Wild Island by Antonia Fraser Page B

shone.
    And it was by virtue of this combination that Jemima perceived the Fair Falls for the second time under the perfect arch of yet another rainbow. Only this time she saw the arch literally doubled: there was another rainbow described inside the first one. She was reminded of that line in the ballad: 'The old moon with the new moon in its arms.' Sir Patrick Spens - another Scottish hero who had gone at his King's command to Noroway over the foam. If not very near Dunfermline town, this was still ballad country. The foam and fine spray flew upwards into the air recklessly, as the black water poured down between the rocks into the chasm below. The pool was at a vast distance below her feet and the grass so slippery that she drew back nervously even before recalling Bridie's warning.
    Could that dark and turbulent area of water really be Marjorie'sPool ? Litde as she knew about fishing, it seemed an odd place to choose to wade out. The pool must surely be too deep for any kind of wading, however high the boots. And in this case of course the boots had not been strong enough ... 'Drownded. Sucked down into the waters.' Bridie's flat voice echoed in Jemima's ears. She tried to shut it out. There was, to distract her also, a high singing sound above the noise of the water, which she could not quite place.
    The next moment her eyes were involuntarily drawn away from the pool towards the opposite bank. She was aware of a man in long dark clothes standing there quite still, staring at her. Surprise made her unsteady, she almost slipped and had to grasp a rather inadequate bush on the cliff's edge to steady herself. Recovering her balance, she half expected to see Lachlan Stuart once more. But it was Father Flanagan.
    It was not that his expression was particularly sinister or even angry. Yet with his height, his white hair and his dark clothes, he did have the air of a kind of figure of vengeance, a ghost come back from another world to demand retribution. The evening light, the rain, the spray, the rainbow whose vanishing end hovered close to where he stood, all contributed to the phantom-like impression; or was he merely gazing covetously at the island which, according to Colonel Henry, he wanted for the Church ?
    Father Flanagan continued to stare at Jemima. Then he sketched a sort of wave. It might even have been the sign of the Cross. His lips moved, but the noise of the waterfall, the chasm between them, prevented her hearing his words. Then he turned on his heel and vanished among the rocks. Jemima gazed down the river to the narrow bridge to see if he was intending to pay her a visit. There was no sign of anyone on the bridge. She was safe from intrusion.
    Jemima gazed once more into the depths of Marjorie's Pool, thought once more, despite herself, of Charles Beauregard pulled down into its depths as his great boots filled with water, and later found-floating-by the stern and unlamenting figure of Bridie.
    No, she would cast out such thoughts. She would remember only the magic of the island, her own Prospero's isle. By an act of discipline, Jemima turned from the Fair Falls and retraced her steps along the mossy overgrown path. Then she wandered more slowly in the general direction of the house.
    The undergrowth still rustled, but the birds were no longer flying so freely. The hour was approaching true dusk. Twenty minutes later Jemima found herself once more gazing at that strange Gothic dwelling calling itself Tigh Fas, the Empty House.
    This time her feeling of threat, danger, dread was quite unmistakable. It was not the lush green hospitable island which threatened her and spoke of danger. Even the waterfall and Marjorie's Pool, for all its connotations, spoke of tragedy rather than of danger. Yet the house, which should have been her refuge from all this, filled her with foreboding.
    ‘ An Ancient place,' Lachlan had said. Had some foul deed been perpetrated on the site of this house hundreds of years ago ? Sighing