The King's Own Borderers: A Military Romance, Volume 1 (of 3)Grant, James
General
The King's Own Borderers: A Military Romance, Volume 1 (of 3)
Grant, James
Soldiers -- Fiction
Flora, instinctively, and in a feminine spirit of pride and
opposition to Lady Rohallion's plots and plans, kept somewhat
studiously out of the Master's way--a somewhat difficult task, even
in a mansion so spacious and rambling as the old castle; but on the
evening of the second day after his arrival, from the stone
balustraded terrace of the antique Scoto-French garden where he was
smoking, Cosmo saw her light muslin dress fluttering among the narrow
green alleys of the old and carefully clipped yew labyrinth, and then
he hastened to join her, to the infinite mortification and chagrin of
Quentin Kennedy, who had not seen her for the entire day; and who,
just as he was approaching the garden, found himself anticipated, so
he at once retired, leaving the field in possession of the enemy.
An older or more experienced lover would have joined them, and thus,
perhaps, might have marred the plans of the Master, who, to do
justice to his coolness and courage, lost no time in opening the
trenches.
Midsummer was past now; the foliage of the tall sycamores, of the
oakwood shaw, and other copses of Rohallion, though leafy and green,
were crisped and dry; in the haughs or low-lying meadows, the mower
had already relinquished his scythe; the green corn rigs were
yellowing on the upland slopes "that beaked foment the sun;" next
month they would be golden, brown and ready for the sickle; on bush
and spray the blackbird sang cheerily, and the plover's note came
shrilly out of the green and waving fern.
The sun was setting, and the screech of the white owl would ere long
be heard, as he blinked and looked forth for the moon from the ivied
windows of Kilhenzie. The white smokes of the hamlet on the shore of
the little bay, passing up among the trees, curled into the clear air
and melted over the ocean. The flowers that whilome had endured the
scorch of the noonday sun, were drooping now, as if pining for the
coming dew; and the stately peacocks sat listlessly, with their broad
tails, argus-eyed, upon the balustrades of the garden terrace.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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