White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3). William Black
it to me,' she said simply.
In due course they had tea together; but that afternoon or evening meal is a substantial affair in the north-cold beef, ham, scones, oatmeal cake, marmalade, jam, and similar things all making their appearance – and one not to be lightly hurried over. And Meenie was so much at home now; and there was so much to talk over; and she was so hopeful. Of course, Ronald must have holiday-times, like other people; and where would he spend these, if he did not come back to his old friends? And he would have such chances as no mere stranger could have, coming through on the mail-cart and asking everywhere for a little trout-fishing. Ronald would have a day or two's stalking from Lord Ailine; and there was the loch; and Mudal-Water; and if the gentlemen were after the grouse, would they not be glad to have an extra gun on the hill for a day or two, just to make up a bag for them?
'And then,' said Meenie, with a smile, 'who knows but that Ronald may in time be able to have a shooting of his own? Stranger things have happened.'
When tea was over and the things removed he lit his pipe, and the girls took to their knitting. And never, he thought, had Meenie looked so pretty and pleased and quickly responsive with her clear and happy eyes. He forgot all about Mrs. Douglas's forecast as to the future estate of her daughter; he forgot all about the Stuarts of Glengask and Orosay; this was the Meenie whom Mudal knew, whom Clebrig had charge of, who was the friend and companion of the birds and the wild-flowers and the summer streams. What a wonderful thing it was to see her small fingers so deftly at work; when she looked up the room seemed full of light and entrancement; her sweet low laugh found an echo in the very core of his heart. And they all of them, for this one happy evening, seemed to forget that soon there was to be an end. They were together; the world shut out; the old harmony re-established, or nearly re-established; and Meenie was listening to his reading of 'the Eve of St. Agnes' – in the breathless hush of the little room – or she was praying, and in vain, for him to bring his pipes and play 'Lord Lovat's Lament,' or they were merely idly chatting and laughing, while the busy work of the fingers went on. And sometimes he sate quite silent, listening to the other two; and her voice seemed to fill the room with music; and he wondered whether he could carry away in his memory some accurate recollection of the peculiar, soft, rich tone, that made the simplest things sound valuable. It was a happy evening.
But when she rose to go away she grew graver; and as she and Ronald went along the road together – it was very dark, though there were a few stars visible here and there – she said to him in rather a low voice —
'Well, Ronald, the parting between friends is not very pleasant, but I am sure I hope it will all be for the best, now that you have made up your mind to it. And every one seems to think you will do well.'
'Oh, as for that,' said he, 'that is all right. If the worst comes to the worst, there is always the Black Watch.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, they're always sending the Forty-Second into the thick of it, no matter what part of the world the fighting is, so that a man has a good chance. I suppose I'm not too old to get enlisted; sometimes I wish I had thought of it when I was a lad – I don't know that I would like anything better than to be a sergeant in the Black Watch. And I'm sure I would serve three years for no pay at all if I could only get one single chance of winning the V.C. But it comes to few; it's like the big stag – it's there when ye least expect it; and a man's hand is not just always ready, and steady. But I'm sure ye needna bother about what's going to happen to me – that's of small account.'
'It is of very great account to your friends, at all events,' said she valiantly, 'and you must not forget, when you are far enough away from here, that you have friends here who are thinking of you and always wishing you well. It will be easy for you to forget; you will have all kinds of things to do, and many people around you; but the others here may often think of you, and wish to hear from you. It is the one that goes away that has the best of it, I think – among the excitement of meeting strange scenes and strange faces – '
'But I am not likely to forget,' said he, rather peremptorily; and they walked on in silence.
Presently she said —
'I have a little album that I wish you would write something in before you go away altogether.'
'Oh yes, I will do that,' said he, 'and gladly.'
'But I mean something of your own,' she said rather more timidly.
'Why, but who told you —
'Oh, every one knows, surely!' said she. 'And why should you conceal it? There were the verses that you wrote about Mrs. Semple's little girl – I saw them when I was at Tongue last – and indeed I think they are quite beautiful: will you write out a copy of them in my album?'
'Or something else, perhaps,' said he – for instantly it flashed upon him that it was something better than a mere copy that was needed for Meenie's book. Here, indeed, was a chance. If there was any inspiration to be gained from these wild hills and straths and lonely lakes, now was the time for them to be propitious; would not Clebrig – the giant Clebrig – whose very child Meenie was – come to his aid, that so he might present to her some fragment of song or rhyme not unworthy to be added to her little treasury?
'I will send for the book to-morrow,' said he.
'I hope it will not give you too much trouble,' said she, as they reached the small gate, 'but it is very pleasant to turn over the leaves and see the actual writing of your friends, and think of when you last saw them and where they are now. And that seems to be the way with most of our friends; I suppose it is because we have moved about so; but there is scarcely any one left – and if it was not for a letter occasionally, or a dip into that album, I should think we were almost alone in the world. Well, good-night, Ronald – or will you come in and have a chat with my father?'
'I am afraid it is rather late,' he said.
'Well, good-night.'
'Good-night, Miss Douglas,' said he, and then he walked slowly back to his home.
And indeed he was in no mood to turn to the scientific volumes that had already arrived from Glasgow. His heart was all afire because of the renewal of Meenie's kindness; and the sound of her voice was still in his ears; and quite naturally he took out that blotting-pad full of songs and fragments of songs, to glance over them here and there, and see if amongst them there was any one likely to recall to him when he was far away from Inver-Mudal the subtle mystery and charm of her manner and look. And then he began to think what a stranger coming to Inver-Mudal would see in Meenie? Perhaps only the obvious things – the pretty oval of the cheek and chin, the beautiful proud mouth, the wide-apart contemplative eyes? And perhaps these would be sufficient to attract? He began to laugh with scorn at this stranger – who could only see these obvious things – who knew nothing about Meenie, and the sweetness of her ways, her shrewd common-sense and the frank courage and honour of her mind. And what if she were to turn coquette under the influence of this alien admiration? Or perhaps become sharply proud? Well, he set to work – out of a kind of whimsicality – and in time had scribbled out this —
Who will buy pansies?
There are her eyes,
Dew-soft and tender,
Love in them lies.
Who will buy roses?
There are her lips,
And there is the nectar
That Cupidon sips.
Who will buy lilies?
There are her cheeks,
And there the shy blushing
That maidhood bespeaks.
'Meenie, Love Meenie,
What must one pay?'
'Good stranger, the market's
Not open to-day!'
He looked at the verses again and again; and the longer he looked at them the less he liked them – he scarcely knew why. Perhaps they were a little too literary? They seemed to lack naturalness and simplicity; at all events, they were not true