I have heard it said by wise folk in France that the autumn is of all
seasons of the year the most trying to the health of a soldier; since, for
one accustomed to the heat of action and the fire and fury of swift
encounter, the decay of summer, the moist, rotting air, and the first chill
preludes of winter are hard to stand. This may be true of our own autumn
days, but in the north country 'twas otherwise. For there the weather was
as sharp and clear as spring, and the only signs of the season were the red
leaves and the brown desolate moors. Lindean was built on the slope of the
hills, with the steeps behind it, and a vista of level land to the front:
so one could watch from the window the red woods of the low country, and
see the stream, turgid with past rains, tearing through the meadows. The
sun rose in the morning in a blaze of gold and crimson; the days were
temperately warm, the afternoons bright, and the evening another procession
of colors. 'Twas all so beautiful that I found it hard to keep my thoughts
at all on the wanderers in the hills and to think of the house as under a
dark shadow.
And if 'twas hard to do this, 'twas still harder to look upon Anne as a
mourning daughter. For the first few days she had been pale and silent,
going about her household duties as was her wont, speaking rarely, and then
but to call me to meals. But now the pain of the departure seemed to have
gone, and though still quiet as ever, there was no melancholy in her air;
but with a certain cheerful gravity she passed in and out in my sight. At
first I had had many plans to console her; judge then of my delight to find
them needless. She was a brave maid, I thought, and little like the
common, who could see the folly of sighing, and set herself to hope and
work as best she could.
The days passed easily enough for me, for I could take Saladin and ride
through the countryside, keeping always far from Clachlands; or the books
in the house would stand me in good stead for entertainment. With the
evenings 'twas different. When the lamp was lit, and the fire burned, 'twas
hard to find some method to make the hours go by. I am not a man easily
moved, as I have said; and yet I took shame to myself to think of the
minister and Master Henry in the cold bogs, and Anne and myself before a
great blaze. Again and again I could have kicked the logs off to ease my
conscience, and was only held back by respect for the girl. But, of a
surety, if she had but given me the word, I would have been content to sit
in the fireless room and enjoy the approval of my heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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