What's Mine's Mine by George MacDonald

Author:George MacDonald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 2018-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

— Twenty-Three —

The Stag’s Head

Alister went straight to his brother’s room, his heart bursting with indignation. It was some time before Ian could get the story from him in plain sequence.

“Hadn’t you better tell your master what happened?” asked Ian.

Alister was silent a moment.

“Do you think he needs to be told anything? I thought you believed in his divinity.”

“The question is, do you?” returned Ian. “I can hardly imagine it when I hear you going on like this in his hearing.”

“Oh, Ian! you don’t know how it tortures me to think of that interloper, the low brute, killing the big stag, the Macruadh stag—on my land, too! I feel as if I could tear him in pieces! But for him I would have killed him on the spot. But what am I to do if I cannot let off my rage even to you?”

“Let if off to him, Alister. He will give you fairer play than your small brother—he understands you better than I. Come, begin now, and tell me everything quietly.”

“Word for word then, with all the imprecations!” said Alister, already a little cooler, and soon Ian was in possession of the story.

“Now what do you think I should do?” said the chief, ending his narration, which had been in a measure calm but at various points had revealed the boiling of the floods beneath.

“You must send him the head, Alister,” answered Ian.

“Send—what—who—I don’t understand you, Ian!” returned the chief, bewildered.

“Oh, well, never mind!” said Ian. “You will think of it presently.”

And with the words he turned his face to the wall as if he would go to sleep.

It had been understood between the brothers from far back in the golden haze of childhood that the moment one of them turned his back, not a word more was to be said until he who dropped the subject chose to resume it. To break this unspoken compact would have been to break one of the strands in the ancient bond of their deepest brotherhood. Therefore Alister went at once to his room, leaving Ian praying hard for him with his face to the wall. He went as one knowing well the storm he was about to encounter, but never before had he had such a storm to meet.

He closed the door and sat down on the side of his bed like one stunned. He did not doubt, yet he could hardly in truth believe that Ian had told him to send the antlers of his cabrach mòr, the late live type of his ancient crest, the pride of Clanruadh, to that vile fellow of a Sasunnach who had sent to his death the joyous soul of the fierce, bare mountains.

Great were the rushings to and fro in the spirit of Alister, wild and terrible. He never closed his eyes, but fought with himself all night until the morning broke. Could this impossible thing indeed be his duty? And if not his duty, was he called to do it from mere

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