- end_line
- 4759
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.591Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4668
- text
- The Ranger now stood over the Solway Frith for the Scottish shore, and
at noon on the same day, Paul, with twelve men, including two officers
and Israel, landed on St. Mary’s Isle, one of the seats of the Earl of
Selkirk.
In three consecutive days this elemental warrior either entered the
harbors or landed on the shores of each of the Three Kingdoms.
The morning was fair and clear. St. Mary’s Isle lay shimmering in the
sun. The light crust of snow had melted, revealing the tender grass and
sweet buds of spring mantling the sides of the cliffs.
At once, upon advancing with his party towards the house, Paul augured
ill for his project from the loneliness of the spot. No being was seen.
But cocking his bonnet at a jaunty angle, he continued his way.
Stationing the men silently round about the house, fallowed by Israel,
he announced his presence at the porch.
A gray-headed domestic at length responded.
“Is the Earl within?”
“He is in Edinburgh, sir.”
“Ah—sure?—Is your lady within?”
“Yes, sir—who shall I say it is?”
“A gentleman who calls to pay his respects. Here, take my card.”
And he handed the man his name, as a private gentleman, superbly
engraved at Paris, on gilded paper.
Israel tarried in the hall while the old servant led Paul into a
parlor.
Presently the lady appeared.
“Charming Madame, I wish you a very good morning.”
“Who may it be, sir, that I have the happiness to see?” said the lady,
censoriously drawing herself up at the too frank gallantry of the
stranger.
“Madame, I sent you my card.”
“Which leaves me equally ignorant, sir,” said the lady, coldly,
twirling the gilded pasteboard.
“A courier dispatched to Whitehaven, charming Madame, might bring you
more particular tidings as to who has the honor of being your visitor.”
Not comprehending what this meant, and deeply displeased, if not
vaguely alarmed, at the characteristic manner of Paul, the lady, not
entirely unembarrassed, replied, that if the gentleman came to view the
isle, he was at liberty so to do. She would retire and send him a
guide.
“Countess of Selkirk,” said Paul, advancing a step, “I call to see the
Earl. On business of urgent importance, I call.”
“The Earl is in Edinburgh,” uneasily responded the lady, again about to
retire.
“Do you give me your honor as a lady that it is as you say?”
The lady looked at him in dubious resentment.
“Pardon, Madame, I would not lightly impugn a lady’s lightest word, but
I surmised that, possibly, you might suspect the object of my call, in
which case it would be the most excusable thing in the world for you to
seek to shelter from my knowledge the presence of the Earl on the
isle.”
“I do not dream what you mean by all this,” said the lady with a
decided alarm, yet even in her panic courageously maintaining her
dignity, as she retired, rather than retreated, nearer the door.
“Madame,” said Paul, hereupon waving his hand imploringly, and then
tenderly playing with his bonnet with the golden band, while an
expression poetically sad and sentimental stole over his tawny face;
“it cannot be too poignantly lamented that, in the profession of arms,
the officer of fine feelings and genuine sensibility should be
sometimes necessitated to public actions which his own private heart
cannot approve. This hard case is mine. The Earl, Madame, you say is
absent. I believe those words. Far be it from my soul, enchantress, to
ascribe a fault to syllables which have proceeded from so faultless a
source.”
This probably he said in reference to the lady’s mouth, which was
beautiful in the extreme.
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