AN ANCIENT LOVE AFFAIR
When Wat awoke on the island and stirred his cramped limbs, on which
the sun had already dried his wet clothes, in the warm and briskly
stirring airs of the summer morning, he could hardly believe in the
reality of his experiences of the night. One by one he remembered the
passage of the cave, the Highland sentinel sleeping by his dying fire,
his new and kindly protector, Bess Landsborough. Then last of all,
and suddenly overflowing all his heart with mighty love (even as a
volcano, Askja or Vatna, pours without warning its burning streams over
icy provinces), the meeting with his love in the dusky undercloud of
night rushed upon his memory and filled all his soul with a swift and
desperate joy.
What wonder that the sweet, low voice he had heard call him "love" out
of the darkness should in the broad common day scarce seem real to poor
Wat Gordon of Lochinvar? He had passed through so many things to hear
it. Also, ever since the death of Little Marie, he knew the accent of
the voice that speaks not for the sake of "making love," but which
unconsciously and inevitably reveals love in every syllable.
Wat had made love in his time, and ladies of beauty and repute not a
few--my Lady Wellwood among the number--had made love to him. But he
knew the difference now.
For love which must needs be "made" bears always the stamp of
manufacture. True love, on the other hand, is a city set on a hill; it
cannot be hid, and this is why the love-glance of a maiden's eye so
eternally confutes the philosophers, and ofttimes lays the lives of the
mighty, for making or marring, in the hollow of very little hands.
The day that succeeded this night adventure was a long one both for Wat
and Kate. For the girl had been even less prepared for the astonishing
event of the night than Wat himself. Providence, by the hand of
Mistress Alister McAlister, had certainly worked strangely. Indeed, the
only person wholly unmoved was that lady herself. She bustled about
the flags of her kitchen, slapping them almost contemptuously with
her broad bare feet, busy as a bee with her baking and brewing, like
the tidy, thrifty, "eident"[C] Ayrshire good-wife that she was. Not a
glance at Kate revealed that she had been instrumental in opening a new
chapter in two lives only the night before.
[C] Diligent.
When, midway through the forenoon, Alister brought his bulky body to
the door-step, his loving wife drove him off again to the gateway of
the tower with an aphorism which is held of the highest repute in the
parish of Colmonel:
"Na, na, come na here for your brose--e'en get your meal o' meat where
ye work your wark!"
And the stoop-shouldered giant coolly retreated without a word of
protest, merely helping himself as he went out to a double handful of
oatmeal from his wife's bake-board, for all the world like a theftuous
school-boy, who keeps the while one eye on the master. With this he
took his way to the spring which trickled down by the castle wall. And
there, very deliberately and philosophically, he proceeded to make
himself a dish of cold "drammoch" on the smooth surface of a stone
which the water had hollowed.
"And mony is the hungry mouth that would be glad of it," said he, by
way of grace after meat. For Alister was of the excellent and approven
opinion that a dinner of herbs by the dikeside is better than a banquet
of Whitehall with the sauce of an angry woman's tongue for seasoning
thereto.
But when Bess Landsborough brought the prisoner his farles of cake and
cool buttermilk (for it was "kirning day"), she took out also a handful
of crisp bannocks for her husband. These she thrust under his nose
with the sufficient and comprehensive monosyllable, "Hae!" And Alister
accepted the act as at once honorable amend and judicious apology.
Nor was Alister behindhand in courtesy. For though the silent jailer
did not utter a single word either to his wife or his prisoner, he drew
his _skean dhu_ and cut a whang from the sweet-milk cheese which he
kept by him. To this he added a horn of strong island spirit, which of
a surety proved very much to the taste of the late master-at-arms to
their several Highnesses Louis, King of France, and William of Orange,
Stadtholder of the Netherlands.
Thereafter, with consideration particularly delicate, he withdrew out
of earshot and sat on a knoll before the castle, leaving his wife to
talk at leisure to her ancient sweetheart. For Alister McAlister was
a man without jealousy. He knew that he could keep his wife, even as
he kept his head in battle, with the little wee point of his knife and
the broad, broad blade of his claymore. And as for ancient sweethearts,
what cared he for a peck of them? Bess Landsborough might have had a
score of lovers in the 'Lowlands low'; yet had she not chosen to leave
them all and follow him up the braes--aye, and over the sea straits,
threading the ultimate islands till at last she had come to this
barren holding of rock, scantily felted down with heather and peat, on
the isle of Suliscanna?
But, on the other hand, Scarlett was not the man to lose his time, in
spite of bonds and imprisonments.
"Ye are as weel-faured as ever, Bess. Ye were aye a bonny blithesome
lass a' the days o' ye!" said he, complacently, as he munched his
farles of cake and took sup about of usquebaugh from the horn and
buttermilk from the pail.
"Havers!" said Mistress McAlister, "ye are an auld eneuch man to ken
that ye canna blaw twice in my lug wi' the same flairdies. Ye forget
I hae heard ye at that job before. And it lasted--hoo lang? Just e'en
till your company rade awa' frae Girvan to Kirkcudbright, and then ye
took up with Maggie Nicholson, the byre-lass o' Bombie, the very second
week that ever ye were there! And telled her, I dare say, that she was
weel-faured, blithe, and a bonny woman!"
"I see ye haena forgotten how to belie them that ye tried to break the
hearts o', Bess Landsborough," said Scarlett, without, however, letting
his broken heart interfere with a very excellent appetite. "Ye weel ken
that ye sent me frae the door o' the Laggan wi' my tail atween my legs
like a weel-lickit messan, and twa o' your ill-set cronies lookin' on
at my shaming, too."
"I'm thinkin', my man John," retorted Bess Landsborough, "that ye had
better say as little as ye can aboot that ploy. For the lasses were
Mirren Semple o' the Auld Wa's and Meg Kennedy o' Kirriemore, that
had come in the afternoon to keep me company. And as we sat talking
ower ae thing after anither, we spak' amang ithers o' you, my braw
trooper--Sergeant John Scarlett, no less, that rode so gallantly with
the colors in his hand. And by this and that we had it made clear that
ye had been for making up to a' the three o' us at once! An' so we
compared your tricks. How ye had gotten doon on your knees and telled
us that ye loved us best o' a' the world. Ye had kissed oor hands--at
least, mine and Meg Kennedy's. But your favorite fashion was to take
the skirts o' oor gouns and kiss the hem o' them, swearin' that ye wad
raither kiss the border o' oor cloaks than the mouth o' the grandest
woman in Scotland. (A' the three o' us!) Then ye asked for a curl cut
off aboon our brows--at least, frae mine and Mirren Semple's. For Meg
Kennedy never had sic a thing in her life, but had aye flat, greasy
hair, sleekit like a mowdiewart[D] hingin' by the neck in a trap on a
wat day. And her ye telled that ye couldna bide hair that wadna keep
smooth, but was aye a'kinked and thrawn into devalls and curliewigs.
Oh, sic a bonny, true-speakin', decent, mensefu' callant as the three
o' us made ye oot to be! So when we had ye gye-and-weel through-hands,
wha should ride up to the door but my gay lad himsel', this same braw
cavalier. So Mirren and Meg and me, we gaed oot ontil the step and
telled ye what we thocht o' ye. Ow aye, ye were a puir disjaskit cuif
that day, Sergeant John Scarlett, for a' your silver spurs and your red
sodjer's coat!"
[D] Mole.
John Scarlett laughed loud and long at the record of his iniquities,
but his abasement, if at the time as profound as Bess Landsborough made
it out to be, had certainly completely passed away. For he cried out:
"What a grand memory ye hae for the auld times, Bess! I warrant ye, ye
couldna gang ower the points o' Effectual Calling as briskly, nor yet
the kings o' Judah and Israel that ye learned on the Sabbath forenichts
by the lowe o' the Colmonel peats!"
"But eneuch o' havers," said Bess; "ken ye that yon braw lad o' yours
is safe and hearty? Mair than that, he met wi' his bonny lass yestreen.
Baith o' them kens what love is--a thing that ye never kenned, no, nor
will ken to your dying day, John Scarlett."
"Aweel, aweel," replied Scarlett, placably, "at ony rate I am desperate
glad that Wat's won oot o' the brash o' the mony waters safe and
sound; and as for love, if I kenned nocht aboot it, at least I hae had
experience o' some gye fair imitations in my time, that did well eneuch
for a puir perishing mortal like me."
* * * * *
On the other hand, Wat on his isle of Fiara had been exceedingly
busy all that day. He had chosen a shallow cavern on the most remote
northern shore of Fiara, dry and open like the entrance-hall of a
house, and into it he had carried a large quantity of fresh and
blooming heather, sufficient for the most luxurious couch in the world.
This he arranged in a little sheltered alcove to the right of the main
chamber, and pleased himself with the simple arrangements, talking to
himself all the time.
"By this path she can go down to the sea without being observed. Into
this basin I can lead the water that trickles over the rock, so that
she may wash on chill or rainy mornings."
He broke off with a quick, nervous laugh at his own thoughts.
"I am speaking as if we were always to dwell together on this island.
But the sooner we get away the better it will be for both of us."
Yet, somehow, the imagination of his heart played about this idea
of the seclusion of two on the isle of Fiara. For the escape itself
Wat had his plans already laid. He knew that Kate was a strong
swimmer--indeed, far his own superior at the art. Once in the old
days she had beaten him hollow when but a half-grown girl, swimming
two miles on the broad spaces of Loch Ken without a sign of fatigue.
Scarlett was a more difficult problem. For the stout soldier had always
held all that concerned the water in sovereign contempt, and Wat could
see no way of conveying him safely across to the northern island. Yet
it was essential for their escape that he should be taken thither, and
that at the same time with Kate. For the islanders might be inclined
to make short work of their remaining prisoner if they found that the
maid, so straitly committed to their charge, had been spirited away.
So before committing himself for the second time to the strange
water-gate which led to his beloved, Wat had all the details of his
plot arranged. He resolved to make the attempt on the first night when
the new moon should be far enough advanced to throw a faint light
over the water and temper the darkness of the rock passage. He could
construct of driftwood a raft large enough to carry those necessaries
with which Bess Landsborough could furnish him out of her scanty stores
without attracting attention. The raft would also be at least a partial
support for Scarlett. Wat resolved to arrange the method of escape with
Bess that very night, and obtain from her the cord before returning.
When Wat emerged from the long passage it was perfectly dark. Not even
a single star was to be seen. More than once had he scraped himself
painfully on the concealed rocks and on the sides of the cavern; upon
which he grumbled to himself as even a man in love will do, for he knew
that he would feel these hurts very much more acutely on the morrow.
"This will not do at all for Scarlett, though Kate might manage well
enough by keeping close to my shoulder," he said, shaking his head,
which dripped with the salt-water, for the first break across the sound
to the archway had been through a pretty briskly running jabble of
spray.
But when Wat came out on the sea-front of Suliscanna he saw an unusual
sight. Torches thronged in single file down the pathways. They flashed
and crowded about the landing-place, passing and repassing each other.
A boat-load of men was just disembarking in the nearer bay; while yet
another was dropping down the slack of the ebb, coming from the south
of the island and striking in for the shore exactly at the proper
moment, like men who knew every turn of the currents.
Wat could hear the clatter of many voices.
Swimming silently and showing no more than the dark thatch of his hair
over the water, he approached nearer. He might have been a seal for all
the mark he made on the water.
As the torches gathered thicker about the landing-place, Wat could see
the flash of arms as one gentleman and another disembarked. Presently
a figure in black stepped ashore, and was greeted with a loud shout of
welcome and acclaim by the islanders. Wat's heart sank within him, for
he recognized his arch-enemy, and he knew that the difficulties of his
task would now be infinitely increased. For my Lord of Barra it was
indeed, who had at last come to claim his captive. And there behind
him, like a hulking lubber-fiend, strode the burly, battered figure of
Haxo the Bull, with the Calf and the Killer in close attendance.