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Updated: May 4, 2025
Yesterday morning I went to Scythia's Roost, climbed from that shelf to the top of the mountain and viewed the scene from it. After I came down again to Scythia's Roost I sat down to rest. The sun was sinking behind the ridge, but through a crevice in the rocks a ray 'a line of golden light' pierced and seemed to strike fire and bring out an answering ray from some living light left in the ashes.
The sun was setting behind the mountain, which threw a dark shadow over Scythia's Ledge and Rule's path, as he ran springing from rock to rock down the precipice to the river's side. It was dark when he reached the spot. But the lights from the windows of Rockhold on the opposite shore gleamed out upon the snow with splendid effect.
Whether by Merlin's aid from Scythia's shore To Amber's fatal plain Pendragon bore, Huge frame of giant hands, the mighty pile, To entomb his Britons slain by Hengist's guile: Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore, Taught 'mid thy massy maze their mystic lore; Or Danish chiefs, enriched by savage spoil, To Victory's idol vast, an unhewn shrine, Reared the huge heap; or, in thy hallowed round, Repose the kings of Brutus' genuine line; Or here those kings in solemn state were crowned; Studious to trace thy wondrous origin, We muse on many an ancient tale renowned."
Certainly, Rule! Come whenever you like! And see here! It is a long, rough road from here to old Scythia's Roost, which is right on our way to Rockhold. Sorry we cannot offer you a seat in the carriage but you see there are but four seats and there are already five people to fill them." "Oh, sir, I should not expect such a thing," said the youth.
Sir Lionel and I like to think it was the Britons, for that gives him a family feeling for the place, since he read out of a book Warton's sonnet: "Thou noblest monument of Albion's Isle, Whether by Merlin's aid from Scythia's shore To Amber's fatal plain Pendragon bore, Huge frame of giants' hands, the mighty pile To entomb his Britons slain by Hengist's guile, Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore, Taught 'mid the massy maze their mystic lore."
An hour's leisurely walk brought him to the first cleft in the rock. From the back of this the path ascended, with many a double, to the wooded shelf on which old Scythia's hut had once stood hidden. When he reached the spot he found nothing but charred logs, blasted trees, and ashes, as if the spot had been wasted by fire. A ray of dazzling light darted from the ashes at his feet.
They might have been grandfather and granddaughter, but they were, in fact, old Aaron Rockharrt and Miss Rose Flowers Merlin and Vivien again, except that the Iron King was rather a rugged and unmanageable Merlin. Meanwhile, Regulas Rothsay had climbed the rugged mountain path that led to Scythia's hut.
The girl took it with a smile, but before she could open her lips to express her thanks, the youth had bowed, turned from the carriage, and was speeding his way up the rough mountain path, springing from crag to crag up to the ledge on which old Scythia's hut stood. Cora opened the parcel and found an inch-square little casket of red morocco.
He lingered five days. I waited on him until death relieved him, and then laid his body to rest beside old Scythia's. I was then preparing to return to La Terrepeur, when a wandering scout brought me the news of the massacre of the inhabitants and the destruction of the settlement. Since that time, dear Corona, I have lived alone on this mountain. That is all.
"I shall go down to my old home, sir, Mother Scythia's hut." "Oh! Ah! Yes; I remember. You are going to stop there?" "Yes, sir; but I shall try to see all old friends to-day or to-morrow, and I should like to go to Rockhold to thank all the friends there who have been kind to me, and to tell Mrs. Rockharrt and Miss Cora, who were kindest of all, how I have got on in the city." "Certainly!
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