What's Mine's Mine — Volume 3. George MacDonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
fortunes. I showed you, did I not, the ship in our coat of arms—the galley at least, in which, they say, we arrived at the island?"
"Yes, I remember.—But you don't mean you do mason's work as well as everything else?" exclaimed Christina.
"Come; we will show you," said the chief.
"What do you do it for?"
The brothers exchanged glances.
"Would you count it sufficient reason," returned Ian, "that we desired to preserve its testimony to the former status of our family?"
A pang of pleasure shot through the heart of Christina. Passion is potent to twist in its favour whatever can possibly be so twisted. Here was an indubitable indication of his thoughts! He must make the most of himself, set what he could against the overwhelming advantages on her side! In the eyes of a man of the world like her father, an old name was nothing beside new money! still an old castle was always an old castle! and that he cared about it for her sake made it to her at least worth something!
Ere she could give an answer, Ian went on.
"But in truth," he said, "we have always had a vague hope of its resurrection. The dream of our boyhood was to rebuild the castle. Every year it has grown more hopeless, and keeps receding. But we have come to see how little it matters, and content ourselves with keeping up, for old love's sake, what is left of the ruin."
"How do you get up on the walls?" asked Mercy.
"Ah, that is a secret!" said Ian.
"Do tell us," pleaded Christina.
"If you want very much to know,—" answered Ian, a little doubtfully.
"I do, I do!"
"Then I suppose we must tell you!"
Yet more confirmation to the passion-prejudiced ears of Christina!
"There is a stair," Ian went on, "of which no one but our two selves knows anything. Such stairs are common in old houses—far commoner than people in towns have a notion of. But there would not have been much of it left by this time, if we hadn't taken care of it. We were little fellows when we began, and it needed much contrivance, for we were not able to unseat the remnants of the broken steps, and replace them with new ones."
"Do show it us," begged Christina.
"We will keep it," said Alister, "for some warm twilight. Morning is not for ruins. Yon mountain-side is calling to us. Will you come, Mercy?"
"Oh yes!" cried Christina; "that will be much better! Come, Mercy!
You are up to a climb, I am sure!"
"I ought to be, after such a long rest."
"You may have forgotten how to climb!" said Alister.
"I dreamed too much of the hills for that! And always the noise of London was changed into the rush of waters."
They had dropped a little behind the other pair.
"Did you always climb your dream-hills alone?" asked Alister.
She answered him with just a lift of her big dark eyes.
They walked slowly down the road till they came to Mrs. Conal's path, passed her door unassailed, and went up the hill.
CHAPTER V
PASSION AND PATIENCE
It was a glorious morning, and as they climbed, the lightening air made their spirits rise with their steps. Great masses of cloud hung beyond the edge of the world, and here and there towered foundationless in the sky—huge tumulous heaps of white vapour with gray shadows. The sun was strong, and poured down floods of light, but his heat was deliciously tempered by the mountain atmosphere. There was no wind—only an occasional movement as if the air itself were breathing—just enough to let them feel they moved in no vacuum, but in the heart of a gentle ocean.
They came to the hut I have already described as the one chiefly inhabited by Hector of the Stags and Bob of the Angels. It commanded a rare vision. In every direction rose some cone-shaped hill. The world lay in coloured waves before them, wild, rugged, and grand, with sheltering spots of beauty between, and the shine of lowly waters. They tapped at the door of the hut, but there was no response; they lifted the latch—it had no lock—and found neither within. Alister and Mercy wandered a little higher, to the shadow of a great stone; Christina went inside the hut and looked from its door upon the world; Ian leaned against the side of it, and looked up to the sky. Suddenly a few great drops fell—it was hard to say whence. The scattered clouds had been drawing a little nearer the sun, growing whiter as they approached him, and more had ascended from the horizon into the middle air, blue sky abounding between them. A swift rain, like a rain of the early summer, began to fall, and grew to a heavy shower. They were glorious drops that made that shower; for the sun shone, and every drop was a falling gem, shining, sparkling like a diamond, as it fell. It was a bounteous rain, coming from near the zenith, and falling in straight lines direct from heaven to earth. It wanted but sound to complete its charm, and that the bells of the heather gave, set ringing by the drops. The heaven was filled with blue windows, and the rain seemed to come from them rather than from the clouds. Into the rain rose the heads of the mountains, each clothed in its surplice of thin mist; they seemed rising on tiptoe heavenward, eager to drink of the high-born comfort; for the rain comes down, not upon the mown grass only, but upon the solitary and desert places also, where grass will never be—"the playgrounds of the young angels," Bob called them.
"Do come in," said Christina; "you will get quite wet!"
He turned towards her. She stepped back, and he entered. Like one a little weary, he sat down on Hector's old chair.
"Is anything the matter?" asked Christina, with genuine concern.
She saw that he was not quite like himself, that there was an unusual expression on his face. He gave a faint apologetic smile.
"As I stood there," he answered, "a strange feeling came over me—a foreboding, I suppose you would call it!"
He paused; Christina grew pale, and said, "Won't you tell me what it was?"
"It was an odd kind of conviction that the next time I stood there, it would not be in the body.—I think I shall not come back."
"Come back!" echoed Christina, fear beginning to sip at the cup of her heart. "Where are you going?"
"I start for Canada next week."
She turned deadly white, and put out her hands, feeling blindly after support. Ian started to his feet.
"We have tired you out!" he said in alarm, and took her by both hands to place her in the chair.
She did not hear him. The world had grown dark about her, a hissing noise was in her ears, and she would have fallen had he not put his arm round her. The moment she felt supported, she began to come to herself. There was no pretence, however, no coquetry in her faintness. Neither was it aught but misery and affection that made her lay her head on Ian's shoulder, and burst into a violent fit of weeping. Unused to real emotion, familiar only with the poverty-stricken, false emotion of conquest and gratified vanity, when the real emotion came she did not know how to deal with it, and it overpowered her.
"Oh! oh!" she cried at length between her sobs, "I am ashamed of myself! I can't help it! I can't help it! What will you think of me! I have disgraced myself!"
Ian had been far from any suspicion of the state of things, but he had had too much sorrowful experience to be able to keep his unwilling eyes closed to this new consternation. The cold shower seemed to flood his soul; the bright drops descending with such swiftness of beauty, instinct with sun-life, turned into points of icy steel that pierced his heart. But he must not heed himself! he must speak to her! He must say something through the terrible shroud that infolded them!
"You are as safe with me," he faltered, "—as safe as with your mother!"