CHAPTER IV.
TWO LOVES FOR ONE HEART.
Oriana sighed as if her heart were breaking, and said to herself,
dear friend, in a woful hour the boon was granted.
AMADIS OF GAUL.
Notwithstanding the graces of her person and richness of her attire, there were many bright and beautiful beings present who attracted more attention than the timid and retiring Lilian Napier; but in her whole air and manner it is not easy to imagine a girl more exquisitely lady-like. Her long eyelashes were drooped upon her soft and changing cheek, veiling her soft glances, and imparting to her eyes an expression of timidity and modesty, which lent additional charms to the fine features of her adorable little face. The ball delighted, the music exhilarated her; and she soon raised her head, like a flower when the dew is past. Her blue eyes were full of animation; her cheek was flushed; the most enchanting grace was in all her motions. She was glorious; and Walter felt that he adored her.
Her friend, gay Annie, outshone her in showy and dazzling beauty; but to those who knew and loved the winning manner of Lilian, and beheld how her cheek mantled with the emotions of her heart, while her eyes beamed with the purest good-nature and vivacity, she was indeed one without a peer (as the King said of her mailed ancestor), and one fair star that charms us thus, is worth a thousand of those brighter planets that shine alike on all.
But nothing could be more brilliant than the loveliness of Annie. Tall, full, and graceful, in all the bloom of twenty, and radiant with health, white satin, and diamonds, she excited the admiration of her companions, while little Lilian touched their hearts. There were many fair girls present, who, like mistress Laurie, had in their manners a considerable dash of Parisian coquetry, which is always excessively attractive to beaux, though a timid and retiring girl, like Lilian, is sure, in the end, to prove the most loveable and devoted.
At that time, the tone of society in Edinburgh was very different from what it had been during the rampant reign of Presbyterianism, and equally so from that which characterized it twenty years afterwards, when the gloom, depression, and humiliation of the country, and the empty desolation of the capital "communicated to the manners and fashions of society a stiff reserve, precise moral carriage, and a species of decorum amounting to moroseness." At the period of our narrative, it was very different. The recent residence of foreign ambassadors and influence of a court, the existence of a parliament—(for centralization, that grand curse of Scotland, was then unknown)—the long intercourse with France, in the armies of which all younger sons and cavaliers of good family took a turn of service, had communicated a lightness to the manners of the aristocracy, very different indeed from the "moroseness" which succeeded the Revolution, and still more so that great national paralysis, the Union, which was so long a source of regret to our grandfathers.
Walter longed to change the commonplace tenor of the conversation, mentioned in the last chapter, and endeavoured gradually to broach the sentiments that lay nearest his heart; but he either wanted tact, or the figures of the dance put him out, or a crowded room was not quite the place for it. The young lady too was somewhat reserved; she remembered the affair of the glove, and thought it quite necessary to be so.
"So you will not go with me to-morrow to see this old witch burned?" said he.
Lilian shuddered.
"Ah, how could you think of it?"
"Lady Mary of Charteris is going—all the Earl of Dumfries' windows are occupied, but I think I could procure you a seat somewhere, overlooking the Castle-hill."
"I would not go for the wealth of the Indies. Oh, is it not said that she confessed some horrible things?"
"As you would have done, fair Lilian, if questioned in the same manner."
"And what did she reveal?"
"That she was kissed and christened anew by the devil, whom she met at the Gallowlee one mirk midnight, when he imprinted his mark between her shoulders; and though the minister of St. Giles and my Lord Mersington ran a long needle thrice through the infernal signet, she neither winced nor betrayed the least uneasiness."
"Betouch us too! The wicked woman deserves to die—but her death—how horrible! And she really sold her soul? Oh, what appearance had the devil—and what said he?"
"If all be true that appears in the Mercurius Caledonius, which I saw to-day in Blair's Coffee-house, Satan is a very well-bred and gentlemanlike man," replied Walter, laughing. "He wore a lowland bonnet, and had his nether foot in a buff boot to conceal its deformity. He was somewhat rough, and had a beard of iron wire. He kissed the witch whose spells had conjured him up, and said in husky French, 'Permittez moi, Madame,' adding thereafter in our kindly Scottish, 'What's your will, cummer?'
"And so Monsieur Le Diable kissed her? He has long been proverbial for very bad taste. His witches are always so old, so ugly, so hideous!"
"After giving her all the power she required, Master Mahoud vanished in a whirlwind."
With all the credulity incident to the time, and though deeply imbued with a sense of the ridiculous, Lilian shuddered; but be it remembered, that the grave and learned senators of the College of Justice had that very morning trembled at the same appalling recital.
"And the power," she faltered.
"Ample it was indeed. She could brew hell-kail, and wherever it was sprinkled the soil was scorched, the herbs were blasted, and whoever trod thereon died. Water would not drown, nor hemp hang her. She could bewitch cattle that were without St. Mungo's knot on their tail."
"Mungo—poh! he was a papist."
"And blight children, and bring sickness on her enemies by roasting waxen images, and in short do more mischief than was contained in wise King James's Dæmonology, or the box of Pandora."
"Pandora—was she a papist too?—Away with this witch! she must indeed be an ill woman. But now, Mr. Fenton, do you really believe in all the charms of these old enchantresses?"
"No, but I do devoutly in those of the young," he added gaily, as he led her down the dance, resigned her to Douglas, and turned to Annie Laurie, who whispered,
"Saw ye who overheard your tête-à-tête?"
"No," he replied, laughing; "but perhaps it was the great subject thereof."
"One not much better, certes. He is behind you now."
Walter turned and beheld the large dark eyes of Lord Clermistonlee, fixedly regarding him with an expression too hostile to be misunderstood. He replied by a glance as haughty and as stern; but a cold and inexplicable smile curled the proud lip of the handsome roué, as he turned slowly away, and addressed himself to Lady Charteris, the beautiful blonde, who rustled in a ponderous suit of brocade, and stood five feet seven inches independent of "cork-heeled shoon," being in every sense of the word what the Scotch were wont to consider a "fine" woman, one of those stately and patagonian beauties, of whom once in a time Edinburgh could always boast a large stock, but who appear to have vanished with the hoops and fardingales, the bobwigs and laced coats, the gentlemanly spirit and the sterling worth of the "last century."
In the middle of the cotillon, Fergusson of Craigdarroch, who had been looking unutterable things for some time, now approached, and twisting his moustachios, said with cold hauteur,
"Your humble servant, Mr. Douglas."
"Craigdarroch, yours," rejoined Finland, quite as coldly, and they surveyed each other from head to foot.
"I requested the honour of Mistress Laurie's hand for this cotillon."
"Indeed!" replied Finland, in the same cavalier tone, and raising his eyebrows with a well-bred stare of surprise. "You have forfeited it by being too late, however."
"You will not resign in my favour?"
"Zounds!" said Finland, frowning. Fergusson's cheek glowed with passion.
"You have your rapier with you?"
"Here, at your service," replied Douglas, in the same low tone, and bit his glove.
"Good. When the cotillon closes I will be in the garden, where the moonlight is bright enough to enable us to come to a proper understanding." Douglas nodded significantly, and his rival withdrew. Annie, who had been gaily chatting for a minute with some passer, had not heard what passed—Lilian Napier did, or at least, she saw enough to alarm her. Douglas went through the cotillon with his usual gaiety and grace; and after a short promenade, handed his unconscious partner to a seat; but instead of posting himself behind it as usual, to Annie's great surprise and indignation, he beckoned Walter Fenton, and they left the room together.
At that moment Lilian, with a pale lip and agitated eye, glided to the side of her friend, and whispered:
"Where has the Laird of Finland gone?"
"I know not, and I care not," replied Annie, pettishly, flirting her large fan; "but the varlet left me abruptly enough, and 'tis not his wont. This comes of loving soldiers—fie!"
"O! Annie," said Lilian, in a breathless voice, "they have followed Craigdarroch to the garden. There has been a feud about your dancing with one when engaged to the other; and something terrible will assuredly come of it."
"Preserve me, Heaven! O! in my heedlessness I did so, and they will be fighting about it—blood ever comes of a Scotsman's quarrel. My God! Lilian—where is the Earl—the Countess—to whom shall I speak? Stay—let us not spoil the merriment around us. The garden, said you? I know the way, and if the cavaliers are there, I will soon make them sheath their rapiers, I warrant you."
Lilian took her arm; and though it was not easy for two such bright stars to leave their orbit unseen, they contrived, to elude observation, to glide down stairs, and reach the old-fashioned garden, on the rich flower-beds, leaden nymphs and corydons, box-edged walks and thick green holly hedges of which, several flakes of strong light fell in long ruddy lines from the grated windows of the mansion.
The full round moon was sailing in summer radiance through clouds of fleecy whiteness, and threw her slanting beams in showers of silver on the shrubbery and terraces of the garden. All was still and silent; the agitated girls could not perceive any one; but, trembling, they listened fearfully for the clash of swords or the jingle of spurs.
"Oh! if they should have gone to the fields, where we cannot follow them!" murmured Annie, in great agitation. "God guide me!" she added, pressing her hands upon her temples, and displaying, as she did so, two beautiful and braceleted arms, that shone like alabaster in the moonlight. "O! if blood is shed for me, I will never smile more. Ah! surely they will not fight about such a trifle as my preference in a cotillon."
"Dear Annie, think you your love is a trifle to spirits as these? They will fight, and desperately too. Douglas bit his glove, and that, Aunt Grisel says, is an old border sign of deadly feud; Craigdarroch will never forgive it; and I saw his black eyes flash fire, as he bit his gauntlet in reply, and turned sharply away on his heel."
At that moment they heard the voice of Douglas. He was close by, but one of those dark holly hedges, so common in ancient gardens, interposed its thick impervious screen between them.
"'Tis well!" he exclaimed; "but ere we come to slash the doublets we were born in, Walter, unclasp this iron shell of mine: Craigdarroch is minus a corslet, and we must fight on equal terms. A merry moonlight, gentlemen, for a camisadoe. A clear field, and no favour. Shall we fight with our buff gloves on?"
"That is as you please," replied another guardsman, the young Laird of Holsterlee, who was Craigdarroch's second. "But speak softly, or Dunbarton's guard of Dragoons may overhear us. Ah! gentlemen, this cometh of the sin of promiscuous dancing—men mingling with women, whilk is ane abomination in the sight of the Lord!" he added in a sing-song voice. "Ha! ha! so say the dogs of the Covenant. Are ye ready, sirs!"
"All ready," replied Craigdarroch, unsheathing his long troop-sword.
"Be brief, gallants," said Holsterlee, "and sink points on the first blood drawn. I hope the the Earl's guests will not disturb us; but ere ye tilt at each other's throats, Finland, as a dear friend to both, I ask thee to apologise to Craigdarroch."
"Apologise to the devil!" rejoined Douglas, as he threw away his corslet and plumed hat, drew his rapier, and stood on the defensive, while his antagonist confronted him in the same manner. Handsome, richly garbed, graceful, and athletic, they would have formed a noble study for an artist, as they remained steadily watching each other, their eyes sparkling, and their long keen blades gleaming like blue fire in the moonlight. Such was the aspect they presented when the terrified girls hurried by a circuitous path towards them.
"Oh! Finland—Finland!" muttered Annie.
A well-bred man of the present day, on seeing a lady, whose hand he had engaged, dancing with another, would not take any unpleasant notice of it, however mortifying the preference might be; but not so the bold cavalier of the seventeenth century. To fight or be dishonoured were the only alternatives. Craigdarroch was infuriated, and Finland rapidly found his blood boiling up in turn; but ere a blow could be struck, his beautiful Annie, like a fairy or angel of peace, glided between them, and the menacing points of the rapiers were lowered at her approach.
"Sheath your swords this instant, sirs!" said she, with a half-playful, half-earnest imperiousness, which the gentlemen showed no disposition to resist. "Up with them! and remember it was an ancient rule of chivalry that knights combatants became friends at a woman's approach. Come hither, Mr. Holster, and tell me what these gay rufflers have quarrelled about."
"Yourself, fair madam," replied Holsterlee, a tall athletic young man, whose fair complexion consorted ill with a sable wig, and in whose sporting air there was a certain jaunty swagger, bordering on the vulgar, but acquired chiefly by frequenting Blair's Coffee-house at the Pillars, the Race-course at Leith, and every tavern and stew wherever he happened to be quartered—Clermistonlee's furious dinner-parties, and the company of all the horsemongers, bucks, bullies, and courtezans in the city;—"yourself, fair madam; and on my honour, I know no prize in all broad Scotland so well worth tempting buff under bilboa for."
"Prize, sir!" retorted Annie. "Do you talk of me as if I were your famous roan horse, or the city purse you expect it to win at Easter? Go to, sir! Certes, gentlemen, you honour me greatly by accounting me merely a sword-player's prize—the guerdon of a duello between two cut-throats! I am infinitely obliged to you," she added curtseying low. "But if you are determined to fight, O do so, good sirs," she continued, with a merry laugh; "but I am not for you, Finland, at all events."
"Indeed! madam," rejoined Finland, as he bit his nether lip, and grasped his sword. "Craigdarroch, then, I presume is the favoured——"
"Nor he either, quotha!"
"Ha, ha!—ho, ho!" shouted Holsterlee. "May the great diabulus roast me in my own ribs if this isn't good! Who then, fair Annie?"
"What is it to such as thee, sirrah?" she replied, stamping her pretty foot scornfully; but the beautiful rogue laughed as she added slowly, "I have not yet made up my mind whether to accept Sir Thomas Dalyel of the Binns, or that very accomplished cavalier——"
"Who? who?" they all asked.
"Lord Mersington."
"Zounds!" laughed Holsterlee; "but that old cock hath a roost-hen already—a brave girl—a bouncer that can coquette and ruffle it, without snaffle or martingale; a thorough-pacer, by the Lord—ho, ho!"
"As this is her choice," said Douglas, who perfectly understood the humour of his waggish mistress, "I think, Craigdarroch, we had better shake hands on't, as neither will be a winner in this affair."
"Yes, yes—shake hands like whipped schoolboys, and quarrel no more. So, up with your rapiers!—or, as the comedy says, the dew will rust them. But as a penance on you, Mr. Douglas, for fighting without my express permission, I shall dance with the Laird of Craigdarroch, and no one else, while you lead out old Dame Drumsturdy, or some such witch, whose most devoted you must be for the remainder of the night."
"How droll! O! I shall die with laughing," cried Lilian, clasping her hands with delight at this happy conclusion.
"Nay—fair Annie," said Douglas, "under favour—I must implore——"
"Not a word, sir, of extenuation or excuse. You shall walk a minuet with old Lady Drumsturdy, who is as charming as patches, puffs, and rouge can make her."
Holsterlee laughed till the braces of his corslet started.
"Tush! Annie—O by all the devils, I shall be the laughing-stock of the whole city."
"I care not."
"Gadzooks! I'll have a duel with old Dalyel next."
"I care not. And, ah! Mr. Fenton, I must find a way to punish you too. But come, Lilian, love—Craigdarroch, your hand."
Douglas joined in the laugh against himself, as Annie was led off by his rival, while Walter gave his hand to Lilian, and they hastened back to the ball-room in the happiest mood. Douglas, while loitering a little behind to clasp the braces of his cuirass, was attracted by the voice of Lord Clermistonlee, a man whom, of all others in Edinburgh, he disliked, in consequence of an old grudge between them, when they exchanged blows in a brawl at Blair's Coffee-house. Though he scorned being a spy upon his Lordship, the fact of his overhearing the name of Lilian Napier pronounced in a very audible whisper—his knowledge of the speaker's passion, and of what he was capable—formed a sufficient whet to his curiosity, and were, he deemed, quite a warrant for assuming the unpleasant part of eavesdropper.
Clermistonlee was standing near a gate, which afforded communication between the crowded courtyard and the quiet gardens, and through its iron bars the bright moonlight streamed upon the rich embroidery of his gay attire, on the brilliants of his hat-band, buckles, and silver-hilted rapier. Near him stood a stout and thickset old man in green livery, having a massive crest and coronet worked on each sleeve. A broad belt encircled his waist, and sustained a heavy basket-hilted sword. He was a little intoxicated, and balancing himself on one leg, snapped his fingers while chaunting the merry old catch,—
"Though I go bare, take ye no care
I nothing am acolde;
I stuff my skinne so full within,
With jollie gude ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go colde;
But bellie, God give thee gude ale enough,
Whether it be newe or olde.
I love no roste, but a nut-brown toste——"
"God's curse, rascal!" said his master angrily, "in this mood you will never arrange the matter satisfactorily."
"Trust me, my Lord, trust me," stammered Juden, rubbing his bald pate with a sudden air of perplexity, which showed that the matter referred to had quite escaped him; "but ane needs a lang spoon to sup kail wi' the deil, and you are kittler than the great serpent himsel."
"Gadzooks! old limb of Beelzebub, thou art drunk already; but hear me, Juden, if you fail in this service to-night, old though ye be, by the Heaven that hears us, I will handle my whip in such wise that a coffin will be your next resting place."
The eyes of the fierce Lord gleamed as he spoke, though his face was pale with that white fury which is ever the index of a bad and bitter heart, and is much more to be dreaded than the red flush of passion that suffuses a generous brow.
"How many followers hath the dame of Bruntisfield in her train to-night?"
"Four, my Lord—her chairmen."
"Armed, of course?"
"Like myself, ilk ane wi' a gude basket-hilted whinger. They are a' in Lucky Tippeny's Changehouse outbye, birling the ale cogue like sae many lords or troopers."
"All the better. Here is money—join them, and spare not to push the jorum till they become like blind puppies; but, peril of thy life, Juden, keep sober, though ale, usquebaugh, and even wine flow like water, if the knaves will it. When Lady Grisel summons them, if they are able to stand, by the head of the King I will truncheon thee in famous fashion. Dost comprehend, jolt-head?"
"The upshot, my Lord, the upshot?"
"When Lady Bruntisfield's people are summoned—but who is with you to-night?"
"The hail household—just Jock, my sister's son. Wha else would there be?"
"The devil! that fellow is a born gomeral, like his uncle, and will spoil all."
"Jock's gey gleg at the uptak', and mair kens-peckle than ye think. My certie, my Lord, there are mair fules in the world than Jock, puir man—fules that canna keep their fingers out of the fire."
"Silence, or I will certainly beat thee. When the Napiers' chairs are summoned, you will immediately bear off that containing the young lady Lilian, without the delay of a moment."
"No to Bruntisfield, I warrant!" rejoined Juden, with a bright leer of intelligence.
"'Sdeath no—to the Place of Drumsheugh."
"Ha! ha! ha! My certie, gif this plot succeeds, there will be a braw clamjamfray in the toun the morn! But I hope the business will be owre in time to let me be at the tar-barrelling. 'Twill be a braw sight. O that it were Lucky Elshender's! then I might ride up Meg, puir beastie, to see hersel revenged for that weary fit o' the wheez-lock——"
"Silence, addlepate. I go to Beatrix Gilruth. Wo to thee, if one tittle of my injunctions be forgotten."
Juden bowed with a tipsy air of respect, and withdrew, while Lord Clermistonlee rolled his furred rocquelaure about him, and, stepping through the postern gate, issued into the Potter's Row, and hurried away at a quick pace.
"Good even, my Lord," said Douglas, looking scornfully after him. "If I mar not your precious plot to-night, may I never march more!"
He sprang up the stair, and, forgetful of the penance his playful mistress had assigned him, sought an opportunity of communicating to Lady Grisel or to Walter Fenton this new plot of Clermistonlee, but none occurred. The former was too deeply engaged with General Dalyel in the intricacies of ombre or primero, and the mode of impaling among the Tartars, and the latter in the more delightful occupation of squiring Lilian from room to room, or exchanging the hand-in-hand mazes of the merry couranto for a moonlight promenade on the flowery terraces of the garden.
Douglas became deeply anxious; the night wore apace, and the hour rapidly approached when the guests would be departing, for already had the roll of the ten o'clock drum rung through the thoroughfares of the city, and these late balls and suppers were but a new innovation of the time, an introduction by Mary of Modena.
CHAPTER V.
BEATRIX GILRUTH.
Her heart was full
Of passions which had found no natural scope.
She hated men because they loved not her,
And hated women because they were beloved,
And thus in wrath, in hatred and despair,
She tempted hell.——
THE CURSE OF KEHAMA.
Clermistonlee walked hurriedly forward, with his mantle rolled about him, his hat flapped over his eyes, and his sword-hilt ready at hand, for his amorous quarrels and politics had, through life, created him innumerable enemies. He muttered as he went, and his cheek flushed at times, though his nether lip was pale as marble, and under the broad shadow of his Spanish beaver his fierce dark eyes burned like two sparks of fire.
Inflamed by wine and the beauty of Lilian, who had never appeared so enchanting as in her ball-dress, he had determined that very night to make another desperate attempt to obtain possession of her person, at whatever ultimate danger and odium. It was curious how strongly the sentiments of pride, avarice, and revenge, mingled with his love-musings;—his matchless pride was fired by the idea of the woman he loved being given to another—he had revenge to be gratified because, with ill-disguised loathing, she had shrunk from his addresses, and avarice crowned all, as he doubted not if by fair means or foul he obtained her hand, the entail of Bruntisfield and the Wrytes would soon become a dead letter. In effect, it was so already. But once a prisoner in his power, even for a single night, he knew that shame and her injured reputation would compel her to become his wife.
Full of these thoughts, which crowded and chased each other in rapid succession through his unsettled brain, he strode forward at a quick pace, impatient for the triumphant consummation of his projects. The city was silent and dark, for the moon had now become obscured, and there were no lamps to light the narrow ways through which he hurried. In the High Street a few oil lanterns had been suspended about four years before by the Provost, Sir George Drummond, of Milnab, and these at long intervals shed a pale and sickly light; but all the numerous alleys diverging from this great thoroughfare were still involved in Cimmerian darkness. Deserted as they were, the cogitations of Clermistonlee were often interrupted by scraps of conversation from belated passengers, or stair-head gossips, who were making all secure for the night, and maintained at the top of their voices a colloquy with their neighbours opposite.
"Ken ye cummer, at what hour the morn that vile witch is to be worrit?" screamed one.
"When the Tron Kirk bell rings aucht. My Lord Provost, the Baillies and the Captain of the Guard are to eat the deid-chack at Hughie Blair's twa hours thereafter. Fie upon the greedy gleds that meet to revel and roister oure a puir sinner's departure, and to drink Gascony and Rhenish like spring water, though they be eight-pence the quart, and at this time when a puir man's four hours' draught——"
"But gif a' be true, nane hae sae well deservit bridle and faggot, since that monster o' iniquity, Weir, was burnt wi' his staff, whilk my ain faither, as honest a body as ever wore the blue ribbon at his lug, often met stoting down the Bow, for a plack's worth o' snuff for its hellicate master. And mair, cummer——"
But Clermistonlee hurried on, and passing the Porte of the Potter's Row, hurried down the steep College Wynd, where picturesque edifices of vast strength and unknown antiquity towered up on each side of the way, and excluded the pale light of the stars. A single ray from a window revealed the rich dresses of two gentlemen who were slowly ascending.
"I insist upon giving you a Kelso convoy, my Lord," said one.
"A devil of a dark night, Laird, especially for a summer one—but I vow to ye, Libberton, that my Lord Perth's claret has cast a glamour oure me."
"Hold up, Balcarris, or ye'll measure your length in the gutter; and that would be a braw place for the Lord High Treasurer to be found in the morning. Thank God, the gate is no a broad ane. I mind when Cromwell, that's now roasting in a pretty hot place—ahoa! who goes there? Draw, Balcarris—it's some spy o' the States-General—a keeper o' conventicles contrary to proclamation. Stand, ye deil's buckie—for King or Covenant?"
"For the King!" cried Clermistonlee; and, irritated by their stopping the narrow way, he unceremoniously tumbled the inebriated laird of Libberton to the right and the Treasurer to the left, as he broke past and hurried into the Cowgate (the ancient comunis via), then the residence of aristocratic exclusives. An old author,* who wrote in the sixteenth century, informs us "that the nobility and chief senators of the city dwell in the Cowgate—via vaccarum in qua habitant patricii et senatores urbis;" and that "the palaces of the chief men of the nation are also there; that none of the houses are mean or vulgar, but, on the contrary, all magnificent—sed omnia magnified."
* Munster Cosmograph, p, 52.
The troubles of Clermistonlee were not yet over. On issuing into the High Street a crowd of tipsy roisterers, young bucks, students, and Life Guards, burst out of Hugh Blair's tavern, with shouts of laughter and drawn swords, ripe for mischief. They beat back the axes of the watch, and joining hands in one long line, danced down the broad street, vociferously chaunting the merry old ditty—
"Now let us drinke,
Till we nod and winke,
Even as good fellows should do;
We shall not misse
To have the blisse
Good wine doth bring men to!"
"Hold fast, my brethren," cried one whom his lordship recognised to be the Reverend Mr. Joram, the famous cavalier chaplain of Dunbarton's Foot. "Hold fast—and every lass we meet must kiss us all from right to left—ay, d—me! or drink a pint of hot sack at one gulp."
"Bravo!" shouted the rest. "Once, twice, thrice, and away!"—and onward they came, hand in hand, dancing and singing with stentorian voices that made the whole street ring. Clermistonlee drew his rapier, and shrunk under the carved arches of those stone arcades which supported the houses on both sides of the way; and, without perceiving him, this crowd of merry fellows passed on to beat the watch and terrify the sleepy denizens of other quarters. Glad of his escape—for he had confidently expected a dangerous brawl—Clermistonlee hurried down Mary King's Close.
Debauched and roué as he was, he felt an involuntary shudder on descending into the gloomy precincts of that deserted street, a locality shunned by all since the plague had swept off its entire inhabitants. For a hundred years its houses remained closed, and gradually it became a place of mystery and horror, the abode of a thousand spectres and nameless terrors. Superstition peopled it with inhabitants, whom all feared, and none cared to succeed.
Those who had been foolhardy enough to peep through the windows after nightfall, saw within the spectres of the long-departed denizens engaged in their wonted occupations—headless forms danced through the moonlit apartments, and on one occasion a godly minister and two pious elders were scared out of their senses, by the terrible vision of a raw head and blood-dripping arm, which protruded from the wall in this terrible street, and flourished a sword above their heads, and many other terrors which are duly chronicled in that old calender of diablerie, Satan's Invisible World.
Scarcely a foot's space from his elbows on either hand, the tall mansions rose up to a great height, empty, dark, and desolate, with their iron-barred and shadowy windows decaying and rattling in the gusts that swept through the mouldering chambers. Who Mary King was, is now unknown; but though the alley is roofless and ruined, with weeds, wallflowers, and grass, and even little trees, flourishing luxuriantly among the falling walls, her name may still be seen painted on the street corner. Clermistonlee was not without a strong share of the superstition incident to the time and country, and he certainly quickened his pace as he turned down the steep alley towards the dark loch, the waters of which rippled in little wavelets against the bank, then named Warriston Brae. The eastern sluice was shut, for there was a whisper abroad of coming strife, in which the city might require all the strength of its fortifications; and thus in a few weeks the loch had risen many feet above its usual margin. The ferry boat was chained to a stake, against which it jarred heavily, as the west wind swept over the darkened water.
It was down this steep bank that the Earl of Arran and his son rushed, after being defeated in their famous feudal battle in the High Street; and finding a collier's horse at the edge of the loch, leaped upon its back, and though both were sheathed in complete armour, forced it to swim them over to the opposite bank. And down the same place, the wild young master of Gray dragged the fair mistress Carnegie, whom, sword in hand, he had torn from her fathers house, and boated over the loch, attended by twelve men-at-arms.
Lustily the impatient Lord thundered at the door of the ferryman's cottage; but it was long ere the unwilling Charon of the passage attended his summons.
"Hallo, boatmen! Harkee, fellow, truss your points and come forth," he cried in his usual overbearing manner. All cavaliers of the time spoke thus towards inferiors; but Clermistonlee carried it to an outrageous extent. "Come forth, rascal, or I will chastise thee so tremendously, that thou wilt never pull paddle again, in this world at least."
"Awa, ye impudent limmer, awa!" replied a voice from the profundity of a box-bed. "Is that the way to ding at a douce man's yett? Awa, ye misleared loon, or I tak' my dag frae the brace, and send a bullet through your cracked harnpan."
A terrible oath burst from Clermistonlee, for he was frenzied by wine, passion, and delay. "Insolent runnion! attend me, or by —— I will beat down the door, and twist thy whaisling hause! Beware thee, fool," he added in a low tone; "I am the Lord Clermistonlee!"
On hearing that terrible name the affrighted boatman sprang from bed; an exclamation of fear and much anxious whispering followed. The door was immediately opened by a lean and withered old man, whose face was a mass of wrinkles. Scarcely daring to raise his grey twinkling eyes, he stood lamp in hand, cringing and bowing his bald head with the most abject humility before Clermistonlee, who cut short his muttered apologies by saying,
"Unmoor, dyvour loon, and pull me across the loch, if you would be spared the beating I owe you."
The old ferryman hurriedly dragged his leather galligaskins over his hodden grey breeches, donned his skyblue coat and broad bonnet, and bowing at every step of the way, though inwardly cursing the summons from his cosy nest and gudewife's side, led the proud Baron towards the little boat, for the use of which he paid a yearly rental to the city. They stepped on board; he unlocked the mooring-chain and shoved off.
Fed by the springs of the castle-rock and the rivulets that gurgled down its northern bank, the loch had of late become considerably swollen, and now rose high upon the bastions of the Well-house-tower. It was without current, and, save the ripple raised by the soft west wind, was still and motionless as a lake of ink.
Clermistonlee, with his rocquelaure rolled around him, and his broad beaver with its heavy plumage shading his face, lounged silently in the stern, watching the gigantic features of the city as they rose in sable outline behind him, towering up from the lake like a vast array of castles, or a barrier of splintered rock, a forest of gables and chimnies, whose summits shot upwards in a thousand fantastic shapes.
To the westward, from a cliff of perpendicular rock, three hundred feet in height, rose the towers of the castle. Beneath the gloomy shadow of this basaltic mass the loch vanished away into obscurity; but from under its impending brow there gleamed a light that tremulously shed one long red ray across the dark bosom of the water. It shone from the guard-fire in the Well-house-tower. Save the measured dash of the oars, and the creaking of the boat, all was so still that Clermistonlee heard the pulsations of his own evil heart.
Suddenly the moon gushed forth a glorious blaze of light between the flying clouds. Magnificent was the effect of that silver splendour, and wondrous was the beauty it lent to that romantic scene. High over the jagged outline of the tall city it streamed aslant, and its thousand points and pinnacles became tipped with instant light. The great stone turrets, the massive towers and angular bastions of the Castle and its perpendicular cliffs were thrown forward, some in silver light, while others remained in sombre shadow. To its base the still loch rolled like a silver mirror, while the dewy alders, the waving osiers and bending willows that fringed its northern bank, shone like fairy trees of gleaming crystal.
Even the old boatman paused for a moment and looked around him. City, rock, wood, and water, all shone in the magnificent moonlight, but once more the gathering vapours obscured the shining source, and the whole faded like a vision. The varied masses of the city and its stupendous fortress sank again into darkness, and once more the sheet of water rolled to their base a black and foetid lake. At that moment the boat grounded, the passenger sprang ashore, and addressed the boatmen in his usual style:—
"Peril of thy life, knave, tarry till my return, or thy fee will contain more cudgel-blows than bonnet-pieces."
"Yes, my Lord, yes," stammered the poor man, whose teeth chattered with cold and fear: meanwhile his imperious employer sprang up the bank, and hurried on, till, reaching the Lang Dykes, a road which led westward, and which he traversed until he gained the Kirk-brae-head, where on one hand the road branched off towards the castle rock, and on the other plunged down between thick copsewood towards the secluded village of the Dean, which lay at the bottom of a deep dell overhung by the richest foliage.
By the margin of the Loch, and surrounded by an ample churchyard, where the long grass waved and the yew-trees cast their solemn shadows on many an ancient grave, where the moss-grown headstones, half sunk in earth and obliterated by time, marked the resting-place of the dead of other days, the old cross kirk of St. Cuthbert reared up its dark façade with a gloomy square tower and pointed spire surmounting its nave and transept. There slept all the ancestors of Clermistonlee; he cast but a glance at its vast outline and hurried on. The occasional stars alone gleamed through its mullioned windows, for the tapers of the midnight votary had long since been quenched on the altars of Cuthbert and St. Anne the mother of the Virgin.
Under a mouldering gateway, where two stone wyverns with forked tails and outspread wings, reared up on their mossy columns, Clermistonlee paused for a moment—for a host of strange fancies and burning thoughts, the memories of other days, crowded fast upon his mind as he surveyed the long gloomy vista beyond.
It led to his mansion of Drumsheugh.
The avenue was long and dark; thick oaks and beeches, clothed with the most luxuriant foliage of summer, formed a leafy arcade, which seemed dark and impervious as if hewn through the bowels of a mountain.
"Long, long it is," thought he, "since the hoof of the trooper's horse, or the blast of the hunter's horn, the voice of mirth, or the merry voice of a woman awoke these lonely echoes. Alison—Alison—pshaw! I am another man now," he added aloud, and endeavoured to whistle a fashionable couranto, as he walked up the grass-grown avenue, at a pace which soon brought him to the door of the house, where again he made a brief pause.
The mansion was a high and narrow edifice, built on the very verge of a cliff overhanging the water of Leith, that struggled through a deep and wooded gorge a hundred feet below, and the rock was so abrupt that a plumb-line could have reached without impediment from one of the turrets to the rocky bed of the river.
The house had the usual Scottish gablets, turrets at the angles and machecoulis between. Its windows were all thickly barred, dark, silent, and in many places broken. The vanes creaked mournfully in concert with the rooks and the wind that sighed through the ancient oaks. All else was silent as the grave. There came no sound from the mansion; none from the empty stalls of the stable court, and none from the tenantless perches of the Falconry.
On the door-lintel, notwithstanding the darkness, Clermistonlee could decypher I fear God onlye, 1506, a legend placed there by his pious forefathers to exclude witches and evil spirits, on whom it was supposed that the name of the Deity would act as a spell of potence. The present Lord was as evil a spirit as the city contained; but the legend neither affected him or his purpose, and he furiously tirled at the risp and kicked at the door till the whole house rang to the noise. A ray of light streamed through the key-hole, and vizzying slit of the door, on the green leaves and dewy grass, and the approach of a slip-shod female was heard.
"Who knocks so late?" asked a shrill voice. "A proper hour and a pleasant to disturb folk. Marry, Deil stick the visitor," she added, withdrawing the ponderous bolts, and opening the door.
"As of old, good Beatrix, you are still without fear," said Clermistonlee.
"Why? because I am without hope," she rejoined in a fierce tone. "Fear! what should I fear? Did I not know it was thee? But what fool's errand or knavish purpose brings thee here now?"
"Silence, Mistress Malapert!"
There was a momentary pause, and a terrible glance—one at least of intense expression passed between these two. A sentence will explain it.
When Clermistonlee was but a youth, Beatrix though ten years his senior, was among the first of his loves, and by her own futile endeavours to ensnare the heir of a powerful Baron, became one of the first victims of his gallantry; she was then a beautiful and artful woman; but gradually her beauty faded, her arts failed, and her spirits sank: abandoned by her friends, and despised by her betrayer, she had long, long since lost sight of every hope of marriage, or of regaining an honourable position in life, and now she had sunk so low as to be a mere abject dependant, a vile panderer to the amours of her early lover—an entrapper of others; and when the old mansion was abandoned to the crows and spiders, she had remained there, a half-forgotten pensioner on his bounty—a creature only to be remembered when her vile services were required. Now she was old, wrinkled, and hideous; but Clermistonlee in his fortieth year seemed as gay and as young, as in the days when first he pressed her to his bosom. Beatrix was now fifty!
These ten years made a world of difference between them.
He felt all her eagle glance conveyed, but uttering a very cavalier-like malediction, strode along the passage or ambulatory with his bright spurs clanking, and his white plumes waving as gallantly as they had done twenty years before. How different was the aspect of Beatrix! Crime, mental misery, and a life of disease and dissipation made her seem many years older than she was. She stooped much at times, and was poorly clad in garments that like herself had seen better days. Her head was covered by a dirty long-eared linen cap, beneath which a few grizzled hairs escaped to wander over a face that, like her hands and neck, had by the use of lotions and essences become a mass of saffron wrinkles. Her eyes were grey, hollow, keen, and unpleasant in expression; her lips thin and colourless, and grey hairs were appearing on her chin.
"Zounds!" thought Clermistonlee, as he loathingly gazed upon her; "can this old kite be the creature I once loved?"
By the course of time and desertion, the house seemed as much dilapidated as its occupant; but an air of desolate grandeur pervaded its lofty chambers and echoing corridors. Masses of the frescoed ceiling had in many places fallen down; in others the wainscoting had given way, revealing the rough masonry behind. The once gaudy tapestry hung mouldering on its tenter-hooks, and a dreary air of dusky dampness was everywhere apparent. A thousand spiders spun their nets undisturbed across the unopened windows and unentered doorways; and through the rattling casements the hurrying clouds were seen afar off chasing each other in masses across the pale-faced moon and paler stars, that twinkled through the tossing trees.
Traversing an ambulatory, on the discolored walls of which old pictures and older trophies hung decaying, Clermistonlee was about to enter the hall; but its vast space rang so hollowly to his tread, and its gloom so much resembled that of a church at midnight, that he drew back overpowered by some superstitious feeling, and entered a small apartment which adjoined it, and had in earlier days been named the Lady's Bower.
A fire burned cheerily on the hearth; the furniture and the tapestry were fresh; the gilding and scarlet marquise of the high-backed chairs unfaded; a large mirror gleamed over the carved buffet, which two grotesque imps sustained on their heads; and several old portraits in the warm glow looked complacently out of their round oak frames.
"And 'tis here you have made your lair!" said Clermistonlee, throwing himself into a chair.
"Yea: it was her boudoir—her bower. Hast thou forgotten that too?" responded the woman, setting down her lamp, and surveying him with a malicious eye.
"Well! old dame, and what recks it thee?" asked the Lord, impatiently. "Art alone—of course—eh?"
"Alone!" reiterated the woman, bitterly—"when am I ever otherwise? Alone—and why! Because I am old and hideous now. Yet there was a time when it was otherwise. Yea—I am ever alone, save when the knave and the fool (on whose scanty bounty I am too often dependant), prompted by the devil, come hither to visit me."
"Dependant? have I not given thee a fee of four hundred pounds Scots per year, and what the devil more?"
"Between your own necessities and your butler's villany, not a plack of it have I seen since Lammas-tide."
"This shall be seen to. Come, come, Beatrix, my merry old lass, thou art as petulant as when I led you into this chamber twenty years ago. You want gold, I know; but, faith! I have devilish little of that." He spread a few French crowns on the table.
"'Tis but white money," said the hag, her eyes sparkling as, with clutching hands, she swept the coins into her lap.
"Greedy Gled! if thou art faithful, the gold will come in bushels anon."
"On what ill errand come ye now? Is there any one to be poisoned—hah! any poor flower to be torn from its stem, and trod under foot when its perfume is gone?"
"Harkee! Lucky Gilruth," said the Lord, striking his clenched hand on the table; "thou knowest me well, I think."
"O would to Heaven I had never, never known thee!" said Beatrix, with a tearless sob. "I know little of thee that is good."
"What know ye that is bad?"
She gave him a glance of scorn and fear.
"Say forth, old Barebones—I care not. I am one——"
"Who never spared a man in his hatred or a woman in his lust! A renegade covenanter!—a relentless persecutor of the pious and the holy!—a perjured lover!—a faithless husband!—a false friend!—one to whom Lord Solis of old, and the Marquis de Laval, were as saints in comparison. Randal Clermont, thou art a fiend in the form of a man!"
"With a heigh lillilu and a how lo lan! ha! ha!" laughed Clermistonlee, shaking back his feathers and long cavalier locks, while regarding Beatrix with a sardonic glance, for her words stung him deeply. "And I know thee for one whom the tar-barrels and thumb-screws await, if ye prove false to me. Ay, woman, I doubt not my learned gossip Mersington would soon find the devil's mark on that poor hide of thine. But I came to arrange, not to quarrel with thee—ha! ha! I want my fortune read."
Beatrix gave him a long steady glance; her bleared eyes were glaring with insanity, and a certain degree of intoxication; but she quailed before the dark basilisk eye of her former lover, for the ferocity of her expression relaxed, and she burst into a horrid laugh.
"Thy fortune? ho! ho! I tell thee, Randal, that the blade is forged and tempered that will drink thy heart's blood!"
"Gadzooks! likely enough; for I do not expect to die in bed," replied Clermistonlee, calmly, yet nevertheless exasperated by her reply, as he knew from old experience the value of her prophecies. "But I trifle. I know, good Beatrix, you can be faithful, and will serve me as of old. Here is my hand—shall I be fortunate in love?"
"How often these twenty years hath that question been asked of me; and where now are those anent whom ye asked it? Fortunate? I doubt not ye will be more so than she whose portrait is there;" and suddenly withdrawing a veil from a panel, she displayed the portrait of a pale young lady, in a rich dress and high ruff. Her features were soft and beautiful; her hair fair and in great profusion; and her parted lips appeared to smile with inexpressible sweetness. Clermistonlee turned pale, and averted his face, for the portrait seemed full of life and expression.
"Cover it!" said he, in a husky voice; "Cover it!—dost hear me? or must I blow the panel to pieces with my pistols, that these upbraiding eyes may look on me no more?"
"Wretch—ye dare not!" said Beatrix, scornfully, while gazing with something like pity on the fair face the pencil of Vandyke had traced in other times. "Yes, Lady Alison, I hated thee in life, but in death I can respect thee. Oh! Randal, she shared thy wedded love; but was it more fortunate than mine? It was—it was; for she is at rest in her grave, while I still linger here."
"Pity you are not there too! Enough! I am tired of these eternal complaints; and were ye fair as Venus——but look to my hand—what say its lines to-night?"
In her long, lean, and wrinkled fingers she took his ungloved hand, and he half withdrew it, with ill-concealed disgust.
"Ha!" screamed Beatrix, in a terrible voice; "you shrink from my touch now! Oh! Randal, Randal!" she added, in a tone of intense bitterness, "to kiss these faded hands was once a boon of love to thee. Oh! Randal Clermont, have you so quite forgotten these days as to feel no pity for the being you once loved so well?"
"Hum!" muttered the Lord, impatiently.
"How different was I then from what I am now!" she exclaimed, pressing her hands upon her breast, as if it would burst.
"The deuce!" Clermistonlee whistled.
"Yes, base and ungrateful! the hand that now ye loathe was then white as the new fallen snow, and these grey locks were like the dewy wing of the raven. My eyes could then look love to thine, that flashed with the youth, the joy, and the brightness of twenty summers. Who that saw us then, would dream that we are the same? I am no longer young, no longer lovely, and thou—art still a man."
"Crush me if this is not ridiculous! art nearly done, old lady?"
"No—there is a rival in thy way!"
"S'Death, I know that too well. 'Tis that spawn of the Covenant, young Fenton of Dunbarton's Foot. But I am still trifling. Listen, Beldame, and lay my words to heart. A brisk young damsel will be here in an hour hence. See that the turret that overhangs the rocks is prepared for her reception, for I swear by all that is holy! she shall never leave this roof until she is mine—yea, as much as——"
"As I once was, and many more have been, hah!"
Clermistonlee laughed loudly. "I have arled thee, Beatrix, and woe if thou failest or playest me false, for the hemp is twisted that shall strangle, and the faggots oiled that shall consume thee. Yet more. The eyes of the Council have long been on thee for suspected sorcery, and dealing in love potions and medicinal charms—the red hand of Rosehaugh is over thee, wretched Beatrix, and ere long thou mayest know the full value of the protection I afford thee. Enough! we know each other, I think."
"Not quite," replied Beatrix, with an air that startled her proud tormentor: "Vain fool! ye know not that by a word I could crush thee to nothing—yea, to the dust beneath my feet. Randal Clermont, I could reveal that, would smite thee like the scorching lightning. But no! my lips shall remain sealed, until——"
"When?"
"When the measure of my wrongs and my vengeance is full!"
"Pshaw! thou art but a woman—a fool," replied Clermistonlee, jerking on his buff gloves carelessly, but feeling somewhat surprised by her manner.
"When will this new victim be here?" asked Beatrix, with a ghastly grin.
"I have said in an hour, if all goes well. Prepare the old turret for her—that cage hath held a wilder bird ere now; nay, nay, none of that kind of work," said he, changing colour as Beatrix took a poniard from the mantelpiece; "nothing of that sort will be required—once in a life-time—tush! I will be back anon—till then, adieu." He hurried away with evident confusion, and rushing down the avenue without looking once behind him, leaped into the boat and was pulled over to the city.
"Will your Lordship be crossing the water again this nicht?" asked the boatman, with the utmost humility.
"That is as may be—what recks it to such as thee, fellow?" rejoined the passenger haughtily, as he tossed a few coins into the extended bonnet of the ferryman, sprang up Mary King's Close, and hurried towards Bristo.
CHAPTER VI.
THE SEDAN.
ADURNI. I will stand
The roughness of the encounter, like a gentleman,
And wait ye to your homes, whate'er befal me.
THE LADY'S TRIAL.
Lord Clermistonlee, as he anticipated, reached the Earl of Dunbarton's house just when the company were separating. The guard of horse was drawn up in the court-yard in courtesy to the guests. Lumbering old-fashioned carriages were rolling solemnly away; sedans, borne by liveried chairmen, and having lighted links flaring in the night-wind before and behind them, were carried off at a trot through the dark and devious windings of the city. The court on the north side of the mansion was becoming comparatively still and empty, and Clermistonlee, with no small anxiety for the success of his plot, looked on all sides for his faithful Juden; but that pink of butlers and factotum of his household was nowhere visible, and he searched in vain for the green livery of Clermont faced with scarlet.
At this crisis a sedan approached bearing the blazon of Napier in a widow's lozenge. It was borne by two men, in whom, though attired as public chairmen, Clermistonlee recognised Juden and his nephew Jock, a strong, lank-bodied fellow, who acted as valet, groom, errand-boy, turnspit, &c., at his Lordship's lodging. He had coarse pimply features, high cheek-bones, and a shock head of red hair waving under a broad bonnet, piggish eyes, and a mouth of vast circumference. His whole vocabulary consisted of a deep gutteral ay, with which he replied to everything and everybody. Half knave, half idiot, he was just the kind of ally required by Clermistonlee, to whom he was intensely devoted, and to whom he looked up as something more than a demigod.
"I am glad you have doffed the green and scarlet," said the lord. "You have been a thought beyond me to-night, Juden. Have her ladyship's sedans been summoned?"
"Half-an-hour syne, my lord."
"Indeed!" rejoined the other, in a breathless voice, and letting fall the rocquelaure which muffled his face. "Mistress Lilian is not departed! Rascal, if she has——"
"Hooly and fairly: we have just come for her, by her ladyship's orders," grinned Juden. "A weary tramp we had to Bruntisfield wi' the auld dame (devil tak' her!); but we coupit her at Dalryburn—ha! ha!"
"How, sirrah? where were her chairmen?"
"Where they are even now—in the water-hole of the town-guard—a dungeon vaulted wi' stane, dark as pitch, and half fu' o' water. Gif your lordship does na ken sic a place, owre weel do I, for there I passed fifteen weary days and eerie nights, after Bothwellbrig, shivering like a rat in an ice-house."
"Gomeral! is this a place for thy pestilent reminiscences of Bothwell? Ye obeyed my orders?"
"To the letter o' the law, as my lord Mersington says. I have made Lady Grisel's servitors as fu' as strong October, reeking usquebaugh, ay, and a three gallon runlet of gude red Rhenish, at sixpence the quart, could make them. But then, by way o' repaying my hospitality, they began misnaming your Lordship."
"What said the knaves?"
"That ye were but a cock-laird o' Cramond, for a' your baron's coronet, and a fause whig and misleared covenanter at heart."
"Foh! it matters not," replied Clermistonlee. "I will have all those varlets under my thumb ere long, and then I will teach them the respect that is due to my coronet. A cock-laird! By all the devils, they shall have their tongues bodkinned, and their ears nailed to the Tron, as a terror to all such plebeian rascals. But what didst thou, and this great baboon thy nephew, when these rascals made so free with our family?"
"We sweeped the house wi' the hair o' their heads—eh, Jock?"
"Ay," gaped the personage appealed to.
"My birse rose at the first word, and drawing my whinger, I fell on like a Stenton. Jock threw owre the buird and settles, and laid about him wi' a three-leggit stule. The gudewife o' the change-house scraighed like a howlet, and a' gaed to wreck. Shelves o' dishes and tin flagons, caups and luggies, Leith crystal and Delft ware, iron pots and pewter trenchers, a' flew like a hailstorm, and we laid about us like naething that I mind o', but the tulzie at Bothwell, when Dalyel's troopers broke the brig-ward, and fell on us sword in hand."
"Bothwell again! Rascal, how often must I tell thee to recur to those days no more?"
"In burst the toun-guard, wi' axe and pike, and carried them a' to the water-hole, as disturbers o' the peace."
"And how did you escape?"
"At the very sight o' the red wyvern on my sleeve, the loons let me go, as if my gude braid claith had been iron in a white heat: and sae I am here."
"Excellent! for this night her people are safe. Thou art a priceless fellow, Juden."
"When Lady Grisel's men were summoned, we changed our coats, and in their places came as ye see. We bore her awa to the Place o' Bruntisfield, and are now, by her orders, returned for Madam Lilian."
"Heaven is propitious to me to-night. But I fear me, thy dullard of a nephew may spoil all."
At that moment the voice of the earl's chamberlain was heard summoning "Mistress Napier's chair," and with much pretended bustle, Juden and his cunning nephew, in their assumed character of hack-chairmen, carried it up the broad flight of steps into the brilliantly-lighted lobby, while, with a beating heart, Clermistonlee withdrew a little, to observe the issue of his plans.
He waited what appeared to be an age; for Juden and his nephew had been desired to remain in the court without for a time; and when again they were summoned, Lilian Napier was in the chair, and when it was brought forth, the little blinds of scarlet silk were so closely drawn that Clermistonlee could not discern the least part of that fairy form, over the beauties of which he revelled in fancy; and his swart cheek glowed, his pulses quickened, as his unscrupulous serving-men approached at a slow trot, carrying with ease the sedan, though it was ponderous with black leather, gilded nails, and armorial bosses.
Equally pleased and surprised that Walter Fenton was not escorting it, Clermistonlee (who had pre-arranged to leave him dead among the fields) silently opened the gate of the court which led to the westward, and shrinking behind the shadow of a wall, almost held his breath as the vehicle passed which contained that fair being for whose possession he was risking so much odium and danger; but neither were new to him. Regardless of the feelings of others, and dead to every sense of honour, save that bull-headed valour which made the cavaliers of his day fight to the death for matters of less value than a soap-bubble, he had long been accustomed to gratify without a scruple his strong and unruly passions.
He breathed more freely as his followers traversed the deserted road that led to the barrier of Bristo, and thence striking westward, proceeded by a narrow horseway leading to the thatched hamlet and manor-house of Lauriston, a suburb a few hundred yards from the city wall, which, with its row of embattled bastelhouses, rose on the right hand.
It was a long and monotonous line of crenelated wall, the outline of which was broken only by the spire of the old Greyfriars' Kirk (which was accidentally blown-up in 1718 by powder stored therein by the thrifty bailies of Edinburgh), the turrets of Heriot's Hospital, and at intervals a fantastic stack of great black chimnies studded with oyster-shells. On the left were fields of waving grain, and rows of foliaged trees, that spread over the gradual slope to the sandy margin of the beautiful lake. The little village was buried in silence and sleep; all was hushed under the green thatch of its humble cots. Scarcely a star was visible; it was nearly midnight, and utter solitude surrounded them.
Poor Lilian! Her daring abductor had not as yet formed any defined plan of ultimate procedure. His first object was to have Lilian completely at his mercy, and nowhere could she be more so, than in the strong and solitary house of Drumsheugh, watched by the infamous being introduced to the reader in the preceding chapter.
Within the grated chambers of that house, which he had made the scene of a thousand enormities, Clermistonlee hoped soon by terror, persuasion, or force, to overcome the repugnance Lilian had so long expressed for his addresses. The cold, but decided refusal, of old Lady Grisel, the startled dismay and ill-concealed hauteur of Lilian, when but a few months before he had made a somewhat abrupt and unexpected proposal for her hand, now rose vividly to his mind, and spurred him on to triumph and revenge.
He contemplated with a malicious satisfaction, that even if to-morrow, or a week hence, he should free Lilian from durance, she would go forth with a stain upon her reputation, and imputations upon her honour, worse than death to a girl of her delicacy and spirit—imputations which ultimately might force the proud little beauty into his arms, when the web of his machinations was stronger, and when even her lover would shrink from her as from one contaminated.
Then would be his hour of triumph! and—but here his cogitations were interrupted by the yelling of a great wolf-dog, which thrust its black nose through the barbican-gate of the Highriggs, and barked furiously.
Clermistonlee had hoped that, fatigued with dancing and the lateness of the hour, sleep had overpowered Lilian, and now he trembled lest she should awake, and by her cries summon aid to her rescue from this old baronial mansion, which terminated the Portsburgh. In wrath, he thrust with his long rapier at the dog; but its baying redoubled, and, in great consternation, Juden and Jock hurried northward down the slope at their utmost speed. To the joy of Clermistonlee, his fair captive expressed no alarm, and the curtains of the sedan remained undrawn. Her voice was unheard, and no sound broke the stillness of the place, save the wind sweeping over the fields, and the tramp of the chairmen's feet, as they ascended by a narrow bridle path to the ancient gate of Drumsheugh.
"She is mine at last!" exclaimed the triumphant roué, through his clenched teeth, as they entered the damp gloomy avenue. "Ha, Master Fenton, I have the odds of thee! Ha, ha! Not all hell itself could save her from me now."
At the base of a tower where a small doorway gave entrance to the house, Juden, who was in front, to his great tribulation, saw Beatrix Gilruth with a long pikestaff in one hand, and an iron cresset in the other. She held it aloft at the full stretch of her meagre arm, and fitfully the flame streamed in the night-wind, casting a bright but uncertain glare on her pinched unearthly features, her sunken eyes, matted hair, and tattered attire, on the mossgreen walls, the grated windows, and striking façade of the ancient mansion, and the thick trees that grew around it, revealing the dewy leaves and threads of silver gossamer that spread from branch to branch—but Beatrix was the most striking object, for the wildness of her air imparted to her the aspect of an antique Pythoness, a sorceress, or maniac. Juden fearfully eyed her askance.
"Gude e'en to ye, cummer," said he breathlessly.
"Evening? ye feared gowk!" retorted Beatrix. "'Tis the dead hour of midnight, as ye may know by putting your neb oure the kirkyard dyke, where mair may be seen than ye reckon on. Behold the light that dances in yonder hollow."
Juden looked down the long avenue, which the dense foliage caused to resemble a leafy tunnel, and saw far off a lambent and uncertain light playing in the distance.
"'Tis a corpse candle!" screamed Beatrix. "It glints above the grave of an unchristened wean. Hah, fool! frightened as ye are for it, the day is not far off when the same deidlicht will be dancing among the grass that covers your own."
Perspiration burst over Juden's brow, while the woman enjoying the terror she created, uttered a wild laugh.
"My Lord—Jock—I tak ye to witness she foretells my wierd—a clear case o' malice and sorcery as ever came before the Fifteen. But I defy ye, Lucky Gilruth, for the barrels are tarred that shall send thee to the fires o' eternity, ye shameless limmer." Juden trembled between pious confidence and deadly fear—like one who in a dream defies a fiend.
"Hark to St. Cuthbert's bell?" continued Beatrix, who appeared to find a satisfaction in the fear and aversion she created. "Now shall ye behold the spirits of the dead, that many a time and oft on this returning night, I have seen rush forth from yonder woods,—Sir Patrick of Blackadder, and his slayers, Douglas, Hume, and Clermistonlee. Like the driven cloud, they fly without a sound along the gloomy avenue—pursuers and pursued, their swords flashing and their hell-forged harness glinting, as they sweep like shadows oure the dewy grass, with the stars shining through the ribs of their skeleton horses, till the spirit of Blackadder plunges into the loch, as it did on his dying day—then red flash their petronels, and the pure water sparkles around them like diamonds in the moonlight—an eldritch yell arises from its shining bosom, and all is over!"
"What mummery is this, thou eternal babbler?" said Clermistonlee, in a voice of suppressed passion. "Woman, Beatrix, silence, lest I strangle thee!"
The sedan was now within the vaulted ambulatory of the mansion; and the door was securely bolted by Juden, while his master, who had begun to feel no little surprise and anxiety at the silence maintained by Lilian, advanced hurriedly to the chair; but first whispered to his old paramour:
"A word, Beatrix,—is the wainscoted room in the turret prepared for the reception of this little one?" Beatrix nodded. "Peril of thy head, woman, if it were not," he added scornfully, and raised the top of the sedan, while his assistants respectfully withdrew. "Fair Lilian," said he, commencing one of his made-up fine speeches, but not without apparent confusion, "fair Lilian, and not less beloved than fair, pardon this duplicity, for which the excess of my love can be my only, my best excuse. My love—alas! my dear girl, you have known it long, and too long have you slighted it. But on bended knee, behold!—I beseech you to pardon me—Lilian—dearest Lilian——"
"Ha, ha! ho, ho!" laughed a deep and sonorous voice within the sedan. "Horns of Mahoud! if this is not exquisite!" and, instead of beholding Lilian's fair face, shaded by silken ringlets—lo! the exasperated lover was confronted by the bushy perriwig, swart visage, and black moustachios of Dick Douglas of Finland. "Ho, ho! your Lordship has been prodigiously outwitted;" and the cavalier laughed as if he would die.
"A thousand furies! draw! Finland, draw!—your life shall pay for this!" exclaimed Clermistonlee, recoiling and laying hand on his sword.
"As you please, Right Honourable; but I hope, most noble Lord, your rascals mean to carry me back to the city—ha, ha!"
"Not unless it be cold and stark upon a bier. Zounds! Sir, I believe you know I am one who will not brook being trifled with."
"Your Lordship must know me for the same," replied Finland, gravely. "I care not a straw what view you may take of this night's adventure, and will now, or at any time, render due satisfaction for it, with my sword, body to body. I am generally to be found either at my quarters in the White Horse Cellar, or in Hugh Blair's Coffeehouse."
"Or the Laird of Maxwelton's—ha!"
"Where your Lordship had better not present yourself; and so, gadzooks! your most obedient. Harkee! Mother Gilruth, undo the barrier; you know me, I think, old one, eh?" and he threw a few coins in her apron, saying, "I can be as free of my flesh and gold as either lord or loon."
Beatrix, whose grey eyes gleamed with malice and avarice, clutched the money with one hand, and shook a poniard at the donor with the other; while Clermistonlee, who was boiling with passion and mortification, again approached him. Douglas started, and half unsheathed his glittering rapier; while Juden, who considered his Lord's affront as one offered to himself, snatched an old partisan from the wall, and prepared to fall on.