White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)Black, William
General
White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)
Black, William
Scotland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
’But it is so far away, Ronald; are you certain you can afford the
time?’ she was bound, in common fairness, to ask.
’Oh yes, I can afford the time,’ said he, ’even if this should have to
be my last day on the loch. Besides, if we do not treat you well, maybe
you’ll never come back.’
’And what is the use of our coming back, when you won’t be here?’ she
was on the point of saying, but she did not say it, fortunately.
Then they set forth, on this still summer-like day; and they hailed the
other boat in passing, and told them of their intended voyage of
exploration. Indeed their prospects of sport at the setting out were
anything but promising; the long levels of the lake were mostly of a
pale glassy blue and white; and the little puffs of wind that stirred
the surface here and there into a shimmer of silver invariably died down
again, leaving the water to become a mirror once more of rock and tree
and hill. But she was well content. This was an unknown world into
which they were now penetrating; and it was a good deal more beautiful
than the upper end of the lake (where the best fishing ground was) with
which they had grown so familiar. Here were hanging woods coming right
down to the water’s edge; and lofty and precipitous crags stretching
away into the pale blue sky; and winding bays and picturesque shores
where the huge boulders, green and white and yellow with lichen, and the
rich velvet moss, and the withered bracken, and the silver-clear stems
of the birch trees were all brilliant in the sun. The only living
creatures that seemed to inhabit this strange silent region were the
birds. A pair of eagles slowly circled round and round, but at so great
a height that they were but a couple of specks which the eye was apt to
lose; black-throated divers and golden-eyed divers, disturbed by these
unusual visitors, rose from the water and went whirring by to the upper
stretches of the lake; a hen-harrier hovered in mid-air, causing a
frantic commotion among the smaller birds beneath; the curlews, now
wheeling about in pairs, uttered their long warning whistle; the peewits
called angrily, flying zig-zag, with audible whuffing of their soft
broad wings; the brilliant little redshanks flew like a flash along the
shore, just skimming the water; and two great wild-geese went by
overhead, with loud, harsh croak. And ever it was Ronald’s keen eye
that first caught sight of them; and he would draw her attention to
them; and tell her the names of them all. And at last—as they were
coming out of one of the small glassy bays, and as he was idly regarding
the tall and rocky crags that rose above the birchwoods—he laughed
lightly.
’Ye glaiket things,’ said he, as if he were recognising some old
friends, ’what brings ye in among the sheep?’
’What is it, Ronald?’ she asked—and she followed the direction of his
look towards those lofty crags, but could make out nothing unusual.
’Dinna ye see the hinds?’ he said quietly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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