The Gleam in the North. D. K. Broster
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Название: The Gleam in the North
Автор: D. K. Broster
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066387358
isbn:
Again neither of them answered her at once, but they both looked a trifle like children detected in wrong-doing. “You had better go back to bed, my heart,” said Ewen gently. “Did you come down because you heard voices?”
“I came,” said Alison, her eyes suddenly clouding, “because of Keithie—I don’t know, but I fear he may be going to be ill.”
“You see, I had best go,” said her brother instantly, in a softer tone. “If you have a child ill——”
“But that is neither here nor there,” replied Alison. “O Hector, stay, stay!”
Of course the young soldier wanted to stay. But having announced in so fiery a manner that he was going, and having undeniably insulted the master of the house, how could he with dignity remain unless that master begged him to? And that Ardroy, evidently, was not minded to do.
“If Hector wishes to please you, Alison, he will no doubt bide here the night,” was all the olive-branch that he tendered. “But I gather that he fears he will compromise us by his presence. If you can persuade him that his fear is groundless, pray do so.”
“No,” said Hector, not to Ewen but to Alison. “No, best have no more words about it. It were wiser I did not sleep here to-night. I’ll come on my return . . . or perhaps to-morrow,” he added, melted by his sister’s appealing face. “I’ll find a shelter, never fear. But things have changed somewhat of late in the Highlands.”
With which mysterious words he kissed Alison again, flung his cloak once more about him, and made for the door. Lady Ardroy followed him a little way, distressed and puzzled, then stopped; half her heart, no doubt, was upstairs. But Ewen left the room after the young officer, and found him already opening the front door.
“Do me the justice to admit that I am not turning you out,” said Ardroy rather sternly. “It is your own doing; the house is open to you to-night . . . and for as long afterwards as you wish, if you apologise——”
“I’ll return when you apologise for calling me an assassin!” retorted Hector over his shoulder.
“You know I never called you so! Hector, I hate your going off in anger in this fashion, at dead of night—and how am I to know that you will not stumble into some ill affair or other with the redcoats or with broken men?”
Hector gave an unsteady laugh. “If I do, you may be sure I shall not risk ‘compromising’ you by asking for your assistance! Sleep quietly!” And, loosing that last arrow, he was lost in the darkness out of which he had come.
Ardroy stood on the edge of that darkness for a moment, swallowing down the anger which fought with his concern, for he had himself a temper as hot as Hector’s own, though it was more difficult to rouse. Hector’s last thrust was childish, but his previous stab about the White Rose had gone deep; did not Ewen himself sometimes lie awake at night contrasting past and present? . . . Yet he knew well that the root of that flower was not dead at Ardroy, though scarce a blossom might show on it. It was not dead, else one had not so felt at every turn of daily life both the ghost of its wistful fragrance and the sting of its perennial thorns.
He went back with bent head, to find Alison saying in great distress, “O dearest, what has happened between you and Hector? And Keithie is feverish; I am so afraid lest the cold water and the exposure . . . for you know he’s not very strong . . .”
Ewen put his arm round her. “Please God ’tis only a fever of cold he’s taken. . . . As for Hector—yes, I will tell you about it. He’ll think better of it, I dare say, foolish boy, in the morning.” He put out the lights on the improvised supper-table; they went upstairs, and soon there was no sound in the dark room but an occasional sigh from the deerhound stretched out in front of the dying fire.
CHAPTER III
A FRENCH SONG BY LOCH TREIG
By three o’clock next afternoon Ewen Cameron was riding fast to Maryburgh to fetch a doctor. Little Keith was really ill, and it was with a sickening pang at his own heart that Ardroy had tried to comfort the now extremely penitent Donald, whom he had found weeping bitterly because Keithie, flushed and panting, had refused the offer of some expiatory treasure or other, had indeed beaten him off pettishly when he attempted to put it into the hot little hand.
Ardroy had to try to comfort himself, too, as he went along Loch Lochy banks, where the incomparable tints of the Northern autumn were lighting their first fires in beech and bracken. Children had fever so easily; it might signify nothing, old Marsali had said. For himself, he had so little experience that he did not know; but Alison, he could see, was terribly anxious. He wished that his aunt, Miss Margaret Cameron, who had brought him up, and still lived with them, were not away visiting; she could have borne Alison company on this dark day. He wished that he himself could have stayed at home and sent a gillie for the doctor, but even one who spoke English might get involved in some difficulty with the military at Fort William, and the message never be delivered. It was safer to go himself.
There was also last night’s unfortunate business with his brother-in-law to perturb him. High-spirited and impulsive as he was, Hector might repent and come back in a day or two, if only for his sister’s sake. Ewen devoutly hoped that he would. For that same sister’s sake he would forgive the young man his wounding words. It was worse to reflect that Hector had evidently mixed himself up in some way with this mad, reprehensible plot against the Elector. And he had averred that Archibald Cameron, of all men, had come or was coming to Scotland on the same enterprise.
Ewen involuntarily tightened his reins. That he did not believe. His respect and affection for Archibald Cameron were scarcely less than those he had borne his elder brother Lochiel himself. Archie had probably come over again to confer with Cluny Macpherson about that accursed Loch Arkaig gold, very likely in order to take some of it back to France with him—a risky business, as always, but a perfectly justifiable one. It was true, as Ewen had told Hector, that Archie purposely avoided coming to Ardroy, though it lay not far from the shores of Loch Arkaig, yet if Doctor Cameron really were in Scotland again Ewen hoped that they should meet somehow. He had not seen his cousin for nearly three years.
On the other hand, if Archie had come over to work in any way for the Cause in the Highlands, there was certainly a good deal of ferment here at present, and a proportionately good chance of fishing in troubled waters. There were ceaseless annoyances of one kind or another; there were the evictions of Jacobite tenants in favour of Whig . . . above all, there was this black business of the Appin murder trial soon to open at Inveraray, the Campbell stronghold, which everyone knew would end in the condemnation of an innocent man by the Campbell jury because the victim of the outrage had been a Campbell. Yes, it might be fruitful soil, but who was to organise a new rising; still more, who was to lead it? There was only one man whom the broken, often jealous clans would follow, and he was far away . . . and some whispered that he was broken too.
Although he was not well mounted (for a good horse was a luxury which he could not afford himself nowadays) Ardroy, thus occupied in mind, found himself crossing the Spean, almost before he realised it, on that bridge of General Wade’s erection which had been the scene of the first Jacobite exploit in the Rising, and of his own daring escape in the summer of ’46. But he hardly gave a thought to either to-day. And, in СКАЧАТЬ