‘YOU MUST GIVE ME AN ANSWER.’
Margaret Lindsay, not the scenery of the Nethan, was the real
attraction which drew Hubert Blake to the north. He was not in
love with her; certainly, at least, he felt for her nothing of the
rapturous passion which Alec felt for Laura Mowbray. But he admired
her immensely. He undertook the long journey from London that he might
feast his eyes on her beauty once more; and when he found that she was
at Arrochar he straightway betook himself thither.
Blake was by this time a man nearer forty than thirty years of age,
who was still without an aim in life. He had an income which rendered
it unnecessary for him to devote himself to the ordinary aim of an
Englishman--the making of money; and to set himself to charm sovereigns
which he did not need out of the pockets of his fellow-creatures into
his own, for the mere love of gold or of luxury, was an idea which he
would have despised as heartily as Alec Lindsay himself would have
done. Blake had also great contempt for the brassy self-importance and
self-conceit which is the most useful of all attributes for one who
means to get on in the world. He looked at men struggling for political
or social distinction, as he might have gazed at a crowd of lunatics
fighting for a tinsel crown. ‘And after all,’ he would say to himself,
‘if I am idle, my idleness hurts no one but myself. At least, I do not
trample down my fellow-men on my journey through life.’
He was not satisfied; but he was not energetic enough to find a career
in which he could turn his talents and his money to good advantage. He
was a great lover of nature, and he had a wide and tolerant sympathy
for his fellow-men. The one thing he loved in the world was art.
It was not long, of course, before he was a member of the little circle
at Glendhu, and he looked on at the little comedy that was being played
there with good-natured amusement. Laura Mowbray soon discovered that
the stranger was insensible to her charms, that he quite understood her
little allurements, and regarded them with a good-humoured smile. He
saw quite plainly that she was enjoying a double triumph; and on the
whole he thought that though she devoted by far the greater part of her
time to Semple, she had a secret preference for his friend Alec. He
spent most of his time in making sketches of the surrounding scenery;
and though he was not an enthusiastic climber, Alec was often able to
persuade him to accompany him to some of the loftier peaks.
One day before Margaret’s visit came to an end, Alec proposed that
the whole party--that is, Blake, Laura Mowbray, his sister, Semple,
and himself--should make an ascent of ‘The Cobbler.’ He described the
view which was to be obtained from the top of the mountain in terms
which fired even Laura’s enthusiasm; and the ascent was fixed for the
following forenoon.
The morning was rather cloudy, but not sufficiently so to make the
party abandon the expedition, especially as Alec pointed out that they
would find it much easier to climb than they would have done if the day
had been one of brilliant sunshine. They rowed over to the foot of the
hill, so as to save walking round the head of the loch; and were soon
in a wilderness of heather and wild juniper.
The ascent, they found, though by no means difficult, was long and
tiresome. The girls, indeed, if they had consulted merely their own
inclination, would have turned back at the end of the first hour; but
it never occurred to Margaret to give way to her feeling of fatigue,
and Laura was too proud to be the first to complain.
Everyone was glad, however, when Blake proposed a halt about half-way
up. They threw themselves down on the heather, and tasted the delicious
sense of rest to strained muscles and panting lungs.
‘I am afraid this is rather too much for you,’ said Alec to Laura,
noticing her look of weariness.
‘Oh, I shall get on after I have rested,’ she replied; ‘but it is so
tiresome to imagine, every now and then, that the crest before you is
the top of the hill, and to find when you arrive there that the real
summit seems farther off than ever.’
‘The finest views are always to be had half-way up a mountain,’ said
Blake. ‘How much we can see from this knoll! There is Loch Lomond, Ben
Lomond, Ben Venue, and I don’t know how many Bens besides--a perfect
crowd of them. Then we can see right down the loch and out into the
frith. Let us be content with what we have. Miss Mowbray and your
sister would prefer, I think, to wait here with me, Alec, while you and
your cousin get to the top and back again.’
But this proposal was not entertained; and in a quarter of an hour the
whole party were on foot once more.
Up to this point Semple had succeeded in monopolizing the society
of Laura; but he had found that to guide the steps of a delicately
nurtured girl over a rough Scotch mountain, and help her whenever she
came to a steep place, was no light labour. For the rest of the climb
he was content to leave her a good deal to Alec, while it fell to
Blake’s lot to look after Margaret.
One after another the ridges were overcome, the prospect widening with
every step, till the last grassy knoll was surmounted, and the bare
rocky peak stood full in view at a little distance. It was, indeed, so
steep that Laura was secretly terrified, and had to be hauled up for a
good part of the way.
An involuntary cry burst from the lips of each, as one by one they set
foot upon the windy summit. Far away, as it were upon the limits of
the world, the sun was shining on a sea of gold. The two peaks of Jura
lifted up their heads, illumined by the radiance. All around them was a
billowy sea of mountain-tops--Ben Crois, Ben Ime, Ben Donich, Ben Vane,
Ben Voirlich, and a hundred more, with many a lonely tarn, and many a
glen without a name. At their feet lay the black waters of the lochs;
and far in the south were the rugged hills of Arran.
‘Look!’ cried Laura, ‘the steamer is no bigger than a toy-boat; and the
road is like a thin white thread drawn across the moor!’
‘Come here,’ said Alec to Blake with a laugh, beckoning as he spoke.
Blake followed him, and found that on one side, where there was a sheer
descent of many hundred feet, a rock, which was pierced with a natural
archway, jutted out from the body of the mountain.
‘This is the “needle-eye,”’ said Alec, ‘and everybody who comes up here
is expected to go through it.’
‘Nonsense! Why, man, a false step there would mean----’
‘There’s not the slightest danger, if you have a good head. I have been
through twice already,’ returned Alec, as he disappeared behind the
rock.
A cry from Laura told Blake that she had witnessed the danger.
Margaret, whose cheek had suddenly grown pale, gripped her tightly by
the arm.
‘Don’t speak,’ she said hoarsely; ‘it may make his foot slip.’
In a minute he reappeared, having passed through the crevice.
‘Alec, you shouldn’t do a thing like that; it’s a sin to risk your life
for nothing,’ said Margaret, in a tone of cold displeasure.
‘There’s not the slightest danger in it,’ protested Alec.
‘None whatever,’ echoed Semple; but he did not think it necessary to
prove the truth of his opinion.
‘I think we ought to be off,’ said Alec; ‘there’s a cloud coming right
upon us; and if we don’t make haste we shall have to stay here till it
passes.’
His meaning was not quite plain to his companions; but they soon saw
the force of his remark. They had accomplished but a small part of the
descent when they found themselves suddenly in the midst of a cold,
thick, white vapour. It was not safe to go on, so the little company
crouched together under a boulder, and watched the great wreaths of
mist moving in the stillness from crag to crag.
As soon as the mist got a little thinner, they recommenced the descent,
for their position was not a very pleasant one. Semple was in front,
while Blake and Margaret followed, and Alec and Laura brought up the
rear, when it happened that they came to an unusually steep part of the
hillside which they thought it best to cross in a slanting direction.
The soil was of loose, crumbling stone, with here and there a narrow
patch of short, dry grass, and, at intervals, narrow beds or courses of
loose stones. A short distance below there was an unbroken precipice of
at least five hundred feet.
Alec was helping Laura across one of those narrow beds of stones, the
others being some little way in advance, when they were startled by
a deep rumbling noise, and a tremulous motion under their feet. The
whole layer of stones, loosened by the rain and frost, was sliding
down towards the precipice! With a cry Alec hurried his companion on;
but her trembling feet could hardly support her. The movement of the
stones, slow at first, was becoming faster every moment; and Alec’s
only hope lay in crossing them before they were carried down to the
edge of the cliff. For a minute it seemed doubtful whether they would
be able to cross in time; but Alec succeeded in struggling, along with
his half-fainting companion, to the edge of the sliding stones, and
placed her, just in time, upon a sloping but solid bank of earth.
In a few minutes more the stones had swept past them, and had
disappeared over the cliff.
But the position which Alec had reached was hardly less dangerous than
the one they had escaped from. Behind them was a deep chasm which the
treacherous stones had left. In front the mountain rose at a terrible
slope. Alec scanned it closely, and it seemed to him that though he
might have scaled it at a considerable risk, it was quite impracticable
for Laura without help from above. If he were to make the attempt, and
fall, he knew he would infallibly dash her as well as himself over the
precipice.
Some feet above their heads there was a ledge of rock from which it
might be possible to assist them; but where were Blake and the others?
They were out of sight, and the sound of Alec’s shouts, cut off by the
rocks above, could not reach them. Worst of all, the mist seemed to be
closing upon them more thickly than ever.
The question was, Could they maintain their position till help could
reach them? Soon it became evident that they could not. The ledge of
grass-covered rock on which they stood was so narrow that they could
not even sit down; and it was plain that Laura could not stand much
longer.
There was only one way of escape. Eight or ten feet below was a shelf
of rock, frightfully narrow, and, what was worse, sloping downwards and
covered with slippery dry grass. But Alec saw that if he could reach
it, he could make his way round to the top of the rock, and then he
could stretch down his hand so as to help Laura up the steep.
‘Oh, Mr. Lindsay, what _shall_ we do?’ cried Laura, turning to Alec her
white, despairing face. ‘Oh, look down there! What a dreadful death!’
‘Death! Nonsense! There is no danger--not much, at least. See, now, I
am going to drop down on that bit of grassy rock, and climb round to
the top. Then I’ll be able to help you up.’
‘But I could never climb up there! I should fall, and be killed in a
moment!’
‘Not a bit, if you have hold of my hand.’
‘But you won’t leave me?’ cried Laura, clutching Alec by the arm as she
spoke; ‘you won’t leave me all alone in this dreadful place?’
‘Only for a minute.’
‘But I can’t stand any longer.’
‘Yes, you can. Turn your face to the rock, and lean against it. Don’t
look downwards on any account.’
And with these words Alec slipped off his shoes, slung them round his
neck, and let himself hang over the cliff. It was an awful moment,
and for a second or two the lad’s courage failed him. But it was only
for an instant. Setting his teeth hard, he let go, and dropped upon
the little shelf beneath. His feet slid; but he clung to the rock and
just saved himself from slipping over the precipice. Then, with great
exertion, he managed to climb round where the ascent was not quite
so steep, and gained the ledge above that on which he had left his
companion.
‘All right!’ he cried cheerily, looking over the ledge; and, lying
down, he grasped the rock with one hand, and stretched the other
downwards as far as he could.
But by this time Laura was almost paralyzed with terror.
‘I can’t--I can’t move!’ she exclaimed in a voice of agony, while her
eyes wandered as if seeking the abyss she dreaded.
Alec stretched himself downwards till he could almost touch her hat,
while the beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.
‘Give me your hand at once!’ he shouted imperiously.
Almost mechanically the girl put her hand in his, and the firm clasp
immediately made her more calm.
‘Now put your foot on that tuft of grass at your knee. Don’t be afraid.
I tell you, you _can’t_ fall, if you do as I bid you!’
Laura felt as if her arm were being pulled out of its socket; but she
obeyed, and in another moment she was in safety.
Then came a flood of hysterical tears.
‘Oh, how cruel you are! Why did you ever bring me to this horrible
place? Where are the others? What will become of us? Don’t leave me;
take me back! Oh, take me back!’ And she clung to her companion as if
she were still in danger of her life.
Alec soothed and encouraged her as well as he was able; and by hurrying
forward they managed in half an hour to overtake the rest of the party.
‘What in the world have you been about?’ cried Semple. ‘We began
to think you had lost your way in the mist, or had tumbled over a
precipice.’
‘So we did, very nearly,’ said Laura; and Margaret, seeing that the
girl was pale and trembling, went up to her, threw her arms round her,
and promised not to leave her till they were safe at Glendhu.
‘You needn’t have taken _her_ into danger,’ growled Semple.
‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Alec angrily. Then he bit his lip,
and vouchsafed no further explanation.
Without further accident they reached the foot of the mountain, and
half an hour later landed at Glendhu.
Laura had not quite recovered from her fright on the following morning,
when an extremely welcome piece of news restored her to her usual
spirits. Mr. Lindsay had suddenly determined to transfer himself
and his family to Paris; and Laura was overjoyed. When Alec called,
therefore, in the afternoon, to ask how she was, he found her in the
garden, dreaming of the coming pleasure, and in high good-humour.
‘You know, I was so dreadfully sorry for that accident,’ said Alec.
‘I almost felt as if I had been to blame. But I couldn’t help the
landslip, could I?’
‘Oh, of course not. And you must forget all the foolish things I said
when I was in that terrible place. How brave you were! I am sure I owe
you my life.’
‘Next time we go a-climbing, we shan’t go where there are any
precipices,’ said Alec.
‘But we can’t go climbing any more,’ said Laura, with visible
satisfaction. ‘Haven’t you heard? We are all to set out for Paris the
day after to-morrow.’
‘For Paris!’
‘Yes; and perhaps, after that, we may go to Italy. Isn’t it splendid?’
‘Very--for you. But----’
He stopped, almost frightened at the audacious thought that had come
into his mind. His pulses leaped, his heart throbbed, and his cheek
grew pale.
Laura looked at him curiously.
‘“But”--what?’ she asked.
‘But it will be very lonely for me. Life does not seem worth living
when you are not near me.’ And then, hardly knowing what he said, he
poured out the story of his love. He seized her hands, as they lay idly
in her lap, and seemed unconscious of the efforts she made to withdraw
them. He gazed into her face, and repeated his words with passionate
earnestness, again and again:--‘I love you, Laura; I love you; I love
you!’
Laura threw a glance around, to make sure that no one was in sight; and
then, slipping her hands away, she covered with them her blushing face.
When she looked up, she met Alec’s passionate gaze with a smile.
‘Oh, hush! hush!’ she said. ‘Why do you speak so wildly?’
‘Because I love you.’
‘But we are far too young to think of such things. I don’t mean to get
married for--oh! ever such a long time. And you--you have to take your
degree, and choose a profession. We will forget all this, and we shall
be friends still, just as before.’
‘It can never be just as before,’ said Alec.
‘Why not?’
‘It is impossible. But you won’t refuse me, Laura?’ he pleaded. ‘If you
only knew how much I love you! Don’t you love me a little in return?
Sometimes I can’t help thinking you do.’
‘Then all I can say is, you have a very strong imagination.’
‘You don’t?’ cried Alec despairingly.
Laura shook her head, but smiled at the same time.
‘You must give me an answer,’ said Alec, rising to his feet. He was
dreadfully in earnest.
‘And I say that at your age and mine it is ridiculous to talk of such
things.’
‘Nonsense! We are not too young to love each other. _Can_ you love me,
Laura? What you have said is no answer at all.’
‘I’m afraid it’s the only answer I can give you,’ said Laura, with a
saucy smile, rising in her turn, and gliding past her companion. ‘Don’t
be absurd; and don’t be unkind or disagreeable when we meet again,
after we come back from our tour. Good-bye.’
He stood, looking after her, without saying another word. And she,
turning when she reached the French window, and seeing him still
standing there, waved her hand to bid him adieu, before she disappeared.
END OF VOL. I.
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
Transcriber’s Note:
This book was written in a period when many words had not become
standardized in their spelling. Words may have multiple spelling
variations or inconsistent hyphenation in the text. These have been
left unchanged. Dialect, obsolete and alternative spellings were left
unchanged. Misspelled words were not corrected.
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Those in bold are surrounded by equal signs, =like this=.
Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end
of the chapter. Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside
down, extraneous, or partially printed letters and punctuation,
were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of sentences and
abbreviations were added.