Good Reading: "To Rhea" by Ralph W. Emerson (in Portuguese)

Thee, dear friend, a brother soothes,
Not with flatteries, but truths,
Which tarnish not, but purify
To light which dims the morning's eye.
I have come from the spring-woods,
From the fragrant solitudes;—
Listen what the poplar-tree
And murmuring waters counselled me.


If with love thy heart has burned;
If thy love is unreturned;
Hide thy grief within thy breast,
Though it tear thee unexpressed;
For when love has once departed
From the eyes of the false-hearted,
And one by one has torn off quite
The bandages of purple light;
Though thou wert the loveliest
Form the soul had ever dressed,
Thou shalt seem, in each reply,
A vixen to his altered eye;
Thy softest pleadings seem too bold,
Thy praying lute will seem to scold;
Though thou kept the straightest road,
Yet thou errest far and broad.


But thou shalt do as do the gods
In their cloudless periods;
For of this lore be thou sure,—
Though thou forget, the gods, secure,
Forget never their command,
But make the statute of this land.
As they lead, so follow all,
Ever have done, ever shall.
Warning to the blind and deaf,
'T is written on the iron leaf,
Who drinks of Cupid's nectar cup
Loveth downward, and not up;
He who loves, of gods or men,
Shall not by the same be loved again;
His sweetheart's idolatry
Falls, in turn, a new degree.
When a god is once beguiled
By beauty of a mortal child
And by her radiant youth delighted,
He is not fooled, but warily knoweth
His love shall never be requited.
And thus the wise Immortal doeth,—
'T is his study and delight
To bless that creature day and night;
From all evils to defend her;
In her lap to pour all splendor;
To ransack earth for riches rare,
And fetch her stars to deck her hair:
He mixes music with her thoughts,
And saddens her with heavenly doubts:
All grace, all good his great heart knows,
Profuse in love, the king bestows,
Saying, 'Hearken! Earth, Sea, Air!
This monument of my despair
Build I to the All-Good, All-Fair.
Not for a private good,
But I, from my beatitude,
Albeit scorned as none was scorned,
Adorn her as was none adorned.
I make this maiden an ensample
To Nature, through her kingdoms ample,
Whereby to model newer races,
Statelier forms and fairer faces;
To carry man to new degrees
Of power and of comeliness.
These presents be the hostages
Which I pawn for my release.
See to thyself, O Universe!
Thou art better, and not worse.'—
And the god, having given all,
Is freed forever from his thrall.

Tuesday's Serial "The Mystery of the Sea" by Bram Stoker (in English) - V

 

CHAPTER X - A CLEAR HORIZON

If any ordinary person be afflicted with ennui and want something to take his thoughts away from a perpetual consideration of his own weariness let me recommend him to take up the interpretation of secret writing. At first, perhaps, he may regard the matter lightly and be inclined to smile at its triviality. But after a little while, if he have in him at all any of the persistence or doggedness which is, and should be, a part of a man’s nature, he will find the subject take possession of him to the almost entire exclusion of all else. Turn from it how he will; make he never so many resolutions to put the matter behind him; try he never so hard to find some more engrossing topic, he will still find the evasive mystery ever close before him. For my own part I can honestly say that I ate, drank, slept and dreamed secret writing during the entire of the days and nights which intervened between my taking up the task and the coming of Miss Anita to Cruden Bay. All day long the hidden mystery was before me; wherever I was, in my room, still or contorting myself; walking on the beach; or out on the headlands, with the breezes singing in my ears, and the waves lapping below my feet. Hitherto in my life my only experience of haunting had been that of Gormala; but even that experience failed before the ever-hopeful, ever-baffling subject of the cryptograms. The worst of my feeling, and that which made it more poignant, was that I was of the firm belief not only that there was a cryptogram but that my mind was already on the track of it. Every now and again, sometimes when the MS. or its copy was before me and sometimes when I was out in the open, for the moment not thinking of it at all, a sort of inspiration would come to me; some sort of root idea whose full significance I felt it difficult to grasp.

My first relief came on Tuesday when at noon I saw the high dog-cart dash past the gate and draw up short opposite the post-office.

I did not lose any time in reaching the cart so as to be able to help the ladies down. Marjory gave me both her hands and jumped lightly, but the elder lady required a good deal of help. It is always thus; the experience of every young man is the same. Every woman, old or young, except the one whom he likes to lift or carry tenderly, is willing to be lifted or carried in the most leisurely or self-denying manner.

When Mrs. Jack and ‘her friend’ had come into the hotel sitting-room the latter said to me:

“I hope you forgive us for all the trouble we have put you to.”

“No trouble at all,” I answered—and oh! it sounded so tame—“only a pleasure!” “Thank you,” she continued gravely, “that is very nice of you. Now we want you to add to your kindness and take us out again on that rock. I have not yet finished my sketch, and I don’t like to be baffled.”

“Finished your sketch, my dear,” said Mrs. Jack, in a tone which manifestly showed that the whole thing was new to her. “Why, Marjory, it was washed into the sea before Mr. Hunter came to help us!” The slight, quick blush which rose to her face showed that she understood the false position in which the maladroit remark placed her; but she went on pluckily:

“Oh, yes, dear, I know! What I mean is, that having set my heart on making that sketch, I want to do it; even if my first effort went wrong. That is, dear Mrs. Jack, if you do not mind our going out there again.”

“Oh, my dear,” said the elder lady, “of course I will do just whatever you wish. But I suppose it will do if I sit on the rock near at hand? Somehow, since our experience there, I seem to prefer the mainland than any place where you may have to swim to get away from it.” Marjory smiled at me as she said to her:

“That will do capitally. And you can keep the lunch basket; and have your eye on me and the rising of the tide all the time.”

So I sent to Whinnyfold to have a boat ready when we should drive over. Whilst the ladies were preparing themselves for the boating trip I went to my room and took in my pocket the papers from the chest and my rescripts. I took also the letter which I had not been able to deliver.

At Whinnyfold Miss Anita and I took the steep zigzag to the beach, piloted by one of John Hay’s boys whilst the other took Mrs. Jack across the neck of the headland to the Sand Craigs.

As we went down the steep path, the vision of the procession of ghosts moving steadily up it on Lammas Eve, came back to me; instinctively I looked round to see if Gormala was watching. I breathed more freely when I saw she was not about.

I should dearly have liked to take Miss Anita alone in the boat, but I feared that such was not safe. Rowing amongst the rocks of the Skares is at the best of times no child’s play, and I was guardian of too great a treasure to be willing to run any risks. Young Hay and I pulled, the boy being in the bow and doing the steering. This position of affairs suited me admirably, for it kept me close to my companion and facing her. It was at all times a pleasure to me as it would have been to any man, to watch her face; but to-day her eager joy at the beauty of all around her made me thrill with delight. The day was ideal for the place; a bright, clear day with just a ripple of wind from the water which took the edge from the July heat. The sea quivered with points of light, as though it were strewn with diamonds, and the lines of the racing tide threading a way amongst the rocks below were alone an endless source of interest. We rowed slowly which is much the safest way of progression in these waters, and especially when, as now, the tide was running towards the end of the ebb. As the boy seemed to know every one of the myriad rocks which topped the water, and by a sort of instinct even those that lay below, we steered a devious course. I had told him to take us round by the outer rocks from which thousands of seabirds rose screaming as we approached; and as we crept in under the largest of them we felt that mysterious sense of unworthiness which comes to one in deep water under the shadow of rocks. I could see that Marjory had the sense of doubt, or of possible danger, which made her clutch hard at each gunwale of the boat till her knuckles grew white. As we rounded the Reivie o’ Pircappies, and found the tide swirling amongst the pointed rocks, she grew so deadly pale that I felt concerned. I should have liked to question her, but as I knew from my experience of her courage that she would probably prefer that I remained silent, I pretended not to notice. Male pretence does not count for much with women. She saw through me at once, and with a faint smile, which lit the pallor of her face like sunshine on snow, she said in so low a whisper that it did not reach the fisher boy:

“I was thinking what it would have been for us that day—only for you.”

 “I was glad,” I answered in an equally low voice, “to be able to render any help to—to Mrs. Jack and her friend.”

“Mrs. Jack—and her friend—are very much obliged to you,” she answered gaily in her natural voice and tone. I could see that she had fully regained her courage, as involuntarily she took her hands from the sides of the boat. We kept now well out from the rocks and in deep water, and shortly sighted the Sand Craigs. As we could see Mrs. Jack and her escort trudging leisurely along the sand, and as we did not wish to hurry her, I asked young Hay with my companion’s consent, to keep round the outermost of the Sand Craigs, which was now grey-white with sea-gulls. On our approach the birds all rose and wheeled round with myriad screaming; the wonder and admiration of the girl’s eyes as they eagerly followed the sweep of the cloud of birds was good to see.

We hung around the great pointed rock till we saw Mrs. Jack making her way cautiously along the rocks. We rowed at once to the inner rock and placed the luncheon basket in a safe place. We then prepared a little sheltered nook for Mrs. Jack, with rugs and cushions so that she might be quite at ease. Miss Anita chose the place herself. I am bound to say it was not just as I should have selected; for when she sat down, her back was towards the rock from which she had been rescued. It was doubtless the young girl’s thoughtfulness in keeping her mind away from a place fraught with such unpleasant memories.

When she was safely installed we dismissed the boys till the half tide. Mrs. Jack was somewhat tired with her trudge over the sand, and even when we left her she was nodding her head with coming sleep. Then Miss Anita got out her little easel which I fixed for her as she directed; when her camp stool was rightly placed and her palette prepared I sat down on the rock at her feet and looked at her whilst she began her work. For a little while she painted in silence: then turning to me she said suddenly:

“What about those papers? Have you found anything yet?” It was only then I bethought me of the letter in my pocket. Without a word I took it out and handed it to her. There was a slight blush as well as a smile on her face as she took it. When she saw the date she said impulsively:

“Why did I not get it before?”

“Because I had not got your address, and did not know how to reach you.”

“I see!” she answered abstractedly as she began to read. When she had gone right through it she handed it to me and said:

“Now you read it out loud to me whilst I paint; and let me ask questions so that I may understand.” So I read; and now and again she asked me searching questions. Twice or three times I had to read over the memorandum; but each time she began to understand better and better, and at last said eagerly:

“Have you ever worked out such reductions?”

“Not yet, but I could do so. I have been so busy trying to decipher the secret writing that I have not had time to try any such writing myself.”

“Have you succeeded in any way?”

“No!” I answered. “I am sorry to say that as yet I have nothing definite; though I am bound to say I am satisfied that there is a cipher.”

“Have you tried both the numbers and the dots?”

“Both,” I answered; “but as yet I want a jumping-off place.”

“Do you really think from what you have studied that the cipher is a biliteral one, or on the basis of a biliteral cipher?”

“I do! I can’t say exactly how I came to think so; but I certainly do.”

“Are there combinations of five?”

“Not that I can see.”

“Are there combinations of less than five?”

“There may be. There are certainly.”

“Then why on earth don’t you begin by reducing the biliteral cipher to the lowest dimensions you can manage? You may light on something that way.”

A light began to dawn upon me, and I determined that my task—so soon as my friends had left Cruden—would be to reduce Bacon’s biliteral. It was with genuine admiration for her suggestion that I answered Miss Anita:

“Your woman’s intuition is quicker than my man’s ratiocination. ‘I shall in all my best obey you, Madam!’” She painted away steadily for some time. I was looking at her, covertly but steadily when an odd flash of memory came to me; without thinking I spoke:

“When I first saw you, as you and Mrs. Jack stood on the rock, and away beyond you the rocks were all fringed with foam, your head looked as if it was decked with flowers.” For a moment or two she paused before asking:

“What kind of flowers?”

Once again in our brief acquaintance I stood on guard. There was something in her voice which made me pause. It made my brain whirl, too, but there was a note of warning. At this time, God knows, I did not want any spurring. I was head over heels in love with the girl, and my only fear was lest by precipitancy I should spoil it all. Not for the wide world would I have cancelled the hopes that were dawning in me and filling me with a feverish anxiety. I could not help a sort of satisfied feeling as I answered:

“White flowers!”

“Oh!” she said impulsively, and then with a blush continued, painting hard as she spoke:

“That is what they put on the dead! I see!” This was a counter-stroke with a vengeance. It would not do to let it pass so I added:

“There is another ‘first-column’ function also in which white flowers are used. Besides, they don’t put flowers on the head of corpses.”

“Of whom then?” The note of warning sounded again in the meekness of the voice. But I did not heed it. I did not want to heed it. I answered:

“Of Brides!” She made no reply—in words. She simply raised her eyes and sent one flashing glance through me, and then went on with her work. That glance was to a certain degree encouragement; but it was to a much greater degree dangerous, for it was full of warning. Although my brain was whirling, I kept my head and let her change the conversation with what meekness I could.

We accordingly went back to the cipher. She asked me many questions, and I promised to show her the secret writings when we should go back to the hotel. Here she struck in:

“We have ordered dinner at the hotel; and you are to dine with us.” I tried not to tremble as I answered:

“I shall be delighted.”

“And now,” she said “if we are to have lunch here to-day we had better go and wake Mrs. Jack. See! the tide has been rising all the time we have been talking. It is time to feed the animals.”

Mrs. Jack was surprised when we wakened her; but she too was ready for lunch. We enjoyed the meal hugely.

At half-tide the Hay boys came back. Miss Anita thought that there was enough work for them both in carrying the basket and helping Mrs. Jack back to the carriage. “You will be able to row all right, will you not?” she said, turning to me. “You know the way now and can steer. I shall not be afraid!”

When we were well out beyond the rock and could see the figures of Mrs. Jack and the boys getting further away each step, I took my courage in both hands; I was getting reckless now, and said to her:

“When a man is very anxious about a thing, and is afraid that just for omitting to say what he would like to say, he may lose something that he would give all the rest of the world to have a chance of getting—do—do you think he should remain silent?” I could see that she, too, could realise a note of warning. There was a primness and a want of the usual reality in her voice as she answered me:

“Silence, they say, is golden.” I laughed with a dash of bitterness which I could not help feeling as I replied:

“Then in this world the gold of true happiness is only for the dumb!” she said nothing but looked out with a sort of steadfast introspective eagerness over the million flashing diamonds of the sea; I rowed on with all my strength, glad to let go on something. Presently she turned to me, and with all the lambency of her spirit in her face, said with a sweetness which tingled through me:

“Are you not rowing too hard? You seem anxious to get to Whinnyfold. I fear we shall be there too soon. There is no hurry; we shall meet the others there in good time. Had you not better keep outside the dangerous rocks. There is not a sail in sight; not one, so far as I know, over the whole horizon, so you need not fear any collision. Remember, I do not advise you to cease rowing; for, after all, the current may bear us away if we are merely passive. But row easily; and we may reach the harbour safely and in good time!”

Her speech filled me with a flood of feeling which has no name. It was not love; it was not respect; it was not worship; it was not, gratitude. But it was compounded of them all. I had been of late studying secret writing so earnestly that there was now a possible secret meaning in everything I read. But oh! the poverty of written words beside the gracious richness of speech! No man who had a heart to feel or a brain to understand could have mistaken her meaning. She gave warning, and hope, and courage, and advice; all that wife could give husband, or friend give friend. I only looked at her, and without a word held out my hand. She placed hers in it frankly; for a brief, blissful moment my soul was at one with the brightness of sea and sky.

There, in the very spot where I had seen Lauchlane Macleod go down into the deep, my own life took a new being.

 

CHAPTER XI - IN THE TWILIGHT

It was not without misgiving that I climbed the steep zigzag at Whinnyfold, for at every turn I half expected to see the unwelcome face of Gormala before me. It seemed hardly possible that everything could go on so well with me, and that yet I should not be disturbed by her presence. Miss Anita, I think, saw my uneasiness and guessed the cause of it; I saw her follow my glances round, and then she too kept an eager look out. We won the top, however, and got into the waiting carriage without mishap. At the hotel she asked me to bring to their sitting-room the papers with the secret writing. She gave a whispered explanation that we should be quite alone as Mrs. Jack always took a nap, when possible, before dinner.

She puzzled long and anxiously over the papers and over my enlarged part copy of them. Finally she shook her head and gave it up for the time. Then I told her the chief of the surmises which I had made regarding the means by which the biliteral cipher, did such exist, might be expressed. That it must be by marks of some sort was evident; but which of those used were applied to this purpose I could not yet make out. When I had exhausted my stock of surmises she said:

“More than ever I am convinced that you must begin by reducing the biliteral cipher. Every time I think of it, it seems plainer to me that Bacon, or any one else using such a system, would naturally perfect it if possible. And now let us forget this for the present. I am sure you must want a rest from thinking of the cipher, and I feel that I do. Dinner is ready; after it, if you will, I should like another run down to the beach.”

“Another” run to the beach! then she remembered our former one as a sort of fixed point. My heart swelled within me, and my resolution to take my own course, even if it were an unwise one, grew.

After dinner, we took our way over the sandhills and along the shore towards the Hawklaw, keeping on the line of hard sand just below high-water mark.

The sun was down and the twilight was now beginning. In these northern latitudes twilight is long, and at the beginning differs little from the full light of day. There is a mellowed softness over everything, and all is grey in earth and sea and air. Light, however, there is in abundance at the first. The mystery of twilight, as Southerns know it, comes later on, when the night comes creeping up from over the sea, and the shadows widen into gloom. Still twilight is twilight in any degree of its changing existence; and the sentiment of twilight is the same all the world over. It is a time of itself; between the stress and caution of the day, and the silent oblivion of the night: It is an hour when all living things, beasts as well as human, confine themselves to their own business. With the easy relaxation comes something of self-surrender; soul leans to soul and mind to mind, as does body to body in moments of larger and more complete intention. Just as in the moment after sunset, when the earth is lit not by the narrow disc of the sun but by the glory of the wide heavens above, twin shadows merge into one, so in the twilight two natures which are akin come closer to the identity of one. Between daylight and dark as the myriad sounds of life die away one by one, the chirp of birds, the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, the barking of dogs, so do the natural sounds such as the rustle of trees, the plash of falling water, or the roar of breaking waves wake into a new force that strikes on the ear with a sense of intention or conscious power. It is as though in all the wide circle of nature’s might there is never to be such a thing as stagnation; no moment of poise, save when the spirits of nature proclaim abnormal silence, such as ruled when earth stood “at gaze, like Joshua’s moon on Ajalon.”

The spirits of my companion and myself yielded to this silent influence of the coming night. Unconsciously we walked close together and in step; and were silent, wrapt in the beauty around us. To me it was a gentle ecstasy. To be alone with her in such a way, in such a place, was the good of all heaven and all earth in one. And so for many minutes we went slowly on our way along the deserted sand, and in hearing of the music of the sounding sea and the echoing shore.

But even Heaven had its revolt. It seems that whether it be on Earth or in Heaven intelligence is not content to remain in a condition of poise. Ever there are heights to be won. Out of my own very happiness and the peace that it gave me, came afresh the wild desire to scale new heights and to make the present altitude which I had achieved a stepping-off place for a loftier height. All arguments seemed to crowd in my mind to prove that I was justified in asking Marjory to be my wife. Other men had asked women whom they had known but a short time to marry them; and with happy result. It was apparent that at the least she did not dislike me. I was a gentleman, of fair stock, and well-to-do; I could offer her a true and a whole heart. She, who was seemingly only companion to a wealthy woman, could not be offended at a man’s offering to her all he had to give. I had already approached the subject, and she had not warned me off it; she had only given me in a sweetly artful way advice in which hope held a distinct place. Above all, the days and hours and moments were flying by. I did not know her address or when I should see her again, or if at all. This latest thought decided me. I would speak plainly to-night.

Oh, but men are dull beside women in the way of intuition. This girl seemed to be looking over the sea, and yet with some kind of double glance, such as women have at command, she seemed to have been all the time looking straight through and through me and getting some idea of her own from my changing expression. I suppose the appearance of determination frightened her or set her on guard, for she suddenly said:

“Ought we not to be turning home?”

“Not yet!” I pleaded, all awake in a moment from my dreams. “A few minutes, and then we can go back.”

“Very well,” she said with a smile, and then added demurely; “we must not be long.” I felt that my hour had come and spoke impulsively:

“Marjory, will you be my wife?” Having got out the words I stopped. My heart was beating so heavily that I could not speak more. For a few seconds, which seemed ages to me, we were both silent. I daresay that she may have been prepared for something; from what I know now I am satisfied that her own intention was to ward off any coming difficulty. But the suddenness and boldness of the question surprised her and embarrassed her to silence. She stopped walking, and as she stood still I could see her bosom heave—like my own. Then with a great effort, which involved a long breath and the pulling up of her figure and the setting back of her shoulders, she spoke:

“But you know nothing of me!”

“I know all of you that I want to know!” This truly Hibernian speech amused her, even through her manifest emotion and awkwardness, if one can apply the word to one compact of so many graces. I saw the smile, and it seemed to set us both more at ease.

“That sounds very rude,” she said “but I understand what you mean, and take it so.” This gave me an opening into which I jumped at once. She listened, seeming not displeased at my words; but on the whole glad of a moment’s pause to collect her thoughts before again speaking:

“I know that you are beautiful; the most beautiful and graceful girl I ever saw. I know that you are brave and sweet and tender and thoughtful. I know that you are clever and resourceful and tactful. I know that you are a good comrade; that you are an artist with a poet’s soul. I know that you are the one woman in all the wide world for me; that having seen you there can never be any one else to take your place in my heart. I know that I would rather die with you in my arms, than live a king with any other queen!”

“But you have only seen me twice. How can you know so many nice things about me. I wish they were all true! I am only a girl; and I must say it is sweet to hear them, whether they be true or not. Anyhow, supposing them all true, how could you have known them?”

Hope was stepping beside me now. I went on:

“I did not need a second meeting to know so much. To-day was but a repetition of my joy; an endorsement of my judgment; a fresh rivetting of my fetters!” She smiled in spite of herself as she replied:

“You leave me dumb. How can I answer or argue with such a conviction.” Then she laid her hand tenderly on my arm as she went on:

“Oh, I know what you mean, my friend. I take it all in simple truth; and believe me it makes me proud to hear it, though it also makes me feel somewhat unworthy of so much faith. But there is one other thing which you must consider. In justice to me you must.” She paused and I felt my heart grow cold. “What is it?” I asked. I tried to speak naturally but I felt that my voice was hoarse. Her answer came slowly, but it seemed to turn me to ice:

“But I don’t know you!”

There was a pity in her eyes which gave me some comfort, though not much; a man whose soul is crying out for love does not want pity. Love is a glorious self-surrender; all spontaneity; all gladness, all satisfaction, in which doubt and forethought have no part. Pity is a conscious act of the mind; wherein is a knowledge of one’s own security of foothold. The two can no more mingle than water and oil.

The shock had come, and I braced myself to it. I felt that now if ever I should do my devoir as a gentleman. It was my duty as well as my privilege to shield this woman from unnecessary pain and humiliation. Well I knew, that it had been pain to her to say such a thing to me; and the pain had come from my own selfish impulse. She had warned me earlier in the day, and I had broken through her warning. Now she was put in a false position through my act; it was necessary I should make her feelings as little painful as I could. I had even then a sort of dim idea that my best plan would have been to have taken her in my arms and kissed her. Had we both been older I might have done so; but my love was not built in this fashion. Passion was so mingled with respect that the other course, recognition of, and obedience to, her wishes seemed all that was open to me. Besides it flashed across me that she might take it that I was presuming on her own impulsive act on the rock. I said with what good heart I could:

“That is an argument unanswerable, at present. I can only hope that time will stand my friend. Only” I added and my voice choked as I said it “Do, do believe that I am in deadly earnest; that all my life is at stake; and that I only wait, and I will wait loyally with what patience I can, in obedience to your will. My feelings and my wish, and—and my request will stand unaltered till I die!” She said not a word, but the tears rose up in her beautiful eyes and ran down her blushing cheeks as she held out her hand to me. She did not object when I raised it to my lips and kissed it with all my soul in the kiss!

We turned instinctively and walked homewards. I felt dejected, but not broken. At first the sand seemed to be heavy to my feet; but when after a little I noticed that my companion walked with a buoyancy unusual even to her, I too became gay again. We came back to the hotel much in the spirit in which we had set out.

We found Mrs. Jack dressed, all but her outer cloak, and ready for the road. She went away with Marjory to finish her toilet, but came back before her younger companion. When we were alone she said to me after a few moments of ’hum’ing and ’ha’ing and awkward preparation of speech:

“Oh Mr. Hunter, Marjory tells me that she intends to ride on her bicycle down to Aberdeen from Braemar where we are going on Friday. I am to drive from Braemar to Ballater and then go on by train so that I shall be in before her, though I am to leave later. But I am fearful about the girl riding such a journey by herself. We have no gentleman friend here, and it would be so good of you to take charge of her, if you happened to be anywhere about there. I know I can trust you to take care of her, you have been so good to her, and to me, already.”

My heart leaped. Here was an unexpected chance come my way. Time was showing himself to be my friend already.

“Be quite assured,” I said as calmly as I could “I shall be truly glad to be of the least service. And indeed it will just suit my plans, as I hoped to go to Braemar on my bicycle one day very soon and can arrange to go just as may suit you. But of course you understand that I must not go unless Miss Anita wishes it. I could not presume to thrust myself upon her.”

“Oh that is all right!” she answered quickly, so quickly that I took it that she had already considered the matter and was satisfied about it. “Marjory will not object.” Just then the young lady entered the room and Mrs. Jack turning to her said:

“I have asked Mr. Hunter my dear to ride down with you from Braemar; and he says that as it just suits his plans as he was going there he will be very happy if you ask him.” She smiled as she said:

“Oh since you asked him and he had said yes I need not ask him too; but I shall be very glad!” I bowed. When Mrs. Jack went out, Marjory turning to me said:

“When did you plan to go to Braemar?”

“When Mrs. Jack told me you were going” I answered boldly.

“Oh! I didn’t mean that,” she said with a slight blush “but at what time you were to be there.” To which I said:

“That will be just to suit your convenience. Will you write and let me know?” She saw through my ruse of getting a letter, and smilingly held up a warning finger.

As we strolled up the road, waiting for the dog-cart to be got ready, she said to me:

“Now you can be a good comrade I know; and you said that, amongst other things, I was a good comrade. So I am; and between Braemar and Aberdeen we must both be good comrades. That and nothing more! Whatever may come after, for good or ill, that time must be kept apart.”

“Agreed!” I said and felt a secret exultation as we joined Mrs. Jack. Before they started Marjory said:

“Mrs. Jack I also have asked Mr. Hunter to come on the ride from Braemar. I thought it would please him if we both asked him, since he is so diffident and unimpulsive!”

With a smile she said good-bye and waved it with her whip as they started.

Monday's Illustrated Word: " Peril Haunts the Depths" by Unknown Writer (in English)

 art by unknown artist. Strange Terrors #6 - St. John, January 1953.

 

 

Good Reading: "The Miller and the Water Sprite" by Ludwig Bechstein (translated into English)

 

Once there was a miller. He owned much money and property and lived a pleasant life with his wife. But misfortune came overnight, and the miller became poor. After mortgaging his dear mill, he could hardly call the mill his own any more. During days he walked about in grief, and at night he found no peace either, but remained awake the whole night in gloomy thought.

One morning he got up before daybreak and went out of doors, hoping to get relief in the open air. As he was walking up and down beside the millpond, he suddenly heard splashing. Turning toward the sound he saw a white woman coming up from the pond water. He thought it was the sprite of the millpond and was so scared that he could not decide whether to stay or run away.

As he stood by the pond like that, the sprite called him by name and asked him why he was so sad. When the miller heard such friendly words he took heart and told why he felt downcast. He used to be rich and happy, he said, but now he was so poor and sad that he did not know what to do.

The sprite comforted him, saying that she would make him rich again if he would give her in return a creature that had just been born in his house. The miller thought it was a puppy or kitten she meant, so he agreed to the bargain and hurried cheerfully back to the mill. Just then his servant girl came out of the door of the house and called him in great joy. When she came closer she said his wife had just given birth to a boy.

The miller halted and was unable to rejoice at the news. His child had been born sooner than expected. He walked into the house and sadlytold his wife and family what he had promised the water sprite. "And may all good fortune she promised me, disappear if only I can save my child," he added.

But nobody knew a better advice than keep the child from coming near the millpond.

The boy grew and thrived. Little by little the miller got rich again, and before long he was richer than ever. But he could never enjoy his good fortune, for he kept thinking of his promise and feared that sometime the water sprite would ask him for his son and keep him with her. But year after year passed, and the boy grew big and strong and learnt to hunt. He was such a good hunter that the lord of the village took him into his service. The young hunter dated a young woman, and when they had married, he lived in peace and happiness with her.

One day he was out hunting, he was following a hare. After a little the hare turned away from the open fields. The hunter chased him eagerly and killed him with one shot. He began to skin him at once, without noticing that he was close to the millpond that he had been told to stay away from when he was a child. When he had skinned the hare, he went down to the water's edge to wash the blood from his hands. He had hardly dipped them in when the water sprite rose up, flung her wet arms around him and pulled him down till the water closed over his head.

When the hunter did not return home, his wife became very anxious, and when people searched for him, they found his game bag by the millpond, she did not doubt what had happened to him. Without rest and peace she walked around the millpond day and night, weeping and wailing and calling his name. At last she was so tired that she fell asleep there. Then she dreamed she walked through a flowery field and came to a hut where a witch lived. The witch promised to bring her husband back.

When the young wife woke in the morning, she wanted to act on her dream. Soon she came to the flower meadow and hut where the witch lived. There the hunter's wife told the witch about her grief and anguish, and that in her dream the witch had promised her helping advice.

And the old witch told her what to do. The wife was to go to the millpond when the moon was full, comb her black hair with a golden comb and lay the comb down on the bank.

The young hunter woman paid the witch much money for her advice and went home.

Time passed slowly for her until the moon was full at last and she could go to the millpond and comb her hair with a golden comb. When she had finished, she put the comb on the bank and stared anxiously into the water and waited. The water rushed and a wave from the depths swept the comb from the bank and into the agitated water. Soon her husband raised his head out of the water and looked sadly at her. But another wave came and her husband sank beneath the water, without having said a word. The surface of the millpond became calm once more, glittering in the moonlight, and the hunter's wife was no better off than before.

She waited and watched by the pond for days and nights, until she fell asleep again, fatigued. Then she dreamt she was led to the witch again. And the next morning she walked across the flowery meadow to the hut of the witch and told her sobbingly what had happened. The old witch advised her to go to the millpond at full moon again, and this time blown on a gold pipe and then lay the flute on the brink of the pond.

When the moon was full once again, the hunter's wife went to the millpond and blew on a gold pipe and then lay the pipe down on bank. Again she heard a rushing sound from the water, and a wave swept the pipe into the water. Soon the hunter's head came up from the water, and then his chest. He held his arms out for his wife. Then another rushing wave came and swept him back into the deep water. The hunter woman had been standing full joy and hope at the bank, but when she saw him disappear in the water again, she despaired.

But the same dream came to her again and brought her hope. She went through the flower meadow to the witch again. This time the old witch said: "Go to the pond at full moon, spin on a gold spindle, and then set the gold spindle down on the bank."

When the moon was full again, the hunter's wife followed the advise. She walked to the millpond, sat down, spun on a golden spindle, and then placed the spindle on the bank. The water rushed and swirled, and a wave swept the gold spindle off the bank. Soon the hunter rose higher and higher, first his head, then his chest, and finally the rest of his body. Finally he climbed on to the bank and took his wife in his arms. At that moment the water came rushing and surging and carried them both into the water as they were clasped in each other's arms.

The hunter's wife called on the witch for help, and suddenly she found herself changed into a toad and her husband into a frog, so they were not drowned in the water. When the waves had calmed down, the hunter and his wife became humans again after some hours, but by then the waves in the pond had driven them away from each other and down the river to a part of the country they did not know.

The hunter decided to live as shepherd, and so did his wife. Thus, for some time they herded two flocks of sheep in two fields that were not far from each other until the shepherd one day came to the tract where his wife herded. He liked it there, and saw the pastures in area could very well feed his flock, so he brought his sheep there. He and the shepherdess became good friends, but they did not recognise each other until one evening when they sat sitting together and their sheep were grazing in the light of the full moon. The shepherd played on his pipe. It was a gold pipe. All at once the shepherdess remembered the evening she had played that pipe by the millpond when the moon was full, and could not help bursting into tears.

The shepherd asked her, "Why cry so bitterly?"

She told him what had happened. At that moment he remembered too, and recognised his wife. They went happily home together and there they lived undisturbed and in peace.

Friday's Sung Word: "Para Atender a Pedido" by Noel Rosa (in Portuguese)

Para atender a pedido
Tudo o que eu tenho sofrido
Eu preciso esquecer

Pois é preciso esquecer
Pra poder te perdoar
Antes de te visitar

Deves te acostumar
A fazer o que eu mandar
E a me respeitar

Fica estabelecido
Que não mentes nunca mais
Para atender a pedido

Antes de esquecer
O teu triste proceder
Que me fez padecer

Eu já tinha me convencido
Que havia de voltar
Para atender a pedido

You can listen "Para Atender a Pedido" sung by Marília Batista here.