A good old man, Sir; he will be talking; as they say, when the age
is in, the wit is out.--MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
“AND, Dragon, you mind you promised the very first day--but you never
told us yet the story of the Lady’s Well.”
“Have you ever been to see it, bairns?” asked the old man.
The children were seated on the outside stair, which led to Dragon’s
room. Violet, at least, sat on the upper step, with a book on her lap,
and a total disappearance of feet, which suggested a suspicion that
Lettie patronised the Turkish manner of seating herself rather than the
English. Katie, who had a larger share of boldness than her friend, was
jumping from the stair to the ground, mounting a step higher for every
leap, while Dragon stood on the threshold of his own door, dangling
his thin long arms, and talking to them with his usual animation. It
was not yet the hour “when the kye come hame,” and the two little
girls, who constantly attended Mysie during the process of milking,
were waiting for her appearance; besides that, they very generally
chose to learn their lessons on Dragon’s steps, having a facility of
interruption here, which they could attain to in no other place.
“Eh, no--we’ve never been there!” cried Katie; “and Mysie’s no away yet
to bring the cow. We’ve plenty time. Will you come, Dragon, and let us
see it now?”
“I’m no heeding--if you’re sure you would like to gang,” said the old
man. “But then, how am I to ken that you’ve got a’ your lessons bye,
and that it’s lawful to take ye? for, you see, bairns that dinna attend
to their learning, have nae claim to diversion; and, Missie, you’re no
dune wi’ your book yet.”
“But it’s just grammar, Dragon,” said Lettie, disconsolately; “and it’s
no use trying to learn it till I’m to say it, for I aye forget till
it’s just the time. Eh, Katie, you couldna jump off here.”
“Ye’re nane o’ ye gaun to jump and break banes at my door. I’ll no hae
mysel brocht in for a doctor’s bill, like the way the auld maister
brocht in Eppie for the muckle bowl she broke,” said Dragon. “Gang
quiet down the steps, bairns, or I’ll no let you come here ony mair.
And now, you see, we’ll take this road, and we’ll sune be at the Lady’s
Well.”
The road was a solitary lane, looking deep and cool under the shadow
of high thorn hedges, through which the delicate white convolvulus had
darned its fairy leaves and tendrils. Here and there in the hedge-row,
an old low oak, long shorn of all its branches, stood alone like some
strong ruin, with a growth of pliant twigs, and young foliage waving
over the bald trunk as they might have waved over a moss-grown wall.
The ruddy clouds of the sunset were rapidly fading from the west, and
already a meek young moon glanced shyly over the head of Demeyet; but
it was still full daylight, and the children skipped along gaily by
Dragon’s side, keeping an eye on the field, whence Mailie, the brown
cow, began to low her impatient summons to her maid; but the maid did
not make her appearance, and Violet and Katie went merrily on to the
Lady’s Well.
The Lady’s Well lay under the shadow of an immense old saugh tree,
whose whispering, sighing branches were continually bending down with
a kind of graceful melancholy curiosity over the clear spring at
its feet. A very narrow strip of path proved that there still came
occasional visitors to the little fountain; but the underwood was
thick and tangled round it, and the long bramble branches, on which
already early berries began to ripen, formed a dangerous network of
defence, closing up even the one entrance, which gave admittance to
the small circle of green turf surrounding the spring. But there were
signs remaining which told of a time when greater honour was paid to
the Lady’s Well; for the water bubbled up into a marble basin, and a
small carved canopy protected it from the falling leaves. The little
girls scrambled through the brambles with eager interest, and Katie
bent curiously over the protecting cradle, while Violet sat down upon
a great stone, which lay beside the basin--a hewn stone, slightly
hollowed out in the centre, as if it had been used as a seat for ages.
The stillness of the place, shut in on every side by the surrounding
wood, and the silvery tinkle with which the water escaped from the
hollowed edge of the basin, and passed away in a slender thread over
the bleached pebbles of its narrow channel--away under the thick
concealing brushwood, disappearing as completely as though the earth
had swallowed it again--affected Lettie with strange awe; and so it
was not her, but her little companion, who broke the dreamy silence by
demanding from Dragon the story he had promised.
“Ye see, bairns,” said Dragon, seating himself on the slender trunk of
a young willow, cut down and left there for dead, but which was already
throwing out its unquenchable life in long shoots of delicate green,
“there was ance a Laird of Allenders, and he had ae only daughter, and
her name was Violet. But they never ca’d her Lettie, as they do you,
Missie--aye, the full name, like as if she had been a flower; and as
bonnie as a flower she was, by a’ accounts, and made ballants and sangs
out of her ain head. But, bairns, ye’ll be getting your death of cauld
in this dowie place, and then the blame’s sure to come on me.”
“But the lady, Dragon--the lady,” exclaimed Violet, whose interest had
been greatly quickened by the lady’s name.
“Weel, as I was saying, there was not anither woman body about the
house but hersel, and some servant women--neither mother, nor sister,
nor friend; and the auld laird living solitary, and the young ane
away in Flanders at the wars; so Leddy Violet ga’ed wandering about
the water and the hills, her lane, and had an awfu’ wark wi’ this bit
spring, and caused bring the very stane you’re sitting on, Missie,”
(a thrill of strange interest passed over Lettie), “and came ilka day
hersel, and drank the water in a silver cup, and sat upon the seat,
with her ain thoughts for company, till the spirits that were in the
world then, began to take note of her, and tell ane anither of the Lady
at the Well. Some say she began to get wit of them hersel, and saw them
watching her out of the trees; but ye maunna believe that, bairns, for
it has nae foundation--no a hair of proof, to satisfy ony man that
inquired into it.”
“But there came a braw gentleman to the countryside that had a grand
castle some way in the Lennox, and great friends among the Highland
chiefs; and ae day, when he was gaun wandering by the links of Forth,
he heard music in the air, and ga’ed on and on, following after it,
till it led him by the very road we came this nicht, and brought him to
where Leddy Violet was sitting by the well. And what should this be but
a sma’ fairy, that had a lad hersel, nae doubt, and likit Leddy Violet,
and didna ken what grand company guid thoughts were, but aye lamented
ower the bonnie leddy, her lane and solitary in the wood. Ane canna
tell now what kind of spirits thae fairies were, but nae doubt they had
discrimination; for it even turned out sae, that the leddy hersel likit
the braw lad’s company better than her ain thoughts.”
“Eh, Dragon, are you sure there’s nae fairies now?” asked Katie Calder.
“He’ll tell us the morn. I want to hear about the Lady, Dragon?” said
the eager Violet.
“I never saw ony,” said the old man, mysteriously, “whiles I’ve heard
folk say--but I’ll no tell you that, or you’ll be feared.”
“What is it, Dragon?” exclaimed both the children in a breath.
“They say in moonlight nights, the fairies have a feast here, and get
their wine out of the well; and that there’s aye some about in the
gloaming spreading the tables; but they’ll no meddle wi’ ye, if you’re
guid bairns.”
Violet shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked intently under the
brushwood, to one spot of bright reflected light upon the water. She
did not speak, but with a shiver of fascination and awe watched the
slender current steal away under the leaves, and devoutly believed
that she had seen the golden vessels of the fairy feast; but even this
did not make her forget the story, and again she repeated, “The lady,
Dragon, the lady.”
“Weel, bairns, ye see it was the spring season then,” resumed Dragon,
“and there was a lang summer time to come--bonnie days--we never have
the like of them now--when Leddy Violet was constant at the Well. And
the lad--they ca’ed him Sir Harry--came and went, and lay on the grass
at her feet, and courted her, and sang to her, and made his reverence,
till she learned to think, poor lassie, that there wasna a man like him
in a’ the world. So he got acquaint at her father’s house, and courted
the auld laird for her, and was about Allenders night and day; and at
last it came to pass that they were to be married.
“Now, ye see, having mair to do now, when she was soon to be a married
wife, she never got out to her auld wanderings, but sat with her maids,
and saw them make gowns of silk and satin for the grand bridal; and
this very same sma’ fairy that first brought the gentleman to see her,
had cast out with her ain lad by this time, and was in a sorrowful
humour, and could not keep her hand from aye meddling with the leddy’s
concerns. So what did she do, for an imp of mischief as she maun hae
been, but flee away to Sir Harry’s ain land, and gather I kenna how
mony stories of him; for he had been but a wild lad in his young days,
and was nae better than he should be even then. And I canna tell ye,
bairns, what art magic it was dune by, but this I ken, that it a’ came
to Leddy Violet’s ain ears--every word o’t. Now ye maun mind, that for
her ain sel, she was like a saint; no a wee new-born bairn, nor ane of
the like of you, mair innocent than her, though she was a woman grown.
And nae suner had she heard this, than her maid that was wi’ her, was
aware of a sound like the snapping o’ a string. Na, missie, ye couldna
guess what that was--it was a sairer thing than you ever heard tell o’
a’ your days--it was Leddy Violet’s heart.”
Violet had fixed her dilating melancholy eyes, in which the tears
were fast swelling, upon the old man’s face, and sat leaning her head
upon her hands, bent forward with the deepest attention; while Katie,
arrested suddenly in the very act of balancing herself upon the little
canopy, turned a look of eager interest upon him, till released by this
conclusion she slipped down, and placed herself very quietly on the
fallen tree by his side. In his monotonous, half-chaunting voice, the
old man proceeded.
“The wedding was put off, and naebody kent what for, for Leddy Violet
had a wise heart, and wouldna send him away till she was sure. But
there came a gray-bearded man to the gate in the night, and asked to
see her--what he said nae man kent; but when the morning broke, Leddy
Violet was sitting at her ain window, gripping her hands fast, with
a face as wan as the dead, and the bonnie gold hair upon her head a’
covered wi’ flakes of white, like snaw. But she rose up and cried upon
her serving-woman, and put on her wedding gown. It was a’ white and
glistening--the auld brocade that you read about in books, wrought with
flowers, and grander than you ever saw. And then she put her bride’s
veil on her head, and went away with a slow, stately step out of
Allenders. The serving-woman in fear and trembling creepit away after
her, hiding under the hedges along the whole road, and she mindit often
that the leddy didna meet a single living person a’ the way--for she
came straight here to the Lady’s Well.”
With a shiver of excitement and wonder the children looked round them,
and drew closer to Dragon; but the old man went steadily on.
“It was just half-licht, and the woman could see naething but the
leddy, with her grand glistening gown and her veil about her head, gaun
stately alang the quiet road. When she came to the Well, she sat down
upon the stane, and crossed her hands upon her breast, and droopit her
head; but there came a noise of folk upon the road at that moment, and
Leddy Violet’s woman ran to see what it was. She looked east, and she
looked west, but there wasna so much as a shadow on the haill way; and
then she was scared and feared, and ran without a stop till she wan
hame.
But never mortal man saw Leddy Violet mair.”
“Eh, Dragon! where did she go?” cried Katie Calder under her breath;
but Violet only cast timid looks round her, and almost thought she
could perceive, in the half-light of this other gloaming, glimmerings
of the white garments through the close foliage of the trees.
“I tell ye, Missie, nae mortal on this earth kens that,” said the
Dragon of Allenders; “but, bairns, ye’ll be getting cauld--and I’ll
tell ye the rest at hame.”
“Oh, Dragon, tell us the rest,” pleaded Violet; but she looked behind
her and before, and almost believed she felt the cold hand of the
weird-lady laid upon her shoulder.
“They sought her up and down through the whole country, but the wise
and auld among them, kent full well that they would never get her; and
from that day to this, nae man has ever seen her, nor kens if she is
dead, and away to heaven, or if she’s living aye a charmed life in the
fairy-land. It’s my hope she’s in heaven this hundred years--but ane
can never tell.”
“And, Dragon, what about Sir Harry?” asked Katie Calder, timidly.
“Sir Hairy was like to gang distraught. He came here and sat upon that
stane, day after day for a whole year; and it was him caused bring the
stane bowl, and pit the carved wark ower the spring; and at the end of
the year he died.
That’s a’ the story, bairns; but, Missie, you that’s fond of ballants,
there’s ane the leddy made, and that her woman heard her rhyming ower
the day she ga’ed away. I have been trying to mind it a’ this time. It
used to have a tune in the country-side. I could ance sing it grand
mysel--and if you’ll be awfu’ quiet, I’ll try--
The night wind rose amang the hills,
But the glen was lown and gray,
When she drew her veil about her head
And went upon her way.
And she has gathered the green willow
To lay on the threshold stane,
And the yew and the rue in the chalmer of state,
That the house might be kent for desolate
When she was lost and gane.
Oh! father, kindly fare ye well,
Good may your last days be,
And God send your son were hame in peace,
Since ye’ll nae joy in me.
And though ye have made a desert, Harry,
And griefs I mayna tell,
Where ance dwelt mony a pleasant thing,
Yet Harry, fare ye well!
But wae unto the man, Harry,
Within this house shall dwell,
And bears the name that breaks my heart,
Though I say fare ye well!
The night wind cries among the trees,
I ken what words they be,
And I maun hence to bruik your pain,
But wae to him that bears the name
Which is the dead of me.”
It was nearly dark now, and the cracked and quivering voice of age
rung strangely through the night. Violet felt the leaves rustle about
her, and shrank from the elfin touch of the long willow shoots which
thrust themselves into her hand, and cast furtive, timid glances round,
trembling lest she should see the stately white lady, with her drooped
head and her bridal veil, sitting under the trees. Katie was bolder,
and understood the ballad; but Lettie’s attention, constantly drawn
to some imaginary stir among the brushwood, or wandering reflection on
the water, and arrested by the singular ghostly effect of the old man’s
shrill voice and ashy face, failed to make anything of the verse which
ended his story. The water trickled away unseen under the leaves--the
saugh tree turned out its fleecy lining to the night wind, which began
to tremble among its branches--mystic flutterings shook the long grass
and limber brambles--and Lettie sat on the stone seat where Lady Violet
sat before her, and trembled to her very heart. Little Katie Calder,
poking about into the dark mysterious underwood, felt only a little
pleasant thrill of apprehension, and was not afraid--for Katie could
very well trust an imagination which never had played pranks with her;
but an awe of the dark road home possessed Lettie. She was afraid to
remain in this weird corner, and afraid to go away.
“Mailie’s milkit half an hour since,” said Dragon, getting up with his
usual activity, and shaking the long arms which Violet half suspected
were fastened on with wires, “and the haill house will be asteer
wondering what’s come of us. Bairns, we’ll get our licks if we stay
langer--and I’m wearying for my parritch mysel.”
But Lettie went along the dark lane, under the high hedge, which might
have concealed armies of fairies, and looked behind her with furtive
side-long looks, wistful and afraid. The road was very solitary and
quiet, but now and then a slow footstep advancing out of the darkness
made her heart leap; and even when they had reached home, Lettie ran,
with unnecessary haste, up the dim staircase, and was glad when
bed-time came, and she could lay down her head and close her eyes.
But after all, it was quite unsatisfactory to close her eyes; and as
the room was very dark, Lettie constantly opened them to cast anxious
glances into the corners, and listened with all her might for the
rustling of the lady’s silken gown; but Lady Violet made no appearance
to her little relative, except in dreams.