Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 3 of 3)

"Oh, mem, do not be afraid," cried Barbara, even amidst her own wild alarm. "There's a boat going out – oh, yes, they are pulling hard – they will be at the end of the quay in a moment or two – and the people are all looking over – oh, yes, yes, mem, if anyone is in the water, they have found him – and – and the boat – now the boat has gone by the end of the quay, and I am not seeing it any more – yes, yes, it is there now – and they are coming this way, mem – they will be coming into the slip – oh, yes – I am sure they have got the one that was in the water – and Big Archie in the stern of the boat, mem – and the people now running to meet them at the slip – now it is Big Archie that is lifting the one out of the stern of the boat – " Suddenly Barbara uttered a plaintive cry, "Oh, Dyeea, it is the young master himself!"

"What do you say? Mr. Ross? What has happened, Barbara?" She struggled to her feet, pale and shuddering; and Barbara was at her side in an instant. "Quick, Barbara! – come with me! – help me! – I must go down to the slip – your arm, Barbara – help me! – quick quick – "

And so, with trembling limbs and dazed eyes – dazed by the fear of some dread unknown thing – she managed to cross the hall and get down the steps and across the road. It was but a short distance to the slip. The little crowd made way on her approach: and there, lying extended on the stone, she beheld the senseless body of her lover, while the big fisherman, kneeling, was making such examination as was possible. Big Archie rose at once.

"Oh, he will be ahl right directly, mem – I'm sure of it! – he has been struck on the back of the head – mebbe by the keel of the steamer – "

She paid no heed to him – no, nor to any who were standing there. She threw herself on her knees beside the prostrate figure; with her warm hands she pushed back the coal-black tangled hair; she bent down close to him; she spoke to him, almost in a whisper – but with a passionate tenderness that might have thrilled the dead.

"Donald! – speak to me! – tell me I have not killed you! – I sent you away – yes – but my heart has cried for you to come back – speak to me! – speak to me! – Donald! – do you not hear me? – Donald – "

Was it the touch of her warm, trembling fingers about his face, or was it the low-breathing, piteous cry of her voice that seemed to stir his pulses and call him slowly back to life? The eyelids opened wearily – to find this wonderful vision hanging over him, and they seemed to rest there and understand.

"Mo-lua!"[2 - Mo-luaidh– My dearest one, or my most-prized one.] he murmured.

She did not know the meaning of the phrase; but the look in his eyes was enough. She held his hand as they carried him up to the house.

* * * * *

It was on a clear and white-shining morning in the following spring that Donald Ross and his newly-wedded bride were walking arm-in-arm through the budding larch-woods, the sun warm on the green bracken, on the golden furze, and on the grey rocks. She was angry with him; though the anger did not show much in her dimpled and fresh-tinted cheeks, nor yet in her eyes, where the love-light lay only half-concealed by the modest lashes.

"It is a pestilent language!" she was saying, with frowning brows. "I do believe the heavens and the earth shall pass away before I become thoroughly acquainted with that awful grammar; and unless, as Barbara says, I 'have the Gaelic,' how am I ever to get into proper relationship with the people about here? – yes, and how am I to be sure that you are not stealing away their hearts from me? Oh, it is a very pretty trick, the stealing away of hearts – you are rather clever at it," said she, with downcast and smiling eyes.

"Mo-ghaol," said he (and there were some Gaelic phrases, at least, of which she had by this time got to know the meaning well enough), "I thought you were going to let me be your interpreter."

"Why do you not begin, then? Where are the verses that Mrs. Armour sent?" she said. "You promised you would write out a translation for me."

"And so I have," he answered her – yet with some apparent unwillingness. "I have written out a translation, in a kind of a way, because you insisted on it. But it is a shame. For the Gaelic is a most expressive language; and all the subtlety and grace of the original escape when you come down to a literal rendering in English. Besides, what skill have I in such things? If you like, I will send it to the editor of the Celtic Magazine, and ask him to get it properly translated – he has printed some of Mrs. Armour's pieces before now – in Gaelic, of course – "

"I want your version – none other," she said, imperatively.

"Very well, very well; I will read it to you," said he, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Here is a seat for you."

It was a rock mostly covered by soft green moss; and when she had seated herself, he threw himself down on the bracken by her side, leaning his head against her knee. And this is what the old dame out there in Canada had sent them as her humble wedding-gift – perhaps, as to the form of it, with some recollection of the song of the Princess Deirdri influencing her unequal lines: —

I am far from the land of my fathers.
I sit and mourn because of the great distance.
My old age brings me no comfort,
Since I am far from my own land.

My eyes strain across the wide ocean.
I see the lofty hills, and the peaks, and the glens;
I see the corries where the wide-antlered deer wander.
Joyful to me was my youth there.

I see the woods, deep-sheltered;
I see the rivers flowing by the rocks;
I see the sandy bays, and the headlands;
I see the sun [setting] behind Eilean Heimra.

Ru-Minard, O Ru-Minard! —
The promontory facing the great waves:
Often as a girl have I sate and watched the ships,
Singing to myself on Ru-Minard.

Loch-Heimra, O Loch-Heimra! —
Pleasant its shores, with the many birches;
Sweet were the youthful moments I spent watching
For one that I used to meet by Loch-Heimra.

Lochgarra, O Lochgarra! —
The fair town – the Town of the Big House —

"I wonder if the Americans know the meaning of Baltimore?" he said; and then he went on again —

Dear to me were my friends, happy the hours.
We spent together at Lochgarra.

But to-day there is no more of mourning;
To-day my old age is comforted;
To-day I lift up my voice, I send a message,
Across the sea to the dear one of my heart.

Well I remember him, the young boy fearless;
Fearless on the land, fearless on the sea;
Clinging to the crags seeking the ravens' nests.
Proud was I of Young Donald —

"There are some more verses about me," he again interpolated. "I will skip them."

"You shall not," she said. "Not a single word."

"Oh, how can I read all this about myself!" he protested.

"Well, then, give me the paper," said she, and she leant over and took it from him. Nor did she return it. She read right on to the end – though not aloud —

My eyes have beheld him come to man's estate.
Proudly I name him: Donald, son of John, son of Roderick.
Of the ancient Clan Anrias, high he holds his head.
Joyful were my eyes when I beheld him.

Swift and alert, firm-sinewed as a man.
Laughing and light-hearted: dangerous to his foe.
Strong as an eagle to choose his mate,
Strong likewise to defend her.

Bold-eyed and resolute; confident at the helm;
Long-enduring; scornful of danger.