The explosion startled the whole country for miles around.
The old castle was at all times the centre of the landscape, standing
sombre in its ruin amid all the smiling existence of to-day. It flashed
in a moment into an importance more wonderful, blazing up to the sky in
fire and flame and clouds of smoke like a great battle. The whole
neighbourhood, as far as sight could carry, saw this new wonder, and
sprang into sudden excitement, alarm, and terror. Every soul rushed out
of the village on the bank; servants appeared half frantic in front of
Auchnasheen, pushing out in skiffs and fishing-cobbles upon the water
which seemed to share the sudden passion of alarm, and became but one
great reflection, red and terrible, of the flames which seemed to burst
in a moment from every point. Some yachtsmen, whose little vessel had
been lying at anchor, and who had been watching with great curiosity the
moving figures on the height of the gallery round the tower, with much
laughing discussion among themselves as to the possibility of having
seen the ghost--were suddenly brought to seriousness in a moment as the
yacht bounded under their feet with the concussion of the air, and the
idle sail flapping from the mast grew blood-red in the sudden glare. It
was the work of another moment to leap into their boat and speed as fast
as the oars could plough through the water, to the rescue, if rescue
were needed. Who could be there? they asked each other. Only old
Macalister with his wife, who, safe in the lower story, would have full
time to escape. But then, what were those figures on the tower? The
young men almost laughed again as they said to each other, "The warlock
lord!" "Let's hope he's blown himself up and made an end of all that
nonsense," said the sceptic of the party. But just then the stalwart
boat-load came across a wild skiff dashing through the water, old
Symington like a ghost in the stern, and red-haired Duncan, with bare
arms and throat, rowing as for life and death.
"My lord is there!" cried the old man with quivering lips, "The leddies
are there!"
"And Hamish and Miss Oona!" fell stammering from Duncan, half dumb with
horror.
The young yachtsmen never said a word, but looked at each other and flew
along over the blood-red water. Oona! It was natural they should think
of her first in her sweetness and youth.
The two mothers in their tranquil talk sat still for a moment and looked
at each other with pale awe on their faces, when that wild tumult
enveloped them, paralysing every other sense. They thought they were
lost, and instinctively put out their hands to each other. They were
alone--even the old servant had left them--and there they sat
breathless, expecting death. For a moment the floor and walls so
quivered about them that this alone seemed possible; but nothing
followed, and their faculties returned. They rose with one impulse and
made their way together to the door--then, the awe of death passing,
life rising in them, flew down the stair-case with the lightness of
youth, and out to the air, which already was full of the red flashes of
the rising flames. But once there, a worse thing befell these two poor
women. They had been still in the face of death, but now, with life
saved, came a sense of something more terrible than death. They cried
out in one voice the names of their children. "My boy!" "Oona!" Old
Macalister, speechless, dragging his old wife after him, came out and
joined them, the two old people looking like owls suddenly scared by the
outburst of lurid light.
"Oh, what will be happening?" said the old woman, her dazed astonishment
contrasting strangely with the excitement and terror of the others.
Mrs. Forrester answered her with wild and feverish volubility.
"Nothing will have happened," she said. "Oona, my darling! What would
happen? She knows her way: she would not go a step too far. Oh, Oona,
where are you? why will you not answer me? They will just be bewildered
like ourselves, and she will be in a sore fright; but that will be for
me. Oona! Oona! She will be frightened--but only for me. Oona! Oh
Hamish, man, can ye not find your young lady? The fire--I am not afraid
of the fire. She will just be wild with terror--for me. Oona! Oona!
Oona!" cried the poor lady, her voice ending in a shriek.
Mrs. Methven stood by her side, but did not speak. Her pale face was
raised to the flaming tower, which threw an illumination of red light
over everything. She did not know that it was supposed to be
inaccessible. For anything she knew, her boy might be there perishing
within her sight; and she could do nothing. The anguish of the helpless
and hopeless gave her a sort of terrible calm. She looked at the flames
as she might have looked at executioners who were putting her son to
death. She had no hope.
Into the midst of this distracted group came a sudden rush of men from
the boats, which were arriving every minute, the young yachtsmen at
their head. Mrs. Forrester flung herself upon these young men, catching
hold of them as they came up.
"My Oona's among the ruins," she said breathlessly. "Oh, no fear but
you'll find her. Oh, find her! find her! for I'm going out of my senses,
I think. I know that she's safe, oh, quite safe! but I'm silly, silly,
and my nerves are all wrong. Oh, Harry, for the love of God, and
Patrick, Patrick, my fine lad! And not a brother to look after my
bairn!"
"We are all her brothers," cried the youths, struggling past the poor
lady, who clung to them and hindered their progress, her voice coming
shrill through the roar of the flames and the bustle and commotion
below. Amid this tumult her piercing "Oona! Oona!" came in from time to
time, sharp with the derision of tragedy for anything so ineffectual and
vain. Before many minutes had passed the open space in front of the
house which stood intact and as yet unthreatened, was crowded with men,
none of them, however, knowing what to do, nor, indeed, what had
happened. The information that Lord Erradeen and Oona were missing was
handed about among them, repeated with shakings of the head to every
new-comer. Mrs. Methven standing in the midst, whom nobody knew,
received all the comments like so many stabs into her heart. "Was it
them that were seen on the walls just before? Then nothing could have
saved them." "The wall's all breached to the loch: no cannon could have
done it cleaner. It's there you'll find them." "Find them! Oh, hon, oh,
hon! the bodies of them. Let's hope their souls are in a better place."
The unfortunate mother heard what everybody said. She stood among
strangers, with nobody who had any compassion upon her, receiving over
and over again the assurance of his fate.
The first difficulty here, as in every other case of the kind, was that
no one knew what to do; there were hurried consultations, advices called
out on every hand, suggestions--many of them impossible--but no
authoritative guide to say what was to be done. Mrs. Methven, turning
her miserable looks from one to another, saw standing by her side a man
of commanding appearance, who seemed to take no share in either advice
or action, but stood calmly looking on. He was so different from the
rest, that she appealed to him instinctively.
"Oh, sir!" she cried, "you must know what is best to be done--tell
them."
He started a little when she spoke; his face, when he turned it towards
her, was full of strange expression. There was sadness in it, and
mortification, and wounded pride. She said after that he was like a man
disappointed, defeated, full of dejection and indignation. He gave her a
look of keen wonder, and then said with a sort of smile--
"Ah, that is true!" Then in a moment his voice was heard over the crowd.
"The thing to be done," he said, in a voice which was not loud, but
which immediately silenced all the discussions and agitations round, "is
to clear away the ruins. The fire will not burn downward--it has no food
that way--it will exhaust itself. The young lady fell with the wall. If
she is to be found, she will be found there."
The men around all crowded about the spot from which the voice came.
"Wha's that that's speaking?"
"I see nobody."
"What were you saying, sir?"
"Whoever it is, it is the right thing," cried young Patrick from the
yacht. "Harry, keep you the hose going on the house. I'll take the other
work; and thank you for the advice, whoever you are."
Mrs. Forrester too had heard this voice, and the command and calm in it
gave to her troubled soul a new hope. She pushed her way through the
crowd to the spot from whence it came.
"Oh," she cried, "did you see my Oona fall? Did you see my Oona? No, no,
it would not be her that fell. You are just deceived. Where is my Oona?
Oh, sir, tell them where she is that they may find her, and we'll pray
for you on our bended knees, night and morning, every day!"
She threw herself on her knees, as she spoke, on the grass, putting up
her quivering, feverish hands. The other mother, with a horror which she
felt even in the midst of her misery, saw the man to whom this
heartrending prayer was addressed, without casting even a glance at the
suppliant at his feet, or with any appearance of interest in the
proceedings he had advised, turn quietly on his heel and walk away. He
walked slowly across the open space and disappeared upon the edge of the
water with one glance upward to the blazing tower, taking no more notice
of the anxious crowd collected there than if they had not existed. Nor
did any one notice the strange spectator going away at the height of the
catastrophe, when everybody far and near was roused to help. The men
running hurriedly to work did not seem to observe him. The two old
servants of the house, Symington and Macalister, stood crowding
together out of the reach of the stream of water which was being
directed upon the house. But Mrs. Methven took no note of them: only it
gave her a strange surprise in the midst of her anguish to see that
while her Walter's fate still hung in the balance, there was one who
could calmly go away.
By this time the sun had set; the evening, so strangely different from
any other that ever had fallen on the loch, was beginning to darken on
the hills, bringing out with wilder brilliancy the flaming of the great
fire, which turned the tower of Kinloch Houran into a lantern, and
blazed upwards in a great pennon of crimson and orange against the blue
of the skies. For miles down the loch the whole population was out upon
the roads gazing at this wonderful sight; the hillsides were crimsoned
by the reflection, as if the heather had bloomed again; the water glowed
red under the cool calm of the evening sky. Round about Birkenbraes was
a little crowd, the visitors and servants occupying every spot from
which this wonder could be seen, and Mr. Williamson himself, with his
daughter, standing at the gate to glean what information might be
attainable from the passers-by. Katie, full of agitation, unable to bear
the common babble inside, had walked on, scarcely knowing what she did,
in her indoor dress, shivering with cold and excitement. They had all
said to each other that there could be no danger to life in that
uninhabited place.
"Toots, no danger at all!" Mr. Williamson had said, with great
satisfaction in the spectacle. "Old Macalister and his wife are just
like rats in their hole, the fire will never come near them; and the
ruin will be none the worse--it will just be more a ruin than ever."
There was something in Katie's mind which revolted against this easy
treatment of so extraordinary a catastrophe. It seemed to her connected,
she could not tell how, with the scene which had passed in her own room
so short a time before. But for shame she would have walked on to
Auchnasheen to make sure that Walter was in no danger. But what would he
think of her--what would everybody think? Katie went on, however,
abstracted from herself, her eyes upon the blaze in the distance, her
heart full of disturbed thoughts. All at once she heard the firm quick
step of some one advancing to meet her. She looked up eagerly; it might
be Walter himself--it might be----When she saw who it was, she came to a
sudden pause. Her limbs refused to carry her, her very breath seemed to
stop. She looked up at him and trembled. The question that formed on her
lips could not get utterance. He was perfectly calm and courteous, with
a smile that bewildered her and filled her with terror.
"Is there any one in danger?" he said, answering as if she had spoken.
"I think not. There is no one in danger _now_. It is a fine spectacle.
We are at liberty to enjoy it without any drawback--now."
"Oh, sir," said Katie, her very lips quivering, "you speak strangely.
Are you sure that there was no one there?"
"I am sure of nothing," he said with a strange smile.
And then Mr. Williamson, delighted to see a stranger, drew near.
"You need not be so keen with your explanations, Katie. Of course it is
the gentleman we met at Kinloch Houran. Alas! poor Kinloch Houran, we
will never meet there again. You will just stay to dinner now that we
have got you. Come, Katie, where are your manners? you say nothing.
Indeed we will consider it a great honour--just ourselves and a few
people that are staying in the house; and as for dress, what does that
matter? It is a thing that happens every day. Neighbours in the country
will look in without preparation; and for my part, I say always, the
more the merrier," said the open-hearted millionnaire.
The stranger's face lighted up with a gleam of scornful amusement.
"The kindness is great," he said, "but I am on my way to the other end
of the loch."
"You are never walking?" cried Mr. Williamson. "Lord bless us? that was
a thing that used to be done in my young days, but nobody thinks of now.
Your servant will have gone with your baggage? and you would have a
delicacy--I can easily understand--in asking for a carriage in the
excitement of the moment; but ye shall not walk past my house where
there are conveyances of all kinds that it is just a charity to use.
Now, I'll take no denial; there's the boat. In ten minutes they'll get
up steam. I had ordered it, ready to send up to Auchnasheen for news.
But as a friend would never be leaving if the family was in trouble, it
is little use to do that now. I will just make a sign to the boat, and
they'll have ye down in no time; it will be the greatest pleasure--if
you are sure you will not stay to your dinner in the mean time, which is
what I would like best?"
He stood looking down upon them both from his great height; his look had
been sad and grave when he had met Katie, a look full of expression
which she could not fathom. There came now a gleam of amusement over his
countenance. He laughed out.
"That would be admirable," he said, offering no thanks, "I will take
your boat," like a prince according, rather than receiving, a favour.
Mr. Williamson looked at his daughter with a confused air of
astonishment and perplexity, but he sent a messenger off in a boat to
warn the steamer, which lay with its lights glimmering white in the
midst of the red reflections on the loch. The father and daughter stood
there silenced, and with a strange sensation of alarm, beside this
stranger. They exchanged another frightened look.
"You'll be going--a long journey?" Mr. Williamson said, faltering,
scarcely knowing what he said.
"I am going--for a long time, at least," the stranger said.
He seemed to put aside their curiosity as something trifling, unworthy
to be answered, and with a wave of his hand to them, took the path
towards the beach.
They turned and looked after him, drawing close to each other for mutual
comfort. It was twilight, when everything is confusing and uncertain.
They lost sight of him, then saw him again, like a tall pillar on the
edge of the water. There was a confusion of boats coming and going, in
which they could not trace whither he went, or how. Katie and her father
stood watching, taking no account of the progress of time, or of the
cold wind of the night which came in gusts from the hills. They both
drew a long sigh of relief when the steamer was put in motion, and went
off down the loch with its lights like glow-worms on the yards and the
masts. Nor did they say a word to each other as they turned and went
home. When inquiries were made afterwards, nothing but the most confused
account could be had of the embarkation. The boatman had seen the
stranger, but none among them would say that he had conveyed him to the
steamer; and on the steamer the men were equally confused, answering at
random, with strange glances at each other. Had they carried that
passenger down to the foot of the loch? Not even Katie's keen
questioning could elicit a clear reply.
But when the boat had steamed away, carrying into the silence the rustle
of its machinery and the twinkling of its lights, there was another
great explosion from the tower of Kinloch Houran, a loud report which
seemed to roar away into the hollow of the mountains, and came back in a
thousand rolling echoes. A great column of flame shot up into the sky,
the stones fell like a cannonade, and then all was darkness and silence.
The loch fell into sudden gloom; the men who were labouring at the ruins
stopped short, and groped about to find each other through the dust and
smoke which hung over them like a cloud. The bravest stood still, as if
paralysed, and for a moment, through all this strange scene of
desolation and terror, there was but one sound audible, the sound of a
voice which cried "Oona! Oona!" now shrill, now hoarse with exhaustion
and misery, "Oona! Oona!" to earth and heaven.