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Weir of Hermiston-Part17_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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young with the youth of goddesses.

"Mr. Erchie," she began, "what's this that's come to ye?"



"I am not aware of anything that has come," said Archie, and blushed,

and repented bitterly that he had let her in.



"O, my dear, that'll no dae!" said Kirstie. "It's ill to blend the eyes

of love. O, Mr. Erchie, tak a thocht ere it's ower late. Ye shouldna



be impatient o' the braws o' life, they'll a' come in their saison, like

the sun and the rain. Ye're young yet; ye've mony cantie years afore



ye. See and dinna wreck yersel' at the outset like sae mony ithers!

Hae patience - they telled me aye that was the owercome o' life - hae



patience, there's a braw day coming yet. Gude kens it never cam to me;

and here I am, wi' nayther man nor bairn to ca' my ain, wearying a'



folks wi' my ill tongue, and you just the first, Mr. Erchie!"

"I have a difficulty in knowing what you mean," said Archie.



"Weel, and I'll tell ye," she said. "It's just this, that I'm feared.

I'm feared for ye, my dear. Remember, your faither is a hard man,



reaping where he hasna sowed and gaithering where he hasna strawed.

It's easy speakin', but mind! Ye'll have to look in the gurly face o'm,



where it's ill to look, and vain to look for mercy. Ye mind me o' a

bonny ship pitten oot into the black and gowsty seas - ye're a' safe



still, sittin' quait and crackin' wi' Kirstie in your lown chalmer; but

whaur will ye be the morn, and in whatten horror o' the fearsome



tempest, cryin' on the hills to cover ye?"

"Why, Kirstie, you're very enigmatical to-night - and very eloquent,"



Archie put in.

"And, my dear Mr. Erchie," she continued, with a change of voice, "ye



mauna think that I canna sympathise wi' ye. Ye mauna think that I

havena been young mysel'. Lang syne, when I was a bit lassie, no twenty



yet - " She paused and sighed. "Clean and caller, wi' a fit like the

hinney bee," she continned. "I was aye big and buirdly, ye maun



understand; a bonny figure o' a woman, though I say it that suldna -

built to rear bairns - braw bairns they suld hae been, and grand I would



hae likit it! But I was young, dear, wi' the bonny glint o' youth in my

e'en, and little I dreamed I'd ever be tellin' ye this, an auld, lanely,



rudas wife! Weel, Mr. Erchie, there was a lad cam' courtin' me, as was

but naetural. Mony had come before, and I would nane o' them. But this



yin had a tongue to wile the birds frae the lift and the bees frae the

foxglove bells. Deary me, but it's lang syne! Folk have dee'd sinsyne



and been buried, and are forgotten, and bairns been born and got merrit

and got bairns o' their ain. Sinsyne woods have been plantit, and have



grawn up and are bonny trees, and the joes sit in their shadow, and

sinsyne auld estates have changed hands, and there have been wars and



rumours of wars on the face of the earth. And here I'm still - like an

auld droopit craw - lookin' on and craikin'! But, Mr. Erchie, do ye no



think that I have mind o' it a' still? I was dwalling then in my

faither's house; and it's a curious thing that we were whiles trysted in



the Deil's Hags. And do ye no think that I have mind of the bonny

simmer days, the lang miles o' the bluid-red heather, the cryin' of the



whaups, and the lad and the lassie that was trysted? Do ye no think

that I mind how the hilly sweetness ran about my hairt? Ay, Mr. Erchie,



I ken the way o' it - fine do I ken the way - how the grace o' God takes

them, like Paul of Tarsus, when they think it least, and drives the pair



o' them into a land which is like a dream, and the world and the folks

in't' are nae mair than clouds to the puir lassie, and heeven nae mair



than windle-straes, if she can but pleesure him! Until Tam dee'd - that

was my story," she broke off to say, "he dee'd, and I wasna at the



buryin'. But while he was here, I could take care o' mysel'. And can

yon puir lassie?"



Kirstie, her eyes shining with unshed tears, stretched out her hand

towards him appealingly; the bright and the dull gold of her hair



flashed and smouldered in the coils behind her comely head, like the

rays of an eternal youth; the pure colour had risen in her face; and



Archie was abashed alike by her beauty and her story. He came towards

her slowly from the window, took up her hand in his and kissed it.



"Kirstie," he said hoarsely, "you have misjudged me sorely. I have

always thought of her, I wouldna harm her for the universe, my woman!"



"Eh, lad, and that's easy sayin'," cried Kirstie, "but it's nane sae

easy doin'! Man, do ye no comprehend that it's God's wull we should be



blendit and glamoured, and have nae command over our ain members at a

time like that? My bairn," she cried, still holding his hand, "think o'



the puir lass! have pity upon her, Erchie! and O, be wise for twa!

Think o' the risk she rins! I have seen ye, and what's to prevent






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