Pharais; and, The Mountain Lovers. Sharp William

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СКАЧАТЬ could come by the other way, by the Inverary boat, and thence by the herring-steamer from Dunmore, after he had reached it from Uan Point or by way of Craig-Sionnach."

      "That may be, of course; but I think not. I cannot believe the boat will not be here to-night."

      Both stood motionless, with their hands shading their eyes, and looking across the wide Sound, where the tide bubbled and foamed against the slight easterly wind-drift. The late sunlight fell full upon them, working its miracle of gold here and there, and making the skin like a flower. The outline of each figure stood out darkly clear as against a screen of amber.

      For a time neither spoke. At last, with a faint sigh, Mrs. Maclean turned.

      "Did you see Ian on your way, Lora-mo-ghràidh?"

      "No."

      "Do not have speech with the old man to-night, dear one. He is not himself."

      "Has he had the sight again?"

      "Ay, Lora."

      Again a silence fell. The girl stood moodily, with her eyes on the ground: the elder watched her with a steadfast, questioning look.

      "Mary!"

      Mrs. Maclean made no reply, but her eyes brought Lora's there with the answer that was in them.

      "Ian has never had the sight again upon … upon Alastair, has he?"

      "How can I say?"

      "But do you know if he has? If you do not tell me, I will ask him."

      "I asked him that only yester-morning. He shook his head."

      "Do you believe he can foresee all that is to happen?"

      "No. Those who have the vision do not read all that is in the future. Only God knows. They can see the thing of peril, ay, and the evil of accident, and even Death – and what is more, the nearness and sometimes the way of it. But no man sees more than this – unless, indeed, he has been to Tir-na-h'Oigh."

      Mrs. Maclean spoke the last words almost in a whisper, and as though she said them in a dream.

      "Unless he has been to Tir-na-h'Oigh, Mary?"

      "So it is said. Our people believe that the Land of Eternal Youth lies far yonder across the sea; but Aodh, the poet, is right when he tells us that that land is lapped by no green waves such as we know here, and that those who go thither do so in sleep, or in vision, or when God has filled with dusk the house of the brain."

      "And when a man has been to Tir-na-h'Oigh in sleep, or in dream, or in mind-dark, does he see there what shall soon happen here?"

      "It is said."

      "Has Ian been beyond the West?"

      "No."

      "Then what he sees when he has the sight upon him is not beannaichte: is not a thing out of heaven?"

      "I cannot say. I think not."

      "Mary, is it the truth you are now telling me?"

      A troubled expression came into the woman's face, but she did not answer.

      "And is it the truth, Mary, that Ian has not had the sight upon Alastair since he went away – that he did not have it last night or this morning?"

      Lora leaned forward in her anxiety. She saw that in her companion's eyes which gave her the fear. But the next moment Mrs. Maclean smiled.

      "I too have the sight, Lora-mo-ghràidh; and shall I be telling you that which it will be giving you joy to hear?"

      "Ay, surely, Mary!"

      "Then I think you will soon be in the arms of him you love" – and, with a low laugh, she pointed across the sea to where a film of blue-grey smoke rose over the ridge of Dunmore headland.

      "Ah, the Clansman!" cried Lora, with a gasp of joy: and the next moment she was moving down the path again toward the little promontory.

      The wind had risen slightly. The splash, splash, of the sunny green waves against each other, the lapping of the blue water upon the ledges to the east, the stealthy whisper where the emerald-green tide-flow slipped under the hollowed sandstone, the spurtle of the sea-wrack, the flashing fall and foam-send of the gannets, the cries of the gulls, the slap of wind as it came over the forehead of the isle and struck the sea a score of fathoms outward – all gave her a sense of happiness. The world seemed suddenly to have grown young. The exultant Celtic joy stood over against the brooding Celtic shadow, and believed the lances of the sunlight could keep at bay all the battalions of gloom.

      The breeze was variable, for the weft of blue smoke which suddenly curled round the bend of Dunmore had its tresses blown seaward, though where Lora stood the wind came from the west, and even caused a white foam along the hither marge of the promontory.

      With eager eyes she watched the vessel round the point. After all, it was just possible she might not be the Clansman.

      But the last sunglow shone full against Dunmore and upon the bows of the steamer as she swung to the helm; and the moment the red funnel changed from a dusky russet into a flame of red, Lora's new anxiety was assuaged. She knew every line of the boat, and already she felt Alastair's kisses on her lips. The usual long summer-gloaming darkened swiftly; for faint films of coming change were being woven across the span of the sky from mainland oceanward. Even as the watcher on Innisròn stood, leaning forward in her eager outlook, she saw the extreme of the light lift upward as though it were the indrawn shaft of a fan. The contours of the steamer grew confused: a velvety duskiness overspread Dunmore foreland.

      The sky overhead had become a vast lift of perishing yellow – a spent wave of daffodil by the north and by the south; westward, of lemon, deepening into a luminous orange glow shot with gold and crimson, and rising as an exhalation from hollow cloud-sepulchres of amethyst, straits of scarlet, and immeasurable spaces of dove-grey filled with shallows of the most pale sea-green.

      Lora stood as though wrought in marble. She had seen that which made the blood leap from her heart, and surge in her ears, and clamour against her brain.

      No pennon flew at the peak of the steamer's foremast. This meant there was neither passenger nor freight to be landed at Innisròn, so that there was no need for the ferry.

      She could scarcely believe it possible that the Clansman could come, after all, and yet not bring Alastair back to her. It seemed absurd: some ill-timed by-play; nay, a wanton cruelty. There must be some mistake, she thought, as she peered hungrily into the sea-dusk.

      Surely the steamer was heading too much to the northward! With a cry, Lora instinctively stretched her arms toward the distant vessel; but no sound came from her lips, for at that moment a spurt of yellow flame rent the gray gloom, as a lantern was swung aloft to the mast-head.

      In a few seconds she would know all; for whenever the Clansman was too late for her flag-signal to be easily seen, she showed a green light a foot or so beneath the yellow.

      Lora heard the heavy pulse of the engines, the churn of the beaten waves, even the delirious surge and suction as the spent water was driven along the hull and poured over and against the helm ere it was swept into the wake that glimmered white as a snow-wreath. So wrought was she that, at the same time, she was keenly СКАЧАТЬ