Warlock o' Glenwarlock: A Homely RomanceMacDonald, George
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Warlock o' Glenwarlock: A Homely Romance
MacDonald, George
Christian fiction; Highlands (Scotland) -- Fiction
Presently, without having thought whither he meant to go, he found
himself out of sight of the house--in a favourite haunt, but one in
which he always had a peculiar feeling of strangeness and even
expatriation. He had descended the stream that rushed past the end
of the house, till it joined the valley river, and followed the
latter up, to where it took a sudden sharp turn, and a little
farther. Then he crossed it, and was in a lonely nook of the glen,
with steep _braes_ about him on all sides, some of them covered with
grass, others rugged and unproductive. He threw himself down in the
clover, a short distance from the stream, and straightway felt as
if he were miles from home. No shadow of life was to be seen.
Cottage-chimney nor any smoke was visible--no human being, no work
of human hands, no sign of cultivation except the grass and clover.
Now whether it was that in childhood he had learned that here he
was beyond his father’s land, or that some early sense of
loneliness in the place had been developed by a brooding fancy into
a fixed feeling, I cannot well say; but certainly, as often as he
came--and he liked to visit the spot, and would sometimes spend
hours in it--he felt like a hermit of the wilderness cut off from
human society, and was haunted with a vague sense of neighbouring
hostility. Probably it came of an historical fancy that the nook
ought to be theirs, combined with the sense that it was not. But
there had been no injury done _ab extra_: the family had suffered
from the inherent moral lack of certain of its individuals.
This sense of _away-from-homeness_, however, was not strong enough to
keep Cosmo from falling into such a dreamful reverie as by degrees
naturally terminated in slumber. Seldom is sleep far from one who
lies on his back in the grass, with the sound of waters in his
ears. And indeed a sleep in the open air was almost an essential
ingredient of a holiday such as Cosmo had been accustomed to make
of his birthday: constantly active as his mind was, perhaps in part
because of that activity, he was ready to fall asleep any moment
when warm and supine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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