"What a night! What a wild, wild night!"
Old Donald Leslie lifted his grizzled head, closed his book on his gnarled forefinger1, and listened to the low deep soughing of the wind. As he spoke2, a gust3 of smoke blew out into the room from the wide throat of the chimney; the flames of the burning logs on the open hearth4 leapt and crackled anew; the lights of the hanging cruse lamps flickered5, and the grimy arras hangings over the doors and windows swung heavily to and fro and swelled6 out like the sails of a ship.
"Ay; it's from the north," muttered Elspeth Macdonald, as she crossed to one of the deep embayed windows and drew aside the curtain to peer out into the night. "It will be bringing snow with it. The clouds were banked up like great mountains in the north when I looked out in the forenoon, and the shepherd was telling me that he saw a white bonnet7 on Ben Bhuidhe as he came west over Culloden braes yestreen."
"Listen!" cried young Colin Leslie, releasing the cat from his knee and rising to his feet. "Did you not hear something, grandfather?"
"Well did I hear something," returned the old man. "I've heard it these two hours past. It's the wind howling in the vent9."
"Just hold your tongue, laddie, and let me get reading my book," interrupted the grandfather petulantly11. "You're aye putting in your word. A body can do no reading with such chatter12 for ever dinging in his ears."
"There it is again!" cried Colin, not heeding13 the old man's complaint. "It was some one hammering at the castle door."
Colin approached the hearth and leaned his arm against the cheek of the chimney, staring into the glowing fire.
"It was some one on horseback," said he; "I heard the horse's hoofs15 on the stones just before you said 'What a night it is!'"
Sir Donald Leslie continued reading under the dim light of the lamp that hung above his head. Presently Elspeth Macdonald left the room on tiptoe, closing the door behind her. Colin applied16 himself to casting a new log upon the fire. Regardless of his grandfather, he began to whistle the lightsome air of a certain Jacobite song. Soon his whistling changed into the song itself and he chanted, half under his breath, the words—
"Oh, Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier."
Suddenly a fluttering book flew past his curly head.
"How dare you? How dare you sing that accursed Jacobite song in my hearing?" cried his grandfather, red with rage. "Have I not told you a hundred times that I'll have none of your rebel rantings in my house?"
"I meant no harm, grandfather," said Colin, picking up the book and placing it on the corner of the table near the old man's elbow, "I was not thinking of the meaning of the words."
"Suddenly a fluttering book flew past his curly head."
"May-be not, may-be not," returned Sir Donald, as he idly took up his book. Then, calming himself, he added more softly, shaking his head the while: "Colin, you are just the very reflection of my brother Neil. My father had exactly the same trouble with him in the Forty-Five that I have with you in these more peaceful days. You try to persuade me that you have no real sympathy with the wild adventurer you were now singing about. But I'll be bound that if there were another rising (which Heaven forfend!) you'd on with the kilt and be off with another Stuart, just as Neil Leslie went off with the young Pretender—luckless loon17 that he was. But I'll not have it, look you. I'll have none of your Jacobite thoughts here; no, not even so much as the whistling of their inflammatory tunes18!"
Colin raised his eyes and glanced furtively20 at the old claymore that was suspended over the door, crossed by a rusty21 Lochaber axe22. One might have seen by the sudden gleam in his blue eyes that the lad had some lingering sympathy with the romantic adventurer of whose lost cause his grandfather had spoken so contemptuously.
"One rebel in the family has been quite enough, and more than enough," went on Sir Donald. "But for Neil Leslie we might now be living in comfort and luxury instead of in poverty. We now feed upon porridge and oaten bannocks instead of good wholesome23 beef and venison; we drink weak milk instead of wine. Our dwelling24 is a poor broken-down ruin instead of, as it once was, a lordly castle fit for a king. Look at our lands; they are wide, but they bear no harvest, for we cannot afford to cultivate them. Our stables are empty; our flocks have been reduced to a few skinny sheep that find no food upon the barren ground. Even the grouse25 and the plovers26 have deserted27 us. And it is all the work of Neil Leslie. My very blood simmers when I think of him, the rebel rascal28! the scoundrel! the thief!"
"Thief?" echoed Colin quickly. "Thief, grandfather?"
"Ay, thief," growled29 the old man in an angrier tone. "He robbed his own father—my father. All the hard-earned and hard-saved money that my father had put aside for his descendants—for me as his eldest30 son, and for you in your turn, although that was long, long before you were born—was stolen by Neil Leslie, and by him appropriated to the accursed cause of the man whom he called his prince. Prince? A prince of rascals31, a prince of gallows-birds; that is what I call the frog-eating reprobate32 that presumed to lay claim to the British throne. What did he do—this Charles Edward Stuart? He filled the silly heads of our men and women with his romantic tomfoolery; he turned all Scotland topsy-turvy and left it a miserable33 wreck34 of its former and better self——Don't look like that at me, Colin. I'm telling you nothing but the simple truth. And when you are a little older and get the hayseed out of your hair, you will know the wisdom of being loyal to your rightful king. There, I've lost my place in the book, now. Let me see; what page was I at?"
The door opened while the old man peevishly35 turned over the pages, and Elspeth Macdonald entered. There was an expression of anxious concern in her wrinkled face. She approached the master of Castle Leslie and mysteriously whispered into his ear.
Sir Donald gripped the wooden arm of his high-backed chair.
"Ossington?" he said questioningly, repeating the name that the housekeeper36 had announced. "Colonel Ossington? I know no such name. Who can the man be, think you, Elspeth?"
Elspeth shook her head.
"That's mair than I can tell," said she. "He just asked for the master as he stamped his snowy boots on the step. Then he took off his cloak and handed it to Geordie, as bold as you please, and bade me give you his name—Colonel Ossington."
Elspeth crossed her hands in front of her, and holding up her head in high dignity, answered—"No. The beast has been taken round to the stables."
"H'm," muttered Sir Donald. "He evidently intends to stay the night, then. Well, it matters little who he may be. We couldna send a body away from the very door on a night of storm like this, even if he were but a mere38 gaberlunzie. Let him come ben here. And see that some supper is sent in. Wait," he added, as Elspeth was moving away; "see that Andrew gets some food for the horse. There should be a handful of oats left in the corners of the bags up in the old loft39; and if not, he'll may-be find some dry hay in the byre."
"Toots!" objected Elspeth, as she swept towards the door, "there's no need to fash yourself about the horse. Andrew will see to the beast. Trust him to that."
Young Colin Leslie stood before the fire with his face fronting to the room. His grandfather's knotted fingers nervously40 turned the faded brown leaves of his book, while the wind groaned41 in the chimney and the fitful flames of the fire cast strange moving shadows about the gloomy room.
The man who presently entered crossed the oaken floor with a somewhat halting gait. His spurs jangled at each step. His clean-shaven face was thin and pinched, but ruddy in contrast with his silvery hair. As he approached into the light of the fire, Colin noticed that his active grey eyes were conspicuously42 clear and bright beneath his furrowed43 brow. He wore a snuff-coloured riding-coat, with breeches of the same colour, and long military boots. A diamond glistened44 amid the pure whiteness of his lace-edged cravat45.
Sir Donald Leslie rose from his chair and advanced a step to meet him. The two men bowed to each other as strangers.
"You are welcome, sir," said Sir Donald, standing upright with his right hand on the tall back of his chair. "Pray take this seat near the fire. The night is cold, and it may be you have travelled far."
"Not farther than Inverness," was his response. He spoke in a distinctly English tone of voice, which Sir Donald at once detected.
"You are from the South?" he questioned. And then, before the stranger had time to answer, he added, "Colonel Ottington, I think my housekeeper told me, is your name?"
"Ossington," corrected the stranger, seating himself and holding his long, delicate hands in front of the fire. "Colonel Ossington, late of the King's 17th Light Dragoons. I am newly returned from Canada." He glanced at his host as he spoke, and after a slight pause continued, wrinkling his face into a half smile, "You do not appear to know me, sir? Am I not addressing Mr. Alan Leslie—Alan Leslie, once of the 20th Foot?"
There was a moment or two of silence, broken only by the deep-throated growling48 of the wind in the chimney-vent. Colin Leslie, who had retired49 to a shadowed corner of the ingle-nook, looked at his grandfather, wondering at his hesitation50.
"My name is Donald Leslie," came at last the gloomy reply. "I am a brother of Alan Leslie, and the eldest son of Sir John Leslie, who died fifty years ago—fifty years almost to the very day."
Colonel Ossington meditatively51 nodded his head.
"That would be in the year of Culloden, I think," said he. "He was for the young——" He checked himself.
"No," broke in Sir Donald vehemently52. "He was certainly not for the young Pretender."
The colonel raised his eyebrows53 in apparent surprise, dropped his open hands upon his knees, and slowly rose to his feet.
"I had almost expected to hear you say the young Chevalier," he said, with a fuller frankness than he had hitherto shown. "I had understood that your brother Alan was the only member of your family who was not heart and soul for the Stuarts."
"On the contrary," corrected Sir Donald, "I and my brother Alan and our father were always staunch for King George. Ah," he added, seeing the door open, "here is some supper. I am afraid it will prove a poor meal; but pray make yourself free with such as there is. Pardon me if I leave you for a little while. My grandson Colin, here, will entertain you in the meantime." He poured a few drops of whisky into a glass, and dealt similarly but more generously with a glass which he passed to his guest. "To the King!" he said, moistening his lips.
"To the King!" responded Colonel Ossington, bowing politely to Sir Donald as he left the room.
The supper which had been set before the stranger was, as his host had expressed it, but a poor meal; but Colonel Ossington partook of it with as much enjoyment54 as if it had been a banquet. Presently Colin Leslie emerged from his corner by the ingle and slowly approached the table, standing opposite to the colonel as he ate. The boy's fingers played idly with the ragged55 fringe of the table-cloth; but now and again he stole a furtive19 glance at the silver-haired officer at the other side. Once or twice he attempted to speak, but his shyness overcame him. It was not often that he encountered a stranger such as the man before him. At last he mustered56 courage enough to say—
"Are you a soldier—a real soldier?"
The colonel smiled at him. "Yes," said he, "I am a soldier. Is that something strange to you?"
"We don't see many soldiers in these parts," said the boy. "There are some at Inverness, of course, and at Fort George, but I've never been to either of those places. Once when I went to Edinburgh with my father, I saw some soldiers at the Castle. But I never spoke to one before."
"Is your father at home—here in Castle Leslie?" asked Colonel Ossington.
"No," answered Colin; "he's dead. So is my mother. Grandfather and I are quite alone in the world." He hesitated, almost ashamed of having said so much. Presently he looked up once more and added, "Where is your red coat and your sword? I thought soldiers always wore red coats and swords."
"Mine are at home in England," explained the soldier. "I don't wear them now. I have not worn them at all since I came back from America. I am too old."
Colin reflected for some moments, leaning his elbows on the table and his chin in his supporting hands.
"Yes; many men. That is what soldiers are meant to do. But one doesn't like to think of them as men. Somehow it seems different when one calls them simply the enemy."
"Then you've been in a real battle?"
The soldier nodded.
"That must have been very exciting," remarked Colin, with boyish enthusiasm. "I should like to be in a real battle—that is, if it were against Frenchmen, or Spaniards, or blackamoors, or people of that sort. I don't think I'd like it so much if they were Britons."
"I suppose not," agreed Colonel Ossington, with a sigh. "Somehow it does seem to make a difference."
"Once," went on Colin, growing more communicative now that he had discovered a soldier to be very little different in human nature from any other man—"once, there was a battle near here—near this castle, I mean—over on Culloden Moor58, where our sheep pastures are. And last spring, when Peter Reid of the Mains of Kilravock was ploughing, he turned up a rusty old claymore. He gave it to me, and I polished it. There it is, hanging up with that Lochaber axe upon the wall."
"Turned up a rusty old claymore."
Colonel Ossington moved his chair to look round at the old sword. His glance travelled to other parts of the dimly lighted room, surveying the few family portraits in their tarnished59 frames, the dusty antlered heads of stags, the old Highland60 targets, crossbows, and battle-axes that decorated the dark oak panels of the walls.
"There used to be a rack of muskets61 in that farther corner," he remarked. "And where is the portrait of the beautiful Lady Leslie—Bonnie Belinda, they called her—that used to hang up there above that carved settle?"
"Oh, that has been put away," explained Colin, "because—because Lady Belinda was a Jacobite, you know. But how did you know that the picture and the guns and things were ever there? You have never been in this room before, have you?"
The colonel raised his glass to his lips. "Yes," he said.
"When?" demanded Colin.
"Oh, when I was a youth, a little older than you are now. It must be fifty years ago."
At this moment Sir Donald Leslie re-entered the room.
"Grandfather!" cried Colin, "Colonel Ossington has been here before! He was here fifty years ago."
Sir Donald turned sharply to his guest.
"Is this true?" he asked.
"Quite true," responded the old campaigner. "I was here in the year 1746. You, I think, were at that time abroad."
"Yes," acquiesced62 Sir Donald. "I was in Leyden. I am sorry you did not inform me at once that this was not your first visit. I should have given you a warmer welcome if I had known. As it is, I have treated you as a stranger, and have not even offered you my hand."
"It is hardly too late to repair the omission," said Colonel Ossington, and he thrust forth63 his hand, which his host grasped.
"Ossington?" muttered Sir Donald, trying to recall the name. "Ossington? Dear me, I'm afraid I must seem very stupid. But for the life of me I cannot remember to have heard of you. If I may be so inquisitive64, what was the occasion of your former visit, colonel?"
"I will tell you," returned the soldier frankly65. "Indeed, my present appearance here is wholly on account of what occurred at that long distant time." He put his hand to his breast pocket. "May I smoke?" he asked.
"Certainly," said Sir Donald. "I am afraid, however, that I cannot offer you any tobacco. We can ill afford such a luxury in these hard times."
"Thank you. I have some very fine American tobacco with me," rejoined the colonel. "Ah, I forgot," he added. "I find I have left it in my saddle-bag."
"Colin will fetch it," urged Sir Donald, anticipating the promised pleasure of renewing a habit which economy alone had compelled him to abandon.
"Oh, don't trouble," said his guest, "I will go myself. I think I remember where the stable is situated66. Although perhaps the lad might, after all, accompany me."
Colin was already at the door, prepared for the guest. He conducted the colonel out into the hall, where they got their hats and a lantern, and then through the house and out by one of the back doors, and into the spacious67, wind-swept garden, along by a high blank wall and across to the stable. By the aid of Colin's lamp, the colonel soon found his tobacco and, giving a caressing68 pat to his horse's flanks, he followed the boy back into the garden.
A wild gust of wind met them as they came out from the stable door, extinguishing their light. The snow had ceased to fall, and the sky was clear, saving only for a few fleecy white clouds that drifted southward across the moon. The ruined and ivy-covered walls of the older parts of the castle stood out black against the steel-blue brightness of the sky. An owl8 flew with silent wings from out the ruins and disappeared among the tall bare trees that creaked and groaned in the wind at the rear of the keep.
Colin walked in advance over the crisp white snow. Suddenly he drew back with a half-smothered cry, gripped his companion's arm, and pointed69 with agitated70 finger into the dark shadows of the ruined walls.
"Look!" he ejaculated, trembling in every limb. "Do you see it? Do you see it? See! there it goes—there, in at the old postern gate! Come! come quickly back to the house. I'm afraid!"
Colonel Ossington held the lad's arm, supporting him.
"Afraid of what, boy?" he demanded. "There is nothing."
"Did you not see it?" gasped71 Colin, in a mysterious, scarcely audible whisper. "It went in at the postern, there."
"I saw nothing to alarm you to this degree, my boy," returned the soldier. "What was it? Tell me what it was!"
Colin's fingers crept down the colonel's right arm until they grasped his hand. The lad had implored72 his companion to return with him to the house, but he himself now stood still as if rooted to the spot.
"What was it?" repeated Colonel Ossington.
Colin answered in the same low, mysterious whisper. "It was the ghost—the ghost of Neil Leslie. It is often seen here. Elspeth has seen it. So has grandfather. I have seen it before, too; but never so plainly as now. It glided73 along there by the wall, with its plaid wrapped round it. I saw the yellow stone glistening74 in the hilt of its dirk. Its sword flashed in the moonlight. When it got to the gate it stopped a moment and put out its hand, holding something—something that looked like a little bag. It turned its face this way and then disappeared."
"Come," said the colonel, putting his arm about the lad and drawing him onward75 towards the house. "Your imagination has been playing you some trick. It was the moonlight and the moving bushes, perhaps. You will forget all about it when we get indoors."
As they passed by the postern gate, Colin craned round and peered within. Seeing nothing but black darkness, he heaved a deep sigh of relief and walked boldly on, saying nothing until he had closed and barred the door behind him. Then, touching76 Colonel Ossington's arm, he said calmly—
"Please say nothing to grandfather about Neil's ghost, Colonel Ossington. It would only disturb him."
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1
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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petulantly
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chatter
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heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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applied
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loon
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tunes
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furtive
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furtively
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rusty
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axe
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wholesome
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dwelling
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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plovers
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deserted
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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eldest
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rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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reprobate
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miserable
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wreck
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peevishly
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housekeeper
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standing
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mere
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loft
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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