Underneath that
violet bank of cloud the sun was
forging his beams
of light. The pole-star paled. The
breath of the new
morrow stole
up out of the rosy grey. The wings of the morning stirred and
trembled; and in the darkness and chill and
mysterious awakening
eyes looked into other eyes, hand sought hand, and cheeks touched
each other in mute caress.
Chapter XXVII. Three magpies and a marriage.
`Sun,
gallop down the westlin skies,
Gang soon to bed, an' quickly rise;
O lash your steeds, post time away,
And haste about our
bridal day!'
The Gentle Shepherd.
Every noon, during this last week, as we have wended our way up the
loaning to the Pettybaw inn for our
luncheon, we have passed three
magpies sitting together on the topmost rail of the fence. I am not
prepared to state that they were always the same magpies; I only
know there were always three of them. We have just discovered what
they were about, and great is the
excitement in our little circle.
I am to be married to-
morrow, and married in Pettybaw, and Miss
Grieve says that in Scotland the number of magpies one sees is of
infinite
significance: that one means sorrow; two, mirth; three, a
marriage; four, a birth, and we now recall as corroborative detail
that we saw one magpie, our first, on the afternoon of her arrival.
Mr. Beresford has been cabled for, and must return to America at
once on important business. He persuaded me that the Atlantic is an
ower large body of water to roll between two lovers, and I agreed
with all my heart.
A
wedding was arranged,
mostly by
telegraph, in six hours. The
Reverend Ronald and the Friar are to perform the
ceremony; a dear
old
painter friend of mine, a London R.A., will come to give me
away; Francesca will be my maid of honour; Elizabeth Ardmore and
Jean Dalziel, my bride
maidens; Robin Anstruther, the best man; while
Jamie and Ralph will be kilted pages-in-waiting, and Lady Ardmore
will give the breakfast at the Castle.
Never was there such
generosity, such
hospitality, such
wealth of
friendship! True, I have no
wedding finery; but as I am perforce a
Scottish bride, I can be married in the white gown with the silver
thistles in which I went to Holyrood.
Mr. Anstruther took a night train to and from London to choose the
bouquets and
bridal souvenirs. Lady Baird has sent the veil, and a
wonderful diamond
thistle to pin it on,--a jewel fit for a princess!
With the dear Dominie's note
promising to be an usher came an
antique silver
casket filled with white
heather. And as for the
bride-cake, it is one of Salemina's gifts, chosen as much in a
spirit of fun as
affection. It is surely
appropriate for this
American
wedding transplanted to Scottish soil, and what should it
be but a model, in fairy icing, of Sir Walter's beautiful
monumentin Princes Street! Of course Francesca is full of nonsensical quips
about it, and says that the Edinburgh jail would have been just as
fine architecturally (it is, in truth, a building beautiful enough
to tempt an aesthete to crime), and a much more
fittingsymbol for a
wedding-cake, unless, indeed, she adds, Salemina intends her gift to
be a
monument to my folly.
Pettybaw kirk is trimmed with yellow broom from these dear Scottish
banks and braes; and waving their green fans and plumes up and down
the aisle where I shall walk a bride, are tall ferns and bracken
from Crummylowe Glen, where we played
ballads.
As I look back upon it, the life here has been all a
ballad from
first to last. Like the elfin Tam Lin,
`The queen o' fairies she caught me
In this green hill to dwell,'
and these hasty nuptials are a
fittingly
romanticending to the
summer's
poetry. I am in a mood, were it necessary, to be `ta'en by
the milk-white hand,' lifted to a pillion on a coal-black charger,
and spirited `o'er the border an' awa'' by my dear Jock o'
Hazeldean. Unhappily, all is quite regular and aboveboard; no `lord
o' Langley dale' contests the prize with the
bridegroom, but the
marriage is at least
unique and unconventional; no one can rob me of
that sweet consolation.
So `
gallop down the westlin skies,' dear Sun, but, prythee,
gallopback to-
morrow! `Gang soon to bed,' an you will, but rise again
betimes! Give me Queen's weather, dear Sun, and shine a benison
upon my
wedding-morn!
[Exit Penelope into the
ballad-land of
maiden dreams.]
End