the white people-第9节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　were　almost　one　soul　were　trying　to　believe　that　they　were　not　really　to　be　torn　apartnot　really。　　They　were　trying　to　heap　up　for　themselves　proof　that　they　might　still　be　near　each　other。　　And；　above　all；　his　effort　was　to　save　her　from　the　worst；　worst　woe。　　And　I　understood；　too；　why　something　wiser　and　stronger　than　myself　had　led　me　to　tell　the　dream　which　was　not　a　dream　at　all。

But　it　was　as　she　said；　the　world　had　not　learned　the　Secret　yet。　　And　there　we　stood。　　We　did　not　cry　or　talk；　but　we　clung　to　each　otherwe　CLUNG。　　That　is　all　human　creatures　can　do　until　the　Secret　is　known。　　And　as　we　clung　the　nightingale　broke　out　again。

〃O　nightingale！　　O　nightingale！〃　she　said　in　her　low　wonder　of　a　voice。　　〃WHAT　are　you　trying　to　tell　us！〃　



CHAPTER　VIII

What　I　feel　sure　I　know　by　this　time　is　that　all　the　things　we　think　happen　by　chance　and　accident　are　only　part　of　the　weaving　of　the　scheme　of　life。　　When　you　begin　to　suspect　this　and　to　watch　closely　you　also　begin　to　see　how　trifles　connect　themselves　with　one　another；　and　seem　in　the　end　to　have　led　to　a　reason　and　a　meaning；　though　we　may　not　be　clever　enough　to　see　it　clearly。　　Nothing　is　an　accident。　　We　make　everything　happen　ourselves：　the　wrong　things　because　we　do　not　know　or　care　whether　we　are　wrong　or　right；　the　right　ones　because　we　unconsciously　or　consciously　choose　the　right　even　in　the　midst　of　our　ignorance。

I　dare　say　it　sounds　audacious　for　an　ordinary　girl　to　say　such　things　in　an　ordinary　way；　but　perhaps　I　have　said　them　in　spite　of　myself；　because　it　is　not　a　bad　thing　that　they　should　be　said　by　an　every…day　sort　of　person　in　simple　words　which　other　every…day　people　can　understand。　　I　am　only　expressing　what　has　gradually　grown　into　belief　in　my　mind　through　reading　with　Angus　ancient　books　and　modern　ones　books　about　faiths　and　religions；　books　about　philosophies　and　magics；　books　about　what　the　world　calls　marvels；　but　which　are　not　marvels　at　all；　but　only　workings　of　the　Law　most　people　have　not　yet　reasoned　about　or　even　accepted。

Angus　had　read　and　studied　them　all　his　life　before　he　began　to　read　them　with　me；　and　we　talked　them　over　together　sitting　by　the　fire　in　the　library；　fascinated　and　staring　at　each　other；　I　in　one　high…backed　chair　and　he　in　another　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　hearth。　　Angus　is　wonderfulwonderful！　　He　KNOWS　there　is　no　such　thing　as　chance。　　He　KNOWS　that　we　ourselves　are　the　working　of　the　Law　and　that　we　ourselves　could　work　what　now　are　stupidly　called　〃miracles〃　if　we　could　only　remember　always　what　the　Law　is。

What　I　intended　to　say　at　first　was　merely　that　it　was　not　by　chance　that　I　climbed　to　the　　shelf　in　the　library　that　afternoon　and　pushed　aside　the　books　hiding　the　old　manuscript　which　told　the　real　story　of　Dark　Malcolm　of　the　Glen　and　Wee　Brown　Elspeth。　　It　seemed　like　chance　when　it　happened；　but　it　was　really　the　first　step　toward　my　finding　out　the　strange；　beautiful　thing　I　knew　soon　afterward。

From　the　beginning　of　my　friendship　with　the　MacNairns　I　had　hoped　they　would　come　and　stay　with　me　at　Muircarrie。　　When　they　both　seemed　to　feel　such　interest　in　all　I　told　them　of　it；　and　not　to　mind　its　wild　remoteness；　I　took　courage　and　asked　them　if　they　would　come　to　me。　　Most　people　are　bored　by　the　prospect　of　life　in　a　feudal　castle；　howsoever　picturesquely　it　is　set　in　a　place　where　there　are　no　neighbors　to　count　on。　　Its　ancient　stateliness　is　too　dull。　　But　the　MacNairns　were　more　allured　by　what　Muircarrie　offered　than　they　were　by　other　and　more　brilliant　invitations。　　So　when　I　went　back　to　the　castle　I　was　only　to　be　alone　a　week　before　they　followed　me。

Jean　and　Angus　were　quite　happy　in　their　quiet　way　when　I　told　them　who　I　was　expecting。　　They　knew　how　glad　I　was　myself。　　Jean　was　full　of　silent　pleasure　as　she　arranged　the　rooms　I　had　chosen　for　my　guests；　rooms　which　had　the　most　sweeping　view　of　the　moor。　　Angus　knew　that　Mr。　MacNairn　would　love　the　library；　and　he　hovered　about　consulting　his　catalogues　and　looking　over　his　shelves；　taking　down　volumes　here　and　there；　holding　them　tenderly　in　his　long；　bony　old　hand　as　he　dipped　into　them。　　He　made　notes　of　the　manuscripts　and　books　he　thought　Mr。　MacNairn　would　feel　the　deepest　interest　in。　　He　loved　his　library　with　all　his　being；　and　I　knew　he　looked　forward　to　talking　to　a　man　who　would　care　for　it　in　the　same　way。

He　had　been　going　over　one　of　the　highest　shelves　one　day　and　had　left　his　step…ladder　leaning　against　it　when　he　went　elsewhere。　　It　was　when　I　mounted　the　steps；　as　I　often　did　when　he　left　them；　that　I　came　upon　the　manuscript　which　related　the　old　story　of　Dark　Malcolm　and　his　child。　　It　had　been　pushed　behind　some　volumes；　and　I　took　it　out　because　it　looked　so　old　and　yellow。　　And　I　opened　at　once　at　the　page　where　the　tale　began。

At　first　I　stood　reading；　and　then　I　sat　down　on　the　broad　top　of　the　ladder　and　forgot　everything。　　It　was　a　savage　history　of　ferocious　hate　and　barbarous　reprisals。　　It　had　been　a　feud　waged　between　two　clans　for　three　generations。　　The　story　of　Dark　Malcolm　and　Ian　Red　Hand　was　only　part　of　it；　but　it　was　a　gruesome　thing。　　Pages　told　of　the　bloody　deeds　they　wrought　on　each　other's　houses。　　The　one　human　passion　of　Dark　Malcolm's　life　was　his　love　for　his　little　daughter。　　She　had　brown　eyes　and　brown　hair；　and　those　who　most　loved　her　called　her　Wee　Brown　Elspeth。　　Ian　Red　Hand　was　richer　and　more　powerful　than　Malcolm　of　the　Glen；　and　therefore　could　more　easily　work　his　cruel　will。　　He　knew　well　of　Malcolm's　worship　of　his　child；　and　laid　his　plans　to　torture　him　through　her。　　Dark　Malcolm；　coming　back　to　his　rude；　small　castle　one　night　after　a　raid　in　which　he　had　lost　followers　and　weapons　and　strength；　found　that　Wee　Brown　Elspeth　had　been　carried　away；　and　unspeakable　taunts　and　threats　left　behind　by　Ian　and　his　men。　　With　unbound　wounds；　broken　dirks　and　hacked　swords；　Dark　Malcolm　and　the　remnant　of　his　troop　of　fighting　clansmen　rushed　forth　into　the　night。

〃Neither　men　nor　weapons　have　we　to　win　her　back；〃　screamed　Dark　Malcolm；　raving　mad；　〃but　we　may　die　fighting　to　get　near　enough　to　her　to　drive　dirk　into　her　little　breast　and　save　her　from　worse。〃

They　were　a　band　of　madmen　in　their　black　despair。　　How　they　tore　through　the　black　night；　what　unguarded　weak　spot　they　found　in　Ian's　castle　walls；　how　they　fought　their　way　through　it；　leaving　their　dead　bodies　in　the　path；　none　really　ever　knew。　　By　what　strange　chance　Dark　Malcolm　came　upon　Wee　Brown　Elspeth；　craftily　set　to　playing　hide…and…seek　with　a　child　of　Ian's　so　that　she　might　not　cry　out　and　betray　her　presence；　how；　already　wounded　to　his　death；　he　caught　at　and　drove　his　dirk　into　her　child　heart；　the　story　only　offers　guesses　at。　　But　kill　and　save　her　he　did；　falling　dead　with　her　body　held　against　his　breast；　her　brown　hair　streaming　over　it。　　Not　one　living　man　went　back　to　the　small；　rude　castle　on　the　Glennot　one。

I　sat　and　read　and　read　until　the　room　grew　dark。　　When　I　stopped　I　found　that　Angus　Macayre　was　standing　in　the　dimness　at　the　foot　of　the　ladder。　　He　looked　up　at　me　and　I　down　at　him。　　For　a　few　moments　we　were　both　quite　still。

〃It　is　the　tale　of　Ian　Red　Hand　and　Dark　Malcolm　you　are　reading？〃　he　said；　at　last。

〃And　Wee　Brown　Elspeth；　who　was　fought　for　and　killed；〃　I　added；　slowly。

Angus　nodded　his　head　with　a　sad　face。　　〃It　was　the　only　way　for　a　father；〃　he　said。　　〃A　hound　of　hell　was　Ian。　　Such　men　were　savage　beasts　in　those　days；　not　human。〃

I　touched　the　manuscript　with　my　hand　questioningly。　　〃Did　this　fall　at　the　back　there　by　accident；〃　I　asked；　〃or　did　you　hide　it？〃

〃I　did；〃　he　answered。　　〃It　was　no　tale　for　a　young　thing　to　read。　　I　have　hidden　many　from　you。　　You　were　always　poking　about　in　corners；　Ysobel。〃

Then　I　sat　and　thought　over　past　memories　for　a　while　and　the　shadows　in　the　room　deepened。

〃Why；〃　I　said；　laggingly；　after　the　silence　〃why　did　I　call　the　child　who　used　to　play　with　me　‘Wee　Brown　Elspeth'？〃

〃It　was　your　own　fancy；〃　was　his　reply。　　〃I　used　to　wonder　myself；　but　I　made　up　my　mind　that　you　had　heard　some　of　the　maids　talking　and　the　name　had　caught　your　ear。　　That　would　be　a　child's　way。〃

I　put　my　forehead　in　my　hands　and　thought　again。　　So　many　years　had　passed！　　I　had　been　little　more　than　a　baby；　the　whole　thing　seemed　like　a　half…forgotten　dream　when　I　tried　to　recall　itbut　I　seemed　to　dimly　remember　strange　things。

〃Who　were　the　wild　men　who　brought　her　to　me　firstthat　day　on　the　moor？〃　I　said。　　〃I　do　remember　they　had　pale；　savage；　exultant　faces。　　And　torn；　stained　clothes。　　And　broken　dirks　and　swords。　　But　they　were　glad　of　something。　　Who　were　they？〃

〃I　did　not　see　them。　　The　mist　was　too　thick；〃　he　answered。　　〃They　were　some　wild　hunters；　perhaps。〃

〃It　gives　me　such　a　strange　feeling　to　try　to　remember；　Angus；〃　I　said；　lifting　my　forehead　from　my　hands。

〃Don't　try；〃　he　said。　　〃Give　me　the　manuscript　and　get　down　from　the　step…ladder。　　Come　and　look　at　the　list　of　books　I　have　made　for　Mr。　MacNairn。〃

I　did　as　he　told　me；　but　I　felt　as　if　I　were　walking　in　a　dream。　　My　mind　seemed　to　have　left　my　body　and　gone　back　to　the　day　when　I　sat　a　little　child　on　the