But that which was of greater interest to me than any commission or enrollment4 was the appearing of two women upon the doorstep of the cottage—the Lady of Earlstoun and her daughter Mary.
Now it is to be remembered that Alexander Gordon’s wife was a sister of Sir Robert Hamilton, the commander at Bothwell Brig—a man whose ungovernable temper, and genius for setting one man at variance5 with his fellow, had lost us Bothwell Brig and the life of many a brave lad of the hills. And Mary’s mother, Jean Hamilton, was like her brother in that somewhat{77} pretentious6 piety7 which is of all things the most souring and embittering8.
So that even my father said—good, honest man, that would speak ill of none all the days of his life: “If I had a wife like yon woman, I declare I would e’en turn Malignant9 and shoot her without warrant of law or benefit of clergy10.”
Jean Gordon came down off the doorstep and stood in front of us four MacClellans, looking out upon us with her keen, black eyes, and seeming as it had been, ready to peck at us with her long nose, which was hooked like a parrot’s in the middle.
“Have any of you paid the King’s cess,[5] or had any dealings with the malignants?” she said, speaking to us as to children taken in a fault.
“Not save along the barrel of a musket12, my lady of Earlstoun!” quoth my father, drily.
The stern-visaged woman smiled at the ready answer.
“E’en stick to that, goodman of Ardarroch—it is the safest commerce with such ill-favoured cattle!” she said.
And with that she stepped further on to interrogate{78} some newcomers who had arrived after us in the yard of the farm.
But indeed I minded her nothing. For there was a sweeter and fairer thing to see standing13 by the cheek of the door—even young Mary Gordon, the very maid I had once carried so far in my arms, now grown a great lass and a tall, albeit14 still slender as a year-old wand of willow15 by the water’s edges. Her hair, which had been lint16 white when I brought her down the side of Bennan after the shooting of the poor lad, was now darkening into a golden brown, with thick streaks17 of a warmer hue18, ruddy as copper19, running through it.
This girl leaned against the doorstep, her shapely head inclined a little sideways, and her profile clear and cold as the graving on a seal ring, turned away from me.
For my life I could not take my eyes off her.
“I, even I, Quintin MacClellan, have carried that girl in my arms and thought nothing of it!” I said the words over and over to myself, and somehow they were exceedingly pleasing to me.
I had ever sneered20 at love and love-making before, but (I own it) after seeing that fair{79} young lass stand by the low entering in of the farmhouse21 door, I scoffed22 no more.
Yet she seemed all unconscious that I or any other was near her. But it came to me with power I could not resist, that I should make myself known to her. And though I expected nothing of remembrance, grace, or favour, yet—such is the force of compelling love, the love that comes at the first sight (and I believe in no other kind) that I put all my pride under my feet, and went forward humbly23 to speak with her, holding my bonnet24 of blue in my hand.
For as yet we of the Earlstoun levies25 had fallen into no sort of order, neither had we been drilled according to the rules of war, but stood about in scattering26 groups, waiting for the end of the conference between my Lord of Kenmure and Colonel William Gordon.
As I approached, awkwardly enough, the maid turned her eyes upon me with some surprise, and the light of them shone cold as winter moonlight glinting upon new-fallen snow.
I made my best and most dutiful obedience27, even as my mother had showed me, for she was gentle of kin11 and breeding, far beyond my father.{80}
“Mistress Mary,” I said, scarce daring to raise my eyes to hers, but keeping them fixed28 upon the point of my own rough brogans. “You have without doubt forgotten me. Yet have I never for an hour forgotten you.”
I knew all the while that her eyes were burning auger29 holes into me. But I could not raise my awkward coltish30 face to hers. She stood a little more erect31, waiting for me to speak again. I could see so much without looking. Whereat, after many trials, I mustered32 up courage to go on.
“Mind you not the lad who brought you down from the Bennan top so long ago, and took you under cloud of night to the tower of Lochinvar on the raft beneath the shelter of beech33 leaves?”
I knew there was a kindly34 interest growing now in her eyes. But, dolt35 that I was, I could not meet them a whit1 the more readily because of that.
“I scarcely remember aught of it,” she said, “yet I have been told a hundred times the tale of your bringing me home to my aunt at Lochinvar. It is somewhat belated, but I thank you, sir, for your courtesy.”
“Nay,” said I, “’tis all I have to be thankful{81} for in my poor life, that I took you safely past the cruel persecutors.”
She gave me a quick, strange look.
“Yet now do I not see you ready to ride and persecute36 in your turn?”
These words, from the daughter of Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, who was scarcely yet liberate37 from the prison of Blackness, astonished me so much that I stood speechless.
“To persecute in my turn?” said I. “Nay, my dear mistress, I go to uphold the banner of Christ’s Kingdom against those that hate Him.”
Very scornfully she smiled.
“In my short life,” she said, “I’ve heard overmuch of such talk. I know to an ell how much it means. I have a mother, and she has friends and gossips. To me the triumph of what you call ‘the Kingdom’ means but two things—the Pharisee exalted38 and the bigot triumphant39. Prince Jacob of Orange may supplant40 his father and take the crown; every canting Jack41 may fling away the white rose and shout for the Orange lily. But not I—not I?”
She flaunted42 a little white hand suddenly palm upward, like an apple blossom blown off the branch by the wind.
To say that I was astounded43 by this outbreak{82} is to say little. It was like an earthquake, the trembling and resolving of solid land under my feet. Alexander Gordon’s child—“the Bull of Earlstoun’s” daughter—standing openly and boldly for the cause of those who had prisoned and, perhaps, tortured her father, and brought about the ruin of her house!
At last I managed to speak.
“You are a young maiden,” I said, as quietly as I could, “and you know nothing of the great occasions of state, the persecutions of twenty-five years, the blood shed on lonely hillsides, the deaths by yet wearier sickness, the burials under cloud of night of those who have suffered——!”
I would have said more, but that she prevented me imperiously.
“I know all there is to know,” she cried, almost insolently44. “Have I not broken fast with it, dined with it, taken my Four-hours with it, supped with it ever since I was of age to hear words spoken? But to my thinking the root of the matter is that you, and those like you, will not obey the rightful King, who alone is to be obeyed, whose least word ought to be sufficient.”
“But not in religion—not in the things of conscience,” I stammered45.{83}
Again she waved her hand floutingly.
“’Tis not my idea of loyalty46 only to be loyal when it suits my whim47, only to obey when obedience is easy and pleasant. The man whom I shall honour shall know nothing of such summer allegiance as that!”
She paused a moment and I listened intently.
“Nay,” she said, “he shall speak and I shall obey. He shall be my King, even as King James is the sovereign of his people. His word shall be sacred and his will law.”
There was a light of something like devout48 obedience in her eyes. A holy vestal flame for a moment lighted up her face. I knew it was useless to argue with her then.
“Nevertheless,” I answered very meekly49, “at least you will not wholly forget that I brought you to a place of safety, sheltering you in my arms and venturing into dark waters for your sake!”
Now though I looked not directly at her, I could see the cold light in her eyes grow more scornful.
“You do well to remind me of my obligation. But do not be afraid; you shall be satisfied. I will speak of you to my father. Doubtless, when he comes home he will be great with{84} the Usurper50 and those that bear rule under him. You shall be rewarded to the top of your desires.”
Then there rose a hot indignation in my heart that she should thus wilfully51 misunderstand me.
“You do me great wrong, my Lady Mary,” I answered; “I desire no reward from you or yours, saving only your kindly remembrance, nor yet any advancement52 save, if it might be, into your favour.”
“That,” she said, turning petulantly53 away, “you will never get till I see the white rose in your bonnet instead of those Whiggish and rebel colours.”{85}
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1
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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enrollment
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| n.注册或登记的人数；登记 | |
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variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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embittering
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的现在分词 ) | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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levies
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| （部队）征兵( levy的名词复数 )； 募捐； 被征募的军队 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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auger
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| n.螺丝钻，钻孔机 | |
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coltish
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| adj.似小马的；不受拘束的；活泼的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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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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beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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dolt
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| n.傻瓜 | |
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persecute
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| vt.迫害，虐待；纠缠，骚扰 | |
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liberate
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| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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supplant
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| vt.排挤；取代 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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42
flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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43
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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47
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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50
usurper
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| n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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51
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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52
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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petulantly
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