Violet Jacob > Flemington

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FLEMINGTON
He barely replied to Wattle’s familiar greeting.
“ Do you know this person ?” inquired Callandar.
He assented.
" Ay, does he. Him and me’s weel acquaint,”
said Wattie, closing an eye. “ Hae, tak’ yon.”
He held out the letter to Flemington.
The young man opened it slowly, turning his
back to the cart, and his brows drew together as
he read.
His destiny did not mean him to escape. Logie
had been marked down, and the circle of his
enemies was narrowing round him. Flemington
was to go no farther, and he was to remain with
Callandar to await another message that would be
brought to their bivouac on Huntly Hill, before
approaching nearer to Brechin.
He stood aside, the paper in his hand. Here
was the turning-point; he was face to face with
it at last. He could not take part in Logie’s
capture; on that he was completely, unalterably
determined. What would be the end of it all for
himself he could not think. Nothing was clear,
nothing plain, but the settled strength of his
determination. He looked into the mellowing
light round him, and saw everything as though it
were unreal; the only reality was that he had
chosen his way. Heaven was pitiless, but it
should not shake him. Far above him a solitary
bird was winging its way into the spaces beyond
the hills ; the measured beat of its wings growing
invisible as it grew smaller and smaller and was
finally lost to sight. He watched it, fascinated,