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Updated: May 2, 2025
"What a wonderful night," Gabrielle whispered. "I never knew such a night," he said. "It feels a bit like that evening when we stood leaning over the bridge by the lake." "Don't," she said. "I want to forget it. Can you smell the dew?" "Yes, and the scent of may coming over from the meadows." "We call it whitethorn in Ireland." There was a long pause, then he spoke again.
"There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that none can name. Whitethorn a-bloom in May, sedges a-sway, and scented rushes rustling in an inland wind recall the sea to me I can't say why. "Far out at sea I raised myself, swung around, dived, and set out again for shore, striking strong strokes until the necked foam flew.
Originally they were of a public character, for murder was common in primitive times, and such spirits would be numerous, as is proved by the festival lasting three days. As in Rome, the days were unlucky. Temples were closed and business was suspended, for the dead were abroad. In the morning the doors were smeared with pitch, and those in the house chewed whitethorn to keep off the evil spirits.
After he had pushed through the prickly whitethorn and the privet-bushes which tore his clothes, he stood transfixed with admiration. What he saw before him was a paradise. A cultivated garden of five or six acres, with fruit-trees, not planted in rows, but in picturesquely scattered groups, whose boughs were weighed down by their sweet burden.
At a little distance a second obstacle showed itself, a whitethorn hedge that looked like a hurdle. Lady Godiva scarcely seemed to touch the ground with her hoofs. Her mane and tail gleamed golden as they streamed on the mild evening breeze. A pair of quails started up from amid the ripe corn. The mare rose on her hind legs for the jump, then made a sudden violent movement as though to avoid it.
As in the mirages of the desert, in each as it rises, I see some image of which my mind had been longing for the reality. At first the vapor increases, and its color deepens. I see a cottage on a hillside: behind is a garden shut in by a whitethorn hedge, and through the garden runs a brook, on the banks of which I hear the bees humming. Then the view opens still more.
"Yes, mother," answered Harry, with unconscious sternness, "because it might have been my own business, entirely my own affair, with which no mortal, not even you, can be entitled to interfere. But it was only to offer and urge upon me a loan of money to enable me to satisfy the bank's claims, if they come to the worst, and retain Whitethorn, paying him at my leisure.
It's only the old, old story, But the piece is repeated each day." The Moon said, "Beside the woodland path there are two small farm-houses. The doors are low, and some of the windows are placed quite high, and others close to the ground; and whitethorn and barberry bushes grow around them. The roof of each house is overgrown with moss and with yellow flowers and houseleek.
The mother had made us promise not to meet till Sunday, for fraid of the father becoming suspicious: but if I was to be shot for it, I couldn't hinder myself from going every night to the great flowering whitethorn that was behind their garden; and although she knew I hadn't promised to come, yet there she still was; something, she said, tould her I would come.
Joanna was established in her recess, nearly confident that she was not conspicuous, and considerably interested in watching Harry Jardine. Mrs. Jardine's intentions had been in a great measure fulfilled. The young Laird of Whitethorn had grown up at his English school and German university without the cloud which rested on his father's end descending on his spirit.
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