So forbidding had the
mountain paths become that even the young Lord Purceville, the most
stubborn and heedless of men, was forced to turn back and seek
shelter, postponing, for one day at least, his desired meeting
with young Mary Scott, of whom he had heard such glowing reports.
So deeply, in fact, had the old man's words affected him, that he
fancied (though this was unlikely) he truly had seen her once before,
gathering wildflowers on a green hillside in Spring. And whether of
human or otherworldly origins, the spell, to which he was particularly
susceptible, had done its work on him.
He wanted her.
* * *
The man staggered wearily down the high embankment, until he came to
the final, near-vertical stretch of cliff. The cold rain lashed him;
the need to reach shelter and the warmth of a fire had become all
consuming. He had not eaten, or slept, for days. But for all of this,
and for the pride that had once been his, he knew that he must now be
supremely cautious. One half-hearted grip on the dripping rock, one
misplaced footing, would send him crashing to the ground below.
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