“There’s nae occasion,” and “I’ll du that,” said the two young people in a breath.
Cosmo rose, and began to put on his plaid, crossing it over back and chest to leave his arms free: that way the wind would get least hold on him. Agnes went to the closet for her plaid also—of the same tartan, and drawing it over her head and pinning it under her chin, was presently ready for the stormy way. Then she turned to Cosmo, and was pinning his plaid together at the throat, when the wind came with a sudden howl, rushed down the chimney, and drove the level smoke into the middle of the room. It could not shake the cottage—it was too lowly: neither could it rattle its windows— they were not made to open; but it bellowed over it like a wave over a rock, and as in contempt blew its smoke back into its throat.
“It’ll be a wull nicht, I’m doobtin’, Cosmo,” said Agnes; “an’ I wuss ye safe i’ the ingle-neak wi’ yer fowk.”
Cosmo laughed. “The win’ kens me,” he said.
“Guid farbid!” cried the old woman from the bed. “Kenna ye wha’s the prence o’ ’t, laddie? Makna a jeist o’ the pooers ’at be.”
THE CLOCK AND THE PIPE SEEMED TO BE HOLDING A SILENT TALK.
“Gien they binna ordeent o’ God, what are they but a jeist?” returned Cosmo. “Eh, but ye wad mak a bonny munsie o’ me, Grannie, to hae me feart at the deil an’ a’! I canna a’ thegither help it wi’ the ghaists, an’ I’m ashamed o’ mysel’ for that; but I am not gaein to heed the deil. I defy him an’ a’ his works. He’s but a cooerd, ye ken, Grannie, for whan ye resist him, he rins.”
She made no answer. Cosmo shook hands with her, and went, followed by Agnes, who locked the door behind her, and put the key in her pocket.
It was indeed a wild night. The wind was rushing from the north, full of sharp stinging pellicles, something between snow-flakes and hail-stones. Down the wide village street it came right in their faces. Through it, as through a thin shifting sheet, they saw on both sides the flickering lights of the many homes, but before them lay darkness, and the moor, a chaos, a carnival of wind and snow. Worst of all the snow on the road was not binding , and their feet felt as if walking on sand. As long as the footing is good, one can get on even in the face of a northerly storm; but to heave with a shifting fulcrum is hard. Nevertheless Cosmo, beholding with his mind’s eye the wide waste around him, rejoiced; invisible through the snow, it was not the less a presence, and his young heart rushed to the contest. There was no fear of ghosts in such a storm! The ghosts might be there, but there was no time to heed them, and that was as good as their absence—perhaps better, if we knew all.