lay morals-第38章
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So soon as Balmile appeared between her husband and herself； Marie…Madeleine transferred to him her eyes。 It might be her last moment； and she fed upon that face； reading there inimitable courage and illimitable valour to protect。 And when the momentary peril was gone by； and the champion turned a little awkwardly towards her whom he had rescued； it was to meet； and quail before； a gaze of admiration more distinct than words。 He bowed； he stammered； his words failed him； he who had crossed the floor a moment ago； like a young god； to smite； returned like one discomfited； got somehow to his place by the table； muffled himself again in his discarded cloak； and for a last touch of the ridiculous； seeking for anything to restore his countenance； drank of the wine before him； deep as a porter after a heavy lift。 It was little wonder if Ballantrae； reading the scene with malevolent eyes； laughed out loud and brief； and drank with raised glass； 'To the champion of the Fair。'
Marie…Madeleine stood in her old place within the counter； she disdained the mocking laughter； it fell on her ears； but it did not reach her spirit。 For her； the world of living persons was all resumed again into one pair； as in the days of Eden； there was but the one end in life； the one hope before her； the one thing needful； the one thing possible … to be his。
THE YOUNG CHEVALIER CHAPTER I … THE PRINCE
THAT same night there was in the city of Avignon a young man in distress of mind。 Now he sat； now walked in a high apartment； full of draughts and shadows。 A single candle made the darkness visible； and the light scarce sufficed to show upon the wall； where they had been recently and rudely nailed； a few miniatures and a copper medal of the young man's head。 The same was being sold that year in London； to admiring thousands。 The original was fair； he had beautiful brown eyes； a beautiful bright open face； a little feminine； a little hard； a little weak； still full of the light of youth； but already beginning to be vulgarised； a sordid bloom come upon it； the lines coarsened with a touch of puffiness。 He was dressed； as for a gala； in peach…colour and silver； his breast sparkled with stars and was bright with ribbons； for he had held a levee in the afternoon and received a distinguished personage incognito。 Now he sat with a bowed head； now walked precipitately to and fro； now went and gazed from the uncurtained window； where the wind was still blowing； and the lights winked in the darkness。
The bells of Avignon rose into song as he was gazing； and the high notes and the deep tossed and drowned； boomed suddenly near or were suddenly swallowed up； in the current of the mistral。 Tears sprang in the pale blue eyes； the expression of his face was changed to that of a more active misery； it seemed as if the voices of the bells reached； and touched and pained him； in a waste of vacancy where even pain was welcome。 Outside in the night they continued to sound on； swelling and fainting； and the listener heard in his memory； as it were their harmonies； joy…bells clashing in a northern city； and the acclamations of a multitude； the cries of battle； the gross voices of cannon； the stridor of an animated life。 And then all died away； and he stood face to face with himself in the waste of vacancy； and a horror came upon his mind； and a faintness on his brain； such as seizes men upon the brink of cliffs。
On the table； by the side of the candle； stood a tray of glasses； a bottle； and a silver bell。 He went thither swiftly； then his hand lowered first above the bell； then settled on the bottle。 Slowly he filled a glass； slowly drank it out； and； as a tide of animal warmth recomforted the recesses of his nature； stood there smiling at himself。 He remembered he was young； the funeral curtains rose； and he saw his life shine and broaden and flow out majestically； like a river sunward。 The smile still on his lips； he lit a second candle and a third； a fire stood ready built in a chimney； he lit that also； and the fir…cones and the gnarled olive billets were swift to break in flame and to crackle on the hearth； and the room brightened and enlarged about him like his hopes。 To and fro； to and fro； he went； his hands lightly clasped； his breath deeply and pleasurably taken。 Victory walked with him； he marched to crowns and empires among shouting followers； glory was his dress。 And presently again the shadows closed upon the solitary。 Under the gilt of flame and candle…light； the stone walls of the apartment showed down bare and cold； behind the depicted triumph loomed up the actual failure： defeat； the long distress of the flight； exile； despair； broken followers； mourning faces； empty pockets； friends estranged。 The memory of his father rose in his mind： he； too； estranged and defied； despair sharpened into wrath。 There was one who had led armies in the field； who had staked his life upon the family enterprise； a man of action and experience； of the open air； the camp； the court； the council…room； and he was to accept direction from an old； pompous gentleman in a home in Italy； and buzzed about by priests？ A pretty king； if he had not a martial son to lean upon！ A king at all？
'There was a weaver （of all people） joined me at St。 Ninians； he was more of a man than my papa！' he thought。 'I saw him lie doubled in his blood and a grenadier below him … and he died for my papa！ All died for him； or risked the dying； and I lay for him all those months in the rain and skulked in heather like a fox； and now he writes me his advice！ calls me Carluccio … me； the man of the house； the only king in that king's race。' He ground his teeth。 'The only king in Europe！' Who else？ Who has done and suffered except me？ who has lain and run and hidden with his faithful subjects； like a second Bruce？ Not my accursed cousin； Louis of France； at least； the lewd effeminate traitor！' And filling the glass to the brim； he drank a king's damnation。 Ah； if he had the power of Louis； what a king were here！
The minutes followed each other into the past； and still he persevered in this debilitating cycle of emotions； still fed the fire of his excitement with driblets of Rhine wine： a boy at odds with life； a boy with a spark of the heroic； which he was now burning out and drowning down in futile reverie and solitary excess。
From two rooms beyond； the sudden sound of a raised voice attracted him。
'By 。 。 。
HEATHERCAT CHAPTER I … TRAQUAIRS OF MONTROYMONT
THE period of this tale is in the heat of the KILLING…TIME； the scene laid for the most part in solitary hills and morasses； haunted only by the so…called Mountain Wanderers； the dragoons that came in chase of them； the women that wept on their dead bodies； and the wild birds of the moorland that have cried there since the beginning。 It is a land of many rain…clouds； a land of much mute history； written there in prehistoric symbols。 Strange green raths are to be seen commonly in the country； above all by the kirkyards； barrows of the dead； standing stones； beside these； the faint； durable footprints and handmarks of the Roman； and an antiquity older perhaps than any； and still living and active … a complete Celtic nomenclature and a scarce…mingled Celtic population。 These rugged and grey hills were once included in the boundaries of the Caledonian Forest。 Merlin sat here below his apple…tree and lamented Gwendolen； here spoke with Kentigern； here fell into his enchanted trance。 And the legend of his slumber seems to body forth the story of that Celtic race； deprived for so many centuries of their authentic speech； surviving with their ancestral inheritance of melancholy perversity and patient； unfortunate courage。
The Traquairs of Montroymont （MONS ROMANUS； as the erudite expound it） had long held their seat about the head…waters of the Dule and in the back parts of the moorland parish of Balweary。 For two hundred years they had enjoyed in these upland quarters a certain decency （almost to be named distinction） of repute； and the annals of their house； or what is remembered of them； were obscure and bloody。 Ninian Traquair was 'cruallie slochtered' by the Crozers at the kirk…door of Balweary； anno 1482。 Francis killed Simon Ruthven of Drumshoreland； anno 1540； bought letters of slayers at the widow and heir； and； by a barbarous form of compounding； married （without tocher） Simon's daughter Grizzel； which is the way the Traquairs and Ruthvens came first to an intermarriage。 About the last Traquair and Ruthven marriage； it is the business of this book； among many other things； to tell。
The Traquairs were always strong for the Covenant； for the King also； but the Covenant first； and it began to be ill days for Montroymont when the Bishops came in and the dragoons at the heels of them。 Ninian （then laird） was an anxious husband of himself and the property； as the times required； and it may be said of him； that he lost both。 He was heavily suspected of the Pentland Hills rebellion。 When it came the length of Bothwell Brig； he stood his trial before the Secret Council； and was convicted of talking with some insurgents by the wayside； the subject of the conversation not very clearly appearing； and of the reset and maintenance of one Gale； a gardener man； who was seen before Bothwell with a musket； and afterwards； for a continuance of months； delved the garden at Montroymont。 Matters went very ill with Ninian at the Council； some of the lords were clear for treason； and even the boot was talked of。 But he was spared that torture； and at last； having pretty good friendship among great men； he came off with a fine of seven thousand marks； that caused the estate to groan。 In this case； as in so many others； it was the wife that made the trouble。 She was a great keeper of conventicles； would ride ten miles to one； and when she was fined； rejoiced greatly to suffer for the Kirk； but it was rather her husband that suffered。 She had their only son； Francis； baptized privately by the hands of Mr。 Kidd； there was that much the more to pay for！ She could neither be driven nor wiled into the parish kirk； as for taking the sacrament at the hands of any Episcopalian curate； and tenfold more at those of Curate Haddo； there was nothing further from her purposes； and Montroymont had to put his hand in his pocket month by month and year by year。 Once； indeed； the little lady was cast in prison； and the laird； worthy； heavy； uninterested man； had to ride up and take her place； from which he was not discharged under nine months and a sharp fine。 It scarce seemed she had any gratitude to him； she came out of gaol herself； and plunged immediately deeper in conventicles； resetting recusants； and all her old； expensive folly； only with greater vigour and openness； because Montroymont was safe in the Tolbooth and she had no witness to consider。 When he was liberated and came back； with his fingers singed； in December 1680； and late in the black night； my lady was from home。 He came into the house at his alighting； with a riding…rod
