Read Ebook: As We Sweep Through The Deep by Stables Gordon

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Ebook has 701 lines and 36783 words, and 15 pages

o was surpassingly fair and brave and comely; but, ah me! he was poor, and so the father despised him.

"But one day there came from out of the dark depths of the forest a prince in a splendid chariot, with six milk-white steeds, and the sound of many trumpets blowing. This prince was stiff and somewhat old, yet he said to the father: 'Give unto me your daughter, that I may wed her, and she shall be my queen; then shall you be loved and honoured too, for you shall have titles as well as wealth.'

"But the daughter loathed the elderly suitor. Nevertheless, that she might see her father happy and titled, she gave the prince her hand, and her father dowered her munificently, and--"

"Go on, Mr. Richards."

"Well, of course they lived happy ever afterwards."

"No, no, no, Mr. Richards; that isn't quite the end."

"Well, if I must tell you, I must. For a time, then, there was no one more loved and honoured than Sylvina , and her father, too, was invited to the court of the prince. But the fame of Sylvina's beauty and charms spread far and near, and hundreds visited the prince who had never before been seen at his castle. Especially did there come gay young sparks, with downy moustachelets to twirl, and swords that tinkled at their heels; and so attentive were these crowds of gallants that Sylvina never had time even to think, else her thoughts might have gone back to her true lover, whom she had forsaken in his poverty and sorrow, and whose white, distracted face often even yet haunted her dreams at night, just as she had seen it for a moment that day as she walked to the altar with the prince.

"But to the prince the young sparks were beyond measure attentive. They seemed delighted of an evening to see him snug in his high-backed chair by the fire; and one would run and bring his slippers and warm them, another pulled off his shoes, while a third brought his wine, and a fourth his hubble-bubble. Then they sang lullabies to him and patted his shoulder till he fell asleep; then--

"But the prince awoke at last in every sense of the word. 'No longer,' he cried, 'will I keep an open house that young sparks may pay attentions to my wife. I will issue no more invitations, give no more parties; Sylvina's father must return to his lonely house by the forest. I and my bride will live but for each other.'

"He spoke thus because the green demon Jealousy had aroused him.

"So the prince dismissed nearly all his servants; and in his house by the forest Sylvina's father was more lonesome now than ever. Sylvina had been a dutiful daughter, and she tried hard to be a dutiful wife; but nothing that she did was properly construed by her old husband. If she laughed and was gay, he called her giddy; if she seemed sad, he told her she was pining for her 'pauper lover;' if she showed him marked affection, he thought she was but cajoling to deceive him. Ah dear, ah dear, how miserable she was! for her ways were not his ways, because his age was not hers."

Richards paused again.

"And the poor lover whom Sylvina deserted?" said Gerty. "Tell me about him. Did he pine and die?"

"Oh no. But here comes Flora. I'll finish the story another day, Gerty."

And a long delightful three hours the girls and their friend spent too. It is almost needless to say that the chief subject of conversation was Jack, or that Sir Digby Auld was not spoken of or thought of even once.

"Heigh-ho!" said Richards, as he stood in his room that night, "heigh-ho! and I have come down to break bad tidings to Flora and her father. How ever can I do it! A lawyer ought to have no heart, but I have one. Worse luck! worse luck!"

But the girl was very happy on this her brother's birthday, and after all the guests had gone she spent the usual quiet half-hour with her father in his room in loving chat and converse, just as she had done every night since, long, long ago, her mother had died.

"Good-night, dear," he said as he kissed her. "Affairs are not quite so flourishing with me as I would like; but we'll trust in Providence, won't we? Things are sure to take a turn."

"Yes, dear father. Good-night: God bless you!"

His wounds had been very grievous--a sabre-cut on the skull and a spent bullet that had injured his left arm.

When the ship reached Portsmouth and the country rang with the news of Sir Sidney's bright little action, when the papers gave a list of the dead and wounded and extolled Jack's bravery, and when private information from headquarters informed the general that his son would be gazetted post-captain, then the old Highlander's cup of bliss seemed full.

"Look at that," he cried, with the joy-tears in his eyes; "read that letter, Flora dear. My boy, my brave boy! I shall go right away to Portsmouth and meet him, and you shall come and nurse him. My brave, good lad! What care we for money, Flo? The Mackenzies have their swords!"

Jack was very cheerful, for he had almost forgotten his dream.

Now Mr. Keane had determined to play his cards as well as he knew how to. The baronet had become indisposed, but the astute lawyer had invited him down to his little place in the country, and he had taken Gerty home too.

This, however, did not prevent him sending a confidential clerk down to interview Jack. And the following is the bomb-shell Saunders the clerk, obeying orders, fired:--

"Mr. Keane just sent me down to ask about you and convey all sorts of kind messages. Especially did he bid me assure you that he had not spoken to your father about the little account, and that he is in no hurry for the money. Indeed, the approaching marriage of his daughter is at present absorbing all his attention.

"Why, what is the matter, Captain Mackenzie?" continued the clerk, noticing the staggering effect his words had on poor Jack.

"Nothing, nothing much. A little faint, that is all. Leave me now, Mr. Saunders. Tell Mr. Fairlie I would speak with him."

Tom ran in. He found Jack lying helpless on the sofa, white and trembling. But he soon recovered sufficiently to speak.

"My dream, my dream, Tom; it has all come true."

But for a time never a word said Jack.

He rose from the couch at last, and going quietly to the corner, took up his sword and drew it.

"Bravo, Jack!" cried M'Hearty, bursting into the room; "I've heard it all. And now, my lad, I bring you good tidings. I've run all the way from the port-admiral's office to be the very first to shake hands with Post-Captain Jack Mackenzie."

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.

"O Life! how pleasant in thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning." BURNS.

General Grant Mackenzie was a somewhat impulsive man. It is the nature of the Celt to be impulsive. His nervous system is far more finely strung than that of the plethoric or adipose Saxon, and it vibrates to the slightest breath of emotion. Mind, I talk of the ideal Celt--be he Irish or Scotch--and General Grant Mackenzie was an ideal Celt. And sitting here with my good guitar on my knee, I cannot help comparing a nature like his to just such a beautiful stringed instrument as this. What a world of fine feeling lies herein; what a wealth of poetry, what sadness, what tenderness--ay, and what passion as well! Behold, on this music-stand lies a big old book--a book with a story to it, for it belonged to my unfortunate ancestor Symon Fraser of Lovat, who was beheaded on Tower Hill. It is Highland music all, and sweet to me are its mournful laments as breathed by my sad guitar; but--I turn a leaf--and here is a battle-piece. Ha! the instrument hath lost its sadness, or only here and there come wailing notes like moans of the wounded amidst the hurry, the scurry, the dashing, and the clashing of this terrible tulzie. Can't you see the claymores glitter? Can't you see the tartans wave, and nodding plumes among the rolling smoke? Oh, I can. Seems as if the guitar would burst its very strings; but, the battle is over--cry of vanquished, shout of victor, all are hushed. And now comes the ghostly music of the coronach: they are burying the dead. And the instrument appears to sob, to weep, till the sweet low song of grief in cadence dies.

A nature like that of Grant Mackenzie, then, or of his son--for both seemed cast in the same mould--needs a well-trained, well-balanced mind to guide and restrain it; for there are few occasions indeed in this world when one dares lay bare his soul and feelings even to his best friends.

The day after M'Hearty's visit to Jack, the young post-captain, with his friend Tom Fairlie, was just finishing breakfast, when in dashed the general. Next minute his son was pressed against his breast just as if he had been a child.

Jack had spilt his tea and knocked over a chair in his hurry to get to his father; but what did that matter? So there they stood looking at each other for a moment, the tears in both their eyes.

Maybe the old general was a trifle ashamed of such weakness, for next moment he burst into a merry laugh.

"Why, Jack, my brave boy," he cried, "there are only two arms between the pair of us. But yours will get well; mine, alas, is in the grave!"

Flora came up now, and Jack seemed delighted to see her.

"And here," he said, "here, Flora, is the best friend I have in the world--Tom Fairlie.--Nay, never blush, Tom, my brother.--He it was, Flora, who helped to take me below after I got hit; and when even the surgeon--grand old fellow M'Hearty! father, you shall know him--gave me up, Tom stuck to me, and he has been nursing me ever since as if I were a child. Ah, Flora, there is no friendship on earth so true, and no love either, as that man bears for man."

Jack looked at his sister as he spoke, and that glance told her he knew all.

"Father, I had almost forgotten to tell you of my espousal."

"Espousal, Jack! You astonish me; it can't be true!"

"Oh, but it is."

He picked his sword off the couch as he spoke and held it out to his father.

"Let me present my bride," he said, laughing.

The general himself could laugh now.

"So pleased, so pleased! But, 'pon honour, you young rascal, you pretty nearly took your old father's breath away. Married! bless my soul, talk about that thirty years hence; and blame me, Jack, but that itself might be too soon.

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