Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Hot Swamp by R. M. Ballantyne (latest novels to read .txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Hot Swamp by R. M. Ballantyne (latest novels to read .txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“Well, then, you shall see her then; for she has only just arrived, and is too tired to see any one,” continued Gadarn, with a suppressed yawn; “and you’ll be sure to fall in love with her; but you had better not, for her affections are already engaged. I give you fair warning, so be on your guard.”
The prince laughed, and assured his friend that there was no fear, as he had seen thousands of fair girls both in East and West, but his heart had never yet been touched by one of them.
At this the chief laughed loudly, and assured Bladud that his case had now reached a critical stage: for when young men made statements of that kind, they were always on the point of being conquered.
“But leave me now, Bladud,” he continued, with a yawn so vast that the regions around the uvula were clearly visible; “I’m frightfully sleepy, and you know you have shortened my nap this afternoon.”
The prince rose at once.
“At all events,” he said, “I am to understand, before I go, that Cormac has been seen?”
“O yes! Certainly; no doubt about that!”
“And is well?”
“Quite well.”
Fain to be content with this in the meantime, Bladud hurried to the apartment of his sister.
“Hafrydda!” he exclaimed, “has Gadarn gone out of his mind?”
“I believe not,” she replied, sitting down beside her brother and taking his hand. “Why do you ask?”
“Because he talks—I say it with all respect—like an idiot.”
Hafrydda laughed; and her brother thereupon gave her a full account of the recent interview.
“Now, my sister, you were always straightforward and wise. Give me a clear answer. Has Cormac been found?”
“No, he has not been found; but—”
“Then,” interrupted Bladud, in a savage tone that was very foreign to his nature, “Gadarn is a liar!”
“Oh, brother! say not so.”
“How can I help it? He gave me to understand that Cormac has been found—at least, well, no, not exactly found, but seen and heard of. I’m no better than the rest of you,” continued Bladud, with a sarcastic laugh. “It seems as if there were something in the air just now which prevents us all from expressing ourselves plainly.”
“Well, then, brother,” said Hafrydda, with a smile, “if he told you that Cormac has been seen and heard of, and is well, surely that may relieve your mind till to-morrow, when I know that some one who knows all about the boy is to be at our festival. We begin it with games, as usual. Shall you be there?”
“I’d rather not,” replied the prince almost testily; “but, of course, it would be ungracious not to appear. This, however, I do know, that I shall take no part in the sports.”
“As you please, brother. We are only too glad to have you home again, to care much about that. But, now, I have something of importance to tell you about myself.”
Bladud was interested immediately; and for the moment forgot his own troubles as he gazed inquiringly into the fair countenance of the princess.
“I am going to wed, brother.”
“Indeed! You do not surprise me, though you alarm me—I know not why. Who is the man?—not Gunrig, I hope.”
“Alas! no. Poor Gunrig is dead.”
“Dead! Ah, poor man! I am glad we met at the Swamp.”
Bladud looked sad for a moment, but did not seem unduly oppressed by the news.
“The man who has asked me to wed is your friend Dromas.”
“What!” exclaimed the prince, in blazing surprise, not unmingled with delight. “The man has been here only a few hours! He must have been very prompt!”
“It does not take many hours to ask a girl to wed; and I like a prompt man,” returned the princess, looking pensively at the floor.
“But tell me, how came it all about? How did he manage it in so short a time?”
“Well, brother dear—but you’ll never tell any one, will you?”
“Never—never!”
“Well, you must know, when we first met, we—we—”
“Fell in love. Poor helpless things!”
“Just so, brother; we fell, somehow in—whatever it was; and he told me with his eyes—and—and—I told him with mine. Then he went off to find you; and came back, having found you—for which I was very grateful. Then he went to father and asked leave to speak to me. Then he went to mother. What they said I do not know; but he came straight to me, took my hand, fixed his piercing black eyes on me, and said, ‘Hafrydda, I love you.’”
“Was that all?” asked Bladud.
“Yes; that was all he said; but—but that was not the end of the interview! It would probably have lasted till now, if you had not interrupted us.”
“I’m so very sorry, sister, but of course I did not know that—”
They were interrupted at that moment by the servitor, to whom the reader has already been introduced. He entered with a brightly intelligent grin on his expressive face, but, on beholding Bladud, suddenly elongated his countenance into blank stupidity.
“The old woman waits outside, princess.”
“Oh, send her here at once.” (Then, when the servitor had left.) “This is the person I mentioned who knows about Cormac.”
Another moment and the little old woman in the grey shawl was ushered in. She started visibly on beholding Bladud.
“Come in, granny. I did not expect you till to-morrow.”
“I thought I was to see you alone,” said the old woman, testily, in her hard, metallic voice.
“That is true, granny, but I thought you might like to see my brother Bladud, who has just returned home safe and well.”
“No, I don’t want to see your brother. What do I care for people’s brothers? I want to see yourself, alone.”
“Let me congratulate you, at all events,” interposed the prince, kindly, “on your having recovered your hearing, grannie. This is not the first time we have met, Hafrydda, but I grieve to see that my old friend’s nerves are not so strong as they used to be. You tremble a good deal.”
“Yes, I tremble more than I like,” returned the old woman peevishly, “and, perhaps, when you come to my age, young man, and have got the palsy, you’ll tremble more than I do.”
“Nay, be not angry with me. I meant not to hurt your feelings; and since you wish to be alone with my sister, I will leave you.”
When he was gone Branwen threw back the grey shawl and stood up with flashing, tearful eyes.
“Was it kind—was it wise, Hafrydda, to cause me to run so great a risk of being discovered?”
“Forgive me, dear Branwen, I did not mean to do it, but you arrived unexpectedly, and I let you come in without thinking. Besides, I knew you could easily deceive him. Nobody could guess it was you—not even your own mother.”
“There must be some truth in that,” returned the maiden, quickly changing her mood, and laughing, “for I deceived my own father yesterday. At the Swamp he found me out at once as Cormac, for I had to speak in my natural voice, and my full face was exposed; but the grey shawl and the metallic voice were too much for him. Dear, good, patient, old man, you have no notion what a fearful amount of abuse he took from me, without losing temper—and I gave him some awful home-thrusts too! I felt almost tempted to kiss him and beg his pardon. But now, Hafrydda, I am beginning to be afraid of what all this deceiving and playing the double-face will come to. And I’m ashamed of it too—I really am. What will Bladud think of me when he finds out? Won’t he despise and hate me?”
“Indeed he will not. I know his nature well,” returned the princess, kissing, and trying to reassure her friend, whose timid look and tearful eyes seemed to indicate that all her self-confidence and courage were vanishing. “He loves you already, and love is a preventive of hate as well as a sovereign remedy for it.”
“Ay, he is fond of Cormac, I know, but that is a very different thing from loving Branwen! However, to-morrow will tell. If he cares only for the boy and does not love the girl, I shall return with my father to the far north, and you will never see Branwen more.”
During the residence of Gadarn at the court of King Hudibras, that wily northern chief had led the king to understand that one of his lieutenants had at last discovered his daughter Branwen in the hands of a band of robbers, from whom he had rescued her, and that he expected her arrival daily.
“But what made the poor child run away?” asked the king at one of his interviews with his friend. “We were all very fond of her, and she of us, I have good reason to believe.”
“I have been told,” replied the chief, “that it was the fear of Gunrig.”
“Gunrig! Why, the man was to wed my daughter. She had no need to fear him.”
“That may be so, but I know—though it is not easy to remember how I came to know it—that Gunrig had been insolent enough to make up to her, after he was defeated by Bladud, and she was so afraid of him that she ran away, and thus fell into the hands of robbers.”
While the chief was speaking, Hudibras clenched his hands and glared fiercely.
“Dared he to think of another girl when he was engaged to my daughter!” he said between his teeth. “It is well that Gunrig is dead, for assuredly I would have killed him.”
“It is well indeed,” returned Gadarn, “for if your killing had not been sufficient, I would have made it more effectual. But he is out of the way now, so we may dismiss him.”
“True—and when may we expect Branwen back again, poor child?” asked the king.
“In a day or two at latest. From what was told me by the runner who was sent on in advance, it is possible that she may be here to-morrow, in time for the sports.”
The wily chief had settled it in his own mind that Branwen should arrive exactly at the time when there was to be a presentation of chiefs; which ceremony was to take place just before the commencement of the sports. This arrangement he had come to in concert with a little old woman in a grey shawl, who paid him a private visit daily.
“Do you know, Gadarn, who this youth Cormac is, whom Bladud raves so much about?”
The northern chief was seized at that moment with one of those violent fits of sneezing to which of late he had become unpleasantly subject.
“Oh! ye—ye—y–ha! yes;—excuse me, king, but since I went to that Hot Swamp, something seems to have gone wrong wi’—wi’—ha! my nose.”
“Something will go worse wrong with it, chief, if you go on like that. I thought the last one must have split it. Well, what know you about Cormac?”
“That he appears to be a very good fellow. I can say nothing more about him than that, except that your son seems to think he owes his life to his good nursing at a critical point in his illness.”
“I know that well enough,” returned the king, “for Bladud has impressed it on me at least a dozen times. He seems to be very grateful. Indeed so am I, and it would please me much if I had an opportunity of showing my gratitude to the lad. Think you that there is any chance of finding out where he has disappeared to?”
“Not the least chance in the world.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the king in surprise. “That is strange, for Bladud, who has just left me, says that he has the best of reasons for believing that we shall have certain news of him tomorrow. But go, Gadarn, and consult my doctor about this complaint of yours, which interrupts conversation so awkwardly. We can resume our talk at
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