Part 18 (1/2)
”What a dreadful face!” said the girl, shuddering.
”It's no an ill faured face,” said Malcolm, ”only the storm's fricht.i.t him by ord'nar, an' it's unco ghaistly the noo.”
”Is there nothing to be done for him?” she said compa.s.sionately.
”No upo' this side the grave, I doobt, my leddy,” answered Malcolm.
Here coming to herself the girl became aware of her support, and laid her hand on Malcolm's to remove his arm. He obeyed instantly, and she said nothing.
”There was some speech,” he went on hurriedly, with a quaver in his voice, ”o' pittin' him intill the asylum at Aberdeen, an' no lattin' him scoor the queentry this gait, they said; but it wad hae been sheer cruelty, for the cratur likes naething sac weel as rinnin' aboot, an' does no' mainner o' hurt. A verra bairn can guide him. An' he has jist as guid a richt to the leeberty G.o.d gies him as ony man alive, an' mair nor a hantle (more than many).”
”Is nothing known about him?”
”A' thing's known aboot him, my leddy, 'at 's known aboot the lave (rest) o' 's. His father was the laird o' Gersefell--an' for that maitter he's laird himsel' noo. But they say he's taen sic a scunner (disgust) at his mither, that he canna bide the verra word o' mither; he jist cries oot whan he hears 't.”
”It seems clearing,” said Florimel.
”I doobt it's only haudin' up for a wee,” returned Malcolm, after surveying as much of the sky as was visible through the bars; ”but I do think ye had better run for the hoose, my leddy. I s' jist follow ye, a feow yairds ahin', till I see ye safe. Dinna ye be feared--I s' tak guid care: I wadna hae ye seen i' the company o' a fisher lad like me.”
There was no doubting the perfect simplicity with which this was said, and the girl took no exception. They left the tunnel, and skirting the bottom of the little hill on which stood the temple of the winds, were presently in the midst of a young wood, through which a gravelled path led towards the House. But they had not gone far ere a blast of wind, more violent than any that had preceded it, smote the wood, and the trees, young larches and birches and sycamores, bent streaming before it. Lady Florimel turned to see where Malcolm was, and her hair went from her like a Maenad's, while her garments flew fluttering and straining, as if struggling to carry her off. She had never in her life before been out in a storm, and she found the battle joyously exciting. The roaring of the wind in the trees was grand; and what seemed their terrified struggles while they bowed and writhed and rose but to bow again, as in mad effort to unfix their earthbound roots and escape, took such sympathetic hold of her imagination, that she flung out her arms, and began to dance and whirl as if herself the genius of the storm. Malcolm, who had been some thirty paces behind, was with her in a moment.
”Isn't it splendid?” she cried.
”It blaws weel--verra near as weel 's my daddy,” said Malcolm, enjoying it quite as much as the girl.
”How dare you make game of such a grand uproar?” said Florimel with superiority.
”Mak ghem o' a blast o' win' by comparin' 't to my gran'father!”
exclaimed Malcolm. ”Hoot, my leddy! its a coamplement to the biggest blast 'at ever blew to be compairt till an auld man like him. I'm ower used to them to min' them muckle mysel', 'cep' to fecht wi'
them. But whan I watch the seagoos dartin' like arrowheids throu'
the win', I sometimes think it maun be gran' for the angels to caw aboot great flags o' wings in a mortal warstle wi' sic a hurricane as this.”
”I don't understand you one bit,” said Lady Florimel petulantly.
As she spoke, she went on, but, the blast having abated, Malcolm lingered, to place a proper distance between them.
”You needn't keep so far behind,” said Florimel, looking back.
”As yer leddys.h.i.+p pleases,” answered Malcolm, and was at once by her side. ”I'll gang till ye tell me to stan'.--Eh, sae different 's ye look frae the ither mornin'!”
”What morning?”
”Whan ye was sittin' at the fut o' the bored craig.”
”Bored craig? What's that?”
”The rock wi' a hole throu' 'it. Ye ken the rock weel eneuch, my leddy. Ye was sittin' at the fut o' 't, readin' yer buik, as white 's gien ye had been made o' snaw. It cam to me that the rock was the sepulchre, the hole the open door o' 't, an' yersel' ane o' the angels that had faulded his wings an' was waitin' for somebody to tell the guid news till, that he was up an awa'.”