William Black - White Heather - A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)

It can hardly be wondered at that these suddenly presented ambitious projects – this call to be up and doing, and getting forward in the general race of the world – should add a new interest and fascination, in his eyes, to the society of the American father and daughter who had wandered into these distant wilds. And perhaps, after all, he had been merely wasting his time and throwing away his life? That solitary, contented, healthy and happy existence was a mistake – an idle dream – an anachronism, even? The common way of the world was right; and that, as he heard of it in the echoes brought by these strangers from without, was all a pushing and striving and making the most of opportunities, until the end was reached – independence and ease and wealth; the power of choosing this or that continent for a residence; the radiant happiness and glow of success. And then it all seemed so easy and practicable when he heard these two talking about their friends and the fortunes they had made; and it seemed still more easy – and a far more desirable and beautiful thing – when it was Miss Carry herself who was speaking, she seated alone in the stern of the boat, her eyes – that had a kind of surface darkness and softness, like blackberries wet with rain – helping out her speech, and betraying an open friendliness, and even conferring a charm on her descriptions of that far-off pork-producing city of the west. Mr. Hodson, as he sate upright in his easy-chair before the fire, spoke slowly and sententiously, and without any visible enthusiasm; Miss Carry, in the stern of the coble, her face all lit up with the blowing winds and the sunlight, talked with far greater vivacity, and was obviously deeply interested in the future of her companion. And it had come to this now, that, as she sate opposite him, he quite naturally and habitually regarded her eyes as supplementing her meaning; he no longer rather shrank from the directness of her look; he no longer wished that she would sit the other way, and attend to the tops of the salmon-rods. As for their speech together, the exceeding frankness of it and lack of conventionality arose from one or two causes, but no doubt partly from this – that during their various adventures on the loch there was no time for the observance of studied forms. It was 'Do this' and 'Do that,' on his part – sometimes with even a sharp word of monition; and with her it was 'Will that do, Ronald?' or again, – when she was standing up in fell encounter with her unseen enemy, both hands engaged with the rod – 'Ronald, tie my cap down, or the wind will blow it away – No, no, the other strings – underneath!'

Indeed, on the morning after the evening on which they had been urging him to make a career for himself, there was not much chance of any calm discussion of that subject. The proceedings of the day opened in a remarkably lively manner. For one thing the wind had backed still farther during the night, and was now blowing briskly from the north, bringing with it from time to time smart snow showers that blackened the heavens and earth for a few minutes and then sped on, leaving the peaks and shoulders and even the lower spurs of the hills all a gleaming white in the wintry sunlight.

'Salmon-fishing in a snow-storm – well, I declare!' said she, as she stood on the shore of the lake, watching him putting the rods together.

'The very best time,' said he, in his positive way (for he had assumed a kind of authority over her, whereas with Meenie he was always reserved and distant and timidly gentle). 'None better. I would just like to find a foot of snow on the ground, right down to the edge of the loch; and the flakes falling so thick ye couldna see a dozen yards ahead of ye.'

'Do you know where I should be then?' she retorted. 'I should be warming my toes in front of Mrs. Murray's peat-fire.'

'Not one bit,' said he, just as positively. 'If ye heard the salmon were taking, ye'd be down here fast enough, I'm thinking.'

And presently it seemed as if this early start of theirs was to be rewarded, for scarcely were both lines out – and Miss Carry was just settling herself down for a little quiet talk, and was pulling the collar of her ulster higher over her ears (for the wind was somewhat cold) – when a sudden tugging and straining at one of the rods, followed by a sharp scream of the reel, upset all these little plans. She made a dash at the rod and raised it quickly.

'That's a good fish – that's a good fish!' Ronald cried, with his mouth set hard. 'Now let's see if we canna hold on to this one. Let him go, lassie! – I beg your pardon – let him go – let him go – that's right – a clean fish, and a beauty!'

Beauty or no, the salmon had no hesitation about showing himself, at least; for now he began to lash the surface of the water, some fifty yards away, not springing into the air, but merely beating the waves with head and body and tail to get rid of this unholy thing that he had pursued and gripped. Then down he went with a mighty plunge – the reel whirring out its shrill cry, and Miss Carry's gloves suffering in consequence – and there he sulked; so that they backed the boat again, and again she got in some of the line. What was the sound that came across the lake to them, in the face of the northerly wind?

'They're waving a handkerchief to ye, Miss Hodson,' said he, 'from the other boat.'

'Oh, bother,' said she (for the strain of a heavy salmon and forty yards of line was something on her arms), 'here, take the handkerchief from this breast-pocket, and wave it back to them – stand up beside me – they won't see the difference – '

He did as he was bid; apparently she paid little attention; she seemed wholly bent on getting the fish. And clearly the salmon had somewhat exhausted himself with his first escapades; he now lay deep down, not stirring an inch; so that she got in her line until there was not more than twenty yards out: then they waited.

And meanwhile this strange thing that was overtaking them? The bright, windy, changeable day – with its gleaming snow-slopes and sunlit straths and woods darkened by passing shadows – seemed to be slowly receding from them, and around them came a kind of hushed and stealthy gloom. And then the wind stirred again; the gusts came sharper and colder; here and there a wet particle stung the cheek or the back of the hand. Of course, she was in a death-struggle with a salmon; she could not heed. And presently the gathering blackness all around seemed to break into a soft bewilderment of snow; large, soft, woolly flakes came driving along before the wind; all the world was shut out from them; they could see nothing but a short space of livid dark water, and feel nothing but this choking silent thing in the air. And then again, with a magical rapidity, the heavens and the earth seemed to open above and around them; the clouds swept on; there was a great deep of dazzling blue suddenly revealed in the sky overhead; and all the dancing waters of the lake, from the boat to the farthest shores, were one flashing and lapping mass of keen, pure cobalt, absolutely bewildering to the eyes. The joy of that radiant colour, after the mystery and the darkness! And then the sunlight broke out; and Clebrig had a touch of gold along his mighty shoulders; and Ben Loyal's snow-slopes were white against the brilliant blue; and it seemed as if the fairest of soft summer skies were shining over Bonnie Strath-Naver.

To her it meant that she could see a little more clearly. She shook the snowflakes from her hair.

'Ronald, you are sure it is not a kelt?'

'Indeed I am. There's nothing of the kelt about that one.'

'If it is,' said she, 'I'll go home and tell my ma.'