then whilst his throbbing veins beat high
with every impulse of delight,
dash from his lips the cup of joy,
and shroud the scene in shades of night;
and let despair, with wizard light,
disclose the yawning gulf below,
and pour incessant on his sight,
her spectred ills and shapes of woe.
for some moments robert sat there, apparently dead to his surroundings. he had not looked up or moved as the door closed upon the retreating figures. he seemed to be in a state of complete exhaustion of mind and body. presently the sound of the carriage rolling over the swishing, muddy driveway roused him from his lethargy. raising his head he looked wildly around the room—then paused and listened—he was as one in a dream, realizing nothing plainly. he could hardly remember what had taken place during the past few minutes; he could grasp nothing tangible in thought or memory, till with a wild start he seemed to awake, as the rattle of the passing wheels brought back recollection. he staggered to the window and, throwing back the lattice, gazed out at the rapidly retreating blur of moving wheels and horses and shapeless figures, and watched it till it was lost to sight. as he stood there a soft[394] change, a delicate transparency, swept over the dark bosom of the sky. pale pink streaks glittered on the dusky horizon—darts of light began to climb upward into the clouds, and to plunge downward upon the waving field of hay; the radiance spread swiftly, till suddenly the whole heavens were bathed in the glorious light, and the last cloud, fading into nothingness, revealed the sun in all its matchless glory, hanging low in the sky just above the hills, behind which it would soon drop in stately splendor. slowly the watcher sank down to his knees and leaned his tired head against the sash, his eyes closed and sunken.
“she is gone, gone,” he murmured brokenly, “an’ i am left all alone noo, all alone.” jean bent over him with pathetic tenderness, and taking his limp hand in her own warm palm, she said with timid reproach:
“not alone, robert, while you have your—bairns—and me.” she feared to call his attention to herself in the midst of his grief, lest he might revile her for standing between him and happiness; but he did not hear.
“oh, jean, how can i take up the burden of life again?” he cried weakly, clinging to her hand with despairing strength. it thrilled her strangely to feel the grasp of his hand, to feel his weakness, his sudden dependence, the appeal in his dark, mournful eyes raised to hers so pitifully; she knelt beside him and drew his head down on her heaving bosom.
[395]
“ye must be brave,” she told him, her voice trembling with a new-found happiness, a sudden joy. he needed her now, needed her love and care more than ever. then she continued softly, her voice vibrating with thrilling intensity, “ye have much to live for yet, lad. ye must be strong, ye must be brave. pluck up your courage! i’ll help ye.”
he looked at her wonderingly, then he slowly bowed his head. “yes, jean,” he said humbly, “i will be strong; i’ll try to be brave.”
she helped him to his chamber, and placed him beside the window, where he could no longer watch the road, and left him. for a while he gazed out over the fields in apathetic calm, his mind a blank. across the field he could see souter johnny at work in his garden. suddenly he straightened up and listened. souter was singing.
“o where, an’ o where is my highland laddie gone?”
came the old cracked voice. he closed his eyes wearily, but he could not shut out the sound.
“oh, mary, my lost highland mary,” he whispered under his breath.
