Grb Numerical Chemistry Chapter 9 To 17 For Iit

Jee And Other Engineering Entrance Exams By Dr P

Bahadur Dr P Bahadur download

https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-numerical-chemistry-
chapter-9-to-17-for-iit-jee-and-other-engineering-entrance-exams-
by-dr-p-bahadur-dr-p-bahadur-7141426

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookbell.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

Grb Numerical Chemistry Chapter 1 To 8 For Iit Jee And Other

Engineering Entrance Exams P Bahadur

https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-numerical-chemistry-
chapter-1-to-8-for-iit-jee-and-other-engineering-entrance-exams-p-
bahadur-7123350

Grb Numerical Chemistry Chapter 18 To 20 For Iit Jee And Other

Engineering Entrance Exams P Bahadur

https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-numerical-chemistry-
chapter-18-to-20-for-iit-jee-and-other-engineering-entrance-exams-p-
bahadur-7124480

Grb 1000 Challenging Problems In Mathematics Sameer Bansal

https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-1000-challenging-problems-in-
mathematics-sameer-bansal-48228074

Grb Physics Class Xi Surinder Lal

https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-physics-class-xi-surinder-
lal-50865718
Grb Objective Physics 1st Year Programme Class 11 Unit 2 General
Properties Of Bulk Matter Dr Pramod Agarwal For Jee Main Advanced All
Other Engineering Entrance Examinations G R Bathla Sons Dr Pramod
Agarwal
https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-objective-physics-1st-year-
programme-class-11-unit-2-general-properties-of-bulk-matter-dr-pramod-
agarwal-for-jee-main-advanced-all-other-engineering-entrance-
examinations-g-r-bathla-sons-dr-pramod-agarwal-38291822

Grb Objective Physics 1st Year Programme Class 11 Unit 4 Oscillations

And Waves Dr Pramod Agarwal For Jee Main Advanced All Other
Engineering Entrance Examinations G R Bathla Sons Dr Pramod Agarwal

https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-objective-physics-1st-year-
programme-class-11-unit-4-oscillations-and-waves-dr-pramod-agarwal-
for-jee-main-advanced-all-other-engineering-entrance-examinations-g-r-
bathla-sons-dr-pramod-agarwal-38300494

Grb Objective Physics 1st Year Programme Class 11 Unit 1 Mechanics

Part 1 Dr Pramod Agarwal For Jee Main Advanced All Other Engineering
Entrance Examinations G R Bathla Sons Dr Pramod Agarwal

https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-objective-physics-1st-year-
programme-class-11-unit-1-mechanics-part-1-dr-pramod-agarwal-for-jee-
main-advanced-all-other-engineering-entrance-examinations-g-r-bathla-
sons-dr-pramod-agarwal-38302066

Grb Objective Physics 1st Year Programme Class 11 Unit 1 Mechanics

Part 2 Dr Pramod Agarwal For Jee Main Advanced All Other Engineering
Entrance Examinations G R Bathla Sons Dr Pramod Agarwal

https://ebookbell.com/product/grb-objective-physics-1st-year-
programme-class-11-unit-1-mechanics-part-2-dr-pramod-agarwal-for-jee-
main-advanced-all-other-engineering-entrance-examinations-g-r-bathla-
sons-dr-pramod-agarwal-38304774

O P Tandon Elements Of Group 16 17 18 P Block And D And F Block

Elements For Iit Jee Chemistry Olympiad Nsec Incho Grb O P Tandon

https://ebookbell.com/product/o-p-tandon-elements-of-
group-16-17-18-p-block-and-d-and-f-block-elements-for-iit-jee-
chemistry-olympiad-nsec-incho-grb-o-p-tandon-10590184
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
As they entered the yew-close at the end of the old garden of the
château they were as shadows drowned in night. For some minutes
they were invisible; though, from above, the moon shone upon their
white faces and on their frozen stillness. The peacocks sullenly
ceased.
Once more they emerged into the moon-dusk. As they neared the
ivied gables of the west wing of the Manor the cloud drifted from the
moon, and her white flood turned the obscurity into a radiance
wherein every object stood forth as clear as at noon.
Alan's face was white as are the faces of the dead. His eyes did not
once lift from the ground. But in Annaik's face was a flush, and her
eyes were wild and beautiful as falling stars.
It was not an hour since she had wakened from her trance; not an
hour, and yet already had Alan forgotten—forgotten her, and Ynys,
and the storm, and the after calm. Of one thing he thought only, and
that was of what Daniel Darc had once said to him laughingly: "If
the old fables of astrology were true, your horoscope would foretell
impossible things."
In absolute silence they moved up the long flight of stone stairs that
led to the château; in absolute silence, they entered by the door
which old Matieu had left ajar; in silence, they passed that
unconscious sleeper; in silence, they crossed the landing where the
corridors diverged.
Both stopped, simultaneously. Alan seemed about to speak, but his
lips closed again without utterance.
Abruptly he turned. Without a word he passed along the corridor to
the right, and disappeared in the obscurity.
Annaik stood a while, motionless, silent. Then she put her hand to
her heart. On her impassive face the moonlight revealed nothing;
only in her eyes there was a gleam as of one glad unto death.
Then she too passed, noiseless and swift as a phantom. Outside, on
the stone terrace, Ys, the blind peacock, strode to and fro, uttering
his prolonged, raucous screams. When, at last, he was unanswered
by the peacocks in the cypress alley, his clamant voice no longer tore
the silence.
The moon trailed her flood of light across the earth. It lay upon the
waters, and was still a glory there when, through the chill quietudes
of dawn, the stars waned one by one in the soft graying that filtered
through the morning dusk. The new day was come.

CHAPTER VI
VIA OSCURA
The day that followed this quiet dawn marked the meridian of
spring. Thereafter the flush upon the blossoms would deepen; the
yellow pass out of the green; and a deeper green involve the
shoreless emerald sea of verdure which everywhere covered the
brown earth, and swelled and lapsed in endlessly receding billows of
forest and woodland. Up to that noon-tide height Spring had
aspired, ever since she had shaken the dust of snow from her
primrose-sandals; now, looking upon the way she had come, she
took the hand of Summer—and both went forth as one, so that none
should tell which was still the guest of the greenness.
This was the day when Alan and Ynys walked among the green
alleys of the woods of Kerival, and when, through the deep gladness
that was his for all the strange, gnawing pain in his mind, in his ears
echoed the haunting line of Rimbaud, "Then, in the violet forest all
a-bourgeon, Eucharis said to me: 'It is Spring.'"
Through the first hours of the day Alan had been unwontedly silent.
Ynys had laughed at him with loving eyes, but had not shown any
shadow of resentment. His word to the effect that his journey had
tired him, and that he had not slept at all, was enough to account
for his lack of buoyant joy.
But, in truth, Ynys did not regret this, since it had brought a still
deeper intensity of love into Alan's eyes. When he looked at her,
there was so much passion of longing, so pathetic an appeal, that
her heart smote her. Why should she be the one chosen to evoke a
love such as this, she wondered; she, who was but Ynys, while Alan
was a man whom all women might love, and had genius that made
him as one set apart from his fellows, and was brow-lit by a starry
fate?
And yet, in a sense she understood. They were so much at one, so
like in all essential matters, and were in all ways comrades. It would
have been impossible for each not to love the other. But, deeper
than this, was the profound and intimate communion of the spirit. In
some beautiful, strange way, she knew she was the flame to his fire.
At that flame he lit the torch of which Daniel Darc and others had
spoken. She did not see why or wherein it was so, but she believed,
and indeed at last realized the exquisite actuality.
In deep love, there is no height nor depth between two hearts, no
height nor depth, no length nor breadth. There is simply love.
The birds of Angus Ogue are like the wild-doves of the forest: when
they nest in the heart they are as one. And her life, and Alan's, were
not these one?
Nevertheless, Ynys was disappointed as the day went on, and her
lover did not seem able to rouse himself from his strange
despondency.
Doubtless this was due largely to what was pending. That afternoon
he was to have his long anticipated interview with the Marquise, and
would perhaps learn what might affect his whole life. On the other
hand, each believed that nothing would be revealed which was not
of the past solely.
Idly, Ynys began to question her companion about the previous
night. What had he done, since he had not slept; had he read, or
dreamed at the window, or gone out, as had once been his wont on
summer nights, to walk in the cypress alley or along the grassy
dunes? Had he heard a nightingale singing in the moonlight? Had he
noticed the prolonged screaming of the peacocks—unusually
prolonged, now that she thought of it, Ynys added.
"I wonder, dear, if you would love me whatever happened—whatever
I was, or did?"
It was an inconsequent question. She looked up at him, half
perturbed, half pleased.
"Yes, Alan."
"But do you mean what you say, knowing that you are not only
using a phrase?"
"I have no gift of expression, dearest. Words come to me without
their bloom and their fragrance, I often think. But ... Alan, I love
you."
"That is sweetest music for me, Ynys, my fawn. All words from you
have both bloom and fragrance, though you may not know it, shy
flower. But tell me again, do you mean what you say, absolutely?"
"Absolutely. In every way, in all things, at all times. Dear, how could
any thing come between us? It is possible, of course, that
circumstances might separate us. But nothing could really come
between us. My heart is yours."
"What about Andrik de Morvan?"
"Ah, you are not in earnest, Alan!"
"Yes; I am more than half in earnest, Ynys, darling. Tell me!"
"You cannot possibly believe that I care, that I could care, for Andrik
as I care for you, Alan."
"Why not?"
"Why not? Oh, have you so little belief, then, in women—in me?
Alan, do you not know that what is perhaps possible for a man,
though I cannot conceive it, is impossible for a woman. That is the
poorest sophistry which says a woman may love two men at the
same time. That is, if by love is meant what you and I mean.
Affection, the deepest affection, is one thing; the love of man and
woman, as we mean it, is a thing apart!"
"You love Andrik?"
"Yes."
"Could you wed your life with his?"
"I could have done so ... but for you."
"Then, by your true heart, is there no possibility that he can in any
way ever come between us?"
"None."
"Although he is nominally your betrothed, and believes in you as his
future wife?"
"That is not my fault. I drifted into that conditional union, as you
know. But after to-day he and every one shall know that I can wed
no man but you. But why do you ask me these things, Alan?"
"I want to know. I will explain later. But tell me; could you be happy
with Andrik? You say you love him?"
"I love him as a friend, as a comrade."
"As an intimately dear comrade?"
"Alan, do not let us misunderstand each other. There can only be
one supreme comrade for a woman, and that is the man whom she
loves supremely. Every other affection, the closest, the dearest, is as
distinct from that as day from night."
"If by some malign chance you and Andrik married—say, in the
event of my supposed death—would you still be as absolutely true to
me as you are now?"
"What has the accident of marriage to do with truth between a man
and a woman, Alan?"
"It involves intimacies that would be a desecration otherwise. Oh,
Ynys, do you not understand?"
"It is a matter of the inner life. Men so rarely believe in the hidden
loyalty of the heart. It is possible for a woman to fulfil a bond and
yet not be a bondswoman. Outer circumstances have little to do with
the inner life, with the real self."
"In a word, then, if you married Andrik you would remain absolutely
mine, not only if I were dead, but if perchance the rumor were
untrue and I came back, though too late?"
"Yes."
"Absolutely?"
"Absolutely."
"And you profoundly know, Ynys, that in no conceivable
circumstances can Andrik be to you what I am, or any thing for a
moment approaching it?"
"I do know it."
"Although he were your husband?"
"Although he were my husband."
The worn lines that were in Alan's face were almost gone. Looking
into his eyes Ynys saw that the strange look of pain which had
alarmed her was no longer there. The dear eyes had brightened; a
new hope seemed to have arisen in them.
"Do you believe me, Alan, dear?" she whispered.
"If I did not, it would kill me, Ynys."
And he spoke truth. The bitter sophistications of love play lightly
with the possibilities of death. Men who talk of suicide are likely to
be long-livers; lovers whose hearts are easily broken can generally
recover and astonish themselves by their heroic endurance. The
human heart is like a wave of the sea; it can be lashed into storm, it
can be calmed, it can become stagnant—but it is seldom absorbed
from the ocean till in natural course the sun takes up its spirit in
vapor. Yet, ever and again, there is one wave among a myriad which
a spiral wind-eddy may suddenly strike. In a moment it is whirled
this way and that; it is involved in a cataclysm of waters; and then
cloud and sea meet, and what a moment before had been an ocean
wave is become an idle skyey vapor.
Alan was of the few men of whom that wave is the symbol. To him,
death could come at any time, if the wind-eddy of a certain
unthinkable sorrow struck him at his heart.
In this sense, his life was in Ynys's hands as absolutely as though he
were a caged bird. He knew it, and Ynys knew it.
There are a few men, a few women, like this. Perhaps it is well that
these are so rare. Among the hills of the north, at least, they may
still be found; in remote mountain valleys and in lonely isles, where
life and death are realized actualities and not the mere adumbrations
of the pinions of that lonely fugitive, the human mind, along the
endless precipices of Time.
Alan knew well that both he and Ynys were not so strong as each
believed. Knowing this, he feared for both. And yet, there was but
one woman in the world for him—Ynys; as for her, there was but one
man—Alan. Without her, he could do nothing, achieve nothing. She
was his flame, his inspiration, his strength, his light. Without her, he
was afraid to live; with her, death was a beautiful dream. To her,
Alan was not less. She lived in him and for him.
But we are wrought of marsh-fire as well as of stellar light. Now, as
of old, the gods do not make of the fairest life a thornless rose. A
single thorn may innocently convey poison; so that everywhere men
and women go to and fro perilously, and not least those who move
through the shadow and shine of an imperious passion.
For a time, thereafter, Alan and Ynys walked slowly onward, hand in
hand, each brooding deep over the thoughts their words had stirred.
"Do you know what Yann says, Alan?" Ynys asked in a low voice,
after both had stopped instinctively to listen to a thrush leisurely
iterating his just learned love carol, where he swung on a greening
spray of honeysuckle under a yellow-green lime. "Do you know what
Yann says?... He says that you have a wave at your feet. What does
that mean?"
"When did he tell you that, Ynys, mo-chree?"
"Ah, Alan, dear, how sweet it is to hear from your lips the dear
Gaelic we both love so well! And does that not make you more than
ever anxious to learn all that you are to hear this afternoon?"
"Yes ... but that, that Ian Macdonald said; what else did he say?"
"Nothing. He would say no more. I asked him in the Gaelic, and he
repeated only, 'I see a wave at his feet.'"
"What Ian means by that I know well. It means I am going on a far
journey."
"Oh, no, Alan, no!"
"He has the sight upon him, at times. Ian would not say that thing,
did he not mean it. Tell me, my fawn, has he ever said any thing of
this kind about you?"
"Yes. Less than a month ago. I was with him one day on the dunes
near the sea. Once, when he gave no answer to what I asked, I
looked at him, and saw his eyes fixt. 'What do you see, Yann?' I
asked.
"'I see great rocks, strange caverns. Sure, it is well I am knowing
what they are. They are the Sea-caves of Rona.'
"There were no rocks visible from where we stood, so I knew that
Ian was in one of his visionary moods. I waited, and then spoke
again, whisperingly:
"'Tell me, Ian MacIain, what do you see?'
"'I see two whom I do not know. And they are in a strange place,
they are. And on the man I see a shadow, and on the woman I see
a light. But what that shadow is, I do not know; nor do I know what
that light is. But I am for thinking that it is of the Virgin Mary, for I
see the dream that is in the woman's heart, and it is a fair wonderful
dream that.'
"That is all Yann said, Alan. As I was about to speak, his face
changed.
"'What is it, Ian?' I asked.
"At first he would answer nothing. Then he said: 'It is a dream. It
means nothing. It was only because I was thinking of you and Alan
MacAlasdair.'"
"Oh, Ynys!"—Alan interrupted with an eager cry—"that is a thing I
have long striven to know; that which lies in the words 'Alan
MacAlasdair.' My father, then, was named Alasdair! And was it Rona,
you said, was the place of the Sea-caves? Rona ... that must be an
island. The only Rona I know of is that near Skye. It may be the
same. Now, indeed, I have a clew, lest I should learn nothing to-day.
Did Ian say nothing more?"
"Nothing. I asked him if the man and woman he saw were you and
I, but he would not speak. I am certain he was about to say yes, but
refrained."
For a while they walked on in silence, each revolving many
speculations aroused by the clew given by the words of "Yann the
Dumb." Suddenly Ynys tightened her clasp of Alan's hand.
"What is it, dear?"
"Alan, some time ago you asked me abruptly what I knew about the
forester, Judik Kerbastiou. Well, I see him in that beech-covert
yonder, looking at us."
Alan started. Ynys noticed that for a moment he grew pale as foam.
His lips parted, as though he were about to call to the woodlander:
when Judik advanced, making at the same time a sign of silence.
The man had a wild look about him. Clearly, he had not slept since
he and Alan had parted at midnight. His dusky eyes had a red light
in them. His rough clothes were still damp; his face, too, was
strangely white and dank.
Alan presumed that he came to say something concerning Annaik.
He did not know what to do to prevent this, but while he was
pondering, Judik spoke in a hoarse, tired voice:
"Let the Lady Ynys go back to the château at once. She is needed
there."
"Why, what is wrong, Judik Kerbastiou?"
"Let her go back, I say. No time for words now. Be quick. I am not
deceiving you. Listen ..." and with that he leaned toward Alan, and
whispered in his ear.
Alan looked at him with startled amaze. Then, turning toward Ynys,
he asked her to go back at once to the château.
 CHAPTER VII
"DEIREADH GACH COGAIDH, SITH" (THE END OF ALL WARFARE,
PEACE)
Alan did not wait till Ynys was out of sight, before he demanded the
reason of Judik's strange appearance and stranger summons.
"Why are you here again, Judik Kerbastiou? What is the meaning of
this haunting of the forbidden home domain? And what did you
mean by urging Mlle. Ynys to go back at once to the château?"
"Time enough later for your other questions, young sir. Meanwhile
come along with me, and as quick as you can."
Without another word the woodlander turned and moved rapidly
along a narrow path through the brushwood.
Alan saw it would be useless to ask further questions at the
moment; moreover, he was now vaguely alarmed. What could all
this mystery mean? Could an accident have happened to the Marquis
Tristran? It was hardly likely, for he seldom ventured into the forest,
unless when the weather had dried all the ways: for he had to be
wheeled in his chair, and, as Alan knew, disliked to leave the gardens
or the well-kept yew and cypress alleys near the château.
In a brief while, however, he heard voices. Judik turned, and waved
to him to be wary. The forester bent forward, stared intently, and
then beckoned to Alan to creep up alongside.
"Who is it? What is it, Judik?"
"Look!"
Alan disparted a bough of underwood which made an effectual
screen. In the glade beyond were four figures.
One of these he recognized at once. It was the Marquis de Kerival.
He was, as usual, seated in his wheeled chair. Behind him, some
paces to the right, was Raif Kermorvan, the steward of Kerival. The
other two men Alan had not seen before.
One of these strangers was a tall, handsome man, of about sixty. His
close-cropped white hair, his dress, his whole mien, betrayed the
military man. Evidently a colonel, Alan thought, or perhaps a
general; at any rate an officer of high rank, and one to whom
command and self-possession were alike habitual. Behind this
gentleman, one of the most distinguished and even noble-looking
men he had ever seen, and again some paces to the right, was a
man, evidently a groom, and to all appearances an orderly in mufti.
The first glance revealed that a duel was imminent. The duellists, of
course, were the military stranger and the Marquis de Kerival.
"Who is that man?" Alan whispered to Kerbastion. "Do you know?"
"I do not know his name. He is a soldier—a general. He came to
Kerival to-day; an hour or more ago. I guided him through the wood,
for he and his man had ridden into one of the winding alleys and
had lost their way. I heard him ask for the Marquis de Kerival. I
waited about in the shrubbery of the rose garden to see if ... if ...
some one for whom I waited ... would come out. After a time, half
an hour or less, this gentleman came forth, ushered by Raif
Kermorvan, the steward. His man brought around the two horses
again. They mounted, and rode slowly away. I joined them, and
offered to show them a shorter route than that which they were
taking. The General said they wished to find a glade known as
Merlin's Rest. Then I knew what he came for, I knew what was going
to happen." "What, Judik?"
"Hush! not so loud. They will hear us! I knew it was for a duel. It
was here that Andrik de Morvan, the uncle of him whom you know,
was killed by a man—I forget his name."
"Why did the man kill Andrik de Morvan?"
"Oh, who knows? Why does one kill any body? Because he was tired
of enduring the Sieur Andrik longer; he bored him beyond words to
tell, I have heard. Then, too, the Count, for he was a count, loved
Andrik's wife."
Alan glanced at Judik. For all his rough wildness, he spoke on
occasion like a man of breeding. Moreover, at no time was he
subservient in his manner. Possibly, Alan thought, it was true what
he had heard: that Judik Kerbastiou was by moral right Judik de
Kerival.
While the onlookers were whispering, the four men in the glade had
all slightly shifted their position. The Marquis, it was clear, had
insisted upon this. The light had been in his eyes. Now the
antagonists and their seconds were arranged aright. Kermorvan, the
steward, was speaking slowly: directions as to the moment when to
fire.
Alan knew it would be worse than useless to interfere. He could but
hope that this was no more than an affair of honor of a kind not
meant to have a fatal issue; a political quarrel, perhaps; a matter of
insignificant social offence.
Before Raif Kermorvan—a short, black-haired, bull-necked man, with
a pale face and protruding light blue eyes—had finished what he had
to say, Alan noticed what had hitherto escaped him: that
immediately beyond the glade, and under a huge sycamore, already
in full leaf, stood the Kerival carriage. Alain, the coachman, sat on
the box, and held the two black horses in rein. Standing by the side
of the carriage was Georges de Rohan, the doctor of Kerloek, and a
personal friend of the Marquis Tristran.
Suddenly Kermorvan raised his voice.
"M. le Général, are you ready?"
"I am ready," answered a low, clear voice.
"M. le Marquis, are you ready?"
Tristran de Kerival did not answer, but assented by a slight nod.
"Then raise your weapons, and fire the moment I say 'thrice.'"
Both men raised their pistols.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," said the Marquis coldly, in a
voice as audible to Alan and Judik as to the others. "I present a
good aim to you here. Nevertheless, I warn you once more that you
will not escape me ... this time."
The General smiled; scornfully, Alan thought. Again, when suddenly
he lowered his pistol and spoke, Alan fancied he detected if not a
foreign accent, at least a foreign intonation.
"Once more, Tristran de Kerival, I tell you that this duel is a crime; a
crime against me, a crime against Mme. la Marquise, a crime against
your daughters, and a crime against...."
"That will do, General. I am ready. Are you?"
Without further word the stranger slowly drew himself together. He
raised his arm, while his opponent did the same.
"Once! Twice! Thrice!" There was a crack like that of a cattle-whip.
Simultaneously some splinters of wood were blown from the left side
of the wheeled chair.
The Marquis Tristran smiled. He had reserved his fire. He could aim
now with fatal effect
"It is murder!" muttered Alan, horrified; but at that moment the
Marquis spoke. Alan leaned forward, intent to hear.
"At last!" That was all. But in the words was a concentrated longing
for revenge, the utterance of a vivid hate.
Tristran de Kerival slowly and with methodical malignity took aim.
There was a flash, the same whip-like crack.
For a moment it seemed as though the ball had missed its mark.
Then, suddenly, there was a bubbling of red froth at the mouth of
the stranger. Still, he stood erect.
Alan looked at the Marquis de Kerival. He was leaning back, deathly
white, but with the bitter, suppressed smile which every one at the
château knew and hated.
All at once the General swayed, lunged forward, and fell prone.
Dr. de Rohan ran out from the sycamore, and knelt beside him. After
a few seconds he looked up.
He did not speak, but every one knew what his eyes said. To make it
unmistakable, he drew out his handkerchief and put it over the face
of the dead man.
Alan was about to advance when Judik Kerbastiou plucked him by
the sleeve.
"Hst! M'sieur Alan! There is Mamzelle Ynys returning! She will be
here in another minute. She must not see what is there."
"You are right, Judik. I thank you."
With that he turned and moved swiftly down the leaf-hid path which
would enable him to intercept Ynys.
"What is it, Alan?" she asked, with wondering eyes, the moment he
was at her side. "What is it? Why are you so pale?"
"It is because of a duel that has been fought here. You must go back
at once, dear. There are reasons why you...."
"Is my father one of the combatants? I know he is out of the
château. Tell me quick! Is he wounded? Is he dead?"
"No, no, darling heart! He is unhurt. But I can tell you nothing more
just now. Later ... later. But why did you return here?"
"I came with a message from my mother. She is in sore trouble, I
fear. I found her, on her couch in the Blue Salon, with tears
streaming down her face and sobs choking her."
"And she wants me ... now?"
"Yes. She told me to look for you, and bring you to her at once."
"Then go straightway back, dear, and tell her that I shall be with her
immediately. Yes, go—go—at once."
But by the time Ynys had moved into the alley which led her to the
château, and Alan had returned to the spot where he had left Judik,
rapid changes had occurred.
The wheeled chair had gone. Alan could see it nearing the South
Yews; with the Marquis Tristran in it, leaning backward and with
head erect. At its side walked Raif Kermorvan. He seemed to be
whispering to the Seigneur. The carriage had disappeared; with it
Georges de Rohan, the soldier orderly, and, presumably, the dead
man.
Alan stood hesitant, uncertain whether to go first to the Marquise, or
to follow the man whom he regarded now with an aversion infinitely
deeper than he had ever done hitherto; with whom, he felt, he
never wished to speak again, for he was a murderer, if ever man
was, and, from Alan's standpoint, a coward as well. Tristran de
Kerival was the deadliest shot in all the country-side, and he must
have known that, when he challenged his victim, he gave him his
death sentence.
It did not occur to Alan that possibly the survivor was the man
challenged. Instinctively he knew that this was not so.
Judik suddenly touched his arm.
"Here," he said; "this is the name of the dead man. I got the servant
to write it down for me."
Alan took the slip of paper. On it was: "M. le Général Carmichael."

CHAPTER VIII
THE UNFOLDING OF THE SCROLL
When Alan reached the château he was at once accosted by old
Matieu.
"Mme. la Marquise wishes to see you in her private room, M'sieu
Alan, and without a moment's delay."
In a few seconds he was on the upper landing. At the door of the
room known as the Blue Salon he met Yann the Dumb.
"What is it, Ian? Is there any thing wrong?"
In his haste he spoke in French. The old islander looked at him, but
did not answer.
Alan repeated his question in Gaelic.
"Yes, Alan MacAlasdair, I fear there is gloom and darkness upon us
all."
"Why?"
"By this an' by that. But I have seen the death-cloth about Lois nic
Alasdair bronnach for weeks past. I saw it about her feet, and then
about her knees, and then about her breast. Last night, when I
looked at her, I saw it at her neck. And to-day, the shadow-shroud is
risen to her eyes."
"But your second-sight is not always true, you know, Ian. Why, you
told me when I was here last that I would soon be seeing my long
dead father again, and, more than that, that I should see him, but
he never see me. But of this and your other dark sayings, no more
now. Can I go in at once and see my aunt?"
"I will be asking that, Alan-mo-caraid. But what you say is not true. I
have never yet 'seen' any thing that has not come to pass; though I
have had the sight but seldom, to Himself be the praise." With that
Ian entered, exchanged a word or two, and ushered Alan into the
room.
On a couch beside a great fireplace, across the iron brazier of which
were flaming pine-logs, an elderly woman lay almost supine. That
she had been a woman of great beauty was unmistakable, for all her
gray hair and the ravages that time and suffering had wrought upon
her face. Even now her face was beautiful; mainly from the
expression of the passionate dusky eyes which were so like those of
Annaik. Her long, inert body was covered with a fantastic Italian silk-
cloth whose gay pattern emphasized her own helpless condition.
Alan had not seen her for some months, and he was shocked at the
change. Below the eyes, as flamelike as ever, were purplish
shadows, and everywhere, through the habitual ivory of the delicate
features, a gray ashiness had diffused. When she held out her hand
to him, he saw it as transparent as a fan, and perceived within it the
red gleam of the fire.
"Ah, Alan, it is you at last! How glad I am to see you!" The voice was
one of singular sweetness, in tone and accent much like that of
Ynys.
"Dear Aunt Lois, not more glad than I am to see you"—and, as he
spoke, Alan kneeled at the couch and kissed the frail hand that had
been held out to him.
"I would have so eagerly seen you at once on my arrival," he
resumed, "but I was given your message—that you had one of your
seasons of suffering, and could not see me. You have been in pain,
Aunt Lois?"
"Yes, dear, I am dying."
"Dying! Oh, no, no, no! You don't mean that. And besides——"
"Why should I not mean it? Why should I fear it, Alan? Has life
meant so much to me of late years that I should wish to prolong it?"
"But you have endured so long!"
"A bitter reason truly!... and one too apt to a woman! Well, enough
of this. Alan, I want to speak to you about yourself. But first tell me
one thing. Do you love any woman?"
"Yes, with all my heart, with all my life, I love a woman."
"Have you told her so? Has she betrothed herself to you?"
"Yes."
"Is it Annaik?"
"Annaik ... Annaik?"
"Why are you so surprised, Alan? Annaik is beautiful; she has long
loved you, I am certain; and you, too, if I mistake not, care for her?"
"Of course, I do; of course I care for her, Aunt Lois. I love her. But I
do not love her as you mean."
The Marquise looked at him steadily.
"I do not quite understand," she said gravely. "I must speak to you
about Annaik, later. But now, will you tell me who the woman is?"
"Yes. It is Ynys."
"Ynys! But, Alan, do you not know that she is betrothed to Andrik de
Morvan?"
"I know."
"And that such a betrothal is, in Brittany, almost as binding as a
marriage?"
"I have heard that said."
"And that the Marquis de Kerival wishes that union to take place?"
"The Marquis Tristran's opinion, on any matter, does not in any way
concern me."
"That may be, Alan; but it concerns Ynys. Do you know that I also
wish her to marry Andrik; that his parents wish it; and that every
one regards the union as all but an accomplished fact?"
"Yes, dear Aunt Lois, I have known or presumed all you tell me. But
nothing of it can alter what is a vital part of my existence."
"Do you know that Ynys herself gave her pledge to Andrik de
Morvan?"
"It was a conditional pledge. But, in any case, she will formally
renounce it."
For a time there was silence.
Alan had risen, and now stood by the side of the couch, with folded
arms. The Marquise Lois looked up at him, with her steadfast,
shadowy eyes. When she spoke again she averted them, and her
voice was so low as almost to be a whisper.
"Finally, Alan, let me ask you one question. It is not about you and
Ynys. I infer that both of you are at one in your determination to
take every thing into your own hands. Presumably you can maintain
her and yourself. Tristran—the Marquis de Kerival—will not
contribute a franc toward her support. If he knew, he would turn her
out of doors this very day."
"Well, Aunt Lois, I wait for your final question?"
"It is this. What about Annaik?"
Startled by her tone and sudden lifted glance, Alan stared in silence;
then recollecting himself, he repeated dully:
"'What about Annaik?' ... Annaik, Aunt Lois, why do you ask me
about Annaik?"
"She loves you."
"As a brother; as the betrothed of Ynys; as a dear comrade and
friend."
"Do not be a hypocrite, Alan. You know that she loves you. What of
your feeling toward her?"
"I love her ... as a brother loves a sister ... as any old playmate and
friend ... as ... as the sister of Ynys."
A faint, scornful smile came upon the white lips of the Marquise.
"Will you be good enough, then, to explain about last night?"
"About last night?"
"Come, be done with evasion. Yes, about last night. Alan, I know
that you and Annaik were out together in the cypress avenue, and
again, on the dunes, after midnight; that you were seen walking
hand in hand; and that, stealthily, you entered the house together."
"Well?"
"Well! The inference is obvious. But I will let you see that I know
more. Annaik went out of the house late. Old Matieu let her out.
Shortly after that you went out of the château. Later, you and she
came upon Judik Kerbastiou prowling about in the woods. It was
more than an hour after he left you that you returned to the
château. Where were you during that hour or more?"
Alan flushed. He unfolded his arms; hesitated; then refolded them.
"How do you know this?" he asked simply.
"I know it, because...."
But before she finished what she was about to say, the door opened
and Yann entered.
"What is it, Ian?"
"I would be speaking to you alone for a minute, Bantighearna."
"Alan, go to the alcove yonder, please. I must hear in private what
Yann has to say to me."
As soon as the young man was out of hearing, Yann stooped and
spoke in low tones. The Marquise Lois grew whiter and whiter, till
not a vestige of color remained in her face, and the only sign of life
was in the eyes. Suddenly she made an exclamation.
Alan turned and looked at her. He caught her agonized whisper: "Oh,
my God!"
"What is it—oh, what is it, dear Aunt Lois?" he cried, as he advanced
to her side.
He expected to be waved back, but to his surprise the Marquise
made no sign to him to withdraw. Instead, she whispered some
instructions to Yann and then bade him go.
When they were alone once more, she took a small silver flagon
from beneath her coverlet and poured a few drops upon some sugar.
Having taken this, she seemed to breathe more easily. It was
evident, at the same time, that she had received some terrible
shock.
"Alan, come closer. I cannot speak loud. I have no time to say more
to you about Annaik. I must leave that to you and to her. But lest I
die, let me say at once that I forbid you to marry Ynys, and that I
enjoin you to marry Annaik, and that without delay."
A spasm of pain crossed the speaker's face. She stopped, and
gasped for breath. When at last she resumed, it was clear she
considered as settled the matter on which she had spoken.
"Alan, I am so unwell that I must be very brief. And now listen. You
are twenty-five to-day. Such small fortune as is yours comes now
into your possession. It has been administered for you by a firm of
lawyers in Edinburgh. See, here is the address. Can you read it?
Yes?... Well, keep the slip. This fortune is not much. To many,
possibly to you, it may not seem enough to provide more than the
bare necessities of life, not enough for its needs. Nevertheless, it is
your own, and you will be glad. It will, at least, suffice to keep you
free from need if ever you fulfil your great wish to go back to the
land of your fathers, to your own place."
"That is still my wish and my hope."
"So be it! You will have also an old sea castle, not much more than a
keep, on a remote island. It will at any rate be your own. It is on an
island where few people are; a wild and precipitous isle far out in
the Atlantic at the extreme of the Southern Hebrides."
"Is it called Rona?" Alan interrupted eagerly.
Without noticing, or heeding, his eagerness, she assented.
"Yes, it is called Rona. Near it are the isles of Mingulay and Borosay.
These three islands were once populous, and it was there that for
hundreds of years your father's clan, of which he was hereditary
chief, lived and prospered. After the evil days, the days when the
young King was hunted in the west as though a royal head were the
world's desire, and when our brave kinswoman, Flora Macdonald,
proved that women as well as men could dare all for a good cause—
after those evil days the people melted away. Soon the last
remaining handful were upon Borosay; and there, too, till the great
fire that swept the island a score of years ago, stood the castle of
my ancestors, the Macdonalds of Borosay.
"My father was a man well known in his day. The name of Sir
Kenneth Macdonald was as familiar in London as in Edinburgh; and
in Paris he was known to all the military and diplomatic world, for in
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

ebookbell.com