The banks of the kirk-burn, whose ceaseless waters came out of the distant woods, and whose far off source was one of wonder to their infant minds, reflected every day their smiling faces as they wove fairy caps among the rushes, or set fleets of bluebells floating down its current; but the bold young baron of the moated Tower led them elsewhere, for he shewed Kenneth where the golden eagle and the dark osprey built their nests in the perpendicular rocks of Baud-kroskie; and where the fierce fiumart nursed its red cubs among the ivy-covered holes, daring him to climb with his dagger in his teeth, to rob the former and slay the latter.
Then, when Kenneth modestly declined, the reckless Gordon, with a triumphant glance at the little lady, and a laugh of scorn and derision, would clench his poniard in his strong white teeth, and grasping the weeds, the ivy, the rocks, or bushes, would ascend the steep cliffs like a squirrel, with the clouds and mist above, and the waters of the Dee flowing deep and dark below, while the two cousins held their breath with terror, as they watched him. Then the eagle would be seen to fly from its eyry with a shriek, and, torn from its bed, the nest would fall at the feet of Lily; or at times she was still more terrified by a fox or a fiumart rolling down the rocks, drenched in its blood. Then came Halbert Gordon, descending with the rapidity of an evil spirit, with his cheek flushed and his eyes on fire, to laugh at Lily's terror and Kenneth's timidity; to exult in his own superior daring—to exhibit his bloody poniard, and say tauntingly—
"I will be a brave leal knight, even as my father was; but you, Master Kenneth, may weel become a monk, and snuffle Latin in Logie-Kirk."
Though less rash and vindictive, Kenneth was a brave boy, too; and his heart swelled with secret passion at these open taunts. Thus, by degrees, the fierce little chieftain of the Tower learned to despise him, and, as their years increased, he took every opportunity of endeavouring to lessen Kenneth in the estimation of his cousin. The boys often quarrelled; but, boy like, they just as often became apparent friends again. Kenneth Logie respected and even loved Gordon for his bravery; but feared his proud and passionate temper. Gordon admired Kenneth's skill as a deadly shot with the arquebuse and pistolette, but despised his caution; while Lily instinctively loved her cousin, and feared their companion, though he loved her well, for her exceeding gentleness, her obliging disposition, and the grace with which she said and did all those pretty nothings, which are as pleasing in the artless little girl as in the winning and well-bred woman.
Time passed on.
The boys became youths, both tall and strong; while the fair wild-bud that blossomed in the Forest of Culbleine, was daily unfolding some new charm as it expanded into beauty and bloom.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE COUSINS.—THE STORY CONTINUED.
Many years had glided thus away.
The summer of 1594 was at hand. Kenneth Logie was then twenty years of age, and his cousin was two years younger. Kenneth, a handsome and athletic lad, excelled in all the manly sports and exercises necessary to complete the education of a Scottish gentleman. But Lily! The bud had become a rose, the pretty child a beautiful woman; mild and happy, merry or pensive, by turns. Lily, in her eighteenth year, had indeed become the Lily of Logie—the Lily of the many songs in which her memory has been embalmed. Heaven never created a being more beautiful!