As We Sweep Through The Deep

by Oliver Optic

  CHAPTER VII.

  "WENT GLIDING AWAY LIKE A BEAUTIFUL GHOST."

  "They bid me forget her--oh, how can it be? In kindness or scorn she's ever wi' me; I feel her fell frown in the lift's frosty blue, An' I weel ken her smile in the lily's saft hue. I try to forget her, but canna forget, I've liket her lang, an' I aye like her yet." THOM, _the Inverury Poet_.

  Richards, the kindly old solicitor, with Jack and his sister Flora andthe general--these formed the group in the solemn, dark-panelled libraryof Grantley Hall on that beautiful summer's evening. The light of thewestering sun stole in through the high stained windows, and castpatches of light and colour on the furniture and on the floor. Mackenziehad already told his son all the story of his troubles, and while he hadyet been talking, the curtains in the doorway were drawn back, andFlora appeared, leaning on the arm of her good friend Richards.

  The general had lifted up a deprecating hand.

  "No need, no need." This from the family lawyer. "Flora already knowsall. And bravely has she borne the tidings. Ah, my good sir, Flora is atrue Mackenzie."

  "But you might have told me long ago," was all she had said as sheseated herself on a low stool by her father's knee. "O father, I couldhave borne it, and could have comforted you, now that poor mother hasgone!"

  There was silence for a time, broken by Flora's low sobbing; broken,too, by the sweet, mellow fluting of a blackbird in the gardenshrubbery.

  General Mackenzie was the first to speak.

  "Children," he said, "I have been for many a day like one living in adream, call it if you will a fool's paradise. But I have awakened atlast to the stern realities of life. It is better, perhaps, as it is,for we now know the very worst. You will believe me when I say that if Ihave hidden the truth from you, it was because I feared to vex you, orrender you unhappy, while yet there was hope. But now," he added, "allis over, all is lost, or seems to be."

  "Nay, nay, my good old friend," cried Richards; "you must not reallytake so gloomy a view as that of the matter."

  "This grand old house," continued the general as if he had heard himnot, "this estate, with all its beauty of domains, that was presented tomy ancestors by Charles the First himself, with its lands and its lakes,its gardens and its trees, and which was prized by my father almost asmuch as our ancient home in the Highlands of Scotland, has been wasted,has been frittered away, through my intrinsic folly."

  "Sir, sir," said Richards, "you are too hard on yourself now."

  "Nay, my good friend, nay; that I cannot be. You have ever been faithfulto our family; but I repeat it before you, and before my only son anddaughter here: the estates are lost through my own folly, and throughthe imbecility, the madness, Richards, of my pride. Now in a month'stime, if I do not pay off the mortgage, Keane, your partner, willforeclose."

  It was at this moment that Jack sprang up from his seat as though aserpent had stung him. He took a few rapid strides up and down thefloor, then, his calmness in some degree restored, he confronted thegeneral.

  "Did you say Keane would foreclose, father--Keane?"

  "I said Keane, boy--Griffin, Keane, and Co. The old man Keane is my onlycreditor. But why should the knowledge of this affect you so?"

  "Because, father--and oh, forgive me, for I ought to have told youbefore--because the heartless old man has been playing for your estates;he has won, and he has in a manner ruined you. But his daughter Gertyhas been playing a crueller game than even his: she has won my heart,and having won it, having torn it from me, she has trampled it bleedingunder foot. I can never love again."

  "My boy, my poor boy, is this indeed so? How great is your sorrow andsuffering compared with mine! Bah! let the estate go. I could feel happynow without it could I but believe that you would forget the heartlessminx who has dared to gain your love then spurn it. You _will_ forgether?"

  "Never, father, never; that is impossible. Sword in hand on thebattle-deck I shall seek surcease of sorrow, but forget little GertyKeane, never, never, never!"

  The young man covered his face with his hands, and his form heaved withsuppressed emotion, and even the kindly-hearted Richards could but lookon in silence. Not a word of consolation could he adduce that had thepower to assuage grief so deep as this.

  No one spoke for many minutes--sorrow is oftentimes too deep forwords--but higher and higher in the calm, still gloaming rose theblackbird's notes of love, sounding half hysterical in the very fulnessof their happiness and joy.

  General Mackenzie rose slowly from his chair, and approaching his sonplaced a kindly hand on his shoulder.

  "Dear Jack," he said slowly, "we each have something left us, a namethat has never yet been tarnished; our clansmen have ever been found inthe battle's van, or

  'In death laid low, Their backs to the field, their feet to the foe.'

  We have that name, Jack boy; we have that fame. We have our unsulliedswords. Jack lad, we _shall_ forget."

  "Father, we shall try."

  And hand met hand as eye met eye. The two had signed a compact, andwell they knew what that compact was.

  * * * * *

  Jack Mackenzie sat alone in his bedroom that night long after his fatherand every guest had retired. The casement window was wide open, so thatthe sweet breath of the June roses could steal in, and with it the weirdtremolo of a nightingale singing its love-lay in an adjoining copse. Themoonlight was everywhere, bathing the flower-beds, spiritualizing thetrees, lying on the grass like snow, and casting deep shadows from thequaint figures of many a statue, and a deeper shadow still from themossy dial-stone.

  So intent was Jack in his admiration of the solemn beauty of the scene,that he saw not his chamber door slowly opening, nor noted the figurerobed from head to feet in white that entered and glided towards him.

  Was it a spirit?

  If so, it was a very beautiful one. The face was very white in themoonbeams, the eyes very sad and dark, and darker still the wealth ofwaving hair that floated over the shoulders.

  "Jack!"

  Jack started now, and looked quickly round. Then a happy smile spreadover his face as he arose and led his sister to a seat by his side.

  "So like old, old times, Flora," he said.

  "So like old, old times, Jack," said she.

  He wrapped her knees in a great old Grant-tartan plaid.

  "I knew you were still up, and that you were not happy, so I came toyou. But, Jack--"

  "Yes, dear."

  "Smoke."

  "May I?"

  "You must."

  "Still more like olden times, Flora."

  Jack lit up his pipe, and then he took his sister's hand.

  "I'm glad," he said, "that I never had a brother."

  "And I," she said, "am happy I never had a sister."

  "We are all in all to each other, are we not, Flo?"

  "All in all, Jack; especially _now_."

  "Ah yes; now that I have lost Gerty. Ah, siss! you nor any one else inthe wide world can ever tell how dearly I loved, and still love, thatfaithless girl."

  "And she, Jack, will break her heart that she cannot marry you. That iswhat I came to tell you, Hush, Jack, hush! I know all you would say;but you do not understand women, and least of all do you understandGerty. _I_ do, Jack; yes, I do."

  "Sissy," said the young man earnestly, "the cruellest thing mortals canbe guilty of is to arouse the dying to feeling again, when thebitterness of death is almost past. _You_ would not be so unkind. Youdid not come here to raise hopes in my heart that would be as certainlydoomed to disappointment as that blooming flowers shall fade."

  "No, Jack, no. I only came because I wanted to pour balm, not hope, intoyour bleeding heart. I came to tell you all Gerty Keane's story, thatyou may not think the very, very worst of her. Listen, Jack."

  The young man sat in silence for quite a long time after his sister hadfinished the story of Gerty Keane, and
of her fondness for her lonesome,friendless, and unlovable father; sat gazing out upon the moonlitlandscape, but seeing nothing; sat while the nightingale's lilt,plaintive and low or mournfully sweet, bubbled tremulously from thegrove, but hearing nothing. And in the shadow of the old-fashionedarm-chair snuggled Flora, her eyes resting lovingly, wistfully on herbrother's sad but handsome face.

  At last he sighed and turned towards her. "Flora," he said, "I'm goingto try to forgive Gerty. I'm going to live in hope I one day may be ableto forgive. Just tell her from me I wish her that happiness with anotherwhich fate has decreed it shall never be my joy to impart. Tell her--butthere! no more, Flora, no more."

  "Spoken like my own brother; spoken like a true and brave Mackenzie.Kiss me, Jack. I'm glad I came."

  He held her hand a moment there, the moonbeams shining on both. "But,Flora," he said, "you too have a little story."

  "Ye--es, Jack."

  Her head drooped like a lily.

  "And, siss, it--is connected with--don't tremble so, Flora--with Tom?"

  The moonbeams shone on Jack alone now; his sister had stolen into theshadow to hide her blushes.

  "Good-night again," she whispered, and so went gliding away like abeautiful ghost.