"That is right. That is the least you can say after your extraordinary
behaviour. Now you may go with the lady, as she is so kind as to wish
it."
Lady Carse moved off in silence; and the children, tightly grasping each
other's hands, followed as if going to a funeral.
"Jump, my dears," said papa, when they had reached the down. "Jump
about: you may be merry now."
Both looked as if they were immediately going to cry. "What now, Adam?"
stooping down that the child might speak confidentially to him, but
saying to Lady Carse as he did so, that it was necessary sometimes to
condescend to the weakness of children. "Adam, tell me why you are not
merry, when I assure you you may."
"I can't," whispered Adam.
"You can't! What a sudden fit of humility this boy has got, that he
can't do anything to-day. Unless, however, it be true, well-grounded
humility, I fear--"
Mamma now tried what she could do. She saw, by Lady Carse's way of
walking on by herself, that she was displeased; and, under the
inspiration of this grief, Mrs Ruthven so strove to make her children
agreeable by causing them to forget everything disagreeable, that they
were soon like themselves again. Mamma permitted them to look for hens'
eggs among the whins, because they had heard that when she was a little
girl she used to look for them among bushes in a field. There was no
occasion to tell them at such a critical moment for their spirits that
it was mid-winter, or that whins would be found rather prickly by
poultry, or that there were no hens in the island but Mrs Macdonald's
well sheltered pets. They were told that the first egg they found was
to be presented to Lady Carse; and they themselves might divide the
next.
Their mother's hope, that if they did not find hens' eggs, they might
light upon something else, was not disappointed. Perhaps she took care
that it should not. Adam found a barley-cake on the sheltered side of a
bush; and it was not long before Kate found one just as good. They were
desired to do with these what they would have done with the eggs--
present one to Lady Carse and divide the other. As they were very
hungry, they hastened to fulfil the condition of beginning to eat.
Again grasping one another's hands, they walked with desperate courage
up to Lady Carse, and held out a cake, without yet daring, however, to
look up.
"Well, what is that?" she asked sharply.
"A barley-cake."
"Who bade you bring it to me?"
"Mamma."
"You would not have brought it if mamma had not bid you?"
"No."
"Allow me to suggest," observed papa, "that they would not have
ventured. It would be a liberty unbecoming their years to--"
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Lady Carse; "I hate these put-up manners. No,
miss--no, young master--I will not take your cake. I take gifts only
from those I love; and if you don't love me, I don't love you--and so
there is a Rowland for your Oliver."
The children did not know anything about Rowlands and Olivers; but they
saw that the lady was very angry--so angry that they took to their
heels, scampered away over the downs, and never stopped till they
reached home, and had hidden themselves under the bed.
They were not followed. Punishment for their act of absconding was
deferred till Lady Carse's errand should be finished. When once down
among the rocks, Lady Carse was eager to show her dear friends all the
secrets of her late hiding. As soon as Macdonald's watchman was
convinced by the lady that she was not drowned, and by the minister that
he might go home--as soon as he was fairly out of sight, the wonders of
the caves were revealed to the pastor and his wife. The party were so
interested in the anecdotes belonging to Lady Carse's season of retreat,
that they did not observe, sheltered as they were in eastern caves, that
a storm was coming up from the west--one of the tempests which
frequently rise from that quarter in the winter season, and break over
the Western Islands.
The children were aware of it before their parents. When they found
they were not followed, they soon grew tired of whispering under the
bed, and came cautiously forth.
It was very dark, strangely dark, till a glare of lightning came, which
was worse than the darkness. But the thunder was worse: it growled
fearfully, so as to make them hold their breath. The next clap made
them cry. After that cry came help.
The widow heard the wail from next door, and called to the children from
her door; and glad enough were they to take refuge with a grown-up
person who smiled and spoke cheerfully, in spite of the thunder.
"Are you not afraid of the thunder?" asked Kate, nestling so close to
the widow that she was advised to take care lest the sharp bone knitting
needles went into her eyes. "But are not you afraid of the thunder?"
"Oh, no!"
"Why?"
"Because I am not afraid of anything."
"What, not of anything at all?"
"Not of anything at all. And there are many things much more harmful
than thunder."
"What things?"
"The wind is, perhaps, the most terrible of all."
"How loud it is now!" said Adam, shivering as the rushing storm drowned
his voice. When the gust had passed, the widow said, "It was not the
wind that made all that noise, it was a dash of hail. Ah! if I do fear
anything, it is large hail; not because it will hurt me, but because it
may break my window, and let in the wind to blow out my lamp."
"But why do not things hurt you? If the lightning was to kill you--"
"That would not hurt me," said the widow, smiling. "I do not call that
being hurt, more than dying in any other way that God pleases."
"But if it did not kill you quite, but hurt you--hurt you very much
indeed--burned you, or made you blind?"
"Then I should know that it was no hurt, but in some way a blessing,
because the lightning comes from God. I always like to see it,
because--There!" she said, as a vivid flash illumined the place. "Did
you ever see anything so bright as that? How should we ever fancy the
brightness of God's throne, if He did not send us a single ray, now and
then, in this manner--one single ray, which is as much as we can bear?
I dare say you have heard it read in church how all things are God's
messengers, without any word being said about their hurting us,--`fire
and hail;' here they are!"
When that gust was past, she went on, "`Snow and vapour, stormy winds
fulfilling His word.' Here we are in the midst of the fire and the hail
and the stormy winds. If we looked out, perhaps we might see the `snow
and vapour.'"
The children did not seem to wish it.
"Then again," the widow went on, "we are told that `He causeth His wind
to blow, and the waters flow.' I am sure I can show you that. I am
sure the sea must have risen much already, before such a wind as this.
Come!" she continued, wrapping her plaid round herself and the children;
"keep close to me and you will not be cold. The cold has not come yet:
and if we stand under the sheltered side of the house we shall not be
blown. Hark! there is the roar of the waves when the thunder stops.
Now we shall see how `He causeth His wind to blow and the waters flow.'"
She looked so cheerful and promised them such a sight, that they did not
like to beg to stay within. Though the hail came pelting in gusts,
there was no rain at present to wet them. The wind almost strangled
them at the first moment; but they were under the eastern gable of the
cottage in an instant, out of the force of the blast.
There they sat down, all huddled together; and there the children saw
more than they had been promised.
The tempest had not yet reached Skye; and they could see, in the
intervals of rolling clouds, mountain peaks glittering with snow.
"There is the snow!" said the widow. "And see the vapours!--the
tumbling, rolling vapours that we call steam-clouds! Look how the
lightning flash darts out of them! and how the sea seems swelling and
boiling up to meet the vapours! A little way from the land, the wind
catches the spray and carries it up and away. If the wind was now from
the east, as it will be in spring, that spray would wash over us, and
drench us to the skin in a minute."
"What, up here?"
"Oh, yes, and higher still. There! Adam felt some then." And well he
might. The sea was now wrought into such tumult that its waves rolled
in upon the rocks with tremendous force, causing the caverns to resound
with the thundering shock, and the very summit of the precipices to
vibrate. Every projection sent up columns of spray, the sprinklings of
which reached the heights, bedewing the window of the cottage, and
sending in the party under the gable.
"There now," said the widow, when she had fed her fire, and sat down,
"we have seen a fine sight to-day; and there will be more to-morrow."
"Shall we see it to-morrow?"
"Oh, yes; if you like to come to me to-morrow, I think I can promise to
show you the shore all black with weed thrown up by the storm, and,
perhaps we may get some wood. These storms often cast up wood,
sometimes even thick logs. We must not touch the logs; they belong to
Sir Alexander Macdonald, but we may take the smaller pieces, those of us
who can get down before other people have taken them away. If the
minister is not aware of this, we must tell him, and the weeds will be
good to manure his kail-bed, if he can find nothing better."
"Will you go to-morrow and pick up some wood?"
"If I can get down alone; but I cannot climb up and down as I used to
do. I will show you something prettier than wood or weed that I picked
up, after one of these storms, when I was younger." And she took out of
her chest three shells, one very large and handsome, which had been cast
upon the western shore some years before. Adam thought this so
beautiful that he begged to have it; but the widow could not give it
away. She told him she must keep it for a particular reason; but he
could see it whenever lie liked to come to her for the purpose.
But Adam thought he might pick up such an one himself, if he could go
to-morrow to the western shore; and his friend could not say that this
was impossible. Oh! then, would she not go and show him the way? Would
she not try if he and Kate helped her with all their strength? They
were very strong. If she would stand up they would show her how strong
they were. She stood up, and they tried to carry her. Their faces were
exceedingly red, and they were very near lifting up their friend, and
she was laughing and wondering whether they could carry her down the
rocks in that way, when the door burst open and Lady Carse appeared.
"The children must come home," said she to Annie; "they have no business
here."
"I called them in, my lady, when the thunder frightened them."
"They should not have come. They should have told you that they were
under their parents' displeasure."
All now looked grave enough. The children stole away home, skilfully
avoiding taking hold of the lady's offered hands. She pulled the door
after her in no gentle manner. She did not much care whether the
children were fond of her; but it was somehow disagreeable to her that
they should be happy with her next-door neighbour.