his traveling companion reached Rome early +in February. There was a villa, there were attendants, +there was the Frenchman's especial circle, +set with bizarre jewels, princes of the Church, +Italian nobles of his acquaintance, exiles, a charlatan +of immense note, certain ladies. He only asked of +his guest, Monsieur Rullock, that he help him to +entertain the whole chaplet, giving to his residence +in Rome a certain splendid virility.</p> + +<p>February showed skies like sapphire. There +drew on carnival week. Masks and a wildness of +riot—childish, too—</p> + +<p>Ian leaned against the broken base of an ancient +statue, set in the villa garden, at a point that gave +a famous view. Around, the almond-trees were in +bloom. The marble Diana had gazed hence for so +many years, had seen so much that might make the +dewy greenwood forgotten! It was mid-afternoon +and flooding light. Here Rome basked, half-asleep +in a dream of sense; here the ant city worked and +worked.</p> + +<p>Ian stood between tides, behind him a forenoon, +before him an evening of carnival participation. +In the morning he had been with a stream of persons; +presently, with the declining sun, would be +with another. Here was an hour or two of pause, +time of day for rest with half-closed eyes. He looked +over the pale rose wave of the almonds, he saw +Peter's dome and St. Angelo. He was conscious of +a fatigue of his powers, a melancholy that they gave +him no more than they did. "How it is all tinsel +<a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a>and falsetto!... I want a clean, cold, searching wave—desert +and night—not life all choked with wax +tapers and harlequins! I want something.... I +don't know what I want. I only know I haven't +got it!"</p> + +<p>His arm moved upon the base of the statue. He +looked up at the white form with the arrow in its +hands. "Self-containment.... What, goddess, +you would call chastity all around?... All the +spilled self somehow centered. But just that is +difficult—difficult—more difficult than anything +Hercules attempted. Oh me!" He sat down beneath +the cypress that stood behind the statue +and rested his head within his hands. From Rome, +on all sides, broke into the still light trumpets and +bell-ringing, pipes and drums, shout and singing. +It sounded like a thousand giant cicadæ. A group +of masks went through the garden, by the Diana +figure. They threw pine cones and confetti at the +gold-brown foreigner seated there. One wore an +ass's head, another was dressed as a demon with +horns and tail, a third rolled as Bacchus, a fourth, +fifth, and sixth were his mænads. All went wildly +by, the clamor of the city swelled.</p> + +<p>This was first day of carnival. Succeeding days, +succeeding nights, mounted each a stage to heights +of folly. Starred all through was innocent merrymaking, +license held in leash. But the gross, the +whirling, and the sinister elements came continuously +and more strongly into play. Measured sound +grew racket, camaraderie turned into impudence. +Came at last pandemonium. All without Rome—Campagna +and mountains—were in Rome. Peasant +<a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"></a>men and women slept, when they slept, in and beneath +carts and huge wine-wagons camped and +parked in stone forests of imperial ruins. Artisan, +mechanic, and merchant Rome lightened toil and +went upon the hunt for pleasure, dropping servility +in the first ditch. Foreigners, artists, men +from everywhere, roved, gazed, and listened, shared. +The great made displays, some with beauty, some of +a perverted and monstrous taste. The lords of the +Church nodded, looked sleepily or alertly benevolent. +At times all alike turned mere populace. +Courtesans thronged, the robber and the assassin +found their prey. All men and women who might +entertain, ever so coarsely, ever so poorly, were +here at market. Mummers and players, musicians, +dancers, jugglers, gipsies, and fortune-tellers +floated thick as May-flies. Voices, voices, and every +musical instrument—but all set in a certain range, +and that not the deep nor the sweet. So it seemed, +and yet, doubtless, by searching might have been +found the deep and the sweet. Certainly the air of +heaven was sweet, and it went in and between.</p> + +<p>All who might or who chose went masked. So +few did not choose that street and piazza seemed +filled with all orders of being and moments of time. +Terrible, grotesque, fantastic, pleasing, went the +rout, and now the hugest crowd was here and now +it was there, and now there were moments of even +diffusion. At night the lights were in multitude, +and in multitude the flaring and strange decorations. +Day and night swung processions, stood spectacles, +huge symbolic movements and attitudes, grown obscure +and molded to the letter, now mere stage +<a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"></a>effects. Day by day through carnival week the +noise increased, restraint lessened.</p> + +<p>At times Ian was in company with monseigneur +and those who came to the villa; at times he sought +or was sought by others that he knew in Rome, +fared into carnival with them. Much more rarely +he dipped into the swirl alone.</p> + +<p>The saturnalia drew toward its close. Ash +Wednesday, like a great gray-sailed ship, was seen +coming large into port. The noise grew wild, license +general. All available oil must be poured into the +fire of the last day of pleasures. Ian was to have +been with monseigneur's party gathered to view a +pageant lit by torches of wax, then to drink wine, +then, in choice masks, to break in upon a dance of +nymphs, whirl away with black or brown eyes.... +It was the program, but at the last he evaded +it, slipped from the villa, chose solitary going. +Why, he did not know, save that he felt aching +satiety.</p> + +<p>Here in the streets were half-lights, afterglow from +the sunken sun and smoky torches. The latter increased +in number, the oil-lamps, great and small, +were lit, the tapers of various qualities and thicknesses. +Where there were open spaces vast heaps +of seasoned wood now flaming caused processions of +light and shadow among ruins, against old triumphal +arches, against churches and dwellings old, half-old, +and new, lived in, chanted in still, intact and +usable. Above was star-sown night, but Rome lay +under a kobold roof of her own lighting. Noise held +grating sway, mere restless motion enthroned with +her. Worlds of drunken grasshoppers in endless +<a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"></a>scorched plains! The masks seemed now demoniac, +less beauty than ugliness.</p> + +<p>Ian found himself on the Quirinal, in the great +ragged space dominated by the Colossi. Here +burned a bonfire huge enough to make Plutonian +day, and here upon the fringes of that light he encountered +a carnival brawl, and became presently +involved in it. He wore a domino striped black and +silver, and a small black mask, a black hat with +wide brim and a long, curling silver feather. He +was tall, broad-shouldered, noticeable.... The quarrel +had started among unmasked peasants, then had +swooped in a numerous band dressed as ravens. +Light-fingered gentry, inconspicuously clad, aided in +provoking misunderstanding that should shake for +them the orchard trees. A company of wine-bibbers +with monstrous, leering masks, staggering from a +side-street, fell into the whirlpool. With vociferation +and blows the whole pulled here and there, the +original cause of the falling out buried now in a host +of new causes. Ian, caught in an eddy, turned to +make way out of it. A peasant woman, there with +a group from some rock village, received a chance +buffet, so heavy that she cried out, staggered, then, +pushed against in the mêlée, fell upon the earth. +The raven crew threatened trampling. "<i>Jesù +Maria!</i>" she cried, and tried to raise herself, but +could not. Ian, very near her, took a step farther +in and, stooping, lifted her. But now the ravens +chose to fall foul of him. The woman was presently +gone, and her peasant fellows.... He was beating +off a drunken Comus crew, with some of active ill-will. +His dress was rich—he was not Roman, evi<a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"></a>dently—the +surge had foamed and dragged across +from the bonfire and the open place to the dark +mouth of a poor street. Many a thing besides light-hearted +gaieties happened in carnival season.</p> + +<p>He became aware that a friendly person had come +up, was with him beating off raven, gorgon, and +satyr. He saw that this person was very big, and +caught an old, oft-noted trick in the swing of his +arm. To-night, in carnival time, when there was +trouble, it seemed quite natural and with a touch +of home that Old Steadfast should loom forth.</p> + +<p>A clang of music, shouting, and an oncoming array +of lights helped to daunt band of ravens and drunken +masks. A procession of fishermen with nets and +monsters of the sea approached, went by. The +attackers merged in the throng that attended or +followed, went away with innocent shouts and songs. +A second push followed the first, a great crowd of +masks and spectators bound for a piazza through +which was to pass one of the final large pageants. +This wave carried with it Ian and Alexander. On such +a night, where every sea was tumult, one indication, +one propelling touch, was as good as another. The two +went on in company. Alexander was not masked. +Ian was, but that did not to-night hide him from +the other. They came into the flaringly lighted +place. Around stood old ruins, piers, broken arches +and columns, and among these modern houses. For +the better viewing of the spectacle banks of seats +had been built, tier upon tier rising high, propped +against what had been ancient bath or temple. +The crowd surged to these, filling every stretch and +cranny not yet seized upon. There issued that the +<a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"></a>tiers were packed; dark, curving, mounting rows +where foot touched shoulder. The piazza turned +amphitheater.</p> + +<p>Still, in this carnival night, Ian and Alexander +found themselves together. They were sitting side +by side, a third of the way between pavement and +the topmost row. They sat still, broodingly, in a +cloud of things rememberable, no distinct images, +but all their common past, good and bad, and the +progress from one to the other, making as it were +one chord, or a mist of one color. They did not +reason about this momentary oneness, but took it +as it came. It was carnival season.</p> + +<p>Yet the cloud dripped honey, the color was clear +and not unrestful, the chord sweet and resounding.</p> + +<p>The pageant, fantastic, towering, red and purple +lighted, passed by. The throng upon the seats +moved, rose, struck heavily with their feet, going +down the narrow ways. Many torches had been +extinguished, many that were carried had gone on, +following the last triumphal car. Here were semi-darkness, +great noise and confusion—weight, too, +pressing upon ground that long ago had been honeycombed; +where the crypt of a three-hundred-year-old +church touched through an archway old priest +paths beneath a vanished temple, that in turn +gave into a mixed ruin of dungeons and cellars +opening at last to day or night upon a hillside at +some distance from the place of raised benches. +Now, the crowd pressing thickly, the earth crust at +one point trembled, cracked, gave way. Scaffolding +and throng came with groans and cries into a +very cavern. Those that were left above, high on +<a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"></a>narrow, overswaying platforms, with shouts of terror +pushed back from the pit mouth, managed with +accidents, injuries enough, to get to firmer earth. +Then began, among the braver sort, rescue of those +who had gone down with soil and timbers. What +with the darkness and the confused and sunken +ruin, this was difficult enough.</p> + +<p>Ian and Alexander, unhurt, clambered down the +standing part and by the light of congregated and +improvised torches helped in that rescue, and helped +strongly. Many were pinned beneath wood, smothered +by the caving earth. The rent was wide and +in places the ruin afire. Groans, cries, appeals shook +the hearts of the carnival crowd. All would now +have helped, but it was not possible for many. +There must be strength to descend into the pit and +work there.</p> + +<p>A beam pinned a man more than near a creeping +flame. The two Scots beat out that fire. Glenfernie +heaved away the beam, Ian drew out the man, +badly hurt, moaning of wife and child. Glenfernie +lifted him, mounted with him, over heaped debris, +by uncertain ledge and step, until other arms, outstretched, +could take him. Turning back, he took +from Ian a woman's form, lifted it forth. Down +again, the two worked on. Others were with +them, there was made a one-minded ring, folly +forgot.</p> + +<p>At last it seemed that all were rescued. A few +men only moved now in the hollow, peering here and +there. The fire had taken headway; the gulf, it +was evident, would presently be filled with flame. +The heat beat back those at the rim. "Come out! +<a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"></a>Come out, every one!" The rescuers began to +clamber forth.</p> + +<p>Came down a roaring pile of red-lit timbers, with +smoke and sparks. It blocked the way for Alexander +and Ian. Turning, here threatened a pillar +of choking murk, red-tongued. Behind them was +a gaping, narrow archway. Involuntary recoil before +that stinging push of smoke brought them in +under this. They were in a passageway, but when +again they would have made forth and across to +the side of the pit, and so, by climbing, out of it, +they found that they could not. Before them lay +now a mere field of fire, and the blowing air drove +a biting smoke against them.</p> + +<p>"Move back, until this burns itself out! The +earth gave into some kind of underground room. +This is a passage."</p> + +<p>It stretched black behind them. Glenfernie caught +up a thick, arm-long piece of lighted wood that +would answer for brand. They worked through a +long vaulted tunnel, turned at right angles, and came +into what their torch showed to have been an +ancient chapel. In a niche stood a broken statue, +on the wall spread a painting of St. Christopher in +midstream.</p> + +<p>"Shall we go on? There must be a way out of +this maze."</p> + +<p>"If the torch will last us through."</p> + +<p>They passed out of the chapel into a place where +of old the dead had been buried. They moved between +massy pillars, by the shelves of stone where +the bones lay in the dust. It seemed a great enough +hall. At the end of this they discovered an upward-<a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"></a>going +stair, but it was old and broken, and when +they mounted it they found that it ended flat against +thick stone, roof to it, pavement, perhaps, to some +old church. They saw by a difference in the flags +where had been space, the stair opening into the +hollow of the church; but now was only stone, solid +and thick. They struck against it, but it was moveless, +and in the church, if church there were above, +none in the dead night to hear them. They came +down the stair, and through a small, half-blocked +doorway stumbled into a labyrinth of passages and +narrow chambers. They found old pieces of wood—what +had been a wine-cask, what might have had +other uses. They broke these into torch lengths, +lighting one from another as that burned down. +These underways did not seem wholly neglected, +buried, and forgotten. There lacked any total +blocking or demolition, and there was air. But +intricacy and uncertainty reigned.</p> + +<p>The mood of the amphitheater when they had +sat side by side claimed them still. There had been +a reversion or a coming into fresh space where quarrel +faded like a shadow before light. The light was +a golden, hazy one, made up of myriads of sublimed +memories, associations, judgments, conclusions. +Nothing defined emerged from it; it was simply +somewhat golden, somewhat warm light, as from a +sun well under the horizon—a kind of dreamy well-being +as of old Together, unquestioning Acceptance. +Suddenly aroused, each might have cried, "For the +moment—it was for a moment only!" Then, for +the moment, there was return, with addition. It +came like a winged force from the bounds of doing +<a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"></a>or undoing. While it lasted it imposed upon them +quieted minds, withdrew any seeming need for question. +They sought for egress from this place where +their bodies moved, explanation of this material +labyrinth. But they did not seek explanation of +this mood, fallen among pride and anger, wrong and +revenge. It came from at large, with the power of +largeness. They were back, "for the moment," in +a simplicity of ancient, firm companionship.</p> + +<p>They spoke scarcely at all. It had been a habit +of old, in their much adventuring together, to do so +in long silences. Alexander had set the pace there, +Ian learning to follow.... It was as if this were an +adventure of, say, five years ago, and it was as if it +were a dream adventure. Or it was as if some part +of themselves, quietly and with a hidden will separating +itself, had sailed away from the huge storm +and cloud and red lightnings.... What they did say +had wholly and only to do with immediate exigencies. +Behind, in pure feeling, was the unity.</p> + +<p>Down in this underground place the air began to +come more freshly.</p> + +<p>"Look at the flame," said Ian. "It is bending."</p> + +<p>They had left behind rooms and passages lined +with unbroken masonry. Here were newer chambers +and excavations, softer walled.</p> + +<p>"They have been opening from this side. That +was dug not so long ago."</p> + +<p>Another minute and they came into a ragged, +cavern-like space filled with fresh night air. Presently +they were forth upon a low hillside, and at +their feet Tiber mirrored the stars. Rome lay +around. The carnival lights yet flared, the carnival +<a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"></a>noise beat, beat. This was a deserted strip, an islet +between restless seas.</p> + +<p>Ian and Alexander stood upon trodden earth and +grass, about them the yet encumbering ruins of an +ancient building, pillars and architraves and capitals, +broken friezes and headless caryatids. Here +was the river, here the ancient street. They +breathed in the air, they looked at the sky, but then +at Rome. Somewhere a trumpet was fiercely crying. +Like an impatient hand, like a spurred foot, +it tore the magician's fabric of the past few hours.</p> + +<p>Ian laughed. "We had best rub our eyes!" To +the fine hearing there was a catch of the breath, +a small dancing hope in his laughter. "<i>Or, Glenfernie, +shall we dream on?</i>"</p> + +<p>But the other opened his eyes upon things like +the Kelpie's Pool and the old room in the keep +where a figure like himself read letters that lied. +He saw in many places a figure like himself, injured +and fooled, stuck full of poisoned arrows. +The figure grew as he watched it, until it overloomed +him, until he was passionately its partisan. He +said no word, but he flung the smoking torch yet +held in hand among the ruins, and, leaving Ian and +his black and silver, plunged down the slope to the +old, old street along which now poured a wave +of carnival.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie lay in the flowering +grass, beneath a pine-tree, rising lonely from the +Roman Campagna. The grass flowed for miles, +a multitudinous green speculating upon other colors, +here and there clearly donning a gold, an amethyst, +a blue. The pine-tree looked afar to other pine-trees. +Each seemed solitary. Yet all had the oneness +of the great stage, and if it could comprehend +the stage might swim with its little solitariness into a +wider uniqueness. In the distance lay Rome. He +could see St. Peter's dome. But around streamed +the ocean of grass and the ocean of air. Lifted from +the one, bathed in the other, strewed afar, appeared the +wreckage of an older Rome. There was no moving +in Rome or its Campagna without moving among +time-cleansed bones and vestiges. Rome and its +Campagna were like Sargasso Seas and held the +hulks of what had been great galleons. The air +swam above endless grass, endless minute flowers. +In long perspective traveled the arches of an Aqueduct.</p> + +<p>He lay in the shadow of a broken tomb. It was +midspring. The bland stillness of this world was +grateful to him, after long inner storm. He lay +motionless, not far from the skirts of Contemplation.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"></a>The long line of the Aqueduct, arch after arch, +succession fixed, sequence which the gaze made +unitary, toled on his thought. He was regarding +span after span of imagery held together, a very +wide and deep landscape of numerous sequences, +more planes than one. He was seeing, around the +cells, the shadowy force lines of the organ, around +the organ the luminous mist of the organism. He +passed calmly from one great landscape to another.</p> + +<p>Rome. To-day and yesterday and the day before, +and to-morrow. The "to-morrow" put in the +life, guaranteeing an endless present, endless breathing. +He saw Rome the giant, the stone and earth +of her, the vast animal life of her, the vast passional, +the mental clutch and hammer-blow. The spiritual +Rome? He sought it—it must be there. At last, +among the far arches, it rose, a light, a leaven, an +ether.... Rome.</p> + +<p>If there were boundaries in this ocean of air +they were gauze-thin and floating. He looked here +and there, into landscapes Rome led to. Like and +like, and synthesis of syntheses! Images, finding +that of which they were images, lost their grotesqueness +or meaninglessness of line, their quality of +caricature, lost unripeness, lost the dull annoy of +riddles never meant to be answered.... He had a +great fund of images, material so full that it must +begin to build higher. Building higher meant arrival +in a fluid world where all aggregates were +penetrable.</p> + +<p>He lay still among the grasses, and it was as though +he lay also amid the wide, simple, first growths of +a larger, more potent living. Now and again, +<a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></a>through years, he had been aware of approaches, +always momentary, to this condition, to a country +that lay behind time and space, cause and effect, +as he ordinarily knew them. The lightning went—but +always left something transforming. And then +for three years all gleams stopped, a leaden wall +that they could not pierce rearing itself.</p> + +<p>Latterly they had begun to return.... The proud +will might rise against them, but they came. Then +it must be so, he would have said of another, that the +will was divided. Part of it must still have kept +its seat before the door whence the lights came, +stayed there with its face in its hands, waiting its +season. And a part that had said no must be +coming to say yes, going and taking its place beside +the other by the door. And together they were +strong enough to bring the gleaming back, watching +the propitious moment. But still there was the +opposed will, and it was strong.... When the light +came it sought out old traces of itself, and these became +revivified. Then all joined together to make +a flood against the abundant darkness. A day like +this joined itself through likeness to others on the +other side of the three years, and also to moments +of the months just passed and passing. Union +was made with a sleepless night in an inn of Spain, +with the hours after his encounter with Ian in the +Paris theater, with that time he sat upon the river +steps and saw that the dead were living and the +prisoners free, with the hour in the amphitheater +and after, in carnival.</p> + +<p>He saw and heard, felt and tasted, life in greater +lengths and breadths. He comprehended more of +<a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></a>the pattern. The tones and semi-tones fell into the +long scale. Such moments brought always elevation, +deep satisfaction.... More of the will particles +traveled from below to the center by the door.</p> + +<p>The soul turned the mind and directed it upon +Alexander Jardine's own history. It spread like a +landscape, like a continent viewed from the air, +and here it sang with attainment and here it had +not attained; and here it was light, and here there +were darknesses; right-doing here and wrong-doing +there and every shade between. He saw that there +was right- and wrong-doing quite outside of conventional +standards.</p> + +<p>Where were frontiers? The edges of the continent +were merely spectral. Where did others end and +he begin, or he end and others begin? He saw that +his history was very wide and very deep and very +high. Through him faintly, by nerve paths in the +making, traveled the touch of oneness.</p> + +<p>Alexander Jardine—Elspeth Barrow—Ian Rullock. +And all others—and all others.</p> + +<p>There swam upon him another great perspective. +He saw Christ in light, Buddha in light. The glorified—the +unified. <i>Union.</i></p> + +<p>Alexander Jardine—Elspeth Barrow—Ian Rullock. +And all others—and all others. <i>For we are +members, one of another.</i></p> + +<p>The feathered, flowered grass, miles of it, and +the sea of air.... By degrees the level of consciousness +sank. The splendid, steadfast moment could +not be long sustained. Consciousness drew difficult +breath in the pure ether, it felt weight, it sank. +Alexander moved against the old tomb, turned, and +<a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></a>buried his face in his arms. The completer moment +went by, here was the torn self again. But he +strove to find footing on the thickening impressions +of all such moments.</p> + +<p>Moving back to Rome, along the old way where +had marched all the legions, by the ruins, under the +blue sky, he had a sense of going with Cæsar's +legions, step by step, targe by targe, and then of +his footstep halting, turning out, breaking rhythm.... From +this it was suddenly a winter night and at +Glenfernie, and he sat by the fire in his father's +death-room. His father spoke to him from the +bed and he went to his side and listened to dying +words, distilled from a wide garden that had relaxed +into bitterness, growths, and trails of ideal +hatred.... <i>What was it, setting one's foot upon +an adder?... What was the adder?</i></p> + +<p>He entered the city. His lodging was above the +workroom and shop of a recoverer of ancient coins +and intaglios, skilful cleanser and mender of these +and merchant to whom would buy. The man was +artist besides, maker of strange drawings whom few +ever understood or bought.</p> + +<p>Glenfernie liked him—an elderly, fine, thin, hook-nosed, +dark-eyed, subtle-lipped, little-speaking personage. +No great custom came to the shop in +front; the owner of it might work all day in the +room behind, with only two or three peals of a +small silvery summoning bell. The lodger acquired +the habit of sitting for perhaps an hour out of each +twenty-four in this workroom. He might study at +the window gem or coin and the finish of old designs, +or he might lift and look at sheet after sheet +<a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></a>of the man's drawings, or watch him at his work, or +have with him some talk.</p> + +<p>The drawings had a fascination for him. "What +did you mean behind this outward meaning? Now +here I see this, and I see that, but here I don't +penetrate." The man laid down his mending a +broken Eros and came and stood by the table and +spoke. Glenfernie listened, the wood propping +elbow, the hand propping chin, the eyes upon the +drawing. Or he leaned back in the great visitor's +chair and looked instead at the draftsman. They +were strange drawings, and the draftsman's models +were not materially visible.</p> + +<p>To-day Glenfernie came from the noise of Rome +without into this room. His host was sitting before +a drawing-board. Alexander stood and looked.</p> + +<p>"Are you trying to bring the world of the plane +up a dimension? Then you work from an idea +above the world of the solid?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Si.</i> Up a dimension."</p> + +<p>"What are these forms?"</p> + +<p>"I am dreaming the new eye, the new ear, the +new hand."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie watched the moving and the resting +hand. Later in the day he returned to the room.</p> + +<p>"It has been a fertile season," said the artist. +"Look!"</p> + +<p>At the top of a sheet of paper was written large +in Latin, <span class="smcap">love is blind</span>. Beneath stood a figure +filled with eyes. "It is the same thing," said the +man.</p> + +<p>The next day, at sunset, going up to his room +after restless wandering in this city, he found there +<a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></a>from Ian another intimation of the latter's movements:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Glenfernie</span>,—I am going northward. There will be a +month spent at monseigneur's villa upon the Lake of Como. +Then France again.—<span class="smcap">Ian Rullock</span>.</p></div> + +<p>Alexander laid the paper upon the table before +him, and now he stared at it, and now he gazed +at space beyond, and where he gazed seemed dark +and empty. It was deep night when finally he +dipped quill into ink and wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Ian Rullock</span>,—Stay or go as you will! I do not follow you +now as I did before. I come to see the crudeness, the barrenness, +of that. But within—oh, are you not my enemy still? +I ask Justice that, and what can she do but echo back my words? +"Within" is a universe.—<span class="smcap">Alexander Jardine</span>.</p></div> + +<p>Five days later he knew that Ian with the Frenchman +in whose company he was had departed Rome. +On that morning he went again without the city and +lay among the grasses. But the sky to-day was +closed, and all dead Rome that had been proud +or violent or a lover of self seemed to move around +him multitudinous. He fought the shapes down, +but the sea in storm then turned sluggish, dead and +weary.... What was he going to do? Scotland? +Was he going back to Scotland? The glen, the moor, +White Farm and the kirk, Black Hill and his own +house—all seemed cold and without tint, gray, +small, and withered, and yet oppressive. All that +would be importunate, officious. He cried out, +"O my God, I want healing!" For a long time he +<a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></a>lay there still, then, rising, went wandering by arches +and broken columns, choked doorways, graved slabs +sunken in fairy jungles. Into his mind came a journey +years before when he had just brushed a desert. +The East, the Out-of-Europe, called to him now.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + + +<p>Ian guided the boat to the water steps. Above, +over the wall, streamed roses, a great, soundless +fall of them, reflected, mass and color, in the lake. +Above the roses sprang deep trees, shade behind +shade, and here sang nightingales. Facing him sat +the Milanese song-bird, the singer Antonia Castinelli. +She had the throat of the nightingale and the beauty +of the velvety open rose.</p> + +<p>"Why land?" she said. "Why climb the steps +to the chatter in the villa?"</p> + +<p>"Why indeed?"</p> + +<p>"They are not singing! They are talking. There +is deep, sweet shadow around that point."</p> + +<p>The boat turned glidingly. Now it was under +tall rock, parapeted with trees.</p> + +<p>"Let Giovanni have the boat. Come and sit +beside me! You are too far away for singing together."</p> + +<p>Old Giovanni at the helm, boatman upon this +lake since youth, used long since to murmuring words, +to touching hands, stayed brown and wrinkled and +silent and unspeculative as a walnut. Perhaps his +mind was sunk in his own stone hut behind vine +leaves. The two under the rose-and-white-fringed +canopy leaned toward each other.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></a>"Tell me of your strange, foreign land! Have +you roses there—roses—roses? And nightingales +that sing out your heart under the moon?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell you of the heather, the lark, and the +mavis."</p> + +<p>She listened. "Oh, it does not taste as tastes +this lake! Give me pain! Tell me of women you +have loved.... Oh, hear! The nightingales stop +singing."</p> + +<p>"Do you ever listen to the silence?"</p> + +<p>"Of course ... when a friend dies—or I go to +Mass—and sometimes when I am singing very passionately. +But this lake—"</p> + +<p>She began to sing. The contralto throbbed, +painted, told, brought delight and melancholy. He +sat with his hand loosened from hers, his eyes upon +the lake's blue-green depths. At last she stopped.</p> + +<p>"Oh—h!... Let us go back to the talking shore +and the chattering villa! Somebody else is singing—somebody +or something! I hear silence—I hear it +in the silence.... Some things I can sing against, +and some things I can't."</p> + +<p>They went underneath the wall of roses. Her +arm, sleeved as with mist, touched his; her low, +wide brow and great liquid eyes were at his shoulder, +at his breast. "O foreigner—and yet not at all +foreign! Tell me your English words for roses—walls +of roses—and music that never ceases in the +night—and pleasing, pleasing, pleasing love!"</p> + +<p>The boat came to the water steps. The two left +it, climbing between flowers. Down to them came +a wave of laughter and hand-clapping.</p> + +<p>"Celestina recites—but I do not think she does +<a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></a>it so well!... That is my window—see, where the +roses mount!"</p> + +<p>The company, flowing forth, caught them upon +the terrace. "Lo, the truants!"</p> + +<p>But that night, instead of climbing where the +roses climbed, he took a boat from the number +moored by the steps and rowed himself across the +lake to a piece of shore, bare of houses, lifting by +steep slope and crag into the mountain masses. +He fastened the boat and climbed here. The moon +was round, the night merely a paler day. He went +up among low trees and bushes until he came to +naked rock. He climbed here as far as he might, +found some manner of platform, and threw himself +down, below him the lake, around him the +mountains.</p> + +<p>He lay still until the expended energy was replaced. +At last the mind moved and, apprentice-bound +to feeling, began again a hot and heavy and +bitter work, laid aside at times and then renewed. +It was upon the vindication to himself of Ian +Rullock.</p> + +<p>It was made to work hard.... Its old task used +to be to keep asleep upon the subject. But now for +a considerable time this had been its task. Old +feeling, old egoism, awakened up and down, drove +it hard! It had to make bricks without straw. It +had to fetch and carry from the ends of the earth.</p> + +<p>Emotion, when it must rest, provided for it a dull +place of listlessness and discontent. But the taskmaster +now would have it up at all hours, fashioning +reasons and justifications. The soonest found straw +in the fields lay in the faults of others—of the world +<a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></a>in general and Alexander Jardine in particular. +Feeling got its anodyne in gloating over these. It +had the pounce of a panther for such a bitter berry, +such a weed, such a shameful form. It did not +always gloat, but it always held up and said, <i>Who +could be weaker here—more open to question?</i> It made +constant, sore comparison.</p> + +<p>The lake gleamed below him, the herded mountains +slept in a gray silver light. How many were +the faults of the laird of Glenfernie! Faults! He +looked at the dark old plains of the moon. That was +a light word! He saw Alexander pitted and scarred.</p> + +<p>Pride! That had always been in the core of +Glenfernie. That has been his old fortress, walled +and moated against trespass. Pride so high that +it was careless—that its possessor could seem peaceable +and humble.... But find the quick and touch +it—and you saw! What was his was his. What +he deemed to be his, whether it was so or not! +Touch him there and out jumped jealousy, hate, +and implacableness—and all the time one had +been thinking of him as a kind of seer!</p> + +<p>Ian turned upon the rock above Como. And +Glenfernie was ignorant! The seer had seen very +little, after all. His touch had not been precisely permeative +when it came to the world, Ian Rullock. +If liking meant understanding, there had not been +much understanding—which left liking but a word. +If liking was a degree of love, where then had been +love, where the friend at all? After all, and all the +time, Glenfernie's notion of friendship was a sieve. +The notion that he had held up as though it were +the North Star!</p> + +<p><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></a>The world, Ian Rullock, could not be so contemned....</p> + +<p>He felt with heat and pain the truth of that. It +was a wrong that Glenfernie should not understand! +The world, Ian Rullock, might be incomplete, imperfect—might +have taken, more than once, wrong +turns, left its path, so to speak, in the heavens. +But what of the world, Alexander Jardine? Had it +no memories? He brooded over what these memories +might be—must be; he tried to taste and +handle that other's faults in time and space. But +he could not plunge into Alexander's depths of +wrath. As he could not, he made himself contemptuous +of all that—of Old Steadfast's power of +reaction!</p> + +<p>A star shot across the moon-filled night, so large +a meteor that it made light even against that silver. +A mass within Ian made a slow turn, with effort, +with thrilling, changed its inclination. He saw +that disdain, that it was shallow and streaked with +ebony. He moved with a kind of groan. "Was +there—is there—wickedness?... What, O God, is +wickedness?"</p> + +<p>He pressed the rock with his hand—sat up. The +old taskmaster, alarmed, gathered his forces. "I +say that it is just that—pride, vengefulness, hard +misunderstanding!"</p> + +<p>A voice within him answered. "Even so, is it +not still yourself?"</p> + +<p>He stared after the meteor track. There was a +conception here that he had not dreamed of.</p> + +<p>It seemed best to keep still upon the rock. He +sat in inner wonder. There was a sense of purity, +<a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></a>of a fresh coolness not physical, of awe. He was +in presence of something comprehensive, immortal.</p> + +<p>"Is it myself? Then let it pour out and make of +naught the old poison of myself!"</p> + +<p>The perception could not hold. It flagged and +sank, echoing down into the caves. He sat still +and felt the old taskmaster stir. But this time he +found strength to resist. There resulted, not the +divine novelty and largeness of that one moment, +but a kind of dim and bare desert waste of wide extent. +And as it ate up all width, so it seemed timeless. +Across this, like a person, unheralded, came +and went two lines from "Richard III"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Clarence is come—false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It went and left awareness of the desert. "False—fleeting—perjured...."</p> + +<p>He saw himself as in mirrors.</p> + +<p>The desert ached and became a place of thorns +and briers and bewilderment. Then rose, like Antæus, +the taskmaster. "<i>And what of all that—if I +like life so?</i>"</p> + +<p>Sense of the villa and the roses and the nightingales +in the coverts—sense of wide, mobile sweeps +and flowing currents inwashing, indrawing, pleasure-crafts +great and small—desire and desire for desire—lust +for sweetness, lust for salt—the rose to be +plucked, the grapes to be eaten—and all for self, +all for Ian....</p> + +<p>He started up from the rock above Como, and +turned to descend to the boat. That within him +that set itself to make thin cloud of the taskmaster +<a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></a>pulled him back as by the hair of the head and cast +him down upon the rocky floor.</p> + +<p>He lay still, half upon his face buried in the +bend of his arm. He felt misery.</p> + +<p>"My soul is sick—a beggar—like to become an +outcast!"</p> + +<p>How long he lay here now he did not know. +The nadir of night was passed, but there was cold +and voidness, an abyss. He felt as one fallen from +a great height long ago. "There is no help here! +Let me only go to an eternal sleep—"</p> + +<p>A wind began. In the east the sky grew whiter +than elsewhere. There came a sword-blow from an +unseen hand, ripping and tearing veils. <i>Elspeth—Elspeth +Barrow!</i></p> + +<p>In a bitterness as of myrrh he came into touch with +cleanness, purity, wholeness. Henceforth there was +invisible light. Its first action was not to show him +scorchingly the night of Egypt, but with the quietness +of the whitening east to bring a larger understanding +of Elspeth.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + + +<p>The caravan, having spent three days in a town +the edge of the desert, set forth in the afternoon. +The caravan was a considerable one. Three +hundred camels, more than a hundred asses, went +heavily laden. Twenty men rode excellent horses; +ten, poorer steeds; the company of others mounted +with the merchandise or, staff in hand, strode beside. +In safe stretches occurred a long stringing out, with +lagging at the rear; in stretches where robber bands +or other dangers might be apprehended things became +compact. Besides traders and their employ, +there rode or walked a handful of chance folk who +had occasion for the desert or for places beyond it. +These paid some much, some little, but all something +for the advantage of this convoy. The traders +did not look to lose, whoever went with them. +Altogether, several hundred men journeyed in +company.</p> + +<p>The elected chief of the caravan was a tall Arab, +Zeyn al-Din. Twelve of the camels were his; he +was a merchant of spices, of wrought stuff, girdles, +and gems—a man of forty, bold and with scope. +He rode a fine horse and kept usually at the head of +the caravan. But now and again he went up and +down, seeing to things. Then there was talking, +<a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></a>loud or low, between the head man and units of the +march.</p> + +<p>Starting from its home city, this caravan had +been for two days in good spirits. Then had become +to creep in disaster, not excessive, but persistent. +One thing and another befell, and at last +a stealing sickness, none knew what, attacking both +beast and man. They had made the town at the +edge of the desert. Physicians were found and rest +taken. Recuperation and trading proceeded amicably +together. The day of departure wheeling +round, the noontide prayer was made with an especial +fervor and attention. Then from the <i>caravanserai</i> +forth stepped the camels.</p> + +<p>The sun descending, the caravan threw a giant +shadow upon the sand. Ridge and wave of sterile +earth broke it, confused it, made it an unintelligible, +ragged, moving, and monstrous shade. The sun +was red and huge. As it lowered to the desert rim +Zeyn al-Din gave the order for the seven-hour halt. +The orb touched the sand; prayer carpets were +spread.</p> + +<p>Night of stars unnumbered, the ineffable tent, +arched the desert. The caravan, a small thing in +the world, lay at rest. The meal was over. Here +was coolness after heat, repose after toil. The fires +that had been kindled from scrub and waste lessened, +died away. Zeyn al-Din appointed the guards for +the night, went himself the rounds.</p> + +<p>Where one of the fires had burned he found certain +of those men who were not merchants nor servants +of merchants, yet traveled with the caravan. +Here were Hassan the Scribe, and Ali the Wanderer, +<a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></a>and the dervish Abdallah, and others. Here was the +big Christian from some outlandish far-away country, +who had dwelt for the better part of a year in the +city whence the caravan started, who had money +and a wish to reach the city toward which the +caravan journeyed. In the first city he had become, +it seemed, well liked by Yusuf the Physician, that +was the man that Zeyn al-Din most admired in +life. It was Yusuf who had recommended the +Christian to Zeyn, who did not like infidel sojourners +with caravans. Zeyn himself was liberal and did +not so much mind, but he had had experience with +troubles created along the way and in the column +itself. The more ignorant or the stiffer sort thought +it unpleasing to Allah. But Zeyn al-Din would do +anything really that Yusuf the Physician wanted. +So in the end the big Christian came along. Zeyn, +interpreting fealty to Yusuf to mean care in some +measure for this infidel's well-being, began at once +with a few minutes' riding each day beside him. +These insensibly expanded to more than a few. +He presently liked the infidel. "He is a man!" said +Zeyn and that was the praise that he considered +highest. The big Christian rode strongly a strong +horse; he did not fret over small troubles nor apparently +fear great ones; he did not say, "This is +my way," and infer that it was better than others; +he liked the red camel, the white, and the brown. +"Who dances with the sand is not stifled," said +Zeyn.</p> + +<p>Now he found the Christian with Hassan, listening +at ease, stretched upon the sand, to Ali the +Wanderer. The head man, welcomed, listened, too, +<a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></a>to Ali bringing his story to a close. "That is good, +Ali the Wanderer! Just where grows the tree from +which one gathers that fruit?"</p> + +<p>"It can't be told unless you already know," said +Ali.</p> + +<p>"Allah my refuge! Then I would not be asking +you!" answered Zeyn. "I should have shaken the +tree and gathered the diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, +and been off with them!"</p> + +<p>"You did not hear what was said. Ibn the +Happy found that they could not be taken from the +tree. He had tried what you propose. He broke +off a great number and ran away with them. But +they turned to black dust in his bosom. He put +them all down, and when he looked back he saw +them still shining on the tree."</p> + +<p>"What did Ibn the Happy do?"</p> + +<p>"He climbed into the tree and lived there."</p> + +<p>In the distance jackals were barking. "I like +nothing better than listening to stories," said Zeyn +al-Din. "But, Allah! Just now there are more +important things to do! Yusuf the Red, I name +you watcher here until moonrise. Then waken +Melec, who already sleeps there!"</p> + +<p>His eyes touched in passing the big Christian. +"Oh yes, you would be a good watcher," thought +Zeyn. "But there's a folly in this caravan! Wait +till good fortune has a steadier foot!"</p> + +<p>But good fortune continued a wavering, evanishing +thing. Deep in the night, from behind a stiffened +wave of earth, rose and dashed a mounted +band of Bedouin robbers. Yusuf the Red and other +watchers had and gave some warning. Zeyn al-<a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></a>Din's +voice was presently heard like a trumpet. +The caravan repelled the robbers. But five of its +number were lost, some camels and mules driven off. +The Bedouins departing with wild cries, there were +left confusion and bewailing, slowly straightening, +slowly sinking. The caravan, with a pang, recognized +that ill luck was a traveler with it.</p> + +<p>The dead received burial; the wounded were +looked to, at last hoisted, groaning, upon the camels, +among the merchandise. Unrested, bemoaning loss, +the trading company made their morning start +three hours behind the set time. For stars in the +sky, there was the yellow light and the sun at a +bound, strewing heat. In the mêlée the robbers +had thrust lance or knife into several of the water-skins. +Yet there was, it was held, provision enough. +The caravan went on. At midday the Bedouins returned, +reinforced. Zeyn al-Din and his mustered +force beat them off. No loss of goods or life, but +much of time! The caravan went on, that with +laden beasts must move at best much like a tortoise. +That night the rest was shortened. Two +hours after midnight and the strings of camels were +moving again, the asses and mules so monstrously +misshapen with bales of goods, the horses and horsemen +and those afoot. At dawn, not these Bedouins, +but another roving band, harassed them. Time +was running like water from a cracked pitcher.</p> + +<p>This day they cleared the robber bands. There +spread before them, around them, clean desert. +Then returned that sickness.</p> + +<p>"<i>O Zeyn al-Din, what could we expect who travel +with him who denies Allah?</i>"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></a>The stricken caravan crept under the blaze +across the red waste. Camels fell and died. Their +burdens were lifted from them and added to the +packs of others; their bodies were left to light +and heat and moving air.... It grew that an enchantment +seemed to hold the feet of the caravan. +Evils came upon them, sickness of men and beasts. +And now it was seen that there was indeed little +water.</p> + +<p>"O Zeyn al-Din, rid us of this infidel!"</p> + +<p>"The infidel is in you!" answered Zeyn al-Din. +"Much speaking makes for thirst and impedes +motion. Let us cross this desert."</p> + +<p>"O Zeyn al-Din, if you be no right head man we +shall choose another!"</p> + +<p>"Choose!" said Zeyn al-Din, and went to the +head of a camel who would not rise from the sand.</p> + +<p>Ill luck clung and clung. Twelve hours and there +began to be cabals. These grew to factions. The +larger of these swallowed the small fry, swelled and +mounted, took the shape of practically the whole +caravan. "Zeyn al-Din, if you do not harken to +us it will be the worse for you! Drive away the +Christian dog!"</p> + +<p>"Abu al-Salam, are you the chief, or I?—Now, +companions, listen! These are the reasons in nature +for our troubles—"</p> + +<p>But no! It was the noon halt. The desert swam +in light and silence. The great majority of the +traders and their company undertook to play divining, +judging, determining Allah. The big Christian +stood over against them and looked at them, +his arms folded.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></a>"It is no such great matter!... Very good then! +What do you want me to do?"</p> + +<p>"Turn your head and your eyes from us, and go +to what fate Allah parcels out to you!"</p> + +<p>There arose a buzzing. "Better we slay him +here and now! So Allah will know our side!"</p> + +<p>Zeyn al-Din stepped forth. "This is the friend +of my friend and I am pledged. Slay, and you will +have two to slay! O Allah! what a thing it is to +stare at the west when the riders are in the east!"</p> + +<p>"Zeyn al-Din, we have chosen for head man Abu +al-Salam."</p> + +<p>"Allah with you! I should say you had chosen +well. I have twelve camels," said Zeyn al-Din. +"I make another caravan! Mansur, Omar, and +Melec, draw you forth my camels and mules!"</p> + +<p>With a weaker man there might have been interference, +stoppage. But Zeyn's mass and force acquired +clear space for his own movements. He +made his caravan. He had with him so many men. +Three of these stood by him; the others cowered +into the great caravan, into the shadow of Abu al-Salam.</p> + +<p>Zeyn threw a withering look. "Oh, precious is +the skin!"</p> + +<p>The big infidel came to him. "Zeyn al-Din, I +do not want all this peril for me. I have ridden +away alone before to-day. Now I shall go in that +direction, and I shall find a garden."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we shall find it," said Zeyn. "Does +any other go with my caravan?"</p> + +<p>It seemed that Ali the Wanderer went, and the +dervish Abdallah.... There was more ado, but at +<a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></a>last the caravan parted.... The great one, the long +string of beads, drew with slow toil across the waste, +along the old track. The very small one, the tiny +string of beads, departed at right angles. Space +grew between them. The dervish Abdallah turned +upon his camel.</p> + +<p>"It seems that we part. But, O Allah! around +'We part' is drawn 'We are together!'"</p> + +<p>Zeyn al-Din made a gesture of assent. "O I +shall meet in bazaars Abu al-Salam! 'Ha! Zeyn +al-Din!'—'Ha! Abu al-Salam!'"</p> + +<p>The sun sank lower. The vastly larger caravan +drew away, drew away, over the desert rim. Between +the two was now a sea of desert waves. +Where the great string of camels, the asses, the +riders, the men could be seen, all were like little +figures cut from dark paper, drawn by some invisible +finger, slowly, slowly across a wide floor. Before +long there were only dots, far in the distance. +Around Zeyn al-Din's caravan swept a great solitude.</p> + +<p>"Halt!" said Zeyn. "Now they observe us no +longer, and this is what we do!"</p> + +<p>All the merchant lading was taken from the +camels. The bales of wealth strewed the sand. +"Wealth is a comfortable garment," said Zeyn, +"but life is a richer yet! That which gathers wealth +is wealth. Now we shall go thrice as fast as Abu +al-Salam!"</p> + +<p>"Far over there," said Ali the Wanderer, and +nodded his head toward the quarter, "is the small +oasis called the Garland."</p> + +<p>"I have heard of it, though I have not been +<a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></a>there," answered Zeyn. "Well, we shall not rest +to-night; we shall ride!"</p> + +<p>They rode in the desert beneath the stars, going +fast, camels and horses, unencumbered by bales and +packs unwieldy and heavy. But there were guarded, +as though they were a train of the costliest merchandise, +the shrunken water-skins....</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie, riding in silence by Zeyn +al-Din, whom he had thanked once with emphasis, +and then had accepted as he himself was accepted, +looked now at the desert and now at the stars and +now at past things. A year and more—he had been +a year and more in the East. If you had it in you +to grow, the East was good growing-ground.... He +looked toward the stars beneath which lay Scotland.</p> + +<p>The night passed. The yellow dawn came up, +the sun and the heat of day. And they must still +press on.... At last the horses could not do that. +At eve they shot the horses, having no water for +them. They went on upon camels. Great suffering +came upon them. They went stoically, the +Arabs and the Scot. The eternal waste, the sand, +the arrows of the sun.... The most of the camels +died. Day and night and morn, and, almost dead +themselves, the men saw upon the verge the palms +of the desert oasis called the Garland.</p> + +<hr style='width: 33%;' /> + +<p>Seven men dwelt seven days in the Garland. +Uninhabited it stood, a spring, date-palms, lesser +verdure, a few birds and small beasts and winged +insects. It was an emerald set in ashy gold.</p> + +<p>The dervish Abdallah sat in contemplation under +a palm. Ali the Wanderer lay and dreamed. Zeyn +<a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></a>al-Din and his men, Mansur, Omar, and Melec, +were as active as time and place admitted. The +camels tasted rich repose. Day went by in dry +light, in a pleasant rustling and waving of palm +fronds. Night sprang in starshine, wonderful soft +lamps orbed in a blue vault. Presently was born +and grew a white moon.</p> + +<p>Alexander Jardine, standing at the edge of the +emerald, watched it. He could not sleep. The first +nights in the Garland he with the others had slept +profoundly. But now there was recuperation, +strength again. Around swept the circle of the +desert. Above him he saw Canopus.</p> + +<p>He ceased to look directly at the moon, or the +desert, or Canopus. He stretched himself upon the +clear sand and was back in the inner vast that +searched for the upper vast. Since the grasses of +the Campagna there had been a long search, and +his bark had encountered many a wind, head winds +and favoring winds, and had beaten from coast +to coast.</p> + +<p>"O God, for the open, divine sea and Wisdom +the compass—"</p> + +<p>He lay beneath the palm; he put his arm over his +eyes. For an hour he had been whelmed in an old +sense, bitter and stately, of the woe, the broken +knowledge, the ailing and the pain of the world. +All the world.... That other caravan, where was +it?... Where were all caravans? And all the bewilderment +and all the false hopes and all the fool's +paradises. All the crying in the night. Children....</p> + +<p>Little by little he recognized that he was seeing +it as panorama.... None saw a panorama until one +<a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></a>was out of the plane of its components—out of the +immediate plane. Gotten out as all must get out, +by the struggling Thought, which, the thing done, +uses its eyes....</p> + +<p>He looked at his past. He did not beat his breast +nor cry out in repentance, but he saw with a kind +of wonder the plains of darkness. Oh, the deserts, +and the slow-moving caravans in them!</p> + +<p>He lay very still beneath the palm. All the +world.... <i>All.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>All is myself.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Ian? Myself—myself—myself!"</p> + +<p>He heard a step upon the sand—the putting by +of a branch. The Sufi Abdallah stood beside him. +Alexander made a movement.</p> + +<p>"Lie still," said the other, "I will sit here, for +sweet is the night." He took his place, white-robed, +a gleaming upon the sand. Silent almost always, +it was nothing that he should sit silent now, quiet, +moveless, gone away apparently among the stars.</p> + +<p>The moments dropped, each a larger round. Glenfernie +moved, sat up.</p> + +<p>"I've felt you and your calm in our caravaning. +Let me see if my Arabic will carry me here!—What +have you that I have not and that I long for?"</p> + +<p>"I have nought that you have not."</p> + +<p>"But you see the having, and I do not."</p> + +<p>"You are beginning to see."</p> + +<p>The wind breathed in the oasis palms. The earth +turned, seeking the sun for her every chamber, the +earth made pilgrimage around the sun, eying point +after point of that excellence, the earth journeyed +with the sun, held by the invisible cords.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></a>"I wish new sight—I wish new touch—I wish +comprehension!"</p> + +<p>"You are beginning to have it."</p> + +<p>"I have more than I had.... Yes, I know it—"</p> + +<p>"There is birth.... Then comes the joy of birth. +At last comes the knowledge of why there is joy. +Strive to be fully born."</p> + +<p>"And if I were so—?"</p> + +<p>"Then life alters and there is strong embrace."</p> + +<p>A great stillness lay upon the oasis and the desert +around. Men and beasts were sleeping, only these +two waking, just here, just now. After a moment +the dervish spoke again. "The holder-back is the +sense of disunity. Sit fast and gather yourself to +yourself.... Then will you find how large is your +brood!"</p> + +<p>He rose, stood a moment above Glenfernie, then +went away. The man whom he left sat on, struck +from within by fresh shafts. Perception now came +in this way, with inner beam. How huge was the +landscape that it lighted up!... Alexander sat still. +He bent his head—there was a sense, extending to +the physical, of a broken shell, of escape, freedom.... +He found that he was weeping. He lay upon the +sand, and the tears came as they might from a young +boy. When they were past, when he lifted himself +again, the morning star was in the sky.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + + +<p>Strickland, in the deep summer glen, saw +before him the feather of smoke from Mother +Binning's cot. The singing stream ran clearly, the +sky arched blue above. The air held calm and fine, +filled as it were with golden points. He met a white +hen and her brood, he heard the slow drone of +Mother Binning's wheel. She sat in the doorway, +an old wise wife, active still.</p> + +<p>"Eh, mon, and it's you!—Wish, and afttimes ye'll +get!" She pushed her wheel aside. "I've had a +feeling a' the day!"</p> + +<p>Strickland leaned against her ash-tree. "It's high +summer, Mother—one of the poised, blissful days."</p> + +<p>"Aye. I've a feeling.... Hae ye ony news at the +House?"</p> + +<p>"Alice sings beautifully this summer. Jamie is +marrying down in England—beauty and worth he +says, and they say."</p> + +<p>"Miss Alice doesna marry?"</p> + +<p>"She's not the marrying kind, she says."</p> + +<p>"Eh, then! She's bonny and gude, juist the +same! Did ye come by White Farm?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Jarvis Barrow fails. He sits under his +fir-tree, with his Bible beside him and his eyes on +the hills. Littlefarm manages now for White Farm."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"></a>"Robin's sunny and keen. But he aye irked Jarvis +with his profane sangs." She drew out the adjective +with a humorous downward drag of her lip.</p> + +<p>Strickland smiled. "The old man's softer now. +You see that by the places at which his Bible opens."</p> + +<p>"Oh aye! We're journeyers—rock and tree and +Kelpie's Pool with the rest of us."</p> + +<p>She seemed to catch her own speech and look at +it. "That's a word I hae been wanting the morn!—The +Kelpie's Pool, with the moor sae green and +purple around it." She sat bent forward, her +wrinkled hands in her lap, her eyes, rather wide, +fixed upon the ash-tree.</p> + +<p>"We have not heard from the laird," said Strickland, +"this long time."</p> + +<p>"The laird—now there! What ye want further +comes when the mind strains and then waits! I +see in one ring the day and Glenfernie and yonder +water. Wherever the laird be, he thinks to-day of +Scotland."</p> + +<p>"I wish that he would think to returning," said +Strickland. He had been leaning against the doorpost. +Now he straightened himself. "I will go on +as far as the pool."</p> + +<p>Mother Binning loosed her hands. "Did ye have +that thought when ye left hame?"</p> + +<p>"No, I believe not."</p> + +<p>"Gae on, then! The day's bonny, and the Lord's +gude has a wide ring!"</p> + +<p>Strickland walking on, left the stream and the +glen head. Now he was upon the moor. It dipped +and rose like a Titan wave of a Titan sea. Its +long, long unbroken crest, clean line against clean +<a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"></a>space, brought a sense of quiet, distance, might. +Here solitude was at home. Now Strickland moved, +and now he stood and watched the quiet. Turning +at last a shoulder of the moor, he saw at some distance +below him the pool, like a small mirror. He +descended toward it, without noise over the springy +earth.</p> + +<p>A horse appeared between him and the water. +Strickland felt a most involuntary startling and +thrill—then half laughed to think that he had feared +that he saw the water-steed, the kelpie. The horse +was fastened to a stake that once had been the bole +of an ancient willow. It grazed around—somewhere +would be a master.... Presently Strickland's eye +found the latter—a man lying upon the moorside, +just above the water. Again with a shock and thrill—though +not like the first—it came to him who it +was.</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie lay very still, his eyes +upon the Kelpie's Pool. His old tutor, long his +friend, quiet and stanch, gazed unseen. When he +had moved a few feet an outcropping of rock hid +his form, but his eyes could still dwell upon the +pool and the man its visitor. He turned to go away, +then he stood still.</p> + +<p>"What if he means a closer going yet?" Strickland +settled back against the rock. "He would +loose his horse first—he would not leave it fastened +here. If he does that then I will go down to him."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie lay still. There was no wind to-day. +The reeds stood straight, the willow leaves slept, +the water stayed like dusky glass. The air, pure +and light, hung at rest in the ether. Minutes went +<a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"></a>by, an hour. He might, Strickland thought, have +lain there a long time. At last he sat up, rose, began +to walk around the pool. He went around it +thrice. Then again he sat down, his arms upon +his knees, watching the dusk water. He did not +go nor sit like one overwrought or frenzied or despairing. +His great frame, his bearing, the air of +him, had quietude, but not listlessness; there seemed +at once calm and intensity as of a still center that +had flung off the storm. Time flowed. Thought +Strickland:</p> + +<p>"He is as far as I am from death in that water. +I'll cease to spy."</p> + +<p>He moved away, moss and ling muffling step, +gained and dipped behind the shoulder of the moor. +The horse grazed on. The laird sat still, his arms +upon his knees, his head a little lifted, his eyes crossing +the Kelpie's Pool to the wave-line against the sky.</p> + +<p>Strickland went to where the moor path ran by +the outermost trees of the glen head. Here he sat +down beneath an oak and waited. Another hour +passed; then he heard the horse's hoofs. He rose +and met Glenfernie home-returning.</p> + +<p>"It is good to see you, Strickland!"</p> + +<p>"I found you yonder by the Kelpie's Pool. Then +I came here and waited."</p> + +<p>"I have spent hours there.... They were not +unhappy. They were not at all unhappy."</p> + +<p>They moved together along the moor track, the +horse following.</p> + +<p>"I am glad and glad again that you have come—"</p> + +<p>"I have been coming a good while. But there +were preventions."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"></a>"We have heard nothing direct for almost a +year."</p> + +<p>"Then my letters did not reach you. I wrote, +but knew that they might not. There is the smoke +from Mother Binning's cot." He stood still to +watch the mounting feather. "I remember when +first I saw that, a six-year-old, climbing the glen +with my father, carried on his shoulder when I was +tired. I thought it was a hut in a fairy-tale.... +So it is!"</p> + +<p>To Strickland the remarkable thing lay in the lack +of strain, the simplicity and fullness. Glenfernie +was unfeignedly glad to see him, glad to see home +shapes and colors. The blue feather among the +trees had simply pleased him as it could not please +a heart fastened to rage and sorrow. The stream +of memories that it had beckoned—many others, it +must be, besides that of the six-year-old's visit—seemed +to have washed itself clear, to have disintegrated, +dissolved venom and stinging. Strickland, +pondering even while he talked, found the +word he wanted: "Comprehensiveness.... He always +tended to that."</p> + +<p>Said Glenfernie, "I've had another birth, Strickland, +and all things are the same and yet not the +same." He gave it as an explanation, but then +left it. They were going the moorland way to +Glenfernie House. He was looking from side to +side, recovering old landscape in sweep and in detail. +Bit by bit, as they came to it, Strickland gave +him the country news. At last there was the house +before them, among the firs and oaks, topping the +crag. They came into the wood at the base of the +<a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"></a>hill. The stream—the trees—above, the broken, +ancient wall, the roofs of the new house that was +not so new, the old, outstanding keep. The whole +rested, mellowed, lifted, still, against a serene and +azure sky. Alexander stood and gazed.</p> + +<p>"The keep. The pine still knots and clings there +by the school-room. Do you remember, Strickland, +a day when you set me to read 'The Cranes of +Ibycus'?"</p> + +<p>"I remember."</p> + +<p>"Life within life, and sky above sky!—I hear +Bran!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 33%;' /> + +<p>They mounted the hill. It seemed to run before +them that the laird had come home. Bran and +Davie and the men and maids and Alice, a bonny +woman, and Mrs. Grizel, very little withered, exclaimed +and ran. Tibbie Ross was there that day, +and Black Alan neighed from his stall. Even the +waving trees—even the flowers in the garden—Home, +and its taste and fragrance—its dear, close +emanations....</p> + +<p>That evening at supper Mrs. Grizel made a remark. +She leaned back in her chair and looked at +Glenfernie. "I never thought you like your mother +before! Oh aye! there's your father, too, and a +kind of grand man he was, for all that he saw things +dark. But will you look, Mr. Strickland, and see +Margaret—"</p> + +<p>Much later, from his own room, Strickland, gazing +forth, saw light in the keep. Alexander would +be sitting there among the books and every ancient +memorial. Strickland felt a touch of doubt and +<a name="Page_324" id="Page_324"></a>apprehension. Suppose that to-morrow should find +not this Alexander, at once old and new, but only +the Alexander who had ridden from Glenfernie, who +had shipped to Lisbon, nearly three years ago? +To-day's deep satisfaction only a dream! Strickland +shook off the fear.</p> + +<p>"He breathed lasting growth.... O Christ! the +help for all in winged men!"</p> + +<p>He turned to his bed. Lying awake he went in +imagination to the desert, to the Eastern places, +that in few words the laird had painted.</p> + +<p>And in the morning he found still the old-new +Alexander. He saw that the new had always been +in the old, the oak in the acorn.... There was a +great, sane naturalness in the alteration, in the advance. +Strickland caught glimpses of larger orders.</p> + +<p>"<i>I will make thee ruler over many things.</i>"</p> + +<p>The day was deep and bright. The laird fell at +once into the old routine. For none at Glenfernie +was there restlessness; there was only ache gone, +and a feeling of fulfilling. Mrs. Grizel pattered to +and fro. Alice sang like a lark, gathering pansy +seed from her garden. Phemie and Eppie sang. +The men whistled at their work. Davie discoursed +to himself. But Tibbie Ross was wild to get away +early and to the village with the news. By the +foot of the hill she began to meet wayfarers.</p> + +<p>"Oh, aye, this is the real weather! Did ye know—"</p> + +<p>Alexander did not leave home that day. In +their old work-room he listened to Strickland's account +of his stewardship.</p> + +<p>"Strickland, I love you!" he said, when it was all +given.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325"></a>He wrote to Jamie; he sat in the garden seat +built against the garden wall and watched Alice +as she moved from plant to plant.</p> + +<p>"You do not say much," thought Alice, "but +I like you—I like you—I like you!"</p> + +<p>In the afternoon Strickland met him coming from +the little green beyond the school-room.</p> + +<p>"I have been out through the wall, under the old +pine. I seemed to hold many things in the palm +of the hand.... I believe that you know what it is +to make essences."</p> + +<p>After bedtime Strickland saw again the light in the +keep. But he had ceased to fear. "Oh All-Being, +how rich and stately and various and surprising +you are!" In the morning, outside in the court, +he found Black Alan saddled.</p> + +<p>"The laird will be riding to Black Hill," said +Tam Dickson.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + + +<p>Mr. Archibald Touris put out a wrinkled +hand to his wine-glass. "You have been in +warm countries. I envy you! I wish that I could +get warm."</p> + +<p>"Black Hill is looking finely. All the young +trees—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I took pride in planting.—But what for—what +for—what for?" He shivered. "Glenfernie, +please close that window!"</p> + +<p>Alexander, coming back, stood above the master +of Black Hill. "Will you tell me, sir, where Ian is +now?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Touris twitched back a little in his chair. +"Don't you know? I thought perhaps that you +did."</p> + +<p>"I ceased to follow him two years ago. I dived +into the East, and I have been long where you do +not hear from the West."</p> + +<p>The other fingered his wine-glass. "Well, I +haven't heard myself, for quite a while.... You +would think that he might come back to England +now. But he can't. Doubtless he would never wish +to come again to Black Hill. But England, now.... +But they are ferocious yet against every head +great and small of the attempt. And I am told +<a name="Page_327" id="Page_327"></a>there are aggravating circumstances. He had worn +the King's coat. He was among the plotters and +instigators. He broke prison. Impossible to show +mercy!" Mr. Touris twitched again. "That's a +phrase like a gravestone! If the Almighty uses it, +then of course he can't be Almighty.... Well, the +moral is that none named Ian Rullock can come +again to Scotland or England."</p> + +<p>"Have you knowledge that he wishes to do so?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Touris moved again. "I don't know.... I +told you that we hadn't heard. But—"</p> + +<p>He stopped and sat staring into his wine-glass. +Alexander read on as by starlight: "<i>But I did hear—through +old channels. And there is danger of his +trying to return.</i>"</p> + +<p>The master of Black Hill put the wine to his lips. +"And so you have been everywhere?"</p> + +<p>"No. But in places where I had not been before."</p> + +<p>"The East India has ways of gathering information. +Through Goodworth I can get at a good deal +when I want to.... There is Wotherspoon, also. I +am practically certain that Ian is in France."</p> + +<p>"When did he write?"</p> + +<p>"Alison has a letter maybe twice a year. One's +overdue now."</p> + +<p>"How does he write?"</p> + +<p>"They are very short. He doesn't touch on old +things—except, perhaps, back into boyhood. She +likes to get them. When you see her, don't speak +of anything save his staying in France, as he ought +to." He dragged toward him a jar of snuff. "There +are informers and seekers out everywhere. Do you +remember a man in Edinburgh named Gleig?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328"></a>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, he's one of them. And for some reason +he has a personal enmity toward Ian. So, you +see—"</p> + +<p>He lapsed into silence, a small, aging, chilly, +wrinkled, troubled man. Then with suddenness a +wintry red crept into his cheek, a brightness into +his eyes. "You've changed so, Glenfernie, you've +cheated me! You are his foe yourself. Perhaps +even—"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps even—?"</p> + +<p>The other gave a shriveled response to the smile. +"No. I certainly did not mean that." He took +his head in his hands and sighed. "What a world +it is! As I go down the hill I wish sometimes that +I had Alison's eyes.... Well, tell me about yourself."</p> + +<p>"The one thing that I want to tell you just now, +Black Hill, is that I am not any longer bloodhound +at the heels of Ian. What was done is done. Let +us go on to better things. So at last will be unknit +what was done."</p> + +<p>Black Hill both seemed and did not seem to pay +attention. The man who sat before him was big +and straight and gave forth warmth and light. He +needed warmth and light; he needed a big tree to +lean against. He vaguely hoped that Glenfernie +was home to stay. He rubbed his hands and drank +more wine.</p> + +<p>"No one has known for a long time where you +were.... Goodworth has an agent in Paris who says +that Ian tried once to find out that."</p> + +<p>"To find out where I was?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329"></a>Alexander gazed out of window, beyond the terrace +and the old trees to the long hill, purple with +heath, sunny and clear atop.</p> + +<p>A servant came to the door. "Mrs. Alison has +returned, sir."</p> + +<p>Glenfernie rose. "I will go find her then.—I will +ride over often if I may."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would!" said Black Hill. "I was +sorry about that quarrel with your father."</p> + +<p>The old laird's son walked down the matted corridor. +The drawing-room door stood open; he saw +one panel of the tall screen covered with pagodas, +palms, and macaws. Further on was the room, +clean and fragrant, known as Mrs. Alison's room. +This door, too, was wide. He stood by his old +friend. They put hands into hands; eyes met, +eyes held in a long look.</p> + +<p>She said, "O God, I praise Thee!"</p> + +<p>They sat within the garden door, on one side the +clear, still room, on the other the green and growing +things, the great tree loved by birds. The place was +like a cloister. He stayed with her an hour, and in +all that time there was not a great deal said with +the outer tongue. But each grew more happy, +deeper and stronger.</p> + +<p>He talked to her of the Roman Campagna, of the +East and the desert....</p> + +<p>As the hour closed he spoke directly of Ian. +"That is myself now, as Elspeth is myself now. I +falter, I fail, but I go on to profounder Oneness."</p> + +<p>"Christ is born, then he grows up."</p> + +<p>"May I see Ian's last letters?"</p> + +<p>She put them in his hands. "They are very +<a name="Page_330" id="Page_330"></a>short. They speak almost always of external +things."</p> + +<p>He read, then sat musing, his eyes upon the tree. +"This last one—You answered that it was not +known where I was?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But he says here at the last, 'I feel it +somewhere that he is on his way to Scotland.'"</p> + +<p>"I'll have to think it out."</p> + +<p>"Every letter is objective like this. But for all +that, I divine, in the dark, a ferment.... As you +see, we have not heard for months."</p> + +<p>The laird of Glenfernie rode at last from Black +Hill. It was afternoon, white drifts of clouds in +the sky, light and shadow moving upon field and +moor and distant, framing mountains. He rode +by Littlefarm and he called at the house gate for +Robin Greenlaw. It seemed that the latter was +away in White Farm fields. The laird might meet +him riding home. A mile farther on he saw the +gray horse crossing the stream.</p> + +<p>Glenfernie and Greenlaw, meeting, left each the +saddle, went near to embracing, sat at last by a +stone wall in the late sunshine, and felt a tide of +liking, stronger, not weaker, than that of old days.</p> + +<p>"You are looking after White Farm?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The old man fails. Jenny has become a +cripple. Gilian and I are the rulers."</p> + +<p>"Or servers?"</p> + +<p>"It amounts to the same.... Gilian has a splendid +soul."</p> + +<p>"The poems, Robin. Do you make them yet?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes! Now and then. All this helps.... +And you, Glenfernie, I could make a poem of you!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331"></a>The laird laughed. "I suppose you could of +all men.... Gilian and you do not marry?"</p> + +<p>"We are not the marrying kind. But I shouldn't +love beauty inside if I didn't love Gilian.... I see +that something big has come to you, Glenfernie, +and made itself at home. You'll be wanting it +taken as a matter of course, and I take it that way.... +No matter what you have seen, is not this vale +fair?"</p> + +<p>"Fair as fair! Loved because of child and boy +and man.... Robin, something beyond all years as +we count them can be put into moments.... A +moment can be as sizable as a sun."</p> + +<p>"I believe it. We are all treading toward the +land of wonders."</p> + +<p>When he parted from Robin it was nearly sunset. +He did not mean to stop to-day at White Farm, +but he turned Black Alan in that direction. He +would ride by the house and the shining stream with +the stepping-stones. Coming beneath the bank +thick with willow and aspen, he checked the horse +and sat looking at the long, low house. It held +there in a sunset stillness, a sunset glory, a dream of +dawn. He dismounted, left the horse, and climbed +to the strip of green before the place. None seemed +about, all seemed within. Here was the fir-tree +with the bench around—so old a tree, watching life +so long!... Now he saw that Jarvis Barrow sat +here. But the old man was asleep. He sat with +closed eyes, and his Bible was under his hand. Beside +him, tall and fair, wide-browed, gray-eyed, +stood Gilian. Her head was turned toward the +fringed bank; when she saw Alexander she put her +<a name="Page_332" id="Page_332"></a>finger against her lips. He made a gesture of understanding +and went no nearer. For a moment he +stood regarding all, then drew back into shadow of +willow and aspen, descended the bank, and, mounting +Black Alan, rode home through the purple light.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + + +<p>The countryside, the village—the Jardine Arms—Mrs. +Macmurdo in her shop to all who entered—talked +of the laird's homecoming. "He's a +strange sort!"</p> + +<p>"Some do say he's been to America and found a +gold-mine."</p> + +<p>"Na! He's just been journeying around in himself."</p> + +<p>"I am na spekalative. He's contentit, and sae +am I. It's a mair natural warld than ye think."</p> + +<p>"Three year syne when he went away, he lookit +like ane o' thae figures o' tragedy—"</p> + +<p>"Aweel, then, he's swallowed himself and digested +it."</p> + +<p>"I ca' it fair miracle! The Lord touched him in +the night."</p> + +<p>"Do ye haud that he'll gang to kirk the morn?"</p> + +<p>"I dinna precisely ken. He micht, and he micht +not."</p> + +<p>He went, entering with Mrs. Grizel, Alice, and +Strickland, sitting in the House pew. How many +kirks he thought of, sitting there—what cathedrals, +chapels; what rude, earnest places; what temples, +mosques, caves, ancient groves; what fanes; what +worshiped gods! One, one! Temple and image, +<a name="Page_334" id="Page_334"></a>worshiped and worshiper. Self helping self. "O +my Self, daily and deeply help myself!"</p> + +<p>The little white stone building—the earnest, +strenuous, narrow man in the pulpit, the Scots congregation—old, +old, familiar, with an inner odor +not unpungent, not unliked! Life Everlasting—Everlasting +Life....</p> + +<p>"<i>That ye may have life and have it more abundantly.</i>"</p> + +<p>White Farm sat in the White Farm place. Jarvis +Barrow was there. But he did not sit erect as of +yore; he leaned upon his staff. Jenny was missed. +Lame now, she stayed at home and watched the +passing, and talked to herself or talked to others. +Gilian sat beside the old man. Behind were Menie +and Merran, Thomas and Willy. Glenfernie's eyes +dwelt quietly upon Jarvis and his granddaughter. +When he willed he could see Elspeth beside +Gilian.</p> + +<p>The prayers, the sermon, the hymns.... All +through the world-body the straining toward the +larger thing, the enveloping Person! As he sat +there he felt blood-warmth, touch, with every foot +that sought hold, with every hand that reached. +He saw the backward-falling, and he saw that they +did not fall forever, that they caught and held and +climbed again. He saw that because he had done +that, time and time again done that.</p> + +<p>Mr. M'Nab preached a courageous, if harsh, sermon. +The old words of commination! They were +not empty—but in among them, fine as ether, now +ran a gloss.... The sermon ended, the final psalm +was sung.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><p><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></a></p> +<span class="i0">"When Zion's bondage God turned back,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As men that dreamed were we.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then filled with laughter was our mouth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our tongue with melody—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But the Scots congregation went out, to the eye +sober, stern, and staid. Glenfernie spoke to Jarvis +Barrow. He meant to do no more than give a +word of greeting. But the old man put forth an +emaciated hand and held him.</p> + +<p>"Is it the auld laird? My eyes are na gude.—Eh, +laird, I remember the sermons of your grandfather, +Gawin Elliot! Aye, aye! he was a lion +against sinners! I hae seen them cringe!... It +is the auld laird, Gilian?"</p> + +<p>"No, Grandfather. You remember that the old +laird was William. This is Mr. Alexander."</p> + +<p>"He that was always aff somewhere alane?" +White Farm drew his mind together. "I see now! +You're right. I remember."</p> + +<p>"I am coming to White Farm to-morrow, Mr. +Barrow."</p> + +<p>"Come then.... Is Grierson slain?"</p> + +<p>"He's away in past time," said Gilian. "Grandfather, +here's Willy to help you.—Don't say anything +more to him now, Glenfernie."</p> + +<p>The next day he rode to White Farm. Jenny, +through the window, saw him coming, but Jarvis +Barrow, old bodily habits changing, lay sleeping on +his own bed. Nor was Gilian at hand. The laird +sat and talked with Jenny in the clean, spare living-room. +All the story of her crippling was to be told, +and a packed chest of country happenings gone over. +Jenny had a happy, voluble half-hour. At last, +<a name="Page_336" id="Page_336"></a>the immediate bag exhausted, she began to cast +her mind in a wider circle. Her words came at a +slower pace, at last halted. She sat in silence, an +apple red in her cheeks. She eyed askance the man +over against her, and at last burst forth:</p> + +<p>"Gilian said I should na speir—but, eh, Glenfernie, +I wad gie mair than a bawbee to ken what +you did to him!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"Naething?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing that you would call anything."</p> + +<p>Jenny sat with open mouth. "They said you'd +changed, even to look at—and sae you have!—<i>Naething!</i>"</p> + +<p>Jarvis Barrow entered the room, and with him +came Gilian. The old man failed, failed. Now he +knew Glenfernie and spoke to him of to-day and of +yesterday—and now he addressed him as though +he were his father, the old laird, or even his grandfather. +And after a few minutes he said that he +would go out to the fir-tree. Alexander helped him +there. Gilian took the Bible and placed it beside +him.</p> + +<p>"Open at eleventh Isaiah," he said. "'<i>And there +shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a +Branch shall grow out of his roots—</i>'"</p> + +<p>Gilian opened the book. "You read," and she +sat down beside him.</p> + +<p>"I wish to talk to you," said Alexander to her. +"When—?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to town to-morrow afternoon. I'll +walk back over the moor."</p> + +<p>When he came upon the moor next day it was +<a name="Page_337" id="Page_337"></a>bathed by a sun half-way down the western quarter. +The colors of it were lit, the vast slopes had alike +tenderness and majesty. He moved over the moor; +then he sat down by a furze-bush and waited. +Gilian came at last, sat down near him in the dry, +sweet growth. She put her arms over her knees; +she held her head back and drank the ineffable rich +compassion of the sky. She spoke at last.</p> + +<p>"Oh, laird, life's a marvel!"</p> + +<p>"I feel the soul now," he said, "of marigolds and +pansies. That is the difference to me."</p> + +<p>"What shall you do? Stay here and grow—or +travel again and grow?"</p> + +<p>"I do not yet know.... It depends."</p> + +<p>"It depends on Ian, does it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes.... Now you speak as Gilian and now you +speak as Elspeth."</p> + +<p>"That is the marvel of the world.... That Person +whom we call Being has also a long name.—My +name, her name, your name, his name, its +name, all names! Side by side, one over another, +one through another.... Who comes out but just +that Person?"</p> + +<p>They sat and watched the orb that itself, with its +members the planets, went a great journey. Gilian +began to talk about Elspeth. She talked with quietness, +with depth, insight, and love, sitting there on +the golden moor. Elspeth—childhood and girlhood +and womanhood. The sister of Elspeth spoke simply, +but the sifted words came from a poet's granary. +She made pictures, she made melodies for +Alexander. Glints of vision, fugitive strains of +music, echoes of a quaint and subtle mirth, some<a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></a>thing +elemental, faylike—that was Elspeth. And +lightning in the south in summer, just shown, swiftly +withdrawn—power and passion—sudden similitudes +with great love-women of old story—that also was +Elspeth. And a crying and calling for the Star that +gathers all stars—that likewise was Elspeth. Such +and such did Elspeth show herself to Gilian. And +that half-year that they knew about of grief and +madness—it was not scanted nor its misery denied! +It, too, was, or had been, of Elspeth. Deep through +ages, again and again, something like that might +have worked forth. But it was not all nor most of +that nature—had not been and would not be—would +not be—would not be. The sister of Elspeth +spoke with pure, convinced passion as to that. +Who denied the dark? There were the dark and +the light, and the million million tones of each! +And there was the eternal space where differences +trembled into harmony.</p> + +<p>With the sunset they moved over the great, clean +slope to where it ran down to fields and trees. Before +them was White Farm, below them the glistening +stream, coral and gold between and around the +stepping-stones. They parted here, Gilian going on +to the house, the laird turning again over the moor.</p> + +<p>He passed the village; he came by the white kirk +and the yew-trees and the kirkyard. All were +lifted upon the hilltop, all wore the color of sunset +and the color of dawn. The laird of Glenfernie +moved beside the kirkyard wall. He seemed to +hold in his hand marigolds, pinks, and pansies. He +saw a green mound, and he seemed to put the flowers +there, out of old custom and tenderness. But +<a name="Page_339" id="Page_339"></a>no longer did he feel that Elspeth was beneath the +mound. A wide tapering cloud, golden-feathered, like +a wing of glory, stretched half across the sky. He +looked at it; he looked at that in which it rested. +His lips moved, he spoke aloud.</p> + +<p>"<i>O Death! where is thy sting? O grave! where +is thy victory?</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + + +<p>Days and weeks went by. Autumn came and +stepped in russet toward winter. Yet it was +not cold and the mists and winds delayed. The homecoming +of the laird of Glenfernie slipped into received +fact—a fact rather large, acceptable, bringing into +the neighborhood situation of things in general a +perceptible amount of expansion and depth, but +settling now, for the general run, into comfortable +every-day. They were used—until these late years—to +seeing a laird of Glenfernie about. When he +was not there it was a missed part of the landscape. +When he was in presence Nature showed herself +correctly filled out. This laird was like and not like +the old lairds. Big like the one before him in outward +frame and seeming, there were certainly inner differences. +Dale and village pondered these differences. +It came at last to a judgment that this +Glenfernie was larger and kinder. The neighborhood +considered that he would make a good home body, +and if he was a scholar, sitting late in the old keep +over great books, that harmed no one, redounded, +indeed, to the dale's credit. His very wanderings +might so redound now that they were over. "That's +the laird of Glenfernie," the dale might say to +strangers.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341"></a>It was dim, gray, late November weather. There +poured rain, shrieked a wind. Then the sky cleared +and the air stilled. There came three wonderful +days, one after the other, and between them wonderful +nights with a waxing moon. Alexander, riding +home from Littlefarm, found waiting for him in the +court Peter Lindsay, of Black Hill. This was a trusted +man.</p> + +<p>"I hae a bit letter frae Mistress Alison, laird." +Giving it to him, Peter came close, his eye upon the +approaching stable-boy. "Dinna look at it here, +but when ye're alone. I'll bide and tak the answer."</p> + +<p>Alexander nodded, turned, and crossed to the +keep. Within its ancient, deep entrance he broke +seal and opened the paper superscribed by Mrs. +Alison. Within was not her handwriting. There +ran but two lines, in a hand with which he was well +acquainted:</p> + +<p>"<i>Will you meet one that you know in the cave to-night +four hours after moonrise?</i>"</p> + +<p>He went back to the messenger. "The answer +is, 'Yes.' Say just that, Peter Lindsay."</p> + +<p>The day went by. He worked with Strickland. +The latter thought him a little absent, but the accounts +were checked and decisions made. At the +supper-table he was more quiet than usual.</p> + +<p>"Full moon to-night," said Alice. "What does it +look like, Alexander, when it shines in Rome and +when it comes up right out of the desert?"</p> + +<p>"It lights the ruins and it is pale day in the desert. +What makes you think to-night of Rome and the +desert?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. I see the rim now out of window."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342"></a>The moon climbed. It shone with an intense +silver behind leafless boughs and behind the dark-clad +boughs of firs. It came above the trees. The +night hung windless and deeply clear. A fire burned +upon the hearth of the room in the keep. Alexander +sat before it and he sat very still, and vast pictures +came to the inner eye, and to the inner ear meanings +of old words....</p> + +<p>He rose at last, took a cloak, and went down the +stone stair into a night cold, still, and bright. The +path by the school-house, the hand's-breadth of silvered +earth, the broken, silvered wall, the pine, the +rough descent.... He went through the dark wood +where the shining fell broken like a shattered mirror. +Beyond held open country until he came to the +glen mouth. The moon was high. He heard faint +sounds of the far night-time, and his own step upon +the silver earth. He came to the glen and the sound +of water streaming to the sea.</p> + +<p>How well he knew this place! Thick trees spread +arms above, rock that leaned darkened the narrow +path. But his foot knew where to tread. In some +more open span down poured the twice-broken light; +then came darkness. There was a great checkering +of light and darkness and the slumbrous sound of +water. The path grew steeper and rougher. He was +approaching the middle of the place.</p> + +<p>At last he came to the cave mouth and the leafless +briers that curtained it. Just before it was reached, +the moonbeams struck through clear air. There was +a silver lightness. A form moved from where it had +rested against the rock. Ian's voice spoke.</p> + +<p>"Alexander?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343"></a>"Yes, it is I."</p> + +<p>"The night is so still. I heard you coming a long +way off. I have lighted a fire in the cave."</p> + +<p>They entered it—the old boyhood haunt. All the +air was moted for them with memories. Ian had +made the fire and had laid fagots for mending. The +flame played and murmured and reddened the walls. +The roof was high, and at one place the light smoke +made hidden exit. It was dead night. Even in the +daytime the glen was a solitary place.</p> + +<p>Alexander put down his cloak. He looked about +the place, then, squarely turning, looked at Ian. +Long time had passed since they had spoken each +to other in Rome. Now they stood in that ancient +haunt where the very making of the fire sang of the +old always-done, never-to-be-omitted, here in the +cave. The light was sufficient for each to study the +other's face. Alexander spoke:</p> + +<p>"You have changed."</p> + +<p>"And you. Let us sit down. There is much that +I want to say."</p> + +<p>They sat, and again it was as they used to do, +with the fire between them, but out of plane, so that +they might fully view each other. The cave kept +stillness. Subtly and silently its walls became penetrable. +They crumbled, dissolved. Around now was +space and the two were men.</p> + +<p>Ian looked worn, with a lined face. But the old +brown-gold splendor, though dusked over, drew yet. +No one might feel him negligible. And something +was there, quivering in the dusk.... He and +Alexander rested without speech—or rather about +them whirled inaudible speech—intuitions, divina<a name="Page_344" id="Page_344"></a>tions. +At last words formed themselves. Ian +spoke:</p> + +<p>"I came from France on the chance that you were +here.... For a long time I have been driven, +driven, by one with a scourge. Then that changed +to a longing. At last I resolved.... The driving +was within—as within as longing and determination. +I have heard Aunt Alison say that every myth, all +world stories, are but symbols, figures, of what goes +on within. Well, I have found out about the Furies, +and about some other myths."</p> + +<p>"Yes. They tried to tell inner things."</p> + +<p>"I came here to say that I wronged folk from whom +a man within me cannot part. One is dead, and I +have to seek her along another road. But you are +living, breathing there! I made myself your foe, +and now I wish that I could unmake what I made.... +I was and am a sinful soul.... It is for you +to say if it is anything to you, what I confess." He +rose from the fire and moved once or twice the length +of the place. At last he came and stood before the +other. "It is no wonder if it be not given," he said. +"But I ask your forgiveness, Alexander!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I give it to you," said Alexander. His face +worked. He got to his feet and went to Ian. He +put his hands upon the other's shoulders. "<i>Old +Saracen!</i>" he said.</p> + +<p>Ian shook. With the dropping of Alexander's +hands he went back a step; he sat down and hid his +head in his arms.</p> + +<p>Said Alexander: "You did thus and thus, obeying +inner weakness, calling it all the time strength. And +do I not know that I, too, made myself a shadow +<a name="Page_345" id="Page_345"></a>going after shadows? My own make of selfishness, +arrogance, and hatred.... Let us do better, you +and I!" He mended the fire. "By understanding +the past may be altered. Already it is altered with +you and me.... I was here the other day. I +stayed a long time. There seemed two boys in the +cave and there seemed a girl beside them. The three +felt with and understood and were one another." +He came and knelt beside Ian. "Let us forge a +stronger friendship!"</p> + +<p>Ian, face to the rock, was weeping, weeping. Alexander +knelt beside him, lay beside him, arm over +heaving shoulders. Old Steadfast—Old Saracen—and +Elspeth Barrow, also, and around and through, +pulsing, cohering, interpenetrating, healing, a sense +of something greater....</p> + +<p>It passed—the torrent force, long pent, aching +against its barriers. Ian lay still, at last sat up.</p> + +<p>"Come outside," said Alexander, "into the cold +and the air."</p> + +<p>They left the cave for the moonlight night. They +leaned against the rock, and about them hung the +sleeping trees. The crag was silvered, the stream +ran with a deep under-sound. The air struck pure +and cold. The large stars shone down through all the +flooding radiance of the moon. The familiar place, +the strange place, the old-new place.... At last +Ian spoke, "Have you been to the Kelpie's Pool?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The day I came home I lay for hours beside +it."</p> + +<p>"I was there to-night. I came here from there."</p> + +<p>"It is with us. But far beside it is also with +us!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346"></a>"The carnival at Rome. When I left Rome I went +to the Lake of Como. I want to tell you of a night +there—and of nights and days later, elsewhere—"</p> + +<p>"Come within, as we used to do, and talk the heart +out."</p> + +<p>They went back to the fire. It played and sang. +The minutes, poignant, full, went by.</p> + +<p>"So at last prison and scaffold risks ceased to +count. I took what disguise I could and came."</p> + +<p>"All at Black Hill know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But they are not betrayers. I do not show +myself and am not called by my name. I am Señor +Nobody."</p> + +<p>"Señor Nobody."</p> + +<p>"When I broke Edinburgh gaol I fled to France +through Spain. There in the mountains I fell among +brigands. I had to find ransom. Señor Nobody +provided it. I never saw him nor do I know his +name.... Alexander!"</p> + +<p>"Aye."</p> + +<p>"Was it you?"</p> + +<p>"Aye. I hated while I gave.... But I don't +hate now. I don't hate myself. Ian!"</p> + +<p>The fire played, the fire sang.</p> + +<p>Alexander spoke: "Now your bodily danger +again—You've put your head into the lion's +mouth!"</p> + +<p>"That lion weighs nothing here."</p> + +<p>"I am glad that you came. But now I wish to +see you go!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I must go."</p> + +<p>"Is it back to France?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—or to America. I do not know. I have +<a name="Page_347" id="Page_347"></a>thought of that. But here, first, I thought that I +should go to White Farm."</p> + +<p>"It would add risk. I do not think that it is +needed."</p> + +<p>"Jarvis Barrow—"</p> + +<p>"The old man lies abed and his wits wander. He +would hardly know you, I think—would not understand. +Leave him now, except as you find him +within."</p> + +<p>"Her sister?"</p> + +<p>"I will tell Gilian. That is a wide and wise spirit. +She will understand."</p> + +<p>"Then it is come and gone—"</p> + +<p>"Disappear as you appeared! None here wants +your peril, and the griefs and evils were you taken."</p> + +<p>"I expected to go back. The brig <i>Seawing</i> +brought me. It sails in a week's time."</p> + +<p>"You must be upon it, then."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so." He drew a long, impatient +breath. "Let us leave all that! Sufficient to the +day—I wander and wander, and there are stones +and thorns—and Circe, too!... You have the +steady light, but I have not! The wind blows it—it +flickers!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I know flickering, too!"</p> + +<p>"Is there a great Señor Somebody? Sometimes I +feel it—and then there is only the wild ass in the +desert! The dust blinds and the mire sticks."</p> + +<p>"Ah, Old Saracen—"</p> + +<p>The other pushed the embers together. "This +cave—this glen.... Do you remember that time +we were in Amsterdam and each dreamed one night +the same dream?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348"></a>"I remember."</p> + +<p>The fire was sinking for the night. The moon was +down in the western sky. Around and around the +cave and the glen and the night the inner ear heard, +as it were, a long, faint, wordless cry for help. Alexander +brooded, brooded, his eyes upon the lessening +flame. At last, with a sudden movement, he rose. +"I smell the morning air. Let us be going!"</p> + +<p>The two covered the embers and left the cave. +The moon stood above the western rim of the glen, +the sound of the water was deep and full, frost hung +in the air, the trees great and small stood quiet, in a +winter dream. Ian and Alexander climbed the glen-side, +avoiding Mother Binning's cot. Now they were +in open country, moving toward Black Hill.</p> + +<p>The walk was not a short one. Daybreak was just +behind the east when they came to the long heath-grown +hill that faced the house, the purple ridge +where as boys they had met. They climbed it, and +in the east was light. Beneath them, among the +trees, Black Hill showed roof and chimney. Then +up the path toward them came Peter Lindsay.</p> + +<p>He seemed to come in haste and a kind of fear. +When he saw the two he threw up his hands, then violently +gestured to them to go back upon their path, +drop beneath the hilltop. They obeyed, and he came +to them himself, panting, sweat upon him for all the +chill night. "Mr. Ian—Laird! Sogers at the house—"</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>"Twelve of them. They rade in an hour syne. +The lieutenant swears ye're there, Mr. Ian, and they +search the house. Didna ye see the lights? Mrs. Alison +tauld me to gae warn ye—"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + + +<p>The soldiers, having fruitlessly searched Black +Hill, for the present set up quarters there, +and searched the neighborhood. They gave a wide +cast to that word. It seemed to include all this part +of Scotland. Before long they appeared, not unforeseen, +at Glenfernie.</p> + +<p>The lieutenant was a wiry, wide-nostriled man, +determined to please superiors and win promotion. +He had now men at the Jardine Arms no less than +men at Black Hill. Face to face with the laird of +Glenfernie in the latter's hall, he explained his +errand.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Glenfernie. "I saw you coming up +the hill. Will you take wine?"</p> + +<p>"To your health, sir!"</p> + +<p>"To your health!"</p> + +<p>The lieutenant set down the glass and wiped his +lips. "I have orders, Mr. Jardine, which I may not +disobey."</p> + +<p>"Exactly so, Lieutenant."</p> + +<p>"My duty, therefore, brings me in at your door—though +of course I may say that you and your +household are hardly under suspicion of harboring +a proscribed rebel! A good Whig"—he bowed stiffly—"a +volunteer serving with the Duke in the late +<a name="Page_350" id="Page_350"></a>trouble, and, last but not least, a personal enemy of +the man we seek—"</p> + +<p>"The catalogue is ample!" said Glenfernie. "But +still, having your orders to make no exception, you +must search my house. It is at your service. I will +show you from room to room."</p> + +<p>Lieutenant and soldiers and laird went through +the place, high and low and up and down. "Perfunctory!" +said the lieutenant twice. "But we must +do as we are told!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the laird. "This is my sister's garden. +The small building there is an old school-room."</p> + +<p>They met Alice walking in the garden, in the +winter sunshine. Strickland, too, joined them here. +Presentations over, the lieutenant again repeated his +story.</p> + +<p>"Perfunctory, of course, here—perfunctory! The +only trace that we think we have we found in a glen +near you. There is a cave there that I understand +he used to haunt. We found ashes, still warm, +where had been a fire. Pity is, the ground is so frozen +no footstep shows!"</p> + +<p>"You are making escape difficult," said Strickland.</p> + +<p>"I flatter myself that we'll get him between here +and the sea! I am going presently," said the lieutenant, +"to a place called White Farm. But I am +given to understand that there are good reasons—saving +the lady's presence—why he'll find no shelter +there."</p> + +<p>"Over yonder is the old keep," said Glenfernie. +"When that is passed, I think you will have seen +everything."</p> + +<p>They left Strickland and Alice and went to the +<a name="Page_351" id="Page_351"></a>keep. Their footsteps and those of the soldiers +behind them rang upon the stone stairs.</p> + +<p>"Above is the room," said the laird of Glenfernie, +"where as a boy I used to play at alchemy. I built +a furnace. I had an intention of making lead into +gold. I keep old treasures there still, and it is still +my dear old lair—though with a difference as I +travel on, though with a difference, Lieutenant, as we +travel on!"</p> + +<p>They came into the room, quiet, filled with books +and old apparatus, with a burning fire, with sunlight +and shadow dappling floor and wall. "Well, he +would hardly hide here!" said the lieutenant.</p> + +<p>"Not by received canons," answered Glenfernie.</p> + +<p>The lieutenant spoke to the soldiers. "Go about +and look beneath and behind matters. There are +no closets?"</p> + +<p>"There are only these presses built against the +stone." The laird opened them as he spoke. "You +see—blank space!" He moved toward a corner. +"This structure is my ancient furnace of which I +spoke. I still keep it fuel-filled for firing." As he +spoke he opened a sizable door.</p> + +<p>The lieutenant, stooping, saw the piled wood. "I +don't know much of alchemy," he said. "I've never +had time to get around to those things. It's bringing +out sleeping values isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Something like that." He shut the furnace door, +and they stood watching the soldiers search the room. +In no long time this stood a completed process.</p> + +<p>"Perfunctory!" said again the lieutenant. "Now +men, we'll to White Farm!"</p> + +<p>"There is food and drink for them below, on this +<a name="Page_352" id="Page_352"></a>chilly day," said the laird, "and perhaps in the hall +you'll drink another glass of wine?"</p> + +<p>All went down the stairs and out of the keep. +Another half-hour and the detail, lieutenant and men, +mounted and rode away. Glenfernie and Strickland +watched them down the winding road, clear of the +hill, out upon the highway.</p> + +<p>Alexander went back alone to the keep that, also, +from its widened loopholes, might watch the searchers +ride away. He mounted the stair; he came into +his old room. Ian stood beside the table. The +sizable furnace door hung open, the screen of heaped +wood was disarranged.</p> + +<p>"It was a good notion, that recess behind my old +furnace!" said Glenfernie. "You took no harm beyond +some cobwebs and ashes?"</p> + +<p>"None, Señor Nobody," said Ian.</p> + +<p>That day went by. The laird and Strickland +talked together in low voices in the old school-room. +Davie, too, appeared there once, and an old, trusted +stableman. At sunset came Robin Greenlaw, and +stayed an hour. The stars shone out, around drew +a high, windy crystal night.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Grizel went to bed. Alexander, with Alice +and Strickland, sat by the fire in the hall. There +was much that the laird wished to say that he said. +They spoke in low voices, leaning toward the burning +logs, the light playing over their faces, the light +laughing upon old armor, crossed weapons, upon +the walls. Alice, a bonny woman with sense and courage, +sat beside Glenfernie. Strickland, from his +corner, saw how much she looked like her mother; +how much, to-night, Alexander looked like her.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353"></a>They talked until late. They came to agreement, +quiet, moved, but thorough. Glenfernie rose. He +took Alice in his arms and kissed her thrice. Moisture +was in the eyes of both.</p> + +<p>"Sleep, dear, sleep! So we understand, things +grow easy!"</p> + +<p>"I think that you are right, and that is a long way +to comfort," said Alice. "Good night, good night, +Alexander!"</p> + +<p>When she was gone the two men talked yet a little +longer, over the dying fire. Then they, too, wished +each other good night. Strickland went to his room, +but Alexander left the house and crossed the moon-filled +night to the keep. It was now he and Ian.</p> + +<p>There was no strain. "Old Steadfast" and "Old +Saracen," and a long pilgrimage together, and every +difference granted, yet, in the background, a vast, +an oceanic unity.... Ian rose from the settle. He +and the laird of Glenfernie sat by the table and with +pen and paper made a diagram of escape. They +bent to the task in hand, and when it was done, and +a few more words had been said, they turned to the +pallets which Davie had spread on either side of the +hearth. The moon and the low fire made a strange +half-light in the room. The two lay still, addressed +to sleep. They spoke and answered but once.</p> + +<p>Said Ian: "I felt just then the waves of the sea!—The +waves of the sea and the roads of France.... +The waves and roads of the days and nights and +months and years. I there and you here. There is +an ether, doubtless, that links, but I don't tread it +firmly.... Be sure I'll turn to you, call to you, +often, over the long roads, from out of the trough +<a name="Page_354" id="Page_354"></a>of the waves! <i>Señor Nobody! Señor Nobody!</i>" He +laughed, but with a catch of the breath. "Good +night!"</p> + +<p>"Good night, Old Saracen!" said Alexander.</p> + +<p>Morn came. That day Glenfernie House heard +still that all that region was searched. The day went +by, short, gray, with flurries of snow. By afternoon +it settled to a great, down-drifting pall of white. It +was falling thick and fast when Alexander Jardine +and Ian Rullock passed through the broken wall beyond +the school-room. The pine branches were whitening, +the narrow, rugged path ran a zigzag of white.</p> + +<p>Strickland had parted from them at the wall, and +yet Strickland seemed to be upon the path, following +Glenfernie. Ian wore a dress of Strickland's, a hat +and cloak that the countryside knew. He and +Strickland were nearly of a height. Keeping silence +and moving through a dimness of the descending +day and the shaken veil of the snow, almost any +chance-met neighbor would have said, in passing, +"Good day, Mr. Strickland!"</p> + +<p>The path led into the wood. Trees rose about +them, phantoms in the snowstorm. The snow fell +in large flakes, straight, undriven by wind. Footprints +made transient shapes. The snow obliterated +them as in the desert moving sand obliterated. Ian +and Alexander, leaving the wood, took a way that +led by field and moor to Littlefarm.</p> + +<p>The earth seemed a Solitary, with no child nor +lover of hers abroad. The day declined, the snow +fell. Ian and Alexander moved on, hardly speaking. +The outer landscape rolled dimmed, softened, withdrawn. +The inner world moved among its own con<a name="Page_355" id="Page_355"></a>tours. +The day flowed toward night, as the night +would flow toward day.</p> + +<p>They came to the foot of the moor that stretched +between White Farm and Littlefarm.</p> + +<p>"There is a woman standing by that tree," said +Ian.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It is Gilian."</p> + +<p>They moved toward her. Tall, fair, wide-browed +and gray-eyed, she leaned against the oak stem and +seemed to be at home here, too. The wide falling +snow, the mystic light and quietness, were hers for +mantle. As they approached she stirred.</p> + +<p>"Good day, Glenfernie!—Good day, Ian Rullock!—Glenfernie, +you cannot go this way! Soldiers are +at Littlefarm."</p> + +<p>"Did Robin—"</p> + +<p>"He got word to me an hour since. They are +chance-fallen, the second time. They will get no +news and soon be gone. He trusted me to give you +warning. He says wait for him at the cot that was +old Skene's. It stands empty and folk say that it is +haunted and go round about." She left the tree and +took the path with them. "It lies between us and +White Farm. This snow is friendly. It covers marks—it +keeps folk within-doors—nor does it mean to +fall too long or too heavily."</p> + +<p>They moved together through the falling snow.</p> + +<p>It was a mile to old Skene's cot. They walked it +almost in silence—upon Ian's part in silence. The +snow fell; it covered their footprints. All outlines +showed vague and looming. The three seemed three +vital points moving in a world dissolving or a world +forming.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356"></a>The empty cot rose before them, the thatch +whitened, the door-stone whitened. Glenfernie +pushed the door. It opened; they found a clean, +bare place, twilight now, still, with the falling snow +without.</p> + +<p>Gilian spoke. "I'll go on now to White Farm. +Robin will come. In no long time you'll be upon the +farther road.... Now I will say Fare you well!"</p> + +<p>Alexander took her hands. "Farewell, Gilian!"</p> + +<p>Gray eyes met gray eyes. "Be it short time or be +it long time—soon home to Glenfernie, or long, long +gone—farewell, and God bless you, Glenfernie!"</p> + +<p>"And you, Gilian!"</p> + +<p>She turned to Ian. "Ian Rullock—farewell, too, +and God bless you, too!"</p> + +<p>She was gone. They watched through the door +her form moving amid falling snow. The veil between +thickened; she vanished; there were only the +white particles of the dissolving or the forming world. +The two kept silence.</p> + +<p>Twilight deepened, night came, the snow ceased to +fall for a time, then began again, but less thickly. +One hour went by, two, three. Then came Robin +Greenlaw and Peter Lindsay, riding, and with them +horses for the two who waited at Skene's cot.</p> + +<p>Four men rode through the December night. At +dawn they neared the sea. The snow fell no longer. +When the purple bars came into the east they saw +in the first light the huddled roofs of a small seaport. +Beyond lay gray water, with shipping in the harbor.</p> + +<p>At a crossroads the party divided. Robin Greenlaw +and Peter Lindsay took a way that should lead +them far aside from this port, and then with circui<a name="Page_357" id="Page_357"></a>tousness +home. Before they reached it they would +separate, coming singly into their own dale, back to +Black Hill, back to Littlefarm. The laird of Glenfernie +and Littlefarm, dismounting, moving aside, +talked together for a few moments. Ian gave Peter +Lindsay a message for Mrs. Alison.... Good-bys +were said. Greenlaw remounted; he and Peter Lindsay +moved slowly from the two bound to the port. +A dip of the earth presently hid them. Alexander +and Ian were left in the gray dawn.</p> + +<p>"Alexander, I know the safe house and the safe +man and the safe ship. Why should you run further +danger? Let us say good-by now!"</p> + +<p>"No, not now."</p> + +<p>"You have come to the edge of Scotland. Say +farewell here, and danger saved, rather than on the +water stairs in a little while—"</p> + +<p>"No. I will go farther, Ian. There is Mackenzie's +house, over there."</p> + +<p>They rode through the winter dawn to the house +at the edge of the port, where lived a quiet man and +wife, under obligations to the Jardines. There +visited them now the laird of Glenfernie and his +secretary, Mr. Strickland.</p> + +<p>The latter, it seemed, was not well—kept his room +that day. The laird of Glenfernie went about, indeed, +but never once went near the waterside.... +And yet, at eve, the master of the <i>Seawing</i>, riding in +the harbor, took the resolution to sail by cockcrow.</p> + +<p>The sun went down with red and gold, in a winter +splendor. Dark night followed, but, late, there rose +a moon. Alexander and Ian, coming down to the +harbor edge at a specified place, found there the wait<a name="Page_358" id="Page_358"></a>ing +boat with two rowers. It hung before them on +the just-lit water. "Now, Old Steadfast, farewell!" +said Ian.</p> + +<p>"I am going a little farther. Step in, man!"</p> + +<p>The boat drove across, under the moon, to the +<i>Seawing</i>. The two mounted the brig's side and, +touching deck, found the captain, known to Ian, who +had sailed before upon the <i>Seawing</i>, and known +since yesterday to Glenfernie. The captain welcomed +them, his only passengers, using not their +own names, but others that had been chosen. In +the cabin, under the swinging lantern, there followed +a few words as to weather, ports, and sailing. The +tide served, the <i>Seawing</i> would be forth in an hour. +The captain, work calling, left them in the small +lighted place.</p> + +<p>"The boat is waiting. Now, Old Steadfast—Señor +Nobody—"</p> + +<p>"Old Saracen, we used to say that we'd go one +day to India—"</p> + +<p>"Yes—"</p> + +<p>"Well, let us go!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Us</i>—"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>They stood with the table between them. Alexander's +hands moved toward Ian's. They took +hands; there followed a strong, a convulsive pressure.</p> + +<p>"We sin in differing ways and at differing times," +said Alexander, "but we all sin. And we all struggle +with it and through it and onward! And there must +be some kind of star upon our heights. Well, let us +work toward it together, Old Saracen!"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359"></a>They went out of the cabin and upon the deck. +The boat that had brought them was gone. They saw +it in the moonlight, half-way back to the quay. On +the <i>Seawing</i>, sailors were lifting anchor. They stood +and watched. The moon was paling; there came +the scent of morning; far upon the shore a cock +crew. The <i>Seawing's</i> crew were making sail. Out +and up went her pinions, filled with a steady and +favoring wind. She thrilled; she moved; she left +the harbor for a new voyage, fresh wonder of the +eternal world.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOES***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 16554-h.txt or 16554-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/5/5/16554">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/5/16554</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution.</p> + + + +<pre> +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +<a href="https://gutenberg.org/license">https://gutenberg.org/license)</a>. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: +https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">https://www.gutenberg.org</a> + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/">https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/</a> + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/16554-h/images/image1.jpg b/16554-h/images/image1.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d86d0ee --- /dev/null +++ b/16554-h/images/image1.jpg diff --git a/16554-h/images/image2.png b/16554-h/images/image2.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8b3be3 --- /dev/null +++ b/16554-h/images/image2.png |
