The Cameronians: A Novel, Volume 1 (of 3)Grant, James
General
The Cameronians: A Novel, Volume 1 (of 3)
Grant, James
Fiction
'Well, of course, in a manner of way--rather remote, you know,'
replied Hew, his closely-set eyes looking more shifty than ever, as
he scraped a match and lighted a huge cigar; 'but blood is thicker
than water, and it goes a long way in Scotch reckonings; and thus she
naturally looks to _me_ as the future head of the house,' he added
complacently, 'as the heir of entail. And Mary is indeed handsome!
There was no girl handsomer out last season, or when she was
presented--I mean in the quiet and thoroughbred style.'
'What a cad this fellow is!' thought Falconer.
'Ah, you have looked admiringly back at the house,' said Sir Piers,
who had another theory on the subject; 'the old tower is the part of
it that is most to my taste. The cliff was called Eaglescraig,
because ages ago a couple of gigantic eagles built a nest there every
summer--a nest of branches and great sticks on the giddy verge of the
cliff--and the vicinity of it was always found strewed with the bones
of muirfowl, ptarmigan, rabbits, and even lambs. A poor man who
lived near it made quite a subsistence for himself and his family,
during a famine consequent on an English invasion, by robbing the
eaglets of the food brought by the parents; and one day he found a
little fair-skinned and golden-haired child therein, brought no one
knew from where, by the male bird, but safe and sound. It grew to be
a man of vast strength and stature, and he carried the banner of the
Bailiwick at the battle of Largs--and certainly that field was not
fought and won yesterday.'
The day was unquestionably a bleak one. The last few leaves were
fluttering down from the bare trees, the branches and twigs of which
stood blankly and darkly up against the dull grey sky; elsewhere the
red and brown remnant of rustling foliage that still lingered on the
oaks and ashes was thinned by every passing breeze; and even the gay
cock pheasant, as he skimmed over the gorse to seek his food in the
untilled land, might be heard to croak as he went.
Grim old Sandy Swanshot, the head-keeper, and his staff, had already
traversed the covers; the muzzled ferrets had been down in the rabbit
burrows, scaring forth the occupants; firm, stealthy, and quick-eyed,
they drove them into the gorse or elsewhere, and now the earth had
been stopped everywhere, barring all return to their well-known
holes, which they would never find again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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