CHAPTER XLVISUNSHINE AFTER STORMThe morning after we had waved our farewell to Hector saw us safe in the Isle of Man. Here, through the kindness of the skipper of theSea-mew, we found a lodging until such time as he could arrange for us a passage to England on some barque that was sailing thither. Two days later we were on board theKitty-wake, which carried us safely to the port of Liverpool. On the outskirts of the town, in the little village of Walton, in a cottage behind the old church we found a lodging with the good woman to whom the master of theKitty-wakehad commended us.Now that I was back in England I determined to seek a reconciliation with my uncle and guardian. With some trepidation I wrote him a letter telling him of all that had befallen me, asking his pardon for the anxiety I must have caused him, and craving permission to bring my wife to see him in the old home. It was a hard letter to write, hard and perplexing, and when it was completed I was far from satisfied with it. But Mary, who helped me with wise words, assured me that unless his heart were of adamant it would melt him. So I dispatched it, and waited anxiously for a reply. A fortnight passed, and there was no answer; but one morning when the third week was drawing to a close a post-boy on horseback knocked loudly at the cottage door and I heard him ask: "Does Walter de Brydde, Esquire, live here?" I rushed to the door and received the missive from his hand. "Four shillings to pay, sir," he said. Gladly I paid the fee, and gave him something wherewith to slake his thirst at the nearest tavern. Raising the butt of his crop to his cap, he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and was off.I hastened into Mary's room. The letter was heavily sealed with red wax and the superscription upon it was in writing that I did not know. All excitement, I broke the seal. The letter was from the firm of notaries which for generations had conducted the affairs of our family. They begged to inform me that my letter had been handed to them in their capacity as notaries in charge of my uncle's affairs. They regretted to announce that some seven months ago he and his lady had died of a fever within a few days of each other, the wife predeceasing her husband. As my uncle had died without issue, they had the honour to inform me that the estates passed to me as the next heir male. They noted with satisfaction that I had taken unto myself a wife and they looked forward with pleasure to making the acquaintance of my lady at no distant date. They took the liberty of enclosing for my immediate necessities a draft upon their agents in Old Hall Street in the city of Liverpool, and they trusted that as early as should be convenient to myself and my good lady we would return to Warwick and take up our residence in the old manor. They ventured to hope that the long and amicable relations which had existed between my family and their firm would continue. They assured me of their devoted services at all times, and they had the honour to subscribe themselves my humble and obedient servants.We read the surprising document with heads pressed close together, amazement fettering our tongues. Suddenly Mary drew away, and clasping her hands, exclaimed:"I'm sorry.""Sorry?" I said. "Why? The silly old man and his wife were nothing to you.""Oh no, it's no' that. I cam' to you a tocherless lass wi' naething to gi'e ye but my love--and noo ye're rich.""Sweetheart!" I cried: and dropping the letter with the draft upon the table, I took her in my arms and drew her towards me. "Your love is more to me than all the riches of the Spanish Main. Gold is but dross: love is of God, and eternal."She slipped an arm about my neck, and laid her head upon my shoulder."Ye can kiss me," she said--and added roguishly as she smiled at me--"if ye like."So it came to pass that within a fortnight of receiving the letter we arrived at Warwick, making the journey, as became our state, in a hired carriage with postilions. The needle-women of Liverpool had done their work well, and as I looked at the dainty figure, all frills and furbelows, beside me in the carriage I almost felt that I had lost the Mary I had learned to love at Daldowie. But the light in the pools of her eyes, the aureole above her forehead, and the smile on her bewitching face as she said, "Now, behave yersel'. Ye maunna crush my new goon," told me it was Mary still.CHAPTER XLVIITHE END; AND A BEGINNINGA year has passed, and once again it is the month of May. My little flower of the heather, transported from the hill-sides of Galloway and set in the kindlier atmosphere of this southern clime, has blossomed into a flower of rare beauty. She has not a peer among the ladies of Warwick, and that is saying much.Sometimes, as we sit together on the green lawn that slopes down to the quiet Avon, and think of all the things that befell in the days that are dead, we wonder if they were all a dream. Yet in spite of what she suffered among them, Mary sometimes whispers to me that her heart is sick for the grey hills of Galloway, for the sting of the wind on her cheeks, for the cry of the whaup in her ears; and I find it hard to comfort her. But I think she will never again be sick at heart for the hills of heather, for a new joy has come into her life and mine. A week ago the wonder happened.When, in the early dawn, the good nurse brought me the news as I paced in a fever up and down my study floor, I was all ardent, as any man would be, to see my Mary and her child on the instant. But the nurse bade me curb my impatience, telling me that Mary was asleep. So I made my way out to the lawn, and, leaning on the retaining wall, gazed down upon the Avon. Early roses wet with dew were pouring their incense into the still air, and I plucked me a handful for Mary. As I stood by the wall with the flowers in my hand I chanced to look up the river towards the bridge, and on it I saw a man upon whose shoulders was a pack. Lighting my pipe, I sat down upon the garden seat with the heap of roses beside me. As I sat there I heard a little voice that I had never heard before. Through the open window, my child was joining its little cry to that of a jubilant bird, and my heart was glad within me and the whole sun-kissed earth was ringing with melody. O Mary mine!The sound of footsteps upon the carriage-drive made me turn, and I saw--Hector.I rushed to him with hands outstretched. "Hector!" I cried, and shook him warmly by the hand."Ay, it's me richt eneuch. I got your letter. Ye were wise to write in Latin--but, man, your construction's awfu'--gey near damnable. Ye should mak' mair use o' the ablative absolute. I was pleased tae hear frae ye, though, and things being mair settled up yonder I juist thocht I'd tak' a daunner into England to pit you richt on ane or twa points o' syntax. An' hoo's your good lady?""Mary is splendid," I said. "She has just this morning given birth to a daughter.""My best respects to her and my felicitations upon this great event; but I'm sorry--I'll juist tak' the road again and gang awa' hame. I couldna ha'e come at a waur time.""My dear Hector, what do you mean? Mary would never forgive me if I let you go." And, dropping into the language which I knew he loved, I slipped my arm through his and said, "Come awa' intae the hoose."To-night I have been penning the final pages of this my book, with Hector sitting at his ease in a leathern chair reading a volume from the well-stocked shelves of the study. And I--because my hand was weary, or because my heart was aching for a sight of Mary--stole up to her room a moment since. She was lying in the great carved oaken bed, with the light from the candles in their silver sconces falling upon her dear face and the glory of her hair as it lay outspread on the lavender-scented pillow. I bent over her, and slipping an arm under her shoulders kissed her, and she pushed down the white coverlet with her pretty hand to let me peep at our daughter lying asleep in the fold of her arm."Isn't she bonnie?" she whispered. "I think we'll ca' her Jean.""Flower o' the heather and little heather-bell," I said, and gathered them both in my arms.* * * * * * * *BY THE SAME AUTHORTHE ADVENTURE OF DEATHAn uplifting and strengthening book, free from gloom, and written with literary charm.Fifth ImpressionTHE ADVENTURE OF LIFE"Eloquent and popular talks, such as have been commended to many renders by Dr. Mackenna's 'Adventure of Death.'"--The Times. Second ImpressionBRACKEN AND THISTLEDOWN"A work of singular charm, gracious in the spirit pervading it, pawky in its humour, and bright and keen in its delineation of character. The book should make a very wide appeal."--Liverpool Post. Third ImpressionTHROUGH FLOOD AND FIRE"Mr. Mackenna is a true son of Scott and (dare it be said?) much more likely to appeal to the younger generation than the master. He has the power of vivid story-telling, a remarkable gift for atmosphere and his people are real human stuff."--Daily ChronicleALL RIGHTS RESERVED*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKFLOWER O' THE HEATHER***
CHAPTER XLVI
SUNSHINE AFTER STORM
The morning after we had waved our farewell to Hector saw us safe in the Isle of Man. Here, through the kindness of the skipper of theSea-mew, we found a lodging until such time as he could arrange for us a passage to England on some barque that was sailing thither. Two days later we were on board theKitty-wake, which carried us safely to the port of Liverpool. On the outskirts of the town, in the little village of Walton, in a cottage behind the old church we found a lodging with the good woman to whom the master of theKitty-wakehad commended us.
Now that I was back in England I determined to seek a reconciliation with my uncle and guardian. With some trepidation I wrote him a letter telling him of all that had befallen me, asking his pardon for the anxiety I must have caused him, and craving permission to bring my wife to see him in the old home. It was a hard letter to write, hard and perplexing, and when it was completed I was far from satisfied with it. But Mary, who helped me with wise words, assured me that unless his heart were of adamant it would melt him. So I dispatched it, and waited anxiously for a reply. A fortnight passed, and there was no answer; but one morning when the third week was drawing to a close a post-boy on horseback knocked loudly at the cottage door and I heard him ask: "Does Walter de Brydde, Esquire, live here?" I rushed to the door and received the missive from his hand. "Four shillings to pay, sir," he said. Gladly I paid the fee, and gave him something wherewith to slake his thirst at the nearest tavern. Raising the butt of his crop to his cap, he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and was off.
I hastened into Mary's room. The letter was heavily sealed with red wax and the superscription upon it was in writing that I did not know. All excitement, I broke the seal. The letter was from the firm of notaries which for generations had conducted the affairs of our family. They begged to inform me that my letter had been handed to them in their capacity as notaries in charge of my uncle's affairs. They regretted to announce that some seven months ago he and his lady had died of a fever within a few days of each other, the wife predeceasing her husband. As my uncle had died without issue, they had the honour to inform me that the estates passed to me as the next heir male. They noted with satisfaction that I had taken unto myself a wife and they looked forward with pleasure to making the acquaintance of my lady at no distant date. They took the liberty of enclosing for my immediate necessities a draft upon their agents in Old Hall Street in the city of Liverpool, and they trusted that as early as should be convenient to myself and my good lady we would return to Warwick and take up our residence in the old manor. They ventured to hope that the long and amicable relations which had existed between my family and their firm would continue. They assured me of their devoted services at all times, and they had the honour to subscribe themselves my humble and obedient servants.
We read the surprising document with heads pressed close together, amazement fettering our tongues. Suddenly Mary drew away, and clasping her hands, exclaimed:
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" I said. "Why? The silly old man and his wife were nothing to you."
"Oh no, it's no' that. I cam' to you a tocherless lass wi' naething to gi'e ye but my love--and noo ye're rich."
"Sweetheart!" I cried: and dropping the letter with the draft upon the table, I took her in my arms and drew her towards me. "Your love is more to me than all the riches of the Spanish Main. Gold is but dross: love is of God, and eternal."
She slipped an arm about my neck, and laid her head upon my shoulder.
"Ye can kiss me," she said--and added roguishly as she smiled at me--"if ye like."
So it came to pass that within a fortnight of receiving the letter we arrived at Warwick, making the journey, as became our state, in a hired carriage with postilions. The needle-women of Liverpool had done their work well, and as I looked at the dainty figure, all frills and furbelows, beside me in the carriage I almost felt that I had lost the Mary I had learned to love at Daldowie. But the light in the pools of her eyes, the aureole above her forehead, and the smile on her bewitching face as she said, "Now, behave yersel'. Ye maunna crush my new goon," told me it was Mary still.
CHAPTER XLVII
THE END; AND A BEGINNING
A year has passed, and once again it is the month of May. My little flower of the heather, transported from the hill-sides of Galloway and set in the kindlier atmosphere of this southern clime, has blossomed into a flower of rare beauty. She has not a peer among the ladies of Warwick, and that is saying much.
Sometimes, as we sit together on the green lawn that slopes down to the quiet Avon, and think of all the things that befell in the days that are dead, we wonder if they were all a dream. Yet in spite of what she suffered among them, Mary sometimes whispers to me that her heart is sick for the grey hills of Galloway, for the sting of the wind on her cheeks, for the cry of the whaup in her ears; and I find it hard to comfort her. But I think she will never again be sick at heart for the hills of heather, for a new joy has come into her life and mine. A week ago the wonder happened.
When, in the early dawn, the good nurse brought me the news as I paced in a fever up and down my study floor, I was all ardent, as any man would be, to see my Mary and her child on the instant. But the nurse bade me curb my impatience, telling me that Mary was asleep. So I made my way out to the lawn, and, leaning on the retaining wall, gazed down upon the Avon. Early roses wet with dew were pouring their incense into the still air, and I plucked me a handful for Mary. As I stood by the wall with the flowers in my hand I chanced to look up the river towards the bridge, and on it I saw a man upon whose shoulders was a pack. Lighting my pipe, I sat down upon the garden seat with the heap of roses beside me. As I sat there I heard a little voice that I had never heard before. Through the open window, my child was joining its little cry to that of a jubilant bird, and my heart was glad within me and the whole sun-kissed earth was ringing with melody. O Mary mine!
The sound of footsteps upon the carriage-drive made me turn, and I saw--Hector.
I rushed to him with hands outstretched. "Hector!" I cried, and shook him warmly by the hand.
"Ay, it's me richt eneuch. I got your letter. Ye were wise to write in Latin--but, man, your construction's awfu'--gey near damnable. Ye should mak' mair use o' the ablative absolute. I was pleased tae hear frae ye, though, and things being mair settled up yonder I juist thocht I'd tak' a daunner into England to pit you richt on ane or twa points o' syntax. An' hoo's your good lady?"
"Mary is splendid," I said. "She has just this morning given birth to a daughter."
"My best respects to her and my felicitations upon this great event; but I'm sorry--I'll juist tak' the road again and gang awa' hame. I couldna ha'e come at a waur time."
"My dear Hector, what do you mean? Mary would never forgive me if I let you go." And, dropping into the language which I knew he loved, I slipped my arm through his and said, "Come awa' intae the hoose."
To-night I have been penning the final pages of this my book, with Hector sitting at his ease in a leathern chair reading a volume from the well-stocked shelves of the study. And I--because my hand was weary, or because my heart was aching for a sight of Mary--stole up to her room a moment since. She was lying in the great carved oaken bed, with the light from the candles in their silver sconces falling upon her dear face and the glory of her hair as it lay outspread on the lavender-scented pillow. I bent over her, and slipping an arm under her shoulders kissed her, and she pushed down the white coverlet with her pretty hand to let me peep at our daughter lying asleep in the fold of her arm.
"Isn't she bonnie?" she whispered. "I think we'll ca' her Jean."
"Flower o' the heather and little heather-bell," I said, and gathered them both in my arms.
* * * * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE ADVENTURE OF DEATH
An uplifting and strengthening book, free from gloom, and written with literary charm.Fifth Impression
THE ADVENTURE OF LIFE
"Eloquent and popular talks, such as have been commended to many renders by Dr. Mackenna's 'Adventure of Death.'"--The Times. Second Impression
BRACKEN AND THISTLEDOWN
"A work of singular charm, gracious in the spirit pervading it, pawky in its humour, and bright and keen in its delineation of character. The book should make a very wide appeal."--Liverpool Post. Third Impression
THROUGH FLOOD AND FIRE
"Mr. Mackenna is a true son of Scott and (dare it be said?) much more likely to appeal to the younger generation than the master. He has the power of vivid story-telling, a remarkable gift for atmosphere and his people are real human stuff."--Daily Chronicle
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKFLOWER O' THE HEATHER***