'...But we always used to take it out on special occasions,' said Ewen, squinting at the massed slate-blue clouds gathering above the far side of Loch na h-Iolaire. 'Harvest feasts for the tenants, or a laird's wedding... The last time I saw it was at my coming-of-age, before I went to Paris. That was a long time ago!'
'To-night is a fine time to bring it out again, then,' said Keith; and Ewen turned from his contemplation of the clouds to meet Keith's sideways smile.
'Yes, it is,' he said.
It had been a quiet supper—only themselves and Miss Cameron—and quite an ordinary one, save for the heirloom which had made a brilliant centrepiece on a table otherwise adorned with homely, though excellently cooked, dishes of trout, roast mutton and plum pudding. But far brighter than the glinting gold of the cup had been the brightness in Ewen's eyes as he looked round the parlour, and spoke to Keith and his aunt, and ate the familiar food, and once or twice squeezed Keith's hand under the table. Keith's heart was warmed at the sight of him. It was two months since Ewen had returned from his exile; the celebrations on his arrival had been joyful, but the small simple things of the ordinary days, as they slowly re-established themselves, had for him a still greater significance.
And yet they were not quite the same ordinary days as before—for now Keith himself was here.
Ewen had been in the middle of recounting some family tales about the cup's history when he and Keith set out together on an after-supper walk; and so he had picked it up from the table and brought it with him, to illustrate his stories.
Loch na h-Iolaire lay calm and dark beneath the clouds this evening. There was a dampness in the warm evening air, and the mossy ground underfoot was soggy with the morning's rain; it was as if clouds, hills, air, loch and earth were all bound together into one whole by the water. Keith was, for a moment, amused to find himself entertaining such poetic thoughts about that characteristic weather of which he had once held a much simpler and lower opinion; but here was Ewen, happy with a deep and all-encompassing joy, and in his company even the most sodden Highland mountains were beautiful.
At this spot the loch seemed to flow up and into the earth, for there was no bank, but only a wide, gradual border of reeds and marsh and moss between the land and the water. Here Ewen stopped, and stood gazing out at the loch with eyes as deeply blue as the water itself.
'I remember,' he said softly, 'that I came here in '46, the very day I left...'
Then, moving slowly, he stooped and dipped the gold cup into the water. For a moment he held it up before the clouds, while drops of water overflowed the brim and ran down over his hand. Then he brought the cup to his lips and drank; and then he offered it to Keith, who, after hesitating a moment, took the cup and drank also. The water was faintly sweet, and cold in the sultry air.
His love for Ewen, and Ewen's for him in return, had brought Keith so many precious things. Now, drawing closer to him, and knowing more of the joy and beauty which love in all its forms can bring, Keith felt himself being taken up by Ewen's generous spirit and gathered into his great love for the home to which he had returned. It was a blessing, and this sacramental draught entirely fitting.
Smiling quietly to himself, Ewen poured the water left in the cup back into the loch. He took Keith's hand where they stood upon the marshy ground; Keith moved closer to him, and Ewen pressed a kiss to his forehead. After a while, they turned and set off back towards the house together, the cup still clasped in Ewen's free hand.