Portent and Other Stories, The | Page 5

contrary, she had rather alarmed me;
and I begged her to explain. But she sat down white and trembling, and
did not speak. Presently, however, she rose again, and saying, "I have
known it happen sometimes without anything very bad following,"
began to put away the basin and plate I had been using, as if she would
compel herself to be calm before me. I renewed my entreaties for an
explanation, but without avail. She begged me to be content for a few
days, as she was quite unable to tell the story at present. She promised,
however, of her own accord, that before I left home she would tell me
all she knew.
The next day a letter arrived announcing the death of a distant relation,
through whose influence my father had had a lingering hope of
obtaining an appointment for me. There was nothing left but to look out
for a situation as tutor.
CHAPTER III
My Old Nurses Story.
I was now almost nineteen. I had completed the usual curriculum of
study at one of the Scotch universities; and, possessed of a fair
knowledge of mathematics and physics, and what I considered rather
more than a good foundation for classical and metaphysical
acquirement, I resolved to apply for the first suitable situation that
offered. But I was spared the trouble. A certain Lord Hilton, an English
nobleman, residing in one of the midland counties, having heard that
one of my father's sons was desirous of such a situation, wrote to him,

offering me the post of tutor to his two boys, of the ages of ten and
twelve. He had been partly educated at a Scotch university; and this, it
may be, had prejudiced him in favour of a Scotch tutor; while an
ancient alliance of the families by marriage was supposed by my nurse
to be the reason of his offering me the situation. Of this connection,
however, my father said nothing to me, and it went for nothing in my
anticipations. I was to receive a hundred pounds a year, and to hold in
the family the position of a gentleman, which might mean anything or
nothing, according to the disposition of the heads of the family.
Preparations for my departure were immediately commenced. I set out
one evening for the cottage of my old nurse, to bid her good-bye for
many months, probably years. I was to leave the next day for
Edinburgh, on my way to London, whence I had to repair by coach to
my new abode--almost to me like the land beyond the grave, so little
did I know about it, and so wide was the separation between it and my
home. The evening was sultry when I began my walk, and before I
arrived at its end, the clouds rising from all quarters of the horizon, and
especially gathering around the peaks of the mountain, betokened the
near approach of a thunderstorm. This was a great delight to me. Gladly
would I take leave of my home with the memory of a last night of
tumultuous magnificence; followed, probably, by a day of weeping rain,
well suited to the mood of my own heart in bidding farewell to the best
of parents and the dearest of homes. Besides, in common with most
Scotchmen who are young and hardy enough to be unable to realise the
existence of coughs and rheumatic fevers, it was a positive pleasure to
me to be out in rain, hail, or snow.
"I am come to bid you good-bye, Margaret; and to hear the story which
you promised to tell me before I left home: I go to-morrow."
"Do you go so soon, my darling? Well, it will be an awful night to tell
it in; but, as I promised, I suppose I must."
At the moment, two or three great drops of rain, the first of the storm,
fell down the wide chimney, exploding in the clear turf-fire.
"Yes, indeed you must," I replied.

After a short pause, she commenced. Of course she spoke in Gaelic;
and I translate from my recollection of the Gaelic; but rather from the
impression left upon my mind, than from any recollection of the words.
She drew her chair near the fire, which we had reason to fear would
soon be put out by the falling rain, and began.
"How old the story is, I do not know. It has come down through many
generations. My grandmother told it to me as I tell it to you; and her
mother and my mother sat beside, never interrupting, but nodding their
heads at every turn. Almost it ought to begin like the fairy tales, Once
upon a time,--it took place so long ago; but it is too dreadful and too
true to