For Sheila began to tell her friend of all the strange adventures that
had befallen her since she left the far island of Lewis--how she had
seen with fear the great mountains of Skye lit up by the wild glare of a
stormy sunrise; how she had seen with astonishment the great fir woods
of Armadale; and how green and beautiful were the shores of the Sound of
Mull. And then Oban, with its shining houses, its blue bay, and its
magnificent trees, all lit up by a fair and still sunshine! She had not
imagined there was anywhere in the world so beautiful a place, and could
scarcely believe that London itself was more rich and noble and
impressive; for there were beautiful ladies walking along the broad
pavements, and there were shops with large windows that seemed to
contain everything that the mind could desire, and there was a whole
fleet of yachts in the bay. But it was the trees, above all, that
captivated her; and she 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 those cottages, 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 those places!”
“Yes. Don’t you think it strange he should have seen them all, and known
he could live in any one 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 conveniently. 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
into our social circle. That will take you a long time, Sheila, and you
may have many annoyances 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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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