It may appear strange that they should behave so like lovers in the presence of any third person, much more in the presence of Alec. But Beauchamp had now made progress enough to secure his revenge of mortification; and for that, with the power which he had acquired over Kate's sensitive nature, he drew her into the sphere of his flaunted triumph, and made her wound Alec to the root of his vulnerable being.

Had Alec then seen his own face, he would have seen upon it the sneer that he hated so upon that of Beauchamp. For all wickedness tends to destroy individuality, and declining natures a.s.similate as they sink.

Other visitors arrived, and Alec found a strange delight in behaving as if he knew of no hidden wound, and his mind were in a state of absolute _neglig?_. But how would he meet the cold wind blowing over the desolate links?

Some music, and a good deal of provincial talk--not always less human and elevating than the metropolitan--followed. Beauchamp moderated his attentions to Kate; but Alec saw that it was in compliance with his desire that, though reluctant, she went a second time to the piano. The song she had just sung was insignificant enough; but the second was one of the ballads of her old Thulian nurse, and had the merit of an antique northern foundation at least, although it had evidently pa.s.sed through the hands of a lowland poet before it had, in its present form, found its way northwards again to the Shetland Isles. The first tone of the ghostly music startled Alec, and would have arrested him even if the voice had not been Kate's.

"Sweep up the flure, Janet.

Put on anither peat.

It's a lown and starry nicht, Janet, And neither cauld nor weet.

And it's open hoose we keep the nicht For ony that may be oot.

It's the nicht atween the Sancts and Souls, Whan the bodiless gang aboot

Set the chairs back to the wa', Janet; Mak' ready for quaiet fowk.

Hae a' thing as clean as a win'in' sheet: They comena ilka ook.

There's a spale* upo' the flure, Janet; And there's a rowan-berry: Sweep them into the fire, Janet.-- They'll be welcomer than merry.

Syne set open the door, Janet-- Wide open for wha kens wha; As ye come benn to yer bed, Janet, Set it open to the wa'."

She set the chairs back to the wa', But ane made o' the birk; She sweepit the flure,--left that ae spale, A lang spale o' the aik.

The nicht was lowne, and the stars sat still, Aglintin' doon the sky; And the souls c.r.a.p oot o' their mooly graves, A' dank wi' lyin' by.

She had set the door wide to the wa', And blawn the peats rosy reid; They war shoonless feet gaed oot and in, Nor clampit as they gaed.

Whan midnicht cam', the mither rase-- She wad gae see and hear.

Back she cam' wi' a glowerin' face, And sloomin' wi' verra fear.

* A wood-shaving.

"There's ane o' them sittin' afore the fire!

Janet, gang na to see: Ye left a chair afore the fire, Whaur I tauld ye nae chair sud be."

Janet she smiled in her mother's face: She had brunt the roddin reid; And she left aneath the birken chair The spale frae a coffin-lid.

She rase and she gaed b.u.t.t the hoose, Aye steekin' door and door.

Three hours gaed by or her mother heard Her fit upo' the floor.

But whan the grey c.o.c.k crew, she heard The sound o' shoeless feet; Whan the red c.o.c.k crew, she heard the door, And a sough o' wind and weet.

And Janet cam' back wi' a wan face, But never a word said she; No man ever heard her voice lood oot, It cam' like frae ower the sea.

And no man ever heard her lauch, Nor yet say alas or wae; But a smile aye glimmert on her wan face, Like the moonlicht on the sea.

And ilka nicht 'tween the Sancts and the Souls, Wide open she set the door; And she mendit the fire, and she left ae chair, And that spale upo' the floor.

And at midnicht she gaed b.u.t.t the hoose, Aye steekin' door and door.

Whan the reid c.o.c.k crew, she cam' benn the hoose, Aye wanner than afore--

Wanner her face, and sweeter her smile; Till the seventh All Souls' eve.

Her mother she heard the shoeless feet, Said "she's comin', I believe."

But she camna benn, and her mother lay; For fear she cudna stan'.

But up she rase and benn she gaed, Whan the gowden c.o.c.k had crawn.

And Janet sat upo' the chair, White as the day did daw; Her smile was a sunlight left on the sea, Whan the sun has gane awa'.

Alec had never till now heard her sing really. Wild music and eerie ballad together filled and absorbed him. He was still gazing at her lovely head, when the last wailing sounds of the accompaniment ceased, and her face turned round, white as Janet's. She gave one glance of unutterable feeling up into Beauchamp's face, and hiding her own in her handkerchief, sobbed out, "You would make me sing it!" and left the room.

Alec's heart swelled with indignant sympathy. But what could he do? The room became insupportable the moment she had quitted it, and he made his way to the door. As he opened it, he could not help glancing at Beauchamp. Instead of the dismay he expected, he saw triumph on his pale countenance, and in the curl of his scarred lip.--He flew frantic from the house. The sky was crowded with the watchings of starry eyes.

To his fancy, they were like Beauchamp's, and he hated them. Seeking refuge from their gaze, he rushed to the library, and threw himself on a heap of foreign books, which he had that morning arranged for binding. A ghostly glimmer from the snow, and the stars overhead, made the darkness thinner about the windows; but there was no other light in the place; and there he lay, feeling darker within than the night around him. Kate was weeping in her room; that contemptible ape had wounded her; and instead of being sorry for it, was rejoicing in his power. And he could not go to her; she would receive no comfort from him.

It was a bitter hour. Eternity must be very rich to make up for some such hours.

He had lain a long time with his face down upon the books, when he suddenly started and listened. He heard the sound of an opening door, but not of the door in ordinary use. Thinking it proceeded from some thievish intent, he kept still. There was another door, in a corner, covered with books, but it was never opened at all. It communicated with a part of the buildings of the quadrangle which had been used for the abode of the students under a former economy. It had been abandoned now for many years, as none slept any longer within the walls of the college. Alec knew all this, but he did not know that there was also a communication between this empty region and Mr Fraser's house; or that the library had been used before as a _tryst_ by Beauchamp and Kate.

The door closed, and the light of a lantern flashed to the ceiling.

Wondering that such a place should excite the cupidity of housebreakers, yet convinced that such the intruders were, Alec moved gently into the embrasure of one of the windows, against the corner of which ab.u.t.ted a screen of book-shelves. A certain light rustling, however, startled him into doubt, and the doubt soon pa.s.sed into painful conviction.

"Why were you so unkind, Patrick?" said the voice of Kate. "You know it kills me to sing that ballad. I cannot bear it."

"Why should you mind singing an old song your nurse taught you?"

"My nurse learned it from my mother. Oh Patrick! what _would_ my mother say if she knew that I met you this way? You shouldn't ask me. You know I can refuse you nothing; and you should be generous."

Alec could not hear his answer, and he knew why. That scar on his lip!

Kate's lips there!

Of course Alec ought not to have listened. But the fact was, that, for the time, all consciousness of free will and capability of action had vanished from his mind. His soul was but a black gulf into which poured the Phlegethontic cataract of their conversation.

"Ah, yes, Patrick! Kisses are easy. But you hurt me terribly sometimes.

And I know why. You hate my cousin, poor boy!--and you want me to hate him too. I wonder if you love me as much as he does!--or did; for surely I have been unkind enough to cure him of loving me. Surely you are not jealous of him?"

"Jealous of _him_!--I should think not!"

Human expression could have thrown no more scorn into the word.

"But you hate him."

"I don't hate him. He's not worth hating--the awkward steer!--although I confess I have cause to dislike him, and have some gratification in mortifying him. But he's not a pleasant subject to me."

"His mother has been very kind to me. I wish you would make it up with him for my sake, Patrick. He may be uncouth and awkward--I don't know--but that's no reason for hating him. I love you so that I could love anybody that loved you. You don't know how I love you, Patrick--though you are unkind sometimes. The world used to look so cold, and narrow, and grey; but now there is a flush like sunset over everything, and I am so happy! Patrick, don't make me do things before my cousin that will hurt him."

Alec knew that she pressed closer to Beauchamp, and offered him her face.

"Listen, my Kate," said Beauchamp. "I know there are things you cannot bear to hear; but you must hear this."