Part 10 (1/2)
”It would be a strong place to hold, if the defenders had time to choose their ground,” Lisle remarked.
”So it proved,” replied his companion. ”Well, once upon a time, a bold Scots reaver, riding south, saw a maid who pleased him near a c.u.mberland pele. His admiration was not reciprocated, but he came again, often, though being an armed thief by profession there was a price upon his head. It is stated that on each occasion he returned unaccompanied by any of the cattle belonging to his lady's relatives, which was an unusual piece of forbearance. In those days, men must have been able to disa.s.sociate business from their love-making.”
”Don't they do so now?” Lisle inquired lazily.
She looked at him with a smile which had a hint of real bitterness in its light mockery.
”Not often, one would imagine. Perhaps they can't be blamed--I'm afraid we're all given to cultivating dreadfully expensive tastes. No doubt, when it was needful, the Border chieftain of the story could live on oatmeal and water, and instead of buying pedigree hunters he probably stole his pony. He haunted the neighborhood of the pele until the maid became afraid and urged her kinsmen to rid her of him. Several of them tried and failed--which wasn't surprising.”
”Love made him invulnerable?” Lisle suggested.
”No,” retorted his companion. ”A man with a heart constant and stout enough to face the risks he ran would be hard to kill. When you read between the lines, it's a moving tale. Think of the long, perilous rides he made through an enemy's land, all for a glance at his disdainful lady!
They watched the fords in those days, but neither brawling rivers nor well-mounted hors.e.m.e.n could stop him. At last, he came one night with a dozen spears, broke in the barmkin gate and carried her off. All her relatives rode hard after them and came up with them in this ghyll. Then there happened what was, in one way, a rather remarkable thing--the abducted maid firmly declined to be rescued. There was a brisk encounter, I believe two or three were killed; but she rode off to Scotland with her lover. I suppose I needn't point the moral?”
”I can see only the ancient one--that it's unwise to take a lady's 'No'
as conclusive,” Lisle ventured.
She laughed at him in a daring manner.
”The pity is that we haven't often a chance of saying it to any one worth while. But I'll express the moral in a prettier way--sometimes disinterested steadfastness and real devotion count with us.
Unfortunately, they're scarce.”
There was a challenge in her glance, but the man, not knowing what was expected of him, made no answer. At first he had been almost repelled by the girl, but he was becoming mildly interested in her. She could, he thought, be daring to the verge of coa.r.s.eness, and he did not admire her pessimism, which was probably a pose; but there was a vein of elfish mischief in her that appealed to him. Sitting among the heather, small, lithe, and felinely graceful, watching him with a provocative smile in her rather narrow eyes, she compelled his attention.
”Well,” she laughed, ”you're not much of a courtier. But doesn't that story bring you back into touch with elemental things--treacherous mosses, dark nights, flooded rivers, pa.s.sion, peril, dauntlessness? Now we're wrapped about with empty futilities.”
He understood part of what was in her mind and sympathized with it. He had lived close to nature in stern grapple with her unbridled forces.
From women he demanded no more than beauty or gentleness; but a man, he thought, should for a time, at least, be forced to learn the stress and joy of the tense struggle with cold and hunger, heat and thirst, on long marches or in some dogged attack on rock and flood. He had only contempt for the well-fed idlers who lounged through life, not always, as he suspected, even gracefully. These, however, were ideas he had no intention of expressing.
”There are still people who have to face realities in the newer lands; and I dare say you have some in this country, on your railroads and in your mines, for example,” he said. ”But hadn't we better be getting on?”
They left the brink of the hollow and plodded through the heather toward where a row of b.u.t.ts stood beneath a lofty ridge of the moor. A man appeared from behind one as they approached and glanced at them with unconcealed disapproval.
”Couldn't you have got here earlier, Bella?” he asked. ”In another few minutes you'd have spoiled the drive--the birds can't be far off the dip of the ridge. Hardly fair to the keepers or the rest of us to take these risks, is it?”
”When I do wrong, I never confess it, Clarence,” the girl replied. ”You ought to know that by now.”
Lisle heard the name and became suddenly intent--this was Clarence Gladwyne! There was no doubt that he was a handsome man. He was tall and held himself finely; he had a light, springy figure, with dark eyes and hair. Besides, there was a certain stamp of refinement or fastidiousness upon him which was only slightly spoiled by the veiled hint of languid insolence in his expression.
”I heard a shot,” he resumed.
”I've no doubt you did,” the girl agreed. ”An old c.o.c.k grouse got up in front of us--it was irresistibly tempting.”
Gladwyne turned to Lisle with a slight movement of his shoulders which was somehow expressive of half-indulgent contempt.
”You're Nasmyth's friend from Canada? I guess you don't understand these things, but you might have made the birds break back,” he said. ”However, we must get under cover now--there's your b.u.t.t. I'll see you later.”
He turned away and Lisle took up his station behind the wall of turf pointed to. He had once upon a time been forcibly rebuked for his clumsiness at some unaccustomed task in the Canadian bush and had not resented it, but the faint movement of Gladwyne's shoulders had brought a warmth to his face. The girl noticed this.