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 Black Douglas by Samuel Rutherford Crockett (best e book reader android .txt) 📖
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face as if she had been about to cry.
"You hurt my arm!" she said plaintively, looking up at him with the long pathetic gaze of a gentle helpless animal undeservedly put in pain.
Sholto perforce released the pressure on her arm. She instantly put both hands behind her.
"You did not hurt me at all--hear you that, Master Sholto," she cried, "and I do not love you--not that much, Sir Noble Bully!"
And she snapped her finger and thumb like a flash beneath his nose.
"Not that much!" she repeated viciously, and did it again. Sholto turned away sternly.
"You are nothing but a silly girl, and not worthy that any true man should either love or marry you!" he said, walking off in the direction of the castle.
Maud Lindesay looked after him a moment as if not believing her eyes and ears. Then, so soon as she made sure that he was indeed not coming back, she tripped quickly after him. He was taking long strides, and it required a series of small hops and skips to keep up with him.
"Not really, Sholto?" she said beseechingly, almost running beside him now. He walked so fast.
"Yes, madam, really!" said that young knight, still more sternly.
She took a little run to get a step in front of him, so that she might advantageously look up into his face.
"Then you will not marry me, Sholto?"
Her hands were clasped with the sweetest petitionary grace.
"_No!_"
The monosyllable escaped from his lips with a snort like a puff of steam from under the lid of a boiling pot.
"Not even if I ask you very nicely, Sholto?"
"No!"
The negative came again, apparently fiercer than before, almost like an explosion indeed. But still there was a hollow sound about it somewhere.
At this the girl stopped suddenly and, drawing a little lace kerchief from her bosom, she sank her head into it in apparent abandonment of grief.
"Oh, what shall I do?" she wailed, "Sholto says he will not marry me, and I have asked him so sweetly. What shall I do? What shall I do? I will e'en go and drown me in the Dee water!"
And with her kerchief still held to her eyes--or at least (to be wholly accurate) to one of them--the despised maiden ran towards the river bank. She did not run very fast, but still she ran.
Now this was more than Sholto had bargained for, and he in turn pursued her light-foot, swifter than he had ever run in his life. He overtook her just as she reached the little ascent of the rocks by the river margin.
His hand fell upon her shoulder and he turned her round. She was still shaking with sobs--or something.
"I will--I will, I _will_ drown myself!" she cried, her kerchief closer to her eyes.
"I will marry you--I will do anything. I love you, Maud!"
"You do not--you cannot!" she cried, pushing him fiercely away, "you said you would not! That I was not fit to marry."
"I did not mean it--I lied! I did not know what I said! I will do whatever you bid me!" Sholto was grovelling now.
"Then you will marry me--if I do not drown myself?"
She spoke with a sort of relenting, delicious and tentative.
"Yes--yes! When you will--to-morrow--now!"
She dropped the kerchief and the laughing eyes of naughty Maud Lindesay looked suddenly out upon Sholto like sunshine in a dark place. They were dry and full of merriment. Not a trace of tears was to be discerned in either of them.
Then she gave another little skip, and, catching him by the arm, forced him to walk with her toward Castle Thrieve.
"Of course you will marry me, silly! You could not help yourself, Sholto--and it shall be when I like too. But now that you have been so stern and crusty with me, I am not sure that I will not take Landless Jock after all!"
* * * * *
This is the end, and yet not the end. For still, say the country folk, when the leaves are greenest by the lakeside, when the white thorn is whitest and the sun drops most gloriously behind the purpling hills of the west, when the children sing like mavises on the clachan greens, you may chance to spy under the Three Thorns of Carlinwark a lady fairer than mortal eye hath seen. She will be sitting gracefully on a white palfrey and hearkening to the bairns singing by the watersides. And the tears fall down her cheeks as she listens, in the place where in the spring-time of the year young William Douglas first met the Lady Sybilla.
THE END
Imprint
"You hurt my arm!" she said plaintively, looking up at him with the long pathetic gaze of a gentle helpless animal undeservedly put in pain.
Sholto perforce released the pressure on her arm. She instantly put both hands behind her.
"You did not hurt me at all--hear you that, Master Sholto," she cried, "and I do not love you--not that much, Sir Noble Bully!"
And she snapped her finger and thumb like a flash beneath his nose.
"Not that much!" she repeated viciously, and did it again. Sholto turned away sternly.
"You are nothing but a silly girl, and not worthy that any true man should either love or marry you!" he said, walking off in the direction of the castle.
Maud Lindesay looked after him a moment as if not believing her eyes and ears. Then, so soon as she made sure that he was indeed not coming back, she tripped quickly after him. He was taking long strides, and it required a series of small hops and skips to keep up with him.
"Not really, Sholto?" she said beseechingly, almost running beside him now. He walked so fast.
"Yes, madam, really!" said that young knight, still more sternly.
She took a little run to get a step in front of him, so that she might advantageously look up into his face.
"Then you will not marry me, Sholto?"
Her hands were clasped with the sweetest petitionary grace.
"_No!_"
The monosyllable escaped from his lips with a snort like a puff of steam from under the lid of a boiling pot.
"Not even if I ask you very nicely, Sholto?"
"No!"
The negative came again, apparently fiercer than before, almost like an explosion indeed. But still there was a hollow sound about it somewhere.
At this the girl stopped suddenly and, drawing a little lace kerchief from her bosom, she sank her head into it in apparent abandonment of grief.
"Oh, what shall I do?" she wailed, "Sholto says he will not marry me, and I have asked him so sweetly. What shall I do? What shall I do? I will e'en go and drown me in the Dee water!"
And with her kerchief still held to her eyes--or at least (to be wholly accurate) to one of them--the despised maiden ran towards the river bank. She did not run very fast, but still she ran.
Now this was more than Sholto had bargained for, and he in turn pursued her light-foot, swifter than he had ever run in his life. He overtook her just as she reached the little ascent of the rocks by the river margin.
His hand fell upon her shoulder and he turned her round. She was still shaking with sobs--or something.
"I will--I will, I _will_ drown myself!" she cried, her kerchief closer to her eyes.
"I will marry you--I will do anything. I love you, Maud!"
"You do not--you cannot!" she cried, pushing him fiercely away, "you said you would not! That I was not fit to marry."
"I did not mean it--I lied! I did not know what I said! I will do whatever you bid me!" Sholto was grovelling now.
"Then you will marry me--if I do not drown myself?"
She spoke with a sort of relenting, delicious and tentative.
"Yes--yes! When you will--to-morrow--now!"
She dropped the kerchief and the laughing eyes of naughty Maud Lindesay looked suddenly out upon Sholto like sunshine in a dark place. They were dry and full of merriment. Not a trace of tears was to be discerned in either of them.
Then she gave another little skip, and, catching him by the arm, forced him to walk with her toward Castle Thrieve.
"Of course you will marry me, silly! You could not help yourself, Sholto--and it shall be when I like too. But now that you have been so stern and crusty with me, I am not sure that I will not take Landless Jock after all!"
* * * * *
This is the end, and yet not the end. For still, say the country folk, when the leaves are greenest by the lakeside, when the white thorn is whitest and the sun drops most gloriously behind the purpling hills of the west, when the children sing like mavises on the clachan greens, you may chance to spy under the Three Thorns of Carlinwark a lady fairer than mortal eye hath seen. She will be sitting gracefully on a white palfrey and hearkening to the bairns singing by the watersides. And the tears fall down her cheeks as she listens, in the place where in the spring-time of the year young William Douglas first met the Lady Sybilla.
THE END
Imprint
Publication Date: 12-09-2009
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