{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_58931/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_58931","id":"gutenberg_58931","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58931","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Highlands (Scotland) -- Fiction","Legends -- Scotland"],"text":"Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project\nGutenberg (This file was produced from images generously\nmade available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               LEGENDARY\n                        TALES OF THE HIGHLANDS.\n\n                              A SEQUEL TO\n                           HIGHLAND RAMBLES.\n\n\n                                   BY\n                     Sir THOMAS DICK LAUDER, Bart.\n\n            AUTHOR OF \"LOCHANDHU,\" \"THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH,\"\n                        \"THE MORAY FLOODS,\" ETC.\n\n\n                           IN THREE VOLUMES.\n\n                               VOLUME II.\n\n\n                                LONDON:\n                       HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,\n                       GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.\n                              M.DCCC.XLI.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.\n\n\n                                                           PAGE\n\n    THE LEGEND OF CHARLEY STEWART T\u00c0ILLEAR-CRUBACH,           1\n\n    A TEMPEST,                                               79\n\n    THE LEGEND, &c.--Continued,                              82\n\n    AN UNWELCOME VISITOR,                                   150\n\n    THE LEGEND, &c.--Continued,                             152\n\n    AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACE,                          207\n\n    THE LEGEND, &c.--Continued,                             217\n\n    THE AUTHOR FLOORED,                                     289\n\n    A DAY BAD FOR ONE THING MAY BE VERY GOOD FOR ANOTHER,   290\n\n    ORIGIN OF THE NAME OF INCHRORY,                         292\n\n    COMFORTS OF A FIRESIDE,                                 293\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n    THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR IS DISCRETION,                 71\n\n    THE HOWLET,                                             114\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHIGHLAND RAMBLES.\n\nTHE LEGEND OF CHARLEY STEWART T\u00c0ILLEAR-CRUBACH.\n\n\nThere is a long, low, flat-topped, and prettily wooded eminence,\nthat rises out of the middle of the bonny haughs of Kilmaichly,\nat some distance below the junction of the rivers Aven and Livat. I\ndon't remember that it has any particular name, but it looks, for all\nthe world, like the fragment of some ancient plain, that must have\nbeen of much higher level than that from which it now rises, which\nfragment had been left, after the ground on each side of it had been\nworn down to its present level, by the changeful operations of the\nneighbouring streams. But whatever you geology gentlemen might say, as\nto what its origin might have been, every lover of nature must agree,\nthat it is a very beautiful little hill, covered as its slopes are\nwith graceful weeping birches, and other trees. The bushes that still\nremain, show that, in earlier times, it must have been thickly wooded\nwith great oaks, which probably gave shelter to the ould auncient\nDruids, when engaged in their superstitious mysteries. At the period\nto which the greater part of my story belongs--that is, in and about\nthat of the reign of King James the III.--the blue smoke that curled\nup from among the trees betrayed the existence of a cottage, that sat\nperched upon the brow of its western extremity, looking towards the\nCastle of Drummin. This little dwelling was much better built, and,\nin every respect, much neater than any of those in the surrounding\ndistrict; and its interior exhibited more comforts as to furniture and\nplenishing of all sorts, and those too of a description, superior to\nany thing of the kind which a mere cottager might have been reasonably\nexpected to have possessed.\n\nThe inhabitants of this snug little dwelling were, a very beautiful\nwoman, of some four or five and twenty years of age, named Alice\nAsher, and her son, a handsome noble looking boy, who, from certain\ncircumstances affecting his birth, bore the name of Charles Stewart.\n\nThere was a well doing and brave retainer of the house of Clan-Allan,\ncalled MacDermot, who had lived a little way up in Glen Livat, and who,\nfor several years, had done good service to the Sir Walter Stewart,\nwho was then chieftain of the Clan, as son and heir of that Sir Patrick\nwhom my last Legend left so happily married to the Lady Catherine\nForbes, and quietly settled at Drummin. This man MacDermot died bravely\nin a skirmish, leaving a widow and an infant daughter. It happened that\nsome few months after the death of her husband, the good woman Bessy\nMacDermot went out to shear one of those small patches of wretched\ncorn, which were then to be seen, almost as a wonder, scattered here\nand there, in these upland glens, and which belonged in run-rig, or\nin alternate ridges, to different owners, being so disposed, as you\nprobably know gentlemen, that all might have an equal interest, and\nconsequently an equal inducement, to assemble for its protection in\nthe event of the sudden appearance of an enemy. Charley Stewart, then\na fine, kind-hearted boy of some nine or ten years of age, had taken\na great affection for the little Rosa, the child of Bessy MacDermot;\nand this circumstance had induced the mother to ask permission of\nAlice Asher, to be allowed to take her son with her on this occasion\nto the harvest-field, that, whilst she went on with her work, he\nmight watch the infant. Charley was delighted with his employment;\nand accordingly she laid the babe carefully down by him to leeward\nof one of the stooks of sheaves. Many an anxious glance did the fond\nmother throw behind her, as the onward progress of her work slowly\nbut gradually increased her distance from Charley and his precious\ncharge. The thoughts of her bereft and widowed state saddened her\nheart, and made it heavy, and rendered her eyes so moist from time\nto time, that ever and anon she was compelled to rest for an instant\nfrom her labour, in order to wipe away the tears with her sleeve. Her\nlittle Rosa was now all the world to her. The anxiety regarding the\nchild which possessed her maternal bosom was always great; but, at\nthe present moment, she had few fears about her safety, for, ever as\nshe looked behind her, she beheld Charley Stewart staunchly fixed\nat his post, and busily employed in trying to catch the attention\nof the infant, and to amuse it by plucking from the sheaves those\ngaudy flowered weeds, of various kinds and hues, which Nature brought\nup everywhere so profusely among the grain, and which the rude and\nunlearned farmers of those early times took no pains to extirpate.\n\nWhilst the parties were so occupied, the sun was shining brightly upon\nthe new shorn stubble, that stretched away before the eyes of Charley\nStewart, when its flat unbroken field of light was suddenly interrupted\nby a shadow that came sailing across it. He looked up into the air,\nand beheld a large bird hovering over him. Inexperienced as he was,\nand by no means aware that its apparent size was diminished by the\nheight at which it was flying, he took it for a kite, or a buzzard,\nand it immediately ceased to occupy his attention. Round and round\nsailed the shadow upon the stubble, increasing in magnitude at every\nturn it made, but totally unheeded by the boy amid the interesting\noccupation in which he was engaged. At length a loud shriek reached\nhim from the very farther end of the ridge. Charley started up from\nhis sitting position, and beheld Bessy MacDermot rushing towards him,\ntossing her arms, and screaming as if she were distracted. She was\nyet too far off from him to enable him to gather her words, amidst\nthe alarm that now seized him; and, accordingly, believing that she\nhad been stung by some viper, or that she had cut herself desperately\nwith the reaping-hook, he abandoned his charge, and ran off to meet\nher, that he might the sooner render her assistance; but, by the time\nthey had approached near enough to each other to enable him to catch\nup the import of her cries, he halted--for they made his little heart\nfaint within him.\n\n\"The eagle! the eagle!\" wildly screamed Bessy MacDermot. \"Oh, my\nchild! my child!\"\n\nTurning round hastily, Charley Stewart now saw that the very bird\nwhich he had so recently regarded with so little alarm, had now\ngrown six times larger than he had believed it really to be. It was\nin the very act of swooping down upon the infant. Charley ran towards\nthe spot, mingling his shrieks with those of the frantic mother; but\nere their feet had carried them over half the distance towards it,\nthey heard the cries of the babe, as the fell eagle was flapping his\nbroad wings, in his exertions to lift it from the ground; and, ere\nthey could reach it, the bird was already flying, heavily encumbered\nwith his burden, over the surface of the standing corn, from which\nhe gradually rose, as his pinions gained more air, and greater way,\ntill he finally soared upwards, and then held on his slow, but strong\ncourse, towards his nest in the neighbouring mountains.\n\n\"Oh, my babe! my babe!\" cried the agonized Bessy MacDermot, her eyes\nstarting from their very sockets, in her anxiety to keep sight of\nthe object of her affections, and her terrors.\n\nBut she did not follow it with her eyes alone. She paused not for\na moment, but darted off through the standing corn, and over moor\nand moss, hill and heugh, and through woods, and rills, and bogs,\nin the direction which the eagle was taking, without once thinking\nof poor little Charley Stewart, who kept after her as hard as his\nactive little legs could carry him; and, great as the distance was\nwhich they had to run, the eagle, impeded as he was in his flight\nby the precious burden he carried, was still within reach of the\neyes of the panting and agonized mother, when a thinner part of\nthe wood enabled her to see, from a rising ground, the cliff where\nhe finally rested, and where he deposited the child in his nest,\nthat was well known to hang on a ledge in the face of the rock,\na little way down from its bare summit. On ran the frantic mother,\nwith redoubled energy,--for she remembered that an old man lived by\nhimself, in a little cot hard by the place, and she never rested till\nshe sank down, faint and exhausted, at his door.\n\n\"Oh, Peter, Peter!--my baby, my baby!\" was all she could utter,\nas the old man came hobbling out, to learn what was the matter.\n\n\"What has mischanced your baby, Mrs. MacDermot?\" demanded Peter.\n\n\"Oh, the eagle! the eagle!\" cried the distracted mother. \"Oh, my\nchild! my child!\"\n\n\"Holy saints be about us! has the eagle carried off your child?\" cried\nPeter, in horror.\n\n\"Och, yes, yes!\" replied Bessy. \"Oh my baby, my baby!\"\n\n\"St. Michael be here!\" exclaimed Peter. \"What can an old man like me\ndo to help thee?\"\n\n\"Ropes! ropes!\" cried little Charley Stewart, who at this moment came\nup, so breathless and exhausted that he could hardly speak.\n\n\"Ropes!\" said Peter; \"not a rope have I. There's a bit old hair-line\nup on the baulks there, to be sure, that my son Donald used for\nstretching his hang-net; but it has been so much in the water, that\nI have some doubt if it would stand the weight of a man, even if we\ncould get a man to go down over the nose of the craig;--and there is\nnot a man but myself, that I know of, within miles of us.\"\n\n\"You have forgotten me,\" cried Charley Stewart, who had now somewhat\nrecovered his wind. \"I will go down over the craig. Come, then,\nPeter!--get out your hair-line. It will not break with my weight.\"\n\n\"By the Rood but thou art a gallant little chield!\" said Peter.\n\n\"Oh, the blessings of the virgin on thee, my dearest Charley!\" cried\nBessy MacDermot, embracing him. \"And yet,\" added she, with hesitation,\n\"why should I put Alice Asher's boy to such peril, even to save\nmine own child? Oh, canst thou think of no other means? I cannot put\nCharley Stewart in peril.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Peter, \"I know of no means; and, in truth, the poor bairn\nis like enough to have been already half devoured by the young eagles.\"\n\n\"Merciful Mother of God!\" cried poor Bessy, half fainting at the\nhorrible thought. \"Oh, my baby, my baby!\"\n\n\"Come, old man,\" cried Charley Stewart, with great determination,\n\"we have no time to waste--we have lost too much already. Where is the\nhair-line you spake of?--Tut, I must seek for it myself;\" and rushing\ninto the cot, he leaped upon a table, made one spring at the rafters,\nand, catching hold of them, he hoisted himself up, gained a footing\non them, and ran along them like a cat, till he found the great bundle\nof hair-line. \"Now,\" said he, throwing it down, and jumping after it;\n\"come away, good Peter, as fast as thy legs can carry thee.\"\n\nHaving reached the summit of the crag by a circuitous path, they could\nnow descry the two eagles, to which the nest belonged, soaring aloft\nat a great distance. They looked over the brow of the cliff, as far\nas they could stretch with safety, but although old Peter was so well\nacquainted with the place where the nest was built, as at once to be\nable to fix on the very spot whence the descent ought to be made, the\nverge of the rock there projected itself so far over the ledge where\nthe nest rested, as to render it quite invisible from above. They could\nonly perceive the thick sea of pine foliage that rose up the slope\nbelow, and clustered closely against the base of the precipice. A few\nsmall stunted fir trees grew scattered upon the otherwise bare summit\nwhere they stood. Old Peter sat himself down behind one of these,\nand placed a leg on each side of it, so as to secure himself from\nall chance of being pulled over the precipice by any sudden jerk,\nwhilst Charley's little fingers were actively employed in undoing the\ngreat bundle of hair-line, and in tying one end of it round his body,\nand under his armpits. The unhappy mother was now busily assisting the\nboy, and now moving restlessly about, in doubtful hesitation whether\nshe should yet allow him to go down. Now she was gazing at the distant\neagles, and wringing her hands in terror lest they should return to\ntheir nest; and torn as she was between her cruel apprehensions for\nher infant on the one hand, and her doubts and fears about Charley\nStewart on the other, she ejaculated the wildest and most incoherent\nprayers to all the saints for the protection and safety of both.\n\n\"Now,\" said Charley Stewart at length; \"I'm ready. Keep a firm hold,\nPeter, and lower me gently.\"\n\n\"Stay, stay, boy!\" cried the old man. \"Stick my skian dhu into your\nhoe. If the owners of the nest should come home, by the Rood, but thou\nwill't need some weapon to make thee in some sort a match for them,\nin the welcome they will assuredly give thee.\"\n\nCharley Stewart slipped the skian dhu into his hoe, and went boldly\nbut cautiously over the edge of the cliff. He was no sooner fairly\nswung in air than the hair rope stretched to a degree so alarming that\nBessy MacDermot stood upon the giddy verge, gnawing her very fingers,\nfrom the horrible dread that possessed her, that she was to see it\ngive way and divide. Peter sat astride against the root of the tree,\ncarefully eyeing every inch of the line ere he allowed it to pass\nthrough his hands, and every now and then pausing--hesitating, and\nshaking his head most ominously, as certain portions of it, here and\nthere, appeared to him to be of doubtful strength. Meanwhile, Charley\nfelt himself gradually descending, and turning round and round at the\nend of the rope, by his own weight, his brave little heart beating,\nand his brain whirling, from the novelty and danger of his daring\nattempt--the screams of the young eagles sounding harshly in his\nears, and growing louder and louder as he slowly neared them. By\ndegrees he began distinctly to hear the faint cries of the child,\nand his courage and self-possession were restored to him, by the\nconviction that she was yet alive. In a few moments more he had the\nsatisfaction to touch the ledge of rock with his toes, and he was at\nlast enabled to relieve the rope from his weight, by planting himself\nupon its ample, but fearfully inclined surface. He shouted aloud,\nto make Peter aware that the line had so far done its duty, and then\nhe cautiously approached the nest, where, to his great joy, he found\nthe infant altogether uninjured, except by a cross cut upon her left\ncheek, which she seemed to have received from some accidental movement\nof the beak or talons of one of the two eaglets, between which she had\nbeen deposited by the old eagle. Had she not been placed between two\nso troublesome mates, and in a position so dangerous, nothing could\nhave been more snug or easy than the bed in which the little Rosa was\nlaid. The nest was about two yards square. It was built on the widest\nand most level part of the ledge, and it was composed of great sticks,\ncovered with a thick layer of heather, over which rushes were laid\nto a considerable depth. Fortunately for the infant, the eaglets had\nbeen already full gorged ere she had been carried thither, and there\nyet lay beside them the greater part of the carcass of a lamb, and\nalso a mountain hare, untouched, together with several moorfowl, and\nan immense quantity of bones and broken fragments of various animals.\n\nCharley Stewart did not consume much time in his examination of the\nnest. Being at once satisfied that it would be worse than hazardous\nto trust the hair-line with the weight of the child, in addition\nto his own, he undid it from his body. Approaching the nest, he\ngently lifted the crying infant from between its two screeching and\nsomewhat pugnacious companions. The moment he had done so, the little\ninnocent became quiet, and instantly recognising him, she held out her\nhands, and smiled and chuckled to him, at once oblivious of all her\nmiseries. Charley kissed his little favourite over and over again,\nand then he proceeded to tie the rope carefully around and across\nher, so as to guard against all possibility of its slipping. Having\naccomplished this, he shouted to Peter to pull away--kissed the little\nRosa once more, and then committed her to the vacant air. Nothing\ncould equal the anxiety he endured whilst he beheld her slowly rising\nupwards. And when he beheld the mother's hands appear over the edge of\nthe rock, and snatch her from his sight, nothing could match the shout\nof delight which he gave. The maternal screams of joy which followed,\nand which came faintly down to his ears, were to him a full reward\nfor all the terrors of his desperate enterprise. For that instant he\nforgot the perilous situation in which he then stood, and the risk\nthat he had yet to run ere he could hope to be extricated from it.\n\nBut a few moments only elapsed ere all thoughts of any thing else\nbut his own self preservation were banished from his mind. The angry\nscreams of the two old eagles came fearfully through the air, and\nhe beheld them approaching the rock, cleaving the air with furious\nflight. He cast one look upwards, and saw the rope rapidly descending\nto him--but the eagles were coming still faster, and he had only time\nto wrench out a large stick from the nest, to aid him in defending\nhimself, when they were both upon him. He had nothing for it but\nto crouch as close in under the angle of the rock as he could, and\nthere he planted himself, with the stick in his right hand, and the\nskian dhu in his left, resolved to make the best fight he could of\nit. They commenced their attack on him whilst still on the wing, by\nflying at him, and striking fiercely at him with their talons, each\nreturning alternately to the assault after making a narrow circuit\nin the air. Whilst thus engaged, Charley neither lost courage nor\npresence of mind, but contrived to deal to each of them a severe\nblow now and then with the rugged stick, as they came at him in\nsuccession. Finding that they could make no impression upon him in\nthis way, sheltered as he was by his position under the projecting\nrock, they seemed at once to resolve, as if by mutual consent, to\nadopt a more resolute mode of attack.\n\nAlighting on the ledge of rock at the same moment, one on each side\nof the place where he was crouching, both the eagles now assailed him\nat once with inconceivable ferocity. Half fronting that one which was\nto his right, he laid a severe blow on it, which somewhat staggered\nit in its onset. But whilst he was thus occupied with it, the other,\nwhich was to his left, tore open his cheek, with a blow of his talons,\nthat had nearly stunned him. More from mechanical impulse, than\nfrom any actual design, he struck a back-handed blow with his skian\ndhu. Fortunately for him it proved most effectual, for it penetrated\nthe eagle to the very heart, laid it fluttering on its back, and,\nin the violence of its struggles, it rolled over the inclined ledge,\nand fell dead to the bottom of the crag. But poor Charley had no\nleisure to rejoice over this piece of success. He looked anxiously\nto the hair-line, which hung dangling within reach of his grasp;\nbut, ere he could seize it, his other enemy was at him again. As if\nit had profited by the severe lessons it had gotten, the strokes of\nthis second eagle were given with so much rapidity and caution, that\nclose as Charley Stewart was obliged to keep into the angle of the\nrock, and stupified as he was, in some degree, by the wound he had\nreceived, he was able to do little more than to defend his own person\nfrom injury, whilst he was obliged slowly to give ground before his\nfeathered assailant. Whilst retreating and fighting in this manner,\none blow of his stick, better directed than the rest, struck the eagle\non the side of the skull, close to its juncture with the neck, and\nit went fluttering down over the rock, in the pangs of death, after\nits fellow. But alas! poor Charley Stewart's victory cost him dear.\n\nThe two listeners above, who had seen the approach of the eagles,\nwere dreadfully alarmed by the noise of the terrific conflict that was\ngoing on upon the ledge below. In vain did they shout to terrify the\nbirds. In vain did old Peter frequently try the hair-line, by pulling\ngently at it, in the hope of finding that the weight of Charley's\nbody was attached to it. They were tortured by anxious uncertainty\nregarding him, until a piercing shriek came upwards from him, and\nall was quiet. Winged by terror, Bessy MacDermot rushed, with her\nchild in her arms, down the winding path, to a point whence she could\ncommand a view of the ledge. The boy was no longer there!--She rubbed\nher dimmed eyes, gave one more intent gaze. From the very nature of\nthe place, it was impossible that he could be there unseen by her,\nfrom the point she now occupied, and she was thus too certainly\nassured that he was gone. Uttering a despairing scream, she flew\nfranticly down to look for him among the trees at the bottom of\nthe cliff. There she sought all along the base of it, dreading every\nmoment to have her eyes shocked with the sight of his mangled remains,\nand uttering the most doleful lamentations that she had murdered her\ndear friend's gallant boy. She found both the dead eagles indeed,\nbut she could see nothing of Charley Stewart. Old Peter then came\nhobbling after her, to join her in her search, and both of them went\nover the ground again and again in vain. A faint hope began at length\nto arise in the minds of both, that he might, after all, be still on\nthe ledge above, though, perhaps, lying wounded, or in a swoon; and,\nalthough both felt it to be almost against all reason to indulge in\nit, they instantly prepared to return, to endeavour more perfectly\nto ascertain the fact; and, if it could be done no otherwise, Bessy\nMacDermot resolved to run and rouse the country, in order to procure\nstrong ropes, and men to go down to examine the ledge itself.\n\nFull of these intentions, they were in the act of quitting the bottom\nof the cliff, when a faint voice arrested their steps. They stopped\nto listen, and, after a little time, they were aware that it came down\nfrom over their heads. They looked up, but, seeing nothing, they became\nmore than ever convinced, that it was Charley's voice calling to them\nfrom the ledge, and they again turned to hurry away to assure him of\nhelp. But the voice came again, and so much stronger, as to satisfy\nthem that the speaker could be at no very great distance from them.\n\n\"Peter!--Bessy!--I am here in the tree,\" said Charley Stewart,\n\"for the love of Saint Michael, stop and take me down!\"\n\nSome minutes elapsed before they could catch a glimpse of the poor\nboy. At length they discovered him, half way up a tall pine tree,\nhanging by his little coat to the knag of a broken branch. I may as\nwell tell you at once how he came there. Whilst he was in the very\nact of dealing that last well directed blow of the stick, that proved\nso fatal to the second eagle, his foot slipped on the narrower and\nmore inclined part of the ledge, to which he had been gradually driven\nback during the combat, and uttering that despairing scream which rang\nlike his knell in the affrighted ears of Bessy MacDermot, and Peter,\nhe fell through the air, and crashed down among the dense foliage\nof the pine-tops below. One of his legs was broken across a bough,\nwhich it met with in his descent through the tree, but his head, and\nall his other vital parts, had luckily escaped injury; and the knag,\nwhich so fortunately caught his clothes, and kept him suspended, had\nbeen the providential means of saving him from that death, which he\nmust have otherwise inevitably met with on coming to the ground.\n\nBut how were they to get poor Charley down from the tree? Old Peter\ncould not climb it; but, seeing that it was furnished with branches\nnearly to its root, Bessy MacDermot gave her child into the hands of\nthe old man, and, taking a double end of the hair-line with her, she\nclambered up the stem to the place where the boy was hanging. Tenderly\nrelieving him from his distressing position, she quickly passed two\nor three double folds of the rope around him, and then lowered him\ngently down to Peter. So patient had Charley been under his sufferings,\nexcruciating as they were, that it was not until they were about to\nmove him from the ground, that they discovered the injury that his\nlimb had received.\n\n\"Oh, what shall I do?\" cried Bessy MacDermot, wringing her hands;\n\"Oh, how can I face Alice Asher, after thus causing so sad a mischance\nto her darling, her beautiful boy?\"\n\n\"Tut, Bessy, never mind me!\" said Charley faintly, but with a gentle\nsmile, that sorted but ill with his wounded and bloody countenance;\n\"I shall soon get the better of all this; but if it had been twice\nas bad with me, Bessy, nay, if I had been killed outright, I should\nhave well deserved it, for quitting my poor little Rosa there, as I\ndid upon the harvest rig.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, my dearest boy, Charley,\" said Mrs. MacDermot, kissing him,\nand weeping fondly over him; \"thou did'st thy part faithfully. Had\nit not been for my foolish fright, and my silly screams when I first\nsaw the eagle, thou wouldst never have left my child, and nought of\nthese sad mischances could have happened.\"\n\nWith some difficulty, and not without Bessy MacDermot's help, old\nPeter managed to carry Charley Stewart down to his hut, whence he was\nafterwards moved home, when proper assistance could be procured. Alice\nAsher was overpowered with grief, when the darling of her heart\nwas brought to her in this melancholy and maimed condition. But she\nreadily forgave Bessy MacDermot for the innocent share she had had in\nproducing it; and after Charley's wounds were dressed, the bones of\nhis fractured limb set, and that she was satisfied that his life was\nperfectly safe, she not only felt grateful to God that he had been\nso wonderfully preserved, but she began to regard him with honest\npride for the gallant action he had performed.\n\n\"Well hast thou proved thyself, my boy, to be a true Clan-Allan\nStewart!\" said she to him, with a deep blush on her countenance, as\nshe sat fondly watching by the bed where Charley was quietly sleeping,\nfrom the effects of the drugs that had been given to him, till the\ntears began to follow one another fast from her eyelids. \"Well might\nthy father now, methinks, make thee his lawful son, by extending\nto me those holy rites, the false hope of obtaining which betrayed\nmine innocent and simple youth! Thou at least ought not to suffer for\nthine unhappy mother's fault, which now nearly nine years of sorrow,\nof remorse, and of heart-felt penitence, and prayer, and penance,\nhave not yet expiated! But God's holy will be done!\"\n\nPoor afflicted Alice Asher had occasion to repeat these last words\nof pious resignation to the will of God, more than once after the\nrecovery of her son. She was deeply grateful to Heaven indeed, that\nhis life had been spared to her, and that his health and strength\nwere completely restored to him, but his handsome countenance had been\ngreatly and permanently disfigured, by the deep cross-like scar that\nremained upon his left cheek, and the grace of his person had been\nmuch destroyed by the limping of his left leg, occasioned by the bad\nsurgery of the rude practitioner who had set the broken bones. She\nbore this affliction, as she did all others, with meek submission,\nas a divine chastisement which her sin had well merited, though she\nwept to think that she had been visited by it through the suffering\nof her innocent boy. Some eight or nine long years passed away,\nduring which Sir Walter Stewart of Drummin was liberal in providing\nrichly for the wants of the mother, as well as for the education of\nher son, though he strictly avoided seeing either of them. The story\nof Charley's brave achievement, and severe accident, reached him not,\nfor he was at that time abroad upon his travels in foreign lands;\nand, ere he returned home, the talk about it had died away, so that it\nhad never been permitted to exercise any influence upon him whatsoever.\n\nPassing over these years, then, we find Alice Asher, paler and thinner\nthan before, but still most beautiful, sitting one morning, at the\nwindow of her cottage, that looked towards the tower of Drummin,\nwhich was partially seen from it, through between the thick stems\nof the trees. Her elbow rested on the window-sill, and supported\nher head, which was surrounded by a broad fillet of black silk,\nfrom beneath which her hair clustered in fair ringlets around her\nfinely formed features, and fell in long tresses over her neck and\nshoulders. Her close fitting kirtle, and her loose and flowing gown,\nwere of sad-coloured silk, and the embroidered bosom of her snow-white\nsmock was fastened with a golden brooch, that sparkled with precious\nstones, and more than one of her fingers glittered with rings of\nconsiderable value. Alice was not always wont to be so adorned; but,\nornamented as she thus was, beyond the simplicity of that attire which\nshe usually wore, her countenance bore no corresponding expression\nof gladness upon it. She sat gazing silently towards the distant\nstronghold of the Clan-Allan Stewarts, sighing deeply from time to\ntime, until the thoughts that filled her heart gradually dimmed her\nlarge blue eyes, and the tears swelled over her eyelids, and ran down\nher cheeks, and she finally began to relieve the heaviness of her soul,\nby thinking aloud in broken and unconscious soliloquy.\n\n\"Aye! he is going to-day!\" said she, in a melancholy tone. \"He is\ngoing to the court, to mix with the great, the proud, the gay,\nand the beautiful; and I shall not see him ere he goes! Yet the\nvow of separation which we mutually took, had a saving condition\nin it. He might have come--he may at any time approach me--aye, and\nhonourably too--when the object of his visit may be to do me and my boy\njustice. But, after so many years have passed away in disappointment,\nwhy should my fond and foolish heart still cling to deceitful hope? a\nhope, too, that wars with those of a purer and holier nature, which\nmay yet ally me, a penitent sinner, to Heaven. Then, what have I to\ndo with those glittering gauds that would better become a bride? Yet\nthey are his pledges, if not of love, at least of kindness and of\nfriendship, sent to me from time to time, to show me that I am not\naltogether forgotten; and surely there can be no harm in my wearing\nthem? and then to-day--to-day, methought that he might have come. But\nif he had ever intended to come, would he have sent, as he has done,\nfor Charley? Oh, my boy! would that he could but think of doing thee\njustice, and thy poor sinful mother would die contented! But, if he\nis pleased with the youth, may he not yet come hither along with\nhim? How my silly heart beats at the very thought! What sound was\nthat I heard? Can it be them?--No, no, no, he will never come more\nto me!--Alas, alas! my poor boy's face and person have suffered too\nmuch to win a father's eye, and he knows not the virtues that lie so\nmodestly concealed within them. But what is that I see yonder?--The\nbustle of the horsemen before the gate, with their pampered steeds\nand their gay attire--their pennons fluttering, and the sun glancing\nfrom the broad blades of their Highland spears?--What!--was that\na distant bugle blast I heard?--Again!--Then they are moving--aye,\nindeed! They are now galloping off along the terrace!--Alas, alas,\nthey are gone! and my vain and foolish hopes have gone with them!\"\n\nThese last words were uttered in the deepest tone of anguish, and\nAlice drew hastily back into the darkest recess of the apartment,\nwhere she seated herself, covered her face with the palms of her\nhands, and wept aloud. Having thus given full vent to her feelings,\nshe retired to the privacy of her closet, where she endeavoured to\ndivert her mind by holy exercise from the sorrows that oppressed\nher. At length, a gentle tap at the door informed her that her son\nhad returned from his visit to Drummin, and tremblingly anxious to\nknow the result of it, she immediately admitted him.\n\n\"Mother! my dearest mother!\" said Charley Stewart, tenderly embracing\nher, and with a manifest effort to subdue certain emotions that were\nworking within him; \"Why hast thou been weeping?\"\n\n\"Alas! I weep often, my beloved, my darling boy!\" replied she, warmly\nresponding to his caresses; \"I weep, and I deserve to weep! But\nhast thou aught of tidings for me, that may give me a gleam of\njoy?--Say--how wert thou received?\"\n\n\"Why, well, mother!\" replied Charley, endeavouring to assume a lively\nair; \"I was well and kindly received, though neither, forsooth,\nwith parade of arms, nor with flourish of trumpets, nor of clarions;\nbut Sir Walter received me kindly.\"\n\n\"Did he embrace thee, dear Charley?\" demanded his mother, with great\nanxiety of expression.\n\n\"Um----Aye,\" replied her son, with some degree of hesitation;\n\"he did embrace me, though hardly indeed with the same fervour that\nthou art wont to do, dearest mother. But then thou knowest, mother,\nthat Sir Walter is a courtly knight of high degree, and they tell me\nthat the fashion of such folks allows them not to yield themselves\naltogether, as we humbler people are wont to do, to the feelings that\nare within us.\"\n\n\"Alas! thou say'st that which is but too true!\" replied Alice, in a\ndesponding tone; \"but go on, boy.\"\n\n\"Sir Walter put his hand on my shoulder, and turned me round,\"\ncontinued Charley. \"Then he made me walk a step or two, and eyed me\nnarrowly from top to toe, pretty much as if he had been scanning the\npoints and paces of a new horse.--'How camest thou so lame and so\ndisfigured?' demanded he.--'By a fall I had in climbing to an eagle's\nnest,' replied I.--'A silly cause,' said Sir Walter; 'and yet, perhaps,\nthe bold blood that is in thee must bear the blame. But know, boy,\nthat fate hath not given to all the power to climb into the eyry of the\neagle.' And having said this much he changed the subject of his talk.\"\n\n\"Would that thou could'st but have gathered courage enow to have told\nhim all the circumstances of that adventure!\"\n\n\"Nay, mother, I had courage for any thing but to speak aught that\nmight have sounded like mine own praise,\" replied Charley.\n\n\"Would that he but knew thee as thou art!\" said Alice, with a\nsigh. \"Would that he but knew the soul that is within thee! With\nall his faults--and perhaps they are light, save that which concerns\nthee alone--he hath a generous spirit himself, and he could not but\nprize a generous spirit in one so kindred to him. But tell me all\nthat passed. Did--did he--did he ask thee for tidings of me?\"\n\n\"He did question me most particularly about thee,\" replied Charley. \"He\nquestioned me as if he would have fain gathered from me the appearance\nand condition of every, the minutest feature of thy face, and of every\nline of thy form. He questioned as if with the intent of limning thy\nvery portrait on the tablet of his mind; and, as if he would have\ntraced it beside some picture, which he still wore in fresh and lively\ncolours there, for the purpose, as it seemed to me, of making close and\naccurate comparison between them. Thus he would pause at times during\nhis questioning of me; and, after a few moments of deep abstraction,\nhe would say, as if forgetful of my presence, and in converse with\nhimself alone, 'Strange! aye, but she was then but fifteen, scarce\nripened into woman--the change is nothing more than natural--the same\nloveliness, but more womanly;' and so he went on, now to question,\nand now to talk of thee, for a good half hour or so.\"\n\n\"And he!\" cried Alice, with unwonted animation; \"Say, boy, looked he\nwell? I mean in health; for of his manly beauty, his tall and well\nknit form, his graceful air, his noble bearing, and his eagle eye! how\ncould I have lived till now, without hearing from those who have seen\nand admired him? Alas!\" added she, in a melancholy and subdued tone,\n\"of such things I have perhaps inquired too much!\"\n\n\"Sir Walter had all the ruddy hue, as well as the firmness of vigorous\nhealth, dear mother,\" replied the youth.\n\n\"Thanks be to all the saints!\" exclaimed Alice fervently; \"Then,\ncome boy--tell me what passed between you?\"\n\n\"After all his questions touching thee and thy health were done,\"\nsaid Charley, \"and that we had talked of other matters of no import,\nhe sat him down, and thus gravely addressed me as I stood before him:\n'I have been thinking how best to provide for thee, boy. I can see that\nthou art but ill fitted for hardy service, or the toils of war. And,\nby the Rood, it is well for thee that, in these times, there are\nother ways of winning to high fortune, yea, and to royal favour even,\nbesides that which leads to either by doughty deeds of arms, where\nso many perish ere they have half completed the toilsome and perilous\njourney. Thou must content thee, then, with some peaceful trade. Let\nme see--let me see. Ah! I have it. Now-a-days, men have more chance\nto push themselves forward by the point of the needle, than by the\npoint of the lance. What thinkest thou of Master Hommil, the king's\ntailor, who, as all men say, hath a fair prospect of shaping such a\ngarb for himself, as may yet serve him to wear for a peer's robes,\nif he doth but use his sheers with due discretion? This is the very\nthing for thee, and it is well that I have so luckily hit on it. I'll\nhave thee apprenticed to a tailor, and, when thy time is out, I'll\nhave thee so taught in all the more curious mysteries of thine art,\nby its very highest professors, that none in the whole land shall be\nfound to equal thee. Thou shalt travel to France for learning in the\nnicer parts of thy trade, and then, I will set thee up, close under\nthe royal eye, with such a stock of rarest articles in thy shop, as\nshall make it a very Campvere, for the variety and richness of its\nmerchandize. But thou must begin thy schooling under Master Jonathan\nJunkins here, who, though but a country cultivator of cabbage, hath\nan eye towards the cut of a cloak or doublet, that might well beget\nthe jealousy of the mighty Hommil himself. I once wore a rose-coloured\nsuit of Jonathan's make, that did excite the envy, yea, and the anger,\ntoo, of that great master, by the commendations that royalty himself\nwas heard to pass upon it. Though there were some there, who, from\nmalice, no doubt, did say, that the merit lay more in the shape of the\nwearer, than in that of the garments. But I am trifling. I have some\norders to give ere I mount, and this, as to thy matter with Junkins,\nshall be one; and time wears, boy, and thou, too, hast some little way\nbefore thee to limp home; therefore, God keep thee. Bear my love, or,\nas she would herself have it to be, my friendship, to thy mother. And,\nsee here; give her this ring as a fresh remembrance of me. Farewell--I\nshall see that all be well arranged regarding thee ere I go; and I\ntrust that thou wilt not idly baulk the prudent plans I have laid down\nfor thee, or the good intentions I have towards thee; and so again,\nfarewell, my boy!'--And thus, my dearest mother, was I dismissed.\"\n\n\"Well, God's will be done!\" said Alice, with a deep sigh, after a\nlong pause, and after having betrayed a variety of emotions during\nher son's narrative. \"I had hoped better things for thee, my boy, but\nGod's will be done! Thou hast no choice but to submit, Charley. Forget\nnot that Sir Walter Stewart is thy father, and that thou art bound\nby the law of nature to obey him.\"\n\n\"It is because I do not forget that Sir Walter Stewart is my father,\nthat I find it so hard a thing to obey him in this,\" said Charley, with\na degree of excitement, which all his earnestly exerted self-command\nwas, for the moment, unable entirely to control. \"But, as it happens,\nthat it is just because he is bound to me by the law of nature,\nand by no other law, that he thus condemns me to be nailed down to\nthe shop-board of a tailor, instead of giving me a courser to ride,\nand a lance to wield, so, as thou most truly sayest dear mother, by\nthe law of nature, but by that law alone, am I compelled to submit\nto this bitter mortification, and to obey him.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, dearest Charley, talk not thus!\" cried Alice, throwing\nher arms around her son's neck, and fondly kissing him; \"talk not\nthus frowardly if thou lovest me!\"\n\n\"Love thee, my dearest mother!\" cried Charley, returning her embraces\nwith intense fervour, and weeping from the overpowering strength of\nhis feelings; \"Nay, nay, thou canst not doubt my love to thee; thou\ncanst not doubt that, on thy weal, or thy woe, hangs the happiness\nor the misery of your poor boy. Be not vexed, dearest mother, for\nthough I have spoken thus idly, trust me that a father's word shall\never be with me as the strictest law, which I, so far as my nature\ncan support me, shall never wilfully contravene.\"\n\nCharley Stewart again tenderly embraced his mother, and, scarcely\naware that he was leaving her to weep, he hurried away to seek some\nconsolation for himself, in a quarter where he never failed to find\nit. This was at the cottage of Bessy MacDermot, whither he was wont\nfrequently to wander, for the purpose of listening to the innocent\nprattle of his young plaything Rosa, who, having now seen some eight\nor nine summers, was fast ripening into a very beautiful girl. As\nCharley approached the widow's premises on the present occasion, he\nfound Rosa by the side of a clear spring, that bubbled and sparkled\nout from beneath a large mossy stone, that projected from the lower\npart of the slope of a flowery bank, under the pensile drapery of\na grove of weeping birches. The moment she beheld him, she came\ntripping to meet him, with a rustic wreath of gay marsh marigolds\nand water-lilies in her hand.\n\n\"Where have you been all this long, long morning, dearest\nCharley?\" cried Rosa; \"I have been so dull without you; and see what a\nwreath I have made for your bonnet! But I have a great mind to wear\nit myself, for you don't deserve to have it, for being so long in\ncoming to me.\"\n\n\"I have been over at the castle, Rosa,\" said Charley, stooping\nto embrace her, as she innocently held up her lips to be kissed\nby him. \"I have been over at Drummin, looking at the grand array\nof steeds and horsemen. But what are these flowers?--Water-lilies,\nas I hope to be saved! Holy Virgin! Rosa, how didst thou come by them?\"\n\n\"I got them from the pool,\" replied Rosa, hesitating, and gently\ntapping his cheek with a few stray flowers which she held in her hand;\n\"I got them in the same way that you pulled them for me the other day,\nthat is with a long hazle rod, with a crook at the end of it.\"\n\n\"From the pool, Rosa?\" cried Charley; \"What could tempt thee\nto risk thy life for such trifles? If thou hadst slipt over the\ntreacherous brink, where there was no one by to save thee--thou wert\ngone! irrecoverably gone! How couldst thou be so rash? my very flesh\ncreeps to think on't!\"\n\n\"Don't be angry with me, Charley!\" said Rosa coaxingly--\"what risk\nwould I not run to give thee pleasure?\"\n\n\"But you have given me any thing but pleasure in this matter, Rosa,\"\nsaid Charley; \"I tremble too much to think of the hazard thou hast run,\nto look with pleasure on any thing that could have occasioned it.\"\n\n\"So thou wilt not let me put the wreath on thy bonnet, then?\" said\nRosa, with a tear half disclosing itself in her eye-lid; \"Come, come,\nCharley! sit down--sit down on this bank, and do let me put it upon\nthy bonnet.\"\n\n\"If it will pleasure thee to make a fool of me, Rosa,\" said Charley,\nsmiling on her, and kissing her; \"Thou shalt do with me as thou\nmayest list.\"\n\n\"That is a dear kind Charley,\" cried Rosa, her moist eyes sparkling\nwith delight, and throwing her arms around his neck; \"I'll make no\nfool of thee: I'll make thee so handsome!\"\n\n\"Handsome!\" exclaimed Charley, laughing. \"Why Rosa, it is making a\nfool of me, indeed, to say that thou can'st make me handsome, with\nthis ugly deep cross-mark on my cheek.\"\n\n\"That cross-mark on your cheek, Charley!\" cried the little girl, with\nan intensity of feeling much beyond anything which her years might have\nwarranted; \"To me that cross-mark is beautiful! I love that noble brow\nof thine--those eyes, that whenever they look upon me, tell me that I\nam dear to thee--those lips, that so often kiss me, and instruct me,\nand say kind things to me--but that mark of the cross on thy cheek--oh,\nthat hath to me a holy influence in't; it reminds me that, but for\nthy noble courage which earned it for thee, I should have been food\nfor the young eagles of the craig. Charley! I could not fail to love\nthee, for thy kindness to me; but I never could have loved thee as I\ndo love thee, but for these living marks which you bear of all that\nyou suffered for thine own little Rosa. Kiss me my dear, dear Charley!\"\n\n\"My little wifey!\" cried Charley, clasping the innocent girl in his\narms, and smothering her with kisses.\n\n\"Aye,\" said Rosa, artlessly, \"I am thy little wifey. All the gossips\nsay that I am fated to be so; for you know I have got my cross mark\nas well as you, aye, and on my left cheek too. The eagles did that\nkind turn for me. They marked us both with the cross alike. See! you\ncan see my cross here quite plain.\"\n\n\"I do see it,\" said Charley, kissing the place. \"But thanks be to\nthe Virgin thy beauty hath not suffered one whit by it. I can just\ndiscern that the mark is there, and that is all; and I trust that it\nwill altogether disappear as you grow up to be a woman.\"\n\n\"The Virgin forbid!\" cried Rosa energetically. \"The gossips say that\nwe have been so miraculously signed with the cross expressly for\neach other, and I would not lose so happy a mark, no, not to be made\na queen! But do let me put on thy chaplet, dear Charley. I hope to\nsee thee some day with a grand casque on thy head--a tilting spear\nin thy hand--bestriding a noble steed, and riding at the ring with\nthe best of them.\"\n\n\"Alas, Rosa!\" said Charley, with a deep sigh, \"that will never be\nmy fate!\"\n\n\"Why not?\" demanded Rosa; \"surely Sir Walter Stewart may make thee\nhis esquire?\"\n\n\"Alas, no!\" said Charley, despondingly. \"The casque he dooms me to is\na tailor's cowl--the shield a thimble--the lance a needle--and the\ngallant steed I am to mount is a tailor's shop-board, and if ever\nI tilt with silk, velvet, or gold, it will be to convert them into\ncloaks and doublets for my betters!\"\n\n\"A tailor!\" exclaimed Rosa, with astonishment; \"surely thou art\njesting, Charley.\"\n\n\"I'faith, it is too serious a matter to jest about,\" replied\nCharley. \"Truly I am doomed to handle the goosing iron of Master\nJonathan Junkins.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha, ha!\" shouted Rosa--\"Ha, ha, ha, ha!--What an odd fancy\nof Sir Walter!\"\n\n\"Nay, laugh not at my misery, Rosa,\" said Charley, gravely, and\nsomewhat piteously. \"I cannot bear the thought of such a life! What\nthink you, Rosa, of being a tailor's wife?\"\n\n\"So that thou wilt always call me thine own dear little wifey, I\ncare not what thou art,\" replied Rosa, tenderly, and throwing her\narms around his neck. \"And why, after all, mayest thou not be quite\nhappy as a tailor? Old Johnny Junkins sings at his task from morning\ntill night. Besides, he hath no risk of being killed in battle, as\nmy poor father was. He always sleeps in a whole skin, save when his\nwife Janet beats him with the ell-wand, and surely thou wouldst have\nno fears that I should do that for thee, dear Charley?\"\n\nIt was now Charley's turn to laugh, which he did very heartily, and\nhaving thus gained a temporary victory over his chagrin, he improved\nupon it by immediately taking a small Missal from his sporran,\nand commencing his daily occupation of giving instructions to Rosa,\nwho greedily learned from him all that he could impart.\n\nI mean now to give you some little account of Sir Walter Stewart,\ngentlemen. You must know that he was one of the prettiest and most\naccomplished men of his time, and a great favourite at court. His\nperfection in all warlike exercises--his fondness for horses--and\nhis fearless riding, were qualifications which fitted him for being\nthe companion of the king's brothers, the spirited Alexander Duke\nof Albany, and the tall and graceful John Earl of Mar, whilst his\nskill in fencing--his proficiency in music--and his taste in dress,\nsecured for him a high place in the good graces of that elegant,\nbut weak monarch, James the Third. With young Ramsay of Balmain,\nafterwards created Earl of Bothwell, he was in the best habits of\nintimacy. But with the lower minions of the king, I mean, with such as\nCochran the mason--Rogers the musician--Leonard the smith--Hommil the\ntailor--Torfefan the fencing-master, and Andrew the Flemish astrologer,\nhe was more polite than familiar. With the ladies of the court Sir\nWalter Stewart was an object of admiration, nay, he was the theme of\nthe praise of every one of them, from the beautiful, fascinating,\nand virtuous Queen Margaret herself, down to the humblest of her\nmaids of honour. It is no wonder, then, that Sir Walter was induced\nto spend more of his time at court than among the wilds of his native\nmountains. On the occasion of which I am now speaking, he was on his\nway to the castle of Stirling, where James the Third was at that time\nresiding, and after a long and tiresome journey, he and his attendants\nentered the city, and rode up to their hostel in the main street,\nat such an hour of the evening, as made it neither very seemly nor\nvery convenient for him to report himself to his majesty.\n\nSir Walter Stewart was too well known not to command immediate\nattention from every one belonging to the inn. The horse-boys, who\nwere grooming the numerous steeds, that were hooked up to various\nparts of the walls surrounding the yard, made way respectfully, not\nonly for himself, but also for his people and their animals, and the\ncattle of some persons of less note and consideration, were turned\nout of their stalls for the accommodation of his horses. Meanwhile,\nthe knight was ushered up stairs into the common room, by mine host\nin person, who, with his portly figure, stripped to his close yellow\njacket and galligaskins, and with a fair linen towel hanging from\nhis girdle, puffed and sweated up the steps before him, his large\nrubicund visage vying in the brightness of its scarlet, with the fiery\ncoloured cap of coarse red cloth which he wore. Sir Walter found the\nlarge apartment surrounded by oaken tables and chairs, which were\noccupied by various guests, some eating, and some drinking, whilst\nthe rattling of trenchers, the clinking of cans, the buzz of voices,\nand the hum of tongues, were so loud and continuous, as to render\nit difficult for him to detect a word of the conversation that was\ngoing on any where, except the clamorous calls for fresh supplies of\nprovender, ale, or wine, which the bustling serving men and tapsters\nwere hurrying to and fro to satisfy.\n\nAs the host showed Sir Walter to an unoccupied table at the upper end\nof the place, most of the guests arose and saluted him as he passed\nby them. To some of these he gave a condescending bow of recognition,\nwhilst to others he hardly deigned to bestow more than a dignified\nacknowledgment of their courtesy. But he was no sooner seated,\nthan he was left to his own reflections, for each man again turned\nhis attention to his own particular comforts, and the knight was\nnot sorry to be very soon enabled to do the same thing for himself,\nby paying his own addresses to the smoking pasty that was placed on\nthe table before him. He had but just finished his meal, when the\nhost entered, ushering in a very elegant young man, the richness of\nwhose attire, as well as the perfection of its make, together with\nhis noble air, at once showed him to be a gentleman of the court. His\nrose-coloured jacket, and amber trewse, were of the richest silk,\nand made to fit tight, so as to show off, to the greatest advantage,\nhis very handsome person. His girdle-belt of black velvet, together\nwith the pouch of the same material, sparkled with gems, as did also\nthe sheaths and hilts of his sword and dagger. Several rich chains of\ngold were hung about his neck; his shoes had those long thin points,\nwhich were worn at that period, though they were not, in his instance,\ncarried to any very absurd extravagance. His cloak was of blue velvet\nrichly bordered with silver, and his broad jewelled hat, of scarlet\nstuff of the same material, was drawn over one side of his head,\nas a necessary precaution of counterpoise to the weight of the\nlong feathers of green, blue, red, and yellow, which stretched out\nfrom it so far as to threaten to overbalance it on the other. From\nbeneath this his brown hair hung down, curling over his ample brow,\nand spread itself in wide profusion over his shoulders.\n\n\"What, Ramsay!\" exclaimed Sir Walter Stewart, rising to meet him\nwith a cordial salutation, which again silenced the clatter of the\ntrenchers and cans, and brought all eyes for some moments upon the\ntwo gentlemen. \"This is a lucky meeting indeed.\"\n\n\"Lucky!\" replied Ramsay, smiling jocularly; \"what a boorish phrase!--It\nis indeed well worthy of one, who hath been rusticating so long amidst\nnorthern moors and mountains.\"\n\n\"Cry your mercy, my lord of the court,\" said Sir Walter Stewart,\nlaughing.\n\n\"Nay,\" continued Ramsay; \"I know not whether thy clownish expression\nbe most discourteous to me, or to thyself,--to me, as it would deny\nme all credit for this mine expressly purposed visit to thee,--or\nto thyself, for supposing that such a preux-chevalier, as thou art,\ncould be, for the smallest fraction of time, within the atmosphere\nof the court, without being run after by those who love thee.\"\n\n\"Thank thee! thank thee, my dear Ramsay,\" replied Sir Walter, shaking\nhim cordially by the hand, and laughing heartily; \"Then will I say,\nthat it was most kind of thee to find me out so soon, and to come\nthus purposely to take a stoup of French claret with me, and to pour\nthine agreeable talk into mine ear, so as to fill the empty vessel\nof mine ignorance, to a level with that of thine own full knowledge\nof courtly affairs, and of all the interesting occurrents which have\nchanced about the court since I last left it. So, sit thee down,\nI pray thee. We shall be private enow at this table, which is well\nout of ear-shot of all those noisy gormandizers and guzzlers.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Ramsay, as he seated himself beside his friend; \"thine\nemptiness is of too vast a profundity for me to be able to fill it at\nthis time. On some other occasion I shall do my best to replenish thee,\nwhen we can have leisure for a longer talk together, than we can look\nto have to-night. I came hither only to carry thee away with me.\"\n\n\"Whither wouldst have me go?\" demanded Sir Walter. \"Trust me, I am\nmore disposed, at this moment, to enjoy mine ease in mine inn, than\nto move any where else.\"\n\n\"But I must have thee,\" replied Ramsay; \"rustic as thou art, thou must\nsubmit to be led by me for some little time, like a blind man who hath\nbut newly recovered his eyesight, lest thou shouldst stumble amidst\nthe blaze of courtly sunshine. I came to bring thee to a small supper,\nat the lodging of Sir William Rogers, that most cunning fingerer of the\nlute and harp, and whose practice thereupon,\" continued he, sinking his\nvoice almost to a whisper, \"seems to have taught him a most marvellous\npower, of bringing what music may be most profitable for himself, out\nof that strange and many-stringed instrument called a Royal Sovereign.\"\n\n\"Hush, hush, Ramsay!\" replied Sir Walter. \"Thy talk is dangerous in\nsuch a place as this. But say, does the King go to this party?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Ramsay; \"He is to be employed to-night in the occult\nscience, to which he hath of late so much addicted himself. He is to\nbe occupied with that knave Andrew the Astrologer, in regarding and\nreading the stars.\"\n\n\"Then, what boots it for us to go to the party of this empty piece\nof sounding brass?\" demanded Sir Walter.\n\n\"Much, much, my dear Stewart,\" replied Ramsay. \"In the first place,\nthou shalt be introduced to his niece, who hath lately arrived from\nEngland. Thou shalt see and hear that fair Philomela, yclept Juliet\nManvers, who plays and sings to admiration. Though here it behoves\nme, as thy friend, to bid thee take care of thy heart, for the uncle\nseems to have imported her, with the wise intent, of marrying her\nto some one of the court, and mine own heart hath already been very\nsorely assailed.\"\n\n\"A dangerous siren, truly!\" said Sir Walter, laughing; \"yet methinks\nI may safely enough bid defiance to her enchantment.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" replied Ramsay, with a doubtful nod of his head;\n\"But be that as it may, my second reason for taking thee thither,\nis that, with exception of our host himself, we may at least spend\none tolerably pleasant evening undrugged and unencumbered, with the\nbase society of those vulgar fellows, whom the King, with so much\nmistaken judgment, hath chosen to associate in his favour, with two\nsuch well-born gentlemen as you and me. Cochran, that man whom nature\nhath built up of stone and mortar, and who would yet ape the graces\nof a finished lord of the court, as a bear would copy the gambols of\na well educated Italian greyhound.\"\n\n\"Hommil!\" cried Sir Walter, laughing, and following up his friend's\nhumour. \"Hommil! that thread-paper, whose sword and dagger would\nbe better removed, to have their places supplied by his shears and\nhis bodkin.\"\n\n\"Leonard!\" cried Ramsay, \"Leonard! that man of iron, whose very face\nis a perfect forge, his chin being the stithy, his mouth the great\nbellows, his eyes the ignited charcoal, his nose the fore-hammer,\nand his brows the broken and smoke begrimmed pent-house that hangs\nover all.\"\n\n\"Torfefan!\" continued Stewart; \"Torfefan! that bully of the backsword,\nrapier, and dagger, who, except when he is pot-valiant, is always so\nwise in his steel-devouring courage, as to spread it forth like the\ntail of a turkey-cock, always the wider, the weaker the adversary he\nmay have to deal with.\"\n\n\"Bravo! bravo!\" cried Ramsay, absolutely shouting in his mirth;\n\"Bravo! bravo! and then, last of all, Andrew, that solemn and\nmysterious knave, who seems as if he would pluck the stars from\nthe skies, as I would the daisies from a flower border, and who,\nif I mistake not, will yet contrive to weave a good rich garland of\nfate out of them for himself, whatever he may do for others. To be\ncompelled to keep such company, Stewart, is to pay a severe penalty for\nthe daily converse and favour of a king. But this night, the monarch\nbeing engaged, as I told thee, each of these precious fellows hath\ngone on his own private amusement, for, as thou knowest, there is no\nsuch great love among them, as to make any two of them much desire to\ncompany together, so, to get rid for one single night of the whole of\nthem but Rogers, whom we must admit to be by far the least offensive\nand most tolerable individual among them, is certainly a matter upon\nwhich we may very well congratulate ourselves.\"\n\n\"True,\" replied Sir Walter; \"but I see no reason why we should not rid\nourselves of Rogers, as well as of the rest, by staying and spending\nthe evening together over this excellent wine. I must confess that\nI am somewhat travel-worn, and but little inclined for any such\nentertainment as he may give us.\"\n\n\"Nay, that cannot be,\" said Ramsay; \"I gave my promise to him, ere I\nknew of thy coming, and when I heard of thine arrival, I pledged my\nword to bring thee with me. So, now, thou must not abandon me. Besides,\nas I told thee, the fellow is the best of these minions, and his music,\nnot to mention that of his niece, is always some recompense for the\nendurance of his company. So haste thee to doff thy travelling weeds,\nand pink thyself out in such attire, as may make thee pleasing in the\neyes of the fair and philomela-voiced Juliet. Be quick! for I shall\nwait for thee here.\"\n\nSir Walter Stewart, rather unwillingly, summoned his servants--was\nlighted to his chamber, and soon returned, in a dress, which was in no\nwise put to shame by that of his friend, and they proceeded together\nto the lodgings of Sir William Rogers.\n\nThe apartments of this favourite minstrel of the king were not\nextensive, but, as the custom was, down to a very late period of our\nhistory, even the principal bed-room, which purposely contained a\nrichly carved aud highly ornamented bed, was thrown open, and all\nwere lighted up with a blaze of lamps. The furniture was gorgeous\nand gaudy. The serving-men numerous, but not always expert, and\nthe company was small, and chiefly composed of such persons as were\nlikely to be willing to scrape their way up into favour at court, by\ngrasping the skirt, and scrambling after the footsteps, of any one,\nhowever worthless, who might be rising there. The entrance of two\ngallants so distinguished as Ramsay and Sir Walter Stewart produced\njust such an effect as one might look for from the sudden arrival of\ntwo noble peacocks, in full glory of plumage, in the midst of a vulgar\nflock of turkeys. Each small individual present vainly endeavoured to\nhobble-gobble itself into notice, whilst the two greater and grander\nbirds permitted their own agreeable admiration of themselves, to be but\nlittle interrupted by the ruffling and noise of the creatures around\nthem. To Sir William Rogers himself, however, court policy induced them\nto yield a full and respectful attention. He was a good looking, and\nrather stoutish man, with more of talent than of gentility in his face,\nfor though his brows were heavy, his large eyes were always ready to\nrespond, with powerful expression, to the varied feelings which music\nnever failed to awaken within him. In music he was an enthusiast,\nbut when not under the excitement which it invariably produced in\nhim, his whole features betrayed that dull, sordid, self-complacency,\nonly to be disturbed when his own immediate interest moved him.\n\nThe musical knight came forward to receive the two friends, with\nmanifest satisfaction, as persons who raised the tone of his little\nsociety, and gave him additional consequence in the eyes of his other\nguests. He presented Sir Walter, without delay, to his fair niece, who\narose gracefully from the harp, over which she had just begun to run\nher fingers in a prelude, and returned his salute with condescending\nsmiles. She was very beautiful; but, although she appeared to be young,\nher beauty seemed, somehow, to want the freshness of youth. She looked\nlike a gay garment, which, though neither soiled nor worn, had lost\nsomewhat of that glossy newness of surface, with which it first came\nforth from the tailor's shop. Whilst her regards were turned towards\nRamsay, or Sir Walter Stewart, her countenance was covered with the\nmost winning smiles she could wear; but when they chanced to wander\nround among the meaner personages of the company, it assumed a degree\nof haughtiness, that was not unmingled with contempt. This proceeded\nfrom her very expressive eyes, which beamed forth warm rays, when half\nveiled by her long dark eyelashes, and were quite in harmony with the\nmildness of her oval face, her polished forehead, and her dark and\nfinely arched eye-brows. But when their orbs were broadly displayed\nby the rise of her full eye-lid, the fires that shot from them were\ntoo formidable to be altogether agreeable. As was the fashion with\nladies of any distinction in those days, her hair was but little\nseen--the greater part of it being capped up under a very tall,\nsteeple-looking head-dress, which was of a shape much resembling an\novergrown pottle-basket. This was of crimson velvet, ornamented with\ngold embroidery, and from the taper top of it descended a number of\nstreamers of different colours, which hung down behind, and floated\nover three-fourths of her person. She wore a rich robe, of the same\nmaterial and colour as the cap. This was made to fit her tightly, as\nlow as the waist, where it was confined by a richly wrought girdle\nof gold, from which it flowed loosely down, and swept the ground\nin a wide train, that covered a large extent of the floor around\nher, but which was so looped up at the sides, as to display a deep\ncherry-coloured silk petticoat flowered with gold.\n\n\"Better had it been for thee, Juliet, to have sung when I first asked\nthee,\" said Sir William Rogers to her; \"thy minstrelsy might have\npassed well enough with our good friends here: but now, thou must\nundergo the severe ordeal, of the nicely critical ears, of these\nour honoured and highly accomplished guests of the court. Sir Walter\nStewart here, especially, is well known to be a master of the divine\nart of music--as, with his gracious favour, you may perchance by and\nbye hear.\"\n\n\"Alas! uncle, I know too well how silly I have been, in allowing myself\nto be thus caught, and I feel too surely I am about to be punished for\nit!\" replied the lady, with a sigh, accompanied by a languishing glance\nat Sir Walter; \"for who hath not heard of the exquisite science of Sir\nWalter Stewart? The fame of his accomplishments have made the proudest\ngallants of England envious. But his eye hath too much benevolence\nin it, to leave me to doubt, that he will pity and pardon the faults\nthat may spring from this trembling weakness of hand, and fluttering\nof heart, which his presence hath so suddenly brought upon me.\"\n\nThe lady, quite accidentally no doubt, then assumed that attitude which\nwas best calculated to display her person to advantage, and began\nto run her fingers over the chords, with a boldness and strength of\ntouch, that proved her to be a very perfect mistress indeed of the\ninstrument she handled, since she could thus make it discourse such\nmusic, under circumstances which she had herself declared to be so\nunfavourable. Notwithstanding the overawing presence of Sir Walter\nStewart, whose critical powers she had declared she so much dreaded,\nshe commenced a beautiful love-ballad, in a full, firm, and clear\nvoice, with which she very speedily whirled away the musical soul of\nthe Knight of the Aven, who, in spite of his boast to the contrary,\nwas immediately drawn towards her chair, over which he continued to\nhang during all the time of her performance. Song after song was sung\nby this siren, in a style so superior to any thing which he had ever\nheard before, that he was perfectly enraptured. He was called upon\nto play and to sing in his turn, and the praises which he received,\nin terms of no very limited measure, from both uncle and niece, and\nwhich, if fame does not belie him, were not altogether unmerited,\nwere re-echoed by the whole flock of gobbling turkeys who pressed\naround them. The lady then joined her voice to his, in a tender and\nmelting lay,--and thus the evening passed away, till Sir Walter was\ncalled upon to hand her to the table, where an ample feast was spread,\nand where her very agreeable talk was rendered even yet more spirited,\nby the rich wines, which enlivened the imagination of both speaker\nand listener. The hours fled most agreeably; and, before Sir Walter\ntook his leave, he readily entered into certain arrangements with\nthe lovely Juliet, by which it was settled that next day was to be\nthe first of a series of meetings, for mutual practice in the art\nin which both so much delighted, their studies being of course to be\ncarried on under the direction of Sir William Rogers himself.\n\n\"Well, Julietta,\" said the uncle to the niece, after they were left\nalone, \"how likest thou this new instrument, now that thou hast run\nthe fingers of thy fancy over his stops?\"\n\n\"The instrument is a handsome instrument enough,\" replied Juliet. \"The\nstrings sound melodiously too. But much of mine affection must rest\non the gold with which it may be enriched, and the value of the case\nwhich may contain it. Is this Stewart wealthy, I pray thee; and are\nhis possessions ample enough for my desires?\"\n\n\"I know that thy desires are ample enough,\" replied Rogers; \"but\nreport speaks well of the wealth and possessions of this Sir Walter.\"\n\n\"Some where in the bleak north, are they not?\" said Juliet. \"By all\nthe saints, the cold and barren sod of this northern clime had hardly\never been pressed by my foot at all, had I not hoped to have mated\nme with some of its most wealthy nobles!\"\n\n\"Thou hadst little chance of any such noble match where thou wert,\nJulietta,\" replied Rogers; \"and, let me tell thee, the fates are\nquite as much against any such chance for thee here. These proud and\ndogged Scottish nobles scorn to grace a court, where the King makes\nso little account of them. And truly there is little wonder that they\nshould thus take offence, seeing that the places in the royal favour,\nwhich by inheritance belong to them, should be filled by such beasts\nas Leonard--Torfefan--Hommil--Andrew--aye, and that prince of brutes,\nCochran, too.\"\n\n\"They are all beasts, as thou sayest, uncle,\" replied Juliet;\n\"though, if I were obliged to choose among them, I should rather\ntie myself to that coarse, clumsy elephant whom thou hast last named\nas king of these brutes, than to any of the others. He is the man,\ndepend on't, who hath the true and proper art to raise the edifice\nof his own fortunes; and, by using his broad shoulders as a scaffold,\na bold woman might thereby mount, methinks, to wealth and honours.\"\n\n\"He is a pestilent, pushing, proud, overbearing, ignorant, vulgar\nbeast, I tell thee,\" replied her uncle, much excited. \"The brute\ndespises music! Depend upon it, he will never rise to any thing but to\nthe garret story of one of his own buildings, from which, if some kind\ndevil would but throw him down, to the dislocation of that accursed\nbull neck of his, I should cheerfully compose an especial jubilate. Oh,\nApollo and Terpsichore! that a man of my musical science and learning,\nshould be compelled to associate with so vile a piler of stones,\nand compounder of mortar!\"\n\n\"I have a shrewd suspicion, that the measure of thy rage against\nCochran, is but that of thy fears for his outstripping thee in thine\nascent of the lofty tower of ambition,\" replied Juliet. \"But spurn\nhim not, good uncle, if thou art wise; for his ladder is long, and\nstrong; and might, with proper management, be useful to thee.\"\n\n\"I should be right glad to see it so, July, could I but kick down\nboth the ladder and its owner, after I should have so used them,\"\nsaid Rogers. \"But methinks thou wouldst fain carry ladder, hod and\nmortar and all, to the very top of the tower, on thine own shoulders,\nrather than lose the man they belong to.\"\n\n\"Thou art grievously mistaken, uncle,\" replied Juliet, keenly. \"To\nrise into a high and wealthy station, and the higher and wealthier the\nbetter, would certainly be my desire; but I should much prefer youth,\nand beauty, and accomplishment, in the instrument which I might use\nfor the gratification of mine ambition. If fate denies me all these\nindeed, then would I embrace age, and deformity itself, rather than\nfail of mine object. Nay, thou canst hardly as yet guess to what means\nI should resort to secure its completion. As for Cochran, I know he\nloves me; for, in his great condescension, he hath vouchsafed to tell\nme so. Nor have I altogether kept the bear aloof. To wed myself to him\nwould be to speculate, and that too with but an ungainly and unloveable\nsubject. But if I could read the book of his fate, and find fortune\nand honours therein, it would not be the coarse edifice of his body,\nsupported as it is upon such rustic pillars, and crowned by so vulgar\nand heavy a capital, that would deter me from embracing it. Yet 'tis\nbut a speculation; and, being so, I must confess that I am disposed,\nrather to grasp at this handsome Corinthian column of the Stewart,\nthan to tie myself to that clumsy Cochran, whose clay image might,\nafter all, crumble to pieces, and suffocate me in its dirty dust.\"\n\n\"I am right glad that thou hast so determined, Juliet,\" said Rogers. \"I\nhave no jealousy of this well-born knight, who hath, moreover,\na greater feeling for the divine art of music than any of his cold\ncountrymen with whom I have yet met, without even excepting Royalty\nitself. But I might as well see thee built up into a stone wall,\nas see thee the wife of Cochran! To see thy great musical genius\ntied to this most unmelodious and croaking chisseler of stones,\nand compounder of lime, sand, and cow's-hair! I quaver at the very\nthought! But get thee to bed, my girl. Now that I know my ground-notes,\nI shall wonder if I work thee not out a piece that shall not only win\nthee this instrument of thy more recent desires, but enable thee to\nplay upon it too, according as thou wilt, with thine own variations.\"\n\nWhilst this precious conversation was going on between the uncle and\nniece, Sir Walter Stewart gave the convoy to Ramsay as far as the\nRoyal Castle-gate, after which he returned towards his hostel. As\nhe was pursuing his solitary way thither, he heard the clashing of\nswords; and, on moving quickly down the deserted street, he discovered,\nby the faint light that came from a new moon, two men pressing hard\nin fence against one, who was defending himself with great courage,\nwith his back to a wall. Though he had no knowledge of the combatants,\nhe could not stand by and see such foul play.\n\n\"For shame! for shame, gentlemen!\" cried he. \"What! two upon one!\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, indeed!\" cried he that was assailed, in a contemptuous\ntone, during the moment of breathing afforded him by Sir Walter's\ninterference--\"Gentlemen indeed!--Tailors and scaramouches, else am\nI not the Earl of Huntly!\"\n\n\"Again dost thou dare so to miscal the gentlemen of the court of his\nmost Royal Majesty of Scotland?\" cried one of the individuals, whom\nSir Walter immediately discovered to be the pot-valiant Torfefan. \"By\nall the gods of fire, thunder, and battle, thou shalt eat this good\nbilboa of mine. Have at thee, then, earl, or carl, or devil, if thou\nlikest it!\"\n\n\"Nay, then, my Lord of Huntly, I will myself relieve thee of this\nbold bird,\" cried the knight; \"do thou deal with the other.\"\n\n\"Thanks for thy rescue, Sir Walter Stewart,\" replied Huntly, now\nrecognizing his friend. \"But thou hast left naught to me but the very\nshred of the skirt of the garment of this broil--the vile cabbage--the\nvery tailor himself.\"\n\n\"Trust me, thy man, though but the ninth-part of one, is as good as\nmine,\" replied Sir Walter.\n\nThe combat was now renewed upon fairer terms, and, in a few moments,\nTorfefan's sword was sent spinning into the air, and, falling from\nits flight, it rang upon the stones of the causeway, and was shivered\ninto pieces, whilst its owner was prostrated on his back by his\nover-anxiety to withdraw from the fury of his adversary's onset. Sir\nWalter's sword-point was immediately at his throat; and, at that\nvery moment the weapon of his noble ally had pierced a fleshy part of\nhis opponent, as he had turned to run away, which act of discretion,\nhowever, it did not prevent, for it rather pricked him on to a more\nactive exertion of speed.\n\n\"Spare my life, good Sir Walter Stewart!\" cried Torfefan, in an agony\nof fear. \"Most noble Knight, spare the life of a fellow-courtier!\"\n\n\"Get up, sir; I have no intention of taking it,\" replied Sir\nWalter. \"'Tis enow for me that I have thus exorcised the spirit of the\npottle-pot out of thee. 'Twas that which made thine otherwise peaceful\nsword leap from its scabbard against thy betters. Get thee up, I say,\nand go home.\"\n\n\"Thou art right, Sir Knight,\" replied Torfefan, rising humbly upon\nhis knees, and gradually gaining his legs. \"I am at all times mild\nand peaceful, as so brave a man, and so perfect a master of fence\nought to be, save when the flask hath somewhat inflamed my brain,\nand then, indeed, I am as dangerous as a devil. 'Twas well that thou\ncamest, else my Lord of Huntly, whom otherwise I so highly respect,\nhad certainly died by my murderous hand.\"\n\n\"'Twas well, indeed, that thy bloody Bacchanalian rage was staid in\ntime,\" said Sir Walter Stewart, ironically. \"In this bout, thou hast\nso well proved thy title to bravery, as well as to science in fence,\nthat who shall dare henceforth to deny these thy perfections? So take\nthe advice of a friend, Signor Torfefan, and get thee straightway to\nbed, lest the dregs of that same pottle-pot, working in thee still,\nshould draw down upon thee some more serious fracture than that of\nthy bilboa-blade.\"\n\n\"Ha! true,\" said Torfefan; \"that was a loss indeed! But murderers\nwill suffer at last; and if thou didst but know the blood which that\nsame lethal weapon hath shed in my hands, and the lives which it hath\nsacrificed, thou would'st say, Sir Knight----\"\n\n\"I would say that thou should'st forthwith hasten to thy bed,\"\ninterrupted Sir Walter. \"If the King should hear of this brawl----\"\n\n\"Gad so, that's true, Sir Walter!\" cried Torfefan; \"thank thee for the\nhint. Were those reptiles, Cochran, Rogers, and the rest, to hear of\nthis, they might work mine absolute destruction. Ah, that's the worst\nfeature of our King's court, Sir Walter! The worst misfortune that\nhas happened, I say, to us gentlemen of the court, is the admission\nto it of such vile scum as these Cochrans, and Rogers, and Leonards,\nand such like base mechanics. My very broil this blessed night, may\nbe said to be owing to my permitting that lily-livered hog in armour,\nHommil, to company with me. But while I am prating, these villains may\nget sight of me, and make their own story out of me. So I'll tarry here\nno longer. Good night, Sir Walter Stewart; you are a brave gentleman,\nwell fitted to company with the King.\"\n\n\"What a cowardly boasting knave!\" said Sir Walter, after he was gone.\n\n\"Yet, to such vermin are all the crumbs of royal favour thrown, to\nthe utter starvation of those who are of noble breed!\" cried Huntly,\nwith bitterness. \"I would fain drink one flask of wine with thee,\nStewart, at thy hostel, ere I go home, to wash down the indignation\nand loathing, which the very sight of these scoundrel caitiffs hath\nbrought into my throat. Let me go thither with thee straightway.\"\n\n\"Willingly, my lord,\" replied Sir Walter, and, arm and arm together,\nthey proceeded to the hostel.\n\n\"Stewart,\" said the Earl of Huntly, after they were seated at their\nwine, and leaning across the table to address his friend in a half\nwhisper, though they were the only guests in the room at that late\nhour; \"thou hast so much of the good will of great and small, that\nno one grudges thee the favour the king shows to thee; and there\nare few who have much jealousy of Ramsay either, seeing that he\nwas whipping-boy to James, and, moreover, that he is a gentleman of\ngood descent. But neither lords nor commons, knights nor burgesses,\ncan long tolerate the undue elevation and preferment of wretches, so\nworthless, as those who block up the royal presence from the approach\nof better men.\"\n\n\"'Tis unfortunate that it should be so,\" said Sir Walter; \"but has\nit never occurred to your Lordship, that the nobles of Scotland may\nhave some small share of the blame, by absenting themselves from\ncourt as they do, so that the King lacks all opportunity of having\ntheir several merits brought under his eye.\"\n\n\"You would not have the high-blooded war-steed to throw himself down\nin the same stye with obscene swine?\" replied the Earl. \"I would as\nsoon thrust myself into a den of badgers, as sit down to partake of\na king's feast, with such company as that arrogant mason Cochran,\nand the other dunghill companions whom James so much delights to\nhonour. The court must be cleared of all such, aye, and swept, and\ngarnished, and perfumed too, before I shall dare to trust my nostrils\nwithin its precincts.\"\n\n\"No one can say that such feelings are not quite natural, my lord,\"\nreplied Sir Walter Stewart; \"but yet, I fear that the indulgence of\nthem, can do nothing else but increase the disease which you would\nso fain cure. 'Tis pity that some few of the nobles do not so far\novercome them, as to appear now and then at court. As a soft answer\nturneth away wrath, so gentle conduct will often effect that which\nmay defy the sternest boldness.\"\n\n\"Nay, but how are we used when we do appear?\" demanded the Earl. \"Even\nAlbany and Mar are treated as aliens; and if the very royal brothers\nof the monarch are scarcely noticed, in comparison with those nauseous\ntoads who crawl about the king's footstool, what can we of the humbler\npeerage expect?\"\n\n\"There is great reason in what you say, my lord,\" observed Sir Walter;\n\"but hush! who comes here?\"\n\nA tall thin figure, in black trewse, with a doublet of black, slashed\nwith flame-coloured silk, the body strangely covered with silver stars,\nand having the signs of the zodiac on the broad belt that confined it,\nwith a black cloak hanging from his shoulders, which had on it the\nsun and moon and seven stars, and his head shaded by a broad hat,\nthat bore a large plume of feathers, all of the same gloomy hue,\nstalked into the common room. From the small quantity of illumination\nwhich the single lamp, that burned on their table, threw around it,\nthe person that came was but indistinctly visible, in the obscurity\nthat especially prevailed at the lower end of the apartment; but when\nhe came slowly forward within the influence of the light, Sir Walter\nStewart, and his friend the Earl of Huntly, recognised the pale, thin,\nsharp, and prominent features, the cadaverous hue, the dark eyebrows,\nthe piercing eyes, and the long black locks and beard of Andrew\nthe Flemish Astrologer. He came as if in a walking dream; he stopped\nwithin a few feet of the table where they sat--started, as if suddenly\nreturning to the consciousness of the realities around him--darted an\ninquiring look, first at Lord Huntly, and then at Sir Walter Stewart,\nand then slowly inclining his head in silent and sombre salutation,\nhe turned from them, and stalked away, without uttering a syllable.\n\nThe Earl, and the Knight, could not for some time shake off the\nsuperstitious dread, that involuntarily crept over both of them at the\nsight of this man, who had thus so strangely and mysteriously visited\nthem. His deep knowledge of the science, to which he pretended, was\nadmitted by all, and his powers were supposed to extend over other\nregions besides those of the heavens. Their hearts were so chilled\nby his very aspect, that both felt quite unfitted for renewing their\nconversation; and, without making one single remark on this strange\nintrusion, each drained the full cup that stood before him, and,\nbidding one another good night, the serving men of the hostel were\ncalled, and they separated, to seek their respective places of repose.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA TEMPEST.\n\n\nClifford.--What a dreadful tempest out of doors?--Forgive my\ninterruption, Serjeant; but ere you go farther with your interesting\nstory, I think we had better get in some more wood and peats, lest\nthe fire should get hopelessly low, a thing that is very likely to\nhappen where people are so engaged as we are.\n\nGrant.--The Serjeant's stories might well make one forget every\nthing else.\n\nClifford.--Come, Mister Serjeant, whilst the fire is mending, and\nthe Earl and the Knight are retiring to their repose, you may have\nleisure to wet your whistle a little.\n\nSerjeant.--I shall not be sorry to do that, sir; my mouth is a little\ndry to be sure. Keep us all, such a night of wind and rain! How the\nblast thuds against the windows!--That is awful indeed! God help the\npoor man that may be out in such a night! 'Tis well for us to be in\nbigged land.\n\nGrant.--As you say, it is well for us to be under a roof, Archy; and\nyet I wish that the roof of this old house may not be blown away. How\nfuriously the tempest howls along!\n\nAuthor.--'Tis fearful to listen to it; yet I suspect that this is\nnothing to the blasts which its walls must sometimes endure.\n\nSerjeant.--Ou! bless you, sir! The wind comes down the trough of\nthis glen, at times, enough, one would think, to blow every house\nand living thing out of it, stones and rocks and all, like peas out\nof a pop-gun. But this house has stood many a blast, and I hope it\nwill weather out this one yet.\n\nAuthor.--It came on very suddenly. It is not half an hour ago since\nall was quiet, and hear how the wind rages and the rain rattles now.\n\nClifford.--Our friend Willox must be abroad with his kelpie's bridle.\n\nAuthor.--Aye--or Andrew the Flemish Astrologer may have done it.\n\nClifford.--Andrew the Astrologer! yes, I daresay he was quite equal\nto kicking up such a rumpus among the elements. I would fain know\nmore of that fellow.\n\nSerjeant.--Be assured, sir, I shall tell you all I know about him in\ndue course of time. Meanwhile I am ready to take up the clue of my\ndiscourse whenever you please.\n\nClifford.--You may do so when you like, Serjeant; for, as I suppose\nthat this terrible night puts all hope of an early start in the\nmorning out of the question, we may e'en sit up as late as we like.\n\nSerjeant.--If the rain holds on at this rate, the rivers will all be\nup, and the mosses swimming, so that our travelling further to-morrow\nwill be impossible.\n\nClifford.--Come away, then, Serjeant, proceed with your legend,\nand let the storm roar and rattle as it will.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF CHARLEY STEWART T\u00c0ILLEAR-CRUBACH\nCONTINUED.\n\n\nSir Walter Stewart was received next day, by King James, with all\nthat kindness which he was used to lavish upon his favourites, among\nwhom the accomplished knight held by no means the lowest place in his\nestimation. Apartments were immediately allotted to him near the royal\nperson, and his time became almost entirely occupied by his duties as\na courtier. He failed not, however, to take all opportunities that\noccurred, of cultivating his talent for music, under the auspices\nof Sir William Rogers, and his fascinating niece. Notwithstanding\nthe knight's bold confidence to the contrary, the lady's designs\nagainst his heart might have been very rapidly successful, had\nnot the baseness of her motives inclined her to waver from time to\ntime, between the balance of rival advantages, which were offered\nto her by an encouragement of Cochran, who had declared himself to\nbe her lover. Thus it was that she often scared Sir Walter Stewart\nat the very moment when, to all appearance, he seemed most likely\nunconsciously to gorge the bait, and thus it was that several years\nglided imperceptibly away, without the lady finding herself one bit\nnearer to the attainment of either of her objects. Still, however, Sir\nWalter would ever and anon return within the sphere of her attraction,\nand the fair Juliet always the more easily managed to conjure him back\nthither, that they were frequently brought together, to sing and to\nplay in presence of the royal pair, in those little private meetings\nwhich were held almost nightly in the Queen's apartment. As for Sir\nWilliam Rogers, he did all he could to fix his niece's determination\ntowards securing an alliance with Sir Walter Stewart, not only from\nhis unconquerable abhorrence of the unrefined mason, on the one hand,\nbut also from his conviction, that his own ambitious views were fully\nas likely to be helped forward by the lady's union with the gallant\nknight, for whom moreover he had an especial respect, because of his\ngenius and accomplishment in that divine art, to which he was himself\nso enthusiastically attached.\n\nThe royal party was one night assembled, as usual, in the apartment\nof Queen Margaret, who, seated in a gorgeous chair, richly attired,\nas became her station, and attended by Ramsay, and some of her\nmaids of honour, and with her angelic countenance lighted up with\nunfeigned rapture, listened to the mingled voices and minstrelsy\nof Sir William Rogers, Sir Walter Stewart, and the lovely Juliet\nManvers. The King was engaged with Cochran, at a table at one end\nof the room, in looking over some plans, which had reference to the\nbuildings then going on within the castle. Any one who had witnessed\nthem, whilst so employed, would have said that neither his Majesty,\nnor his architect, were much occupied in the subject which was the\nostensible object of their consideration, for whilst the ears of\nthe monarch seemed ever and anon to draw off his attention to the\nmusic, the heavy eyes of Cochran were perpetually wandering towards\nthe person of the songstress. Ere the music had been long continued,\neach of them yielded to the irresistible impulse which had moved him,\nand, whilst the King drew a chair, and seated himself opposite to the\nperformers, Cochran placed himself behind it, and, with that vulgar\nand unpolished air, which the magnificence of his dress rendered\nonly the more apparent, leaned awkwardly over the back of it, and\nrivetted his gloating gaze upon the lady's charms. The piece had come\nto its close, and the royal pair were bestowing their commendations\nliberally upon those who had executed it, when three loud and solemn\ntaps were heard at the door of the chamber. King James started, and\nat once assumed an air of intense and serious anxiety, and the Queen,\nand all present, were more or less disturbed at this interruption.\n\n\"I had forgotten!\" exclaimed the King, as if speaking to himself\nalone.--\"Enter! thou art at all times welcome!\"\n\nThe door slowly opened at his word, and the tall thin figure of Andrew\nthe Flemish Astrologer stood in the doorway, habited as he has been\nalready described, and with a long white rod in his right hand. With\nhis left hand upon his breast, he made a low and solemn reverence\nto the King, and then pointing his rod over his shoulder, he seemed\nsilently to indicate his desire that his Majesty should follow him.\n\n\"Lead on!\" cried the King, with an awe-stricken voice and air, whilst\nhe arose from his chair, and hastily put on his hat and cloak. \"If\nwe are called by the stars, we are at all times ready to give due\nobedience to them,\" and, with these words, he immediately retired\nwith the Astrologer.\n\nRamsay, Stewart, Rogers, and Juliet Manvers, made their several\nreverences to the Queen, in which they were clumsily joined by\nCochran, and all took their leave. They were no sooner out of the\nRoyal presence, than Cochran, rudely thrusting himself before Ramsay\nand Sir Walter Stewart, bustled busily up to the lady, as she hung on\nher uncle's arm, so as to engage the unoccupied place next her, to the\nexclusion of every one else. Sir Walter was somewhat chafed at this\nrudeness, and might have forgotten himself, had not his rising anger\nbeen checked by the voice of one of the Queen's ladies, who called\nhim by his name. The Knight stopped to ascertain what she wanted.\n\n\"Sir Walter Stewart,\" said the lady, \"the Queen commands thee to\nreturn, for a brief space, to her apartment, that she may again hear\nthee sing that French ballad of thine own composition, which so much\npleased her Majesty two nights ago. Her Majesty would fain have the\nwords, and catch the notes of it.\"\n\n\"I humbly obey her Majesty's command,\" replied the Knight, returning\nwith the lady immediately.\n\nOn entering the Queen's apartment, he made his reverence to her\nMajesty; and she, having again signified her wishes to him in a very\ngracious manner, she motioned him to take up a lute, and seat himself\non a stool near her chair; and after having done as she desired,\nhe began to sing the ballad she had named, and to accompany himself\non the instrument.\n\nIn the meanwhile the King followed the solemn, step and apparition-like\nfigure of the Astrologer till he brought his Majesty to an angular part\nof the castle-wall that, skirting the giddy precipice of lofty rock on\nwhich the fortress stands, looked out over the country to the south and\nwest. But that which was an extensive and magnificent prospect by day,\nwas at this moment shrouded in the shades of night. There he took his\nstand, and pointed upwards with his rod. The moon was in its second\nquarter, and shed a pale and partial light. A strange and portentous\narch of black and very opaque clouds, rested its extremities on the\nverges of the northern and southern horizon, and spanned the heavens\nthrough the zenith. Behind this, all to the eastward, was one dark\nvault, impenetrable to the eye, whilst the western edge of the arch\nwas tinged with bright rain-bow hues, and the whole sky below it,\nupon that side, was serene and cloudless. As the king gazed upwards in\nwonder, not unmingled with dread, a bright flash of lightning suddenly\nillumined the whole of the black and solid concave of clouds behind\nthem, and the walls of the castle were shaken by a tremendous peal\nof thunder. The heart of the royal James quailed within him. The\npeal was reverberated from the bold front of Dumyot, with a harsh\nand crashing sound, and then, after visiting and rousing up every\necho among the Ochills, it rolled fearfully away up the valley of the\nForth, until it died amid the distant western mountains. Filled with\nsuperstitious dread, the King grasped the left arm of the Astrologer,\nwho stood unmoved, with his rod extended in his right hand.\n\n\"Holy Virgin Mother, Messire Andrew! what do these dread signs\nportend?\" cried James, with deep anxiety of voice and manner.\n\n\"These!\" exclaimed Andrew, in French, and in a wild and enthusiastic\ntone, that would have sounded as contemptuous in the King's ear,\nbut for the intensity of his desire to have his fears and doubts put\nto rest; \"these are but the mere auxiliaries of Heaven's appalling\noratory. See!--Know you not yonder stars which now approach each\nother to a conjunction so threatening?\"\n\n\"Mars and Venus approaching to strange and fearful conjunction indeed,\"\nreplied the King, shuddering. \"What can it bode?\"\n\n\"And see ye not that they are in the ascendant, whilst Jupiter is\nsinking fast?--Now, they are almost in contact--and now!\"\n\n\"Heaven in its mercy defend us, what a dreadful peal!\" cried the King,\nas the thunder again burst terribly over his head. \"And see, the thick\nand inky veil begins to rend asunder into separate clouds, like some\nvast army breaking its general mass into its several legions. And\nbehold now, how they divide and subdivide, careering swiftly like\nsquadrons of horsemen over the vault of the heavens. And now, look\nhow strangely and capriciously the broken-up clouds have here veiled,\nand there revealed, the different portions of the sky!\"\n\n\"Aye!\" said the Astrologer, solemnly, \"and now the mystic dance\nis done. Each several fragment of vapour hath taken his place. The\ncharacters are fixed; and now 'tis man's fault if he read not enough of\nHeaven's will in so wide-spread and so plainly written a book. There\nwe can see the Hydra, and there the Greyhounds--there the greater,\nand there the lesser Dog. But where is the Lion? And where the\nNorthern Crown?\"\n\n\"Alas, Messire Andrew! thou lookest as if thou wer't dismayed by\nthese fearful prodigies,\" exclaimed the King again, with an anxiously\ninquiring eye. \"What is it that you dread they may portend?\"\n\n\"It is grievous for me to translate to your Majesty the meaning of\nthese direfully ominous portents,\" replied Andrew, gravely, after a\nlong pause, during which he seemed gradually to call down his spirit\nfrom the heavens, where it had been soaring for sometime amid all\nthe wonders they displayed. \"Yet is it better for you to know their\nfearful warnings, so far as mortals may interpret them,\" continued\nhe, rising into a wild kind of inspiration. \"Danger is threatened\nto the King!--to the King of Scotland! Beware of the princes and\nlords of the land! Those in whom thou takest the most pleasure may\nprove thy greatest bane! Commotions and wars are to be looked for and\ndreaded! Beware! beware! Oh, King! lest the Scottish Lion be devoured\nby its whelps!\"\n\n\"The Scottish Lion devoured by its whelps!\" re-echoed the King, in\nthe muttered voice of dismay. \"Danger from the princes and nobles\nof the land! Danger from those in whom we take most pleasure! What\ndoth all this import? And in especial, what meaneth this last strange\nenigma?--What!--the Queen!--Speak Messire Andrew? Or would it point at\nthose who most enjoy my favour?--Why dost thou not answer me?--Wars\nand commotions--the powerful influence of Mars is plain--but that of\nVenus!--say!--speak! Surely, surely that doth not touch the loyalty\nof our Queen?\"\n\n\"The moment of divination has passed away for this night,\" said the\ncunning Astrologer, in a low hollow voice, like that produced from\nan over-exhausted spirit. \"I am now weak and blind as other men. Yet\nsaid I nothing of her most gracious Majesty Queen Margaret, whom God\nlong preserve! The planet your Majesty speaks of hath two several and\ndistinct influences--one, the which may operate as touching things\nmore immediately under the dominion of woman's passion, and the other,\nas denoting a mere point of time. This latter interpretation would\nseem to me, at this moment, to be by far the more likely, for, as\nMars would predict battles, his conjunction with the Star of Evening\nwould rather appear to me to mark that they will arise in the evening\nof your Majesty's reign, which may God and St. Andrew render long\nand prosperous!\"\n\n\"Nay, but cans't thou not yet inquire more closely, Messire\nAndrew?\" demanded the King, impatiently. \"These doubts are worse\nthan ignorance.\"\n\n\"Another time we may find fit opportunity to solve them, good my\nliege,\" replied the Astrologer, with a low reverence. \"The spirit\nof divination hath passed from me, and I am now no more than a\nweak and blind mortal. And see! even the heavens have refused to\nyield up farther knowledge of future events to the sons of earth,\nfor they have wrapped themselves up in one dark and impenetrable\nveil of cloud. To-night the book of fate is shut!--Saw ye that! The\nelements themselves forbid all farther question.\"\n\nAs he spoke, a terrible glare of lightning blazed around them,\nmomentarily illuminating every feature of the grand scenery by which\nthey were surrounded. A fearful clap of thunder again burst over their\nheads with awful magnificence, and rolled terribly away. A furious\nwind began to blow, and large drops of rain descended, a tempest\nwas approaching, and the King, sunk, disheartened, and unsatisfied,\nwas driven in by the natural results of those threatenings in the sky,\nwhich he had been so attentively watching, to brood upon those fanciful\nhorrors and dangers with which they, in reality, had no connection. He\nreturned towards the Queen's apartment in deep thought, and he had\nentered it fully, before the notes of the music that still sounded\nin it had power to rouse him from his abstraction. Sir Walter Stewart\nstill sat near the Queen's footstool, singing to the accompaniment of\nhis lute, and her Majesty and her maids of honour were still eagerly\noccupied in listening.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried King James, as he recovered perfect consciousness of the\nscene before him, and speaking with a highly disturbed air and tone;\n\"Methought our privacy had been relieved from all further interruption\nfor this night?\"\n\n\"Pardon, my liege!--my love!\" cried the Queen, rising from her chair,\nand affectionately taking his arm. \"Pardon, if we have done aught to\ndispleasure thee! I and my maidens had a mind to hear again that sweet\nballad of Sir Walter Stewart's making, which he sang so pleasantly\nto us the other night, as you may remember. He was brought back,\ntherefore, in obedience to my command, and if there be aught of blame\nin this, it is all mine own. That he hath staid so long after he did\nreturn, if fault in that there be, it must be charged against his own\npleasing minstrelsy, which did so enchain the ears of his hearers,\nthat time passed by unheeded.\"\n\n\"Permit me, your Majesty, to take my leave,\" said Sir Walter, making\nhis wonted obeisance to the King as he retired.\n\n\"Good night,\" said the King, with more of condescension, but with\nless of warmth than he was accustomed to use towards one whom he so\nmuch favoured.\n\nAll that night the royal mind was vexed by frightful waking visions,\nthat haunted it to the exclusion of sleep. In vain did his Majesty try\nto embody them into any thing like a clear and connected picture of\ncoming events. But dark though the ground was upon which he worked,\ncertain prominent lights continually started from it, and remained\nstationary before him, so as ultimately to fix themselves in some\ndegree upon him as probable truths. The most stimulating of these might\nbe guessed at, from the royal orders which were issued on the following\nmorning. The Court was hastily and unexpectedly removed to Edinburgh\nCastle; and soon afterwards, the two Princes of the blood-royal,\nthe Duke of Albany, and the Earl of Mar, were, to the astonishment of\nall men, seized and made prisoners. Mar was confined in Craigmillar\nCastle. But of Albany, the King seemed anxious to take especial care,\nfor he was committed to custody in Edinburgh Castle itself, where he\nmight be more particularly guarded under the royal eye.\n\nYet all this did not seem to have relieved James' mind from the terrors\nwhich had taken possession of it. The approach of the nobles to the\nroyal person was less encouraged than it had ever been. The King's\nfavourites, though still permitted to have their usual intercourse\nwith him, were all in their turns looked upon at times with an eye\nof doubt. Sir Walter Stewart sensibly felt, that he was subjected to\na greater portion of the effects of this suspicious temper than any\nof the others. An excuse had been found for his being deprived of\nsuch apartments in the Castle of Edinburgh, as he had had in that\nof Stirling, and he was obliged to hire lodgings within the walls\nof the city. His presence at the private parties in the Queen's\napartment was rarely, if ever, required. The musical meetings there\nwere of themselves less frequent, and when they did take place, he\nwas not among the number of the performers. To make amends for this,\nhe spent more of his time in the pursuit of his favourite science,\nwith the fair Juliet Manvers, in the apartments of Sir William Rogers,\nand as the lady seemed to be making, day after day, greater inroads\nupon his heart, so did Sir Walter Stewart himself rise every day more\nand more in the estimation of the musical knight. With such a source\nof amusement, Sir Walter was less affected by the coldness which he\nexperienced at court, than might have been naturally supposed. But\nhe felt deeply for the confinement of the Princes, with whom he had\nbeen admitted into habits of intimacy that bordered upon the warmth\nof friendship. Yet, much as he was personally attached to them, and\nanxiously as he would have wished to have befriended them, he knew\nenough to convince him that he could make no effort in their behalf,\nthat would not have a certain tendency to lead to some fatal issue,\nboth as regarded them and himself. But the death of the Earl of Mar,\nwhich happened soon afterwards, and which was most suspiciously given\nout as having taken place suddenly, by apoplexy, in a warm bath, so\nroused his feelings, that he resolved to take the first opportunity\nof making some attempt to save Albany, and to this he was more\nimmediately stimulated by something that occurred to him one night,\nas he was walking and ruminating on the Castle-hill.\n\n\"Sir Walter Stewart,\" said a man, who stood muffled up in a cloak, to\nhim, as he was striding slowly past, unconscious that there was any one\nnear him, \"wilt thou not halt for a moment to speak to an old friend?\"\n\n\"My Lord Huntly!\" cried Sir Walter, in astonishment, after approaching\nthe figure, and ascertaining who it was that spoke.\n\n\"Hush!--Name me not so loudly!\" replied Huntly. \"The very air hath\nears, yea, and eyes too. I am here in secret and in disguise. Were\nI discovered, my life might pay for it. Come farther this way into\nthe shadow. I would speak with thee about matters which no one else\nmust hear, and my time is short. We must save Albany!\"\n\n\"Most willingly would I aid in doing so,\" replied Sir Walter. \"But\nhow is his safety to be secured?\"\n\n\"Thou canst be eminently useful,\" replied Huntly.\n\n\"I know thy zeal in a friend's behalf, and although thou mightest have\nshown some unwillingness to take part with us, when our grievances\namounted to nothing more than royal neglect, yet perhaps thou\nmayest now be more sharpened to our purpose, when thou seest that\nthe murderous knife hath already been drawn upon us, that the first\nvictim hath been already sacrificed, and that victim too a high and\nnoble prince of the blood royal, who was, moreover, thy friend.\"\n\n\"Nay, surely thou dost not believe that my Lord Mar died other than\na natural death?\" said Sir Walter.\n\n\"A natural death!\" exclaimed Huntly.--\"Aye, a death naturally occurring\nfrom a weak and cruel brother's jealousy. That species of natural\ndeath, to wit, which the sheep may very naturally receive from the\nhand of the butcher!\"\n\n\"Why, they say he died in a bath;\" said Sir Walter.\n\n\"And in so saying they say truly,\" replied Huntly. \"Of a truth he\ndied in a bath--a hot bath, into which he was kindly put to recover\nhim from a deep cut in the main artery of his arm, given him by one\nof the royal executioners.\"\n\n\"'Tis horrible, if true!\" said Sir Walter, shuddering.\n\n\"'Tis as true as it is horrible,\" continued Huntly. \"And now methinks I\nmay trust to your being less scrupulous in listening to the grievances\nof the lords, than thou wert when I last touched the topic with thee\nat Stirling.\"\n\n\"My Lord,\" replied Sir Walter, \"I will honestly tell thee, that\nto save Albany, a man whom I honour as a royal prince and a highly\naccomplished knight, and whom, moreover, I hold in deep affection\nas a friend, I am willing to put mine own life to utmost peril, and\nthis the more too, that if I can save him I shall think that my so\ndoing will be the preserving of the right arm of Scotland. But in any\nthing that may touch my fealty directly to the person of King James,\nI must be held excused, seeing that I have already received too much\nkindness from his Majesty, to permit me to prove in anywise a rebel\nto him,--but in this matter of the Duke of Albany, my judgment tells\nme that I shall, by saving him, be doing good service to my king as\nwell as to my country.\"\n\n\"Then let us leave all else at present, and talk of this matter in\nhand,\" said Huntly. \"Thou art well versed in the customs and affairs\nof France, and canst speak its tongue. Couldst thou not contrive to\ndiscover, whether some barque may not be soon looked for from thence\nwith merchandize?\"\n\n\"So far, my Lord, I can answer thee here upon the spot,\" replied\nSir Walter. \"It so chances that I look daily for the arrival of a\ncaptain, well known to me, who trades in wine. He is the bearer of\ncertain casks for me, and I can therefore go to inquire regarding\nhim without much suspicion. It shall be done to-morrow.\"\n\n\"This is most lucky,\" said Huntly. \"So now let us consider well as\nto our plans. Knowest thou how the Duke is guarded?\"\n\n\"I do not lodge within the castle,\" replied Sir Walter. \"Nor am I\nso often within its walls as I wont to be. But this I know, that\nthe Duke is guarded most strictly. The captain of the guard himself\nkeeps the key of the apartment where he is imprisoned, and where,\nto make all things secure, his chamberlain is locked up with him,\nand no one is allowed to go in or out who is not in the first place\nmost narrowly examined. But yet will I scrupulously observe, and make\nmyself master of the whole circumstances, and of the exact position\nof things, and it will go hard with me if I cannot find some way of\nbaffling their vigilance.\"\n\n\"Then let us part to-night, lest we be observed,\" said Huntly. \"That\naccursed astrologer, Flemish Andrew, may again start up before us,\nlike the devil in our path.\"\n\n\"Um,\" replied Sir Walter, doubtingly; \"thou mayest not be very far\nfrom the truth in thy evil suspicions of him, my Lord. I liked not\nhis last visit.\"\n\n\"Well, no matter,\" said the Earl; \"to-morrow night we may meet again.\"\n\n\"Aye, to-morrow night--here, and at the same hour,\" replied Sir\nWalter. \"But if I come not, my Lord, I would have thee believe, that\nif not unwillingly detained by the King, I may perhaps be employing\nmyself more usefully elsewhere.\"\n\n\"I shall so believe,\" replied Huntly; \"then farewell till our next\nmeeting, be that when it may.\"\n\nThe friends then parted, and took different ways, to avoid all chance\nof being seen together, and Sir Walter Stewart was about to enter the\nhead of the close where his lodging was situated, when he was accosted\nby a person who came limping up to him, with all the appearance of\na jaded foot traveller, and who addressed him in humble, but by no\nmeans clownish, salutation.\n\n\"Sir Knight,\" said he, \"wilt thou vouchsafe to pardon me, a stranger,\nand deign to tell me whether thou canst direct me to the lodging of\nSir Walter Stewart of Stradawn?\"\n\n\"Surely I have heard that voice before,\" said the knight, without\nreplying to the question.\n\n\"Sir Walter!--My father!\" exclaimed the other in great surprise.\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Sir Walter, in no less astonishment, and in any\nthing but a gracious tone, \"Charley Stewart! In the name of all\nthat is wonderful what hath brought thee to Edinburgh?--This is not\nwell. Methought I had arranged all things to thy heart's content,\nfor thy proper employment in thine own native district. But I forget\nhow time flies. Doubtless ere this thou art as learned in thine art,\nand in the use of the goose, needles, shears, and bodkin, as the\ngreat and accomplished Mr. Jonathan Junkins himself.\"\n\n\"I crave your pardon, Sir Knight,\" replied Charley. \"Ill as the spirit\nof the Stewart that is within me might brook such mean drudgery,\nI struggled hard to break it into the destiny which thou hadst been\npleased to assign me. But the rude caitiff churls that worked in\nJunkins' shop, and some of the boorish neighbours too, presuming on\nmy youth, fastened on me the offensive nickname of T\u00e0illear-crubach,\nor the lame tailor. This I could not bear; and after having well\npummelled some dozen or so of them, one after the other, I deemed it\nas well to secure peace for the future, by giving up all just claim\nto so ignominious a title.\"\n\n\"By saint Michael, my boy,\" cried Sir Walter, cordially taking\nCharley's hand; \"I cannot say but thou didst well. What a strapping\nburly chield thou hast grown! But what hast thou been doing with\nthyself then, since thou gavest up tailoring?\"\n\n\"I have learned to ride, and to use a sword and a lance indifferent\nwell,\" said Charley.\n\n\"Bravo!\" cried Sir Walter. \"By the Rood, thou art mine own very flesh\nand blood! Trust me, had I guessed that thou wert made of such metal,\nI should never have thought of tying thee to a tailor's board, I\npromise thee. Would I had known this sooner! But now!--How fares it\nwith thy mother, boy?\"\n\n\"Well, Sir Walter,\" replied Charley with a deep sigh. \"She was well\nwhen I last saw her.\"\n\n\"Would that I had sooner known thy merits, Charley!\" said Sir Walter,\nwith a depth of feeling which he had not yet displayed. \"I might\nthen have----But now I fear I am too far involved with another----The\nfates have been cruelly against thee, boy.\"\n\n\"They have indeed!\" said Charley, with an emotion which almost\nchoked him.\n\n\"Well! well!\" said Sir Walter, affectionately squeezing his\nhand. \"Come--cheer up, Charley! I may yet have it in my power to do\nsomething for thee.--And by Saint Andrew,\" continued the knight, after\na short pause, \"now I think on't, thou hast come to me in the very\nnick of time. Thine aid will be most useful to me. But this is neither\nthe time nor the place to talk about such matters. Come, let us to my\nlodging, that I may procure you refreshment and rest; for your pale\nface, hollow eyes, and clinging cheeks, would seem to say that thou\ngreatly lackest both; and as thou mayest require to be up betimes,\nI shall delay farther questioning of thee till a fitter opportunity.\"\n\nBut as you will hardly wish to wait, gentlemen, until Charley\nStewart has had such necessary restoration of exhausted nature,\nas shall enable him to tell his own story, I shall hastily sketch,\nat somewhat greater length than he had time to do, what took place\nwith him during those years that have elapsed since we last heard\nof him. A few months had sufficed to sicken him, as we have seen,\nof the shop-board of Mister Jonathan Junkins. For a time he lived\nquietly with his mother, soothing her sorrow with all the tenderness\nof the kindest of hearts, following out his learning under the kind\ninstruction of the then priest of Dounan, who had taken an especial\nfavour for him; and, lastly, occupying himself in the delightful\ntask of communicating to Rosa MacDermot, that knowledge which he\nthus gained. Now and then, to be sure, spite of his lameness, he\ntook pleasure in exercising himself in athletic feats; and in this\npractice, he was much aided by an accidental acquaintance, which he\nchanced to make with a certain Sir Piers Gordon, a small landholder in\na neighbouring glen, who, himself a dependant of the Earl of Huntly,\nwas glad to collect a few retainers about him, in any way, to help him\nto uphold his dignity. Under the auspices of this well-trained soldier,\nCharley became an expert handler of the claymore, a fearless horseman,\nand no very contemptible wielder of a lance; and he had more than once\nhad the satisfaction, of making one of the party who accompanied his\npatron, in some of those skirmishes or minor movements of warfare\nbetween clans, which the wild and unsettled state of the country\nrendered much too common in those days to be always particularized,\nfar less to be chronicled.\n\nCharley was one day seated, with Rosa MacDermot, on their favourite\nflowery bank, by the side of the same spring I formerly described as\ngushing from below a mossy stone, under the grove of weeping birches,\nwhere we last heard of them together. But Rosa was now grown almost\na woman, being tall of her age, and of very handsome person; and the\nscar of the crossmark on her cheek had now become so slight, that so\nfar from being a deformity, it rather gave an interesting expression to\nher otherwise blooming and richly beautiful countenance. Her love for\nCharley, and his for her, had grown with every day they had lived. But\nmaiden modesty on her part, and delicacy on his, had made both of\nthem somewhat more reserved, and more guarded in giving way to the\nexpression of it. She no longer talked of being his wifey; and when\nhe, hurried on by the feelings of the moment, was led to allude to\ntheir future union, when future prospects should smile more kindly\nupon them, her words, though tender, were few, whilst her eyes and\nher blushes spoke volumes.\n\nThey were intently engaged in converse together, when they were\ninterrupted by a most unseemly looking object that appeared before\nthem. If they had never beheld it until that moment, they might have\nhad doubts as to which of the sexes it belonged to. The face was\nhideous, the nose being very prominent and hooked, so as to project\nover the mouth, which was hardly perceptible. The eyes, when open,\nwere great, round, and fiery, and they were covered by eyelids of an\nunnatural largeness, so that the strange and regular alternation of\nthe muscular motion, which was exerted in the dropping and raising\nof them, produced the most fearful effect. Enveloped as the head was\nin an old soiled red tartan plaid, which was twisted around it, and\nfell in large folds over half the person, after being knotted behind\nover the back, the whole body had a bunchy bird-like appearance, which\nwas rendered still more uncouth, by its being supported on the bare,\nwirey, dirt-begrimmed shanks, and claw-like talons, which sprawled\nout beneath a short grey petticoat. The real name of this strange,\nunearthly looking monster, was lost in her antiquity. She had appeared\nin that district many years before, no one knew from whence; and as\nall her marks were then the same as I have described them now, it is\nnot wonderful that she should have acquired, from the rude people,\nthe name of the Howlet, from her extreme likeness to that ill-omened\nbird. And tired as she had long been of kicking against the scorn of\nthe world, and callous as she had been rendered under all the miseries\nit had heaped upon her, she now answered to that appellation, with the\nsame readiness which she might probably have shown in the more sunny\ndays of her youth, when she cheerfully replied to her own proper name,\nand to the fond endearments of a father and a mother. Yet, let it\nnot be imagined that she, miserably abandoned as she had so long been\nto all that was wretched in human existence, had not her moments of\nreflection on happier days, long since gone by, the recollection of\nwhich only the more embittered the present. Nor is it to be supposed\nthat, much as she had suffered, she herself had been bereft of all\nthe better feelings of humanity. Her external appearance was enough to\nendow her, in the estimation of the vulgar, with all the attributes of\nmalignity, as well as with the dread powers of sorcery. But although\nher approach never failed to produce a certain sensation of awe in\nthe gentle mind of Rosa MacDermot, it was always mingled with a very\nlarge share of pity for the poor creature's penury and distress;\nand this was fully participated by the good hearted Charley Stewart.\n\n\"Poor Howley!\" cried Rosa, the moment she beheld her; \"it is long\nsince I have seen thee. Where hast thou been wandering during this\nmany a day?\"\n\n\"Some food for charity's sake!\" said the Howlet, in that half\nshooting, half whistling tone of voice, which strangely carried\nout her otherwise remarkable similarity to the bird she was called\nafter. \"I am starving! I am famished!--Some food for charity's sake!\"\n\n\"Poor Howley, thou shalt never want it whilst I can help thee to\nit!\" said the compassionate girl.\n\n\"Though hard-heartedness and scorn may meet me at every other door\nin this weary and wicked world,\" said the Howlet, \"I still find\ncharity here.\"\n\n\"Sit down then on the bank there,\" said Rosa, \"and I will run and\nbring thee food in a moment.\"\n\n\"God's blessing be upon thee, fair maiden!\" said the Howlet, with\ndeep feeling.\n\n\"Thou canst bless, then!\" said Charley Stewart gravely, after Rosa\nwas gone.\n\n\"I can pray to God to bless!\" replied the Howlet; \"and, unlike the men\nof this world, a God of all goodness will not refuse to listen to such\na prayer, because it comes from the heart of a poor outcast, the scorn\nof this heartless world, clothed in rags, and starving for food. And\nwho should I pray for, if I did not pray for blessings on that angel?\"\n\n\"She is an angel, Howley!\" cried Charley, with ecstacy--\"an angel in\nsoul as well as in form. See how she comes tripping with her basket\nand pitcher, as if she hardly trod the earth!\"\n\nThe old woman fastened her long hands greedily on the viands, the\nmoment they came within her reach, her eyes glaring wide, and shutting\nalternately, and her ravenous hunger urged her to devour her food so\nfast, that it was fearful to behold her; and then, as she did so, she\nwent on muttering in her whistling voice, \"The holy Virgin bless thee,\nmy fair maiden!--Och! och! what pain it is to swallow. Three days have\nI been denied food by my flinty-hearted fellow creatures! yet may\nGod, in his mercy, forgive them!--Three days! three whole days! The\nblessing of Heaven, its best blessings on thee, thou angel!--Och,\nsuch pain! Thou shalt be a landed lady yet! Och, och! Thou shalt\nmarry a man with a knight's spur at his heel! Och! such a pang at my\nheart! Och! oh!\"--\n\nRosa and Charley Stewart, who had both been swallowing her words,\nwith as much avidity as she had been devouring the food that had been\ngiven her, now both started up in dire alarm, and ran towards the old\nwoman. Her eyes rolled dreadfully for a moment, and then they became\nfixed; the basket she held dropped from her hands; her arms and limbs\nstretched themselves out in rigid convulsion; her head fell stiffly\nback on the bank, and, when they essayed to raise it up, they found\nthat she was dead.\n\nIt was many a long day before Rosa MacDermot could shake off the\nhorrible impression which this scene had made upon her young mind,\nso far as to be able to recall it with anything approaching to\ntranquillity. Charley, however, had often pondered deeply on the words\nwhich had fallen from the old woman, and he was impatient till the\ntime did come, when he felt that he might venture to allude to them.\n\n\"Charley,\" said Rosa anxiously, and tenderly taking his hand, as they\nwere one day sitting together on their favourite spot; \"something\ngrieves thee in secret. Thou wert not wont to conceal a thought from\nme; why shouldst thou do so now? Why shouldst thou deny me my share\nof that sadness, which, being thine, ought to belong to both of us?\"\n\n\"Rosa,\" replied Charley, fervently returning her gentle pressure;\n\"I will honestly confess my folly. Those idle words of the poor Howlet\nhave clung to my soul with a heaviness which I cannot shake off.\"\n\n\"Idle words they were, indeed,\" replied Rosa; \"words idly uttered\nby the poor crazy creature in the delirium of starvation. But, idle\nor not, they boded no evil to me; and is it by Charley Stewart that\nthey are to be grudged to me?\"\n\n\"Think of their import, Rosa,\" replied Charley, gravely; \"and then you\nwill see that I can scarcely be expected calmly to contemplate them.\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Rosa, smiling--\"that I am to be a landed lady? Is\nthat a matter that should give thee pain to think of?\"\n\n\"Reflect, Rosa, by what means it was said that thou art to become\nso,\" replied Charley, with a sigh. \"By marrying a man with a knight's\nspurs at his heels! Ran not the old woman's words so? And canst thou\nbelieve that I can coolly contemplate the probable accomplishment of\nany such prophecy?\"\n\n\"Charley!\" cried Rosa, with great feeling, whilst tears swelled from\nunder her beautiful eyelids, \"canst thou believe it possible that I\nshould ever forget all I owe to thee? Canst thou believe that I can\nforget my often repeated vows? Canst thou believe that those infant\naffections which have grown up with me, strengthening as they grew,\nuntil they have now ripened with me in womanhood, can ever perish\nbut with my life? My life is thine, for to thee I owe it. My soul\nis thine, for to thee I am indebted for that culture and expansion\nwhich may best fit it for heaven. My heart is thine, for it is to\nthee that I have been indebted for stocking it with its best and\npurest sympathies. Canst thou then doubt that I ever could be any\nother's than thine?\"\n\n\"May the Virgin ever bless thee for thy words, my love!\" cried Charley,\nwith ecstasy. \"I am satisfied of the truth of thine affection. Yet\nhad I been better pleased if that old woman had never given utterance\nto those idle dreams of hers. At such a time too!--So awful!--Just\nbefore her vexed and worn out spirit took its flight from its wretched\nearthly tenement!\"\n\n\"It was awful, indeed!\" said Rosa, solemnly. \"But methinks,\" added\nshe, after a pause, and in a more cheerful tone--\"Methinks the poor\nHowlet's words might bear a more pleasing interpretation than thou\nwouldst seem inclined to put upon them; yea, and to my fancy, much\nmore natural withal.\"\n\n\"As how?\" demanded Charley, eagerly.\n\n\"Marry, that thou mayest be the man with the knight's spurs at his\nheels,\" said Rosa, dropping her voice and her eyes, and blushing\ndeeply.\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Charley, energetically. \"By all the saints in the\ncalendar, but that were an interpretation indeed! I thank thee, Rosa,\nfor thy augury. Trust me, if it lacks accomplishment, in due time, it\nshall not be my fault. Though I have been turned over into the dirt,\nby him to whom I should have looked for countenance and support, to\nencourage me in a nobler career--by him to whom I reasonably looked\nfor the education befitting a soldier,--thanks to mine honest patron,\nSir Piers, I am not now altogether in want of it. Thanks, moreover,\nbe to God, that I have never done anything which may, with reason,\nmake my father ashamed of me. And, with the blessing of Saint Andrew\non this arm of mine, I may yet live to earn those honours, which his\nindifference towards me would have denied me.\"\n\nRosa did not altogether enjoy perfect ease of mind after Charley\nStewart had left her. She thought, with some pride to be sure,\nof the nobleness of that spirit which she had thus seen blaze up\nwithin him. But she felt that she had now the dread responsibility of\nhaving thus roused it; and all a woman's fears for the consequences\nwere awakened in her bosom. Nor was the happiness of the days that\nfollowed increased by this accidental conversation. For now, she\nrarely or ever saw him, in whose society her whole life had hitherto\nglided on with so much felicity. Alice Asher too, had her complaints\nto make of her son's frequent and long absence from her; and the only\nconsolation the maiden had, was in frequently visiting the mother of\nCharley Stewart--to talk over his merits--a theme of which neither\nof them were very likely to tire--and to sigh for his presence.\n\nMeanwhile Charley was almost constant in his attendance upon Sir Piers\nGordon; and he very soon distinguished himself so much in all the\naccomplishments of a soldier, that he became the most cherished and\nfavoured of the old soldier's followers. But this was not all; for,\nunknown to himself, and altogether without any effort on his part,\nhe found especial favour in the sight of Marcella Gordon, niece, and\nacknowledged heiress of his patron, Sir Piers. This was a lady, by no\nmeans uncomely, though of most uncommonly masculine manners and mind,\nwho, at any time, would have much preferred to witness a fray, or even\nto take her share in it, than to sit down to a feast, or to mix in a\ndance or a masking party. She became smitten with Charley Stewart for\nhis martial acquirements, bold bearing in his saddle, and hardihood\nat all times; and for all these he well merited her admiration.\n\nSir Piers Gordon and his party were one day returning from an\nexpedition, which had been suddenly undertaken in pursuit of some\nCatteranes, whom, as being public marauders, and general enemies to\nall, he had, without scruple, followed across the territories of the\nStewart of Stradawn. He passed at no great distance from the humble\ndwelling of Mrs. MacDermot.\n\n\"So please thee, Sir Knight,\" said Charley Stewart to Sir Piers,\n\"I will turn aside a brief space to yonder cottage, to say a few\nwords to an old friend, whom I have not seen for many a day; and I\nwill join thee again ere thou hast ridden a long mile.\"\n\n\"I care not if I go with thee, Charley,\" said Sir Piers; \"that is,\nif thy friend's house can furnish me with a draught of any thing\nbetter than water, for my throat is parched like a mountain corry in\nthe dog-days.\"\n\n\"Such as that humble roof may afford, I think I may venture to promise\nthee,\" replied Charley, somewhat disappointed at being so attended.\n\n\"I shall go with thee too,\" said Marcella Gordon, who, on this\noccasion, had followed her uncle in his expedition.\n\nThe men-at-arms having been halted by the road-side, Charley led the\nway to the widow's cottage. As he rode forth from among the trees of\nthe birch-grove, that flanked one side of the house, and partly shaded\nhalf its front, Rosa's quick eyes caught his figure--her heart bounded\nwith joy, and in a moment she was at the door, and, from the first\nirresistible impulse of her heart, she almost sprang into his arms;\nbut immediately perceiving that her lover was not alone, she blushed,\nand hastily retreated within doors.\n\n\"Is that your sister, young man?\" demanded the Lady Marcella.\n\n\"No, lady,\" replied Charley, in some confusion; \"but she is a very\nold friend of mine.\"\n\n\"A very young friend of thine, methinks!\" said Sir Piers. \"She is\nvery beautiful.\"\n\nMrs. MacDermot now appeared, and ushered the strangers into the house\nwith well-blended humility and kindness, and proceeded to do the little\nhospitalities of her unpretending roof. Charley was himself abashed\nand baulked; but yet he conversed with Rosa, though in that chastened\nmanner that more than any thing else betrays the consciousness of\nlovers, in the eyes of those who may be observing them. No eyes were\nmore penetrating than those of Marcella Gordon. They shot basilisks\nat the pair. The visit was necessarily short, and the parting between\nRosa and Charley was doubly severe to both, since they were thus\ncompelled by the presence of others, to conceal their emotions.\n\n\"By all the saints, but thou art a happy fellow, Stewart!\" said Sir\nPiers Gordon to Charley, as they turned away to join the party. \"That\nis the prettiest young creature I have seen for many a long day.\"\n\n\"I see little to admire about her,\" said the Lady Marcella, with a\nscornful air; \"a waxen child! a smock-faced red and white pippin!\"\n\n\"Nay, Marcella, women are no judges of beauty in their own sex,\"\nreplied Sir Piers. \"I say she is very lovely; and I say again thou\nart a happy fellow, Stewart; for, judging from appearances, thou\nseem'st to be right well established in her affections.\"\n\n\"We have known one another since her childhood,\" said Charley Stewart\nhurriedly.\n\n\"And so now thou wouldst fain convert her from thy playmate into thy\nwife,\" said Sir Piers, laughing.\n\n\"My wife, Sir Piers!\" said Charley, in great confusion. \"What could I\ndo with a wife, who am so poor and unknown? I must e'en follow Fortune\nfor some time as my mistress, and court her till she smiles upon me.\"\n\n\"Fear not that she will refuse to smile upon one of thy merit,\" said\nthe Lady Marcella. \"One who can ride, and wield his weapons as thou\ncanst, may well look to Fortune providing something better for him\nthan the obscure and low-bred orphan of a common man-at-arms.\"\n\nCharley Stewart was silent, but Sir Piers was not altogether so blind\nas not to perceive how matters stood with his niece. He had observed\nthe Lady Marcella's manner,--was struck with her words,--and a strong\nconviction entered his mind that she had allowed herself to fall in\nlove with Charley Stewart. Now his affection for Charley had waxed\nso strong, that, knowing the good blood that was in him, he would\nhave rejoiced to have seen him the husband of Marcella. But feeling\nthat it would be prudent, before giving encouragement to any such\nscheme, that he should privately satisfy himself as to the suspicions\nhe entertained of an existing attachment between Charley and Rosa\nMacDermot, and, having failed in one attempt to lead Charley to be\nexplicit, he privately resolved in his own mind, secretly to visit\nMrs. MacDermot herself, from whom he looked to receive clearer and\nmore ready information.\n\nHaving accordingly ridden over to her house alone, the very next\nmorning, he soon learned from the worthy woman the whole history\nof the lovers. He was not a little disappointed to find that he\nhad made so shrewd a guess, and that, to so honest and honourable a\nmind as his, there thus remained no fair hope of the completion of\nthat alliance, which would have been so agreeable to him, as well\nas to his niece. All that he had learned from the widow regarding\nCharley, had only served to increase his admiration of him, and to\nmake his regret the greater. But being now in possession of the fact,\nhe thought it his duty to deal plainly with the Lady Marcella, and\nhe accordingly embraced the very first opportunity he could command\nof speaking with her in private.\n\n\"Marcella,\" said he to her abruptly, \"what think ye of Charley\nStewart?\"\n\n\"A proper young man, I promise thee,\" replied the lady, with the same\nwant of ceremony.\n\n\"His lameness is unfortunate,--it mars his appearance much,\" said Sir\nPiers. \"And that cross scar on his cheek is any thing but ornamental.\"\n\n\"Pshaw!\" cried the lady; \"a fico for his scar! I hope, ere he dies,\nto see his manly face seamed by many a deeper ornament of the same\nsort, gained in tough fight, man to man. And as to his lameness! shew\nme one that will vault into his saddle with him, or ride with him,\nor hold a lance with him after he is in it! Charley Stewart is a\nprince of a fellow!\"\n\n\"All that is very true, niece,\" said Sir Piers; \"but methinks thou\nspeakest of him with unusual warmth. Pray Heaven thou be'st not in\nlove with the young man!\"\n\n\"Nay, uncle, since I must needs say so, that is already past praying\nfor,\" replied Marcella, with a sigh; which, as it was the first that\never in her life escaped her, was a precious deep one.\n\n\"I am sorry to hear thee say so, niece,\" said Sir Piers; \"for thy\ncase is hopeless, seeing that thou hast already a rival, to whom he\nis not only attached, but affianced.\"\n\n\"What, uncle!\" exclaimed the lady, in a supercilious tone; \"dost thou\nthink so very meanly of thy niece, as to suppose that the whey-faced\norphan of a miserable man-at-arms, can have any chance with me,\nwhen I, the heiress of thy lands, choose to enter the lists?\"\n\n\"I think and hope too well of my niece and heiress,\" said Sir Piers\ngravely, \"to believe, that, for her own gratification, she will try to\ndivide two hearts already united by the tenderest vows that affection\ncan form.\"\n\n\"Affection!\" exclaimed the lady; \"tush, nonsense, uncle! the affection\nof children! the brotherly and sisterly affection of babes, for such\nwas the sort of affection of which Stewart himself spoke, and his\nwords are all we have yet to go upon.\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" said her uncle, calmly; \"I have yet better information\nthan any thing we have gathered from him. Suspecting that Charley\nStewart's merits were beginning to render him not altogether without\ninterest in your eyes, I deemed it to be my duty to know the truth\nregarding this attachment between him and Rosa MacDermot. With this\nview I visited the Widow MacDermot herself, and from her I learned,\nthat the bond between the pair, lacks nothing to complete it, but\nthe holy sacrament that may fasten the tie for ever.\"\n\n\"And until that tie be fixed, it is nothing,\" said the lady. \"Yet\nwhat sort of evidence would you bring me, truly, of this same\nattachment?--That of an old woman, who, in her folly, sees every\nthing just according to the way her wishes may lead her fancy. I will\nbelieve Stewart himself before a dozen such crones, especially where\nself-interest, and the interest of her girl, must so evidently sway\nher. Let me but try my influence on him, and thou shalt see how soon\nhe will forget this peasant maid. Thou shalt see\"----\n\n\"I grieve to find that thou art so resolved to blind thyself,\nniece!\" interrupted Sir Piers, very seriously; \"but it is alike my\nduty to see that you neither run into hopeless misery, nor try to\nconvert that misery into happiness, by unjustly and cruelly ruining\nthe peace of another. I shall again visit the Widow's cottage, this\nvery afternoon. I shall see and converse with the daughter herself,\nafter which I shall hold plainer converse than I have ever yet done\nwith Stewart. If I find that you have judged correctly, and that there\nis nothing more in this matter than that the mother hath allowed her\njudgment to be warped by her wishes, my best endeavours shall not\nbe wanting to accomplish those desires which thou hast so clearly\nexposed to me. But I tell thee honestly, that if, on the other hand,\nI find that the Widow has judged and reported truly, I shall, for\nyour sake, as well as for that of Stewart, do all I can to promote\nhis union with Rosa MacDermot.\"\n\n\"Say'st thou so, old man?\" muttered the Lady Marcella to herself,\nafter her uncle had left her; \"then must I act--aye, and act quickly,\nand boldly too.\"\n\nAfter a moment's thought, she clapped her hands for her page, and\nsent him directly to entreat that Stewart would favour her with a\nprivate interview immediately. He came at her summons; and, after\nthe usual salutations were over, she, with a face that, spite of her\ndetermined and dauntless character, absolutely burned, from the very\nnature of the communication she had resolved to make, entered upon\nit in a low yet steady and unbroken tone.\n\n\"I take it for granted, Stewart,\" said she, \"that the few words I\nlet fall, the other day, when we were returning from our pursuit\nafter the caitiff Catteranes, were not thrown away upon one of your\nquick wit. They were not uttered without intention; and they have,\nI trust, proved to thee that thy rare merits have not escaped my\nnotice, and that I take no common interest in thee.\"\n\nThe Lady Marcella paused for an answer; and the astonished Charley\nStewart, having mumbled some confused and ill-connected expressions\nof gratitude for her good opinion, she continued in a yet calmer and\nmore collected tone.\n\n\"I have thus sent for thee, honestly to confess to thee, that the\ninterest I take in thee is of a nature, which could not permit me\nto see unmoved, one, who is so manifestly born for better fortunes,\nignorantly to mar them from too humble an estimation of his own merits,\nand, without looking higher, blindly to tie himself down from all\nchance of rising, by rashly binding himself to baseness and poverty. If\never a desire of turning the issues of fate into their proper course,\nmight be an excuse for a woman speaking out more openly and plainly\nthan tyrant custom has permitted her sex to do, certain I am it might\nbe reasonably held to be in the present case. But, were it otherwise,\nthou hast already seen enough of me to know, that I am no ordinary\nwoman; and I, who have dared much, would dare this too--yea, and ten\ntimes more, to secure mine own peace, and thy happiness. Reflect,\nthen, on the words I uttered as we returned from our expedition. Know,\nthat Fortune hath not refused to shine on thy deserts, for she now\noffers thee the hand and fortune of her who addresses thee.\"\n\n\"Lady!\" exclaimed Charley Stewart, staggering back with absolute\namazement, and altogether unable to answer coherently, from the\nconfusion he was thrown into--\"I have been foolishly reserved, lady. I\nhave been strangely and grievously misconceived. Yet I thought I had\nspoken plainly enough.--I--I--I am altogether unworthy of any one of\nthy station. I am already pledged to another.\"\n\n\"I was not altogether unprepared for some such confession,\" said the\nlady, with a self-possession, arising from the circumstance, that she\nspoke truly. \"I had heard, and I did see enough to make me aware that\nsomething had passed between thee and the silly girl MacDermot. But\nthese were childish ties, entered into when thou couldst have no\nforeknowledge of thine own fortunes; and they must, of stern necessity,\nyield to that expediency which now demands thine exaltation.\"\n\n\"Lady,\" replied Stewart, who by this time began to be somewhat\nmore master of his faculties, \"I have learned enough to know that\ntrue exaltation can never be purchased by treachery, perfidy, and\ncruelty. Rosa MacDermot and I loved one another whilst she was yet\na child, it is true, but we have loved one another ever since with a\ngrowing affection, which has produced vows of the most solemn nature\nbetween us. I love her more than I do life itself; and not for all\nthe wealth or honours that this world could bestow, would I cease to\nlove her.\"\n\n\"So great a constancy, and so true a heart, proves but the more\nhow much thou wert born for knighthood,\" said the lady, calmly. \"And\nperhaps, entangled as thou seemest to have been, it might have been due\nto such honour as might befit a knight, to have clung to engagements\nso made. But to render such a case of so great self devotion rational,\nit would at least be requisite that it should be mutual. Hast thou\nproof that it is really so? Hast thou never had doubts on that\nscore? No suspicions?\"\n\n\"Proof of the love of Rosa MacDermot, lady?\" exclaimed Charley,\nwith astonishment. \"Doubts of Rosa? I should as soon ask for proof\nthat the blessed sun gives light, or have doubts that the glorious\norb might drop from the firmament.\"\n\n\"Other men before thee have been as honestly confiding, and yet\nhave been deceived,\" said the lady. \"The humble soil where thou hast\nrooted thine affections, is not always that which produces the most\nvirtuous fruits.\"\n\n\"What wouldst thou hint, lady?\" demanded Charley, in a disturbed and\nagitated tone.\n\n\"I grieve to tell thee,\" replied the lady. \"It pains me to be compelled\nto undeceive thee, by withdrawing thee from thy pleasing dreams, to\nlook boldly on the afflicting truth. Yet I must tell thee, that thy\nheroic constancy hath not been met by a like unshaken return of it.\"\n\n\"Say--what?--Holy saints protect me!\" cried Charley Stewart, in a\ngreatly agitated and excited manner. \"What wouldst thou insinuate\nlady? Rosa unfaithful?--Oh! impossible!--Where is the liar who\nhath thus abused thine ear regarding her who is purity and truth\nitself? Tell me his name, that I may make my sword drink his base\nblack heart's blood!\"\n\n\"Be calm, Stewart,\" replied the lady, with imperturbable placidity of\nmanner. \"Thou wilt gain nothing by yielding thyself up to blind rage. I\ntrust thou wilt see that it is no ordinary affection in me that can\nprompt me to the disclosure that I am now about to make to thee.\"\n\n\"Speak on, lady. Oh keep me not in suspense!\" cried Charley Stewart,\nwildly breaking in on her mysterious pause.\n\n\"Stewart,\" said the lady, solemnly, \"thou wert prepared to withstand\nall temptation that might be calculated to break the rash vows of\nyouthful ignorance. But she for whom you made them--she for whose\nsake thou wouldst have so honourably maintained them to the sacrifice\nof wealth and advancement--she, I fear, has had less resolution to\nresist their allurements. Be not too much astonished or shocked, for\nI must tell thee, that mine uncle, Sir Piers Gordon, is the favoured\nlover of Rosa MacDermot.\"\n\n\"Thine uncle Sir Piers, Lady?\" cried Charley, petrified with\nsurprise. \"Impossible! it cannot be!\"\n\n\"Strange as it may seem to thee, and strange as it unquestionably is,\"\nreplied the Lady Marcella, \"it is in reality but too true that she\nfavours his visits for her own purposes. He has already found his way\nto the Widow's cottage more than once, and he has even ventured to hint\nto myself that he has not been coldly received--and then, Stewart----\"\n\n\"Lady,\" interrupted Charley, impatiently and violently, \"I would not\nbelieve even Sir Piers himself if he were to tell me this!----and\nyet,\" added he, after a pause, during which he struck his forehead\nwith the palm of his hand, and seemed to be immersed in deep thought,\n\"and yet, he was strangely struck with her when first they met!--But\nthe time is so short--so very short since then--she!--Rosa! Oh, Rosa\nnever could have been brought, in so short a time, to forget the days\nof her childhood, and her oft repeated vows to me!\"\n\n\"Reflect, Stewart,\" said the lady, \"that mine uncle is a landed laird,\nand a belted knight, with spurs at his heels!\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Charley Stewart, in an intense agony of excited\nfeeling, and with a half choked voice, \"landed laird, saidst thou! a\nbelted knight, with spurs at his heels! Can it be? Oh! that accursed\nprophecy of that most accursed hag! But art thou sure of what thou\nsayest, lady? How canst thou satisfy me? By all the holy saints I\nmust be satisfied!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Marcella, coolly, \"I can satisfy thee no otherwise\nthan by saying that I have his own word for it, and--\"\n\n\"His own word!\" cried Charley; \"Oh, wicked, wicked, and most deceitful\nman, thus wilfully to undermine me! Though I was less open in thy\npresence, lady, yet I said enough to him afterwards, to have enabled\neven a fool and a dotard, to have read my meaning.\"\n\n\"So indeed he hinted,\" replied Marcella; \"but then his apology for\nthe interpretation which he hath found it convenient to put upon thy\nwords is, that he has been encouraged by the girl herself. And as he\nwas with her but yesterday, if he had not spoken truly as to this,\nhe would have hardly hurried back again thither so soon as he has\nnow done.\"\n\n\"Back, didst thou say, Lady?\" exclaimed Stewart, growing black with\nrage and jealousy. \"Back!--whither?--when?--how?--Oh, my brain is\nburning! Back, didst thou say?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" replied the Lady Marcella, with perfect calmness, \"mine uncle,\nSir Piers, hath gone to visit Rosa MacDermot this very afternoon. He\nparted from me for that purpose but a few minutes before thou camest\nin hither. He is on his way thither now. Go!--convince thyself! But be\nprudent. Act not rashly. Forget not that a knight, such as he is, hath\na natural belief in him that he is entitled to some little license,\nwhere the matter concerns those only of such low degree as the girl\nRosa MacDermot can boast of.\"\n\nCharley Stewart listened to those words of the Lady Marcella with a\nfixedness of eye, and of aspect, that was almost too fearful for her,\nbold as she was, to look upon. He seemed intent upon devouring every\nsyllable she uttered. And yet, his intentness of gaze was more like\nthat of a maniac, than of a rational man. She had no sooner finished\nthan he ground his teeth, clenched his hands, struck them both with\nviolence upon his bosom, and then rushed from the chamber, without\ngiving utterance to a word.\n\n\"I have stung him to the quick,\" muttered the Lady Marcella,\nin soliloquy, after he was gone. \"And now,\" added she, bitterly,\n\"my prudent uncle has some chance of learning, to his cost, that it\nwere better to face the lean and starving lioness, when preying for\nfood for her famished whelps, than to step between a woman and her\nlove. I never meant to have brought this upon him. He hath brought\nit altogether upon himself; and now let him look to it, that his\nheritage be not mine, some few good years before he would have had\nit descend upon me. Should the plot chance to work so, my triumph\nover this youth will be easy and certain.\"\n\nThe honest old knight, Sir Piers Gordon, had ridden quietly over the\nhill, attended only by two of his people, and having left them to take\ncharge of his horse, in the wood, at no great distance from the Widow's\ncottage, he had walked up thither alone. Mrs. MacDermot had been too\nmuch gratified by his friendly talk, during his former visit to her,\nnot to have made her daughter acquainted with all that passed. Though\nhis present call was unlooked for, Rosa was already so far prepared to\nexpect that his visit was a visit of kindness, that she readily obeyed\nthe request, which he conveyed to her through her mother, to favour him\nwith her presence. He spoke to her with all the kindness of a father,\nand, in answer to his inquiries, she blushingly unbosomed herself to\nhim, as if he had stood to her in that degree of relationship. She\nfelt, indeed, that he was the patron and the benefactor of him who\nwas all in this world to her, and she was, from this cause, already\nprepared to love and reverence him. He was full of benevolent plans\nfor the accomplishment of their union, and the furtherance of their\nhappiness, and he sat with her on the turf-seat at the cottage door,\nexpounding them to her, with her hand affectionately in his, and\nwith his face eagerly turned towards her, in the earnestness of his\nconversation, till the sun, which shed his parting radiance upon them,\nwas just about to sink behind the opposite mountain. Even the sound\nof a furiously galloping horse, which came thundering towards them,\nfailed to arouse them from their interesting talk. Suddenly it burst\nout from the woodland, foaming and panting upon the green, within a\nfew yards of the spot where they were sitting together, and a man,\nmore like a maniac than a rational being, threw himself from the\nsaddle. His naked sword was gleaming in his hand, ere his feet had\nwell touched the ground. It was Charley Stewart.\n\n\"Traitor!\" cried he in a hoarse choking voice, \"up and defend thy\nvile life!\"\n\n\"Charley! Charley!\" cried Rosa, springing towards him, \"harm not a\nhair of his head!\"\n\n\"What! perjured girl!\" cried Charley, pushing her from him so rudely,\nas to extend her at some distance from him, nearly senseless on the\ngreen; \"wouldst thou whet the very edge of my sword against him,\nby thy base entreaties for him? Come on, traitor!\"\n\n\"Stewart, are ye mad?\" cried the Knight; \"listen to reason.\"\n\n\"Cowardly traitor that thou art, I will listen to nothing from thee,\"\ncried Charley Stewart, gnashing his teeth and foaming at the mouth\nwith fury. \"Draw and defend thyself; or, by Heaven, I will forthwith\nrid thee of thy vile dastard life! draw, I say!\"\n\n\"Nay, he must be mad!\" cried Sir Piers. \"Yet I must defend my life,\nthough it should be to the peril of his.\"\n\nBut Sir Piers, who sought only to protect himself from Charley's\nfurious assault, accidentally failed in his very first guard. The\nweight of his assailant's blow broke through it, and falling upon the\nKnight's head, which had then nothing on it but a bonnet, it stretched\nhim motionless on the sward. Charley Stewart stood for a moment to\nlook with horror upon his work--the blood was gushing forth from\nthe wound, and dying the white hair of him who had been his patron\nand friend. From that he turned and gazed upon the prostrate figure\nof Rosa MacDermot, who still lay in a kind of half-swoon from the\neffects of his violence. He felt as if his bursting heart would have\nforced its way through his side. Roused from his trance by the screams\nof the Widow MacDermot, he heard the galloping of horses approaching,\nand, rushing mechanically into the thickest part of the wood, he made\nhis way towards the mountains, where night soon overtook him. Still he\ncontinued to wander on, however, without fixed intention or direction;\nand it was only on finding, at day-break, that he had already fled far\ntowards the south, that, after having given due way to his affliction,\nhe resolved to travel towards Edinburgh, to seek his father, where,\nas we have already seen, he ultimately arrived, weary and woe-begone.\n\nThe next morning, after Charley Stewart's appearance in Edinburgh,\nhis father, Sir Walter Stewart, aroused him from the deep sleep into\nwhich his fatigue of body had thrown him, and which, as it was nearly\nthe first he had had since the sad events which had driven him from the\nnorth, even their cruel influence upon his mind could not disturb. In\nreply to Sir Walter's inquiries, he gave him a brief statement of\nhis history and his misfortunes, and his wounded spirit was soothed\nby the kind sympathy which Sir Walter manifested towards him.\n\n\"Charley,\" said he, \"thy fate hath been a cruel one, truly; but thou\nmust bestir thee to shake off thy sorrows. Nothing better, as a cure\nfor melancholy, than action. I have an emprise on hand, that is for\nthee the very medicine that thou lackest, and as it may speedily end\nwith thee in a journey to France, as the esquire of a knight whom\nit will do thee much honour to serve, it is, of all others, the very\nbest chance that could befal thee under present circumstances. But the\nmorning wears, and we must go to work without farther loss of time.\"\n\nSir Walter Stewart having disguised himself, and his son Charley,\nin broad slouched hats and cloaks, they sallied forth together. At\nthe head of the close, they found two hacknies in the High Street,\nheld by a single groom. They leaped into their saddles, and, without\nany inquiry or explanation as to whither they were bound, they rode\nforth together, at a gentle pace, from the southern part of the city,\nas if they had been bent more upon pleasure than business. They had\nnot gone farther in that direction than just beyond the Burgh Loch,\na piece of water which then occupied that extent of flat low ground\nnow known by the name of The Meadows, when Sir Walter turned his\nhorse's head to the westward, and, spurring forward, he and Charley\ngalloped together through the woodland, the groves, and the thickets,\nwhich partially covered the Burgh Muir, and gradually sweeping\nround at a point considerably to the westward of the Castle rock,\nthey then pushed forward at a furious pace in a northerly direction,\nmaking straight for that part of the shore of the Firth of Forth,\nlying immediately to the westward of the citadel of Leith. That\nwhich is now a continuous town, was then almost a wilderness of sandy\nhillocks, which stretched considerably farther into the sea than the\nland now does, its waters having since much encroached on that part\nof the coast during the lapse of ages. Taking up a position on a\nbare elevated spot, Sir Walter looked with anxious eyes towards the\nroad-stead. There were but few vessels there; but one seemed to be\nslowly coming up to her anchorage, with a fair breeze from the east,\nbut with her sails so curtailed as betokened caution in those on\nboard. Sir Walter seemed to eye her with peculiar interest for some\ntime, and then he addressed a rough red-faced pilot, who was standing\nbelow on the beach, beside his boat, watching the vessel stedfastly,\nas if he wished to make out what sort of craft she might be.\n\n\"Is not that a foreign barque, friend?\" demanded Sir Walter.\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir,\" replied the pilot; \"she is a furrenner. If I'm\nnot far mista'en it's the Garron of Burdy, Captain Davy Trummel,\nwith wine aboard. I think I kenn her rig--and a clever rig it is,\nlet me tell ye.\"\n\n\"She seems a goodly sea-boat, well fitted to fly quickly over so long\na voyage,\" replied Sir Walter carelessly.\n\n\"That she is, I'll be sworn sir,\" answered the pilot. \"Few in the\ntrade can match her, I promise ye. But what strange mortals them\nFrench Munseers are after all: why they should call a vessel a Garron,\nthe which is the swiftest bit of a craft my eyes ever came across, I\ncan't nowise reasonably comprehend, unless it be out of a mere spirit\nof contradiction. But I must call out the lads, and be off to her,\nfor there's the signal flying for me.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt take me aboard with thee, and have something for thy\nguerdon,\" said Sir Walter. \"I would taste this Frenchman's wines,\nere the palates of the good Burghers become acquainted with them.\"\n\n\"Willingly will I do thy pleasure, sir,\" replied the man; and,\nrunning towards a solitary cottage which stood upon a bank hard by,\nhe began shouting out, \"Jemmy!\" and \"Harry!\" till two lads, who were\nhis sons and assistants, appeared.\n\n\"Thou must tarry here with the horses, till I return from on board,\nCharles,\" said Sir Walter. \"This is the very vessel I looked for--the\nGaronne of Bordeaux, Captain De Tremouille. He is an old friend of\nmine, and I would fain have some talk with him.\"\n\nSir Walter was speedily rowed on board by the pilot and his two\nsons. The barque took up her proper ground, under the directions which\nthe helmsman received from the experienced old sailor. The anchor was\nlet go, and she swung round to her moorings. Charley Stewart passed\na considerable time in walking the horses about ere he saw the boat\nleave the barque. At length he beheld it pulling towards the shore,\nand Sir Walter again joined him, bearing two large bundles, which were\nstowed away behind their saddles, in such a manner as to be covered\nby their cloaks as they rode, and following the same circuitous route\nwhich they had taken in their way out, they returned to the city,\nand regained the Knight's lodgings without observation.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAN UNWELCOME VISITOR.\n\n\nClifford.--Stop one moment, Serjeant. See how the rain has made its\nway through the chinks of the window, and deluged the floor.\n\nSerjeant.--Mercy on me, so it has, sir! Well, I'm sure it's no\nwonder. Such a blast as that which is rairding without, would drive\nit through a stone wall.\n\nGrant.--Call the girl from the kitchen, like a good man.\n\nSerjeant.--Here, lassie!--We're like to be all drowned at this end\nof the house. Bring some cloths, will ye, and dish-clouts, and dry\nup this deluge here.\n\nLassie.--Keep us a', siccana sight! But we're no one hair better in\nthe other end o' the house.\n\nClifford.--Aye, that's a good girl. Now lay some of these cloths\nalong the window here. Aye, that will do. I think that ought to make\nus water-tight. Now, heap some more wood and peats on the fire before\nyou go. Thank ye--that's glorious. Now, let the storm howl as it likes.\n\nGrant.--Do go on with your story, Serjeant. You were interrupted in\na most interesting part of it.\n\nClifford.--\"Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!\"--I beg your pardon,\nSergeant; pray proceed.\n\nAuthor.--Aye, pray do proceed. I am anxious to know what Sir Walter\nStewart's plans are, and how he succeeded in carrying them into\neffect. This part of the history is well known; but the minuter\ndetails are nowhere told in any book I am acquainted with, and I am\ncurious to hear them.\n\nSerjeant--(taking a long draught from his punch-jug.)--You shall be\nsatisfied immediately, sir.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF CHARLEY STEWART T\u00c0ILLEAR-CRUBACH\nCONTINUED.\n\n\nSoon after his return home, from his visit to the barque Garonne,\nSir Walter Stewart got rid of his disguise, put on a courtier's\nattire, and hastened to the Castle, to pay his usual attendance\nof ceremony on the King. This he made a point of never neglecting,\nnotwithstanding the marked curtailment which his private, and more\nfamiliar intercourse with his Majesty had received. Whilst within the\nwalls of the fortress, he contrived, quietly and without suspicion,\nto make himself master of the state of the roster of the officers of\nthe royal guard. To his no small satisfaction, he discovered that the\ncaptain of the guard, for the next day, was to be a certain individual\nof the name of Strang, whom he knew to be a worthless, reckless,\nhard-drinking, gaming fellow. He then made all the observations that\ncircumstances permitted, and, pleased with the information he had\nacquired, he returned to his lodging, in order fully to acquaint\nCharley with it, as well as with the whole of his plans, and with\nthe manner in which he proposed to carry them into execution, so as\nto make him perfectly comprehend the part which he intended that he\nshould play in them. To lull all after surmise regarding himself,\nas much as possible, he that evening appeared in the apartments of\nSir William Rogers, and bore his share in the performance of the\nmusic that was given there. He then kept his appointment with the\nEarl of Huntly, in order to tell him that all was prepared, and,\nafter a hasty interview, shortened by their apprehensions of being\ndetected together, a circumstance which might have been ruinous to\ntheir projects, Sir Walter retired to his lodging for the night.\n\nSome little time after guard-mounting, next morning, the bundles which\nthey had brought from the French vessel were opened, and the Knight,\nand his son, proceeded to disguise themselves, by putting on the\nattire of French sailors, which they contained; and so perfectly did\nSir Walter succeed in this operation, that his most intimate friend\ncould not have known him. Wrapped up in cloaks, they then took their\nstand within the dark threshold of a deep doorway, that opened from\nthe obscure entrance of the close where Sir Walter lodged. This was\na position from which they could see every one who passed up or down\nthe High Street, without a chance of their being themselves seen.\n\nThey had not stood long there, until their ears caught the distant, but\nunceasing jabber of the French tongue, coming up the High Street. It\ncame from half a-dozen or more voices at once, all being talkers and\nnone listeners. The noise grew louder and louder, until Sir Walter,\nby stretching out his neck from his lurking-place, espied the captain\nor skipper of the French barque, approaching with some eight or ten\nof his crew. They came walking along close to the houses on his side\nof the way. They carried two small casks of wine, each of them slung\non a pole between two men, who were changed from time to time as\nthey required relief, whilst another man carried a little runlet on\nhis shoulders. Sir Walter gave a particular whistle, and in a moment\nthe whole party turned in under the covered entrance of the close,\nand laid down their burdens as if to rest themselves. In an instant,\nSir Walter and Charley Stewart threw off their cloaks, and transferred\nthem to two of the French sailors, who immediately retired into the\nKnight's lodgings, whilst he and his son succeeded to the burdens\nthey had carried. Having effected this change, Sir Walter held some\nprivate talk with Captain De Tremouille, after which the party moved\non up the street, and so up the Castle-Hill, until they came to the\ncastle gate. There the French skipper, in broken English, told the\nsentinel that he would fain speak a word to the captain of the guard,\nfor whom he was the bearer of a small present of wine, and he and\nhis whole party were speedily admitted.\n\n\"I do ave von leetil praisaint of vine for you, sare,\" said the\nskipper, boldly addressing the scarlet-visaged captain of the\nguard. \"Dis leetil cask for your own taste.--De richest vine in\nde varld.\"\n\n\"Thou art an especial good fellow, sir,\" replied the captain, clumsily\nreturning the exquisite bow which the Frenchman had made him, whilst,\nat the same time, he eyed the runlet, and immediately consigned it to\nthe particular care of one of his own people. \"Nothing could possibly\ncome more opportunely, and I am most grateful for thy courtesy. It\nmust be confessed that you Frenchmen are the most perfect gentlemen\nin the world, and know how to do a thing genteelly.\"\n\n\"Ah, sare, dat is too mosh compliment for me as van Frainchman,\"\nreplied the skipper, with a smile and a bow yet lower than his former\none. \"And de compliment is more bettaire dat she come from van so\ngrait hero as de Capitaine Strang! Admirasion for de fame of him,\ndid make me ave de grait desire to honnaire myself wid praisant him\nvid dis leetil gift, for vitch liberty I do hope he is not offend.\"\n\n\"Offended, my dear fellow!\" cried Captain Strang; \"thy runlet comes\nto me as welcome as the very flowers in May! But how the pest dost\nthou chance to know my name, Sir Skipper?\"\n\n\"De name and de fame of de grat hero, is alvaise know by all men all\nover de varld,\" replied the skipper, with another most obsequious\nreverence.\n\n\"By St. Andrew, but this is a curious marvel though,\" said the\ncaptain. \"Who would have thought that my name could have been known\nin France as a hero! Yet certain it is that I have done some small\ndeeds in my time, that these French mooshies may have heard of.\"\n\n\"Deeds, Monsieur le Capitaine!\" cried De Tremouille, with feigned\nastonishment; \"Vondaires in battaile! meeracailes in de feelde! van\nAchille of Scotlande! But all dat is nossing at all compare to de fame\nof Monsieur le Capitaine for his vonderful taste for de good vine! Ven\ndey do talk of good vine in France, dey do alvaise say--Aha! dis\nis vine fit for de pallait of van Empereur; bot dis 'ere is more\nbettaire, dis is fit for de pallait of de famous Scottish hero, de\nCapitaine Strang, dat do know good vine more bettaire dan any oder\nman in de varld.\"\n\n\"By all the saints, that is wonderful!\" said the captain; \"and yet\nthat I can more easily understand. Yes, yes; few people can match\nme there. And then, to be sure, these wine-dealers in France must\nknow some little of those who are judges of the good stuff, and who,\nmoreover, like myself, do so much to encourage their trade. But hark\nye, Mr. Skipper! what do ye with those other two casks which those\nfellows of thine are carrying?\"\n\n\"Ah hah! dat is von praisant pour de Duc d'Albanie,\" replied the\nskipper.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried the captain of the guard, with a certain air of suspicion;\n\"the Duke of Albany, saidst thou? How comest thou to have a present\nfor the Duke of Albany?\"\n\n\"Oh yaes, sare!\" replied the imperturbable skipper, with great apparent\ninnocence, \"de vine is von cadeau, vat you do call praisant from de\nmarchand at Bordeaux, vid de expectation dat de squisite taste of him\nmay make mi Lor Duc to ave mor of him pour de l'argent, and prevail\non de Royal King, his broder, to ave some too also.\"\n\n\"Um--aye,\" said the captain of the guard, with hesitation; \"likely\nstory enough--though there be but little chance of the King drinking\nought of the Duke's providing, whatever liquor the Duke may by and bye\ndrink of his Majesty's brewing. But 'twas natural enow in the merchant\nto think so, Mooshie. As for the Duke, he is no bad customer to his\nown fist, when he is well set with a jolly boon companion, such as\nmyself for instance. So thou mayest as well leave thy twin-casks in my\ncharge, friend; and I shall see that they are properly delivered.--At\nleast,\" added he, in an under voice, aside, \"I shall take care most\nconscientiously to deliver them in due time of their contents.\"\n\n\"Tank you--very mosh tank you, sare,\" replied the skipper. \"Mais I\nnot trobil you. De marchand did ordaire me to see dem in de royal\nhand of de Duc heemself. If I not do dat, I most take heem back\nagain. Jean! Fran\u00e7ois! il faut----\"\n\n\"Um!--don't be so hasty, man,\" interrupted the captain of the guard,\nby no means willing to lose sight of the casks, and hesitating, and\ncogitating within himself, that if the wine was taken back, he would\nlose all chance of tasting it; whereas, if it was once lodged with the\nDuke, he had a fair prospect of being invited to share in it. \"You\nMooshies are as pestilent hasty as a bit of touch paper. Thou shalt\ndeliver the wine thyself to the Duke. Here, Laurence--the keys of\nthe Duke's apartments! Now, Mooshie, do thou and three of thy fellows\nquickly shoulder the casks and follow me.\"\n\nThe skipper immediately took up one end of the pole that swung one\nof the casks, and addressing Sir Walter Stewart by the name of Jean,\nhe called to him roughly, in French, to take up the other end. Charley\nStewart and a sailor hoisted up the second cask; and so they followed\nthe captain of the guard up to the Duke's apartments.\n\nWhen the doors were opened, which gave access to the royal prisoner,\nthey found the Duke of Albany sitting at a table in conversation with\nhis chamberlain, his manly and somewhat stern countenance deprived\nof much of its wonted bloom and sunshine, from the confinement to\nwhich he had been subjected, and the melancholy anticipations which\npossessed his mind, though nothing had as yet been able to overpower\nhis indomitable resolution. It was only when he arose from his chair,\nto ascertain what his visitors came about, that his powerful and\nwell-proportioned person, and his broad chest, were fully exhibited.\n\n\"What is all this?\" cried the Duke, somewhat impatiently.\n\n\"So please your Highness' Grace, this French Mooshie skipper is the\nbearer of a present of that which he states to be very choice wine\nof his country's growth,\" said Captain Strang, with a low obeisance.\n\n\"Who can have thus remembered me in my misfortunes?\" demanded the Duke.\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Strang, \"I question if either the giver of the gift,\nor he that hath it in charge, know ought of the position in which\nyour Royal Highness is now placed. But stand forth, Sir Mooshie,\nand tell thine own tale.\"\n\n\"Eh bien,\" cried the skipper, advancing, and bowing three or four\ntimes to the ground; \"Je le----\"\n\n\"Hold! hold! Mooshie!\" interrupted Captain Strang; \"none of thine own\noutlandish language, dost thou hear? Thou canst speak our tongue well\nenow for all purposes, so keep to that, if it so please thee.\"\n\n\"Very vell, Monsieur le Capitaine String,\" replied the skipper,\nwith a shrug, and a grimace, that showed his disappointment in being\nthus prevented from speaking to the Duke, in a language which would\nhave veiled all he said from the apprehension of the captain of the\nguard--\"Very vell, Monsieur le Capitaine; I vill make van attente\nto make onderstand de bad Englis of me to his Royal Highness de Duc\nd'Albanie.--I ave been send vid dis two cask of vin, as van cadeau\nfrom de marchand Beauvilliers at Bordeaux, to his Highness Royal de\nDuc d'Albanie, vid de ope dat de magnifique flaveur of de vine may\nplease heem, and procure for de marchand van large ordaire from his\nHighness Royal, and from his royal broder, his Majesty de King.\"\n\n\"I can promise nothing for his Majesty, friend,\" replied the Duke;\n\"but for myself, I would have ye thank Monsieur Beauvilliers from me,\nand say to him, that if the wine liketh me well, I shall send him an\norder; that is to say, if there be aught of likelihood of my being\nalive to drink of it when it comes to hand.--But what sort of wine\nis it that thou hast brought me?\"\n\n\"In dat cask dere is shoise vine of Gascony,\" said the skipper,\npointing to that which Charley Stewart had helped to bear; \"bot,\ngoot as it is, I am force to tink dat de oder vine, in dis cask,\nvill give more plaisir to son Altesse Royale.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Walter, bringing forward the cask, and speaking to the\nskipper in French, as if he were merely applying to him for orders,\nbut in a tone so loud and distinct as to insure that the Duke should\ncatch every word that fell from him--\"do not show surprise at what I\nsay, or recognise me, if you discover me.--We are all friends. This\ncask contains the means of escape, with instructions how you are\nto effect it. Let not the captain of the guard depart without an\ninvitation to supper; the contents of this cask will tell you why.\"\n\n\"Sacre cochon!\" cried the skipper, with an angry air, and at the\nsame time bestowing a smart blow of a rattan on the shoulders of Sir\nWalter. \"Sacre cochon que vous estes!\"\n\n\"What did the fellow say to thee, friend skipper?\" demanded the\ncaptain of the guard; \"and what didst thou say to him?\"\n\n\"Mine Got! Monsieur le Capitaine String,\" replied the skipper, \"dis\ncrew of mine is so great idil vans, dat dey vear out de patience\nof van Job heemself. I not be come to dis place ardly van moment,\nand bifore I decharge my cargo, ven dey must vant to leif me alone,\nand to go to run all over de cite, after de dance, and de Scottis\npreetee lasses. Be Gar, Monsieur Jean, you sall vork more vork pour\ndis, dat I do tell you, mon gar\u00e7on.\"\n\n\"Fear nothing, sir,\" said Sir Walter, again in French, and humbly\nbowing to the skipper, as if making an earnest and contrite apology\nto his master; \"act boldly; remember the south-western side--there\nthou shalt find friends beyond the walls.\"\n\n\"Aha, Coquin!\" cried the skipper; \"mais vous avez jou\u00e9 votre role\n\u00e0 merveille----\"\n\n\"What said the fellow? and what was thine answer to him?\" demanded\nthe captain of the guard again.\n\n\"Par bleu, Monsieur le Capitaine String, I ave make heem bon gar\u00e7on\nat last,\" replied the skipper; \"I do ave make heem cry peccav\u00e9e.\"\n\n\"Was that all?\" said the captain, gruffly. \"Then come away, Mooshie,\nlet us clear out of this. Thou and thy fellows have been long enough\nhere.\"\n\n\"Before thou goest, I would speak with thee, Captain Strang,\" said the\nDuke. \"If fame and mine own experience belie thee not, thou art great\nin thy judgment of wines. Wilt thou lend me thy company to-night at\nsupper, that we may taste the stuff which this fellow hath brought me,\nof the rare quality of which he makes so great a boast?\"\n\n\"Your Royal Highness's Grace does me too much honour,\" replied Strang,\nwith a most obsequious bow. \"My taste is but a poor and uncultivated\ntaste; but I shall be proud to perfect it under your Royal Highness's\nsuperior judgment and instruction.\"\n\n\"Then let us have supper at four, good captain,\" said the Duke; \"and\nas my chamberlain here would fain invite those three poor knaves who\nguard the door, to watch for once within side of it, and to partake\nof his table, I would have thee see that, at my expense, enough of\nthe best viands be provided for all.\"\n\n\"Your Highness is too considerate,\" replied Strang. \"Yet, since your\nroyal will runs so, it shall be obeyed to the letter. The supper shall\nbe such as shall content you.\" And then retiring, and shutting and\nlocking the door upon his prisoners, he descended the outer steps,\nmuttering to himself,--\"The supper may well be a good one indeed,\nand thou mayest well eat and drink thy fill; for, if I be not far\nmistaken, it may be the last supper thou mayest eat, and the last\nwine thou mayest swallow.\"\n\nThe skipper and his party now left the Castle, without farther\nquestion; and as they passed by the mouth of the close where Sir\nWalter Stewart lived, on their way down the High Street, the knight\nand his son were replaced by the two French sailors, in the same\nadroit manner in which the change had been formerly effected; and\nthey gained their lodgings, and got rid of their disguise, without\nhaving subjected themselves to the least suspicion, whilst the skipper\ncontinued his way out of the city, with the same number of followers\nas he had always had with him.\n\nNo sooner was the Duke of Albany free from the chance of interruption,\nthan he and his chamberlain proceeded to wrench up the end of that\ncask which Sir Walter Stewart had so ingeniously and so particularly\nindicated, as the important one to the royal captive. They found it\naltogether devoid of wine; but, to their no small joy, they found\nwithin it a long coil of rope, and a large roll of wax. Their first\ncare was to replace the rope, and to shut up the cask again, and then\nto roll it into the corner, where they set it on end immediately\nin rear of that which contained the wine. They then hastily opened\nthe roll of wax, and discovered that it contained a letter from Sir\nWalter, explaining the whole plan for their escape. Having studied this\nagain and again, so as fully to possess themselves of its contents,\nthey committed it to the ample fire-place, where it was immediately\nconsumed, and then they sat down together to resolve and arrange\nall the minor parts and details of their plot. Whilst they were so\nemployed, Captain Strang was unable to resist the devil that tempted\nhim to taste his little runlet. It was excellent wine. He boldly,\nand with great determination, put in the spigot again, and gallantly\nretreated from it. But again and again was he drawn to it by an\nattraction as strong as that which the loadstone exerts over the\nneedle. Again and again he drew the spigot, and sipped moderately. He\nwould have drank deeply, had not economy whispered him that he had\nbetter preserve it for a future opportunity, seeing that he had the\nprospect of that night drinking so largely at another's expense. But\nstill he sipped and sipped from time to time, so that, although far\nfrom drunk when he appeared in the Duke of Albany's apartment--nay,\nI may say, far from being even what is usually called half seas\nover--he had so whetted his thirst as to be ready to drink oceans;\nand the foundation he had laid was quite enough for a superstructure\nof perfect intoxication.\n\nAs the supper was to be partaken of by him and his people at the Duke's\nexpense, the captain of the guard had taken especial care to see that\nit was a good one. His Royal Highness sat at a small table near the\nhuge fire-place, with Captain Strang upon his left hand. There they\nwere first served by the chamberlain, and the three men of the guard,\nwith all the delicacies they chose to call for; and large beakers\nof the new wine being placed before them, the captain gave full way\nto his Bacchanalian inclinations. By and bye they began to play at\ndice and tables, whilst the chamberlain and his three guests were\nsupping. Though already not a little affected by the wine he had\nswallowed, the captain preserved enough of his cunning and knavish\nbrains, to enable him to cheat most villainously. This did not escape\nthe Duke, but he took care not to appear to perceive it--cursed his ill\nluck--and went on to lose, much to the satisfaction of his opponent,\nwhilst the knavish Strang was secretly congratulating himself upon his\nown wonderful strength of head, which had so far prevailed over the\ncomparative weakness of his royal adversary. Meanwhile the chamberlain\nwas busily employed in supplying the captain, as well as his own\npeculiar guests, with wine, in the greatest abundance. By degrees,\nStrang became so much elevated, as to lose much of that obsequious\nrespect with which he had at first treated his royal host.\n\n\"Delicious wine!\" cried he, smacking his lips, after a long draught\nof it, which left his cup empty. \"By the holy Virgin, delicious\nwine indeed! But--aw--aw--its goodness inflames me--aw--aw--with a\nfurious desire to taste--aw--aw--to taste, I say, that other cask the\nFrench knave spoke of--aw--aw--that, I mean, which stands yonder,\nbehind--aw--aw--behind the barrel from which we have--aw--aw--been\ntasting; that, I mean--aw--aw--of which the French Mooshie spake\nso largely.\"\n\nThe chamberlain darted a look of agony at his master; but the Duke\npreserved a perfect composure.\n\n\"Thou shalt taste it forthwith, Sir Captain,\" said the Duke, giving,\nat the same time, a private signal to the chamberlain. \"Go, use thy\nwimble, and bring us a flask of that other wine.\"\n\nThe chamberlain, understanding his master, went to the barrels,\nand concealing them as much as he could by stooping over both of\nthem, he fumbled with the wimble at the second cask; and, whilst he\npretended to fill the can from it, he slyly drew its contents from\nthe same which had been running all night, and then he poured out\ntwo sparkling goblets, and set them down on the table.\n\n\"Well, Sir Captain,\" said the Duke, after Strang had taken a long\ndraught of the wine, \"what sayest thou to it? Is it as good as that\nwhich thou hast been all night drinking?\"\n\n\"That which we have been drinking all night--aw--aw--is but as\nhog's wash compared to it,\" cried the captain, his eyes beginning\nto goggle in his head, and emphatically dashing his empty cup down\non the table. \"No, no--aw--aw--my palate--aw--aw--is--aw--too true\nto be deceived that way. This, look ye, is a wine of--aw--aw--of\nsuperior growth, flavour, and body, not to be matched--not to\nbe--aw--aw--matched, I tell ye--not to be matched.\"\n\n\"It is, indeed, excellent, as thou sayest,\" replied the Duke--\"absolute\nnectar!--Come, fill our goblets again.\"\n\n\"By the Rood, but this is--aw--aw--wine indeed!\" cried the captain of\nthe guard again, after emptying his goblet for the second time. \"It\ngrows--aw--aw--better and better--aw--aw.\"\n\n\"I feel it whizzing in my very brain,\" said the Duke. \"I doubt that\nthou wilt have but an easy conquest of me now, Sir Captain. But come,\nnevertheless, play away, for I will have my revenge.\"\n\n\"What, ho, Sir Chamberlain,\" cried the captain, getting more and\nmore inebriated, and becoming, at the same time, still more and\nmore convinced of his own strength of brain and sobriety, and\nhis superiority, in these respects, over the Duke, exemplified,\nas it was, by his still farther gains. \"What ho!--aw--aw--more\nwine--more wine and--aw--aw--from the same cask, dost thou hear,\nSir Chamberlain--aw--aw--from the self-same virtuous cask. Why the\nfiend did'st thou not draw from that cask--aw--aw--at first? Come,\nwine, I tell thee!--aw--aw--aw--pour us out more of that nectar; my\nthroat--aw--aw--is parched, and--aw--aw--the more I drink--aw--aw--the\nmore I would drink. Wine!--aw--aw--wine, I say, Sir Chamberlain!\"\n\nThe chamberlain spared not to fill and refill his goblet, nor was he\nless assiduous in filling those of the three men of the guard, until\novercome by the soporific effects of the oceans of wine which they\npoured down, combined with those arising from the overwhelming heat\nof the rousing fire that had been purposely kept up, an irresistible\ndrowsiness fell upon the captain and his men, and they, one after\nanother, dropped into a deep sleep. The Duke, and his chamberlain,\nnow armed themselves with knives from the table, and self-preservation\nhaving steeled up their minds to this bloody alternative, they sprang\nupon their defenceless victims. The work of death was speedy; all were\ndespatched in a few moments. The keys were taken from the captain's\ngirdle-belt. The corpses were piled one over the other in the huge\nfire-place, and more fuel was heaped upon them, in order to consume\nthem. The coil of rope was secured. The doors were opened with the\ngreatest caution, and, having slipped silently down the outer stair,\nthey stole away to a lonely corner of the rampart, on the south-western\nside of the fortress, where the height and precipitous nature of\nthe rock had been supposed to have rendered sentinels unnecessary;\nand where, though the descent might be more dangerous in itself,\nthan at many other points in the vicinity, there was less risk of\ntheir being surprised and frustrated in their attempt.\n\nAt the foot of the Castle rock, under that part of the walls which\nI have now indicated, Sir Walter Stewart, and his son Charles, had\nbeen waiting impatiently ever since the day-light had disappeared. The\nnight was starry, but there was little moon. That they might the better\nobserve the walls, they climbed up the steep rock, immediately below\nthe point where they knew that the attempt was likely to be made,\ntill they came to the perpendicular part of the cliff, under the base\nof which they silently lay down to watch the event. After long and\ntedious expectation, during which they were often deceived by their\nfancy, they at length perceived a dark looking object getting over the\ntop of the wall of the rampart, directly above them. They watched it\nwith intense anxiety, as it began slowly to descend on them, till, as\nit neared them, they could distinguish it to be a human being, and the\nfigure slowly grew upon their sight. The head and shoulders of another\nman thrust over the wall above, seemed anxiously to watch the success\nof him who was lowering himself. For a moment the descending figure\nrested on the narrow ledge of the rock at the foundation of the wall,\nand then it again began to come down gently over the perpendicular\nface of the cliff, until it was within some ten or fifteen feet of\nthem. Their hope was now high, when all at once the figure seemed to\nbe arrested in its progress downward, and swung to and fro for a time.\n\n\"What stops you?\" demanded Sir Walter Stewart, in a distinct but\nsubdued voice.\n\n\"If this be all the rope, it is too short,\" said the person above\nthem, in the same tone; \"I have nothing now for it, but to take my\nchance and drop.\"\n\n\"Fear not!\" said Sir Walter; \"we shall try to catch thee in our\ncloaks. Now! drop boldly!\"\n\n\"Now then!\" said the man in the air.\n\nBut although the united strength of Sir Walter Stewart and his son\nenabled them so to receive him, as to save him from utter destruction,\nthe shock of his fall was so great, as to crush both of them down,\nand it was with difficulty that they prevented him and themselves\nfrom rolling down the rocky slope below them.\n\n\"How fares it with thee?\" demanded Sir Walter.\n\n\"But indifferent well,\" replied the other, unable to rise, and\nmanifestly in great pain. \"I fear I have broken my thigh-bone.\"\n\n\"Holy Saint Andrew, what a misfortune!\" exclaimed Sir Walter Stewart.\n\n\"Call it not a misfortune,\" said the attached and devoted\nchamberlain. \"It was good that I tried it before the Duke, else might\nthis accident have happened to him, and that indeed would have been\na misfortune.\"\n\n\"What hath happened?\" demanded a faint voice, that came from the Duke,\nwhose head and shoulders still appeared over the wall above.\n\n\"A small accident, but not a fatal one,\" replied the chamberlain. \"I\nam down; but beware, my gracious master, the rope is too short.\"\n\n\"How much may it want?\" demanded the Duke.\n\n\"About four or five ells, or so;\" replied Sir Walter.\n\n\"Tarry till I return then,\" said the Duke again. \"But, hush! I must\nhide. Here come the rounds.\"\n\nThe tramp of feet, and the clink of arms, now came faintly on\ntheir ears, as they lay, drawn in as much as possible, under the\nrock. Voices, too, were heard, but at such a distance above them, that\nthey could not tell whether they uttered sounds of jocularity, or of\nstrife and contention. At last they passed away--but whether the royal\nduke had been detected or not, they had no means of knowing. A very\nconsiderable time elapsed, during which their eyes were fixed intently,\nand most anxiously, on that part of the top of the wall whence the\nhead of the royal captive had last been seen to disappear. The pain\nof the chamberlain's fractured limb was excruciating, yet to him it\nwas as nothing, compared to the agony of that suspense which was\nsuffered by the whole three who waited for the result. At length,\nto their inexpressible relief, they beheld the Duke's figure getting\nover the wall above them,--and down he came, slowly and gradually,\ntill his toes touched the rocky ground on which they stood. Warm,\nthough not loud, were the congratulations he received, and heartfelt\nwere the thanks which he poured out upon his preservers--and deep\nwas the grief which he uttered for the painful accident which had\nbefallen his faithful servant. They learned from his Highness, that\nere the rounds had approached near enough to observe him, he had laid\nhimself down at length on the ground, within the deep shadow that\nprevailed under the wall; that they had passed within a few yards of\nhim, talking and joking with each other, and most fortunately without\nobserving him. They were no sooner fairly gone to the other parts of\nthe walls, than he had stolen back to his prison, cut his blankets\ninto ropes, and by this means supplied what was wanting of the length\nof that which had been furnished to him.\n\nAltogether unmindful of his own safety, the Duke of Albany's first\ndesire was to provide for the proper care of his maimed chamberlain. It\nwas with no small difficulty that they got him conveyed down the\ncraggy slope, and when they reached the valley below, they halted,\nand held a consultation as to what was best to be done with him. The\nchamberlain himself proposed that they should carry him to the house of\na friend of his own, near at hand, where he knew he would be concealed,\nand well cared for, and where he thought he could remain in safety\nuntil his broken limb should be so effectually cured as to enable\nhim to make his escape.\n\n\"I will carry thee thither myself,\" said the Duke of Albany. \"I can by\nno means flee hence, until I am assured of the safety of a servant,\nwho hath ever been so devotedly faithful to me, and who is now,\nby the perversity of my fate, to be so painfully separated from me,\nwhen I most need his friendship.\"\n\n\"Nay, I do entreat your Royal Highness to flee without a moment's\ndelay,\" said Sir Walter Stewart; \"every moment is precious to\nyou. Leave him to me, and, trust me, I will take every care of him.\"\n\n\"Nay, I cannot consent to that,\" said the Duke. \"Thou must not be\nseen nor suspected to have had aught to do in this matter. Thou hast\nalready periled thyself enough. The house he speaks of is but a little\nfarther along this hollow way, I will carry him thither myself.\"\n\nSir Walter yielded to reason. They assisted the Duke to carry the\nchamberlain to a conveniently short distance from the house in\nquestion, the sufferer was then hoisted on his royal master's back,\nwho speedily bore him safely into his place of concealment.\n\n\"Now,\" said Sir Walter to the Duke, when he had again joined them,\na little way on beyond the house, \"your Royal Highness must fly with\nall haste to the sea-side. This young man, who is a son of mine,\nwill guide you to the spot where you will find a boat, which is ready\nwaiting to convey you to the vessel that is prepared to carry you to\nFrance. He must supply the loss of your faithful chamberlain. Take\nhim with you, my lord, and let him return to me when it may suit your\nconvenience to part with him.\"\n\n\"He shall be mine especial esquire,\" said the Duke.--\"Would I had a\nstation to put him into, worthier of son of thine, and of one of his\nown apparent merits.\"\n\n\"Your Royal Highness is too kind,\" said Sir Walter. \"Yet is the lad no\ndisgrace to me, as I trust that you may find that he will prove none\nto you. May Saint Andrew give you safety and a prosperous breeze!--And\nhere, Charley, take this ring as a pledge of a father's affection,\nand let the sight of it be ever to thee as a monitor to make thee do\nthy duty like a man.\"\n\nTheir parting was now warm, but brief. The Duke and his new attendant\nreached the sea-side in safety. Sir Walter, who had hastened around\nthe shores of the North Loch, and climbed the Calton Hill, waited\nimpatiently upon its summit till the first dawn of day-break. Then it\nwas that he rejoiced to descry the white sail of the French barque,\nswoln by a merry and favourable breeze, pressing gallantly down the\nFirth, and he continued to watch it, until it was lost amidst the\nruddy haze of the sunrise. He then walked slowly down the eastern slope\nof the hill, towards Holyrood, and, making a wide circuit, he passed\nbetween Arthur Seat and Salisbury Craigs, through the hollow wooded\nvalley, which, though now devoid of trees, is still well known by\nthe name of the Hunter's Bog, and then, turning his steps towards the\nsouthern gates of the city, he muffled himself well up in his cloak,\nand entered it, unnoticed, amid the crowds of market people who were\npassing inwards at the Port of the Kirk of Field; and so he gained\nhis lodging without observation. There he soon afterwards heard of\nthe astonishment, mortification, and dismay, which had possessed the\nKing on learning this strange event, which he could not bring himself\nto believe until he went to see, with his own eyes, the half-consumed\ncorpses of the captain of the guard and his men, and the rope which\nstill hung dangling over the wall of the castle.\n\nSir Walter Stewart seemed to remain altogether unsuspected of any share\nin the escape of the Duke of Albany, though every one was agreed in\nbelieving that his Royal Highness must have been aided from without\nthe walls. But whether it was that ideal suspicion that conscience of\nitself begets, or whether there really were some grounds for it, the\nKnight could not help feeling persuaded that the King looked colder\nthan ever upon him. He failed not, however, on that account, to pay\nhis duties at court most unremittingly, though, frequent as were his\nvisits there, they were comparatively small in number to those which\nhe paid to the house of Sir William Rogers, where he now worshipped,\nmore fervently than ever, at the shrine of that enchantress, the\nfair Juliet Manvers. He now found himself so irretrievably the\ncaptive of her charms, that he had for some time ceased to struggle\nin her net, and it was not long after the escape of Albany, that he\nsought an audience of King James, that he might humbly communicate\nhis contemplated nuptials to him, and crave his royal leave for their\nconsummation, as well as for his retirement for a time from court, that\nhe might carry his lady to visit his own territories in Stradawn, of\nwhich he was to make her the mistress. From all that had lately passed,\nhe was not much surprised that the King received his communication\nwith apparent satisfaction, but he was very much astonished to find,\nthat it procured for him the sudden and unexpected restoration of all\nthat familiar cordiality of manner, which he had formerly, for so long\na period, been in the constant habit of receiving from his Majesty.\n\n\"What!--marry!\" cried the King. \"And is this really so?--and a long\nattachment saidst thou?\"\n\n\"An attachment that has grown since first we met, so please your\ngracious Majesty,\" replied Sir Walter.\n\n\"Strange!\" said the King, as if pondering within himself--\"strange\nthat all this should have escaped me. And yet, now I think on't,\nI might have seen it.--We have done thee but scrimp justice, Sir\nWalter Stewart, but now, be assured, that we wish thee joy with all\nour heart. Thou hast indeed chosen a lovely bride. We--yea, and our\nQueen too--shall honour the wedding with our presence; and thy fair\nand accomplished lady shall not lack such royal gifts, as may befit\nus to bestow, and thy wife to receive.--Trust me, that this wise step\nof thine hath much relieved--nay, we would say that it hath given us\nunfeigned joy.\"\n\nThus reassured of the King's favour, though from what cause he could\nnot by any means divine, Sir Walter Stewart was happy. His marriage\ntook place with great pomp of circumstances, in presence of King James\nand his Queen. Some months passed quickly and pleasantly away over\nthe heads of the newly-married couple, who were especially detained\nat court, from one week to another, by the royal mandate,--and I need\nnot tell you, that the lady basked with peculiar delight under the\nsunshiny smiles that fell upon her from the royal pair. Cochran was\nthe only one about court who had reason to be dissatisfied with the\nmatch, seeing that he had himself shewn pretensions to Juliet Manvers,\nand had been in no little degree encouraged by her. But whether real\nor feigned, he manifested an especial cordiality towards Sir Walter,\nand he availed himself of every possible opportunity of frequenting\nhis society, and that of his lady. To the lady, indeed, he was at\nall times most particularly attentive, so much so, in fact, that\nSir Walter hardly relished his uncalled for complaisance. Moreover,\nhe thought he began to detect a certain relaxation of that earnest\ndesire to please him, which, for her own purposes, Juliet had so long\ndisplayed towards him before their union. She had now less occasion\nfor dissimulation, since her object was gained, and so it happened,\nthat on more occasions than one, when impelled by the humour of the\nmoment beyond the full restraint of her dissimulative powers, she had\nunveiled enough of her real character to make him doubt, whether her\nacceptance of him as her husband had been altogether the result of a\ndisinterested affection for him. The seeds of unhappiness were thus\nthickly sown within his breast, and they began to vegetate so fast,\nthat he at length came to the sudden resolution of carrying off his\nwife to his castle of Drummin.\n\n\"If thou art resolved to quit our court for a season,\" said King\nJames, when Sir Walter made his intentions known to his Majesty,\n\"thou hast our royal permission, most unwillingly granted to thee,\nso to do. But say, what sort of habitation hast thou in the north?\"\n\n\"'Tis but a rude dwelling, so please your Majesty,\" replied Sir Walter;\n\"and somewhat the worse perhaps for the warfare which hath been waged\nagainst it by time and weather.\"\n\n\"Then shalt thou take Cochran, our architect, thither with thee,\nto plan and to order its amendment,\" replied the King.--\"'Twas but\nthe other day we were talking of thy concerns together, when he\nvoluntarily offered to yield thee his best services.\"\n\n\"'Twas kind of him,\" said Sir Walter, biting his lips, \"but I can in\nnowise think of so troubling him.--Indeed, for the present, I cannot\nwell brook the expense of building, and I must e'en remain as I am\nfor a time.\"\n\n\"That shall be no hindrance to thee, Stewart,\" said the King. \"The\nstream of our royal bounty hath been untowardly diverted from thee\nfor a time; it behooves us now to refresh thy parched roots, so that\nthou mayest again raise thy drooping head. The means shall be found\nfrom our royal treasury for thy building, and Cochran shall go with\nthee to Drummin--so let us think no more of this matter, seeing I\nhave so settled it.\"\n\nWillingly would Sir Walter Stewart have dispensed with this most\nprominent mark of royal favour, but it was now impossible to decline\nit. Cochran received his Majesty's command, to hold himself in\nreadiness to accompany Sir Walter Stewart and his lady to Stradawn,\nwith secret delight, though he appeared to do so with that servile\nsubmission merely, with which he always bowed to the royal will, and\nfor which he made himself ample amends by the arrogance with which\nhe domineered over others. To Sir Walter Stewart he took especial\ncare to be always smiling, pleasant, and accommodating; and although\nhe complained, upon this occasion, that this northern journey was a\nsevere obstruction to the prosecution of those architectural plans\non which he pretended to rest his fame, he went down to Drummin with\nthe intention of spinning out his visit to as great a length as he\ncould decently make it extend.\n\nSir Walter Stewart, for his part, had no sooner fairly set his foot\non his own threshold, than a thousand recollections connected with\nthe tower of Drummin, and its neighbouring scenery, crowded upon\nhis mind. This return to the abode of his early days, recalled the\nremembrance of his young affections, and the contrast which thus\narose, in spite of him, between those which he felt persuaded were\nbestowed on a creature who was innocent, natural, and true, and those\nwhich the sacrament of the holy church now demanded of him, as due to\nher whom he had so much reason to fear might turn out to be artful,\nartificial, and false, awakened certain unpleasant qualms within him,\nthat he had failed to make that reparation to Alice Asher, which he\nonce had it in his power to have made; and that now, by some strange\nwitchery and infatuation, he had been led to shut the door against\nthat, and his own peace of mind, by one rash and irrevocable act. A\ndireful dread now fell upon him, that he was about to be severely\npunished for his neglect of one, whose only sin might, with more\njustice, have been said to have been his--as it was incurred for him,\nand whose devotion to him, and whose whole conduct since her first and\nonly error, had so well merited a different treatment at his hands. He\ncould not trust his mind to think how much happier he might have now\nbeen with her. Nor did the image of his gallant Charley fail to haunt\nhis imagination, and to fill him with self-reproaches. Now it was that\nhis soul winced under the wholesome, though sharp stings of conscience,\nand the fair visions of ambition, which had so continually flitted\nthrough his brain, lost their sunshine, and disappeared for a time,\namid the dull and damp mists of self-dissatisfaction that settled\ndown upon it. He felt that though the trial must necessarily be a\npainful one, it might probably be productive of a certain degree\nof after-relief to him, if he could procure an interview with Alice\nAsher. A vow existed between them--a vow that she had extracted from\nhim, immediately previous to the birth of Charley Stewart, that they\nshould never again meet, except in the event of an approach to her on\nthe part of Sir Walter, for the purpose of offering her his hand in\nmarriage. That, alas, was a reason which he could not urge now! But,\non the ground of having to speak to her on the subject of her son,\nhe sent for the good priest who was her confessor, and procured\nfrom him a dispensation from their mutual vow, so far as to admit\nof one short meeting between them. It took place; and, as you may\neasily imagine, their conference was of the tenderest, though purest\ndescription. It had more in it of tears than of smiles. Reproaches\nwere there, it is true; but they came not from the meek, penitent,\nand forgiving Alice Asher; they were numerously and largely heaped by\nSir Walter Stewart on his own devoted head. The parting was a scene\nwhich I could not venture to describe; and far less could I convey\nto you the slightest notion of that accumulation of anguish which\nchoked up the heart of Sir Walter, after having had this opportunity\nof more truly and perfectly knowing the full value of that gentle\nand devoted spirit, the innocent confidence of whose youth he had\nso abused, and whom he had so recklessly excluded from his bosom,\nin order to take home thither that cold and selfish heart which now\nlegally possessed it. Full of such agonizing thoughts as these, he had\nas yet got but a short way on his return from the dwelling of Alice,\nwhen his musing walk was suddenly broken in upon by Cochran, who came\nunexpectedly out upon him from a side-path that emerged from the wood,\ninto that along which he was then going.\n\n\"That cottage, so prettily perched up yonder among the wood, on the\nbrow of the hill you have this moment descended, belongs doubtless\nto some favourite forester of thine, Sir Walter,\" said Cochran;\n\"marry, the fellow is lodged in a palace, compared to those dens,\nscarcely fit for swine, in which the rude and savage inhabitants\nof this northern wilderness are seen to burrow themselves, like\nurchins, and which are hardly to be distinguished from the sterile\nand heath-covered soil on which they stand.\"\n\n\"It is a neat cottage,\" replied Sir Walter hastily; and, immediately\nchanging the subject, he went on talking rapidly, and at random,\nuntil he got rid of Cochran, on their arrival at Drummin; and, from\nthe very dread of all farther impertinent questioning, he threw himself\nupon a horse, and rode away up the valley, under the pretence of some\nurgent business, and with the vain hope of shaking off his griefs.\n\n\"Now,\" said Cochran, as he freely entered the Lady Stradawn's private\napartment; \"Now, I can tell thee, that my suspicions are this very\nday verified. Now thou mayst have no grudge that thou hast at last\nrestored to me some of that love, which was mine of right, and which\nshould have always been mine, had not the scrannel pipe of this Sir\nWalter so unfairly whistled it from me.\"\n\n\"What wouldst thou insinuate?\" demanded the lady, in some degree\nof surprise.\n\n\"I would only delicately hint, that thy husband Sir Walter is more\nin tune with another, than with thee,\" replied Cochran, with a coarse\nlaugh. \"I have told thee so before, and now I have proof of the truth\nof what I told thee.\"\n\n\"Proof, saidst thou?\" cried the lady keenly. \"What proof, I pray thee?\"\n\n\"Did I not tell thee I had found him out?\" said Cochran. \"Did I not\ntell thee that he visits the cottage that stands on the brow of\nthe wooded hill yonder? I have this day proved that I was right,\nfor I dogged his steps thither, saw him enter it, and watched him\npatiently, for two good hours, till he again issued forth. Nay, I know\nmore. I know that she who inhabits it is an ancient sweetheart of his;\nbut though an ancient lover, she is young,--aye! and moreover she is\nbeautiful; for as I hovered about the place some two or three days ago,\nI chanced to get such a glimpse of her, as satisfied me of all that.\"\n\n\"Base villain!\" cried the lady, in a rage; \"I will be revenged of him,\nand of her too.--But,\" added she, again assuming the command of her\nfeelings, \"I shall take mine own time.\"\n\n\"Thou canst not be too speedy with thy vengeance as regards thy\nhusband, if thou wouldst have me to help thee,\" said Cochran,\nwith a vulgar leer--\"for, hark ye!--a secret in thine ear--I must go\nto-morrow--my time hath been long enough uselessly wasted here,--thanks\nto thine obduracy; and then this building is so far advanced towards\ncompletion, as hardly longer to require my master eye, so that little\napology now remains for me for longer stay. Nor do I now will it much,\nseeing that it is of none effect; so I shall e'en hasten back to the\ncourt, to look after this earldom of Mar, which the King hath been\ntalking of bestowing upon me, as a successor, much more worthy of it,\nthan his traitorous brother who held it. 'Tis well for me to be on\nthe spot; yet couldst thou but think of giving me back that love,\nof which this false Sir Walter so wickedly robbed me, I might still\ncontrive to stay awhile to help thee to thy revenge.\"\n\n\"My vengeance must be deeply satiated ere any such passion as love can\nfind room in this heart of mine,\" said the lady, with eyes that darted\nlightnings. \"At this moment it is overcharged with hate, which nothing\ncan diminish till it is poured out in one vast flood of vengeance on\nthose who have produced it. Go then, my good lord, for to that title\nthy fortune doth now most securely lead; go--and push it boldly on\nto the pinnacle of that glory to which it so clearly points. When\nwe meet again, we may have better will, as well as better leisure,\nto unfold our mutual thoughts and wishes. Meanwhile, believe that mine\nare ever for thy welfare, and for that honourable advancement to thee,\nto which the elegance of thy person, as well as thy superiority in\nmind and manners, doth so well and amply entitle thee.\"\n\n\"Thanks, lady! thy discernment is great and penetrating!\" cried\nCochran, whose vanity was so blown up by her extravagant praises\nof him, that, ere she wist, he, by way of an act of gallantry, and\nin a manner quite suited to the vulgarity of his character, threw\nhis great coarse arms around her delicate neck, and snatched a rude\nembrace. But though it brought the colour indignantly into her face,\nshe had too much cunning to resent it.\n\nWhen Sir Walter Stewart returned home that evening, Cochran told him\nthat he could be his guest no longer, seeing that he had received\ncertain communications from his Majesty, which demanded his immediate\ndeparture from Drummin for the court. Sir Walter was by no means much\nafflicted at this intelligence. He exerted himself, however, to do\nCochran all manner of hospitality, and to shew him every kindness, and\nevery mark of respect in his power, ere he went. He arose early next\nmorning, therefore, to perform the last duties of a host to a parting\nguest, and, after Cochran and his escort were mounted, he walked by\nthe side of the architect's horse, talking with him by way of civil\nconvoy, for more than a mile of the road, as in those days it was the\nusual custom of all hosts to do. As they were going up a little hill\nabove Drummin, called the Calton, they espied a hawk perched upon the\nvery top of a tall tree. Sir Walter had a birding piece in his hand,\nwith which he had been for some time wont to practise.\n\n\"There is a fine fair shot for thee to try thy new-fangled weapon\nagainst, Sir Walter,\" said Cochran, pointing to the hawk; \"I wager\nthee five gold pieces that thou canst not bring him down.\"\n\n\"The distance is great,\" said Sir Walter, pointing his piece at the\nbird; \"but I accept your wager.\"\n\n\"He is safe,\" said Cochran.\n\n\"No!\" cried Sir Walter exultingly, after discharging his piece, the\nbullet from which brought the bird fluttering to the ground. \"He's\ngone, an' he were a king!\"\n\n\"A good shot, truly!\" said Cochran, treasuring up Sir Walter's\ncareless expression for his own future use and purpose. \"Marry,\nbut that is a dangerous piece of thine, Sir Knight. Take good care\nhow you handle it, else may it perchance do thee a mischief. But I\nwill keep thee no longer trudging thus by my horse's side; so again\nI bid thee commend me to thy lady.\" And so saying, he rode away more\nabruptly than might have very well beseemed any man of better breeding.\n\nCochran finished his journey to Stirling, where the King then was,\nand immediately presented himself at court. He was gratified by the\nreception he met with from James, who manifested no little joy at\nthe return of his creature. But all mankind are misers, when taking\naccount of the favours of the great, on whom they depend. Unmindful\nof the large ones they receive themselves, they look only with envious\neyes on those, however small, that may be bestowed upon others. Thus it\nwas with the unrighteous Haman, and thus it was with Cochran; for, all\nthe kindness which the King showed to him, in this his first interview,\nbecame as nothing, when weighed against the eagerness which his Majesty\nmanifested in his inquiries after Sir Walter Stewart. These were as\ngall and verjuice to Cochran. In vain did he try to make trifling and\noblique insinuations against the Knight of Stradawn, his royal master\nwas in no humour to listen to them at the time, and they were each of\nthem in succession lost to his ear, in the eagerness with which he\nput his next question. James put question after question as to all\nthe particulars of his occupation at Drummin, as well as regarding\nthe progress of the work, and it was only when he had come down to\nthe day of his departure, that the insidious favourite contrived to\ncatch the royal attention, by relating the story of the birding-piece.\n\n\"Sir Walter Stewart is undoubtedly a pretty gentleman, and of\nvery various accomplishment,\" said Cochran, \"Aye, and few know his\nqualifications better than he does himself.\"\n\n\"He knows not his own accomplishments better than we do,\" replied\nthe King, in rather a dissatisfied tone.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" replied Cochran, obsequiously, \"I never ventured to say\nthat he was vain of them. But your Majesty's perception and judgment\nare unrivalled. Yet much as you have seen and observed of Sir Walter\nStewart, I may venture to question, whether you have chanced to\nwitness aught of his great skill and marvellous accuracy of eye in\nshooting with a birding-piece?\"\n\n\"A birding-piece!\" exclaimed the King, \"we knew not that he ever used\nany such new-fashioned tool.\"\n\n\"He hath not used it till of late,\" said Cochran; \"but it would seem\nthat he hath lost no time in perfecting himself in the use of it,\nnow that he hath taken it in hand. Your Majesty would be surprised to\nbehold how expertly he can employ it. The last shot I saw him make\nwith it was just as we were about to part, and it astonished me and\nall those who were in my company.\"\n\n\"We shall ourselves see him use this strange weapon, the very first\nvisit he may make to court,\" said the King. \"But what of this famous\nshot of his?\"\n\n\"So please your Majesty, a sparrow-hawk sat on the very top of a\nstraight upright pine tree, of immense height. He was perched there\nso proudly and confidently in his lofty position, and, as he thought,\nso safely too, that he looked down as carelessly on our cavalcade\nbelow as if he had been the weather-cock on the needle point of some\nlofty church-spire.--'There's a shot for you, Sir Walter,' said I,\nand I straightway offered to gage five gold unicorns that he could\ndo nought against it.--'I take thy wager,' said he; and with that\nhe raised his piece, and without saying a word more, he presented it\nat the over-confident bird, and, to the astonishment of all present,\ndown it came tumbling.--'He's gone!' cried he.\"\n\n\"Aye, and your gold was gone too,\" interrupted James, laughing\nheartily.\n\n\"Nay, your Majesty, I minded not my gold,\" replied the wily Cochran;\n\"and had but these words of his been all the speech he uttered,\nI had been well contented to have lost a larger wager.\"\n\n\"What said he else?\" demanded James.\n\n\"So please your most gracious Majesty, I had rather leave the rest\nunsaid,\" replied Cochran, with great affectation of discretion.\n\n\"Nay, but we would hear it all from thee,\" cried the King, impatiently.\n\n\"If your most gracious Majesty commands, your faithful servant must\nobey,\" replied Cochran. \"Yet true as mine ears are wont to be to\ntheir office, I could hardly believe that I heard the words which\nthey then conveyed to me.\"\n\n\"We would have thee keep us no longer in suspense,\" cried the\nKing. \"What words did Sir Walter Stewart utter?\"\n\n\"As the bird fell,\" replied Cochran, with a gravity and a seriousness\nof aspect that would have seemed to imply a heavy charge against the\nKnight of Stradawn, \"As the bird fell, Sir Walter, as I have already\nsignified to your Majesty, exclaimed, 'He's gone!' and then turning\naside, he added, in a somewhat lower voice, 'He's gone!--Would he\nwere the King!' So, and please your Majesty, did mine ears report\nhis words.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" exclaimed James, with an air of great dissatisfaction, \"Ar't sure\nthat he so spake? From all that thou hast seen, as well as heard at\nDrummin, it would seem to us that both thine eyes and thine ears have\nbeen wonderfully sharp to pick up evil against Sir Walter Stewart. Was\nit likely that he should have thus wantonly spouted forth foul treason\nin the ears of so many witnesses, some of whom it would appear were\nsufficiently willing to report to us whatever might be turned to his\nprejudice?--Go to, sir! I like not this! Those accurate ears of thine\nmust have failed of their honest duty for once. Or if, for some object\nof thine own, thou hadst wilfully misinterpreted that which they did\ntruly hear, we can tell thee that thou hast not hit thy mark with the\nsame skill or success that Sir Walter Stewart did his. But we shall\njudge of him in person, and that right speedily, for already hath he\nreceived our royal command, borne to him by an especial messenger, to\npresent himself at court by a certain day, in order to be present at\nthe grand tournament which it is our royal will to hold, that we may\nfor once essay to bring our sullen and iron-sinewed nobles around us.\"\n\n\"I humbly crave your Majesty's most gracious pardon,\" said Cochran,\nmuch abashed, and with a cringing reverence. \"Your Majesty's matchless\nwisdom hath put this matter into so clear a light, that I begin to\nbelieve that my doubts--I mean the strong doubts I entertained of\nit at the time--were correct, and that the words must have some how\nor other come to mine ear awry. I appeal to all the Saints, and to\nthe blessed Virgin to boot, that I would rather hide than publish\naught against any one so much in your Majesty's favour as Sir Walter\nStewart would seem to be, especially one for whom I have, as I may say,\nso high a respect, and regard, and admiration.\"\n\n\"We are satisfied,\" replied the King. \"'Tis clear, that in this\ninstance thine ears have deceived thee. None but one demented\ncould have so spoken in such hearing; and Sir Walter Stewart is no\nmadman. But we would talk no more of this. We would now confer with\nthee as to those plans at which we last looked ere thou wentest.----\"\n\n\"I will go seek them straightway, your most gracious Majesty,\" replied\nCochran, and making more than ordinarily low and fawning obeisances,\nhe gladly retired to breathe more freely, and to recover from the\nalarm of that danger which his very unwonted imprudence had brought\nupon him, and which had so nearly hurled him into the very pit which\nhe had digged for another.\n\nBut we must now return to Drummin.----Though the----\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACE.\n\n\nGrant.--Who, in the name of wonder, can that be, who knocks so loudly\nat the outer door, in this lone place, at such an hour?\n\nSerjeant.--Some belated drover, I'll warrant. What an awful night\nthe poor man has had to travel in!\n\nClifford.--If there be, as philosophers say, no happiness equal\nto that of being relieved from misery, I think that he who knocks,\nwhoever he may be, is to be envied for the sudden transition he is\nabout to make from all the horrors of night, rain, tempest, and bogs,\nand swollen burns, to the comforts of this room, such as they are,\nand especially to this glorious fire.\n\nAuthor.--What a time they are losing in letting him in!\n\nSerjeant.--I suspect they will have enough ado to get the door opened,\nwithout being knocked down by the blast.\n\nAuthor.--They have let him in at last. Whoever he may be, we must\nmake room for the poor fellow at our fireside.\n\nGrant.--Certainly; I'll go and bring him in here: nay, I see I need\nnot, for here he comes.\n\nClifford.--What a figure the poor man is! He looks like a newly landed\nriver-god, or like Behemoth himself, come forth from the mighty deeps.\n\nSerjeant.--Whoever he may be, his own father could not know him, were\nhe to see him at this moment, with his whole clothes so bedraggled,\nand that face of his so clatched up with moss-dirt, that not a feature\nof it can be seen.\n\nClifford.--He is like a moving peat-bog, I declare.\n\nAuthor.--Bless me, how the poor wretch shivers!\n\nSerjeant.--He shakes as if he had an ague-fit.\n\nClifford.--'Tis absolutely like an earthquake shaking the globe.--Here,\nsir; pray swallow some of this warm punch--it will bring life into you.\n\nStranger--(in a perfect palsy of cold.)--Och! it's most reveeving\nindeed, though the taste of it is just altogether poisoned with the\nmoss that's in my mouth.\n\nClifford--(with astonishment.)--Mr. Macpherson!\n\nAuthor.--Is it possible?\n\nGrant.--Where, in the name of all goodness, can you have dropped from,\nmy worthy sir?\n\nClifford.--Though we know not where he has dropped from, we may see\nplainly enough, from the foul streams that drop from him, that he has\ndropped himself, head over heels, into some black peat-hag. Here--get\ntowels, that we may rub the dirt out of his eyes.\n\nDominie.--Ech, sirs! give me another drop of yon comfortable stuff,\nand let me see a bit glisk of the fire.--Aye.--Hech me! I'm much the\nbetter of that.\n\nClifford.--Sit down here, sir. Sit down in this chair close to the\nfire; but first take off that streaming coat of thine. It reminds me\nof some of those vast black Highland mosses, the very drainings of\nwhich give origin to some dozen of rivers. Now, take another pull at\nthis hot stuff, and then tell us your adventures if you can.\n\nDominie.--Oh, dear me, that is good! Why, gentlemen, my story is\nshort, though my way has been long and weary enough. The fack is,\nthat when I got to my brother Ewan's house, I found that he was away\nto the low country to make some bargain about the buying of a stock\nof iron, and that he was not to be home again for a fortnight. You\nmay believe I was much disappointed at this intelligence, after\nthe long tramp I had all the way from Caithness, to come and see\nhim. But it would appear, that my letter to him must have somehow\nmiscarried. Be that as it may, I had no sooner been satisfied that I\nhad no chance of seeing Ewan for a time, than my heart began to yearn\nafter those with whom I had so lately and so sorrowfully parted. So,\nthinks I to myself, I'll just take my foot in my hand, and after the\ngentlemen. I'll catch them at Inchrory. If the night had been good\nand clear, I should have been here good two hours ago. But on came\nthe tempest; and the wind, and the rain, and the darkness together,\nso bamboozled and dumbfounded me, that, as I was fighting along with\nmight and main, I fell souse over head and ears into a deep peat-pot,\n\n\n    Instabilis tellus, innabilis unda,\n\n\nout of which it is the mercy of Providence that I was at length able to\nswatter, after dooking and diving in it like a wild-duck for the better\npart of a quarter of an hour, till I was nearly drowned in clean mud.\n\nClifford.--Clean mud, Mr. Macpherson! The mud you have been in would\nseem to me to have been anything but clean.\n\nDominie.--True, Mr. Clifford; but I used a phrase of our vernacular,\nmeaning that there was nothing else there but mud--a truth I can speak\nto by having gone faithfully throughout every corner of the big hole\ninto which I fell without finding any.--Clean, truly!--such a fearsome\nsight I am!--I declare I am worse than Serjeant John Smith must have\nbeen, when he fell into the moss-hole about the time of the battle\nof Culloden.--Would you like to hear that story, gentlemen?\n\nClifford.--Much, Mr. Macpherson, but not now, for several\nreasons. First, we must contrive to get you into dry clothes of some\nsort, to prevent your dying of cold or fever; secondly, you must\nhave something to eat before you are permitted to talk; and thirdly,\nthere is another Serjeant, one Serjeant Archy Stewart, who is at this\nmoment on duty, and who was in the middle of a long story when your\nappearance interrupted him. We must have that out first; but, in my\ncapacity of secretary, I shall take care to book you for producing\nyour Serjeant John Smith, when his time comes in the roster.\n\nDominie.--Eh, I'm sorry that I should have stopped the flow of my\nfriend Serjeant Archy's narration.\n\nClifford.--How could it have been otherwise, my good man? Why, what\nflow could have possibly stood against such a flow as that which now\nstreams from your wet garments, Mr. Macpherson? You have already made\na lake in the room.\n\nDominie.--Keep me, so I have!\n\nSerjeant.--Here lassie! Bring cloths and swab up the floor.\n\nClifford.--You had better not sit longer in that condition,\nMr. Macpherson; come away with me up to the garret, where we are to\nsleep, and then I shall go and see what I can prevail on Mrs. Shaw\nto do for you, to rig you out.\n\nThere was a waggish twinkle in Clifford's eye, as he left the room with\nMr. Macpherson. They were not long gone, and when they did return, our\nyoung friend appeared leading in the Dominie, clad in a short-gown, and\na blue flannel petticoat, both belonging to our hostess. The Scottish\ngarment called the short-gown, is a sort of loose jacket, covering\none half the person only, and when tied tight round the waist, it is\nadmirably calculated to show off the mould of a handsome woman to the\nbest advantage. On the present occasion, it was with some difficulty\nconfined round the bulky Dominie, by a red cotton handkerchief, so\nas fully to display his shape; and as the petticoat reached but a\nlittle way below his knees, it exhibited the full proportions of his\nHerculean legs, enlarged as they were by a pair of the thickest grey\nworsted hose, and brogues of enormous size, accidentally left there\nby a Highland drover. Over his head was placed one of Mrs. Shaw's\ntartan shawls, which Clifford had recommended to be tied under his\nchin, as a precaution against toothache, to which he declared himself\nto be frequently a martyr. Such a woman, as the Dominie appeared to\nmake, is never to be seen on the face of this earth, except in some\nexaggerated specimen of those marine, or rather amphibious animals,\nto be found on the sea-coasts of Britain, and which are called bathing\nwomen. We were all so much taken by surprise with his appearance,\nthat to control our laughter was a matter of utter impossibility.\n\nClifford.--Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the great Princess\nRustifusti.\n\nDominie--(striding in like a Grenadier.)--Truly, gentlemen, I am\nashamed to appear among you in this unbecoming disguise. But my worthy\nand kind friend Mr. Clifford is so careful of me--mercy on me, what\nwould my boys say if they beheld me?\n\nGrant.--They would be astonished, no doubt, Mr. Macpherson. But come,\nsit down--here is something comfortable for you to eat. I am sure\nyou must require food by this time.\n\nDominie.--I must honestly confess to you that I am downright ravenous.\n\nClifford.--Nay, now, do not disgrace the delicate feminine character\nwhich you are at present supporting, by eating like a masculine\ncreature.\n\nDominie.--Masculine, feminine, or neuter, I am so famished, that\nI must eat liker, I fear, unto a male wolf, than a delicate leddy,\nsuch as fortune has this night forced me to represent.\n\nClifford.--Nay, then, if that be your way, I must cease to be your\nchaperon. So do you take charge of your own delicate self, and go on,\nif you must do so, to disgrace the lovely sex to which you now belong,\nby your immoderate eating and drinking, whilst I call upon Serjeant\nArchy Stewart to proceed with his narrative.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF CHARLEY STEWART T\u00c0ILLEAR-CRUBACH\nCONTINUED.\n\n\nAlthough the jealous dreamings of King James had led him rather to\ndesire the absence of Sir Walter Stewart from his court, whilst the\nKnight was yet a bachelor, he was no sooner fairly married, than all\nsuch fancies were dissipated from the royal mind. The renewed enjoyment\nin Sir Walter's society, which the monarch had experienced, previous\nto the departure of the newly married pair for Stradawn, only served to\nrender the after absence of his favourite the more insufferable, and he\nsoon began to weary for the return of so accomplished a companion. Sir\nWalter had sufficient opportunity of being rendered sensible of the\nsatisfactory alteration in the King's manner towards him, before\nhe left the court; but, notwithstanding all this, he was in no small\ndegree surprised, as well as delighted, with the arrival of the special\nmessenger, who was the bearer of the royal command for him, to attend\nhis Majesty at the tournament, which reached him the very day after\nCochran had left him. Sir Walter being one of the best equestrians\nof his time, he was naturally extremely fond of horses. His great\npassion was to possess himself of the most beautiful steeds that could\npossibly be procured, and he spared neither pains nor expense in the\ngratification of this knight-like fancy. Some time before the period we\nare now speaking of, he chanced to have acquired some piebald horses,\nwhich were of a white colour, marked in a very extraordinary manner\nwith large patches of a sort of bluish tinge. This circumstance led\nhim to indulge the whim of collecting more of the same description,\nand having, from time to time, procured individual animals, from all\nquarters, and a considerable addition to their numbers having recently\narrived, he now at length found himself enabled to mount a large troop\nof his attendants on creatures of a similar description, and of the\nmost exquisite symmetry of form. Prepared as he thus happened to be,\nthe news of the tournament gave him particular gratification. His\nheart exulted, and his mind was all agog, at the prospect of such an\nopportunity of making so marvellous a display, before a more numerous,\nas well as more experienced, collection of eyes, than his own glens\ncould afford him. Accordingly, he began to busy himself, without loss\nof time, in making those arrangements, which were necessary to enable\nhim to appear with that degree of splendour, which he always wished to\nexhibit on such occasions. Mr. Jonathan Junkins, and all the tailors\nfor many miles round, were put in requisition to make rich housings,\nand footmantles of scarlet cloth for the saddles, and everything\nelse was got up in a proportionable style of splendour. But let us\nnot imagine that this, his so minute attention to such fopperies,\nshould lower Sir Walter Stewart in our opinion, for we must remember,\nthat all such trifles, being integral parts of chivalry, assumed the\ngreatest importance in the eyes of every knight. For many reasons,\nSir Walter Stewart felt no great desire to take his wife with him to\ncourt, but he could find no good plea for leaving her behind. Amongst\nother preparations, therefore, the lady's horse litter required to\nbe new furbished up, seeing that she was now in a condition that\nmade riding somewhat dangerous; but so great was the expedition used\nby all hands, that by the day previous to that fixed for departure,\nall the horses were duly trained, and all their equipments, as well\nas those for the men-at-arms, and all other things necessary for his\nexpedition, were in the highest order.\n\nSir Walter Stewart retired to rest that night with the intention\nof being up with the earliest dawn, that he might himself see that\nnothing had been forgotten. Upon reaching his lady's apartment,\nhe found no one with her but her page, English Tomkins, as he was\nfamiliarly called. This was a boy of great beauty of countenance,\nand of an intelligence of eye very superior to that which his years\nmight have promised. He had followed the lady from England, and he\nwas so strongly attached to his mistress, that, if he was at all deep\nin her confidence, he had prudence enough to keep all that he knew,\nstrictly secret from every one with whom his situation brought him\ninto contact. To all, except to her, he was reserved and distant,\nto an extent much beyond that, which might have been looked for\nfrom the natural carelessness and ingenuousness of youth, and even\nthe good-humoured freedom which Sir Walter used with him, was never\nsuccessful in breaking through the parchment case in which he seemed\nto wrap himself up. He was a most impenetrable youth, and no long\ntime elapsed after the Knight's marriage, before Sir Walter began\nto look upon the boy with a certain jealousy, and dislike, which he\ncould neither account for nor overcome.\n\n\"Do it thine own way,\" said the lady to him with so great earnestness\nin her communication with him, that she perceived not Sir Walter's\nentrance. \"Do it thine own way, I tell thee, boy; but see that it\nbe done, and that surely, and secretly too--for I could have no will\nto leave Drummin, and no heart to enjoy the pleasures of the Court,\nunless I knew that this was done ere I went.\"\n\n\"What may this be, upon which so much of thy happiness\ndepends?\" demanded Sir Walter Stewart, advancing.\n\n\"Holy Virgin, what a start you gave me!\" cried the lady; \"such puerile\ntricks are hardly worthy of thee.\"\n\n\"What tricks?\" asked the Knight, with utter simplicity.\n\n\"Such boyish tricks, I tell thee,\" said the lady, smoothing her\nangry countenance, and throwing over it a playful smile, and at the\nsame time gently tapping his cheek, as if in the most perfect good\nhumour. \"I mean such boyish tricks as that which thou hast now used,\nby stealing thus to my chamber, and secreting thyself, that thou\nmightest startle me for thine idle amusement.\"\n\n\"Credit me, I am no such idle boy as thou wouldst suppose,\" said Sir\nWalter, gravely; \"I have been guilty of no such silly conduct. I came,\nas I am ever wont to do, without either the intent or the thought\nof surprising thee. Nay, I knew not that I had done so, until thou\ndidst utter that scream of surprise.\"\n\n\"Well, well, I believe thee,\" said the lady; \"and if thou hadst\nstolen upon my privacy, thou couldst have gained nothing that would\nhave amounted to treason, seeing that I was but cautioning Tomkins\nhere, as to how he should execute a small deed of charity for me,\nere we go to-morrow, which I could ill brook the neglect of. Now,\nboy, thou may'st go,\" continued the lady; \"And see that thou doest\nmy bidding to the very letter.\"\n\n\"Your commands shall be strictly obeyed, lady,\" said the boy, bowing\nas he retired.\n\nThe apartment in which the Knight and his lady slept had a window\nin it which looked down the vale, formed by the combined waters of\nthe Aven and the Livat. A faint but glowing red light shot through\nthis window towards morning, and falling upon Sir Walter Stewart's\neyes, gradually unsealed their lids from the deep sleep in which\nthey were closed. He started up at this appearance of approaching\nsunrise--hurried on his clothes, and hastened down stairs to the\ncourt-yard. There he found the men-at-arms, who had the watch, all\nat their posts; but none of the grooms, or the others whom he had\nexpected to have found already busied with their preparations, were as\nyet astir. Having expressed his surprise at their laziness, he learned\nfrom those on guard, that it yet wanted two good hours of day. Being\nunwilling to retire again to his chamber, he walked forth beyond the\nwalls, to the terrace on which the castle stands; and he had no sooner\ngot there, than the cause of this his premature disturbance was made\nsufficiently manifest to him, for his eyes were immediately caught,\nand his attention fearfully arrested, by a column of fire that shot\nup from the cottage of Alice Asher, and inflamed the very clouds above.\n\nGiving one loud shout of alarm to the people within the castle walls,\nhe staid not for them, but rushed franticly down the green slope,\nand crossing a rustic foot-bridge that spanned the river Livat,\nimmediately under the fortalice, he flew towards the wooded hill,\ntoo accurately guided through the obscurity of the night, by the\nconflagration, the light from which blazed in his eyes. But whilst it\nthus served to direct him towards its object, it had also the effect\nof dazzling his vision; so that, in the furious precipitation of his\nspeed, he ran against some living being that was coming hurriedly\nin the opposite direction. Whatever it might be, his force was so\ntremendous, that he drove it aside from the path, like a ball from\na bat, and then rolling forwards on the ground himself, and over and\nover, he lay for some moments senseless upon the grass. But, having\nsoon afterwards recovered himself, he sprang again to his legs, and,\nhis whole thoughts being absorbed at the moment by his agonizing\nanxiety for Alice Asher's safety, he stopped not to enquire what had\nbecome of the individual who had produced his accident, but rushed\non again towards the burning house, on which he still kept his eyes\nfixed. Long ere he gained the foot of the hill on which it stood,\na momentary depression of the flame, followed by an equally sudden\nand very great increase of it, told him that the roof had fallen in,\nand that, if the inmates had not already fled for safety, they must\nnow be beyond all reach of assistance. Yet still he paused not; but,\ndoubling his speed, he rushed breathless up through the wood on the\nside of the hill, and at length arrived at the cottage.\n\nWhat a sad spectacle did it now present! The walls alone were\nstanding, like a huge grate, in which the inflammable materials of the\nheather-thatched roof, and the furniture, and interior wood-work, were\nrapidly consuming. The roses and woodbines that crept over the walls,\nor trailed in rude luxuriance over the porch, were now shrivelled\nup and scorched by the intense heat within, nay, even the shrubs and\nflowers that grew around, were dried up and killed by it.\n\n\"Oh, Holy Virgin Mother, she is gone! she is gone!\" cried Sir Walter,\ngiving way to a paroxysm of grief.\n\nAnd now people came running together from the nearest cottages. Eagerly\ndid he enquire of all he met for some information, regarding Alice\nAsher; but no one could tell him aught of her. The men from the Castle\ncame crowding up the hill, bearing buckets of water. These were now\nuseless. But still Sir Walter called on those who carried them to\nexert themselves, and, urged by his commands, they ran to and from\na neighbouring pool, bearing water, and pouring it over the sinking\nflames, till they were finally extinguished, at least so far, that\nthey were enabled to rake amid the red-hot embers with long poles,\nwithout danger to themselves. With what torturing anxiety did Sir\nWalter Stewart stand, in the hope that no human remains would be found,\nby which circumstance he expected to satisfy himself that Alice Asher\nhad escaped. But, alas! they had not searched far, when they found\na body, or rather a half-consumed skeleton, in so fearful a state of\nmutilation, that although its size left no doubt that it was that of\na woman, it was quite impossible to guess at the person. Sir Walter\nwas frantic. But still hope lingered within his bosom. Alice had a\nservant maid in the house. This skeleton was nearer, as he thought,\nto the size of the woman, than to that of the mistress. Besides,\nthese remains were found in a part of the house which this attendant\ninhabited. No doubt was left that they were hers; and Sir Walter's\nheart expanded with the temporary relief which it experienced.\n\nBut the search went on. And now Sir Walter Stewart's heart again\nfluttered betwixt torturing hope and fear,--till,--oh, wretched\nand bitterly afflicting sight! in that part of the cottage which\nAlice Asher more particularly occupied, another half-consumed body\nwas found. This was also that of a woman; and, as it corresponded\naccurately to the size of her about whose fate he was so unhappily\ninterested, every spark of hope was at once extinguished within\nhim. His brain whirled in strange and bewildering confusion. He\ngasped for breath, and seemed to swallow down liquid fire; all\nconsciousness left him for a time; and he sank down on an adjacent\nbank in a temporary fainting fit.\n\nI shall not attempt to describe the flood of strong and resistless\nfeeling to which Sir Walter Stewart, resolute as he might be, was\ncompelled to give way, when his senses fully returned to him. Those who\nwere around him respected them in silence. The sun soon afterwards\narose upon the melancholy scene; and then it was that the brave\nKnight's countenance was observed by all, to bear powerfully-written\ntestimony of the deep grief that had been at work upon it. Making a\nstrong and manly effort to subdue his affliction, he gave orders to\nhis people to see that the remains, now so revolting to look upon,\nshould be properly attended to; and, despatching a confidential person\nto the priest who had acted as father-confessor to Alice Asher, he\nbesought him to do all that might be requisite to ensure that the\nlast sad duties should be decently and reverentially paid, and every\nreligious rite duly performed to her, whose life of contrition, and\npenitence, for a sin which he felt to have been his alone, had so\nfair a prospect of reconciling her to her Maker. And, having made\nthese arrangements, he slowly and silently, and with a sorrowful,\nheavy, and lacerated heart, bent his steps back to Drummin.\n\nWhen Sir Walter Stewart, and those who were with him, had reached\nthe place where he had been so unaccountably thrown down, he was\nsurprised to see a human figure lying a few yards off the footpath,\nwith the head and shoulders crammed into a thicket. On approaching\nit, the dress at once informed him that it was his lady's page,\nEnglish Tomkins. Having ordered some of his people to pull him forth\nfrom the bushes in which he was half hid, and to raise him up, he\nwas discovered to be quite dead;--and his death was at once seen to\nhave been occasioned, by his head having come against the thick and\nknotty trunk of an oak, which grew up from amidst the black thorns\nand honeysuckles, so that his skull had been dreadfully fractured,\nand instant extermination of life had ensued.\n\n\"Jesus have mercy on me!\" cried Sir Walter, with great feeling. \"I have\nbeen the innocent cause of this poor boy's death, by running against\nhim in the dark;\" and having said so, he proceeded to explain to his\npeople the circumstances which had produced and attended the accident.\n\n\"Methinks he hardly merits to be much wailed for, Sir Knight, unless\nthou canst say that these strange articles can have been innocently\ncarried by him,\" said one of the attendants, pulling, at the same\ntime, from the bosom of the corpse, a small bundle of matches, and a\ntinder-box, with a flint and steel.--\"Marry, these would seem to say,\nthat he had been better employed had he been in his bed.\"\n\n\"What do I see?\" cried Sir Walter Stewart, filled with horror, and\ngreatly agitated.--\"What! was it murder then?--murder of the most\nhorrible description? Oh, holy Mother of God, can there be such\nvillainy upon earth?\"\n\n\"What shall we do with this wretched carcass?\" demanded one of\nthe people.\n\n\"Oh, most unlucky accident!\" cried Sir Walter, without heeding\nhim.--\"Would that I had but caught him in life! But, alas! strong as\nsuspicion is against him, his secret has died with him! We cannot now\nwrench forth the truth from him either by spring or by screw. He is\ngone to his account, before that Judge, at whose tribunal all secrets\nmust appear. Yet, bear him along with you, and see that you take\nespecial care to preserve those dumb instances of his hellish art,\ntill I may require thee to produce them.\"\n\nSir Walter Stewart now left his people to carry the body at their\nown leisure, and shot away ahead of them, at a pace so furious, as to\ncorrespond with the violence of those various stormy feelings which\nthen agitated him. On reaching Drummin, he hurried directly to his\nlady's chamber, where he found her putting the last finish to her\ntravelling dress.\n\n\"Madam!\" said he to her bower-woman, in a voice which sufficiently\nbetrayed the disturbed state of his mind; \"my lady will dispense with\nthine attendance for a brief space--we would be private.\"\n\n\"What strange conduct is this, Sir Walter?\" demanded the lady after\nher attendant was gone, whilst her voice and manner might have led\nany one to believe, that she too was not altogether well at ease. \"Why\nshouldst thou have thus sent Jane so rudely forth, when she hath yet\nso much to pack and to prepare?\"\n\n\"Because I would fain have some private converse with thee, lady,\" said\nthe Knight solemnly.--\"Dost thou usually send forth thy page Tomkins\non errands of charity so very early as several hours before sunrise?\"\n\n\"No!--No!\" replied the lady in a voice of hesitation. \"Such are not\nindeed,--no, they are not his usual hours to be sent on such errands;\nbut--but--the boy had some distance to go. And then--and--and--and\nthen he hath so much to do ere we depart, that--that--But I wonder\nmuch that he is not returning by this time!\"\n\n\"He is returning now!\" said Sir Walter, looking hard and somewhat\nsternly at her.--\"But canst thou tell me what he did with a tinder-box,\nflint, and steel, and matches, concealed in his bosom?\"\n\n\"Flint--flint--flint and steel saidst thou?\" cried the lady,\nconsiderably agitated. \"How can I say aught about it? Boys are ever\nfull of tricks, and so, I doubt not, is Tomkins. But what hath he\ntold thee himself? Didst thou not question him?\"\n\n\"As yet he hath told us nothing,\" replied the Knight, ambiguously.\n\n\"Then all is yet right!\" cried the lady, from an energetic impulse\nof satisfaction, which she could not control.\n\n\"What is right?\" demanded Sir Walter, sternly.\n\n\"I would say that--that--that if the boy hath confessed no evil, then\n'tis most likely that no evil hath been done.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" replied Sir Walter, gravely, and with deep feeling, \"but the\ndirest evil hath been done--a deed which is hardly to be matched\nin cruelty--the firing of the house, and the burning to death of an\ninnocent lady and her woman!\"\n\n\"An innocent lady!\" exclaimed his wife, again forgetting herself for\na moment. \"But thou canst not suspect this boy of having done so foul\na deed?\"\n\n\"Most strongly do I suspect him,\" replied Sir Walter.\n\n\"Nay, nay, 'tis impossible,\" said the lady. \"What could prompt him\nto so horrible an act?\"\n\n\"What could prompt him!\" exclaimed Sir Walter, \"nothing, methinks, in\nhis own bosom; but canst thou not guess who could have prompted him?\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, how could I guess?\" said the lady, in great trepidation.\n\n\"Lady!\" said Sir Walter, with great solemnity, after having seated\nher in one chair, and drawn one for himself close to her, where he\nsat for some moments looking steadily into her pallid and agitated\ncountenance. \"Lady! are these the charitable errands on which thou\nart wont to send this boy?\"\n\n\"What mean ye, Sir Walter?\" demanded the lady, in a state of trembling\nand alarm which she could not conceal. \"The boy hath not basely\naccused me of aught.\"\n\n\"Sir Walter, your pardon!\" said Jane, the lady's bower woman, bursting\nat that moment most inopportunely into the room, \"Ronald would fain\nknow what you would have done with the corpse of poor Tomkins?\"\n\n\"The corpse of Tomkins!\" cried the lady, starting up, and clapping her\nhands together, in an ecstacy of joy, which she could not hide. \"Then\nthe boy is no longer alive!\"\n\n\"He was found dead, it seems, my lady,\" said the maid, \"and his corpse\nhath this moment been brought in by Ronald and the rest. 'Tis fearsome\nto look upon him. He hath got a deadly contusion and gash on his head.\"\n\n\"Alas, poor boy!\" cried the lady, wiping her dry eyes with her pocket\nhandkerchief, and mustering up all the symptoms of sorrow she could\ncommand. \"Who can have murdered him? I shall never again meet with\nso faithful a page!\"\n\n\"Faithful, indeed, madam,\" said Sir Walter, after showing the maid\nagain out of the room, \"faithful, indeed, readily to execute those\nmost wicked and murderous orders with which thou didst charge him.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, this is too much, Sir Walter,\" replied the lady, now\ngaining full boldness and command of herself, from having been thus\nunexpectedly certified that her page was dead, and that he could now\ntell no tales; \"how canst thou dare to insinuate any thing against me?\"\n\n\"Madam,\" said Sir Walter, in a hollow tone, and with considerable\nagitation of manner, \"would it were so that thou couldst with truth\nspeak thus boldly. But, alas! the words I heard thee utter last night\nto the page--the horrible catastrophe of this morning--the place\nwhere it pleased Providence that he should meet with his accidental\ndeath--the direction in which he was running when he received it,\nand the implements of destruction which were found in his bosom,\ncan leave no rational doubt in my mind as to the person who conceived\nand directed this most cruel tragedy; and though evidence may be yet\nlacking to bring the crime fully home to thee, yet, convinced and\nsatisfied as I am of the justice of this charge against thee, I can\nno longer suffer the head of so foul a murderess to rest upon this\nbosom. I leave thee to the stings of thine own conscience, and to that\nrepentance which they may produce, believing that God, in his own good\ntime, will make the truth appear, so that thou mayst be made to expiate\nthy guilt,\" and so saying, Sir Walter Stewart left the apartment.\n\n\"Leave me to my conscience!\" cried the lady, with a laugh of derision,\nafter the door was closed, \"my conscience will sit easy enough within\nme, I trow, since my good fortune hath thus got me so innocently rid\nof mine instrument, after he had so well worked my will.\"\n\nSir Walter's heart was torn by a thousand afflictions. He felt that he\nwould be better any where else than at Drummin. Having now no reliance\nin the fidelity of his wife, he resolved to leave her behind him,\nand having hastily packed up the important charters of his lands,\nand some other valuables, he added them to his other baggage. The time\nnow left was just sufficient to enable him to obey the King's command,\nto present himself before him on a certain day. His people were all\nwaiting in readiness in the court-yard. Without more thought he flung\nhimself into the saddle, with a bleeding heart. He was distracted by\nhis feelings, but giving the word \"forward!\" he dashed through the\ngateway at a furious pace, and his troop of men-at-arms and attendants\nwent thundering after him.\n\nSir Walter Stewart was received in the kindest manner by both the King\nand Queen. He was earnestly asked, especially by James, why he had\nnot brought his lady with him. As he could not tell the whole truth,\nwithout making a deadly accusation against her, which he had no means\nof proving, he was compelled to say that he had left her somewhat\nindisposed, an answer that produced some good humoured raillery\nfrom James, delivered in his wonted familiar manner, and left him,\nfor the time at least, sufficiently well satisfied.\n\nThe tournament took place in that beautiful tilting-ground, in the\nrocky valley, close under the south-eastern side of the crag upon\nwhich Stirling Castle stands, and which is still pointed out by the\ncitizens of the ancient town, as the place which was so used in those\nold times. Though few or none of the discontented nobles appeared,\nit was yet a very glorious spectacle. The singularity and grandeur of\nSir Walter Stewart's retinue, and their whole appearance, mounted as\nthey were upon the piebald horses, so richly caparisoned, presented\nby far the finest feature of the royal procession, and swallowed up\nevery other theme of conversation. He was now perhaps the only one\nto whom it gave but little pleasure, heavy as his heart then was.\n\n\"We would know from our Queen, who, in her mind, was the prettiest\ngentleman that appeared at the show to-day,\" said the King, after\nall was over, and that he was in private with her.\n\n\"How can your Majesty hesitate one moment in coming to a judgment\nupon so plain and palpable a question?\" demanded the Queen, with great\nanimation. \"The ornament of the procession and pageant was undoubtedly\nSir Walter Stewart. Who was there who came within an hundred degrees of\nhim? The number of his attendants--the beauty of the animals on which\nthey were mounted--creatures that would seem to have been conjured\nforth out of the land of faery itself--creatures that moved as if\nformed out of the rarer elements of nature--and then the splendour\nof their housings--and, above all, the rich and tasteful dress of\nthe handsome and elegant owner of so much bravery, who is so full of\ngrace and skill in the management of his steed, that he bore off the\napplause of all eyes and the love of all hearts! But what moves you,\nmy sovereign Lord? Methinks that something hath displeased you?\"\n\n\"Your praises of Sir Walter Stewart would seem to us to be something\nextravagant,\" said the King, considerably disturbed. \"Was there no one\nelse there who might have demanded a like portion of your approbation?\"\n\n\"If your Majesty would have an honest answer from me, I must reply,--no\none,\" said the Queen. \"Even the gorgeous and glittering retinue\nof Cochran, the budding Earl of Mar, who takes upon him as if your\nMajesty had already dubbed him by that title, was but as gilded clay\ncompared to the well conceived arrangements of the accomplished Sir\nWalter Stewart, who outshone all others.\"\n\n\"All others saidst thou, Margaret? Didst thou not think that we\nourselves were of as fair a presence and appearance as thy minion Sir\nWalter Stewart?\" demanded the King, with a pettish and perturbed air\nand manner.\n\n\"Nay, my liege Lord,\" replied the Queen, very much distressed to\ndiscover that she had thus so innocently offended her husband. \"In\nspeaking thus of Sir Walter Stewart, I never dreamed of bringing\nyour royal person, or your royal retinue, into comparison with those\nof any subject, even with those of Sir Walter Stewart himself,\nwhose individual splendour, was but as a part of that glorious\nmagnificence which was all thine own. Do me not the injustice to\njudge me so harshly, or so hardly. Could you for one moment suppose\nthat I could compare Sir Walter Stewart to thee, my royal liege\nand husband? Believe me, that although Sir Walter Stewart is much\nesteemed by me for his numerous merits, yet he is no minion of mine,\nand it were equally cruel and unjust in any one to call him so.\"\n\n\"'Tis at least well to hear thee say so,\" replied the King, in a sort\nof half satisfied tone,--and then turning coldly away, he left the\napartment, with such an air and manner, that Queen Margaret burst\ninto tears, which it required some thinking and reasoning within\nherself to enable her to dry up.\n\nNow it was that the facile mind of King James, became prepared to\nimbibe all the villainies which the designing Cochran could pour into\nit. Nay, his Majesty became the voluntary and the willing victim of\nthem. He sent for Cochran, made him recapitulate all the particulars\nof the story of the hawk, shot with the birding-piece, together with\nthat expression of Sir Walter's which he had formerly so repudiated,\nbut which he now listened to and received as most true and convincing;\nand the royal ears being thus so unexpectedly open to him, Cochran\nnow scrupled not to tell the King, that, to his certain knowledge,\nSir Walter was faithless to his wife. To this story James listened with\nanxious attention and interest. He remembered the strange combination\nof Venus with the other planets, and he shuddered at the recollection,\nas he put it beside his Queen's declared approbation of Sir Walter\nStewart. His Majesty's manner towards the Knight became again estranged\nand cold, and his treatment of him unkind; and this being quickly\nobserved by those sordid and selfish wretches, who, with the sagacity\nof the sharks that follow a diseased ship, or the rats that leave\none that is no longer sea-worthy, are ever ready to watch and catch\nat such signs of a courtier's decaying influence, a regular bond of\nunion was formed against him by all but Sir William Rogers, who could\nby no means be brought to see that he could benefit his niece by the\nruin of her husband. This plot went on, for some considerable time,\nwithout producing the slightest suspicion on the part of Sir Walter\nStewart, though he could not fail to be sufficiently sensible of the\nKing's alienation from him.\n\nHe was sitting one night alone in his lodgings, when one, in the habit\nof a serving-man, was announced to him, as craving for a private\naudience of him, that he might deliver a particular message to him\nfrom a gentleman of the court. Having ordered him to be admitted, he\nwas surprised to see enter a person who appeared to be a stranger to\nhim, with a light handsome figure, but having a nose of most unnatural\nlength, hugeness, and redness. He examined him narrowly, yet he still\nremained satisfied that he had never seen any such person before;\nbut they were no sooner left alone, than the stranger began to speak,\nand Sir Walter recognised him immediately.\n\n\"Trust me, Stewart, it is not without some personal risk that I have\nthus adventured to hold communication with thee,\" said the stranger.\n\n\"Ramsay!\" exclaimed Sir Walter Stewart, in amazement. \"In such\na disguise as this, I should never have discovered thee, but for\nthy voice.\"\n\n\"Then must I take care to keep that under,\" said Ramsay, in a half\nwhisper. \"But time is precious. Thy life is sought for! To-morrow,\nnay, even an hour hence, all attempt to escape may be unavailing,\nand I, even I, may suffer for this my attempt to save a friend.\"\n\n\"I well know the danger that attends such a duty,\" said Sir Walter,\n\"and I would not for worlds that thou shouldst incur it.\"\n\n\"Aye, there thou hast said it,\" replied Ramsay. \"I know well enough\nwhat thou wouldst hint at,--thy service to Albany! Nay, start not! Thy\nsecret will never be the worse for me. But, nevertheless, that is\none of the suspicions that is harboured against thee.\"\n\n\"Suspicions!\" exclaimed Sir Walter, \"What suspicions?\"\n\n\"In the first place, the King hath taken up a jealousy against thee\nregarding the Queen,\" replied Ramsay. \"Then some strange story hath\nreached his ears from Cochran, who, by the way, hath been this day\ncreated Earl of Mar, regarding some treasonable words thou didst drop\nin his hearing in the shooting of a hawk with a birding-piece. Besides\nthis, Torfefan, the master of fence, hath said, that thou didst\nonce step in to save the Earl of Huntly from his just vengeance,\nfor speaking treasonably of the King and his courtiers; whence it\nis argued, that thou art in secret league with the discontented\nnobles. This is corroborated by that rascal, Hommil, the tailor,\nwho says he was with Torfefan at the time. To this accusation,\ntouching thy consorting with the nobles, Andrew, the Astrologer,\nbears his support, for he says that he one night found thee and the\nEarl in deep conference, alone in the hostel. And, finally, as I have\nalready hinted, thou art, somehow or other, shrewdly suspected of\nhaving aided in, if not contrived the escape of the Duke of Albany\nfrom Edinburgh Castle. But besides all this, Sir William Rogers, who\nhath been long thy friend, hath at last gone over to those who are\nmalecontent with thee, because he hath had letters from his niece,\ncomplaining that she had been disgracefully and cruelly treated by\nthee, and that, too, but a few days before she gave birth to thy son\nand heir; and that, in consequence of this thine evil treatment of her,\nshe hath applied for divorce from thee. But what is all this, and why\nshould I waste time in such a recapitulation of forgeries? Thy life,\nmy dear Stewart, is sought for! Ere to-morrow's dawn thou wilt be a\nprisoner, and how soon afterwards thou mayest be numbered with the\ndead, the fate of the last Mar may teach thee. Fly then, my dear\nfriend, for thy life! I dare not tarry here longer. Get into thy\nsaddle with all manner of haste, and see that thou sparest not thy\nspurs! And so God give thee good speed till we meet in better times.\"\n\nRamsay gave him a warm embrace, and then hurried out of the room and\nthe house. And Sir Walter Stewart, after packing up his writings\nand other valuables, cautiously and quietly summoned his people,\nand, getting into their saddles, they rode slowly out of the gate\nof the town, and across the ancient bridge over the river Forth,\nthe guards readily believing them when they said they were bound on\nthe King's business. But they no sooner found themselves on the wide\nand flat carse-lands to the north of the river Forth, than they made\nthe hoofs of their steeds thunder across them with the rapid sweep\nof a whirlwind. Nor was this more than necessary either, for the\ndistant shouts of people, and the trampling of horses in pursuit,\nwere heard behind them. But the darkness of that night enabled them to\nthrow them off, and, by forced journies, they in a few days reached\nHuntly Castle, where they were joyfully and hospitably received by\nSir Walter's friend the Earl. Although the people who pursued them\nvery soon returned without success, they were enabled to carry back\ncertain information as to Sir Walter Stewart's place of retreat;\nand this was no sooner known, than the newly made Earl of Mar, armed\nwith the Royal authority, dispatched an especial messenger, upon a\nfleet horse, to go directly to Drummin, as the bearer of certain royal\nletters to the Lady of Stradawn, together with a private communication\nfrom himself, which was conceived in these terms:--\n\n\n    \"To the Lady Juliet Manvers, once called the Lady Stradawn, these,\n    with speed.\n\n    \"Most beauteous Lady, and my soul's idol! Thou wilt herewith\n    receive the dispensation of his Holiness Pope Sixtus the Fourth,\n    annulling thy marriage with that traitor, Sir Walter Stewart of\n    Stradawn, so that thou mayest now look forward to be speedily\n    raised to the high title and dignity of Countess of Mar, as\n    well as to those yet more elevated honours, to which the growing\n    edifice of my fortunes may yet uplift thee. But enough of this\n    for the present. All will depend on thine own brave and steady\n    deportment. Thou hast herewith sent thee, moreover, the King's\n    royal letters, strictly enjoining thee to defend the Castle of\n    Drummin against all comers, and to hold it for his sovereign\n    Majesty; and, above all, on no account to admit the traitor, Sir\n    Walter Stewart, within its walls; the which, seeing that I built\n    and repaired them, I full well know, are stout enough to resist\n    any engine which he or others may be able to bring against them,\n    when defended by so bold a heart as thine. To aid thee in this,\n    and to enable thee to control the rebellious vassals of the Strath,\n    a picked body of men are already on their march, and will be with\n    thee in a very few days after these presents come to thy hand. So\n    use thine authority like one who is destined to the great honours\n    that await thee, and thus show thyself worthy of him who is the\n    architect of thy fortunes,--who is thy devoted adorer and slave,\n    the deeply love-stricken\n\n        \"Mar.\"\n\n\nOf all this the gallant Sir Walter knew nothing, save that the\nproclamation of his being declared traitor, and the public annunciation\nof the dissolution of his marriage had been so generally diffused,\nthat they came to him through the thousand mouths of common fame.\n\nIt was this last piece of intelligence, that made him gather up\nhis strength, from that dejection to which he had for sometime been\ndisposed to yield. The very thought that his alliance with this now\ndetested woman, was thus severed and annihilated for ever, gave him\nnew life. But, alas! the recollection that she to whose wrongs, to\nwhose sorrows, and to whose penitence, he would now have wished to\nhave held out the right hand of consolation, was now no longer in life\nto receive it, gave him fresh pangs of grief and despondency. He was\nresolved, however, to proceed to dispossess the murderess from the\nhearth of his fathers, and to take possession of his own fortress,\nin defiance of the King's proclamation, being well aware that the same\nstout hands, and sharp claymores, in Stradawn, which had ever proved\nso faithful to him, would still enable him, if once in possession of\nhis little place of strength, to laugh at all the King's heralds and\nparchments throughout broad Scotland.\n\nIt was after a long and tedious march, that Sir Walter Stewart\nand his followers were seen winding up the valley of the Aven, one\nbeautiful afternoon. The shouts of the thinly scattered population,\nrang through the woods from cottage to cottage, as the news spread\nthat their own knight and chieftain was returning. All turned out,\nand crowded after him, to welcome himself, to talk with their\nfriends in the ranks of his retinue, and to glut their eyes with\nthe splendid pageant presented to them by his gallant array, and his\nrichly caparisoned piebald horses. The castle arose before them upon\nits level and elevated green terrace, and his troop was moving slowly\nforward to ford the river Livat, where it runs in a broad and shallow\nstream, along the base of the promontory on which the fortress stands,\nwhen they, and especially their horses, were suddenly startled by\nthe loud roar of a falconet, fired from the walls, the echo from\nwhich ran thundering along the faces of the neighbouring mountains,\nwhilst the bullet discharged from it whistled over their heads, and\nwent crashing through the boughs of a great tree behind them. A small\nplump of spears appeared immediately afterwards without the walls, and\nranged themselves along the edge of the terrace above. But although\nsomewhat surprised by these warlike and hostile demonstrations,\nSir Walter moved boldly onwards to the river side.\n\n\"Whosoever thou beest, thou hast already had one warning,\" cried a loud\nand hoarse voice from amid the spearmen on the terrace. \"I bid thee\nbeware of a second, till we know something of thee and of thy folk.\"\n\n\"We would hold parley,\" replied the Knight. \"Friends, ye know not\nwhom ye war against. Is Sir Walter Stewart to be held as an enemy\nbefore his own Castle of Drummin?\"\n\n\"We know naught of Sir Walter,\" shouted the other. \"We know not Sir\nWalter Stewart, nay, nor any other Stewart, save our liege lord and\nmaster, James Stewart, the third of that name, King of Scotland,\nin whose name we bid thee be warned and keep off.\"\n\n\"Who is he who so rudely challenges the Castle of Drummin?\" exclaimed\na shrill woman's voice from the walls. \"If any one would have peaceful\nspeech of us, let him advance with a moderate escort till he comes\nwithin earshot.\"\n\n\"By'r Lady, I would have thee beware, Sir Knight,\" said Ronald,\nthe especial esquire of Sir Walter's body. \"If thou art bold enough\nto go nearer, thou mayest come within something more than earshot. I\nwill advance and hold parley with them, and I shall be safe enow too,\nfor they will see that they can make nothing by any deed of traitorie\ndone against such an one as me.\"\n\n\"No, no, Ronald; I will take my chance,\" said Sir Walter in a\nmelancholy tone. \"My life is now but of little value to me. Let you\nand one more go with me, and let the rest stand fast here till we\nreturn to them.\"\n\nSir Walter Stewart and his two attendants now separated from their\nparty--forded the river, and rode their horses up the steep diagonal\npath that led up to the terrace on the promontory, whilst the plump of\nspearmen were called in, and the gates closed. On the outer wall of\nthe barbican stood the lady of Stradawn, with her baby in her arms,\nand surrounded by a group of faces which were altogether strange to\nthe Knight, or those who were with him.\n\n\"How comes it, lady, that I, Sir Walter Stewart, the rightful owner of\nthis castle of Drummin, should be thus delayed in entering within mine\nown walls?\" demanded the Knight. \"Give orders that instant entrance\nmay be yielded to me and mine, that there may be no unseemly warring\nand blood between those who, if no longer one flesh, were at least\nonce so united by the holy church.\"\n\n\"I no longer know Sir Walter Stewart!\" cried the lady, in a lofty and\nimperious tone and manner. \"I had indeed once the misfortune to be\nlinked to him, of which union behold the sad fruits in this wretched\nbabe! But my duty to my Sovereign, as well as my duty to the Earl of\nMar, who is soon to be my husband, requires that I should now know\nhim no longer, save as a traitor to his King, as well as a traitor\nto me--alike disloyal to both. Begone, then! This fortalice is now\nheld by me for James Third, King of Scotland, and entrance herein\nthou shalt never have, whilst I live to bar thee out.\"\n\n\"Lady, thou art bold,\" replied Sir Walter, coolly, \"but remember,\nthat stoutly garrisoned and well provisioned as thou doubtless art,\nwe can soon raise willing hearts and hands enew in Stradawn, to force\nthee to a speedy surrender.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt do so then at the price of the murder of this thy\nchild!\" exclaimed the lady, lifting up the poor little innocent on\nhigh. \"If but a single arrow be discharged against us, the tender flesh\nof this thy babe shall be the clout that shall receive it--and if but\none burning brand be thrown, this shall be the very first food given\nto the conflagration. It is thy child. I hate it as being thine. No\nmother's feelings, therefore, shall hinder me from using its little\nbody as the bulwark of our safety, and as the rampart of our security!\"\n\n\"Fiend that thou art!\" cried Sir Walter. \"Let not harm fall on the\ninnocent babe of thy womb! Give me but my child, and I shall retire\nand leave thee scaithless, and to such peace as thy guilty soul may\ncommand. Oh, harm not the babe, but let me clasp it in these arms!\"\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha! a pretty nurse thou wouldst have me provide for the\nurchin!\" cried the lady, bitterly. \"No, no, its body is our most potent\nshield, I tell thee, and thou shalt never win in here, till thou hast\nopened thy bloody way through the portal of its little heart. Shoot,\nif thou wilt, then, for this shall be thy mark.\"\n\n\"Oh, fiend! Oh, demon, in woman's shape!\" cried Sir Walter, in\nanguish. \"How was I ever inveigled into thy toils! Terribly, indeed,\nam I punished for the sins of my youth! But thou wilt yet meet with\nthy reward! Fiend that thou art, I say thou shalt----\"\n\n\"Nay, then, thou shalt have thy reward, and that straightway!\" cried\nthe lady, interrupting him. \"Shoot, archers! let him have his reward,\npromptly and powerfully delivered from your well-strung bows!--Shoot,\nI say, archers!\"\n\nA flight of arrows instantly came whizzing about them. Several of\nthese rang upon their mail-shirts, others slightly wounded their\nhorses, but one found its way through a faulty link, to the very\nheart of Sir Walter Stewart's second attendant, who fell lifeless\nfrom his horse. Again came the arrows thick upon them, their barbed\npoints prying about them, as it were, like wasps, as if in search\nof any weaker part or interval, through which they might most easily\nand certainly sting them to death. There was no time to be lost. The\nfaithful Ronald seized Sir Walter Stewart's rein, and urging on the\nKnight's horse and his own at full speed, he gallopped straight off\nalong the terrace, and so he succeeded in placing his master entirely\nbeyond all hazard, ere yet the bewilderment of his keen and poignant\nfeelings permitted him very well to know what had befallen him. And\nthen, leading his horse in a slanting direction, down the steep\nand grassy slope, and across the river, they joined their party,\nand drew off under several ineffectual discharges of the ill-served\nand ill-directed falconet.\n\nWith a heart depressed by grief and mortification, Sir Walter Stewart\nhad now nothing left for it, but to return on his way to Huntly\nCastle. As he moved down the valley, the roofless walls of poor\nAlice Asher's cottage arrested his eyes, rising bare and blackened\nfrom among the wood, on the brow of the isolated hill where they\nstood. The whole of the harrowing scene of that murderous burning\nrecurred to his recollection. His soul was filled with affliction,\nand his heart became heavy, and sank within him, from the poignant\nadmonitions of that conscience, which plainly and honestly told him,\nthat if he had sown more honourable and virtuous conduct in his youth,\nhe might now have been reaping pure and unalloyed happiness, instead\nof that misery, which threatened to cling to him, like a poisoned\ngarment, to the end of his days. He felt that he had blighted the\nspring of his own life: that all sunshine had departed from him for\never; and that all now before him was dark and chilling winter. The\nonly hope he could dare to cherish now, was that of obtaining mercy,\nthrough the merits of a blessed Saviour, and a deep and heartfelt\nrepentance. Giving way to the full indulgence of such thoughts as\nthese, his heart began to sicken at the world. In sorrow and in\nsilence he pursued his way towards Huntly Castle; and, long ere he\nhad reached the residence of his friend the Earl, he had taken up\nhis firm and unalterable resolution.\n\nActing upon this, he craved a private interview with the Earl that very\nevening; and, having retired to his apartment with him, he unfolded\nhis mind fully to his friendly ear--gave over to him the charge of\nall his papers and charters, and prepared every thing for executing a\ndeed, by which his Lordship was made sole trustee over his estates,\nfor the behoof of his infant son, with full powers to manage and\ndirect all matters belonging to them, and, at the same time, making\nthe Earl himself heir of all, in the event of the child's death. Some\ndays afterwards, he put the last formal signature and seal to all\nthis,--not without great, but vain expostulation on the part of Lord\nHuntly,--and, having done so, he declared his fixed determination to\ndepart the very next morning for the Continent, where he had resolved\nto bury himself for ever within the cloisters of a monastery.\n\nThat night, previous to Sir Walter Stewart's departure, was a\nmelancholy one for the two friends; and their parting next morning\nwas still more sad.\n\nThe Knight's horses and attendants were already drawn up in the\ncourt-yard, and the Earl's men were thronging around them to bid\nthem farewell, when a horseman rode into it, bearing a woman on a pad\nbehind his saddle. The lady was veiled, and muffled up in a mantle;\nbut, though the form was sufficiently light and delicate, and that\nof the youth also much more compact and athletic than gross or heavy,\nthe good grey steed that bore this double weight, showed unequivocal\nsymptoms of the long, rapid, and distressing journey he had undergone.\n\n\"Ha! we are yet in time?\" cried the young man in a tone of\nenquiry. \"Sir Walter Stewart is still here, is he not?\"\n\n\"He is still here; but he is on the very eve of his departure for\na foreign land,\" replied the esquire, in a grave and pensive tone\nand manner.\n\n\"I would fain speak a few words to him,\" said the youth, lighting down,\nand then lifting the lady from her pillion.\n\n\"I fear that may hardly be,\" said the esquire; \"these last minutes of\nparting converse between Sir Walter Stewart and the Earl of Huntly,\nare, I warrant me, every one of them worth a purse of gold.\"\n\n\"So are they all the more valuable to me for the doing of mine errand,\"\nsaid the youth, with an air of command, which seemed naturally to\nbelong to him. \"Here, take this ring, so please thee. Take it to Sir\nWalter Stewart, and say that its owner bides without, and would fain\nhave a short audience of him ere he goes.\"\n\n\"I will do your bidding, fair sir,\" said the squire, courteously;\n\"though I know not well how mine embassage may be received; for, if\nI mistake not, the Earl and the Knight are shut up alone together in\ndeep and important conference.\"\n\nThe esquire was in the right. The parting moments of these friends were\nprecious, and occupied in most interesting talk. The Earl of Huntly\nhad been using them in pouring out all his eloquence to induce Sir\nWalter Stewart, even yet, at this the eleventh hour, to abandon his\nresolution of going into a monastery, and to prevail on him to remain\nat home, and to resume the rights and the control of his estates. He\nurged it upon him, that he owed it to his country, as well as to his\nown just vengeance against Cochran, and the King's other favourites,\nto join with him and the rest of the nobles in the plots which they\nwere hatching for their destruction.\n\n\"It will be a sweet revenge for thee,\" said the Earl; \"a most sweet\nrevenge, I say, for thee, to have James suing to thee for mercy,\nfor the lives of those very minions who have so conspired together\nfor thy ruin.\"\n\n\"Nay, press me not, dear Huntly,\" replied Sir Walter Stewart;\n\"though the King hath been blind and fickle, yet I cannot forget his\nlong-exerted kindness to me. And as for vengeance, I trust that the\nexercise to which I have subjected my soul for these last few nights,\nhath conjured all such unholy and unchristian passions forth from my\nbosom. But to extinguish in thee all farther vain hope that I may be\nbrought to yield to thy friendly entreaty, I will now tell thee that\nI last night took a solemn vow, on my knees, with mine eyes upon the\nblessed crucifix, and my right hand upon the open Evangile, that I\nwould henceforth flee from the world, and dedicate myself to God.\"\n\n\"With such a vow upon thee,\" replied Huntly--\"With a vow so solemnly\ntaken, I can urge thee no more.\"\n\n\"Then let my parting words entreat thee not to harm the King,\" said\nSir Walter Stewart. \"Harm not the King, and hurt not one hair of the\nhead of Ramsay of Balmain, for he is a gentleman, and my very dear\nfriend, and one indeed to whose friendly warning I have owed my life!\"\n\n\"There is no intention of hurting James,\" said Huntly, coldly;\n\"and as for Ramsay, thou hast said enough, in these last few words\nof thine, to make me sacrifice my life to save him, if he should be\nbrought into peril.\"\n\n\"Thanks, thanks, my noble friend,\" said Sir Walter, \"this promise of\nthine gives me comfort in the certainty of Ramsay's safety.\"\n\n\"Who knocks there?\" cried Lord Huntly. \"Did I not say that we must\nbe private?\"\n\n\"A messenger with some errand of moment for Sir Walter Stewart,\"\nreplied the Squire.\n\n\"Come in, and tell us who and what he may be,\" replied Lord Huntly.\n\n\"He desired me to deliver this ring into Sir Walter's own hand,\"\nsaid the Squire, entering and presenting it to the Knight.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried the Knight, the moment he threw his eyes on it, \"give him\nentrance without a moment's delay. My Lord, this is my boy Charley\nStewart, who went abroad in the service of the royal Duke of Albany. I\nthank the saints that he is alive! I rejoice that I shall once more\nbehold him, for I feared that something fatal had befallen him. It is\nwell that he hath thus come, so opportunely, else, in my bewilderment,\nhe might have lost his share of that which he hath so well deserved\nat my hands.\"\n\n\"It is well, indeed, that he hath come, then,\" replied the Earl, \"for,\nif I mistake not, he is a young man worthy of the stock he hath sprung\nfrom. The Duke of Albany, I remember, spoke well of him from France,\nsome little time after his arrival there.\"\n\n\"His Highness vouchsafed to do so,\" replied Sir Walter. \"But it is so\nlong since, that now I burn to behold the boy once more, and to see,\nwith mine own eyes, what improvement foreign nurture hath done on him.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said the Earl, \"am especially curious to hear how his royal\nmaster the Duke hath sped, and whether he may yet talk of returning\nto his country, and trusting his person to the protection of the\nScottish nobles. But here comes the youth.\"\n\n\"Charley, my boy!--my son! thank God that thou art alive! I rejoice\nto behold thee again once more!\" cried Sir Walter, hurrying forward to\nembrace him, with deep emotion. \"I am glad, most glad, thou art come!\"\n\n\"Your blessing, father!\" cried Charley, who having entered the room\nwith the veiled lady on his arm, quitted her at the door, and rushed\nforward to meet and to throw himself on his knees before Sir Walter.\n\n\"Thou hast it, boy!\" replied the Knight, raising him up, and clasping\nhim tenderly to his breast. \"Thou hast it most sincerely. Recent\nmelancholy events have now made thee doubly dear to me. But say,\nwhy is it that I have heard nought of thee for so long a time? Why\nis it that thou wert as silent in thy communication as if thou hadst\nbeen dead? Often did I of late seek tidings of thee of De Tremouille,\nbut so much in vain did I seek them, that I more than half believed\nthat some fatal calamity had befallen thee. Come, say how hath it\nfared with thee and thy royal master, and where, and wherefore,\nhast thou left him?\"\n\n\"With your leave, dear father, and that of this noble Earl,\" replied\nCharley, \"I shall hastily run over the outline of our history.--A\nfair wind bore us to France, where we were soon transported to\nParis. There we were well received, and well lodged, at the sign of\nthe Cock, in the street of St. Martin, and all manner of expenses were\ndefrayed from the French treasury, for the Duke and his attendants,\nto the number of twelve persons. We lived a merry life, mingling\nin all the shows and pageants of the French court, and proving our\nhorsemanship with the French cavaliers, with no manner of disgrace\non my humble part, and with great honour on the part of my royal\nmaster. But soon after this, some paltry jealousies and suspicions\nbroke out against us, fostered, no doubt, by certain Scots, who\nhad the secret ear of the King of France, and the secret authority\nof James of Scotland. Prudence led the royal Duke to travel in the\nprovinces for a time, and under the disguise of an errant knight,\nhe wandered about, with me as his esquire, doing feats of arms every\nwhere. Then it was that De Tremouille could report nothing of me,\nfor I was altogether in disguise, doing the most agreeable service\nto my high and most kind master.\"\n\n\"How camest thou to leave so good and honourable a service\nthen?\" demanded the Knight.\n\n\"Simply on this ground,\" replied Charley. \"A certain correspondence\nbegan to arise between my royal master and Edward of England. Whilst\nthis was going on, the Duke, who always showed most kindly towards me,\ntook me one day into his private apartment, and told me in confidential\nsecrecy, that a certain treaty was on foot between him and the English\nking, with the intent of their uniting to make war upon Scotland. I\nwas largely promised wealth and honours if I would follow his Highness\nto England. But, albeit that I should have been fain to have followed\nhim all over the world, I could in nowise bring myself to fight against\nthe country of my birth, or against that country which held my father,\nand whose king I held to be my father's friend--that country which\nheld her--a--a--that country, I mean, which was a--dear to me from\nmany a tender recollection--and that country, above all, which held\nmy much loved and most affectionate and most revered mother.\"\n\n\"Poor, kind, and amiable boy!\" murmured Sir Walter Stewart, groaning\ndeeply, \"little knowest thou what a shock thou hast yet to receive!\"\n\n\"I could not fight against such a land,\" continued Charley, without\nobserving this scarcely audible interruption. \"And on my so declaring\nthis, and setting forth my reasons before my royal master, he kindly,\nand, as he was pleased to say, with regret, gave me his princely\nlicence to depart; and as he had little to bestow, he honoured me by\nputting this massive gold chain around my neck, and I parted from him,\nafter receiving his gracious thanks for the fidelity of my services,\nand with many friendly commendations on the Duke's part to you. I left\nhim in the more honourable, yet not more faithful, hands, of Monipeny\nand Concressault, who are now with him. Having taken ship and reached\nthe shores of Scotland, I made the best of my way to my native Strath,\nand there, learning that thou hadst but recently left it, I hasted,\nwith all speed, to follow thee hither.\"\n\n\"Thou hast well judged, and well acted, my dear boy!\" said the Knight,\nembracing him. \"By mine honour, but thou dost prove, by thy words,\nthat thy head hath gained as much in solid sense as thy person and\nmanners have gathered in strength and grace. My Lord of Huntly,\nsince Charley hath thus, by God's mercy, turned up alive, thou must\nnow see done for him, that which I, in such a case provided, as I\nalready told thee. To thee then I leave it to see him duly enfeoffed\nin the place and lands of Kilmaichly, on a part of which he was born,\nand this I have bestowed upon him and his heirs in property for ever.\"\n\n\"Be assured I shall see this desire of thine most strictly executed,\"\nsaid Lord Huntly.\n\n\"Thanks, thanks, most gracious father!\" cried Charles Stewart, throwing\nhimself again upon Sir Walter's neck. \"Yet would I consider it a far\ngreater boon, to be allowed to follow thee in whatever emprise thou\nmayst now be bound to.\"\n\n\"That which I am boune after, boy, is too solemn for thy years,\"\nreplied Sir Walter Stewart, gravely. \"Thou art as yet too young to\nquit the haunts of men, and sins hast thou but few to drive thee\nthence, unless mine be visited upon thee. But, hold! thou wouldst\nseem to have a fair companion there. Tell me, I pray thee, hast thou\nbrought a French wife with thee? Alas, rash youth, thou knowest not\nwhat perils are to be found within the silken meshes of the toils of\nmatrimony! Hath not thine own past experience of the fickle nature\nof woman cured thee of love?\"\n\n\"Nay, nay, my good and honoured father,\" replied Charley, \"so far\nas I am concerned, I have learned, to my great joy, though to my sad\nremorse and contrition, that woman's love, when pure and virtuous, is\ninextinguishable by all the storms and tides of adverse fate. My Rosa\nwas true, and she yet lives for me and me alone, and I was the rash\ninsane tool of one who was more an evil spirit than a woman. Thanks\nbe to God, too, that I have not the crime of murder on my conscience,\nfor I have learned that my benefactor, Sir Piers Gordon, yet lives.\"\n\n\"Sir Piers Gordon!\" exclaimed Huntly, in surprise, \"Art thou then\nthe youth who had so nearly deprived me of so valuable a kinsman and\ndependant? Trust me, young man, had the blow been fatal, I could not\neasily have forgiven thee.\"\n\n\"My Lord, I could never have forgiven myself,\" said Charley. \"But now\nI hope to prove to Sir Piers my gratitude, as well as my penitence,\nif he will vouchsafe to pardon me, and to receive me again into\nhis friendship.\"\n\n\"I think thou mayest safely reckon upon him,\" said Huntly, \"especially\nwith my intercession for thee.\"\n\n\"Is this thy Rosa, then, boy?\" demanded Sir Walter Stewart, pointing\nto the veiled lady. \"And is she already thy wedded wife? Why all\nthis mystery? Lead her hither, that we may see and become acquainted\nwith her.\"\n\n\"It is not Rosa,\" replied Charley, solemnly, as he retired to the\nfarther part of the room, and led forward the lady trembling beneath\nher veil. \"It is not Rosa, nor is Rosa as yet my wife. She whom I\nwould now introduce to you is no wife, nor hath she ever been bound\nby any such holy ties--yet would she crave thy blessing, and one kind\nword of comfort from thee,\" and with this he gently removed the veil\nfrom her head.\n\n\"Holy Virgin, and sacred ministers of Almighty Providence, what\ndo I behold!\" exclaimed Sir Walter Stewart, in amazement, \"Alice\nAsher!--and in life! My beloved Alice, can it indeed be thee?\" and\nthen rushing forward to embrace her, he cried--\"It is, it is my Alice!\"\n\n\"Oh! this more than repays me for a life of wretchedness,\" said Alice,\nweeping, and warmly responding to his emotions. \"A mother's pride,\nwhich I have in my boy, would not let me remain behind him; and\nthe priest gave me licence. I wished to behold him in his father's\narms, and my fond and foolish heart hath been gratified beyond its\ndeserts. May blessings be showered down upon thee for what thou hast\ndone!\" continued she, sinking on her knees before him, \"May blessings\nhere, and eternal happiness hereafter, be thy portion!\"\n\n\"Rise, my fair, my beloved, my much injured Alice!\" cried the Knight,\nraising her gently up, and again tenderly embracing her. \"This is\nindeed a day of joy! But tell me how it is that mine eyes thus gladly\nbehold thee, when they have now so long wept for thy supposed death\nby that murderous and traitorous fire?\"\n\n\"Providence interfered to save my worthless life,\" replied Alice. \"It\nso happened, that, on the very evening before the burning, I chanced\nto go up into Glen-Livat to visit the good widow MacDermot and her\ndaughter Rosa, whose society was always balm to me, and especially\nso because their favourite talk was ever of mine absent Charley. As\nI was thus going away from home, my serving-maiden took in a girl,\na friend of hers, to be company for her loneliness, and thus, both\nthese innocent creatures perished, whilst I escaped. But the ways of\nHeaven are inscrutable. Thus it was that two half-consumed corpses\nwere discovered, which led to the belief of my death; and then it\nwas that terror for the Lady of Drummin made me dread to contradict\nthe rumour, and compelled me to live in concealment.\"\n\n\"Enough it is that thou art yet alive, my beloved Alice!\" cried Sir\nWalter Stewart, carried altogether away by the wildest feelings of\njoy. \"Dearest, we shall yet be happy!--Thou shalt yet be----\"\n\n\"Oh, say!--speak!\" said Alice, greatly agitated. \"What--what wouldst\nthou say?\"\n\n\"What--what have I said?\" continued Sir Walter, sinking in tone and\nmanner into those of deep despondency. \"What!--said I that we should\nyet be happy?--that thou shouldst yet be my wife. Alas!--no, no,\nno--I forgot. It cannot be. My vow--my vow--my solemn vow, already\nregistered in Heaven! Would that I had known all this ere I had made\nit! Would that I had but known that thou wer't still alive! But now,\neven these regrets and repinings become sinful. The hand of Providence\nis in it, and God's holy will be done. The vow--the solemn vow which I\nrecorded in Heaven must be fulfilled. Alice, dearest of human beings,\nI cannot now be thine! I have henceforth dedicated myself to the\nservice of the Most High. I depart this very day to make good my vow,\nby throwing myself into a foreign monastery.\"\n\n\"The will of the Lord be done!\" said Alice Asher, in a hollow voice\nof intense suffering, whilst, pale and trembling, she bowed her\nhead and sank into a chair, where a deluge of tears gave vent to\nher emotions. \"The will of the Lord be done! And why should it be\notherwise? I have more than deserved all those sufferings and trials,\nwhich God, in his justice and wisdom, hath been pleased to bring upon\nme, and why should I wickedly murmur? As thou sayest, the finger of\nGod is in it. May he sanctify his chastisement for our salvation,\nand so let me cheerfully kiss the rod of his fatherly correction.\"\n\n\"Angel that thou art!\" cried Sir Walter, greatly moved. \"Oh, what\nwouldst thou not have been, but for me, villain that I was! Thy sin\nwas mine. On my head must fall the whole of thy guilt. Thou wert young\nand pure, as a creature of heaven. On my head must fall all the wrath\nof an offended God; and mine, therefore, must be the penance. Return\nthen to resume thine innocent and peaceful life. Thou hast a firm and\nable protector in thy son, whose strong arm, and upright heart, shall\nshield thee from all harm. In due time, he must marry Rosa MacDermot,\nand thou mayst yet live happily to see thy grandchildren growing up,\nlike goodly plants, around thee. Pray for me in thy private hours of\nconverse with the Almighty, that he may yet extend his mercy to me,\na repentant sinner. My orisons shall never cease to rise for thee. And\nnow, this last holy kiss, may, without guilt, be permitted to us. May\nGod for ever bless and preserve thee! And--now--now--farewell for\never!\"\n\nAlice flew into his arms with a frantic hysterical laugh; and after\na long, a silent, and a last embrace, Sir Walter Stewart, gently\nunfolding himself from her, rushed with a broken heart from the\napartment, followed by his son and Lord Huntly, leaving Alice Asher,\nwho sank helpless into a chair, pale, motionless, and silent, as if\ndeath had suddenly fallen upon her. The Knight sprang into his saddle;\nHuntly silently but warmly squeezed his hand; Charley Stewart embraced\nhis manly limb, as he put his foot into the stirrup--and his father\nstooped from his seat, and tenderly kissed his brow, and blessed him,\nere he dashed his spur-rowels into the sides of his steed, and galloped\nout of the court-yard, with his followers behind him.\n\nLet us now return to the Castle of Drummin.--On that very night in\nwhich the depressed and repentant Sir Walter was solemnly dedicating\nhimself, at Huntly Castle, to the service of God, she who had been his\nlady retired to rest in her chamber, with her infant child placed in\na cradle beside her couch. A lamp, which burned on a table near her,\nenabled her to read over again the letter which she had received\nfrom Cochran, the new Earl of Mar; and, after she had done so, she\nlaid her head back upon the pillow to ruminate upon its contents,\nand to resign herself to the enjoyment of those visions of ambition\nto which it had given birth. By degrees, sleep overpowered her, and\nher waking thoughts began gradually to resolve themselves into wild,\nfloating, and ill-connected dreams. After many strange and abrupt\nchanges, she imagined that she was led to the altar by the Earl of\nMar. Both were dressed in all the pomp that befitted the rank of\nsuch a bridegroom and bride. The King and Queen were present; and all\nthings were prepared for the nuptial ceremony. But, when the marriage\nservice proceeded, both the Earl and Lady made vain and ineffectual\nefforts to join hands. As she struggled to accomplish this, she\nsuddenly perceived, that the gorgeous golden collar which surrounded\nthe Earl's neck, was changed into a halter of horse hair. She stared\nwith wonder upon him; and, as she did so, his coarse, ruddy features\nbecame pale, and fixed, and corpse-like, and he was lifted slowly\nfrom before her, as if some powerful and unseen hand had raised him\nfrom the ground by the halter, until he disappeared altogether from\nher sight. She struggled fearfully. The priests, the King, and the\nQueen, and the other personages who were present at the bridal, faded\naway before her. Her heart grew cold within her from fear and very\nloneliness. Suddenly the candles on the altar, and the other lights\nin the church, blazed up miraculously, till their pointed flames\nwere blunted and flattened on the vaulted roof. She endeavoured to\nshriek aloud, but no utterance could she give to her voice, whilst\nhorrid laughter echoed through the surrounding aisles, and demoniac\nfaces mocked and gibbered at her from behind the massive pillars. A\ncomplete and most unaccountable change immediately took place; and she\nbeheld a burning cottage before her. Screams were heard from within\nthe walls, and she would have fain shut her eyes from the sight,\nand stopped her ears from the sound; but she could do neither. She\nwas in an agony which no human tongue can describe. At length, the\nfigure of a woman, of angelic beauty and expression of countenance,\nand ethereal airiness of form, shot upwards, as if borne to heaven\nby the rising column of fire. The screams continued from within the\nburning walls. They pierced her ears horribly, and the flames darted\naround her on all sides, scorching her face and hands, and setting\nfire to her garments; and still all her efforts were vain to move\nherself from the spot, so as to withdraw from their influence. Half\nsuffocated, she struggled and toiled to escape from them; and being\nat last awakened by her efforts, she was, for one moment, conscious\nthat she was in the midst of a real conflagration. In that one moment\nwas concentrated the whole remorse of her wicked life--and it was\nterrible! She heard the cries of her perishing babe; and being herself\nso choked as to be unable for exertion, she speedily became an easy\nand helpless prey to the devouring element. The drapery of her bed,\nwhich she had put aside in order to read the letter, had fallen back\ninto its place; and having thus caught fire from the lamp, the flames\nhad thence communicated to the cradle and to the bed; and by the time\nthe alarm of the conflagration had been given throughout the Castle,\nand traced to its source, the lady and her innocent babe, and every\nthing within the apartment, had been consumed to ashes.\n\nAfter such an occurrence as this, it may easily be conceived that\nthe gates of Drummin were thrown open to the Earl of Huntly, the\nmoment he appeared with a strong force before it. He staid but a few\ndays there, to arrange such business as his new possessions demanded\nof him. The most prominent and important part of this was, to see\nCharles Stewart regularly infeoffed in his property of Kilmaichly,\nafter which he bestowed knighthood upon him; and having accomplished\nall this, the Earl hastened southwards, to lend his powerful aid in\nperfecting those plots which were then ripening among the discontented\nnobles, and which terminated with the summary execution of Cochran,\nand the other minions of King James the Third, over the Bridge of\nLauder. That the life or person of Ramsay were preserved untouched,\nmay have been in a great measure owing to the last parting injunctions\nof his friend Sir Walter Stewart.\n\nThe new Knight of Kilmaichly quickly proceeded to build himself a\nsuitable dwelling, and that was no sooner in a habitable state, than he\nbrought that courtship, which he began with Rosa MacDermot, before she\nwas carried off from the harvest-rig by the eagle, to a proper period,\nby a mutual submission of the parties to that holy yoke, which was\nimposed upon them by the priest, who then lived at Dounan. The poor old\nHowlet's prophecy was thus verified, by Rosa MacDermot thus becoming\na landed lady, and marrying a man with a knight's spurs at his heels,\nand this, too, precisely according to the happy interpretation which\nthe Lady Kilmaichly had herself put upon it. Among the few people who\nwere bidden to the marriage, and certainly one who was by no means the\nleast happy or jovial among the company, was the good old knight Sir\nPiers Gordon. Nor was his niece, the Lady Marcella, absent, though,\nstrange to say, she was very much metamorphosed from what she once\nwas. Some time after those events, which caused the flight of Charley\nStewart to Edinburgh, and which deprived her of all farther hope of\nhim, she was one day riding with her uncle's retainers, when they\nfell in accidentally with a party of Catteranes. She charged them\nboldly at the head of her people, and, in the midst of the mell\u00e9e,\nshe had one eye scooped out by the point of a lance, and half of her\nnose, and a considerable portion of one cheek, carried off by the\nslash of a claymore, and, had it not been for the intrepidity of an\nhonest, stalwart, broad-shouldered, and wide-chested man-at-arms,\nwho came to her rescue, beat off the enemy single-handed, and then\ncarried her off in his brawny arms, it is probable that she might have\ndied gloriously upon the battlefield. Recovering from her wounds,\nthe bravery of this hero touched her heart; and, notwithstanding\nthe loss of so many of her charms, the bold yeoman, declaring that\nthere was quite enough left of her to make a very fine woman still,\nand being altogether undeterred by her Amazonian temper, he had no\nscruple in buckling with the heiress of Sir Piers Gordon. Although a\ngood-natured fellow, he was by no means a man to be bullied. A very\ngreat reformation was therefore speedily worked upon her disposition;\nand by the time she appeared as a guest at the marriage of Sir Charles\nStewart of Kilmaichly, she exhibited the countenance of a gorgon,\nwith a temper and spirit subdued and gentle as those of a lamb.\n\nI have little to add now, gentlemen, to this true history, except to\nrecount to you a very curious occurrence, that took place soon after\nSir Charles Stewart and his lady were married, and comfortably settled\nat Kilmaichly, and which threatened to interrupt the peacefulness of\ntheir lives for a time. A dispute arose between Sir Charles's people\nand those of the Laird of Ballindalloch, about the march between\nthe farm of Ballanluig, belonging to Kilmaichly, and Craigroy,\nwhich was the property of his powerful neighbour. The House of\nBallindalloch being likely to prove too strong for him, in a matter\nwhich he foresaw must probably be determined by the arm of force,\nthe prudent Sir Charles took the precaution to send a messenger into\nAthol, to his father's relative, the Laird of Fincastle, craving\nhis aid. To his no small comfort, his petition was readily granted,\nand Fincastle sent him sixty well-armed men, and a capital piper,\nto stir up their souls to battle. Sir Charles being now in every\nrespect a match for his opponent, turned out bravely to make good\nhis plea, whilst Ballindalloch came with an equal force to dispute\nthe point. Each of the two parties reached its respective ground at\nnight, with the intent of joining battle by the earliest dawn. That\nof Sir Charles Stewart took up its position in and about a kiln,\nwhilst Ballindalloch's little army was similarly posted at or near\na house at no great distance. Both sides were breathing horrid war,\nand anticipating dreadful slaughter, when daylight should enable them\nto see each other, for the night was dark as pitch. Some time before\ndaybreak, the lightning flashed, and a fearful peal of thunder crashed\nsuddenly over their heads, so that every man present was stricken with\nawe. A water-spout then broke upon the hills, and came down upon them\nso tremendously, as to produce a roaring noise, as if a sea had been\ndescending upon them. Both sides were appalled, and sinking in terror\nupon their knees, they remained in that position until the morning\ndawned. By that time the sky had cleared, and the sun rose smiling,\nand then it was, that they beheld by his light, that a large and\nfrightful ravine had been cut out between them, by the water-spout,\nwhere nothing of the sort had existed before. Both parties felt that\nProvidence had interfered to settle their dispute, and to save the\neffusion of human blood. Accordingly the two leaders at once agreed,\nthat the ravine thus strangely and miraculously opened, by the sudden\ndescent of this transient torrent, from the hills, should be the march\nbetween their properties in all time coming; and thus, they who came\nto the ground as deadly foes, separated as sworn brethren and allies.\n\nThus it seemed, that Heaven itself had ruled, that peace should be\nsecured to those who so well merited it, and who so well knew how\nto enjoy it; and the felicity of Sir Charles Stewart and his lady\nwas complete. Years rolled on, and still the sunshine of their\ncountenances, aye, and the sunshine of the faces of their merry\nchildren, would often conjure up an angelic smile of gratitude,\nupon the pale and pensive features of Alice Asher. Nor were the\ngrateful feelings of this highly favoured family expended in barren\nexpressions, for all around them were loud in praise of their\nhospitality, benevolence, and charity.\n\nIn the course of some generations Kilmaichly fell to an heiress,\nand the Laird of Ballindalloch having married her, she carried the\nestate into that family where it now remains.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AUTHOR FLOORED.\n\n\nIt is not very easy to tell how we all bestowed ourselves after\nSerjeant Archy Stewart's story of T\u00e0illear-Crubach, but it was no\nsooner brought to a close, than each of us proceeded to exert his\nown ingenuity, in making up a bed for himself. Some things there were\nindeed resembling beds in an upper room, but those who occupied them\nwere perhaps not much more fortunate than those who chose a dry, and\ntolerably even corner of the floor, and there disposed of themselves,\nrolled up in their plaids. My own experience tells me, that sweeter,\nsounder, or more refreshing repose is nowhere to be enjoyed, than on\nsuch a bed as this, especially after fatigue; and the great proof of\nits excellence, upon the present occasion, was, that five minutes did\nnot elapse, ere we had all succeeded in our courtship of that sleep\nwhich our day's walk, and the lateness of the hour, had conspired\nto make it no very difficult matter for us to woo. Next morning, the\nroaring of the Aven, now turbid and discoloured, and flowing wide over\nthe haughs, the rain still drizzling on, and the wet air and gloomy\nsky, and the plashy footing on the meadow where Clifford ventured out\nto experiment and explore, whilst we stood clustered within the door,\nwith our heads out, to mark his proceedings, very speedily made us\ndraw them back again, with a determined resolution to see a fairer\npromise of weather, before we should venture to thrust them forth to\ntempt our fate in travel.\n\nClifford (mincing his steps on tiptoe through a flock of ducklings\nrejoicing clamorously in the wet.)--Fine weather for you young\ngentlemen, indeed! Well, if the day will neither fish nor walk, we\nmay be thankful that we are well provisioned with food both for the\nbody and the mind.\n\nDominie.--That is a great consolation indeed, Mr. Clifford, and leaves\nus little to be pitied.\n\nClifford.--Come, then, let us have breakfast; and, after that, let\nus resume our sitting of last night, and, since we cannot budge out,\nlet us spend the day rationally, with legends and cigars, at Inchrory.\n\nAuthor.--Pray, Mr. Serjeant, what is supposed to be the origin of\nthe name of Inchrory?\n\nSergeant.--Why, sir, the place was so called from a certain Rory\nMackenzie of Turfearabrad, or Fairburn, as it is called in modern\nlanguage, who, about the sixteen hundred or so, was wont to drive\ngreat herds of cattle from his place in Ross-shire to the south\ncountry markets, by this way up Glen-Aven. His story is a sad one.\n\nGrant.--Pray let us have it, Archy.\n\nSerjeant.--With your leave, sir, I'll rather tell it to you on our\nway up the glen, when we come near to the place where the cruel deed\nwas done. You will be the better able to understand some of its most\nimportant circumstances.\n\nAuthor.--You are right, Serjeant.\n\nClifford (taking out his tablets.)--Well, Mr. Serjeant, I'll book\nyou for it, at all events.--Rory Mackenzie of Turfearabrad.\n\nSerjeant.--I'll not forget it, sir. But, in the meanwhile, gentlemen,\nI may tell you, that as this Rory Mackenzie used to bring his beasts\nup this glen, which, as I formerly mentioned, was so full of woods at\nthat time as to make an open patch of pasture a thing of great value,\nhe was so tempted by the fineness and richness of the grass on the\nmeadow that lies hereabouts, all produced, as you will naturally see,\nfrom the marly matter brought down upon it by the streams from the\nhill, that he used to make a regular practice of lodging himself and\nhis animals here for some days, in order to rest and refresh them for\ntheir journey; and so, at last, the place got its name from him. But\nthere was no house here in his day.\n\nDominie.--We have vurra great reason to be thankful, Serjeant, that\nwe have so good a house over our heads now, then.\n\nClifford.--House! why in such weather, a house like this in the\nwilderness is as good as a palace in a city. Soldier though I be,\nI by no means envy Rory, the laird of Turfearabrad, his sylvan\nbivouacks. What think you, Mr. Serjeant?\n\nSerjeant.--Troth, sir, I can lie out when I am obliged to do it. But\nI am grown old enough now to think, that, in an ill day, the nearer to\nthe fire-side the better, and still better is it in an ill night. What\nsay you to that, Mr. Macpherson?\n\nDominie.--If my last night's scramble hither, and the deep mud of that\nfilthy peat pot into which I fell, has not convinced me of that truth,\nSerjeant, I must be a stubborn bubo indeed.\n\nClifford.--Truth is generally found at the bottom of a well, but\nto find it, as you seem to have done, at the bottom of a peat pot,\nis a new discovery, Mr. Macpherson.\n\nClifford (after all are done with breakfast.)--Come, then, gentlemen,\nshall we adjourn to the fire, and commence our sitting?\n\nGrant.--Allons!\n\nAuthor.--Now, my good woman, take away these things, and make the\nroom a little tidy, and then bring us plenty of peats.\n\nClifford.--Aye, that will do.\n\nGrant.--Who is to be story-teller?\n\nClifford.--Mr. Macpherson is the man. Now then, Mr. Macpherson,\nyour Serjeant John Smith is the first for duty. He may mount guard\nas speedily as you please.\n\nDominie.--He shall obey the captain's orders without a moment's delay.\n\n\n\n                         END OF VOLUME SECOND.","title":"Legendary Tales of the Highlands (Volume 2 of 3): A sequel to Highland Rambles","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":53978}