|
|
|
Prev
| Next
| Contents
SENT, NOT CALLED.
He had been at home about ten days, during which not a word had come
to Davie or himself from the castle, and was beginning to grow, not
perhaps anxious, but hungry for news of lady Arctura, when from a
sound sleep he started suddenly awake one midnight to find his
mother by his bedside: she had roused him with difficulty.
"Laddie," she said, "I'm thinkin ye're wantit."
"Whaur am I wantit, mother?" he asked, rubbing his eyes, but with
anxiety already throbbing at his heart.
"At the castle," she replied.
"Hoo ken ye that?" he asked.
"It wad be ill tellin' ye," she answered. "But gien I was you,
Donal, I wad be aff afore the day brak, to see what they're duin'
wi' yon puir leddy at the muckle place ye left. My hert's that sair
aboot her, I canna rest a moment till I hae ye awa' upo' the ro'd
til her!"
Long before his mother had ended, Donal was out of bed, and hurrying
on his clothes. He had the profoundest faith in whatever his mother
said. Was it a vision she had had? He had never been told she had
the second sight! It might have been only a dream, or an impression
so deep she must heed it! One thing was plain: there was no time to
ask questions! It was enough that his mother said "Go;" more than
enough that it was for lady Arctura! How quickest could he go? There
were horses at sir Gibbie's: he would make free with one! He put a
crust of bread in his pocket, and set out running. There was a
little moonlight, enough for one who knew every foot of the way; and
in half an hour of swift descent, he was at the stable door of
Glashruach.
Finding himself unable to rouse anyone, he crept through a way he
knew, opened the door, without a moment's hesitation saddled and
bridled sir Gibbie's favourite mare, led her out, and mounted her.
Safe in the saddle, with four legs busy under him, he had time to
think, and began to turn over in his mind what he must do. But he
soon saw there was no planning anything till he knew what was the
matter--of which he had dreadful forebodings. His imagination
started and spurred by fear, he thought of many dread possibilities
concerning which he wondered that he had never thought of them
before: if he had he could not have left the castle! What might not
a man in the mental and moral condition of the earl, unrestrained by
law or conscience, risk to secure the property for his son? Might he
not poison her, smother her, kill her somehow, anyhow that was
safest? Then rushed into his mind what the housekeeper had told him
of his cruelty to his wife: a man like that, no longer feeling,
however knowing the difference between right and wrong, hardly
knowing the difference between dreaming a thing and doing the thing,
was no fitter member of a family than any devil in or out of hell!
He would have blamed himself bitterly had he not been sure he was
not following his own will in going away. If there were a better way
it had not been intended he should take it, else it would have been
shown him! But now he would be restrained by no delicacy towards the
earl: whatever his hand found to do he would do, regardless of
appearances! If he could not reach lady Arctura, he would seek the
help of the law, tell what he knew, and get a warrant of search. He
dared not think what he dreaded, but he would trust nothing but
seeing her with his own eyes, and hearing from her own mouth that
all was well--which could not be, else why should his mother have
sent him to her? Doubtless the way would unfold before him as he
went on; but if everything should seem to go against him, he would
yet say with sir Philip Sidney that, "since a man is bound no
farther to himself than to do wisely, chance is only to trouble them
that stand upon chance." If his plans or attempts should one after
the other fail, "there's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew
them how we will"! So he rode on, careful over his mare, lest much
haste should be little speed. The animal was strong and in good
condition, and by the time Donal had seen the sun rise, ascend the
heavens, and go half-way down their western slope, and had stopped
three times to refresh the mare, he found himself, after much
climbing and descent, on a good level road that promised by
nightfall to bring him to the place of his desire.
But the mare was now getting tired, and no wonder, for she had had
more than a hard day's work. Donal dismounted every now and then to
relieve her, that he might go the faster when he mounted again,
comforting himself that in the true path the delays are as important
as the speed; for the hour is the point, not the swiftness: an hour
too soon may even be more disastrous than an hour too late! He would
arrive at the right time for him whose ways are not as our ways
inasmuch as they are greatly better! The sun went down and the stars
came out, and the long twilight began. But before he was a mile
farther he became aware that the sky had clouded over, the stars had
vanished, and rain was at hand. The day had been sultry, and relief
was come. Lightning flamed out, and darkness full of thunder
followed. The storm was drawing nearer, but his mare, though young
and high-spirited, was too weary to be frightened; the rain
refreshed both, and they made a little more speed. But it was dark
night, with now grumbling now raging storm, before they came where,
had it been light, Donal would have looked to see the castle.
Prev
| Next
| Contents
|
|
|