Part 10 (2/2)
”It is our fish, is it not?--and a good omen,” he said, as he secured the prize which fluttered at her feet.
”It is our 'luck,'” she replied gaily; ”but we can boast of little skill in angling;” at which they both laughed, low but heartily, at the thought how far into foreign fields they had rambled, leaving their fis.h.i.+ng to chance, and in that merry glance was laid the foundation of sympathy, appreciation, and friends.h.i.+p.
When they returned to the grove they were joined by Hugh, Grace, Maud, and Ralph, whose success had been most woefully indifferent. Those discomfited anglers looked with undisguised envy on the great piscatorial prize, and while it was frying on the fire, which Scott and Robbie kindled, they all lent a ready ear to the malicious story which the latter urchin told--”That Cliff had brought a mackerel to the picnic, and it was that same identical fish which they were frying.”
When the cloth was spread on the gra.s.s, and the great fish, garnished with elder-blooms and wild-roses, was given the place of honor at the feast, Hugh Estill said:--
”Now, Mora, please pa.s.s the mackerel.”
Only then was the fact made plain that Robbie was a boy, given to telling ”fish stories,” and could be trusted and relied upon only at the dinner-table.
Ah! it was a gleeful hour at that _al fresco_ meal,--the soft breeze stirring the tree-tops, and the bright sunlight sifting down through the fluttering leaves on the silver and crystal, the frosty cake and quivering jelly, the crimson and gold, and, above all, the happy faces of our young friends.
Dancing and an impromptu concert, followed by charades on a temporary stage, served to pa.s.s away a few more blissful hours: then the revelers broke into groups and couples, sauntering into shady nooks, and engaging in those long and confidential chats which are totally devoid of interest to any save themselves.
Miss Estill and young Warlow were seated upon a bank where the mingled sunlight and pale shadows flickered softly over the lush and tender sward, and their conversation steered away from the shoals and quagmires of match-making and matrimony to the vague and mystic fields of metaphysics.
”Do you know, Miss Estill, that I have--a dim impression, shall I call it?--of having met you somewhere before?”
”Yes; I remember distinctly of your having not only met me, but also kindly helping me catch a fish, before,” she replied, archly.
Clifford said, in a laughing manner, that he was not so ungallant as to forget that thrilling adventure, then he continued in an earnest tone:--
”I feel like we had met long years ago; and somehow, Miss Estill, it all appears so natural to be with you, to hear your tones and see your face, that it is like the return of some dear friend whom you have longed to see for years.”
”You almost make me believe in the theory of the transmigration of souls, Mr. Warlow. How very possible it may have been that in some dim, pre-historic age you and I were a pair of giant king-fishers, who to-day were reunited on the banks of our favorite stream after the lapse of untold ages!--and what is more natural than we should take to our antediluvian occupation at once?” and she peered down into the pool with a sidelong glance as though searching for her finny prey, while Clifford shook with merriment at her happy imitation of that uncanny bird.
”I never was a firm believer in Swedenborg; yet the thought haunts me still that I certainly have met you before to-day, although, as you say, it may have been in some previous happy state, Miss Estill.”
”Now, to be frank, Mr. Warlow, I confess to being a bit superst.i.tious, which may be owing, however, to my living so isolated from society all these years that I even welcomed company of a supernatural nature, which, you know, is better than none.”
”Why, it can not be that your vicinity is peopled by shrieking ghosts, too?” said Clifford quickly, as the memory of the spectre of the Stone Corral came to mind, which in the turmoil of their busy lives had been nearly forgotten.
”I can not see why I should revert to such a subject to-day; but some way the mention of transmigration of souls brought the remembrance of the Gray Spectre to my mind,” said she, glancing furtively over her shoulder; then, as she caught young Warlow's amused look, she smiled responsively, and continued:--
”You too have a skeleton in the family, I perceive; so let's unburden our souls and exchange confidences.”
”With all my heart,” said Clifford; ”I am glad we have such a mutual bond of sympathy.”
Then he told how the gray-robed figure had startled the group at the camp-fire, and fled shrieking away, that memorable evening more than a year before; and although all of their family had maintained an apprehensive outlook for a second visit from his spooks.h.i.+p, they never had been molested further; and he concluded by saying:--
”But I hope, Miss Estill, your experience will throw some light on the mystery.”
”It is undoubtedly the same spectral being which has haunted our ranch for the past twenty-five years, and which has eluded pursuit on every occasion, although papa, Hugh, and several herders have endeavored, more or less bravely, to trace it; but the mysterious apparition always vanishes into the night without leaving a trace. Why, I have become so fearful that, like the daughter of the bold Glengyle,--
'Alone I dare not venture there, Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost,'--
and I often fly at the sight of my own shadow,” said Miss Estill. ”One evening, Mr. Warlow, I was riding by a peculiarly lonesome spot near home,--a lofty hill on which there is the grave of a mysterious relative, who died near a quarter of a century since, and of whose history I can learn but little. Although Hugh and I often question our parents about him, they seem to evade our inquiries. I had reached a point close to the grave,--which is all overgrown with thistles, notwithstanding the fact that I had repeatedly planted flowers and roses there that had always refused to grow,--when that same hideous, gray-robed creature emerged from the thicket about the grave, and as I halted, frozen with horror at the sight, the gaunt wretch glared a moment, then fled shrieking away in the darkling twilight. Oh, I never paused to investigate, you may believe, but gave rein to my pony, which was as badly frightened as myself, and flew home like the wind,” said Miss Estill with a s.h.i.+ver.
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