and might he not be some day going out in one
of them and an accident - the breaking of an oar, a gust of
wind
There was nothing for it but to reassure her by a solemn
promise that in no circumstances whatever would he, Lavender,
go into a boat without her express permission, whereupon Sheila
was as grateful to him as though he had dowered her with a
kingdom.
of them and an accident - the breaking of an oar, a gust of
wind
There was nothing for it but to reassure her by a solemn
promise that in no circumstances whatever would he, Lavender,
go into a boat without her express permission, whereupon Sheila
was as grateful to him as though he had dowered her with a
kingdom.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v04 - Bes to Bro
But Hamish knows too well
-
## p. 1996 (#186) ###########################################
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WILLIAM BLACK
what it means; and with a wild cry of horror and despair, the
old man sinks on his knees and clasps his hands, and stretches
them out to the terrible sea.
"O, Macleod, Macleod! are you going away from me forever?
and we will go up the hills together and on the lochs together
no more! Oh, the brave lad that he was!
and the good master! And who was not proud of him—my
handsome lad—and he the last of the Macleods of Dare? "
no more- no more—
-
Arise, Hamish, and have the gig hauled up into shelter; for
will you not want it when the gale abates, and the seas are
smooth, and you have to go away to Dare, you and your com-
rades, with silent tongues and sombre eyes? Why this wild
lamentation in the darkness of the night? The stricken heart
that you loved so well has found peace at last; the coal-black
wine has been drunk: there is an end! And you, you poor,
cowering fugitives, who only see each other's terrified faces
when the wan gleam of the lightning blazes through the sky,
perhaps it is well that you should weep and wail for the young
master; but that is soon over, and the day will break. And this
is what I am thinking of now: when the light comes and the
seas are smooth, then which of you-oh, which of you all will
tell this tale to the two women at Castle Dare?
So fair shines the mor
orning sun on the white sands of Iona!
The three-days' gale is over. Behold how Ulva-Ulva the green-
shored the Ool-a-va that the sailors love-is laughing out again.
to the clear skies! And the great skarts on the shores of Eris-
geir are spreading abroad their dusky wings to get them dried.
in the sun; and the seals are basking on the rocks in Loch-na-
Keal; and in Loch Scridain the white gulls sit buoyant on the
blue sea.
There go the Gometra men in their brown-sailed
boat to look after the lobster traps at Staffa, and very soon you
will see the steamer come round the far Cailleach Point; over at
Erraidh they are signaling to the men at Dubh-Artach, and they
are glad to have a message from them after the heavy gale.
The new, bright day has begun; the world has awakened again
to the joyous sunlight; there is a chattering of the sea-birds all
along the shores. It is a bright, eager, glad day for all the
world. But there is silence in Castle Dare!
## p. 1997 (#187) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
1997
SHEILA IN LONDON
From A Princess of Thule
SHE
HE asked if they were lords who owned those beautiful houses
built up on the hill, and half-smothered among lilacs and
ash-trees and rowan-trees and ivy.
"My darling," Lavender had said to her, "if your papa were
to come and live here, he could buy half a dozen of these cot-
tages, gardens and all. They are mostly the property of well-to-
do shopkeepers. If this little place takes your fancy, what will
you say when you go South-when you see Wimbledon and
Richmond and Kew, with their grand old commons and trees?
Why, you could hide Oban in a corner of Richmond Park! "
"And my papa has seen all these places?
«Yes. Don't you think it strange he should have seen them
all, and known he could live in any of them, and then gone
away back to Borva?
>>>
>>
"But what would the poor people have done if he had never
gone back? »
"Oh, some one else would have taken his place. "
"And then, if he were living here, or in London, he might
have got tired, and he might have wished to go back to the
Lewis and see all the people he knew; and then he would come
among them like a stranger, and have no house to go to. "
-
Then Lavender said, quite gently:-
"Do you think, Sheila, you will ever tire of living in the
South? "
The girl looked up quickly, and said with a sort of surprised
questioning in her eyes:-
"No, not with you. But then we shall often go to the
Lewis ? "
"Oh, yes," her husband said, "as often as we can con-
veniently. But it will take some time at first, you know, before
you get to know all my friends, who are to be your friends, and
before you get properly fitted with your social circle. That will
take you a long time, Sheila, and you may have many annoy-
ances or embarrassments to encounter; but you won't be very
much afraid, my girl? "
Sheila merely looked up to him; there was no fear in the
frank, brave eyes.
## p. 1998 (#188) ###########################################
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WILLIAM BLACK
The first large town she saw struck a cold chill to her heart.
On a wet and dismal afternoon they sailed into Greenock. A
heavy smoke hung about the black building-yards and the dirty
quays; the narrow and squalid streets were filled with mud, and
only the poorer sections of the population waded through the
mire or hung disconsolately about the corners of the thorough-
fares. A gloomier picture could not well be conceived; and
Sheila, chilled with the long and wet sail and bewildered by the
noise and bustle of the harbor, was driven to the hotel with a
sore heart and a downcast face.
"This is not like London, Frank? " she said, pretty nearly
ready to cry with disappointment.
"This? No. Well, it is like a part of London, certainly, but
not the part you will live in. "
"But how can we live in the one place without passing the
other and being made miserable by it? There was no part of
Oban like this. "
<< Why, you will live miles away from the docks and quays of
London. You might live for a lifetime in London without ever
knowing it had a harbor. Don't you be afraid, Sheila. You will
live in a district where there are far finer houses than any you
saw in Oban, and far finer trees; and within a few minutes'
walk you will find great gardens and parks, with lakes in them.
and wild fowls, and you will be able to teach the boys about
how to set the helm and the sails when they are launching their
small boats. "
"I should like that," said Sheila, her face brightening.
<< Perhaps you would like a boat yourself? "
"Yes," she said, frankly. "If there were not many people
there, we might go out sometimes in the evening-"
Her husband laughed and took her hand: "You don't under-
stand, Sheila. The boats the boys have are little things a foot
or two long-like the one in your papa's bedroom in Borva.
But many of the boys would be greatly obliged to you if you
would teach them how to manage the sails properly, for some-
times dreadful shipwrecks occur. "
"You must bring them to our house. I am very fond of
little boys, when they begin to forget to be shy, and let you
become acquainted with them. "
"Well," said Lavender, "I don't know many of the boys who
sail boats in the Serpentine: you will have to make their acquaint-
## p. 1999 (#189) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
1999
ance yourself.
But I know one boy whom I must bring to the
house. He is a German-Jew boy, who is going to be another
Mendelssohn, his friends say. He is a pretty boy, with ruddy-
brown hair, big black eyes, and a fine forehead; and he really
sings and plays delightfully. But you know, Sheila, you must
not treat him as a boy, for he is over fourteen, I should think;
and if you were to kiss him
>>>
"He might be angry," said Sheila, with perfect simplicity.
"I might," said Lavender; and then, noticing that she seemed
a little surprised, he merely patted her head and bade her go
and get ready for dinner.
Then came the great climax of Sheila's southward journey —
her arrival in London. She was all anxiety to see her future
home; and as luck would have it, there was a fair spring morn-
ing shining over the city. For a couple of hours before, she
had sat and looked out of the carriage-window as the train
whirled rapidly through the scarcely awakened country, and she
had seen the soft and beautiful landscapes of the South lit up by
the early sunlight. How the bright little villages shone, with
here and there a gilt weathercock glittering on the spire of some
small gray church, while as yet in many valleys a pale gray mist
lay along the bed of the level streams or clung to the dense
woods on the upland heights! Which was the more beautiful-
the sharp, clear picture, with its brilliant colors and its awaken-
ing life, or the more mystic landscape over which was still drawn
the tender veil of the morning haze? She could not tell.
only knew that England, as she then saw it, seemed a great
country that was very beautiful, that had few inhabitants, and
that was still and sleepy and bathed in sunshine.
How happy
must the people be who lived in those quiet green valleys by the
side of slow and smooth rivers, and amid great woods and avenues
of stately trees, the like of which she had not imagined even in
her dreams!
But from the moment that they got out at Euston Square
she seemed a trifle bewildered, and could only do implicitly as
her husband bade her -clinging to his hand, for the most part,
as if to make sure of guidance. She did indeed glance somewhat
nervously at the hansom into which Lavender put her, apparently
asking how such a tall and narrow two-wheeled vehicle could be
prevented toppling over. But when he, having sent on all their
luggage by a respectable old four-wheeler, got into the hansom.
## p. 2000 (#190) ###########################################
2000
WILLIAM BLACK
beside her, and put his hand inside her arm, and bade her be of
good cheer that she should have such a pleasant morning to wel-
come her to London, she said "Yes," mechanically, and only
looked out in a wistful fashion at the great houses and trees of
Euston Square, the mighty and roaring stream of omnibuses,
the droves of strangers, mostly clad in black, as if they were
going to church, and the pale blue smoke that seemed to mix
with the sunshine and make it cold and distant.
They were in no hurry, these two, on that still morning; and
so, to impress Sheila all at once with a sense of the greatness
and grandeur of London, he made the cabman cut down by Park
Crescent and Portland Place to Regent Circus. Then they went
along Oxford Street; and there were crowded omnibuses taking
young men into the city, while all the pavements were busy
with hurrying passers-by. What multitudes of unknown faces,
unknown to her and unknown to each other! These people did
not speak: they only hurried on, each intent upon his own affairs,
caring nothing, apparently, for the din around them, and looking
so strange and sad in their black clothes in the pale and misty
sunlight.
"You are in a trance, Sheila," he said.
She did not answer. Surely she had wandered into some
magical city, for now the houses on one side of the way suddenly
ceased, and she saw before her a great and undulating extent of
green, with a border of beautiful flowers, and with groups of
trees that met the sky all along the southern horizon. Did the
green and beautiful country she had seen, shoot in thus into
the heart of the town, or was there another city far away on
the other side of the trees? The place was almost as deserted
as those still valleys she had passed by in the morning. Here
in the street there was the roar of a passing crowd; but there
was a long and almost deserted stretch of park, with winding
roads and umbrageous trees, on which the wan sunlight fell from
between loose masses of half-golden cloud.
Then they passed Kensington Gardens, and there were more
people walking down the broad highways between the elms.
"You are getting nearly home now, Sheila," he said. « And
you will be able to come and walk in these avenues whenever
you please. "
Was this, then, her home? this section of a barrack-row of
dwellings, all alike in steps, pillars, doors, and windows? When
## p. 2001 (#191) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
2001
she got inside, the servant who had opened the door bobbed a
courtesy to her: should she shake hands with her and say, "And
are you ferry well? » But at this moment Lavender came run-
ning up the steps, playfully hurried her into the house and up
the stairs, and led her into her own drawing-room. "Well, dar-
ling, what do you think of your home, now that you see it? ”
It
Sheila looked around timidly. It was not a big room, but it
was a palace in height and grandeur and color compared with
that little museum in Borva in which Sheila's piano stood.
was all so strange and beautiful-the split pomegranates and
quaint leaves on the upper part of the walls, and underneath a
dull slate-color where the pictures hung; the curious painting on
the frames of the mirrors; the brilliant curtains, with their stiff
and formal patterns. It was not very much like a home as yet;
it was more like a picture that had been carefully planned and
executed; but she knew how he had thought of pleasing her in
choosing these things, and without saying a word she took his
hand and kissed it. And then she went to one of the three tall
French windows and looked out on the square. There, between
the trees, was a space of beautiful soft green; and some children
dressed in bright dresses, and attended by a governess in sober
black, had just begun to play croquet. An elderly lady with a
small white dog was walking along one of the graveled paths.
An old man was pruning some bushes.
"It is very still and quiet here," said Sheila. "I was afraid
we should have to live in that terrible noise always. "
"I hope you won't find it dull, my darling," he said.
"Dull, when you are here ? »
"But I cannot always be here, you know. "
She looked up.
"You see, a man is so much in the way if he is dawdling
about a house all day long. You would begin to regard me as
a nuisance, Sheila, and would be for sending me to play croquet
with those young Carruthers, merely that you might get the
rooms dusted. Besides, you know I couldn't work here: I must
have a studio of some sort - in the neighborhood, of course.
And then you will give me your orders in the morning as to
when I am to come round for luncheon or dinner. "
"And you will be alone all day at your work? "
"Yes. "
"Then I will come and sit with you, my poor boy," she said.
IV-126
## p. 2002 (#192) ###########################################
2002
WILLIAM BLACK
>>
"Much work I should do in that case! he said. "But we'll
see. In the mean time go up-stairs and get your things off: that
young person below has breakfast ready, I dare say. "
"But you have not shown me yet where Mr. Ingram lives,”
said Sheila before she went to the door.
"Oh, that is miles away. You have only seen a little bit of
London yet. Ingram lives about as far away from here as the
distance you have just come, but in another direction. "
"It is like a world made of houses," said Sheila, "and all
filled with strangers. But you will take me to see Mr. Ingram ? "
But he is sure to drop in on you as soon
«< By-and-by, yes.
as he fancies you are settled in your new home. "
And here at last was Mr. Ingram come; and the mere sound
of his voice seemed to carry her back to Borva, so that in talk-
ing to him and waiting on him as of old, she would scarcely
have been surprised if her father had walked in to say that a
coaster was making for the harbor, or that Duncan was going
over to Stornoway, and Sheila would have to give him commis-
sions.
Her husband did not take the same interest in the social
and political affairs of Borva that Mr. Ingram did. Lavender
had made a pretense of assisting Sheila in her work among the
poor people, but the effort was a hopeless failure. He could not
remember the name of the family that wanted a new boat, and
was visibly impatient when Sheila would sit down to write out
for some aged crone a letter to her grandson in Canada. Now
Ingram, for the mere sake of occupation, had qualified himself
during his various visits to Lewis, so that he might have be-
come the home minister of the King of Borva; and Sheila was
glad to have one attentive listener as she described all the won-
derful things that had happened in the island since the previous
summer.
But Ingram had got a full and complete holiday on which to
come up and see Sheila; and he had brought with him the wild
and startling proposal that in order that she should take her
first plunge into the pleasures of civilized life, her husband and
herself should drive down to Richmond and dine at the Star
and Garter.
"What is that? " said Sheila,
"My dear girl," said her husband, seriously, "your ignorance
is something fearful to contemplate. It is quite bewildering. How
## p. 2003 (#193) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
2003
can a person who does not know what the Star and Garter is, be
told what the Star and Garter is? "
"But I am willing to go and see," said Sheila.
"Then I must look after getting a brougham," said Lavender,
rising.
"A brougham on such a day as this? " exclaimed Ingram.
"Nonsense! Get an open trap of some sort; and Sheila, just to
please me, will put on that very blue dress she used to wear in
Borva, and the hat and the white feather, if she has got them. "
"Perhaps you would like me to put on a sealskin cap and a
red handkerchief instead of a collar," observed Lavender, calmly.
"You may do as you please. Sheila and I are going to dine
at the Star and Garter. "
"May I put on that blue dress? " said the girl, going up to
her husband.
"Yes, of course, if you like," said Lavender meekly, going off
to order the carriage, and wondering by what route he could
drive those two maniacs down to Richmond so that none of his
friends should see them.
When he came back again, bringing with him a landau which
could be shut up for the homeward journey at night, he had to
confess that no costume seemed to suit Sheila so well as the
rough sailor dress; and he was so pleased with her appearance
that he consented at once to let Bras go with them in the car-
riage, on condition that Sheila should be responsible for him.
Indeed, after the first shiver of driving away from the square was
over, he forgot that there was much unusual about the look of
this odd pleasure party. If you had told him eighteen months
before that on a bright day in May, just as people were going
home from the Park for luncheon, he would go for a drive in a
hired trap with one horse, his companions being a man with a
brown wide-awake, a girl dressed as though she were the owner of
a yacht, and an immense deerhound, and that in this fashion he
would dare to drive up to the Star and Garter and order dinner,
he would have bet five hundred to one that such a thing would
never occur so long as he preserved his senses. But somehow
he did not mind much. He was very much at home with those
two people beside him; the day was bright and fresh; the horse
went a good pace; and once they were over Hammersmith Bridge
and out among fields and trees, the country looked exceedingly
pretty, and all the beauty of it was mirrored in Sheila's eyes.
W
## p. 2004 (#194) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
2004
"I can't quite make you out in that dress, Sheila," he said.
"I am not sure whether it is real and business-like or a theatri-
cal costume. I have seen girls on Ryde Pier with something
of the same sort on, only a good deal more pronounced, you
know, and they looked like sham yachtsmen; and I have seen
stewardesses wearing that color and texture of cloth—»
"But why not leave it as it is," said Ingram-"a solitary
costume produced by certain conditions of climate and duties,
acting in conjunction with a natural taste for harmonious color-
ing and simple form? That dress, I will maintain, sprang as
naturally from the salt sea as Aphrodite did; and the man who
suspects artifice in it, or invention, has had his mind perverted
by the skepticism of modern society. "
"Is my dress so very wonderful? " said Sheila, with a grave
complacence. "I am pleased that the Lewis has produced such
a fine thing, and perhaps you would like me to tell you its
history. It was my papa bought a piece of blue serge in Storno-
way: it cost three shillings sixpence a yard, and a dressmaker
in Stornoway cut it for me, and I made it myself. That is all
the history of the wonderful dress. "
Suddenly Sheila seized her husband's arm. They had got
down to the river by Mortlake; and there, on the broad bosom
of the stream, a long and slender boat was shooting by, pulled
by four oarsmen clad in white flannel.
"How can they go out in such a boat? " said Sheila, with
great alarm visible in her eyes. "It is scarcely a boat at all;
and if they touch a rock, or if the wind catches them-»
"Don't be frightened, Sheila," said her husband. "They are
quite safe. There are no rocks in our rivers, and the wind does
not give us squalls here like those on Loch Roag. You will see
hundreds of those boats by and by, and perhaps you yourself
will go out in one. "
"Oh, never, never! " she said, almost with a shudder.
"Why, if the people here heard you they would not know
how brave a sailor you are. You are not afraid to go out at
night by yourself on the sea, and you won't go on a smooth
inland river—»
"But those boats: if you touch them they must go over. "
She seemed glad to get away from the river. She could not
be persuaded of the safety of the slender craft of the Thames;
and indeed, for some time after seemed so strangely depressed
I
I
## p. 2005 (#195) ###########################################
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2005
that Lavender begged and prayed of her to tell him what was
the matter. It was simple enough. She had heard him speak
of his boating adventures. Was it in such boats as that she
had just seen?
and might he not be some day going out in one
of them and an accident - the breaking of an oar, a gust of
wind
There was nothing for it but to reassure her by a solemn
promise that in no circumstances whatever would he, Lavender,
go into a boat without her express permission, whereupon Sheila
was as grateful to him as though he had dowered her with a
kingdom.
This was not the Richmond Hill of her fancy-this spacious
height; with its great mansions, its magnificent elms, and its
view of all the westward and wooded country, with the blue-
white streak of the river winding through the green foliage.
Where was the farm? The famous Lass of Richmond Hill must
have lived on a farm; but here surely were the houses of great
lords and nobles, which had apparently been there for years
and years.
And was this really a hotel that they stopped at-
this great building that she could only compare to Stornoway
Castle?
―
"Now, Sheila," said Lavender, after they had ordered dinner
and gone out, "mind you keep a tight hold on that leash, for
Bras will see strange things in the Park. "
"It is I who will see strange things," she said; and the
prophecy was amply fulfilled. For as they went along the broad
path, and came better into view of the splendid undulation of
woodland and pasture and fern, when on the one hand they saw
the Thames far below them flowing through the green and spa-
cious valley, and on the other hand caught some dusky glimpse
of the far white houses of London, it seemed to her that she had
got into a new world, and that this world was far more beauti-
ful than the great city she had left. She did not care so much
for the famous view from the hill. She had cast one quick look
to the horizon, with one throb of expectation that the sea might
be there. There was no sea there-only the faint blue of long
lines of country, apparently without limit. Moreover, over the
western landscape a faint haze prevailed, that increased in the
distance and softened down the more distant woods into a sober
gray. That great extent of wooded plain, lying sleepily in its
pale mists, was not so cheerful as the scene around her, where
## p. 2006 (#196) ###########################################
2006
WILLIAM BLACK
the sunlight was sharp and clear, the air fresh, the trees flooded
with a pure and bright color. Here indeed was a cheerful and
beautiful world, and she was full of curiosity to know all about
it and its strange features. What was the name of this tree?
and how did it differ from that? Were not these rabbits over
by the fence? and did rabbits live in the midst of trees and
bushes? What sort of wood was the fence made of? and was it
not terribly expensive to have such a protection? Could not he
tell the cost of a wooden fence? Why did they not use wire
netting? Was not that a loch away down there? and what was
its name? A loch without a name! Did the salmon come up to
it? and did any sea-birds ever come inland and build their nests
on its margin?
"O, Bras, you must come and look at the loch. It is a long
time since you will see a loch. "
And away she went through the thick bracken, holding on to
the swaying leash that held the galloping greyhound, and run-
ning swiftly as though she had been making down for the shore
to get out the Maighdean-mhara.
"Sheila," called her husband, "don't be foolish! "
"Sheila," called Ingram, "have pity on an old man! "
Suddenly she stopped. A brace of partridges had sprung up
at some distance, and with a wild whirr of their wings were now
directing their low and rapid flight toward the bottom of the
valley.
"What birds are those? " she said peremptorily.
She took no notice of the fact that her companions were
pretty nearly too blown to speak. There was a brisk life and
color in her face, and all her attention was absorbed in watching
the flight of the birds. Lavender fancied he saw in the fixed
and keen look something of old Mackenzie's gray eye: it was
not the first trace of a likeness to her father he had seen.
"You bad girl! " he said, "they are partridges. "
She paid no heed to this reproach, for what were those other
things over there underneath the trees? Bras had pricked up his
ears, and there was a strange excitement in his look and in his
trembling frame.
"Deer! " she cried, with her eyes as fixed as were those of
the dog beside her.
"Well," said her husband calmly, "what although they are
deer? »
S
S
## p. 2007 (#197) ###########################################
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2007
said; and with that she caught the leash
"But Bras- » she
with both her hands.
"Bras won't mind them if you keep him quiet. I suppose
you can manage him better than can. I wish we had brought
a whip. "
"I would rather let him kill every deer in the Park than
touch him with a whip," said Sheila proudly.
"You fearful creature, you don't know what you say. That
is high treason. If George Ranger heard you, he would have
you hanged in front of the Star and Garter. "
"Who is George Ranger? " said Sheila with an air as if she
had said, "Do you know that I am the daughter of the King of
Borva, and whoever touches me will have to answer to my papa,
who is not afraid of any George Ranger ? »
"He is a great lord who hangs all persons who disturb the
deer in this Park. "
"But why do they not go away? " said Sheila impatiently. "I
have never seen any deer so stupid. It is their own fault if
they are disturbed: why do they remain so near to people and to
houses? »
"My dear child, if Bras wasn't here you would probably find
some of those deer coming up to see if you had any bits of
sugar or pieces of bread about your pockets. "
"Then they are like sheep-they are not like deer," she said
with some contempt. "If I could only tell Bras that it is sheep
he will be looking at, he would not look any more. And so small
they are! They are as small as the roe, but they have horns as
big as many of the red-deer. Do people eat them? "
"I suppose so. "
"And what will they cost? "
"I am sure I can't tell you. "
"Are they as good as the roe or the big deer? "
"I don't know that either. I don't think I ever ate fallow-
deer. But you know they are not kept here for that purpose.
A great many gentlemen in this country keep a lot of them in
their parks merely to look pretty. They cost a great deal more
than they produce. "
་
"They must eat up a great deal of fine grass," said Sheila
almost sorrowfully. "It is a beautiful ground for sheep-no
rushes, no peat moss, only fine good grass and dry land. I
should like my papa to see all this beautiful ground. "
I
## p. 2008 (#198) ###########################################
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"I fancy he has seen it. "
"Was my papa here? "
"I think he said so. "
"And did he see those deer? "
"Doubtless. "
"He never told me of them. "
By this time they had pretty nearly got down to the little
lake, and Bras had been alternately coaxed and threatened into
a quiescent mood.
Sheila evidently expected to hear a flapping of sea-fowls'
wings when they got near the margin; and looked all round
for the first sudden dart from the banks. But a dead silence
prevailed; and as there were neither fish nor birds to watch,
she went along to a wooden bench and sat down there, one
of her companions on each hand. It was a pretty scene that
lay before her - the small stretch of water ruffled with the
wind, but showing a dash of blue sky here and there- the trees
in the inclosure beyond, clad in their summer foliage, the smooth
greensward shining in the afternoon sunlight. Here at least was
absolute quiet after the roar of London; and it was somewhat
wistfully that she asked her husband how far this place was
from her home, and whether, when he was at work, she could
not come down here by herself.
"Certainly," he said, never dreaming that she would think of
doing such a thing.
By-and-by they returned to the hotel; and while they sat at
dinner a great fire of sunset spread over the west; and the far
woods became of a rich purple, streaked here and there with
lines of pale white mist. The river caught the glow of the
crimson clouds above, and shone duskily red amid the dark
green of the trees. Deeper and deeper grew the color of the
sun as it sank to the horizon, until it disappeared behind one
low bar of purple cloud; and then the wild glow in the west
slowly faded away; the river became pallid and indistinct; the
white mists over the distant woods seemed to grow denser; and
then, as here and there a lamp was lit far down in the valley,
one or two pale stars appeared in the sky overhead, and the
night came on apace.
"It is so strange," Sheila said, "to find the darkness coming
on, and not to hear the sound of the waves. I wonder if it is
a fine night at Borva. "
## p. 2009 (#199) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
2009
Her husband went over to her and led her back to the table,
where the candles, shining over the white cloth and the colored
glasses, offered a more cheerful picture than the darkening land-
scape outside. They were in a private room; so that when din-
ner was over, Sheila was allowed to amuse herself with the fruit,
while her two companions lit their cigars. Where was the quaint
old piano now; and the glass of hot whisky and water; and the
'Lament of Monaltrie,' or 'Love in thine eyes forever plays'?
It seemed, but for the greatness of the room, to be a repetition
of one of those evenings at Borva that now belonged to a far-off
past. Here was Sheila, not minding the smoke, listening to
Ingram as of old, and sometimes saying something in that
sweetly inflected speech of hers; here was Ingram, talking, as it
were, out of a brown study, and morosely objecting to pretty
nearly everything Lavender said, but always ready to prove
Sheila right; and Lavender himself, as unlike a married man as
ever, talking impatiently, impetuously, and wildly, except at such
times as he said something to his young wife, and then some
brief smile and look, or some pat on the hand, said more than
words. But where, Sheila may have thought, was the one want-
ing to complete the group? Has he gone down to Borvabost to
see about the cargoes of fish to be sent off in the morning?
Perhaps he is talking to Duncan outside about the cleaning of
the guns, or making up cartridges in the kitchen. When Sheila's
attention wandered away from the talk of her companions, she
could not help listening for the sound of the waves; and as there
was no such message coming to her from the great wooded plain
without, her fancy took her away across that mighty country she
had traveled through, and carried her up to the island of Loch
Roag, until she almost fancied she could smell the peat-smoke in
the night air, and listen to the sea, and hear her father pacing
up and down the gravel outside the house, perhaps thinking of
her as she was thinking of him.
This little excursion to Richmond was long remembered by
those three. It was the last of their meetings before Sheila was
ushered into the big world to busy herself with new occupations
and cares. It was a pleasant little journey throughout; for as
they got into the landau to drive back to town, the moon was
shining high up in the southern heavens, and the air was mild
and fresh, so that they had the carriage opened, and Sheila, well
wrapped up, lay and looked around her with a strange wonder
## p. 2010 (#200) ###########################################
2010
WILLIAM BLACK
and joy as they drove underneath the shadow of the trees and
out again into the clear sheen of the night. They saw the river,
too, flowing smoothly and palely down between its dark banks;
and somehow here the silence checked them, and they hummed.
no more those duets they used to sing up at Borva. Of what
were they thinking, then, as they drove through the clear night
along the lonely road? Lavender at least was rejoicing at his
great good fortune that he had secured for ever to himself the
true-hearted girl who now sat opposite to him, with the moon-
light touching her face and hair; and he was laughing to himself
at the notion that he did not properly appreciate her or under-
stand her or perceive her real character. If not he, who then?
Had he not watched every turn of her disposition, every expres-
sion of her wishes, every grace of her manner and look of her
eyes? and was he not overjoyed to find that the more he knew of
her the more he loved her? Marriage had increased rather than
diminished the mystery and wonder he had woven about her.
He was more her lover now than he had been before his mar-
riage. Who could see in her eyes what he saw? Elderly folks
can look at a girl's eyes, and see that they are brown or blue or
green, as the case may be; but the lover looks at them and sees
in them the magic mirror of a hundred possible worlds. How
can he fathom the sea of dreams that lies there, or tell what
strange fancies and reminiscences may be involved in an absent
look? Is she thinking of starlit nights on some distant lake, or
of the old bygone days on the hills? All her former life is
told there, and yet but half told, and he longs to become
possessed of all the beautiful past that she has seen. Here is a
constant mystery to him, and there is a singular and wistful
attraction for him in those still deeps where the thoughts and
dreams of an innocent soul lie but half revealed. He does not
see those things in the eyes of women he is not in love with;
but when in after years he is carelessly regarding this or the
other woman, some chance look, some brief and sudden turn of
expression, will recall to him, as with a stroke of lightning, all
the old wonder-time, and his heart will go nigh to breaking to
think that he has grown old, and that he has forgotten so much,
and that the fair, wild days of romance and longing are passed
away forever.
## p. 2010 (#201) ###########################################
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R. D. BLACKMORE.
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## p. 2011 (#205) ###########################################
2011
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
(1825-)
He was
HE literary success of Blackmore came late in life.
born in Longworth, Berkshire, England, in 1825, was grad-
uated at Exeter College, Oxford, and afterwards studied law
in the Middle Temple, practicing his profession as a conveyancer.
But his heart was in an outdoor life. Like his own John Ridd, the
hero of Lorna Doone,' he is a man of the moors and fields, with a
fresh breeze blowing over him and a farmer's cares in his mind. In
1854-5 he published several volumes of poems under the pen-name
of "Melanter. " (The Bugle of the Black Sea' and a complete trans-
lation of Virgil's 'Georgics' appeared in 1871.
Other volumes of verse followed, of which it may be said that he
is a poet more sensitive to influence than fertile in original impulse;
although some of his prose, in which even rhythm is observed in
what seems to be an unconscious manner, displays high original
quality. It is therefore fair to say of him as a poet that while his
works did not gain him the reputation that has placed him among
the foremost literary men of the day, the subtle influence rural nature
exerts on man, and the part it bears in the sweet harmonies of life,
are told in passages that are resonant with melody.
The poet's delight is in the prosperity of the fields, as if they
were his friends, and in the dumb loving motherhood with which all
nature seems, to his eyes, to surround him.
As the precursor of a summer that yielded such a mellow harvest,
the spring of Mr. Blackmore's fiction was slow and intermittent. The
plot of his stories is never probable, but in his first novel, 'Clara
Vaughan,' published in 1864, it impairs belief in the general reality
of the book; and though there is hint of the power to excite sym-
pathy of which his latter novels prove him so great a master, the
intelligence refuses such shrieking melodrama. 'Lorna Doone' there-
fore came unheralded. It was published in London in 1869 and
slowly grew in favor, then leaped into popularity. In 1878 twenty-
two editions had been printed.
Other novels followed. 'The Maid of Sker,' 'Alice Lorraine,'
'Cripps the Carrier,' 'Erema,' 'Mary Anerley,' 'Christowell,' 'Sir
Thomas Upton,' came in rapid succession. The paternity of no
novel of Mr. Blackmore's is doubtful. All have marked character-
istics. They are long and exceedingly minute in detail. With all his
## p. 2012 (#206) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2012
finish, he tells his story almost with a child's elaborateness of inci-
dent. Every change of the seasons, the history of every walk is set
down. He is in love with every feature of the landscape, be it the
wild doons of Exmoor or the wilder Yorkshire coast, or, across the
seas, the plains of the Sierras. He is a story-teller of the days in
which it was quite unimportant whether tales should come to an end
or not. He would have saved Scheherazade all her trouble and
enjoyed the task. He cannot pass carelessly by the slightest inci-
dent; it is his nature to approfondir all his surroundings: if the hero
breaks his stirrup and stops at the blacksmith's to have it mended,
the blacksmith will appear at the end of the story united to the rider,
from the third and fourth generation, by a subtle thread of connec-
tion. But all these details, while they encumber the tale, contribute
to a harmonious whole; for he has in a peculiar degree an instinct
for the judicious introduction of telling human characters that are as
much a part of the detail of the scene as the trees and stones.
Upon these characters he expends a wealth of humor, and his humor
is characteristic of Blackmore alone. It is full of unexpected turns
and twists of fancy, quiet fun when we expect grave comment.
Friendly old people appear, full of innumerable quips of individual-
ity, and breezy fields and wealthy orchards and a general mellow
fruitfulness form the background of the play.
Especially in his prodigality is Blackmore characteristic of Black-
more. Other writers keep their quaint reflections for their dialogue,
and confer immortality on their principal characters. But Blackmore
has no sense of economy. As Mr. Saintsbury says of Thackeray, he
could not introduce a personage, however subordinate, without mak-
ing him a living creature. He does little with a character he has
described in such powerful lines as Stephen Anerley. The fisher
village folks, wild and hardy, with their slow speech and sly sagacity,
the men at sea and the women at home; the maimed and broken-
down yet jolly old tars; the anxious little merchants, and the heavy
coast-guardsmen, we learn to know as we know the rocks and caves,
the fishing cobbles in their bright colors, the slow-tongued gos-
sips pouring out their long-voweled speech. All these characters,
although they have a general resemblance to each other, have also
a peculiar, quaint simplicity and wisdom that is Blackmoreish, as
Thackeray's characters are Thackeraian. The author steps in and
gives his puppets his little twist, the characteristic obliquity each
possesses, his quips and cranks. If he would but confine the abund-
ant tide of his flowing and leisurely utterances, he would have more
time to bestow on really exciting and dramatic episodes, instead of
going off into a little corner and carefully embellishing it, while the
dénouement waits and the interest grows cold. Neither can he write
## p. 2013 (#207) ###########################################
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2013
a page without sending a sly bolt of amused perception through it,
in which he discovers some foible or pricks some bubble of preten-
sion, but always tenderly, as if he loved his victim. To the fact
that Mr. Blackmore's success came late in life, we have perhaps to
be thankful for the softened and indulgent maturity which finds a
hundred excuses, and knows that nothing is as good or as bad as it
seems.
The best expression of his genius in the delineation of character
is not-with perhaps the exception of John Ridd-in his heroes and
heroines. The former are drawn with the stronger hand. The
maidens are pretty girls, sweet and good and brave for the sake of
their fathers, and cunning for their lovers. His young men are
gallant and true; but as exemplary love is apt to run smooth, it is
not here that the drama finds the necessary amount of difficulty and
pain. The interest centres in such delicious conceptions as Parson
Short, full of muscular energy and sound doctrine, in Dr. Uperan-
down, his salt-water parish rival, the carrier Cripps, Parson Chowne,
and the renowned highwayman Tom Faggus, of whom they were
immensely proud. These people, before he has done with them, get
hold of our sympathies, while the author keeps perennially fresh his
enjoyment of human follies. His rustics do not talk with elaborate
humor, nor are they amiable, but they are racy of the soil.
One cannot dismiss a novelist without a reference to his plots,
unless indeed he discards plots as an article of faith. Mr. Blackmore
has no such intention. His stories are full of adventure and dramatic
situations, and his melodrama is of the lurid kind on which the cal-
cium light is thrown. Sometimes, as in The Maid of Sker' and
'Cripps, they violate every probability. In others, as in Mary
Anerley, the mystery is childishly simple, the oft-repeated plot of a
lost child recovered by certain strangely wrought gold buttons. In
'Erema,' the narrative suffers for want of vraisemblance, and loses by
being related by a very young girl who has had no opportunity of
becoming familiar with the world she describes. He is constantly
guilty of that splendid mendacity which fiction loves, but which is
nearly impossible to actual life.
-
## p. 1996 (#186) ###########################################
1996
WILLIAM BLACK
what it means; and with a wild cry of horror and despair, the
old man sinks on his knees and clasps his hands, and stretches
them out to the terrible sea.
"O, Macleod, Macleod! are you going away from me forever?
and we will go up the hills together and on the lochs together
no more! Oh, the brave lad that he was!
and the good master! And who was not proud of him—my
handsome lad—and he the last of the Macleods of Dare? "
no more- no more—
-
Arise, Hamish, and have the gig hauled up into shelter; for
will you not want it when the gale abates, and the seas are
smooth, and you have to go away to Dare, you and your com-
rades, with silent tongues and sombre eyes? Why this wild
lamentation in the darkness of the night? The stricken heart
that you loved so well has found peace at last; the coal-black
wine has been drunk: there is an end! And you, you poor,
cowering fugitives, who only see each other's terrified faces
when the wan gleam of the lightning blazes through the sky,
perhaps it is well that you should weep and wail for the young
master; but that is soon over, and the day will break. And this
is what I am thinking of now: when the light comes and the
seas are smooth, then which of you-oh, which of you all will
tell this tale to the two women at Castle Dare?
So fair shines the mor
orning sun on the white sands of Iona!
The three-days' gale is over. Behold how Ulva-Ulva the green-
shored the Ool-a-va that the sailors love-is laughing out again.
to the clear skies! And the great skarts on the shores of Eris-
geir are spreading abroad their dusky wings to get them dried.
in the sun; and the seals are basking on the rocks in Loch-na-
Keal; and in Loch Scridain the white gulls sit buoyant on the
blue sea.
There go the Gometra men in their brown-sailed
boat to look after the lobster traps at Staffa, and very soon you
will see the steamer come round the far Cailleach Point; over at
Erraidh they are signaling to the men at Dubh-Artach, and they
are glad to have a message from them after the heavy gale.
The new, bright day has begun; the world has awakened again
to the joyous sunlight; there is a chattering of the sea-birds all
along the shores. It is a bright, eager, glad day for all the
world. But there is silence in Castle Dare!
## p. 1997 (#187) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
1997
SHEILA IN LONDON
From A Princess of Thule
SHE
HE asked if they were lords who owned those beautiful houses
built up on the hill, and half-smothered among lilacs and
ash-trees and rowan-trees and ivy.
"My darling," Lavender had said to her, "if your papa were
to come and live here, he could buy half a dozen of these cot-
tages, gardens and all. They are mostly the property of well-to-
do shopkeepers. If this little place takes your fancy, what will
you say when you go South-when you see Wimbledon and
Richmond and Kew, with their grand old commons and trees?
Why, you could hide Oban in a corner of Richmond Park! "
"And my papa has seen all these places?
«Yes. Don't you think it strange he should have seen them
all, and known he could live in any of them, and then gone
away back to Borva?
>>>
>>
"But what would the poor people have done if he had never
gone back? »
"Oh, some one else would have taken his place. "
"And then, if he were living here, or in London, he might
have got tired, and he might have wished to go back to the
Lewis and see all the people he knew; and then he would come
among them like a stranger, and have no house to go to. "
-
Then Lavender said, quite gently:-
"Do you think, Sheila, you will ever tire of living in the
South? "
The girl looked up quickly, and said with a sort of surprised
questioning in her eyes:-
"No, not with you. But then we shall often go to the
Lewis ? "
"Oh, yes," her husband said, "as often as we can con-
veniently. But it will take some time at first, you know, before
you get to know all my friends, who are to be your friends, and
before you get properly fitted with your social circle. That will
take you a long time, Sheila, and you may have many annoy-
ances or embarrassments to encounter; but you won't be very
much afraid, my girl? "
Sheila merely looked up to him; there was no fear in the
frank, brave eyes.
## p. 1998 (#188) ###########################################
1998
WILLIAM BLACK
The first large town she saw struck a cold chill to her heart.
On a wet and dismal afternoon they sailed into Greenock. A
heavy smoke hung about the black building-yards and the dirty
quays; the narrow and squalid streets were filled with mud, and
only the poorer sections of the population waded through the
mire or hung disconsolately about the corners of the thorough-
fares. A gloomier picture could not well be conceived; and
Sheila, chilled with the long and wet sail and bewildered by the
noise and bustle of the harbor, was driven to the hotel with a
sore heart and a downcast face.
"This is not like London, Frank? " she said, pretty nearly
ready to cry with disappointment.
"This? No. Well, it is like a part of London, certainly, but
not the part you will live in. "
"But how can we live in the one place without passing the
other and being made miserable by it? There was no part of
Oban like this. "
<< Why, you will live miles away from the docks and quays of
London. You might live for a lifetime in London without ever
knowing it had a harbor. Don't you be afraid, Sheila. You will
live in a district where there are far finer houses than any you
saw in Oban, and far finer trees; and within a few minutes'
walk you will find great gardens and parks, with lakes in them.
and wild fowls, and you will be able to teach the boys about
how to set the helm and the sails when they are launching their
small boats. "
"I should like that," said Sheila, her face brightening.
<< Perhaps you would like a boat yourself? "
"Yes," she said, frankly. "If there were not many people
there, we might go out sometimes in the evening-"
Her husband laughed and took her hand: "You don't under-
stand, Sheila. The boats the boys have are little things a foot
or two long-like the one in your papa's bedroom in Borva.
But many of the boys would be greatly obliged to you if you
would teach them how to manage the sails properly, for some-
times dreadful shipwrecks occur. "
"You must bring them to our house. I am very fond of
little boys, when they begin to forget to be shy, and let you
become acquainted with them. "
"Well," said Lavender, "I don't know many of the boys who
sail boats in the Serpentine: you will have to make their acquaint-
## p. 1999 (#189) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
1999
ance yourself.
But I know one boy whom I must bring to the
house. He is a German-Jew boy, who is going to be another
Mendelssohn, his friends say. He is a pretty boy, with ruddy-
brown hair, big black eyes, and a fine forehead; and he really
sings and plays delightfully. But you know, Sheila, you must
not treat him as a boy, for he is over fourteen, I should think;
and if you were to kiss him
>>>
"He might be angry," said Sheila, with perfect simplicity.
"I might," said Lavender; and then, noticing that she seemed
a little surprised, he merely patted her head and bade her go
and get ready for dinner.
Then came the great climax of Sheila's southward journey —
her arrival in London. She was all anxiety to see her future
home; and as luck would have it, there was a fair spring morn-
ing shining over the city. For a couple of hours before, she
had sat and looked out of the carriage-window as the train
whirled rapidly through the scarcely awakened country, and she
had seen the soft and beautiful landscapes of the South lit up by
the early sunlight. How the bright little villages shone, with
here and there a gilt weathercock glittering on the spire of some
small gray church, while as yet in many valleys a pale gray mist
lay along the bed of the level streams or clung to the dense
woods on the upland heights! Which was the more beautiful-
the sharp, clear picture, with its brilliant colors and its awaken-
ing life, or the more mystic landscape over which was still drawn
the tender veil of the morning haze? She could not tell.
only knew that England, as she then saw it, seemed a great
country that was very beautiful, that had few inhabitants, and
that was still and sleepy and bathed in sunshine.
How happy
must the people be who lived in those quiet green valleys by the
side of slow and smooth rivers, and amid great woods and avenues
of stately trees, the like of which she had not imagined even in
her dreams!
But from the moment that they got out at Euston Square
she seemed a trifle bewildered, and could only do implicitly as
her husband bade her -clinging to his hand, for the most part,
as if to make sure of guidance. She did indeed glance somewhat
nervously at the hansom into which Lavender put her, apparently
asking how such a tall and narrow two-wheeled vehicle could be
prevented toppling over. But when he, having sent on all their
luggage by a respectable old four-wheeler, got into the hansom.
## p. 2000 (#190) ###########################################
2000
WILLIAM BLACK
beside her, and put his hand inside her arm, and bade her be of
good cheer that she should have such a pleasant morning to wel-
come her to London, she said "Yes," mechanically, and only
looked out in a wistful fashion at the great houses and trees of
Euston Square, the mighty and roaring stream of omnibuses,
the droves of strangers, mostly clad in black, as if they were
going to church, and the pale blue smoke that seemed to mix
with the sunshine and make it cold and distant.
They were in no hurry, these two, on that still morning; and
so, to impress Sheila all at once with a sense of the greatness
and grandeur of London, he made the cabman cut down by Park
Crescent and Portland Place to Regent Circus. Then they went
along Oxford Street; and there were crowded omnibuses taking
young men into the city, while all the pavements were busy
with hurrying passers-by. What multitudes of unknown faces,
unknown to her and unknown to each other! These people did
not speak: they only hurried on, each intent upon his own affairs,
caring nothing, apparently, for the din around them, and looking
so strange and sad in their black clothes in the pale and misty
sunlight.
"You are in a trance, Sheila," he said.
She did not answer. Surely she had wandered into some
magical city, for now the houses on one side of the way suddenly
ceased, and she saw before her a great and undulating extent of
green, with a border of beautiful flowers, and with groups of
trees that met the sky all along the southern horizon. Did the
green and beautiful country she had seen, shoot in thus into
the heart of the town, or was there another city far away on
the other side of the trees? The place was almost as deserted
as those still valleys she had passed by in the morning. Here
in the street there was the roar of a passing crowd; but there
was a long and almost deserted stretch of park, with winding
roads and umbrageous trees, on which the wan sunlight fell from
between loose masses of half-golden cloud.
Then they passed Kensington Gardens, and there were more
people walking down the broad highways between the elms.
"You are getting nearly home now, Sheila," he said. « And
you will be able to come and walk in these avenues whenever
you please. "
Was this, then, her home? this section of a barrack-row of
dwellings, all alike in steps, pillars, doors, and windows? When
## p. 2001 (#191) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
2001
she got inside, the servant who had opened the door bobbed a
courtesy to her: should she shake hands with her and say, "And
are you ferry well? » But at this moment Lavender came run-
ning up the steps, playfully hurried her into the house and up
the stairs, and led her into her own drawing-room. "Well, dar-
ling, what do you think of your home, now that you see it? ”
It
Sheila looked around timidly. It was not a big room, but it
was a palace in height and grandeur and color compared with
that little museum in Borva in which Sheila's piano stood.
was all so strange and beautiful-the split pomegranates and
quaint leaves on the upper part of the walls, and underneath a
dull slate-color where the pictures hung; the curious painting on
the frames of the mirrors; the brilliant curtains, with their stiff
and formal patterns. It was not very much like a home as yet;
it was more like a picture that had been carefully planned and
executed; but she knew how he had thought of pleasing her in
choosing these things, and without saying a word she took his
hand and kissed it. And then she went to one of the three tall
French windows and looked out on the square. There, between
the trees, was a space of beautiful soft green; and some children
dressed in bright dresses, and attended by a governess in sober
black, had just begun to play croquet. An elderly lady with a
small white dog was walking along one of the graveled paths.
An old man was pruning some bushes.
"It is very still and quiet here," said Sheila. "I was afraid
we should have to live in that terrible noise always. "
"I hope you won't find it dull, my darling," he said.
"Dull, when you are here ? »
"But I cannot always be here, you know. "
She looked up.
"You see, a man is so much in the way if he is dawdling
about a house all day long. You would begin to regard me as
a nuisance, Sheila, and would be for sending me to play croquet
with those young Carruthers, merely that you might get the
rooms dusted. Besides, you know I couldn't work here: I must
have a studio of some sort - in the neighborhood, of course.
And then you will give me your orders in the morning as to
when I am to come round for luncheon or dinner. "
"And you will be alone all day at your work? "
"Yes. "
"Then I will come and sit with you, my poor boy," she said.
IV-126
## p. 2002 (#192) ###########################################
2002
WILLIAM BLACK
>>
"Much work I should do in that case! he said. "But we'll
see. In the mean time go up-stairs and get your things off: that
young person below has breakfast ready, I dare say. "
"But you have not shown me yet where Mr. Ingram lives,”
said Sheila before she went to the door.
"Oh, that is miles away. You have only seen a little bit of
London yet. Ingram lives about as far away from here as the
distance you have just come, but in another direction. "
"It is like a world made of houses," said Sheila, "and all
filled with strangers. But you will take me to see Mr. Ingram ? "
But he is sure to drop in on you as soon
«< By-and-by, yes.
as he fancies you are settled in your new home. "
And here at last was Mr. Ingram come; and the mere sound
of his voice seemed to carry her back to Borva, so that in talk-
ing to him and waiting on him as of old, she would scarcely
have been surprised if her father had walked in to say that a
coaster was making for the harbor, or that Duncan was going
over to Stornoway, and Sheila would have to give him commis-
sions.
Her husband did not take the same interest in the social
and political affairs of Borva that Mr. Ingram did. Lavender
had made a pretense of assisting Sheila in her work among the
poor people, but the effort was a hopeless failure. He could not
remember the name of the family that wanted a new boat, and
was visibly impatient when Sheila would sit down to write out
for some aged crone a letter to her grandson in Canada. Now
Ingram, for the mere sake of occupation, had qualified himself
during his various visits to Lewis, so that he might have be-
come the home minister of the King of Borva; and Sheila was
glad to have one attentive listener as she described all the won-
derful things that had happened in the island since the previous
summer.
But Ingram had got a full and complete holiday on which to
come up and see Sheila; and he had brought with him the wild
and startling proposal that in order that she should take her
first plunge into the pleasures of civilized life, her husband and
herself should drive down to Richmond and dine at the Star
and Garter.
"What is that? " said Sheila,
"My dear girl," said her husband, seriously, "your ignorance
is something fearful to contemplate. It is quite bewildering. How
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2003
can a person who does not know what the Star and Garter is, be
told what the Star and Garter is? "
"But I am willing to go and see," said Sheila.
"Then I must look after getting a brougham," said Lavender,
rising.
"A brougham on such a day as this? " exclaimed Ingram.
"Nonsense! Get an open trap of some sort; and Sheila, just to
please me, will put on that very blue dress she used to wear in
Borva, and the hat and the white feather, if she has got them. "
"Perhaps you would like me to put on a sealskin cap and a
red handkerchief instead of a collar," observed Lavender, calmly.
"You may do as you please. Sheila and I are going to dine
at the Star and Garter. "
"May I put on that blue dress? " said the girl, going up to
her husband.
"Yes, of course, if you like," said Lavender meekly, going off
to order the carriage, and wondering by what route he could
drive those two maniacs down to Richmond so that none of his
friends should see them.
When he came back again, bringing with him a landau which
could be shut up for the homeward journey at night, he had to
confess that no costume seemed to suit Sheila so well as the
rough sailor dress; and he was so pleased with her appearance
that he consented at once to let Bras go with them in the car-
riage, on condition that Sheila should be responsible for him.
Indeed, after the first shiver of driving away from the square was
over, he forgot that there was much unusual about the look of
this odd pleasure party. If you had told him eighteen months
before that on a bright day in May, just as people were going
home from the Park for luncheon, he would go for a drive in a
hired trap with one horse, his companions being a man with a
brown wide-awake, a girl dressed as though she were the owner of
a yacht, and an immense deerhound, and that in this fashion he
would dare to drive up to the Star and Garter and order dinner,
he would have bet five hundred to one that such a thing would
never occur so long as he preserved his senses. But somehow
he did not mind much. He was very much at home with those
two people beside him; the day was bright and fresh; the horse
went a good pace; and once they were over Hammersmith Bridge
and out among fields and trees, the country looked exceedingly
pretty, and all the beauty of it was mirrored in Sheila's eyes.
W
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2004
"I can't quite make you out in that dress, Sheila," he said.
"I am not sure whether it is real and business-like or a theatri-
cal costume. I have seen girls on Ryde Pier with something
of the same sort on, only a good deal more pronounced, you
know, and they looked like sham yachtsmen; and I have seen
stewardesses wearing that color and texture of cloth—»
"But why not leave it as it is," said Ingram-"a solitary
costume produced by certain conditions of climate and duties,
acting in conjunction with a natural taste for harmonious color-
ing and simple form? That dress, I will maintain, sprang as
naturally from the salt sea as Aphrodite did; and the man who
suspects artifice in it, or invention, has had his mind perverted
by the skepticism of modern society. "
"Is my dress so very wonderful? " said Sheila, with a grave
complacence. "I am pleased that the Lewis has produced such
a fine thing, and perhaps you would like me to tell you its
history. It was my papa bought a piece of blue serge in Storno-
way: it cost three shillings sixpence a yard, and a dressmaker
in Stornoway cut it for me, and I made it myself. That is all
the history of the wonderful dress. "
Suddenly Sheila seized her husband's arm. They had got
down to the river by Mortlake; and there, on the broad bosom
of the stream, a long and slender boat was shooting by, pulled
by four oarsmen clad in white flannel.
"How can they go out in such a boat? " said Sheila, with
great alarm visible in her eyes. "It is scarcely a boat at all;
and if they touch a rock, or if the wind catches them-»
"Don't be frightened, Sheila," said her husband. "They are
quite safe. There are no rocks in our rivers, and the wind does
not give us squalls here like those on Loch Roag. You will see
hundreds of those boats by and by, and perhaps you yourself
will go out in one. "
"Oh, never, never! " she said, almost with a shudder.
"Why, if the people here heard you they would not know
how brave a sailor you are. You are not afraid to go out at
night by yourself on the sea, and you won't go on a smooth
inland river—»
"But those boats: if you touch them they must go over. "
She seemed glad to get away from the river. She could not
be persuaded of the safety of the slender craft of the Thames;
and indeed, for some time after seemed so strangely depressed
I
I
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2005
that Lavender begged and prayed of her to tell him what was
the matter. It was simple enough. She had heard him speak
of his boating adventures. Was it in such boats as that she
had just seen?
and might he not be some day going out in one
of them and an accident - the breaking of an oar, a gust of
wind
There was nothing for it but to reassure her by a solemn
promise that in no circumstances whatever would he, Lavender,
go into a boat without her express permission, whereupon Sheila
was as grateful to him as though he had dowered her with a
kingdom.
This was not the Richmond Hill of her fancy-this spacious
height; with its great mansions, its magnificent elms, and its
view of all the westward and wooded country, with the blue-
white streak of the river winding through the green foliage.
Where was the farm? The famous Lass of Richmond Hill must
have lived on a farm; but here surely were the houses of great
lords and nobles, which had apparently been there for years
and years.
And was this really a hotel that they stopped at-
this great building that she could only compare to Stornoway
Castle?
―
"Now, Sheila," said Lavender, after they had ordered dinner
and gone out, "mind you keep a tight hold on that leash, for
Bras will see strange things in the Park. "
"It is I who will see strange things," she said; and the
prophecy was amply fulfilled. For as they went along the broad
path, and came better into view of the splendid undulation of
woodland and pasture and fern, when on the one hand they saw
the Thames far below them flowing through the green and spa-
cious valley, and on the other hand caught some dusky glimpse
of the far white houses of London, it seemed to her that she had
got into a new world, and that this world was far more beauti-
ful than the great city she had left. She did not care so much
for the famous view from the hill. She had cast one quick look
to the horizon, with one throb of expectation that the sea might
be there. There was no sea there-only the faint blue of long
lines of country, apparently without limit. Moreover, over the
western landscape a faint haze prevailed, that increased in the
distance and softened down the more distant woods into a sober
gray. That great extent of wooded plain, lying sleepily in its
pale mists, was not so cheerful as the scene around her, where
## p. 2006 (#196) ###########################################
2006
WILLIAM BLACK
the sunlight was sharp and clear, the air fresh, the trees flooded
with a pure and bright color. Here indeed was a cheerful and
beautiful world, and she was full of curiosity to know all about
it and its strange features. What was the name of this tree?
and how did it differ from that? Were not these rabbits over
by the fence? and did rabbits live in the midst of trees and
bushes? What sort of wood was the fence made of? and was it
not terribly expensive to have such a protection? Could not he
tell the cost of a wooden fence? Why did they not use wire
netting? Was not that a loch away down there? and what was
its name? A loch without a name! Did the salmon come up to
it? and did any sea-birds ever come inland and build their nests
on its margin?
"O, Bras, you must come and look at the loch. It is a long
time since you will see a loch. "
And away she went through the thick bracken, holding on to
the swaying leash that held the galloping greyhound, and run-
ning swiftly as though she had been making down for the shore
to get out the Maighdean-mhara.
"Sheila," called her husband, "don't be foolish! "
"Sheila," called Ingram, "have pity on an old man! "
Suddenly she stopped. A brace of partridges had sprung up
at some distance, and with a wild whirr of their wings were now
directing their low and rapid flight toward the bottom of the
valley.
"What birds are those? " she said peremptorily.
She took no notice of the fact that her companions were
pretty nearly too blown to speak. There was a brisk life and
color in her face, and all her attention was absorbed in watching
the flight of the birds. Lavender fancied he saw in the fixed
and keen look something of old Mackenzie's gray eye: it was
not the first trace of a likeness to her father he had seen.
"You bad girl! " he said, "they are partridges. "
She paid no heed to this reproach, for what were those other
things over there underneath the trees? Bras had pricked up his
ears, and there was a strange excitement in his look and in his
trembling frame.
"Deer! " she cried, with her eyes as fixed as were those of
the dog beside her.
"Well," said her husband calmly, "what although they are
deer? »
S
S
## p. 2007 (#197) ###########################################
WILLIAM BLACK
2007
said; and with that she caught the leash
"But Bras- » she
with both her hands.
"Bras won't mind them if you keep him quiet. I suppose
you can manage him better than can. I wish we had brought
a whip. "
"I would rather let him kill every deer in the Park than
touch him with a whip," said Sheila proudly.
"You fearful creature, you don't know what you say. That
is high treason. If George Ranger heard you, he would have
you hanged in front of the Star and Garter. "
"Who is George Ranger? " said Sheila with an air as if she
had said, "Do you know that I am the daughter of the King of
Borva, and whoever touches me will have to answer to my papa,
who is not afraid of any George Ranger ? »
"He is a great lord who hangs all persons who disturb the
deer in this Park. "
"But why do they not go away? " said Sheila impatiently. "I
have never seen any deer so stupid. It is their own fault if
they are disturbed: why do they remain so near to people and to
houses? »
"My dear child, if Bras wasn't here you would probably find
some of those deer coming up to see if you had any bits of
sugar or pieces of bread about your pockets. "
"Then they are like sheep-they are not like deer," she said
with some contempt. "If I could only tell Bras that it is sheep
he will be looking at, he would not look any more. And so small
they are! They are as small as the roe, but they have horns as
big as many of the red-deer. Do people eat them? "
"I suppose so. "
"And what will they cost? "
"I am sure I can't tell you. "
"Are they as good as the roe or the big deer? "
"I don't know that either. I don't think I ever ate fallow-
deer. But you know they are not kept here for that purpose.
A great many gentlemen in this country keep a lot of them in
their parks merely to look pretty. They cost a great deal more
than they produce. "
་
"They must eat up a great deal of fine grass," said Sheila
almost sorrowfully. "It is a beautiful ground for sheep-no
rushes, no peat moss, only fine good grass and dry land. I
should like my papa to see all this beautiful ground. "
I
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2008
WILLIAM BLACK
"I fancy he has seen it. "
"Was my papa here? "
"I think he said so. "
"And did he see those deer? "
"Doubtless. "
"He never told me of them. "
By this time they had pretty nearly got down to the little
lake, and Bras had been alternately coaxed and threatened into
a quiescent mood.
Sheila evidently expected to hear a flapping of sea-fowls'
wings when they got near the margin; and looked all round
for the first sudden dart from the banks. But a dead silence
prevailed; and as there were neither fish nor birds to watch,
she went along to a wooden bench and sat down there, one
of her companions on each hand. It was a pretty scene that
lay before her - the small stretch of water ruffled with the
wind, but showing a dash of blue sky here and there- the trees
in the inclosure beyond, clad in their summer foliage, the smooth
greensward shining in the afternoon sunlight. Here at least was
absolute quiet after the roar of London; and it was somewhat
wistfully that she asked her husband how far this place was
from her home, and whether, when he was at work, she could
not come down here by herself.
"Certainly," he said, never dreaming that she would think of
doing such a thing.
By-and-by they returned to the hotel; and while they sat at
dinner a great fire of sunset spread over the west; and the far
woods became of a rich purple, streaked here and there with
lines of pale white mist. The river caught the glow of the
crimson clouds above, and shone duskily red amid the dark
green of the trees. Deeper and deeper grew the color of the
sun as it sank to the horizon, until it disappeared behind one
low bar of purple cloud; and then the wild glow in the west
slowly faded away; the river became pallid and indistinct; the
white mists over the distant woods seemed to grow denser; and
then, as here and there a lamp was lit far down in the valley,
one or two pale stars appeared in the sky overhead, and the
night came on apace.
"It is so strange," Sheila said, "to find the darkness coming
on, and not to hear the sound of the waves. I wonder if it is
a fine night at Borva. "
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WILLIAM BLACK
2009
Her husband went over to her and led her back to the table,
where the candles, shining over the white cloth and the colored
glasses, offered a more cheerful picture than the darkening land-
scape outside. They were in a private room; so that when din-
ner was over, Sheila was allowed to amuse herself with the fruit,
while her two companions lit their cigars. Where was the quaint
old piano now; and the glass of hot whisky and water; and the
'Lament of Monaltrie,' or 'Love in thine eyes forever plays'?
It seemed, but for the greatness of the room, to be a repetition
of one of those evenings at Borva that now belonged to a far-off
past. Here was Sheila, not minding the smoke, listening to
Ingram as of old, and sometimes saying something in that
sweetly inflected speech of hers; here was Ingram, talking, as it
were, out of a brown study, and morosely objecting to pretty
nearly everything Lavender said, but always ready to prove
Sheila right; and Lavender himself, as unlike a married man as
ever, talking impatiently, impetuously, and wildly, except at such
times as he said something to his young wife, and then some
brief smile and look, or some pat on the hand, said more than
words. But where, Sheila may have thought, was the one want-
ing to complete the group? Has he gone down to Borvabost to
see about the cargoes of fish to be sent off in the morning?
Perhaps he is talking to Duncan outside about the cleaning of
the guns, or making up cartridges in the kitchen. When Sheila's
attention wandered away from the talk of her companions, she
could not help listening for the sound of the waves; and as there
was no such message coming to her from the great wooded plain
without, her fancy took her away across that mighty country she
had traveled through, and carried her up to the island of Loch
Roag, until she almost fancied she could smell the peat-smoke in
the night air, and listen to the sea, and hear her father pacing
up and down the gravel outside the house, perhaps thinking of
her as she was thinking of him.
This little excursion to Richmond was long remembered by
those three. It was the last of their meetings before Sheila was
ushered into the big world to busy herself with new occupations
and cares. It was a pleasant little journey throughout; for as
they got into the landau to drive back to town, the moon was
shining high up in the southern heavens, and the air was mild
and fresh, so that they had the carriage opened, and Sheila, well
wrapped up, lay and looked around her with a strange wonder
## p. 2010 (#200) ###########################################
2010
WILLIAM BLACK
and joy as they drove underneath the shadow of the trees and
out again into the clear sheen of the night. They saw the river,
too, flowing smoothly and palely down between its dark banks;
and somehow here the silence checked them, and they hummed.
no more those duets they used to sing up at Borva. Of what
were they thinking, then, as they drove through the clear night
along the lonely road? Lavender at least was rejoicing at his
great good fortune that he had secured for ever to himself the
true-hearted girl who now sat opposite to him, with the moon-
light touching her face and hair; and he was laughing to himself
at the notion that he did not properly appreciate her or under-
stand her or perceive her real character. If not he, who then?
Had he not watched every turn of her disposition, every expres-
sion of her wishes, every grace of her manner and look of her
eyes? and was he not overjoyed to find that the more he knew of
her the more he loved her? Marriage had increased rather than
diminished the mystery and wonder he had woven about her.
He was more her lover now than he had been before his mar-
riage. Who could see in her eyes what he saw? Elderly folks
can look at a girl's eyes, and see that they are brown or blue or
green, as the case may be; but the lover looks at them and sees
in them the magic mirror of a hundred possible worlds. How
can he fathom the sea of dreams that lies there, or tell what
strange fancies and reminiscences may be involved in an absent
look? Is she thinking of starlit nights on some distant lake, or
of the old bygone days on the hills? All her former life is
told there, and yet but half told, and he longs to become
possessed of all the beautiful past that she has seen. Here is a
constant mystery to him, and there is a singular and wistful
attraction for him in those still deeps where the thoughts and
dreams of an innocent soul lie but half revealed. He does not
see those things in the eyes of women he is not in love with;
but when in after years he is carelessly regarding this or the
other woman, some chance look, some brief and sudden turn of
expression, will recall to him, as with a stroke of lightning, all
the old wonder-time, and his heart will go nigh to breaking to
think that he has grown old, and that he has forgotten so much,
and that the fair, wild days of romance and longing are passed
away forever.
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R. D. BLACKMORE.
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RD BLACKMORE
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2011
RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
(1825-)
He was
HE literary success of Blackmore came late in life.
born in Longworth, Berkshire, England, in 1825, was grad-
uated at Exeter College, Oxford, and afterwards studied law
in the Middle Temple, practicing his profession as a conveyancer.
But his heart was in an outdoor life. Like his own John Ridd, the
hero of Lorna Doone,' he is a man of the moors and fields, with a
fresh breeze blowing over him and a farmer's cares in his mind. In
1854-5 he published several volumes of poems under the pen-name
of "Melanter. " (The Bugle of the Black Sea' and a complete trans-
lation of Virgil's 'Georgics' appeared in 1871.
Other volumes of verse followed, of which it may be said that he
is a poet more sensitive to influence than fertile in original impulse;
although some of his prose, in which even rhythm is observed in
what seems to be an unconscious manner, displays high original
quality. It is therefore fair to say of him as a poet that while his
works did not gain him the reputation that has placed him among
the foremost literary men of the day, the subtle influence rural nature
exerts on man, and the part it bears in the sweet harmonies of life,
are told in passages that are resonant with melody.
The poet's delight is in the prosperity of the fields, as if they
were his friends, and in the dumb loving motherhood with which all
nature seems, to his eyes, to surround him.
As the precursor of a summer that yielded such a mellow harvest,
the spring of Mr. Blackmore's fiction was slow and intermittent. The
plot of his stories is never probable, but in his first novel, 'Clara
Vaughan,' published in 1864, it impairs belief in the general reality
of the book; and though there is hint of the power to excite sym-
pathy of which his latter novels prove him so great a master, the
intelligence refuses such shrieking melodrama. 'Lorna Doone' there-
fore came unheralded. It was published in London in 1869 and
slowly grew in favor, then leaped into popularity. In 1878 twenty-
two editions had been printed.
Other novels followed. 'The Maid of Sker,' 'Alice Lorraine,'
'Cripps the Carrier,' 'Erema,' 'Mary Anerley,' 'Christowell,' 'Sir
Thomas Upton,' came in rapid succession. The paternity of no
novel of Mr. Blackmore's is doubtful. All have marked character-
istics. They are long and exceedingly minute in detail. With all his
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RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2012
finish, he tells his story almost with a child's elaborateness of inci-
dent. Every change of the seasons, the history of every walk is set
down. He is in love with every feature of the landscape, be it the
wild doons of Exmoor or the wilder Yorkshire coast, or, across the
seas, the plains of the Sierras. He is a story-teller of the days in
which it was quite unimportant whether tales should come to an end
or not. He would have saved Scheherazade all her trouble and
enjoyed the task. He cannot pass carelessly by the slightest inci-
dent; it is his nature to approfondir all his surroundings: if the hero
breaks his stirrup and stops at the blacksmith's to have it mended,
the blacksmith will appear at the end of the story united to the rider,
from the third and fourth generation, by a subtle thread of connec-
tion. But all these details, while they encumber the tale, contribute
to a harmonious whole; for he has in a peculiar degree an instinct
for the judicious introduction of telling human characters that are as
much a part of the detail of the scene as the trees and stones.
Upon these characters he expends a wealth of humor, and his humor
is characteristic of Blackmore alone. It is full of unexpected turns
and twists of fancy, quiet fun when we expect grave comment.
Friendly old people appear, full of innumerable quips of individual-
ity, and breezy fields and wealthy orchards and a general mellow
fruitfulness form the background of the play.
Especially in his prodigality is Blackmore characteristic of Black-
more. Other writers keep their quaint reflections for their dialogue,
and confer immortality on their principal characters. But Blackmore
has no sense of economy. As Mr. Saintsbury says of Thackeray, he
could not introduce a personage, however subordinate, without mak-
ing him a living creature. He does little with a character he has
described in such powerful lines as Stephen Anerley. The fisher
village folks, wild and hardy, with their slow speech and sly sagacity,
the men at sea and the women at home; the maimed and broken-
down yet jolly old tars; the anxious little merchants, and the heavy
coast-guardsmen, we learn to know as we know the rocks and caves,
the fishing cobbles in their bright colors, the slow-tongued gos-
sips pouring out their long-voweled speech. All these characters,
although they have a general resemblance to each other, have also
a peculiar, quaint simplicity and wisdom that is Blackmoreish, as
Thackeray's characters are Thackeraian. The author steps in and
gives his puppets his little twist, the characteristic obliquity each
possesses, his quips and cranks. If he would but confine the abund-
ant tide of his flowing and leisurely utterances, he would have more
time to bestow on really exciting and dramatic episodes, instead of
going off into a little corner and carefully embellishing it, while the
dénouement waits and the interest grows cold. Neither can he write
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RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE
2013
a page without sending a sly bolt of amused perception through it,
in which he discovers some foible or pricks some bubble of preten-
sion, but always tenderly, as if he loved his victim. To the fact
that Mr. Blackmore's success came late in life, we have perhaps to
be thankful for the softened and indulgent maturity which finds a
hundred excuses, and knows that nothing is as good or as bad as it
seems.
The best expression of his genius in the delineation of character
is not-with perhaps the exception of John Ridd-in his heroes and
heroines. The former are drawn with the stronger hand. The
maidens are pretty girls, sweet and good and brave for the sake of
their fathers, and cunning for their lovers. His young men are
gallant and true; but as exemplary love is apt to run smooth, it is
not here that the drama finds the necessary amount of difficulty and
pain. The interest centres in such delicious conceptions as Parson
Short, full of muscular energy and sound doctrine, in Dr. Uperan-
down, his salt-water parish rival, the carrier Cripps, Parson Chowne,
and the renowned highwayman Tom Faggus, of whom they were
immensely proud. These people, before he has done with them, get
hold of our sympathies, while the author keeps perennially fresh his
enjoyment of human follies. His rustics do not talk with elaborate
humor, nor are they amiable, but they are racy of the soil.
One cannot dismiss a novelist without a reference to his plots,
unless indeed he discards plots as an article of faith. Mr. Blackmore
has no such intention. His stories are full of adventure and dramatic
situations, and his melodrama is of the lurid kind on which the cal-
cium light is thrown. Sometimes, as in The Maid of Sker' and
'Cripps, they violate every probability. In others, as in Mary
Anerley, the mystery is childishly simple, the oft-repeated plot of a
lost child recovered by certain strangely wrought gold buttons. In
'Erema,' the narrative suffers for want of vraisemblance, and loses by
being related by a very young girl who has had no opportunity of
becoming familiar with the world she describes. He is constantly
guilty of that splendid mendacity which fiction loves, but which is
nearly impossible to actual life.
