The King's Own Borderers: A Military Romance, Volume 3 (of 3)Grant, James
General
The King's Own Borderers: A Military Romance, Volume 3 (of 3)
Grant, James
Soldiers -- Fiction
"This is wonder upon wonder!" exclaimed Flora Warrender, as she hung
on the neck of Madame de Ribeaupierre, who kept the right hand of
Quentin pressed upon her heart, while Eugene, who stood by, was
stroking his moustache, and thinking if he had anything to do in the
way of kissing, he would certainly prefer Flora.
Lady Rohallion was silent.
So the boy, by whose cradle in infancy she had watched with such
motherly solicitude, was the nephew of her husband, the cousin-german
of Cosmo; the son of that younger brother who had been the first love
of her girlish days--the worshipper of her girlish beauty, in the
pleasant times long past in sunny Nithsdale, the courtly gentleman
and gallant soldier of fortune, over whose life she had cast a
shadow. It was a strange mystery!
Some such idea was passing in the mind of her husband.
"Good heavens, Winny! so that poor father, whose fate is yet a legend
among our tenantry--the poor man who struggled so bravely to save his
child, when the ship was shattered on the Partan Craig--who died in
sight of Rohallion, and whom honest John Girvan buried as became a
soldier in the old kirkyard--our own ancestral burying-place--was my
dear brother Ranulph!" exclaimed Lord Rohallion, with a sudden gush
of affection and emotion; "and 'tis his boy we have so loved and
protected, Winny! Poor Ranulph--poor Ranulph! I should like to have
looked on your handsome and honest face once again ere it was laid in
the grave; but it could not be, for I was absent. Madame, do you
know that his drowned corpse was carried forth by his father's people
from the gate of the house in which he was born, and every room of
which has echoed to his voice in boyhood, and past the very haunts in
which we played together, under the old sycamores of the avenue, by
the Lollards' Linn and the Kelpie's Pool, on the Girvan Water. Thank
God, poor Ranulph, you found a grave at last among your own people,
and where your forefathers lie; but we have much to make amends for,"
added the old Lord, as he placed Flora's hand in that of Quentin;
"may you both live long to enjoy all the happiness you deserve; and
be assured that my last prayer will be for both of you!"
* * * *
What follows?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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