The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today

  *III.*

  There was a storm chill in the air. Trevelyan readjusted the carriagerobe that had slipped away from Cary, and turned up the collar of hisdriving coat. Now and again he glanced at Cary. The girl’s face wasturned away and she was looking out over the gray crags to the grayersea beyond. The last three months had wrought an indefinable change inher. Trevelyan had noticed it on his arrival at the Camerons’ thatmorning. He wondered vaguely if it had anything to do with travel andthe process of "polishing" to which Cary so often banteringly referred.Well he was not going to worry over it. He had only one day and hemeant to make the most of it.

  He had written the Camerons he was coming, and had not even waited foran answer. He had announced his intention and it was enough. He hadknown Tom Cameron since they wore kilts together, and back of theirfriendship, his mother’s family had known the Camerons for generations.Somewhere in the history of the houses, there had been aninter-marriage. That had been the enduring seal on the intimacy. TheScotch are clannish.

  It had taken him hours to reach the Camerons’. It would take him hoursto return. But this one afternoon, at least, was his. After it, mightcome the deluge. After it—probably would come the deluge! He wasn’tfeeling very sure of himself or of his own self power. After a man hasbeen in torment for three months—

  Tom Cameron’s horse knew the road well—almost as well as Trevelyandid—and kept up a steady pace, and Tom Cameron’s cart was comfortable.

  John was expected that afternoon for three days. Well; Cary would notbe there to welcome him. Cary would be with him. Stewart might haveher—undoubtedly would have her, for those three days, but to-day—thisafternoon, was his.

  The Camerons, learned in the signs of the sky, had demurred at the stormchill in the air and the threatening clouds, when after an early lunch,Trevelyan and the American girl had stepped into the cart. Trevelyan,however, had no intention of having his well laid plans frustrated, andin his masterful way, had over-ruled the objections. The storm was apossibility. His return next morning at daybreak, a necessity. Let thestorm come. He defied it.

  Cary shivered. Trevelyan noticed it and leaned toward her.

  "You are cold?"

  Cary turned her eyes away from the gray crags and the gray sea.Trevelyan’s were near her own. She shook her head.

  "No," she faltered. "It must be Scotland—the Scotland you told me of asa child. Once, long ago I fought you about it. If I had dreamed—if Ihad known—" her voice faded into the boom of the nearing surf and sheturned her eyes away from Trevelyan’s, coastward again.

  The music of her voice and the roar of the ocean mingled and surged overTrevelyan.

  "God!" he said under his breath.