Briseis

Contents

ee CHAPTER PAGE IL—Ar SancHory on DEE . - : 5 ° ° 1 Il.—Tuxe Gorpons oF GRANTLY . ; 5 LO IT].—Avnt Ciara. . 5 : 4 Z p98 TV.—Wiwer WANDERINGS ‘ 7 ; 5 G eeOO V.—AuvrF DER HéHE ‘ ‘ : . Z ; . 46 VIL.—TxHE HypatTiIA—AaND THEREAFTER. 5 ¢ . OF VIL—A GREEK SLAVE. : : : = 3 5s eo VIII.—By Moor anp Ritu : . 3 3 . 33 IX.—* WiTH Hey, Nonny, Nonny? ? : A 3 A OG X.—From Morn tm Eve . ; : r : tile XI.—A SEcRET oF THE Woops 2 : - F = 118) XII.—* Wuere THE Dun DEER LIE” : A . 139 XIIIl.—Norrxu anp Sours : 2 é ~ 153 XIV.—A DEPARTURE ‘. : 6 ; Gy.

XV.—A Squire or Dames R 5 : : S aksB3 XVI.—AN AWAKENING : . F . = . - 196 XVIL.—“ Now ALL Is DONE” =, “ x - c 5 Yall XVIIL—A RESoLvVE . 2 ~ C : ‘ a eT XIX.—Face to Face : : ; ; , - . 240 XX.—Der Ewicr Grsane F ; - k - 7, YASS XXIL—JupcEz AND JURY. ‘ ' P . 264 XXII.— Lovep I not Honour Monn? c é : 5 Watt XXIII.—‘ Sweer Nevim O’ Rev’ ; A 5 ' - 288

XXIV.—‘ SzepmepD ATHENS AS A PARAD!8B’ A FI 2006

Chapter I. At Sanchory On Dee

Away up on the heights of Scoulter Hill, overlooking the wide and wooded valley of the Dee, a tall and slim young woman lay at full length on the heather, her interclasped hands beneath her head, her large, dark, foreign-looking eyes fixed lazily and dreamily on the slow-moving heavens. And she was singing to herself—in a kind of absent undertone: probably she was quite unconscious that she was following these idle words—which as likely as not were of her own haphazard composition :

O Lore went sailing along the sky,

On the soft white clouds, so far and high;

*O yonder’s the world for which P'm fain—

The wild gray waves and the driving main.

*O dear little Love, much better yowd be,

Tf yowd clip your wings and come down to me!

Poor boy, he was beaten and battered sore— Tossed by the surf and flung on the shore: ; ‘T told you, you wretch, *twould happen; but now Here are handkerchiefs cool to bind your brow ; And yowll fold your wings and creep close to me, And Pll hide you safe from the angry sea.’

She turned her head a little. And if she had chosen, she might have gazed abroad on a sufficiently spacious and varied panorama—the fertile pastures of Glen Dye—the outskirts of Glen Tana Forest—the vast, undulating billows of the Grampians, shining here and darkened there with sunlight and velvet shadow; while on the remote horizon-

B line rose the peaks of Loch-Na-Garr, the snow on them of a dim and burnished gold through the distant haze. But perhaps before her mental vision there was a very different scene. Perhaps she had transported herself back to her island home in the Saronic Gulf ; perhaps she found herself once more under the cool shade of the olives, looking across the great plain of waters—the blazing blue of the summer sea all twinkling with innumerable litile flashes of white foam; on her right the lonely shores and precipitous cliffs stretching away down to Cape Colonna; far in front of her the bold scimetar-sweep of the Bay of Salamis ; beyond that again the palely violet shoulders of Corydallus, and these but the beginning of a mountainous semicircle coming round to the scarred and gray-green slopes of Hymettus ; then in the midst of the extended plain a mass of rugged rock rising faint and visionary into the vibrating air, ‘and, higher still, on the summit of the plateau, certain lofty and saffron-tinted pillars telling of a ruined temple—the famous temple once the home and shrine of the Maiden Goddess, Pallas Athene. It isa spectacle that the merest stranger cannot contemplate without profound emotion ; but in the case of this Greek eirl—this Briseis Valieri— now lying supine and abstracted on an Aberdeenshire hill —there were many added and personal associations and affections and memories; for she also—for a time, at least, during her days of schooling and school-friendships—she also had been a Maid of Athens.

Of a sudden she was brought back to herself and her actual surroundings.

“Briseis! Bry! Bry! Where are you?’—she heard the remote call for her.

And then she rose quickly to her fect—her slender, tall, symmetrical figure showing dark against the sky—and looked all around. On this solitary open space of silverlichened rock and herbage no one was to be seen; but presently, beyond the adjacent larch-wood, and not far ‘from the base of an ancient tower, she had found the object of her quest—the figure of a little, elderly man, who appeared to be frantically gesticulating. At once she set off to rejoin her companion, her long limbs and her free and agile step taking her over the heather as if she had been

AT SANCHORY ON DEE 3 a young fawn. And even before she drew near him her eyes were full of a smiling and kindly interest ; for those dark and lustrous eyes of hers had this unusual faculty, that even while the rest of her features were apparently quiescent, they of themselves could express pleasure, and eood-will, and gratitude—and even on occasion mirth and mockery, for she was by nature a daughter of the laughterloving Aphrodite. But now, as she rapidly approached, this smiling curiosity gave way to a vague concern and wonder ; because she could see that her uncle was strangely azitated. He held up his hand.

“Not too near—not too near!” exclaimed this small, nervous-looking man, who nevertheless had apple-tinted cheeks and bright gray eyes. “ Briscis, I tell you this is a day of days for me—a day of days, indeed !—you will remember it all your life when you come to understand. Do yeu know what that is ?”

She followed the direction of his finger, and saw on the eround in front of him some scattered patches of a white, waxen-looking flower, which she thought might be one of the stitchworts or some such thing—for notwithstanding her long spring and summer and autumn rambles with this devoted enthusiast she had not picked up much botanical lore.

“Tt’s the Silene alpestris!” he said, excitedly. “ Don’t you understand? That is one of Don’s ‘reputed discoverics’ !—but perhaps Sir Joseph Hooker, in the next edition of his Hora, will be so exceedingly kind as to transfer it from the appendix and place it in the body of the book! Yes, yes; it’s all very well for the younger men to make fun of me, and call me the Marquis of Clova, and say I shall never die happy till I rehabilitate the whole Don family. But what is that before you? I ask you, what is that? There it is!—staring you in the face— the Silene alpestris—one of Don’s ‘reputed discoveries’ ! There it is before you—growing wild on an Aberdeenshire hill—and not so far away from Clova either. I tell you this will make some of them open their eyes we

Naturally enough the young Greek girl stooped to secure for herself one of those starlike blossoms—if only for the purpose of closer scrutiny—but instantly he gripped her by the arm and checked her.

“No,” said he, peremptorily, “they are too precious. Perhaps to-morrow or next day, when I have everything ready, I may take one or two specimens to forward to the Linnean Society, and the Royal Botanic Society, and the Andersonian at Glasgow ; but otherwise they must be left to spread and flourish as much as ever is possible. I tell you, if I were that young Sir Francis Gordon, I would fence them round, so that not a single tourist should get near them. But in the mean time, Briseis—in the mean time, come away down—I must send some telegrams off —come away down to the inn, and I will dictate them to you. Don’t you think Professor at Oxford will stare—don’t you think so ?—ah, don’t you think so? but come away, Bry—I shouldn’t wonder if I could show you the plant figured in Loudon or Robinson, and then you will be convinced ——”

“Oh, but I am delighted, uncle!” said the young girl —and now all the beautiful, pale olive face was aglow with sympathetic pleasure. ‘Iam delighted! And is it so great a discovery? And will they give you more honour ?—and print your name in more Transactions ? —and make you a I[ellow of more Societies? Oh, but indeed I am delighted! I must write and tell my cousin Calliope a

He laughed aloud, in a half-hysterical fashion—he seemed hardly to know what he was doing or saying.

*¢ And sooner or later, Bry, you will discover that in this country we say Calliope, not Calliope i

“In Athens we used mostly to call her Opie,” said the young girl, without taking any offence, and still regarding the waxen-white flowers with the greatest interest.

“But come away—come away now,” he said, hurriedly. “JT must send off the telegrams at once.” Then he paused. “No. Stay a moment. Kneel down.”

She was a biddable creature, and her dress was of a rough and simple material: she did as she was told.

' Ts it some form of worship, uncle ?” said she, with the soft dark eyes smiling.

‘‘Hxamine now,” he said. ‘ Examine closely ; and when we go down to the inn, if I can find for you a figure of the plant, you will see how they correspond. Observe now—

AT SANCHORY ON DEE 5 the flowers panicled, rather large, and of a glossy whiteness —each petal with four notches—the calyx erect, with blunt tecth as long as the petals—stem simple, few-leaved, about six inches high

She had risen to her feet again.

* But I do not need to be convinced, uncle!” she exclaimed. ‘“ When you tell me, that is enough. Surely there can be no better authority than yourself, after you have given your whole life to the study ? :

He slung his vasculum over his shoulder; he put his hand in affectionate fashion within her arm ; and together they proceeded to descend the hill—down through the larches that were all moving and whispering in the light and varying breeze.

‘You see, Bry,” he continued, in a grave and matter-offact manner (for he would not betray too much exultation), “this Scoulter Hill is very well known as the habitat of many rare or at least uncommon plants ; and among them is the Linnea borealis. Not that the Linnea itself is so very rare, but the fruit of it is—very rare indeed : Hooker says he had to take the description of it from Wahlenberg. Well, you understand, I have never given up the hope of some day stumbling on a branch of the Linnea bearing fruit—even in the spring or early summer—for it is an evergreen shrub and tolerably hardy—and in a sheltered place in the woods there might always be a chance of the fruit hanging on through the winter. And I was pottering about ”—here he began to talk a little more quickly—* I was pottering about. I had no thought of Don, or of the Don family, or of the scepticism that has rejected so many of their discoveries. J was not thinking of any Silene, or any of the disputed Saxifrages, or anything of the kind ; it was the dark green leaves of the Linnea I was looking for ; and not very anxiously either. Then of a sudden”—and now he was speaking in an eager, half-breathless way—* of a sudden I saw something: it was like a slap in the face : for a second my eyes seemed quite bewildered. For I knew —oh yes, I knew instantly what it was !—I knew the gap that the stranger filled ; and the oddest thing happened— all in the flash of a moment it appeared to me as if I were answering back to this authority and that authority—this one in Edinburgh and that one at Kew—as if I were saying to them: ‘Ah, perhaps you will now be a little less ready to add “not confirmed” when any one sends you the report of a discovery from Clova or from Dee-side ; and perhaps ‘ you will be less distrustful about Don’s contributions to the British flora ; and perhaps, considering the height and the whereabouts of Scoulter Hill, you won’t find the phrase “‘a garden escape” sufficient to account for everything.’ Briseis, I think they will open their eyes a little !” he went on—and he laughed in his nervous, excited way. “They will begin to doubt their doubts—and that’s the fact. They will begin to think that a thorough search of the whole of the Clova mountains might be more serviceable than dismissing every unconfirmed discovery with contempt. The rehabilitation of the Don family? Well, I never thought that necessary—and I never proposed it to myself as an object—never—but still—but still

And so he continued talking, garrulous and restless beyond his wont, while they held on their way down into the

valley, and crossed the Dee by the gray stone bridge, and went along and into the village of Sanchory. It isa quiet and still little hamlet,with one e lar eve and wide main thoroughfare, a straggling row of houses on each side of the spacious street, an inn, a church, and a number of small villas scattered about among gardens. But it is these gardens, especially in early summer, that redeem Sanchory from what otherwise would be its commonplaceness of look; for wherever one turns—g¢lancing down a lane or over a wall— there is a profusion of vivid, luminous, trembling leaves and branches ; and always through the young translucent green of this immediate foliage there is visible here and there the deep, soft rose-purple of the distant hills. As old John Elliott and his niece Briseis now walked up to the Gordon Arms, there was a hot glare of sunlight abroad, and the wide thor oughfare was quite empty.

That was a busy afternoon for both of them. For what with his anxious temperament and the greatness of the occasion, the old botanist’s hand was rather shaky, so that it fell to his niece’s lot to take down from his dictation the telegrams to one or two learned professors and the letters to certain familiar friends which he composed as he paced

Ht SANCHOLYV ON DEP 7 up and down the small room. And then again at dinner— these preliminary announcements having been got rid of —he was still unusually talkative, and apparently he was very happy; he said some pretty things about the young lady’s looks and the neatness of her dress; and he was generously insistent that she should share with him the small bottle of claret which was his modest daily allowance. She only shook her head, however. She was ready enough to fill his glass for him—but her own remained empty : she was like Fair Annie in the old ballad—

*O, she has served the lang tables, Wi the white bread and the wine;

But aye she drank the wan water, To keep her colour fine.’

Nay, rambling on from mood to mood, he at length grew remorseful.

* Briseis,” he said, “ I do think you are the most admirable companion that God ever created. Nothing comes amiss to you; whatever happens, it is always for the best ; I never saw such content, such goodwill, such a kindly disposition. But all the same—all the same I am convinced I ought not to allow you to sacrifice yourself in this way. It is pure selfishness on my part. You should be living in Edinburgh or London, seeing young people of your own age, mixing in society, going to theatres and concerts and dances. You should not have elected to join my wandering life; you should have gone to your Aunt Clara -

Her eyes—those lustrous, dark, expressive eyes—looked amused.

“ Uncle, uncle,” she said, “you are not going to forsake me, are you? I know well enough what every one else would say of me. They would say that I was uscless and lazy and idle, and that I had no right to shirk my part of the work of the world, and go away and lie on a hillside, doing nothing but drink in the sweet air. And all that would be quite true. But then, it is for you to defend me. You are my ally. You should tell them that I am not entirely useless ; for if I were to let you go away into these lonely places all by yourself, some day or other the

Elfin Queen would be carrying you off into captivity and keeping you hidden for twenty long years M4

“There is another thing too,” he proceeded, still harping on these hesitations. “There is your music. They tell me that your natural gift is quite wonderful—your facility and touch on the piano quite wonderful ; and that you ought to go into training at the Royal Academy of Music, to perfect your technique ye

“ Kucharisto!” she exclaimed, laughing, yet not at all scornfully. ‘For what would the next step be? Why, if I succeeded, I should have to play in large concert-rooms,

‘and earn much money. Many thanks, yes !—but the little money I have is sufficient for my wants, and I do not even have to trouble with a banker, since you are so kind as to look after it for me. And as for the concert-rooms, and meeting people, and making acquaintances, well, I do not like town life at all. It does not interest me. The air stifles me. It is different when I am wandering among the valleys and the mountains with you, uncle—ah, and such splendid wanderings !—from Clova up to Atholl, from Atholl to Braemar, from Braemar all along Dee-side. Sas hupereucharisto !—but I have no ambition to appear at St. James’s Hall!”

““ Ags you please, Briseis, as you please,” he replied, thoughtfully ; and seeing that he had finished dinner, she now went to the mantel-shelf and filled his wooden pipe, and brought it over to him, along with the matches. And then she turned the conversation back to the great discovery of the morning—so that he had soon dismissed these passing clouds. Nay, he grew garrulous and exultant again; and would have her fetch this or that botanical cyclopeedia, to convince her who was already convinced. There could be little doubt but that the plant they had found on the summit of Scoulter Hill was in reality the Silene alpestris, the Alpine catchfly.

Nevertheless, that same night, when all the little village had sunk into slumber—Briseis too, most likely, for she had for some time been gone to her room—the outer door of the Gordon Arms was stealthily opened, and a small, dark ficure stole out. It was late ; but there was still a pale and steely glow up in the northwestern heavens ; and this half-

AT SANCHORY ON DEE 9 light produced a kind of wan grayness on the wide thoroughfare and on the fronts of the houses: the trees alone were black. The profoundest silence reigned; not a horse whinnied in its stall; not a dog barked a false alarm. And through the sleeping hamlet this small dark figure— which was that of the old botanist—pursued its noiseless way, eventually passing into the road that leads down to the bridge over the Dee. Then, as he went on, there came a whisper into the stillness of the night—an eerie sound— the sound of some unseen thing in this world of all-pervading death—the low-murmuring voice of the river. He crossed the bridge ; but he could only listen ; there was no glint of water underneath. Then on again into the strange peace and hush of the country : it seemed to him as though he could have heard the faintest click for miles away, the silence was so absolute. Nor was there any sign or symptom of life; not even a rabbit scurried away from bencath the hedge-rows ; he was the sole occupant of this mute and inanimate universe, in its dusk of metallic gray.

But when he entered the woods, and proceeded to follow as best he might the ever-ascending path through the trees, even that faint guidance from the western skies was denied him, so that he had to remove the cap from the dark-lantern that he carried, letting the ball of orange fire glare out on the phantasmal stems of Scotch fir and larch and spruce. Slow progress, perhaps, as he toiled up the winding track, with the spectral limbs and branches starting out here and there from the surrounding gloom; but there was something in his heart and brain that had to be satisfied ; there could have been no sleep for him that night while any nervous and torturing dread might keep suggesting that he had been the victim of an extraordinary hallucination. And at last he emerged from the black obscurity of the trees; there was a colder breath of air stirring ; he found himself on the open plateau of heather and rock; and if the lingering twilight in the northwest was fading down into the transient darkness of the short summer night, at least he had with him this blazing will-o’-the-wisp that swung in his hand as he warily went forward.

Warily indeed he went ; for though the bull’s-eye of the lantern glared fiercely enough, the light that it shed on the

Io BRISELS herbage was pale and ineffectual, and revealed almost nothing of colour. But at length, after much searching, he came upon a few scattered patches of small white dots. He knelt down—as Briseis had done. He brought the lantern close —and peered—and examined—just touching here and there with a finger-nail. And finally he rose to his feet again, with a sigh of immeasurable relief and satisfaction.

“'There is not a shadow of a doubt!” he said to himself. “ And to-morrow—or the day after to-morrow—some folk in the south will be opening their eyes !”

CHAPTER IT.

THE GORDONS OF GRANTLY.

On the following morning old John Elliott conveyed to his niece, with his usual shy and sensitive roundaboutness, that he would rather be left alone. He had to prepare the more formal communications respecting his discovery to be sent to certain learned Societies—especially with the vicw of showing that, from the position of Scoulter Hill, the Silene alpestris he had found there could not possibly have been a garden escape. But, he added, when these memoranda had been roughly drawn out, perhaps Briseis would be so kind as to copy them for him in her neat and accurate handwriting? And in the mean time she might go and amuse herself in exploring the surrounding neighbourhood.

Well, she was nothing loath; for in truth she was an idle wretch, as she herself had admitted; always glad to get into the open air; content to have nothing to do but gaze abroad upon wild flowers, and clouds, and hills; and more than content when she chanced to have a box of chocolate-creams in her pocket. So she put on her black straw hat with its spray of crimson blossom; and she took her crimson sunshade with her, lest the direct rays in the valley should prove too oppressive; and a few seconds thereafter she was marching along the wide, empty thoroughfare, leisurely enough, yet with the bold freedom of step that her long legs gave her. And she was repeating to herself :

THE GORDONS OF GRANTLY II

‘Down Dee-side rode Inyerey, whistling and playing,

Hie rapped loud at Brackley gate, ere the day’s dawing;

“O Gordon of Brackley, proud Gordon, come down;

There are swords at your yett that will gar your blood spin.”

For this was a country-side haunted everywhere with historical and legendary associations ; and while her uncle was entirely engrossed with his botanical pursuits she had had plenty of time for the reading up of the old ballads ; and it was with intensest interest that she had come upon or hunted up this or that place mentioned in those wild tales of love and sorrow and tragic farewell, of war and hatred and passionate revenge. The two of them, uncle and niece, had been down in Glen Prosen and Glen Shee, where ‘the gallant Grahams’ assembled :

‘In Glen Prosen we rendezvoused,

Marched to Glen Shee by night and day, And took the town of Aberdecn,

And met the Campbells in their array,’

They had come round by Atholl :

‘As I went in by the Duke of Atholl’s yeit, I heard a fair maid singing;

Her voice was sweet, she sang sae complete, And the bells o’ the court were ringing’

She had seen the ruined castle of Inverey, and the remaining stones of Brackley ; she had crossed the fatal burn of Corrichie : ‘Mourn ye Hiclands, and mourn ye Lowlands, I trow ye hae mickle need;

For the bonnie burn o’ Corrichie Has run this day wi’ bleid.’

But perhaps it was the pathetic story of the two Gordons that kept most frequently recurring to her brain, now as she got away from the village, her tall, slim figure erect, her light and easy and graceful step taking her quite rapidly enough out into the open country :

*« Arise now, gay Gordon!” his lady ’gan ery; “Tor there is fierce Inverey driving your kye.” “How can I go, lady, and win them again,

When I haye but ae sword where he has got ten?”

“ Arise, now, my maidens, leave rock and leave fan; How blest had I been had I married a man !— Arise, now, my maidens, take lance and take sword: Go, milk the ewes, Gordon, for I will be lord!”

Up sprang the brave Gordon, put his helm on his head, Laid his hand on his sword, and his thigh o’er his steed ; But he stooped low and said, as he kissed his proud dame— “There’s a Gordon rides out that will never ride hame.”

There rode wi’ fierce Inverey thirty and three,

And nane wi’ the Gordon save his brother and he;

Twa gallanter Gordons did never sword draw,

But against three-and-thirty, wae’s me! what were twa?’

But here she stopped, in her idle and absent repetition. For she had arrived at a field of young corn, and somewhere over her head there was a lark pouring forth his melodious silvery trills, and she wanted to discover where he was. Yet in vain did she endeavour to pierce the blinding white spaces of the sky ; he was nowhere visible; though all the listening air was filled with those pulsating floods of song. So she carelessly wandered on again, not heeding much whither she went ; keeping by the outer edge of the cornfields, now and again skirting some strip of copse or spinney, and gazing with delight into the dim recesses, for all around the foot of the trees were masses of a heavenly blue—not the purple-blue of the wild hyacinth, but the clear, intense, pellucid blue of the germander speedwell. And then, as she still held onward, it seemed to her as though another sound were invading—or increasing—the silence of the summer morn: a sound hushed and remote—a murmur constant and unvarying—and more voluminous than the soft stirring of the leaves around her. Had she then, in this fortuitous fashion, drawn near the river? But why not? On Dee-side all roads, paths, and byways eventually lead to the Dee.

Of asudden she came upon the verge of a steep bank, which was crowned by scattered clumps of Scotch firs; and there before her, stretching away over to the high and wooded slopes on the other side, was the broad bosom of the stream, the swaying and hurrying current sweeping round the dark brown pools with an easy oily swing, and then breaking out again into the open shallows, racing and chasing, sharp-glinting and shimmering in the glare of the morning light, while a great breadth and blaze of quivering diamonds lay immediately under the sun. Then, after some little survey, she pitched upon a sheltered nook for herself ; and it was through a perfect paradise of wild flowers that she descended to the river—through tangled gorse and broom, with heart’s-ease, dog-violets, yellow bedstraw, speedwells of various kinds and hues, and glossy and golden celandine all basking in the heat. It was a gracious bower she had chosen for herself, by the side of an alder-bush, and overlooking a rather deepish bit of the water ; and here with much complacency she sat herself down to listen to that monotonous, dreamy, drowsy sound, and also to the music of a thrush that was carolling clear and high from among the neighbouring leaves. This was a beautiful world she found herself in; and she had it all to herself.

The river glanced, and chased, and swung along; the gorse burned in the sunshine; the pervading stillness seemed only to be intensified by that universal murmur and whispering. And it was in a kind of half-somnolent mood that her purposeless brain went back to the story of the two Gordons who were so foully done to death by Inverey and his three-and-thirty men :

*“Q came ye by Brackley, and what saw ye there? Was the young widow weeping and tearing her hair?”