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The
library
was
a
marvelous
place
,
and
Macayre
knew
every
volume
in
it
.
They
used
to
sit
and
read
like
children
among
fairy
stories
,
and
then
they
would
persuade
Macayre
to
tell
them
the
ancient
tales
he
knew
—
of
the
days
when
Agricola
forced
his
way
in
among
the
Men
of
the
Woods
,
who
would
die
any
savage
death
rather
than
be
conquered
.
Macayre
was
a
sort
of
heirloom
himself
,
and
he
knew
and
believed
them
all
.
I
don
’
t
know
how
it
was
that
I
myself
seemed
to
see
my
young
father
and
mother
so
clearly
and
to
know
how
radiant
and
wildly
in
love
they
were
.
Surely
Jean
Braidfute
had
not
words
to
tell
me
.
But
I
knew
.
So
I
understood
,
in
a
way
of
my
own
,
what
happened
to
my
mother
one
brilliant
late
October
afternoon
when
my
father
was
brought
home
dead
—
followed
by
the
guests
who
had
gone
out
shooting
with
him
.
His
foot
had
caught
in
a
tuft
of
heather
,
and
his
gun
in
going
off
had
killed
him
.
One
moment
he
had
been
the
handsomest
young
chieftain
in
Scotland
,
and
when
he
was
brought
home
they
could
not
have
let
my
mother
see
his
face
.
But
she
never
asked
to
see
it
.
She
was
on
the
terrace
which
juts
over
the
rock
the
castle
is
built
on
,
and
which
looks
out
over
the
purple
world
of
climbing
moor
.
She
saw
from
there
the
returning
party
of
shooters
and
gillies
winding
its
way
slowly
through
the
heather
,
following
a
burden
carried
on
a
stretcher
of
fir
boughs
.
Some
of
her
women
guests
were
with
her
,
and
one
of
them
said
afterward
that
when
she
first
caught
sight
of
the
moving
figures
she
got
up
slowly
and
crept
to
the
stone
balustrade
with
a
crouching
movement
almost
like
a
young
leopardess
preparing
to
spring
.
But
she
only
watched
,
making
neither
sound
nor
movement
until
the
cortege
was
near
enough
for
her
to
see
that
every
man
’
s
head
was
bowed
upon
his
breast
,
and
not
one
was
covered
.
Then
she
said
,
quite
slowly
,
“
They
—
have
—
taken
off
—
their
bonnets
,
”
and
fell
upon
the
terrace
like
a
dropped
stone
.
It
was
because
of
this
that
the
girl
said
that
she
was
dead
when
I
was
born
.
It
must
have
seemed
almost
as
if
she
were
not
a
living
thing
.
She
did
not
open
her
eyes
or
make
a
sound
;
she
lay
white
and
cold
.
The
celebrated
physicians
who
came
from
London
talked
of
catalepsy
and
afterward
wrote
scientific
articles
which
tried
to
explain
her
condition
.
She
did
not
know
when
I
was
born
.
She
died
a
few
minutes
after
I
uttered
my
first
cry
.
I
know
only
one
thing
more
,
and
that
Jean
Braidfute
told
me
after
I
grew
up
.
Jean
had
been
my
father
’
s
nursery
governess
when
he
wore
his
first
kilts
,
and
she
loved
my
mother
fondly
.
“
I
knelt
by
her
bed
and
held
her
hand
and
watched
her
face
for
three
hours
after
they
first
laid
her
down
,
”
she
said
.
“
And
my
eyes
were
so
near
her
every
moment
that
I
saw
a
thing
the
others
did
not
know
her
well
enough
,
or
love
her
well
enough
,
to
see
.
“
The
first
hour
she
was
like
a
dead
thing
—
aye
,
like
a
dead
thing
that
had
never
lived
.
But
when
the
hand
of
the
clock
passed
the
last
second
,
and
the
new
hour
began
,
I
bent
closer
to
her
because
I
saw
a
change
stealing
over
her
.
It
was
not
color
—
it
was
not
even
a
shadow
of
a
motion
.
It
was
something
else
.
If
I
had
spoken
what
I
felt
,
they
would
have
said
I
was
light
-
headed
with
grief
and
have
sent
me
away
.
I
have
never
told
man
or
woman
.
It
was
my
secret
and
hers
.
I
can
tell
you
,
Ysobel
.
The
change
I
saw
was
as
if
she
was
beginning
to
listen
to
something
—
to
listen
.
