John Burnet of Barns: A Romance

by John Buchan

  CHAPTER VII

  OF A VOICE IN THE EVENTIDE

  Of the events of the time following there is little need to give anexact account. There was some law business to be gone through inconnection with my cousin's death and the disposing of the estate, whichwent to an East country laird, a Whig of the Whigs, and one like to makegood and provident use of it. Then, when I would have returned toTweeddale, I received a post from my good kinsman, Dr. Gilbert Burnet,which led me first to Edinburgh and then so far afield as London itself.For it was necessary, in the great confusion of affairs, that I shouldset myself right with the law and gain some reparation for my some-timeforfeited lands.

  So to the great city I went, posting by the main road from Edinburgh,and seeing a hundred things which were new and entertaining. I abodethere most all the winter, during the months of December, January,February, and March, for there was much to do and see. My lodging wasin my kinsman's house near the village of Kensington, and there I met agreat concourse of remarkable folk whose names I had heard of and haveheard of since. Notably, there were Master John Dryden, the excellentpoet, my Lord Sandwich, and a very brisk, pleasing gentleman, one Mr.Pepys, of the Admiralty. I had great opportunity of gratifying my tastefor books and learned society, for my kinsman's library was an excellentone, and his cellars so good that they attracted all conditions of folkto his house. Also I had many chances of meeting with gentlemen of likedegree with myself, and many entertaining diversions we had together.Nor did I neglect those in Tweeddale, for I sent news by near every postthat went to the North.

  But when the spring came, and there was no further need for tarrying inthe South, with a light heart I net off homewards once more. Ijourneyed by Peterborough and York in the company of one Sir C.Cotterell, a gentleman of Northumberland, and abode two days at hishouse in the moors, where there was excellent fishing. Then I camenorthwards by the great Northumberland road by the towns of Newcastleand Morpeth, and crossed the Cheviot Hills, which minded me much of myown glen. At Coldstream I crossed the Tweed, which is there grown avery broad, noble river, and then rode with all speed over theLammermoors to Edinburgh. I stayed there no longer than my dutydemanded; and when all was settled, one bright spring day, just aftermidday, set out for Barns.

  The day, I remember, was one of surprising brightness, clear, sunshiny,and soft as midsummer. There are few ways I know better than that fromthe capital to my home--the bare, windy moorlands for one half, and thegreen glens and pleasant waters of the other. It was by this road that Ihad come to Leith to ship for Holland; by this road that I had ridden onthat wild night ride to Dawyck. Each spot of the wayside was imprintedon my memory, and now that my wanderings were over, and I was returningto peace and quiet, all things were invested with a new delight. Yet mypleasure was not of the brisk, boisterous order, for my many misfortuneshad made me a graver man, and chastened my natural spirits to a mellowand abiding cheerfulness.

  At Leadburn was the inn where I had first met my servant Nicol, mytrusty comrade through so many varying fates. I drank a glass of wineat the place for no other cause than a sentimental remembrance. The oldlandlord was still there, and the idle ostlers hung around the stabledoors, as when I had passed before. Down in the bog-meadow themarsh-marigolds were beginning to open, and the lambs from the hillsidebleated about their mothers. The blue, shell-like sky overhead archedwithout a cloud to the green, distant hills.

  When I came to the place on the Tweedside road, called the Mount Bog, Idismounted and lay down on the grass. For there the view opens to thehills of my own countryside. A great barrier of blue, seamed withglens, all scarred in spots with rock and shingle, lifting serene browsfrom the little ridges to the wide expanse of the heavens. I named themone by one from east to west--Minchmoor, though it was hidden fromsight, where fled the great Montrose after the fatal rout ofPhiliphaugh; the broad foreheads of the Glenrath heights above my ownvale of Manor, Dollar Law, Scrape, the Drummelzier fells, the ruggedWormel, and, fronting me, the great Caerdon, with snow still lining itscrannies. Beyond, still further and fainter lines of mountain, tilllike a great tableland the monstrous mass of the Broad Law barred thedistance. It was all so calm and fragrant, with not a sound on the earbut the plash of little streams and the boom of nesting snipe. Andabove all there was the thought that now all peril had gone, and I wasfree to live as I listed and enjoy life as a man is born to do, andskulk no more at dyke-sides, and be torn no longer by hopeless passion.

  When I rode through the village of Broughton and came to the turn of thehill at Dreva, the sun was already westering. The goodly valley, allgolden with evening light, lay beneath me. Tweed was one belt of purebrightness, flashing and shimmering by its silver shores and green,mossy banks. Every wood waved and sparkled in a fairy glow, and thehills above caught the radiance on their broad bosoms. I have neverseen such a sight, and for me at that hour it seemed the presage of myhome-coming. I have rarely felt a more serene enjoyment, for it put meat peace with all the earth, and gilded even the nightmare of the pastwith a remembered romance. To crown it there was that melodious concertof birds, which one may hear only on such a night in this sweet time o'year. Throstles and linnets and the shriller mountain larks sang in thesetting daylight, till I felt like some prince in an eastern tale whohas found the talisman and opened the portals of the Golden Land.

  Down the long, winding hill-path I rode, watching the shadows flitbefore me, and thinking strange thoughts. Fronting me over the broadbelt of woodland, I saw the grey towers of Dawyck, and the green avenuesof grass running straight to the hill.

  By and by the road took me under the trees, among the cool shades andthe smell of pine and budding leaves. There was a great crooning ofwood-doves, and the sighing of the tenderest breezes. Shafts of lightstill crept among the trunks, but the soft darkness of spring was almostat hand. My heart was filled with a great exaltation. The shadow ofthe past seemed to slip from me like an old garment.

  Suddenly I stopped, for somewhere I heard a faint melody, the voice of agirl singing. 'Twas that voice I would know among ten thousand, theonly one in all the world for me. I pulled up my horse and listened asthe notes grew clearer, and this was what she sang:

  "First shall the heavens want starry light, The seas be robbed of their waves; The day want sun, the sun want bright, The night want shade, and dead men graves; The April, flowers and leaf and tree, Before I false my faith to thee. To thee, to thee."

  There came a pause, and then again, in the fragrant gloaming, the airwent on:

  "First shall the tops of highest hills By humble plains be overpry'd; And poets scorn the Muses' quills, And fish forsake the water-glide; And Iris lose her coloured weed Before I fail thee at thy need."

  I stood in shadow and watched her as she came in sight, sauntering upthe little, green glade, with a basket of spring flowers swinging on herarm. Her hat of white satin hung loose over her hair, and as she walkedlightly, now in the twilight, now in a sudden shaft of the western sun,she looked fairer than aught I had ever seen. Once more she sang withher clear voice:

  "First direful Hate shall turn to Peace, And Love relent in deep disdain; And Death his fatal stroke shall cease, And Envy pity every pain; And Pleasure mourn, and Sorrow smile, Before I talk of any guile."

  But now the darkness had come in good earnest, and I could scarce seethe singer. "First Time shall stay," the voice went on:

  "First Time shall stay his stayless race, And Winter bless his brows with corn; And snow bemoisten July's face, And Winter, Spring and Summer mourn."

  Here the verse stopped short, for I stepped out and stood before her.

  "Oh, you have come back," she cried. "At last, and I have looked solong for you."

  "Indeed, dear lass, I have come back, and by God's grace to go no moreaway."

  Then leading
my horse, I walked by her side down the broad path to thehouse. We spoke nothing, our hearts being too busy with the delights ofeach other's presence. The crowning stone was added to my palace ofjoy, and in that moment it seemed as if earth could contain no more ofhappiness, and that all the sorrows of the past were well worthencountering for the ecstasy of the present. To be once more in my ownland, with my own solemn hills looking down upon me, and that fair riverwandering by wood and heather, and my lady at my side, was not thatsufficient for any man? The purple, airy dark, odorous with springscents, clung around us, and in the pauses of silence the place was sostill that our ears heard naught save the drawing of our breath.

  At the lawn of Dawyck I stopped and took her hands in mine.

  "Marjory," I said, "once, many years ago, you sang me a verse and mademe a promise. I cannot tell how bravely you have fulfilled it. Youhave endured all my hardships, and borne me company where I bade you,and now all is done with and we are returned to peace and our own place.Now it is my turn for troth-plighting, and I give you it with all myheart. God bless you, my own dear maid." And I repeated softly:

  "First shall the heavens want starry light, The seas be robbed of their waves; The day want sun, the sun want bright, The night want shade, and dead men graves; The April, flowers and leaf and tree, Before I false my faith to thee."

  And I kissed her and bade farewell, with the echo still ringing in myears, "to thee, to thee."

  I rode through the great shadows of the wood, scarce needing to pick mypath in a place my horse knew so well, for once again I was on Maisie.The stillness clung to me like a garment, and out of it, from high up onthe hillside, came a bird's note, clear, tremulous, like a bell. Thenthe trees ceased, and I was out on the shorn, green banks, 'neath whichthe river gleamed and rustled. Then, all of a sudden, I had rounded theturn of the hill, and there, before me in the dimness, stood the oldgrey tower, which was mine and had been my fathers' since first mantilled a field in the dale. I crossed the little bridge with athrobbing heart, and lo! there was the smell of lilac and gean-treeblossom as of old coming in great gusts from the lawn. Then all wasconfusion and much hurrying about and a thousand kindly greetings. Butin especial I remember Tam Todd, the placid, the imperturbable, whoclung to my hand, and sobbed like the veriest child, "Oh, Laird, ye'vebeen lang o' comin'."