The Wizard's Son, Vol. 1 (of 3)Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
The Wizard's Son, Vol. 1 (of 3)
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Great Britain -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Supernatural -- Fiction
It was the full blaze of day, and the view extended as they went higher
up to the crest of rock upon which the house was set. It was built of
irregular reddish stone, all cropped with lichens where it was visible,
but so covered with clinging plants that very little of the walls could
be seen. The rustic porch was built something like a bee-hive, with
young, slim-growing saplings for its pillars, and chairs placed within
its shelter. There were some flower-beds laid out around, in which a few
autumn crocuses had struggled into pale bloom--and a number of china
roses hung half opened against the sides of the house. The roofs were
partly blue slates, that most prosaic of comfortable coverings, and
partly the rough red tiles of the country, which shone warm through the
naked boughs.
"Every hardy plant could bear
Loch Katrine's keen and searching air,"
was garlanded about the house, the little lawn was as green as velvet,
the china roses were pale but sweet. Behind the house were the mossed
apple-trees of a primitive orchard among the rocky shelves. It lay
smiling in the sun, with the silver mirror of the lake all round, and
every tint and outline doubled in the water. From the door the dark old
castle of Kinloch Houran stood out against the silent darkness of the
hill. Little rocky islets, like a sport of nature, too small to be
inhabited by anything bigger than rabbits, lay all reflected in broken
lines of rock and brushwood, between Walter's old castle and this
romantic house. They were so visible, one to the other, that the mere
position seemed to form a link of connection between the inhabitants.
"We cannot but take an interest in you, you see, Lord Erradeen, for we
can never get out of sight of you," said Mrs. Forrester.
"And I think the old place looks better from here than any other view I
have seen," Walter added almost in the same breath.
They laughed as they spoke together. It was not possible to be more
entirely "country neighbours." The young man had a fantastic feeling
that it was a sort of flattery to himself that his house should be so
entirely the centre of the landscape. He followed the lady into the
house with a little reluctance, the scene was so enchanting. Inside, the
roofs were low, but the rooms well-sized and comfortable. They were full
of curiosities of every kind: weapons from distant countries, trophies
of what is called "the chase," hung upon the wall of the outer hall.
The drawing-room was full of articles from India and China, carved
ivories, monsters in porcelain, all the wonders that people used to send
home before we got Japanese shops at every corner. An air of gentle
refinement was everywhere, with something, too, in the many ornaments,
little luxuries, and daintinesses which suggested the little
_minauderies_ of the old beauty, the old-fashioned airs and graces that
had been irresistible to a previous generation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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