Book VI - Page 2

and leaping, so that at
every beat it raised the black-clad weight! An' yet that was not
all, for hard by stood a tall imperial shape o' a woman, all arrayed
in white, wi' a great veil o' finest lace worn o'er a shrood. An'
she was whiter than the snow, an' fairer than the morn for beauty;
though a dark woman she was, wi' hair like the raven, an' eyes black
as the sea at nicht, an' there was stars in them. An' at each beat
o' yer puir bleeding hairt she wrung her white hands, an' the manin'
o' her sweet voice rent my hairt in twain. Oh, laddie, laddie! what
does it mean?"

I managed to murmur: "I'm sure I don't know, Aunt Janet. I suppose
it was all a dream!"

"A dream it was, my dear. A dream or a veesion, whilka matters nane,
for a' such are warnin's sent frae God . . . " Suddenly she said in
a different voice:

"Laddie, hae ye been fause to any lassie? I'm no blamin' ye. For ye
men are different frae us women, an' yer regard on recht and wrang
differs from oors. But oh, laddie, a woman's tears fa' heavy when
her hairt is for sair wi' the yieldin' to fause words. 'Tis a heavy
burden for ony man to carry wi' him as he goes, an' may well cause
pain to ithers that he fain would spare." She stopped, and in dead
silence waited for me to speak. I thought it would be best to set
her poor loving heart at rest, and as I could not divulge my special
secret, spoke in general terms:

"Aunt Janet, I am a man, and have led a man's life, such as it is.
But I can tell you, who have always loved me and taught me to be
true, that in all the world there is no woman who must weep for any
falsity of mine. If close there be any who, sleeping or waking, in
dreams or visions or in reality, weeps because of me, it is surely
not for my doing, but because of something outside me. It may be
that her heart is sore because I must suffer, as all men must in some
degree; but she does not weep for or through any act of mine."

She sighed happily at my assurance, and looked up through her tears,
for she was much moved; and after tenderly kissing my forehead and
blessing me, stole away. She was more sweet and tender than I have
words to say, and the only regret that I have in all that is gone is
that I have not been able to bring my wife to her, and let her share
in the love she has for me. But that, too, will come, please God!

In the morning I sent a message to Rooke at Otranto, instructing him
by code to bring the yacht to Vissarion in the coming night.

All day I spent in going about amongst the mountaineers, drilling
them and looking after their arms. I COULD not stay still. My only
chance of peace was to work, my only chance of sleep to tire myself