"There's the
ludgin' an' the boord, though!--I maun ken aboot them 'afore we gang
farther."
"They're nane o' my business," replied Andrew. "I lea' a' that to
the gudewife, an' I coonsel ye to du the same. She's a capital
manager, an' winna chairge ye ower muckle."
Donal could but yield, and presently went out for a stroll.
He wandered along the bank of the river till he came to the foot of
the hill on which stood the castle. Seeing a gate, he approached
it, and finding it open went in. A slow-ascending drive went
through the trees, round and round the hill. He followed it a
little way. An aromatic air now blew and now paused as he went.
The trees seemed climbing up to attack the fortress above, which he
could not see. When he had gone a few yards out of sight of the
gate, he threw himself down among them, and fell into a reverie.
The ancient time arose before him, when, without a tree to cover
the approach of an enemy, the castle rose defiant and bare in its
strength, like an athlete stripped for the fight, and the little
town huddled close under its protection. What wars had there
blustered, what rumours blown, what fears whispered, what sorrows
moaned! But were there not now just as many evils as then? Let the
world improve as it may, the deeper ill only breaks out afresh in
new forms. Time itself, the staring, vacant, unlovely time, is to
many the one dread foe.
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