Part 30 (1/2)
”Now, my lady!” he said. ”Run for the wood.”
Florimel rose and fled, heard a great scrambling behind her, and turning at the first tree, which was only a few yards off, saw Kelpie on her hind legs, and Malcolm, whom she had lifted with her, sticking by his knees on her bare back. The moment her fore feet touched the ground, he gave her the spur severely, and after one plunging kick, off they went westward over the sands, away from the sun; nor did they turn before they had dwindled to such a speck that the ladies could not have told by their eyes whether it was moving or not. At length they saw it swerve a little; by and by it began to grow larger; and after another moment or two they could distinguish what it was, tearing along towards them like a whirlwind, the lumps of wet sand flying behind like an upward storm of clods.
What a picture it was only neither of the ladies was calm enough to see it picturewise: the still sea before, type of the infinite always, and now of its repose; the still straight solemn wood behind, like a past world that had gone to sleep--out of which the sand seemed to come flowing down, to settle in the long sand lake of the beach; that flameless furnace of life tearing along the sh.o.r.e, betwixt the sea and the land, between time and eternity, guided, but only half controlled, by the strength of a higher will; and the two angels that had issued--whether out of the forest of the past or the sea of the future, who could tell?--and now stood, with hand shaded eyes, gazing upon that fierce apparition of terrene life.
As he came in front of them, Malcolm suddenly wheeled Kelpie, so suddenly and in so sharp a curve that he made her ”turne close to the ground, like a cat, when scratchingly she wheeles about after a mouse,” as Sir Philip Sidney says, and dashed her straight into the sea. The two ladies gave a cry, Florimel of delight, Clementina of dismay, for she knew the coast, and that there it shelved suddenly into deep water. But that was only the better to Malcolm: it was the deep water he sought, though he got it with a little pitch sooner than he expected. He had often ridden Kelpie into the sea at Portlossie, even in the cold autumn weather when first she came into his charge, and nothing pleased her better or quieted her more.
He was a heavy weight to swim with, but she displaced much water.
She carried her head bravely, he balanced sideways, and they swam splendidly. To the eyes of Clementina the mare seemed to be labouring for her life.
When Malcolm thought she had had enough of it, he turned her head to the sh.o.r.e. But then came the difficulty. So steeply did the sh.o.r.e shelve that Kelpie could not get a hold with her hind hoofs to scramble up into the shallow water. The ladies saw the struggle, and Clementina, understanding it, was running in an agony right into the water, with the vain idea of helping them, when Malcolm threw himself off, drawing the reins over Kelpie's head as he fell, and swimming but the length of them sh.o.r.ewards, felt the ground with his feet, and stood, Kelpie, relieved of his weight, floated a little farther on to the shelf, got a better hold with her fore feet, some hold with her hind ones, and was beside him in a moment.
The same moment Malcolm was on her back again, and they were tearing off eastward at full stretch. So far did the lessening point recede in the narrowing distance, that the two ladies sat down on the sand, and fell a-talking about Florimel's most uncategorical groom, as Clementina, herself the most uncategorical of women, to use her own scarcely justifiable epithet, called him. She asked if such persons abounded in Scotland. Florimel could but answer that this was the only one she had met with. Then she told her about Richmond Park and Lord Liftore and Epictetus.
”Ah, that accounts for him!” said Clementina. ”Epictetus was a Cynic, a very cruel man: he broke his slave's leg once, I remember.”
”Mr Lenorme told me that he was the slave, and that his master broke his leg,” said Florimel.
”Ah, yes! I daresay.--That was it. But it is of little consequence: his principles were severe, and your groom has been his too ready pupil. It is a pity he is such a savage: he might be quite an interesting character.--Can he read?”
”I have just told you of his reading Greek over Kelpie's head,”
said Florimel, laughing.
”Ah! but I meant English,” said Clementina, whose thoughts were a little astray. Then laughing at herself she explained ”I mean, can he read aloud? I put the last of the Waverley novels in the box we shall have tomorrow, or the next day at latest, I hope: and I was wondering whether he could read the Scotch--as it ought to be read. I have never heard it spoken, and I don't know how to imagine it.”
”We can try him,” said Florimel. ”It will be great fun anyhow. He is such a character! You will be so amused with the remarks he will make!”
”But can you venture to let him talk to you?”
”If you ask him to read, how will you prevent him? Unfortunately he has thoughts, and they will out.”
”Is there no danger of his being rude?”
”If speaking his mind about anything in the book be rudeness, he will most likely be rude. Any other kind of rudeness is as impossible to Malcolm as to any gentleman in the land.”
”How can you be so sure of him?” said Clementina, a little anxious as to the way in which her friend regarded the young man.
”My father was--yes, I may say so--attached to him--so much so that he--I can't quite say what--but something like made him promise never to leave my service. And this I know for myself, that not once, ever since that man came to us, has he done a selfish thing or one to be ashamed of. I could give you proof after proof of his devotion.”
Florimel's warmth did not rea.s.sure Clementina; and her uneasiness wrought to the prejudice of Malcolm. She was never quite so generous towards human beings as towards animals. She could not be depended on for justice except to people in trouble, and then she was very apt to be unjust to those who troubled them.
”I would not have you place too much confidence in your Admirable Crichton of menials, Florimel,” she said. ”There is something about him I cannot get at the bottom of. Depend upon it, a man who can be cruel would betray on the least provocation.”
Florimel smiled superior--as she had good reason to do; but Clementina did not understand the smile, and therefore did not like it. She feared the young fellow had already gained too much influence over his mistress.
”Florimel, my love,” she said, ”listen to me. Your experience is not so ripe as mine. That man is not what you think him. One day or other he will, I fear, make himself worse than disagreeable.
How can a cruel man be unselfish?”
”I don't think him cruel at all. But then I haven't such a soft heart for animals as you. We should think it silly in Scotland. You wouldn't teach a dog manners at the expense of a howl. You would let him be a nuisance rather than give him a cut with a whip. What a nice mother of children you will make, Clementina! That's how the children of good people are so often a disgrace to them.”