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THE LAKE.
Silence lasted until they reached the shoulder of the hill that
closed the view up the valley. As they rounded it, the sun went
behind a cloud, and a chill wind, as if from a land where dwelt no
life, met them. The hills stood back, and they were on the shore of
a small lake, out of which ran the burn. They were very
desolate-looking hills, with little heather, and that bloomless, to
hide their hard gray bones. Their heads were mostly white with frost
and snow; their shapes had little beauty; they looked worn and
hopeless, ugly and sad--and so cold! The water below was slaty
gray, in response to the gray sky above: there seemed no life in
either. The hearts of the girls sank within them, and all at once
they felt tired. In the air was just one sign of life: high above
the lake wheeled a large fish-hawk.
"Look!" said Alister pointing; "there is the osprey that lives here
with his wife! He is just going to catch a fish!"
He had hardly spoken when the bird, with headlong descent, shot into
the water, making it foam up all about. He reappeared with a fish in
his claws, and flew off to find his mate.
"Do you know the very bird?" asked Mercy.
"I know him well. He and his wife have built on that conical rock
you see there in the middle of the water many years."
"Why have you never shot him? He would look well stuffed!" said
Christina.
She little knew the effect of her words; the chief HATED causeless
killing; and to hear a lady talk of shooting a high-soaring creature
of the air as coolly as of putting on her gloves, was nauseous to
him. Ian gave him praise afterwards for his unusual self-restraint.
But it was a moment or two ere he had himself in hand.
"Do you not think he looks much better going about God's business?"
he said.
"Perhaps; but he is not yours; you have not got him!"
"Why should I have him? He seems, indeed, the more mine the higher
he goes. A dead stuffed thing--how could that be mine at all? Alive,
he seems to soar in the very heaven of my soul!"
"You showed the fox no such pity!" remarked Mercy.
"I never killed a fox to HAVE him!" answered Alister. "The osprey
does no harm. He eats only fish, and they are very plentiful; he
never kills birds or hares, or any creature on the land. I do not
see how any one could wish to kill the bird, except from mere love
of destruction! Why should I make a life less in the world?"
"There would be more lives of fish--would there not?" said Mercy.
"I don't want you to shoot the poor bird; I only want to hear your
argument!"
The chief could not immediately reply, Ian came to his rescue.
"There are qualities in life," he said. "One cannot think the
fish-life so fine, so full of delight as the bird-life!"
"No. But," said Mercy, "have the fishes not as good a right to their
life as the birds?"
"Both have the right given them by the maker of them. The osprey was
made to eat the fish, and the fish, I hope, get some good of being
eaten by the osprey."
"Excuse me, Captain Macruadh, but that seems to me simple nonsense!"
said Christina.
"I hope it is true."
"I don't know about being true, but it must be nonsense."
"It must seem so to most people."
"Then why do you say it?"
"Because I hope it is true."
"Why should you wish nonsense to be true?"
"What is true cannot be nonsense. It looks nonsense only to those
that take no interest in the matter. Would it be nonsense to the
fishes?"
"It does seem hard," said Mercy, "that the poor harmless things
should be gobbled up by a creature pouncing down upon them from
another element!"
"As the poor are gobbled up everywhere by the rich!"
"I don't believe that. The rich are very kind to the poor."
"I beg your pardon," said Ian, "but if you know no more about the
rich than you do about the fish, I can hardly take your testimony.
The fish are the most carnivorous creatures in the world."
"Do they eat each other?"
"Hardly that. Only the cats of Kilkenny can do that."
"I used a common phrase!"
"You did, and I am rude: the phrase must bear the blame for both of
us. But the fish are even cannibals--eating the young of their own
species! They are the most destructive of creatures to other lives."
"I suppose," said Mercy, "to make one kind of creature live on
another kind, is the way to get the greatest good for the greatest
number!"
"That doctrine, which seems to content most people, appears to me a
poverty-stricken and selfish one. I can admit nothing but the
greatest good to every individual creature."
"Don't you think we had better be going, Mercy? It has got quite
cold; I am afraid it will rain," said Christina, drawing her cloak
round her with a little shiver.
"I am ready," answered Mercy.
The brothers looked at each other. They had come out to spend the
day together, but they could not leave the ladies to go home alone;
having brought them across the burn, they were bound to see them
over it again! An imperceptible sign passed between them, and
Alister turned to the girls.
"Come then," he said, "we will go back!"
"But you were not going home yet!" said Mercy.
"Would you have us leave you in this wild place?"
"We shall find our way well enough. The burn will guide us."
"Yes; but it will not jump over you; it will leave you to jump over
it!"
"I forgot the burn!" said Christina.
"Which way were you going?" asked Mercy, looking all around for road
or pathway over the encircling upheaved wildernesses.
"This way," answered Ian. "Good-bye."
"Then you are not coming?"
"No. My brother will take care of you."
He went straight as an arrow up the hill. They stood and watched him
go. At what seemed the top, he turned and waved his cap, then
vanished.
Christina felt disappointed. She did not much care for either of the
very peculiar young men, but any company was better than none; a man
was better than a woman; and two men were better than one! If these
were not equal to admiring her as she deserved, what more
remunerative labour than teaching them to do so?
The thing that chiefly disappointed her in them was, that they had
so little small talk. It was so stupid to be always speaking sense!
always polite! always courteous!--"Two sir Charles Grandisons," she
said, "are two too many!" And indeed the History of Sir Charles
Grandison had its place in the small library free to them from
childhood; but Christina knew nothing of him except by hearsay.
The young men had been brought up in a solemn school--had learned to
take life as a serious and lovely and imperative thing. Not the
less, upon occasions of merry-making, would they frolic like young
colts even yet, and that without the least reaction or sense of
folly afterwards. At the same time, although Ian had in the village
from childhood the character, especially in the workshops of the
carpenter, weaver, and shoemaker, of being 'full of humour, he was
in himself always rather sad, being perplexed with many things: his
humour was but the foam of his troubled sea.
Christina was annoyed besides that Mercy seemed not indifferent to
the opinion of the men. It was from pure inexperience of the
man-world, she said to herself, that the silly child could see
anything interesting in them! GENTLEMEN she must allow them--but of
such an old-fashioned type as to be gentlemen but by courtesy--not
gentlemen in the world's count! She was of the world; they of the
north of Scotland! All day Mercy had been on their side and against
her! It might be from sheer perversity, but she had never been like
that before! She must take care she did not make a fool of herself!
It might end in some unhappiness to the young goose! Assuredly
neither her father nor mother would countenance the thing! She must
throw herself into the breach! But which of them was she taking a
fancy to?
She was not so anxious about her sister, however, as piqued that she
had not herself gathered one expression of homage, surprised one
look of admiration, seen one sign of incipient worship in either. Of
the two she liked better the ploughman! The other was more a man of
the world--but he was not of her world! With him she was a stranger
in a very strange land!
Christina's world was a very small one, and in its temple stood her
own image. Ian belonged to the universe. He was a gentleman of the
high court. Wherever he might go throughout God's worlds, he would
be at home. How could there be much attraction between Christina and
him?
Alister was more talkative on the way back than he had been all day.
Christina thought the change caused by having them, or rather her,
to himself alone; but in reality it sprang from the prospect of soon
rejoining his brother without them. Some of the things he said,
Mercy found well worth hearing; and an old Scotch ballad which he
repeated, having learned it of a lowland nurse, appeared to her as
beautiful as it was wild and strange. For Christina, she despised
the Scotch language: it was vulgar! Had Alister informed her that
Beowulf, "the most important of all the relics of the Pagan
Anglo-Saxon, is written in undeniable Scotch, the English of the
period," it would have made no difference to Christina! Why should
it? She had never yet cared for any book beyond the novels of a
certain lady which, to speak with due restraint, do not tend to
profitable thought. At the same time, it was not for the worst in
them that she liked them; she did not understand them well enough to
see it. But there was ground to fear that, when she came to
understand, shocked at first, she would speedily get accustomed to
it, and at length like them all the better for it.
In Mercy's unawakened soul, echoed now and then a faint thrill of
response to some of the things Alister said, and, oftener, to some
of the verses he repeated; and she would look up at him when he was
silent, with an unconscious seeking glance, as if dimly aware of a
beneficent presence. Alister was drawn by the honest gaze of her yet
undeveloped and homely countenance, with its child-look in process
of sublimation, whence the woman would glance out and vanish again,
leaving the child to give disappointing answers. There was something
in it of the look a dog casts up out of his beautiful brown eyes
into the mystery of his master's countenance. She was on the edge of
coming awake; all was darkness about her, but something was pulling
at her! She had never known before that a lady might be lovely in a
ballad as well as in a beautiful gown!
Finding himself so listened to, though the listener was little more
than a child, the heart of the chief began to swell in his great
bosom. Like a child he was pleased. The gray day about him grew
sweet; its very grayness was sweet, and of a silvery sheen. When
they arrived at the burn, and, easily enough from that side, he had
handed them across, he was not quite so glad to turn from them as he
had expected to be.
"Are you going?" said Christina with genuine surprise, for she had
not understood his intention.
"The way is easy now," he answered. "I am sorry to leave you, but I
have to join Ian, and the twilight will be flickering down before I
reach the place."
"And there will be no moon!" said Mercy: "how will you get home
through the darkness?"
"We do not mean to come home to-night."
"Oh, then, you are going to friends!"
"No; we shall be with each other--not a soul besides."
"There can't surely be a hotel up there?"
Alister laughed as he answered,
"There are more ways than one of spending a night on the hills. If
you look from a window--in that direction," he said, pointing, "the
last thing before you go to bed, you will see that at least we shall
not perish with cold."
He sprang again over the burn, and with a wave of his bonnet, went,
like Ian, straight up the hill.
The girls stood for some time watching him climb as if he had been
going up a flight of stairs, until he stood clear against the sky,
when, with another wave of his bonnet, he too disappeared.
Mercy did not forget to look from her window in the direction
Alister had indicated. There was no room to mistake what he meant,
for through the dark ran a great opening to the side of a hill,
somewhere in the night, where glowed and flamed, reddening the air,
a huge crescent of fire, slowly climbing, like a column of attack,
up toward the invisible crest.
"What does it mean?" she said to herself. "Why do they make such a
bonfire--with nobody but themselves to enjoy it? What strange
men--out by themselves in the dark night, on the cold hill! What can
they be doing it for? I hope they have something to eat! I SHOULD
like to hear them talk! I wonder what they are saying about US! I am
certain we bored them!"
The brothers did speak of them, and readily agreed in some notion of
their characters; but they soon turned to other things, and there
passed a good deal that Mercy could not have followed. What would
she, for instance, have made of Alister's challenge to his brother
to explain the metaphysical necessity for the sine, tangent, and
secant of an angle belonging to its supplement as well?
When the ladies overtook them in the morning, Alister was reading,
from an old manuscript volume of his brother's which he had found in
a chest, a certain very early attempt at humour, and now they
disputed concerning it as they watched the fire. It had abundance of
faults, and in especial lacked suture, but will serve to show
something of lan's youthful ingenium.
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