Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924075867170 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY i^j-as- ^ y<^y. THE BETROTHED AND The Highland Widow. BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. ^^B^^l raE^ 1 9| HH^^ ■ BMUff^^^F ^ Hh^Iv l^H^H ^b' ^ ' KS JK ^ Jt^AM) ■« ^ A^ ^^p^'\ HIi S ^^^iBfl^.*^ ^^^^ v mMM %:^^ ^fl mM f. M fl 1 I \om to Sr iojn teas a i Sole Jeire of i^ugj great traueller anlr a \ Bom He ?§aj5e aitir SouIUser anir marrietr ] ISIaeftrolre antr Jalr iBBue Co l@.. 8. <&. 2. of ttts Mabtl ta a storg is tratrttton of untroutetj bctitg tfiat in S^v SlHtliiam ISratigi) age's absence (tetnge lo geates atoag in tfie toaws) gf)c marrirt a toelci) fet. Sr asaaiiam wtorninBC from tje toares came in a palmers iiabtt amo= ngst t^e loore to tagtie. 512aSo toten sSe sato $c coitgelringe tjat f)e faboureti tw former Susfianli toept, for toi)ie5 tiie fe* cj&asticeti Jer at toicf) S>^ asailltam toent anti matie tint gelfe ivnatone to tts Cennants in tocft space tje fet flei. iut neare to iaetoton ^arfee S« S2BiUiam ouer^ toofee ttm mti slue tim. tHifg miii Bmxe iilafiell Inas eniogneli ig Jer confessor to ioe ^ennances tg going onest cuerg toee& iarefout anu tare legg'lj to a (Erosse ner SlHtgan from tje tagiie totlest sfie liueti 9c is callctr iaaalili 1 to tSis iiag ; $c tter monument ILges in toigan Otfiurcib as gou see ti)er ^ortrtr an: Horn: 1315. There were many vestiges around Haighhall, both of the Catholic penances of the Lady Mabel and the history of this un- fortunate transaction in particular ; the whole history was within THE BETROTHED. ii the memory of man portrayed upon a glass window in the hall, where unfortunately it has not been preserved. Mab's Cross is still extant. An old ruinous building is said to ha^e been the place where the Lady Mabel was condemned to render penance, by walk- ing hither from Haighhall barefooted and barelegged for the per- formance of her devotions. This relic, to which an anecdote so curious is annexed, is now unfortunately ruinous. Time and white- wash, says Mr. Roby, have altogether defaced the effigies of the knight and lady on the tomb. The particulars are preserved in Mr. Roby's Traditions of Lancashire,* to which the reader is referred for further particulars. It does not appear that Sir Wil- liam Bradshaigh was irreparably offended against the too hasty Lady Mabel, although he certainly showed himself of a more fiery mould than the Scottish and German barons who were heroes of the former tales. The tradition, which the author knew very early in life, was told to him by the late Lady Balcarras. He was so much struck with it, that being at that time profuse of legendary lore, he inserted it in the shape of a note to Waverley,* the first of his romantic offences. Had he then known, as he now does, the value of such a story, it is likely that, as directed in the inimitable receipt for making an epic poem, preserved in the Guardian, he would have kept it for some future opportunity. As, however, the tale had not been completely told, and was a very interesting one, and as it was sufficiently interwoven with the Crusades, the wars between the Welsh and the Norman lords of the Marches was selected as a period when all freedoms might be taken with the strict truth of history without encountering any well known fact, which might render the narrative improbable. Per- haps, however, the period which vindicates the probability of the tale, will, with its wars and murders, be best found described in the following passage of Gryffyth Ap Edwin's wars. " This prince in conjunction with Algar, Earl of Chester, who had been banished from England as a traitor, in the reign of Ed- ward the Confessor, marched into Herefordshire and wasted all that fertile country with fire and sword, to revenge the death of his brother Rhees, whose head had been brought to Edward in pursu- ance of an order sent by that King on account of the depredations which he had committed against the English on the borders. To stop these ravages the Earl of Hereford, who was nephew to Edward, advanced with an army, not of English alone, but of mer- cenary Normans and French, whom he had entertained in his ser- vice, against Gryffyth and Algar. He met them near Hereford, and offered them battle, which the Welsh monarch, who had won five pitched battles before, and never had fought without conquer- ing, joyfully accepted. The earl had commanded his English 12 INTRODUCTION TO forces to fight on horseback, in imitation of the Normans, against their usu?l custom ; but the Welsh making a furious and desperate charge, that nobleman himself, and the foreign cavalry led by him, were so daunted at the view of them, that they shamefully fled without fighting ; which being seen by the English, they also turned their backs on the enemy, who, having killed or wounded as many of them as they could come up with in their flight, entered triumphantly into Hereford, spoiled and fired the city, razed the walls to the ground, slaughtered some of the citizens, led many of them captive, and (to use the words of the Welsh Chronicle) left nothing in the town but blood and ashes. After this exploit they immediately returned into Wales, undoubtedly from a desire of securing their prisoners, and the rich plunder they had gained. The King of England hereupon commanded Earl Harold to col- lect a great army from all parts of the kingdom, and assembling them at Gloucester, advanced from thence to invade the dominions of Gryffyth in North Wales. He performed his orders, and pene- trated into that country without resistance from the Welsh ; Gryf- fyth and Algar returning into some parts of South Wales. What were their reasons for this conduct we are not well informed ; nor why Harold did not pursue his advantage against them ; but it appears that he thought it more advisable at this time to treat with, than subdue, them ; for he left North Wales, and employed himself in rebuilding the walls of Hereford, while negotiations were carry- ing on with Gryffyth, which soon after produced the restoration of Algar, and a peace with that king, not veiy honourable to England, as he made no satisfaction for the mischief he had done in the war, nor any submissions to Edward. Harold must doubtless have had some private and forcible motives to conclude such a treaty. The very next year the Welsh monarch, upon what quarrel we know not, made a new incursion into England, and killed the Bishop of Hereford, the sheriff of the county, and many more of the English, both ecclesiastics and laymen. Edward was coun- selled by Harold, and Leofrick, Earl of Mercia, to make peace with him again ; which he again broke : nor could he be restrained by any means, from these barbarous inroads, before the year one thousand and sixty-three ; when Edward, whose patience and pacific disposition had been too much abused, commissioned Harold to assemble the whole strength of the kingdom, and make war upon him in his own country, till he had subdued or destroyed him. That general acted so vigorously, and with so much celerity, that he had like to have surprised him in his palace : but just before the English forces arrived at his gate, having notice of the danger that threatened him, and seeing no other means of safety, he threw himself with a few of his household into one of his ships THE BETROTHED. 13 - which happened at the instant to be ready to sail, and put to sea.', — Lyttleton's Hist, of England, vol. ii. p. 338. This passage will be found to bear a general resemblance to the fictitious tale told in the Romance. Abbotsford, \st June, 1832. INTRODUCTION. MINUTES OF SEDERUNT OF A GENERAL MEETING OF THE SHAREHOLDERS DESIGNING TO FORM A JOINT-STOCK COMPANY, UNITED FOR THE PURPOSE OF WRITING AND PUBLISHING THE CLASS OF WORKS CALLED THE WAVERLEY NOVELS, HELD IN THE WATER- LOO TAVERN, regent's BRIDGE, EDINBURGH, 1ST JUNE, 1825. [The reader must have remarked, that the various editions of the proceedings at this meeting were given in the public papers with rather more than usual inaccuracy. The cause of this was no ill-timed delicacy on the part of the gentlemen of the press to assert their privilege of universal presence wherever a few are met together, and to commit to the public prints whatever may then and there pass of the most private nature. But very unusual and arbitrary methods were resorted to on the present occasion to pre- vent the reporters using a right which is generally conceded to them by almost all meetings, whether of a political or commercial description. Our own reporter, indeed, was bold enough to secrete himself under the Secretary's table, and was not discovered till the meeting was wellnigh over. We are sorry to say, he suffered much in person from fists and toes, and two or three principal pages were torn out of his note-book, which occasions his report to break off abruptly. We cannot but consider this behaviour as more particu- larly illiberal on the part of men who are themselves a kind of gentlemen of the press ; and they ought to consider themselves as fortunate that the misused reporter has sought no other vengeance than from the tone of acidity with which he has seasoned his account of their proceedings. — Edinburgh Newspaperi\ 14 INTRODUCTION'. A MEETING of the gentlemen and others intferested in the cele- brated publications called the Waverley Novels, having been called by public advertisement, the same was respectably attended by various literary characters of eminence. And it being in the first place understood that individuals were to be denominated by the names assigned to them in the publications in question, the Eido- lon, or image of the author, was unanimously called to the chair, and Jonathan Oldbuck, Esq., of Monkbarns, was requested to act as Secretary. The Preses then addressed the meeting to the following pur- pose : — " Gentlemen, " I need scarce remind you, that we have a joint interest in th* valuable property which has accumulated under our common labours. While the public have been idly engaged in ascribing to ojie individual or another the immense mass of various matter, which the labours of many had accumulated, you, gentlemen, well know, that every person in this numerous assembly has had his share in the honours and profits of our common success. It is, indeed, to me a mystery how the sharp-sighted could suppose so huge a mass of sense and nonsense, jest and earnest, humorous and pathetic, good, bad, and indifferent, amounting to scores of volumes, could be the work of one hand, when we know the doc- trine so well laid down by the immortal Adam Smith, concerning the division of labour. Were those who entertained an opinion so strange, not wise enough to know that it requires twenty pairs of hands to make a thing so trifling as a pin — twenty couple of dogs to kill an animal so insignificant as a fox ? " " Hout, man ! " said a stout countryman, " I have a grew-bitch at hame will worry the best tod in Pomoragrains, before ye could say Dumpling." " Who is that person ? " said the Preses, with some warmth, as it appeared to us. " A son of Dandy Dinmont's," answered the unabashed rustic. " God, ye may mind him, I think !— ane o' the best in your aught, I reckon. And, ye see, I am come into the farm, and maybe some- thing mair, and a wheen shares in this buik-trade of yours." " Well, well," replied the Preses, « peace, I pray thee, peace.— Gentlemen, when thus interrupted, I was on the point of introduc- ing the business of this meeting, being, as is known to most of you, the discussion of a proposition now on your table, which I myself had the honour to suggest at last meeting, namely, that we do apply to the Legislature for an Act of Parliament in ordinary to associate us into a corporate body, and give us a persona standi in ptdicio INTRODUCTION. 13 with full power to prosecute and bring to conviction all encroachers upon our exclusive privilege, in the manner therein to be made and provided. In a letter from the ingenious Mr. Dousterswivel which I have received " Oldbuck, warmly — " 1 object to that fellow's name being men- tioned ; he is a common swindler." " For shame, Mr. Oldbuck," said the Preses, " to use such terms respecting the ingenious inventor of the great patent machine erected at Groningen, where they put in raw hemp at one end, and take out ruffled shirts at the other, without the aid of hackle or ■ rippling-comb, loom, shuttle, or weaver, scissors, needle, or seams- tress. He had just completed it, by the addition of a piece of machinery to perform the work of the laundress ; but when it was exhibited before his honour the burgomaster, it had the inconve- nience of heating the smoothing-irons red-hot ; excepting which, the experiment was entirely satisfactory. He will become as rich as a Jew." "Well," added Mr. Oldbuck, " if the scoundrel" " Scoundrel, Mr. Oldbuck," said the Preses, " is a most unseemly expression, and I must call you to order. Mr. Dousterswivel is only an eccentric genius." " Pretty much the same in the Greek," muttered Mr. Oldbuck ; and then said aloud, "and if this eccentric genius has work enough in singeing the Dutchman's linen, what the devil has he to do here?" " Why, he is of opinion, that at the expense of a little mechan- ism, some part of the labour of composing these novels might be saved by the use of steam." There was a murmur of disapprobation at this proposal, and the words, " Blown up," and " Bread taken out of our mouths ; " " They might as well construct a steam parson," were whispered. And it was not without repeated calls to order, that the Preses obtained an opportunity of resuming his address. " Order ! — Order ! Pray, support the chair ! Hear, hear, hear the chair ! " " Gentlemen, it is to be premised, that this mechanical operation can only apply to those parts of the narrative which are at present composed out of commonplaces, such as the love-speeches of the hero, the description of the heroine's person, the moral observations of all sorts, and the distribution of happiness at the conclusion of the piece. Mr. Dousterswivel has sent me some drawings, which go far to show, that, by placing the words and phrases technically employed on these subjects, in a sort of framework, like that of the Sage of Laputa, and changing them by such a mechanical process as that by which weavers of damask alter their patterns, many new i6 INTRODUCTION. and happy combinations cannot fail to occur, while the author, tired of pumping his own brains, may have an agreeable relaxation in the use of his fingers.' « I speak for information, Mr. Preses," said the Rev. Mr. Law- rence Templeton ; " but I am inclined to suppose the late pubhca- tion of Walladmor to have been the work of Dousterswivel, by the help of the steam-engine." * "For shame, Mr. Templeton," said the Preses ; "there are good things in Walladmor, I assure you, had the writer known any thing about the country in which he laid the scene." " Or had he had the wit, like some of ourselves, to lay the scene in such a remote or distant countiy that nobody should be able to back-speer* him," said Mr. Oldbuck. " Why, as to that," said the Preses, " you must consider the thing was got up for the German market, where folks are no better judges of Welsh manners than of Welsh crw." * " I make it my prayer that this be not found the fault of our own next venture," said Dr. Dryasdust, pointing to some books which lay on the table. " I fear the manners expressed in that 'Betrothed' of ours, will scarce meet the approbation of the Cymmerodion ; I could have wished that Llhuyd had been looked into — that Powel had been consulted — that Lewis's History had been quoted, the preliminary dissertations particularly, in order to give due weight to the work." " Weight ! " said Captain Clutterbuck ; " by my soul, it is heavy- enough, already. Doctor." " Speak to the chair," said the Preses, rather peevishly. " To the chair, then, I say it," said Captain Clutterbuck, " that ' The Betrothed ' is heavy enough to break down the chair of John of Gaunt, or Cador-Edris itself. I must add, however, that, in my poor mind, ' The Talisman' goes more trippingly off."* " It is not for me to speak," said the worthy minister of Saint Ronan's Well ; " but yet I must say, that being so long engaged upon the siege of Ptolemais, my work ought to have been brought out, humble though it be, before any other upon a similar subject at least." " Your Siege, Parson !" said Mr. Oldbuck, with great contempt ; " will you speak of your paltry prose-doings in my presence, whose great Historical Poem, in twenty books, with notes in proportion, has been postponed ad Grcecas Kalendas f " The Preses, who appeared to suffer a great deal during this dis- cussion, now spoke with dignity and determination. " Gentlemen," he said, " this sort of discussion is highly irregular. There is a question before you, and to that, gentlemen, I must confine your attention. Priority of publication.^let me remind you, gentlemen. INTRODUCTION. > 17 is always referred to the Committee of Criticism, whose determina^ tion on such subjects is without appeal. I declare I will leave the chair, if any more extraneous matter be introduced. — And now, gentlemen, that we are once more in order, I would wish to have some gentleman speak upon the question, whether, as associated to carry on a joint-stock trade in fictitious narrative, in prose and verse, we ought not to be incorporated by Act of Parliament? What say you, gentlemen, to the proposal ? Vis unita fortior, is an old and true adage." " Societas mater discordiarum, is a brocard as ancient and as veritable," said Oldbuck, who seemed determined, on this occasion, to be pleased with no proposal that was countenanced by the chair. " Come, Monkbarns," said the Preses, in his most coaxing man- ner, " you have studied the monastic institutions deeply, and know there must be a union of persons and talents to do any thing re- spectable, and attain a due ascendance over the spirit of the age. Tresfaciunt collegium — it takes three monks to make a convent." " And nine tailors to make a man," replied Oldbuck, not in the least softened in his opposition ; " a quotation as much to the Durpose as the other." " Come, come," said the Preses, " you know the Prince of Orange said to Mr. Seymour, ' Without an association, we are a rope of sand.'" " I know," replied Oldbuck, " it would have been as seemly that none of the old leaven had been displayed on this occasion, though you be the author of a Jacobite novel. I know nothing of the Prince of Orange after 1688 ; but I have heard a good deal of the immortal William the Third." "And, to the best of my recollection," said Mr. Templeton, whispering Oldbuck, " it was Seymour made the remark to the Prince, not the Prince to Seymour. But this is a specimen of our friend's accuracy, poor gentleman : He trusts too much to his memory ! of late years — failing fast, sir — breaking up." " And breaking down too," said Mr. Oldbuck. " But what can you expect of a man too fond of his own hasty and flashy composi- tions to take the assistance of men of reading and of solid parts ? " " No whispering — no caballing — no private business, gentlemen," said the unfortunate Preses, — who reminded us somewhat of a Highland drover, engaged in gathering and keeping in the straight road his excursive black cattle. " I have not yet heard," he continued, " a single reasonable objection to applying for the Act of Parliament, of which the draught lies on the table. You must be aware that the extremes of rude and of civilized society are, in these our days, on the point of approaching to each other. In the patriarchal period, a man is his C i8 INTRODUCTION. own weaver, tailor, butcher, shoemaker, and so forth ; and, in the age of Stock-companies, as the present may be called, an indi- vidual may be said, in one sense, to exercise the same plurality of trades. In fact, a man who has dipt largely into these specula- tions, may combine his own expenditure with the improvement of his own income, just like the ingenious hydraulic machine, which, by its very waste, raises its own supplies of water. Such a person buys his bread from his own Baking Company, his milk and cheese from his own Dairy Company, takes off a new coat for the benefit of his own Clothing Company, illuminates his house to advance his own Gas Establishment, and drinks an additional bottle of wine for the benefit of the General Wine Importation Company, of which he is himself a member. Every act, which would otherwise be one of mere extravagance, is, to such a person, seasoned with the odor lucri, and reconciled to prudence. Even if the price of the article consumed be extravagant, and the quality indifferent, the person, who is in a manner his own customer, is only imposed upon for his own benefit. Nay, if the Joint-stock Company of Undertakers shall unite with the Medical Faculty, as proposed by the late facetious Doctor G , under the firm of Death and the Doctor, the shareholder might contrive to secure to his heirs a handsome slice of his own death-bed and funeral ex- penses. In short, Stock-companies are the fashion of the age, and an Incorporating Act will, I think, be particularly useful in bringing back the body, over whom I have the honour to preside, to a spirit of subordination, highly necessary to success in every enterprise where joint wisdom, talent, and labour, are to be em- ployed. It is with regret that I state, that, besides several differ- ences amongst yourselves, I have not myself for some time been treated with that deference among you which circumstances entitled me to expect." " Hinc illcB lachrymcB," muttered Mr. Oldbuck. " But," continued the Chairman, " I see other gentlemen impa- tient to deliver their opinions, and I desire to stand in no man's way. I therefore— my place in this chair forbidding me to origi- nate the motion — beg some gentleman may move a committee for revising the draught of the bill now upon the table, and which has been duly circulated among those having interest, and take the necessary measures to bring it before the House early next session." There was a short murmur in the meeting, and at length Mr. Oldbuck again rose. " It seems, sir," he said, addressing the chair, "that no one present is willing to make the motion you point at. I am sorry no more qualified person has taken upon him to show any reasons in the contrair, and that it has fallen on me. INTRODUCTION. 19 as we Scotsmen say, to bell-the-cat with you ; anent whilk phrase, Pitscottie hath a pleasant jest of the great Earl of Angus" — Here a gentleman whispered to the speaker, " Have a care of Pitscottie !" and Mr. Oldbuck, as if taking the hint, went on. " But that's neither here nor there— Well, gentlemen, to be short, I think it unnecessary to enter into the general reasonings whilk have this day been delivered, as I may say, ex cathedrdj nor will I charge our worthy Preses with an attempt to obtain over us, per ainbages, and under colour of an Act of Parliament, a des- potic authority, inconsistent with our freedom : But this I will say, that times are so much changed above stairs, that whereas last year you might have obtained an act incorporating a Stock-com- pany for riddling ashes, you will not be able to procure one this year for gathering pearls. What signifies, then, wasting the time of the meeting, by enquiring whether or not we ought to go in at a door which we know to be bolted and barred in our face, and in the face of all the companies for fire or air, land or water, which we have of late seen blighted ? " Here there was a general clamour, seemingly of approbation, in which the words might be distinguished, " Needless to think of it" — " Money thrown away" — " Lost before the committee," &c. &c. &c. But above the tumult, the voices of two gentlemen, in dif- ferent corners of the room, answered each other clear and loud, like the blows of the two figures on Saint Dunstan's clock ; and although the Chairman, in much agitation, endeavoured to silence them, his interruption had only the eifect of cutting their words up into syllables, thus, — First Voice. " The Lord Chan" Second Voice. " The Lord Lau" Chairman, (loudly^ " Scandalum magnatum ! " First Voice. " The Lord Chancel" Second Voice. " The Lord Lauder" Chairman, {louder yet.) " Breach of Privilege ! " First Voice. " The Lord Chancellor" Second Voice. " My Lord Lauderdale" Chairman, {at the highest pitch of his voice) "Called before the House ! " Both Voices together. " Will never consent to such a bill." A general assent seemed to follow this last proposition, which was propounded with as much emphasis as could be contributed by the united clappers of the whole meeting, joined to those of the voices already mentioned. Several persons present seemed to consider the business of the meeting as ended, and were beginning to handle their hats and canes, with a view to departure, when the Chairman, who had 30 INTRODUCTION. thrown himself back in his chair with an air of manifest mortifica- tion and displeasure, again drew himself up, and commanded attention. All stopped, though some shrugged their shoulders, as if under the predominating influence of what is called a bore. But the tenor of his discburse soon excited anxious attention.* " I perceive, gentlemen," he said, " that you are like the young birds, who are impatient to leave their mother's nest— take care your own pen-feathers are strong enough to support you ; since, as for my part, I am tired of supporting on my wing such a set of ungrateful gulls. But it signifies nothing speaking — I wUl no longer avail myself of such weak ministers as you — I will discard you — I will unbeget you, as Sir Anthony Absolute says— I will leave you and your whole hacked stock in trade — your caverns and your castles — your modern antiques, and your antiquated moderns — your confusion of times, manners, and circumstances — your pro- perties, as player-folk say of scenery and dresses — th& whole of your exhausted expedients, to the fools who choose to deal with them. I will vindicate my own fame with my own right hand, without appealing to such halting assistants, ' Whom I have used for sport, rather than need.' — I will lay my foundations better than on quicksands— I will rear my structure of better materials than painted cards ; in a word, I will write HISTORY ! " There was a tumult of surprise, amid which our reporter detected the following expressions : — " The devil you will !" — " You, my dear sir, _yo«.?"— "The old gentleman forgets that he is the greatest liar since Sir John Mandeville." " Not the worse historian for that," said Oldbuck, " since history, YOU know, is half fiction." " I'll answer for that half being forthcoming, said the former speaker ; " but for the scantling of truth which is necessary after all. Lord help us !— Geoffrey of Monmouth will be Lord Clarendon to him." As the confusion began to abate, more than one member of the meeting was seen to touch his forehead significantly, while Captain. Clutterbuck humm'd. Be by your friends advised, Too rash, too hasty, dad, Maugre your bohs and wise head. The world will think you mad. <' The world, and you, gentlemen, may think what you please," INTRODUCTION. 21 said the Chairman, elevating his voice ; " but I intend to write the most wonderful Tjook which the world ever read— a book in which every incident shall be incredible, yet strictly true — a work recall- ing recollections with which the ears of this generation once tingled, and which shall be read by our children with an admira- tion approaching to . incredulity. Such shall be the Life of Napoleon Buonaparte, by the Author of Waverley ! " In the general start and exclamation which followed this annun- ciation, Mr. Oldbuck dropped his snuff-box ; and the Scottish rappee, which dispersed itself in consequence, had effects upon the nasal organs of our reporter, ensconced as he was under the secre- tary's table, which occasioned his being discovered and extruded in the illiberal and unhandsome manner we have mentioned, with threats of farther damage to his nose, ears, and other portions of his body, on the part especially of Captain Clutterbuck. Undis- mayed by these threats, which indeed those of his profession are accustomed to hold at defiance, our young man hovered about the door of the tavern, but could only bring us the further intelligence that the meeting had broken up in about a quarter of an hour after his expulsion, " in much-admired disorder." THE BETROTHED. CHAPTER I. Now in these dayes were hotte wars upon the Marches of Wales. Lewis's History. The Chronicles, from which this narrative is extracted, assure us, that during the long period when the Welsh princes maintained their independence, the year 1 187 was peculiarly marked as favour- able to peace betwixt them and their warlike neighbours, the Lords Marchers, who inhabited those formidable castles on the frontiers of the ancient British, on the ruins of which the traveller gazes with wonder. This was the time when Baldwin, Archbishop of Canter- bury, accompanied by the learned Giraldus de Barri, afterwards Bishop of Saint David's, preached the Crusade from castle to castle, from town to town ; awakened the inmost valleys of his native Cambria with the call to arms for recovery of the Holy Sepulchre ; and, while he deprecated the feuds and wars of Chris- tian men against each other, held out to the martial spirit of the age a general object of ambition, and a scene of adventure, where the favour of Heaven, as well as of earthly renown, was to reward the successful champions. Yet the British chieftains, among the thousands whom this spirit- stirring summons called from their native land to a distant and perilous expedition, had perhaps the best excuse for declining the summons. The superior skill of the Anglo-Norman knights, who were engaged in constant inroads on the Welsh frontier, and who were frequently detaching from it large portions, which they forti- fied with castles, thus making good what they had won, was avenged, indeed, but not compensated, by the furious inroads of the British, who, like the billows of a retiring tide, rolled on succes- sively, with noise, fury, and devastation ; but, on each retreat, yielded ground insensibly to their invaders. A union among the native princes might have opposed a strong and permanent barrier to the encroachments of the strangers ; but they were, unhappily, as much at discord among themselves as they were with the Normans, and were constantly engaged in 84 THE BETROTHED. private war with each other, of which the common enemy had the sole advantage. The invitation to the Crusade promised something at least of novelty to a nation peculiarly ardent in their temper; and it was accepted by many, regardless of the consequences which must ensue to the country which they left defenceless. Even the most celebrated enemies of the Saxon and Norman race laid aside their enmity against the invaders of their country, to enrol themselves under the banners of the Crusade. Amongst these was reckoned Gwenwyn, (or more properly uwenwynwen, though we retain the briefer appellative,) a British prince who continued exercising a precarious sovereignty over such parts of Powys-Land as had not been subjugated by the Mortimers, Guarines, Latimers, FitzAlans, and other Norman nobles, who, under various pretexts, and sometimes contemning all other save the open avowal of superior force, had severed and appropriated large portions of that once extensive and independent principality, which, when Wales was unhappily divided into three parts on the death of Roderick Mawr, fell to the lot of his youngest son, Mervyn. The undaunted resolution and stubborn ferocity of Gwenwyn, descendant of that prince, had long made him beloved among the " Tall men," or Champions of Wales ; and he was enabled, more by the number of those who served under him, attracted by his reputation, than by the natural strength of his dilapidated principality, to retaliate the encroachments of the English by the most wasteful inroads. Yet even Gwenwyn on the present occasion seemed to forget his deeply sworn hatred against his dangerous neighbours. The Torch of Pengwern (for so Gwenwyn was called, from his frequently laying the province of Shrewsbury in conflagration) seemed at present to burn as calmly as a taper in the bower of a lady ; and the Wolf of Plinlimmon, another name with which the bards had graced Gwenwyn, now slumbered as peacefully as the shepherd's dog on the domestic hearth. But it was not alone the eloquence of Baldwin or of Girald which had lulled into peace a spirit so restless and fierce. It is true, their exhortations had done more towards it than Gwenwyn's followers had thought possible. The Archbishop had induced the British Chief to break bread, and to mingle in silvan sports, with his nearest, and hitherto one of his most determined enemies, the old Norman warrior Sir Raymond Berenger, who, sometimes beaten, sometimes victorious, but never subdued, had, in spite of Gwen- wyn's hottest incursions, maintained his Castle of Garde Dolou- reuse, upon the marches of Wales ; a place strong by nature, and well fortified by art, whiqb the Welsh prince ha4 fomi it ixn- THE BETROTHED, 35 possible to conquer, either by open force or by stratagem, and which, remaining with a strong garrison in his rear, often checked his incursions, by rendering his retreat precarious. On this account, Gwenwyn of Powys-Land had an hundred times vowed the death of Raymond Berenger, and the demolition of his castle ; but the policy of the sagacious old warrior, and' his long experience in all warlike practice, were such as, with the aid of his more powerful countrymen, enabled him to defy the attempts of his fiery neighbour. If there was a man, therefore, throughout England, whom Gwenwyn hated more than another, it was Raymond Berenger ; and yet the good Archbishop Baldwin could prevail on the Welsh prince to meet him as a friend and ally in the cause of the Cross. He even invited Raymond to the autumn festivities of his Welsh palace, where the old knight, in all honourable courtesy, feasted and hunted for more than a week in the dominions of his hereditary foe. To requite this hospitality, Raymond invited the Prince of Powys, with a chosen but limited train, during the ensuing Christmas, to the Garde Doloureuse, which some antiquaries have endeavoured to identify with the Castle of Colune, on the river of the same name. But the length of time, and some geographical difficulties, throw doubts upon this ingenious conjecture. As the Welshman crossed the drawbridge, he was observed by his faithful bard to shudder with involuntary emotion ; nor did Cadwallon, experienced as he was in life, and well acquainted with the character of his master, make any doubt that he was at that moment strongly urged by the apparent opportunity, to seize upon the strong fortress which had been so long the object of his cupidity, even at the expense of violating his good faith. Dreading lest the struggle of his master's conscience and his ambition should terminate unfavourably for his fame, the bard arrested his attention by whispering in their native language, that " the teeth which bite hardest are those which are out of sight ; " and Gwenwyn looking around him, became aware that, though only unarmed squires and pages appeared in the court-yard, yet the towers and battlements connecting them were garnished with archers and men-at-arms. They proceeded to the banquet, at which Gwenwyn, for the first time, beheld Eveline Berenger, the sole child of the Norman cas- tellane, the inheritor of his domains and of his supposed wealth, aged only sixteen, and the most beautiful damsel upon the Welsh marches. Many a spear had already been shivered in mainte- nance of her charms ; and the gallant Hugo de Lacy, Constable of Chester, one of the most redoubted warriors of the time, had laid at Eveline's feet the prize which his chivalry had gained in a great 26 THE BETROTHED. tournament held near that ancient town. Gwenwyn considered these triumphs as so many additional recommendations to Eveline ; her beauty was incontestable, and she was heiress of the fortress which he so much longed to possess, and which he began now to think might be acquired by means more smooth than those with which he was in the use of working out his will. Again, the hatred which subsisted between the British and their Saxon and Norman invaders ; his long and ill-extinguished feud with this very Raymond Berenger ; a general recollection that alliances between the Welsh and English had rarely been happy ; and a consciousness that the measure which he meditated would be unpopular among his followers, and appear a dereliction of the systematic principles on which he had hitherto acted, restrained him from speaking his wishes to Raymond or his daughter. The idea of the rejection of his suit did not for a moment occur to him ; he was convinced he had but to speak his wishes, and that the daughter of a Norman castellane, whose rank or power were not of the highest order amongst the nobles of the frontiers, must be de- lighted and honoured by a proposal for allying his family with that of the sovereign of a hundred mountains. There was indeed another objection, which in later times would have been of considerable weight— Gwenwyn was already married. But Brengwain was a childless bride ; sovereigns (and among sovereigns the Welsh prince ranked himself) marry for lineage, and the Pope was not likely to be scrupulous, where the question was to oblige a prince who had assumed the Cross with such ready zeal, even although, in fact, his thoughts had been much more on the Garde Doloureuse than on Jerusalem. In the meanwhile, if Raymond Berenger (as was suspected) was not liberal enough in his opinions to permit Eveline to hold the temporary rank of concubine, which the manners of Wales warranted Gwenwyn to offer as an interim arrangement, he had only to wait for a few months, and sue for a divorce through the Bishop of Saint David's, or some other inter- cessor at the Court of Rome. Agitating these thoughts in his mind, Gwenwyn prolonged his residence at the Castle of Berenger, from Christmas till Twelfth- day; and endured the presence of the Norman cavaliers who resorted to Raymond's festal halls, although, regarding themselves, in virtue of their rank of knighthood, equal to the most potent sovereigns, they made small account of the long descent of the Welsh prince, who, in their eyes, was but the chief of a semi-bar- barous province ; while he, on his part, considered them little better than a sort of privileged robbers, and with the utmost difficulty restrained himself from manifesting his open hatred, when he beheld them careering in the exercises of chivalry, the habitual use THE BETROTHED. 27 of which rendered them such formidable enemies to his country. At length, the term of feasting was ended, and knight and squire departed from the castle, which once more assumed the aspect of a solitary and guarded frontier fort. But the Prince of Powys-Land, whilepursuing his sports on his own mountains and valleys, found that even the abundance of the game, as well as his release from the society of the Norman chivalry, who affected to treat him as an equal, profited him nothing, so long as the light and beautiful form of Eveline, on her white palfrey, was banished from the train of sportsmen. In short, he hesitated no longer, but took into his confidence his chaplain, an able and saga- cious man, whose pride was flattered by his patron's communica- tion, and who, besides, saw in the proposed scheme some contingcat advantages for himself and his order. 'By his counsel, the proceed- ings for Gwenwyn's divorce were prosecuted under favourable auspices, and the unfortunate Brengwain was removed to a nun- nery, which perhaps she found a more cheerful habitation than the lonely retreat in which she had led a neglected life, ever since Gwenwyn had despaired of her bed being blessed with issue. Father Einion also dealt with the chiefs and elders of the la^nd, and represented to them the advantage which in future wars th«y were certain to obtain by the possession of the Garde Doloureuse, which had for more than a century covered and protected a considerable tract of country, rendered their advance difficult, and their retrjat perilous, and, in a word, prevented their carrying their incursions as far as the gates of Shrewsbury. As for the union with the Saxon damsel, the fetters which it was to form might not (the good father hinted) be found more permanent than those which had bound Gwenwyn to her predecessor, Brengwain. These arguments, mingled with others adapted to the views and wishes of different individuals, were so prevailing, that the chaplain in the course of a few weeks was able to report to his princely patron, that his proposed match would meet with no opposition from the elders and nobles of his dominions. A golden bracelet, six ounces in weight, was the instant reward of the priest's dexterity in negotiation, and he was appointed by Gwenwyn to commit to paper those proposals, which he doubted not were to throw the Castle of Garde Doloureuse, notwithstanding its melancholy name, into an ecstasy of joy. With some difficulty the chaplain prevailed on his patron to say nothing in this letter upon his temporary plan of concubinage, which he wisely judged might be considered as an affront both by Eveline and her father. The matter of the divorce he represented as almost entirely settled, and wound up his letter with a moral application, in which were many allusions to Vashti, Esther, and Ahaauerus, =3 THE BETROTHEDi Having dispatched this letter by a swift and trusty messenger, the British prince opened in all solemnity the ftast of Easter, which had come round during the course of these external and internal negotiations. Upon the approaching Holy-tide, to propitiate the minds of his subjects and vassals, they were invited in large numbers to partake a princely festivity at Castell-Coch, or the Red Castle, as it was then called, since better known by the name of Powys- Castle, and in latter times the princely seat of the Duke of Beaufort. The architectural magnificence of this noble residence is of a much later period than that of Gwenwyn, whose palace, at the time we speak of, was a long, low-roofed edifice of red stone, whence the castle derived its name ; while a ditch and palisade were, in addition to the commanding situation, its most important defences. CHAPTER II. In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds. With rapid clangor hurried far ; Each hill and dale the note rebounds. But when return the sons of war ! Thou, born of stern Necessity, Dull Peace ! the valley yields to thee, And owns thy melancholy sway. Welsh Poem. I'HE feasts of the ancient British princes usually exhibited all the rude splendour and liberal indulgence of mountain hospitality, and Gwenwyn was, on the present occasion, anxious to purchase popularity by even an unusual display of profusion ; for he was sensible that the alliance which he meditated might indeed be tolerated, but could not be approved, by his subjects and followers. The following incident, trifling in itself, confirmed his apprehen- sions. Passing one evening, when it was become nearly dark, by the open window of a guard-room, usually occupied by some few of his most celebrated soldiers, who relieved each other in watching his palace, he heard Morgan, a man distinguished for strength, courage, and ferocity, say to the companion with whom he was sitting by the watch-fire, " Gwenwyn is turned to a priest, or a woman ! When was it before these last months, that a follower of his was obliged to gnaw the meat from the bone so closely, as I am now peeling the morsel which I hold in my hand ?"* ■ " Wait but a while," replied his comrade, "till the Norman match be accomplished ; and so small will be the prey we shall then drive from the Saxon churls, that we maybe glad to swallow, like hungry dogs, the very bones thernselve?," THE BETROTHED. sg Gwenvvyn heard no more of their conversation; but this was enough to alarm his pride as a soldier, and his jealousy as a prince. He was sensible, that the people over whom he ruled were at once fickle in their disposition, impatient of long repose, and full of hatred against their neighbours ; and he almost dreaded the consequences of the inactivity to which a long truce might reduce them. The risk was now incurred, however ; and to display even more than his wonted splendour and liberality, seemed the best way of reconciling the wavering affections of his subjects. A Norman would have despised the barbarous magnificence of an entertainment, consisting of kine and sheep roasted whole, of goats' flesh and deers' flesh seethed in the skins of the animals themselves ; for the Normans piqued themselves on the quality rather than the quantity of their food, and, eating rather delicately than largely, ridiculed the coarser taste of the Britons, although the last were in their banquets much more moderate than were the Saxons ; nor would the oceans of Crw and hydromel, which over- whelmed the guests like a deluge, have made up, in their opinion, for the absence of the more elegant and costly beverage which they had learnt to love in the south of Europe. Milk, prepared in various ways, was another material of the British entertainment, which would not have received their approbation, although a nutri- ment which, on ordinary occasions, often supplied the want of all others among the ancient inhabitants, whose country was rich in flocks and herds, but poor in agricultural produce. The banquet was spread in a long low hall, built of rough wood lined with shingles, having a fire at each end, the smoke of which, unable to find its way through the imperfect chimneys in the roof, rolled in cloudy billows above the heads of the revellers, who sat on low seats, purposely to avoid its stifling fumes.* The mien and appearance of the company assembled was wild, and, even in their social hours, almost terrific. Their prince himself had the gigantic port and fiery eye fitted to sway an unruly people, whose delight was in the field of battle ; and the long mustaches which he and most of his champions wore, added to the formidable dignity of his presence. Like most of those present, Gwenwyn was clad in a simple tunic of white linen cloth, a remnant of the dress which the Romans had introduced into provincial Britain ; and he was dis- tinguished by the Eudorchawg, or chain of twisted gold links, with which the Celtic tribes always decorated their chiefs. The collar, indeed, representing in form the species of links made by children out of rushes, was common to chieftains of inferior rank, many of whom bore it in virtue of their birth, or had won it by military ex- ploits ; but a ring of gold, bent around the head, intermingled with Gwenwyn's hair— for he claimed the rank of one of three diademed 30 THE BETROTHED princes of Wales, and his armlets and anklets, of the same metal, were peculiar to the Prince of Powys, as an independent sovereign. Two squires of his body, who dedicated their whole attention to his service, stood at the Prince's back ; and at his feet sat a page, whose duty it was to keep them warm by chafing and by wrapping them in his mantle. The same right of sovereignty, which assigned to Gwenwyn his golden crownlet, gave him a title to the attendance of the foot-bearer, or youth, who lay on the rushes, and whose duty it was to cherish the Prince's feet in his lap or bosom.* Notwithstanding the military disposition of the guests, and the danger arising from the feuds into which they were divided, few of the feasters wore any defensive armour, except the light goatskin buckler, which hung behind each man's seat. On the other hand, they were well provided with offensive weapons ; for the broad, sharp, short, two-edged sword was another legacy of the Romans. Most added a wood-knife or poniard ; and there were store of javelins, darts, bows and arrows, pikes, halberds, Danish axes, and Welsh hooks and bills ; so, in case of ill-blood arising during the banquet, there was no lack of weapons to work mischief. But although the form of the feast was somewhat disorderly, and that the revellers were unrestrained by the stricter rules of good- breeding which the laws of chivalry imposed, the Easter banquet of Gwenwyn possessed, in the attendance of twelve eminent bards, one source of the most exalted pleasure, in a much higher degree than the proud Normans could themselves boast. The latter, it is true, had their minstrels, a race of men trained to the profession of poetry, song, and music ; but although those arts were highly honoured, and the individual professors, when they attained to eminence, were often richly rewarded, and treated with distinction, the order of minstrels, as such, was held in low esteem, being composed chiefly of worthless and dissolute strollers, by whom the art was assumed, in order to escape from the necessity of labour, and to have the means of pursuing a wandering and dissipated course of life. Such, in all times, has been the censure upon the calling of those who dedicate themselves to the public amusement ; ^mong whom those distinguished by individual excellence are sometimes raised high in the social circle, while far the more numerous professors, who only reach mediocrity, are sunk into the lower scale. But such was not the case with the order of bards in Wales, who, succeeding to the dignity of the Druids, under whom they had originally formed a subordinate fraternity, had many immunities, were hed in the highest reverence and esteem, and exercised much influence with their countrymen. Their power over the public mind even rivalled that of the priests themselves, to whom indeed they bore some re- semblance ; for they never wore arms, were initiated into their order THE BETROTHED 31 by secret and mystic solemnities, and homage was renaered to their Awen, or flow of poetic inspiration, as if it had been indeed marked with a divine character. Thus possessed of power and consequ ence, the bards were not unwilling to exercise their privileges, and some- times, in doing so, their manners frequently savoured of caprice. This was perhaps the case with Cadwallon, the chief bard of Gwenwyn, and who, as such, was expected to have poured forth the tide of song in the banqueting-hall of his prince. But neither the anxious and breathless expectation of the assembled chiefs and champions — neither the dead silence which stilled the roaring hall, when his harp was reverently placed before him by his attendant — nor even the commands or entreaties of the Prince himself— could extract from Cadwallon more than a short and interrupted prelude upon the instrument, the notes of which arranged themselves into an air inexpressibly mournful, and died away in silence. The Prince frowned darkly on the bard, who was himself far too deeply lost in gloomy thought, to offer any apology, or even to observe his dis- pleasure. Again he touched a few wild notes, and, raising his looks upward, seemed to be on the very point of bursting forth into a tide of song similar to those with which this master of his art was wont to enchant his hearers. But the effort was in vain — he declared that his right hand was withered, and pushed the instrument from him. A murmur went round the company, and Gwenwyn read in their aspects that they received the unusual silence of Cadwallon on this high occasion as a bad omen. He called hastily on a young and ambitious bard, named Caradoc of Menwygent, whose rising fame was likely soon to vie with the established reputation of Cadwallon, and summoned him to sing something which might command the applause of his sovereign and the gratitude of the company. The young man was ambitious, and understood the arts of a courtier. He commenced a poem, in which, although under a feigned name, he drew such a poetic picture of Eveline Berenger, that Gwenwyn was enraptured ; and while all who had seen the beautiful original at once recognised the resemblance, the eyes of the Prince confessed at once his passion for the subject, and his admiration of the poet. The figures of Celtic poetry, in themselves highly imaginative, were scarce sufficient for the enthusiasm of the ambitious bard, rising in his tone as he perceived the feehngs which he was exciting. The praises of the Prince mingled with those of the Norman beauty ; and " as a lion," said the poet, " can only be led by the hand of a chaste and beautiful maiden, so a chief can only acknowledge the empire of the most virtuous, the most lovely of her sex. Who asks of the noonday sun, in what quarter of theworld he was born ? and who shall ask of such charms as hers, to v/hat country they owe their birth?" 32 THE BETROTHED. Enthusiasts in pleasure as in war, and possessed of imaginations which answered readily to the summons of their poets, the Welsh chiefs and leaders united in acclamations of applause ; and the song of the bard went farther to render popular the intended alliance of the Prince, than had all the graver arguments of his priestly pre- cursor in the same topic. Gwenwyn himself, in a' transport of delight, tore off the golden bracelets which he wore, to bestow them upon a bard whose song had produced an effect so desirable ; and said, as he looked at the silent and sullen Cadwallon, " The silent harp was never strung with golden wires." " Prince," answered the bard, whose pride was at least equal to that of Gwenwyn himself, " you pervert the proverb of Taliessin — it is the flattering harp which never lacked golden strings." Gwenwyn, turning sternly towards him, was about to make an angry answer, when the sudden appearance of Jorworth, the mes- senger whom he had dispatched to Raymond Berenger, arrested his purpose. This rude envoy entered the hall barelegged, except- ing the sandals of goat-skin which he wore, and having on his shoulder a cloak of the same, and a short javelin in his hand. The dust on his garments, and the flush on his brow, showed with what hasty zeal his errand had been executed. Gwenwyn demanded of him eagerly, " What news from Garde Doloureuse, Jorworth ap Jevan ? " " I bear them in my bosom," said the son of Jevan ; and, with much reverence, he delivered to the Prince a packet, bound with silk, and sealed with the impression of a swan, the ancient cogni- zance of the House of Berenger. Himself ignorant of writing or reading, Gwenwyn, in anxious haste, delivered the letter to Cad- wallon, who usually acted as secretary when the chaplain was not in presence, as chanced then to be the case. Cadwallon, looking at the letter, said briefly, " I read no Latin. Ill betide the Norman, who writes to a Prince of Powys in other language than that of Britain ! and well was the hour, when that noble tongue alone was spoken from Tintadgel to Cairleoil ! " Gwenwyn only replied to him with an angry glance. " Where is Father Einion .? " said the impatient Prince. " He assists in the church," replied one of his attendants, "for it is the feast of Saint " " Were it the feast of Saint David," said Gwenwyn, " and were the pyx between his hands, he must come hither to me instantly !" One of the chief henchmen sprung off, to command his attend- ance; and, in the meantime, Gwenwyn eyed the letter containing the secret of his fate, but which it required an interpreter to read, with such eagerness and anxiety, that Caradoc, elated by his former THE BETROTHED. 33 success, threw in a few notes to divert, if possible, the tenor of his patron's thoughts during the interval. A light and lively air, touched by a hand which seemed to hesitate, like the submissive voice of an inferior, fearing to interrupt his master's meditations, introduced a stanza or two applicable to the subject. " And what though thou, O scroll," he said, apostrophizing the letter, which lay on the table before his master, " dost speak with the tongue of the stranger ? Hath not the cuckoo a harsh note, and yet she tells us of green buds and springing flowers ? What if thy language be that of the stoled priest, is it not the same which binds hearts and hands together at the altar ? And what though thou delayest to render up thy treasures, are not all pleasures most sweet, when enhanced by expectation ? What were the chase, if the deer dropped at our feet the instant he started from the cover — or \>hat value were there in the love of the maiden, were it yielded without coy delay ? " The ^ong of the bard was here broken short by the entrance of the priest, who, hasty in obeying the summons of his impatient master, had not tarried to lay aside even the stole, which he had worn in the holy service ; and many of the elders thought it was no good omen, that, so habited, a priest should appear in a festive assembly, and amid profane minstrelsy. The priest opened the letter of the Norman Baron, and, struck with surprise at the contents, lifted his eyes in silence. " Read it ! " exclaimed the fierce Gwenwyn. " So please you," replied the more pfudent chaplain, " a smaller company were a fitter audience." " Read it aloud ! " repeated the Prince, in a still higher tone ; " there sit none here who respect not the honour of their prince, or who deserve not his confidence. Read it, I say, aloud ! and by Saint David, if Raymond the Norman hath dared " He stopped short, and, recKning on his seat, composed himself to an attitude of attention ; but it was easy for his followers to fill up the breach in his exclamation which prudence had recom- mended. The voice of the chaplain was low and ill-assured as he read the following epistle : — " Raymond Berenger, the noble Norman Knight; Seneschal 01 the Garde Doloureuse, to Gwenwyn, Prince of Powys, (May peace be between them !) sendeth health. " Your letter, craving the hand of our daughter Eveline Berenger, was safely delivered to us by your servant, Jorworth ap Jevan, and we thank you heartily for the good meaning therein expressed to us D 34 THE BETROTHED. and to ours. But, considering within ourselves the difference of blood and lineage, with the impediments and causes of offence which have often arisen in the like cases, we hold it fitter to match our daughter among our own people ; and this by no case in dis- paragement of you, but solely for the weal of you, of ourselves, and of our mutual dependants, who will be the more safe from the risk of quarrel betwixt us, that we essay not to draw the bonds of our intimacy more close than beseemeth. The sheep and the goats feed together in peace on the same pastures, but they mingle not in blood, or race, the one with the other. Moreover, our daughter Eveline hath been sought in marriage by a noble and potent Lord of the Marches, Hugo de Lacy, the Constable of Chester, to which most honourable suit we have returned a favourable answer. It is therefore impossible that we should in this matter grant to you the boon you seek ; nevertheless, you shall at all times find us, in other matters, willing to pleasure you ; and hereunto we call God, and Our Lady, and Saint Mary Magdalene of Quatford, to witness; to whose keeping we heartily recommend you. " Written by our command, at our Castle of Garde Doloureuse, within the Marches of Wales, by a reverend priest, Father Aldro- vand, a black monk of the house of Wenlock ; and to which we have appended our seal, upon the eve of the blessed martyr Saint Alphegius, to whom be honour and glory ! " The voice of Father Einion faltered, and the scroll which he held in his hand trembled in his grasp, as he arrived at the conclusion of this epistle ; for well he knew that insults more slight than Gwenwyn would hold the least word it contained, were sure to put every drop of his British blood into the most vehement commotion. Nor did it fail to do so. The Prince had gradually drawn himself up from the posture of repose in which he had prepared to listen to the epistle ; and when it concluded, he sprung on his feet like a startled lion, spurning from him as he rose the foot-bearer, who rolled at some distance on the floor. " Priest," he said, " hast thou read that accursed scroll fairly ? for if thou hast added, or dimi- nished, one word, or one letter, I -will have thine eyes so handled, that thou shalt never read letter more ! " The monk r jplied, trembling, (for he was well aware that the sacerdotal character was not uniformly respected among the iras- cible Welshmen,) " By the oath of my order, mighty prince, I have read word for word, and letter for letter." There was a momentary pause, while the fury of Gwenwyn, at this unexpected affront, offered to him in the presence of all his Uckelwyr, {i.e., noble chiefs, literally men of high stature,) seemed too big for utterance, when the silence was broken by a few notes THE BETROTHED. gj froni the hitherto mute harp of Cadwallon. The Prince looked round at first with displeasure at the interruption, for he was him- self about to speak ; but when he beheld the bard bending over his harp with an air of inspiration, and blending together, with unex- ampled skill, the wildest and most exalted tones of his art, he him- self became an auditor instead of a speaker, and Cadwallon, not the Prince, seemed to become the central point of the assembly, on whom all eyes were bent, and to whom each ear was turned with breathless eagerness, as if his strains were the responseSj.of an oracle. " We wed not with the stranger," — thus burst the song from the lips of the poet. " Vortigem wedded with the stranger ; thence came the first woe upon Britain, and a sword upon her nobles, and a thunderbolt upon her palace. We wed not with the enslaved Saxon — the free and princely stag seeks not for his bride the heifer whose neck the yoke hath worn. We wed not with the rapacious Norman — the noble hound scorns to seek a mate from the herd of ravening wolves. When was it heard that the Cymry, the descen- dants of Brute, the true children of the soil of fair Britain, were plundered, oppressed, bereft of their birthright, and insulted even in their last retreats ? — when, but since they stretched their hand in friendship to the stranger, and clasped to their bosoms the daughter of the Saxon ? Which of the two is feared ? — the empty water- course of summer, or the channel of the headlong winter torrent ? — A maiden smiles at the summer-shrunk brook while she crosses it, but a barbed horse and his rider will fear to stem the wintry flood. Men of Mathravel and Powys, be the dreaded flood of winter — Gwenwyn, son of Cyverliock ! — ^may thy plume be the topmost of its waves ! " All thoughts of peace, thoughts which, in themselves, were foreign to the hearts of the warlike British, passed before the song of Cad- wallon like dust before the whirlwind, and the unanimous shout of the assembly declared for instant war. The Prince himself spoke not, but, looking proudly around him, flung abroad his arm, as one who cheers his followers to the attack. The priest, had he dared, might have reminded Gwenwyn, that the Cross which he had assumed on his shoulder, had consecrated his arm to the Holy War, and precluded his engaging in any civil strife. But the task was too dangerous for Father Einion's courage, and he shrunk from the hall to the seclusion of his own convent. Caradoc, whose brief hour of popularity was past, also retired, with humbled and dejected looks, and not without a glance of indigna- tion at his triumphant rival, who had so judiciously reserved his display of art for the theme of war, that was ever most popular with the audience. D 2 36 THE BETROTHED. The chiefs resumed their seats no longer for the purpose of fes- tivity, but to fix, in the hasty manner customary among these prompt warriors, where they were to assemble their forces, which, upon such occasions, comprehended almost all the able-bodied males of the country,— for all, excepting the priests and the bards, were soldiers,— and to settle the order of their descent upon the devoted marches, where they proposed to signalize, by general ravage, their sense of the insult which their Prince had received, by the rejection of his suit. CHAPTER III. The sands are number'd, that make up my life ; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Henry Vt., Act I., Scene IV. When Raymond Berenger had dispatched his mission to the Prince of Powys, he was not unsuspicious, though altogether fear- less, of the result. He sent messengers to the several dependants who held their fiefs by the tenure of carnage, and warned them to be on the alert, that he might receive instant notice of the approach of the enemy. These vassals, as is well known, occupied the numerous towers, which, like so many falcon-nests, had been built on the points most convenient to defend the frontiers, and were bound to give signal of any incursion of the Welsh, by blowing their horns ; which sounds, answered from tower to tower, and from station to station, gave the alarm for general defence. But although Raymond considered these precautions as necessary) from the fickle and precarious temper of his neighbours, and for main- taining his own credit as a soldier, he was far from believing the danger to be imminent ; for the preparations of the Welsh, though on a much more extensive scale than had lately been usual, were as secret, as their resolution of war had been suddenly adopted. It was upon the second morning after the memorable festival of Castell-Coch, that the tempest broke on the Norman frontier. At first a single, long, and keen bugle-blast, announced the approach of the enemy ; presently the signals of alarm were echoed from every castle and tower on the borders of Shropshire, where every place of habitation was then a fortress. Beacons were lighted upon crags and eminences, the bells were rung backward in the churches and towns, while the general and earnest summons to arms an- nounced an extremity of danger which even the inhabitants of that unsettled country had not hitherto experienced. Amid this general alarm, Raymond Berenger, having busied himself in arranging his few but gallant followers and adherents, THE BETROTHED. 37 and taken such modes of procuring intelligence of the enemy's strength and motions as were in his power, at length ascended the watch-tower of the castle, to observe in person the country around, already obscured in several places by the clouds of smoke, which announced the progress and the ravages of the invaders. He was speedily joined by his favourite squire, to whom the unusual heavi- ness of his master's looks was cause of much surprise, for till now they had ever been blithest at the hour of battle. The squire held in his hand his master's helmet, for Sir Raymond was all armed, saving the head. " Dennis Morolt," said the veteran soldier, "are our vassals and liegemen all mustered ? " " All, noble sir, but the Flemings, who are not yet come in.'' " The lazy hounds, why tarry they ? " said Raymond. " 111 policy it is to plant such sluggish natures in our borders. They are like their own steers, fitter to tug a plough than for aught that requires mettle." " With your favour," said Dennis, " the knaves can do good ser- vice notwithstanding. That Wilkin Flammock of the Green can strike like the hammers of his own fulling-mill." " He will fight, I believe, when he cannot help it," said Ray- mond ; " but he has no stomach for such exercise, and is as slow and as stubborn as a mule." "And therefore are his countrymen rightly matched against the Welsh," replied Dennis Morolt, " that their solid and unyielding temper may be a fit foil to the fiery and headlong dispositions of our dangerous neighbours, just as restless waves are best opposed by steadfast rocks. — Hark, sir, I hear Wilkin Flammock's step ascending the turret-stair, as deliberately as ever monk mounted to matins." Step by step the heavy sound approached, until the form of the huge and substantial Fleming at length issued from the turret-door to the platform where they were conversing. Wilkin Flammock was cased in bright armour, of unusual weight and thickness, and cleaned with exceeding care, which marked the neatness of his nation; but, contrary to the custom of the Normans, entirely plain, and void of carving, gilding, or any sort of ornament. The basenet, or steel-cap, had no visor, and left exposed a broad coun- tenance, with heavy and unpliable features, which announced the character of his temper and understanding. He carried in his hand a heavy mace. " So, Sir Fleming," said the Castellane, " you are in no hurry, methinks, to repair to the rendezvous." " So please you," answered the Fleming, " we were compelled to tarry, that we might load our wains with our bales of cloth and other property." 38 THE BETROTHED. " Ha ! wains ?— how many wains have you brought with you ?" " Six, noble sir," replied Wilkin. " And how many men ? " demanded Raymond Berenger. " Twelve, valiant sir," answered Flammock. " Only two men to each baggage- wain ? I wonder you would thus encumber yourself," said Berenger. " Under your favour, sir, once more," replied Wilkin, " it Is only the value which I and my comrades set upon our goods, that in- clines us to defend them with our bodies ; and, had we been obliged to leave our cloth to the plundering clutches of yonder vagabonds, I should have seen small policy in stopping here to give them the opportunity of adding murder to robbery. Glouces- ter should have been my first halting-place." The Norman knight gazed on the Flemish artisan, for such was Wilkin Flammock, with such a mixture of surprise and contempt, as excluded indignation. "I have heard much," he said, "but this is the first time that I have heard one with a beard on his lip avouch himself a coward." " Nor do you hear it now," answered Flammock, with the utmost composure — " I am always ready to fight for life and property ; and my coming to this country, where they are both in constant danger, shows that I care not much how often I do so. But a sound skin is better than a slashed one, for all that." " Well," said Raymond Berenger, " fight after thine own fashion, so thou wilt but fight stoutly with that long body of thine. ' We are like to have need for all that we can do. — Saw you aught of these rascaille Welsh? — ^have they Gwenwyn's banner amongst them?" " I saw it with the white dragon displayed," replied Wilkin ; " I could not but know it, since it was broidered in my own loom." Raymond looked so grave upon this intelligence, that Dennis Morolt, unwilling the Fleming should mark it, thought it necessary to withdraw his attention. " I can tell thee," he said to Flammock, " that when the Constable of Chester joins us with his lances, you shall see your handiwork, the dragon, fly faster homeward than ever flew the shuttle which wove it." " It must fly before the Constable comes up, Dennis Morolt," saiol Berenger, " else it will fly triumphant over all our bodies." " In the name of God and the Holy Virgin ! said Dennis, " what may you mean. Sir Knight ? — not that we should fight with the Welsh before the Constable joins us ? " — He paused, and then, well understandirtg the firm, yet melancholy glance, with which his master answered the question, he proceeded, with yet more vehe- ment earnestness — " You cannot mean it — you cannot intend that we shall quit this castle, which we have so often made good against THE BETROTHED. 39 them, and contend in the field with two hundred men against thousands ? — Think better of it, my beloved master, and let not the rashness of your old age blemish that character for wisdom and warlike skill, which your former life has so nobly won." " I am not angry with you for blaming my purpose, Dennis," answered the Norman, " for I know you do it in love to me and mine. But, Dennis Morolt, this thing must be— we must fight the Welshmen within these three hours, or the name of Raymond Berenger must be blotted from the genealogy of his house." " And so we will — we will fight them, my noble master," said the esquire ; "fear not cold counsel from Dennis Morolt, where battle is the theme. But we will fight them under the walls of the castle, with honest Wilkin Flammock and his crossbows on the wall to protect our flanks, and afford us some balance against the numerous odds." " Not so, Dennis,'' answered his master — " in the open field we must fight them, or thy master must rank but as a mansworn knight. Know, that when I feasted yonder wily savage in my halls at Christmas, and when the wine was flowing fastest around, Gwenwyn threw out some praises of the fastness and strength of my castle, in a manner which intimated it was these advantages alone that had secured me in former wars from defeat and cap- tivity. I spoke in answer, when I had far better been silent ; for what availed my idle boast, but as a fetter to bind me to a deed next to madness ? If, I said, a prince of the Cymry shall again come in hostile fashion before the Garde Doloureuse, let him pitch his standard down in yonder plain by the bridge, and, by the word of a good knight, and the faith of a Christian man, Raymond Berenger will meet him as willingly, be he many or be he few, as ever Welshman was met withal." Dennis was struck speechless when he heard of a promise so rash, so fatal ; but his was not the casuistry which could release his master from the fetters with which his unwary confidence had bound him. It was otherwise with Wilkin Flammock. He stared— he almost laughed, notwithstanding the reverence due to the Castel- lane, and his own insensibility to risible emotions. "And is this all ? " he said. " If your honour had pledged yourself to pay one hundred florins to a Jew or to a Lombard, no doubt you must have kept the day, or forfeited your pledge ; but surely one day is as good as another to keep a promise for fighting, and that day is best in which the promiser is strongest. But indeed, after all, what signifies any promise over a wine flagon ? " " It signifies as much as a promise can do that is given else- where. The promiser," said Berenger, " escapes not the sin of a word-breaker, because he hath been a drunken braggart." 40 THE BETROTHED. " For the sin," said Dennis, " sure I am, that rather than you should do such deed of dole, the Abbot of Glastonbury would absolve you for a florin." " But what shall wipe out the shame ! " demanded Berenger— "how shall I dare to show myself again among press of knights, who have broken my word of battle pledged, for fear of a Welsh- man and his naked savages ? No ! Dennis Morolt, speak on it no more. Be it for weal or woe, we fight them to-day, and upon yonder fair field." " It may be," said Flammock, " that Gwenvi^n may have for- gotten the promise, and so fail to appear to claim it in the ap- pointed space ; for, as we heard, your wines of France flooded his Welsh brains deeply." " He again alluded to it on the morning after it was made," said the Castellane — " trust me, he will not forget what will give him such a chance of removing me from his path for ever." As he spoke, they observed that large clouds of dust, which had been seen at different points of the landscape, were drawing down towards the opposite side of the river, over which an ancient bridge extended itself to the appointed place of combat. They were at no loss to conjecture the cause. It was evident that Gwenwyn, recalling the parties who had been engaged in partial devastation, was bending with his whole forces towards the bridge and the plain beyond it. " Let us rush down and secure the pass," said Dennis Morolt ; " we may debate with them with some equality by the advantage of defending the bridge. Your word bound you to the plain as to a field of battle, but it did not oblige you to forego such advan.- tages as the passage of the bridge would afford. Our men, our horses, are ready — let our bowmen secure the banks, and my life on the issue." "When I promised to meet him in yonder field, I meant," replied Raymond Berenger, " to give the Welshman the full advan- tage of equality of ground. I so meant it — he so understood it ; and what avails keeping my word in the letter, if I break it in the sense.? We move not till the last Welshman has crossed the bridge ; and then " " And then," said Dennis, " we move to our death '—May God forgive our sins ! But " " But what ? " said Berenger ; " something sticks in thy mind that should have vent." " My young lady, your daughter the Lady Eveline" " I have told her what is to be. She shall remain in the castle, where I will leave a few chosen veterans, with you, Dennis, to command them. In twenty-four hours the siege will be relieved, THE BETROTHED. 4t and we have defended it longer with a slighter garrison. Then to her aunt, the Abbess of the Benedictine sisters — thou, Dennis, wilt see her placed there in honour and safety, and my sister will care for her future provision as her wisdom shall determine." " / leave you at this pinch ! " said Dennis Morolt, bursting into tears — " / shut myself up within walls, when my master rides to his last of battles ! — / become esquire to a lady, even though it be to- the Lady Eveline, when he lies dead under his shield ! — Raymond Berenger, is it for this that I have buckled thy armour so often?" The tears gushed from the old warrior's eyes as fast as from those of a girl who weeps for her lover ; and Raymond, taking him kindly by the hand, said, in a soothing tone, " Do not think, my good old servant, that, were honour to be won, I would drive thee from my side. But this is a wild and an inconsiderate deed, to which my fate or my folly has bound me. I die to save my name from dishonour ; but alas ! I must leave on my memory the charge of imprudence." " Let me share your imprudence, my dearest master," said Dennis Morolt, earnestly; — "the poor esquire has no business to be thought wiser than his master. In many a battle my valour derived some little fame from partaking in the deeds which won your renown — deny me not the right to share in that blame which your temerity may incur ; let them not say, that so rash was his action, even his old esquire was not permitted to partake in it ! i am part of yourself— it is murder to every man whom you take with you, if you leave me behind." " Dennis," said Berenger, " you make me feel yet more bitterly the folly I have yielded to. I would grant you the boon you ask, sad as it is — But my daughter" " Sir Knight," said tTie Fleming, who had listened to this dialogue with somewhat less than his usual apathy, " it is not my purpose this day to leave this castle ; now, if you could trust my troth 'to do what a plain man may for the protection of my Lady Eveline " " How, sirrah ! " said Raymond ; " you do not propose to leave the castle ? Who gives you right topropose or dispose in the case, until my pleasure is known ? " " I shall be sorry to have words with you, SirCastellane," said the imperturbable Fleming ; — " but I hold here, in this township, certain mills, tenements, cloth-yards, and so forth, for which I am to pay man-service in defending this Castle of the Garde Doloureuse, and in this I am ready. But if you call on me to march from hence, leaving the same castle defenceless, and to offer up my life in a battle which you acknowledge to be desperate, I must needs say my tenure binds me not to obey thee." 42 THE BETROTHED. " Base mechanic ! " said Morolt, laying his hand on his dagger, and menacing the Fleming. But Raymond Berenger interfered with voice ani hand—" Harm him not, Morolt, and blame him not. He hath a sense of duty, though not after our manner ; and he and his knaves will fight best behind stone walls. They are taught also, these Flemings, by the practice of their own country, the attack and defence of walled cities and fortresses, and are especially skilful in working of man- gonels and miUtary engines. There are several of his countrymen in the castle, besides his own followers. These I propose to leave behind ; and I think they will obey him more readily than any but thyself— how think'st thou ? Thou wouldst not, I know, from a misconstrued point of honour, or a blind love to me, leave this im- portant place, and the safety of Eveline, in doubtful hands ? " " Wilkin Flammock is but a Flemish clown, noble sir," answered Dennis, as much overjoyed as if he had obtained some important advantage ; " but I must needs say he is as stout and true as any whom you might trust ; and, besides, his own shrewdness will teach him there is more to be gained by defending such a castle as this, than by yielding it to strangers, who may not be likely to keep the terms of surrender, however fairly they may offer them." " It is fixed then," said Raymond Berenger. " Then, Dennis, thou shalt go with me, and he shall remain behind. — Wilkin Flammock," he said, addressing the Fleming solemnly, " I speak not to thee the language of chivalry, of which thou knowest nothing ; but, as thou art an honest man, and a true Christian, I conjure thee to stand to the defence of this castle. Let no promise of the enemy draw thee to any base composition — no threat to any surrender. Relief must speedily arrive ; if you fulfil your trust to me and to my daughter, Hugo de Lacy will reward you richly — if you fail, he will punish you severely." " Sir Knight," said Flammock, " I am pleased you have put your trust so far in a plain handicraftsman. For the Welsh, I am come from a land for which we were compelled — yearly compelled — to struggle with the sea ; and they who can deal with the waves in a tempest, need not fear an undisciplined people in their fury. Your daughter shall be as dear to me as mine own ; and in that faith you may prick forth — if, indeed, you will not still, like a wiser man, shut gate, down portcullis, up drawbridge, and let your archers and my cross-bows man the wall, and tell the knaves you are not the fool that they take you for." " Good fellow, that must not be," said the Knight. " I hear my daughter's voice," he added hastily ; " I would not again meet her, again to part from her. To Heaven's keeping I commit thee, honest Fleming. — Follow me, Dennis Morolt." THE BETROTHED. 43 The old Castellane descended the stair of the southern tower hastily, just as his daughter Evehne ascended that of the eastern turret, to throw herself at his feet once more. She was followed by the Father Aldrovand, chaplain of her father ; by an old and almost invalided huntsman, whose more active services in the field and the chase had been for some time chiefly limited to the superin- tendence of the Knight's kennels, and the charge especially of his more favourite hounds ; and by Rose Flammock, the daughter of Wilkin, a blue-eyed Flemish maiden, round, plump, and shy as a partridge, who had been for some time permitted to keep company with the high-bom Norman damsel, in a doubtful station, betwixt that of an humble friend and a superior domestic. Eveline rushed upon the battlements, her hair dishevelled, and her eyes drowned in tears, and eagerly demanded of the Fleming where her father was. Flammock made a clumsy reverence, and attempted some answer ; but his voice seemed to fail him. He turned his back upon Eveline without ceremony, and totally disregarding the anxious enquires of the huntsman and the chaplain, he said hastily to his daughter, in his own language, " Mad work ! mad work ! look to the poor maiden, Roschen — Der alter Herr ist verruckt." * Without further speech he descended the stairs, and never paused till he reached the buttery. Here he called like a lion for the controller of these regions, by the various names of Kammerer, Keller-master, and so forth, to which the old Reinold, an ancient Norman esquire, answered not, until the Netherlander fortunately recollected his Anglo-Norman title of butler. This, his regular name of office, was the key to the buttery hatch, and the old man instantly appeared, with his grey cassock and high rolled hose, a ponderous bunch of keys suspended by a silver chain to his broad leathern girdle, which, in consideration of the emergency of th'e time, he had thought it right to balance on the left side with a huge falchion, which seemed much too weighty for his old arm to wield. " What is your will," he said, " Master Flammock ? or what are your commands, since it is my lord's pleasure that they shall be laws to me for a time ? " " Only a cup of wine, good Meister Keller-master — butler, I mean." " I am glad you remember the name of mine office,'' said Reinold, with some of the petty resentment of a spoiled domestic, who thinks that a stranger has been irregularly put in command over him. " A flagon of Rhenish, if you love me," answered the Fleming, " for my heart is low and poor within me, and I must needs drink of the best." 44 THE BETROTHED. " And drink you shall," said Reinold, " if drink will give you the courage which perhaps you may want." — He descended to the secret crypts, of which he was the guardian, and returned with a silver flagon, which might contain about a quart. — " Here is such wine," said Reinold, " as thou hast seldom tasted," and was about to pour it out into a cup. " Nay, the flagon — the flagon, friend Reinold ; I love a deep and solemn draught when the business is weighty," said Wilkin. He seized on the flagon accordingly, and drinking a preparatory mouthful, paused as if to estimate the strength and flavour of the generous liquor. Apparently he was pleased with both, for he nodded in approbation to the butler ; and, raising the flagon to his mouth once more, he slowly and gradually brought the bottom of the vessel parallel with the roof of the apartment, without suffering . one drop of the contents to escape him. " That hath savour, Herr Keller-master," said he, while he was recovering his breath by intervals, after so long a suspense of respiration ; " but, may heaven forgive you for thinking it the best I have ever tasted ! You little know the cellars of Ghent and of Ypres." "And I care not for them," said Reinold; "those of gentle Norman blood hold the wines of Gascony and France, generous, light, and cordial, worth all the acid potations of the Rhine and the Neckar." "All is matter of taste," said the Fleming; "but hark ye— Is there much of this wine in the cellar ? " " Methought but now it pleased not your dainty palate ? " said Reinold. " Nay, nay, my friend," said Wilkin, " I said it had savour— I may have drunk better — but this is right good, where better may not be had. — Again, how much of it hast thou .'' " " The whole butt, man," answered the butler ; " I have broached a fresh piece for you." " Good," replied Flammock ; " get the quart-pot of Christian measure ; heave the cask up into this same buttery, and let each soldier of this castle be served with such a cup as I have here swallowed. I feel it hath done me much good — my heart was sinking when I saw the black smoke arising from mine own fulling- mills yonder. Let each man, I say, have 4 full quart-pot— men defend not castles on thin liquors." "I must do as you will, good Wilkin Flammock," said the butler ; " but I pray remember all men are not alike. That which will but warm your Flemish hearts, will put wildfire into Norman brains ; and what may only encourage your countrymen to man the walls, will make ours fly over the battlements." THE BETROTHED. 4- " Well, you know, the conditions of your own countrymen best ; serve out to them what wines and measure you list— only let each Fleming have a solemn quart of Rhenish. — But what will you do for the English churls, of whom there are a right many left with us ? " The old butler paused, and rubbed his brow. — '.' There will be a strange waste of liquor," he said j " and yet I may not deny that the emergency may defend the expenditure. But for the English, they are, as you wot, a mixed breed, having much of your German sullenness, together with a plentiful touch of the hot blood of yonder Welsh furies. Light wines stir them not ; strong heavy draughts would madden them. What think you of ale, an invigorating, strengthening liquor, that warms the heart without inflaming the brain?" " Ale ! " said the Fleming. — " Hum — ha — is your ale mighty, Sir Butler ?-is it double ale ? " " Do you doubt my skill ? " said the butler. — " March and October have witnessed me ever as they came round, for thirty years, deal with the best barley in Shropshire. — You shall judge." He filled, from a large hogshead in the corner of the buttery, the flagon which the Fleming had just emptied, and which was no sooner replenished than Wilkin again drained it to the bottom. " Good ware," he said, " Master Butler, strong stinging ware. The English churls will fight like devils upon it — let them be furnished witli mighty ale along with their beef and brown bread. And now, having given you your charge. Master Reinold, it is time I should look after mine own." Wilkin Flammock left the buttery, and with a mien and judg- ment alike undisturbed by the deep potations in which he had so recently indulged, undisturbed also by the various rumours con- cerning what was passing without doors, he made the round of the castle and its outworks, mustered the little garrison, and assigned to each their posts, reserving to his own countrymen the manage- ment of the arblasts, or crossbows, and of the military engines which were contrived by the proud Normans, and were incompre- hensible to the ignorant English, or, more properly, Anglo-Saxons, of the period, but which his more adroit countrymen managed with great address. The jealoiisies entertained by both the Normans and English, at being placed under the temporary command of a Fleming, gradually yielded to the military and mechanical skill which he displayed, as well as to a sense of the emergency, which became greater with every moment. ^ THE BEIROTHED. CHAPTER IV Beside yon brigg out ower yon burn, Where the water bickereth bright and sheen, Shall many a falling courser spurn, And knights shall die in battle keen. Prophecy of Thomas the Rhymer. The daughter of Raymond Berenger, with the attendants whom we have mentioned, continued to remain upon the battlements of the Garde Doloureuse, in spite of the exhortations of the priest that she would rather await the issue of this terrible interval in the chapel, and amid the rites of religion. He perceived, at length, that she was incapable, from grief and fear, of attending to, or under- standing his advice ; and, sitting down beside her, while the hunts- man and Rose Flammock stood by, endeavoured to suggest such comfort as perhaps he scarcely felt himself. " This is but a sally of your noble father's," he said ; " and though it may seem it is made on great hazard, yet who ever questioned Sir Raymond Berenger's policy of wars ? — He is close and secret in his purposes. I guess right well he had not marched out as he pro- poses, unless he knew that the noble Earl of Arundel, or the miglity Constable of Chester, were close at hand." " Think you this assuredly, good father ? — Go, Raoul — go, my dearest Rose — lOok to the east — see if you cannot descry banners or clouds of dust.— ^Listen — listen — hear you no trumpets from that quarter ? " " Alas ! my lady," said Raoul, " the thunder of heaven could scarce be heard amid the howling of yonder Welsh wolves." Eveline turned as he spoke, and looking towards the bridge, she beheld an appalling spectacle. The river, whose stream washes on three sides the base of the proud eminence on which the castle is situated, curves away from the fortress and its corresponding village on the west, and the hill sinks downward to an extensive plain, so extremely level as to indicate its alluvial origin. Lower down, at the extremity of this plain, where the banks again close on the river, were situated the manufacturing houses of the stout Flemings, which were now burn- ing in a bright flame. The bridge, a high, narrow combination of arches of unequal size, was about half a mile distant from the castle, in the very centre of the plain. The river itself ran in a deep rocky channel, was often unfordable, and at all times difficult of passage, giving considerable advantage to the defenders of the castle, who had spent on other occasions many a dear drop of blood to defend THE BETROTHED. 47 the pass, which Raymond Berenger's fantastic scruples now induced him to abandon. The Welshmen, seizing the opportunity with the avidity with which men grasp an unexpected benefit, were fast crowding over the high and steep arches, while new bands, collect- ing from different points upon the farther bank, increased the con- tinued stream of warriors, who, passing leisurely and uninterrupted, formed their line of battle on the plain opposite to the castle. At first Father Aldrovand viewed their motions without anxiety, nay, with the scornful smile of one who observes an enemy in the act of falling into the snare spread for them by superior skill. Ray- mond Berenger, with his little body of infantry and cavalry, were drawn up on the easy hill which is betwixt the castle and the plain, ascending from the former towards the fortress ; and it seemed clear to the Dominican, who had not entirely forgotten in the cloister his ancient military experience, that it was the Knight's purpose to attack the disordered enemy when a certain number had crossed the river, and the others were partly on the farther side, and partly engaged in the slow and perilous manoeuvre of effecting their pas- sage. But when large bodies of the white-mantled Welshmen were permitted without interruption to take such order on the plain as their habits of fighting recommended, the monk's countenance, though he still endeavoured to speak encouragement to the terrified Eveline, assumed a different and an anxious expression ; and his acquired habits of resignation contended strenuously with his ancient military ardour. " Be patient," he said, "my daughter, and be of good comfort ; thine eyes shall behold the dismay of yonder barbarous enemy. Let but a minute elapse, and thou shalt see them scattered like dust. — Saint George ! they will surely cry thy name now, or never !" The monk's beads passed meanwhile rapidly through his hands, but many an expression of military impatience mingled itself with his orisons. He could not conceive the cause why each successive throng of mountaineers, led under their different banners, and headed by their respective chieftains, was permitted, without inter- ruption, to pass the difficult defile, and extend themselves in battle array on the near side of the bridge, while the English, or rather Anglo-Norman cavalry, remained stationary, without so much as laying their lances in rest. There remained, he thought, but one hope — one only rational explanation of this unaccountable inactivity — this voluntary surrender of every advantage of ground, when that of numbers was so tremendously on the side of the enemy. Father Aldrovand concluded, that the succours of the Constable of Chester, and other Lord Marchers, must be in the immediate vicinity, and that the Welsh were only permitted to pass the river without oppo- sition, that their retreat might be the more effectually cut off, and 43 THE BETROTHED. their defeat, with a deep river in their rear, rendered the more signally calamitous. But even while he clung to this hope, the monk's heart sunk within him, as, looking in every direction from which the expected succours might arrive, he could neither see nor hear the slightest token which announced their approach. In a frame of mind approaching more nearly to despair than to hope, the old man continued alternately to tell his beads, to gaze anxiously around, and to address some words of consolation in broken phrases to the young lady, until the general shout of the Welsh, ringing from the bank of the river to the battlements of the castle, warned him, in a note of exultation, that the very last of the British had defiled through the pass, and that their whole formidable array stood prompt for action upon the hither side of the river. This thrilling and astounding clamour, to which each Welshman lent his voice with all the energy of defiance, thirst of battle, and hope of conquest, was at length answered by the blast of the Norman trumpets,— the first sign of activity which had been exhibited on the part of Raymond Berenger. But cheerily as they rung, the trumpets, in comparison of the shout which they answered, sounded like the silver whistle of the stout boatswain amid the howling of the tempest. At the same moment when the trumpets were blown, Berenger gave signal to the archers to discharge their arrows, and the men- at-arms to advance under a haU-storm of shafts, javelins, and stones, shot, darted, and slung by the Welsh against their steel-clad assailants. The veterans of Raymond, on the other hand, stimulated by many victorious recollections, confident in th&talents of their accom- plished leader, and undismayed even by the desperation of their circumstances, charged the mass of the Welshmen with their usual determined valour. It was a gallant sight to see this little body of cavalry advance to the onset, their plumes floating above their hel- mets, their lances in rest, and projecting six feet in length before the breasts of their coursers ; their shields hanging from their necks, that their left hands might have freedom to guide their horses ; and the whole body rushing on with an equal front, and a momentum of speed, which increased with every second. Such an onset might have startled naked men, (for such were the Welsh, in respect of the maU-sheathed Normans,) but it brought no terrors to the ancient British, who had long made it their boast that they exposed their bare bosoms and white tunics to the lances and swords of the men- at-arms, with as much confidence as if they had been born invul- nerable. It was not indeed in their power to withstand the weight' of the first shock, which, breaking their ranks, densely as they were arranged, carried the barbed horses into the very centre of their THE BETROTHED. 49 host, and wellnigh up to the fatal standard, to which Raymond Berenger, bound by his fatal vow, had that day conceded so much vantage-ground. But they yielded like the billows, which give way, indeed, to the gallant ship, but only to assail her sides, and to unite in her wake. With wild and horrible clamours, they closed their tumultuous ranks around Berenger and his devoted followers, and a deadly scene of strife ensued. The best warriors of Wales had on this occasion joined the standard of Gwenwyn ; the arrows of the men of Gwentland, whose skill in archery almost equalled that of the Normans themselves, rattled on the helmets of the men-at-arms ; and the spears of the people of Deheubarth, renowned for the sharpness and temper of their steel heads, were employed against the cuirasses not without fatal effect, notwithstanding the protection which these afforded to the rider. It was in vain that the archery belonging to Raymond's little band, stout yeomen, who, for the most part, held possessions by military tenure, exhausted their quivers on the broad mark afforded them by the Welsh army. It is probable, that every shaft carried a Welshman's life on its point ; yet, to have afforded important relief to the cavalry, now closely and inextricably engaged, the slaughter ought to have been twenty-fold at least. Meantime, the Welsh, galled by this incessant discharge, answered it by volleys from their own archers, whose numbers made some amends for their inferiority, and who were supported by numerous bodies of darters and slingers. So that the Norman archers, who had more than once attempted to descend from their position to operate a diversion in favour of Raymond and his devoted band, were now so closely engaged in front, as obliged them to abandon all thoughts of such a movement. Meanwhile, that chivalrous leader, who from the first had hoped for no more than an honourable death, laboured with all his power to render his fate signal, by involving in it that of the Welsh Prince, the author of the war. He cautiously avoided the expenditure of his strength by hewing among the British ; but, with the shock of his managed horse, repelled the numbers who pressed on him, and leaving the plebeians to the swords of his companions, shouted his war-cry, and made his way towards the fatal standard of Gwenwyn, beside which, discharging at once the duties of a skilful leader and a brave soldier, the Prince had stationed himself. Raymond's experience of the Welsh disposition, subject equally to the highest flood, and most sudden ebb of passion, gave him some hope that a successful attack upon this point, followed by the death or capture of the Prince, and the downfall of his standard, might even yet strike such a panic, as should change the fortunes of the day, other- so THE BETROTHED. wise so nearly desperate. The veteran, therefore, animated his comrades to the charge by voice and example ; and, in spite of all opposition, forced his way gradually onward. But Gwenwyn in person, surrounded by his best and noblest champions, offered a defence as obstinate as the assault was intrepid. In vain they were borne to the earth by the barbed horses, or hewed down by the in- vulnerable riders. Wounded and overthrown, the Britons continued their resistance, clung round the legs of the Norman steeds, and cumbered their advance ; while their brethren, thrusting with pikes, proved every joint and crevice of the plate and mail, or grappling with the men-at-arms, strove to pull them from their horses by main force, or beat them down with their bills and Welsh hooks. And woe betide those who were by these various means dismounted, for the long sharp knives worn by the Welsh soon pierced them with a hundred wounds, and were then only merciful when the first inflicted was deadly. The combat was at this point, and had raged for more than hal an hour, when Berenger, having forced his horse within two spears' length of the British standard, he and Gwenwyn were so near to each other as to exchange tokens of mutual defiance. " Turn thee, Wolf of Wales," said Berenger, " and abide, if thou darest, one blow of a good knight's sword ! Raymond Berenger spits at thee and thy banner." " False Norman churl ! " said Gwenwyn, swinging around his head a mace of prodigious weight, and already clotted with blood, " thy iron head-piece shall ill protect thy lying tongue, with which I will this day feed the ravens." Raymond made no farther answer, but pushed his horse towards the Prince, who advanced to meet him with equal readiness. But ere they came within reach of each other's weapons, a Welsh cham- pion, devoted like the Romans who opposed the elephants of Pyrrhus, finding that the armour of Raymond's horse resisted the repeated thrusts of his spear, threw himself under the animal, and stabbed him in the belly with his long knife. The noble horse reared and fell, crushing with his weight the Briton who had wounded him ; the helmet of the rider burst its clasps in the fall, and rolled away from his head, giving to view his noble features and grey hairs. He made mor^e than one effort to extricate himself from the fallen horse, but ere he could succeed, received his death's- wound from the hand of Gwenwyn, who hesitated not to strike him down with his mace while in the act of extricating himself. During the whole of this bloody day, Dennis Morolt's horse had kept pace for pace, and his arm blow for blow, with his master's. It seemed as if two different bodies had been moving under one act of volition. He husbanded his strength, or put it forth, exactly THE BETROTHED. SI as he obseirved his knight did, and was close by his side, when he made the last deadly effort. At that fatal moment, when Raymond Berenger rushed on the chief, the brave squire forced his way up to the standard, and, grasping it firmly, struggled for possession of it with a gigantic Briton, to whose care it had been confided, and who now exerted his utmost strength to defend it. But even while engaged in this mortal struggle, the eye of Morolt scarcely left his master ; and when he saw him fall, his own force seemed by sym- pathy to abandon him, and the British champion had no longer any trouble in laying him prostrate among the slain. The victory of the British was now complete. Upon the fall of their leader, the followers of Raymond Berenger would willingly have fled or surrendered. But the first was impossible, so closely had they been enveloped ; and in the cruel wars maintained by the Welsh upon their frontiers, quarter to the vanquished was out of question. A few of the men-at-arms were lucky enough to disen- tangle themselves from the tumult, and, not even attempting to enter the castle, fled in various directions, to carry their own fears among the inhabitants of the marches, by announcing the loss of the battle, and the fate of the far-renowned Raymond Berenger. The archers of the fallen leader, as they had never been so deeply involved in the combat, which had been chiefly maintained by the cavalry, became now, in their turn, the sole object of the enemy's attack. But when they saw the multitude come roaring towards them like a sea, with all its waves, they abandoned the bank which they had hitherto bravely defended, and began a regu- lar retreat to the Castle in the best order which they could, as the only remaining means of securing their lives. A few of their light- footed enemies attempted to intercept them, during the execution of this jirudent manoeuvre, by outs'tripping them in their march, and throwing themselves into the hollow way which led to the castle, to oppose their retreat. But the coolness of the English archers, accustomed to extremities of every kind, supported them on the present occasion. While a part of them, armed with glaives and bills, dislodged the Welsh from the hollow way, the others, facing in the opposite direction, and parted into divisions, which alternately halted and retreated, maintained such a countenance as to check pursuit, and exchange a severe discharge of missiles with the Welsh, by which both parties were considerable sufferers. At length, having left more than two-thirds of their brave com- panions behind, the yeomanry attained the point, which, being commanded by arrows and engines from the battlements, might be considered as that of comparative safety. A volley of large stones, and square-headed bolts of great size and thickness, effectually Stopped the farther progress of the pursuit, and those who had led 52 THE BETROTHED. it drew back their desultory forces to the plain, where, with shouts of jubilee and exultation, their countrymen were employed in securing the plunder of the field ; while some, impelled by hatred and revenge, mangled and mutilated the limbs of the dead Nor- mans, in a manner unworthy of their national cause and their own courage. The fearful yells with which this dreadful work was con- summated, while it struck horror into the minds of the slender gar- rison of the Garde Doloureuse, inspired them at the same time with the resolution rather to defend the fortress to the last ex- tremity, than to submit to the mercy of so vengeful an enemy.* CHAPTER V. That Baron he to his castle fled, To Barnard Castle then fled he ; The uttermost walls were eathe to win, The Earls have won them speedilie ; — The uttermost walls were stone and brick ; But though they won them soon anon. Long ere they won the inmost walls. For they were hewn in rock of stone. Percy's Relics of Ancient Poetry. The unhappy fate of the battle was soon evident to the anxious spectators upon the watch-towers of the Garde Doloureuse, which name the castle that day too well deserved. With difficulty the confessor mastered his own emotions to control those of the females on whom he attended, and who were now joined in their lamenta- tion by many others — women, children, and infirm old men, the relatives of those whom they saw engaged in this unavailing con- test. These helpless beings had been admitted to the castle for ^security's sake, and they had now thronged to the battlements, from which Father Aldrovand found difficulty in making them de- scend, aware that the sight of them on the towers, that should have appeared lined with armed men, would be an additional encouragement to the exertions of the assailants. He urged the Lady Eveline to set an example to this group of helpless, yet untractable mourners. Preserving, at least endeavouring to preserve, even in the ex- tremity of grief, that composure which the manners of the times enjoined — for chivalry had its stoicism as well as philosophy — Eve- line replied with a voice which she would fain have rendered firm, and which was tremulous in her despite — " Yes, father, you say well— here is no longer aught left for maiden? to look upon. War- THE BETROTHED. 53 like meed and honoured deed sunk when yonder white plume touched the bloody ground.— Come, maidens, there is no longer aught left us to see — to mass, to mass — the tourney is over ! " There was wildness in her tone, and when she rose, with the air of one who would lead out a procession, she staggered, and would have fallen, but for the support of the confessor. Hastily wrapping her head in her mantle, as if ashamed of the agony of grief which she could not restrain, and of which her sobs and the low moaning sounds that issued from under the folds enveloping her face, de- clared the excess, she suffered leather Aldrovand to conduct her whither he would. " Our gold," he said, " has changed to brass, our silver to dross, our wisdom to folly — it is His will, who confounds the councils of the wise, and shortens the arm of the mighty. To the chapel — to the chapel, Lady Eveline ; and instead of vain repining, let us pray to God and the saints to turn away their displeasure, and to save the feeble remnant from the jaws of the devouring wolf." Thus speaking, he half led, half-supported Eveline, who was at the moment almost incapable of thought and action, to the castle- chapel, where, sinking before the altar, she assumed the attitude at least of devotion, though her thoughts, despite the pious words which her tongue faltered out mechanically, were upon the field of battle, beside the body of her slaughtered parent. The rest of the mourners imitated their young lady in her devotional posture, and in the absence of her thoughts. The consciousness that so many of the garrison had been cut off in Raymond's incautious sally, added to their sorrows the sense of personal insecurity, which was exaggerated by the cruelties which were too often exercised by the enemy, who, in the heat of victory, were accustomed to spare neither sex nor age. The monk, however, assumed among them the tone of authority which his character warranted, rebuked their wailing and ineffec- tual complaints, and having, as he thought, brought them to such a state of mind as better became their condition, he left them to their private devotions, to indulge his own anxious curiosity by enquiring into the defences of the castle. Upon the outward walls he found Wilkin Flammock, who, having done the office of a good and skil- ful captain in the mode of managing his artillery, and beating back, as we have already seen, the advanced guard of the enemy, was now with his own hand measuring out to his little garrison no stinted allowance of wine. " Have a care, good Wilkin," said the father, " that thou dost not exceed in this matter. Wine is, thou knowest, like fire and water, an excellent servant, but a very bad master." " It will be long ere it overflow the deep and solid skulls of my 54 THE BETROTHED. countrymen," said Wilkin Flammock. " Our Flemish courage is like our Flanders horses— the one needs the spur, and the other must have a taste of the wine-pot ; but, credit me, father, they are of an enduring generation, and will not shrink in the washing. — But indeed, if I were to give the knaves a cup more than enough, it were not altogether amiss, since they are like to have a platter the less." " How do you mean ? " cried the monk, starting ; " I trust in the saints the provisions have been cared for ? " " Not so well as in your convent, good father," replied Wilkin, with the same immovable stolidity of countenance. "We had kept, as you know, too jolly a Christmas to have a very fat Easter. Yon Welsh hounds, who helped to eat up our victuals, are now like to get into our hold for the lack of them." " Thou talkest mere folly," answered the monk j " orders were last, evening given by our lord (whose soul God assoilzie !) to fetch in the necessary supplies from the country around." " Ay, but the Welsh were too sharp set to permit us to do that at our ease this morning, which should have been done weeks and months since. Our lord deceased, if deceased he be, was one of those who trusted to the edge of the sword, and even so hath come of it. Commend me to a cross-bow and a well-victualled castle, if I must needs fight at all — You look pale, my good father, a cup of wine will revive you." The monk motioned away from him the untasted cup, which Wilkin pressed him with clownish civility. " We have now, indeed," he said, " no refuge, save in prayer ! " Most true, good father ; " again replied the impassible Flem- ing ; " pray therefore as much as you will. I will content myself with fasting, which will come whether I will or no." — At this mo- ment a horn was heard before the gate. — " Look to the portcullis and the gate, ye knaves !— What news, Neil Hansen ? " " A messenger from the Welsh tarries at the Mill-hill, just within shot of the crossbows ; he has a white flag, and demands ad- mittance." " Admit him not, upon thy life, till we be prepared for him," said Wilkin. " Bend the bonny mangonel upon the place, and shoot him if he dare to stir from the spot where he stands till we get all prepared to receive him," said Flammock, in his native language. " And, Neil, thou houndsfoot, bestir thyself— let every pike, lance, and pole in the castle be ranged along the battlements, and pointed through the shot-holes— cut up some tapestry into the shape of banners, and show them from the highest towers.— Be ready, when I give a signal, to strike naker* and blow trumpets, if we have any ; if not, some cow-horns— any thing for a noise. And hark THE BETROTHED. SS ye, Neil Hansen, do you, and four or five of your fellows, go to the armoury and slip on coats-of-mail ; our Netherlandish corslets do not appal them so much. Then let the Welsh thief be blindfolded and brought in amongst us — Do you hold up your heads and keep silence — leave me to deal with him — only have a care there be no English among us." The monk, who in his travels had acquired some slight know- ledge of the Flemish language, had well nigh started when he heard the last article in Wilkin's instructions to his countryman, but commanded himself, although a little surprised, both at this suspicious circumstance, and at the readiness and dexterity with which the rough-hewn Fleming seemed to adapt his preparations to the rules of war and of sound policy. Wilkin, on his part, was not very certain whether the monk had not heard and understood more of what he said to his countryman, than what he had intended. As if to lull asleep any suspicion which Father Aldrovand might entertain, he repeated to him in English most of the directions which he had given, adding, " Well, good father, what think you of it ? " " Excellent well," answered the father, " and done as you had practised war from the cradle, instead of weaving broad-cloth." " Nay, spare not your gibes, father," answered Wilkin. — " I know full well that you English think that Flemings have nought in their brainpan but sodden beef and cabbage ; yet you see there goes wisdom to weaving of webs." " Right, Master Wilkin Flammock," answered the father ; " but, good Fleming, wilt thou tell me what answer thou wilt make to tbe Welsh Prince's summons ? " " Reverend father, first tell me what the summons will be," re- plied the Fleming. " To surrender this castle upon the instant," answered the monk. "What will be your reply ? " " My answer will be — Nay, unless upon good composition." " How, Sir Fleming ! dare you mention composition and the Castle of the Garde Doloureuse in one sentence ? " said the monk. " Not if I may do better," answered the Fleming. " But would your reverence have me daily until the question amongst the gar- rison be, whether a plump priest or a fat Fleming will be the better flesh to furnish their shambles ?" " Pshaw ! " replied Father Aldrovand, " thou canst not mean such folly. Relief must arrive within twenty-four hours at farthest. Raymond Berenger expected it for certain within such a space." " Raymond Berenger hath been deceived this morning in more matters than one," answered the Fleming. " Hark thee, Flanderkin," answered the monk, whose retreat S6 THE BETROTHED. from the world had not altogether quenched his military habits and propensities, " I counsel thee to deal uprightly in this matter, as thou dost regard thine own life ; for here are as many English left alive, notwithstanding the slaughter of the day, as may well suffice to iling the Flemish bull-frogs into the castle-ditch, should- they have cause to think thou meanest falsely, in the keeping of this castle, and the defence of the Lady Eveline." " Let not your reverence be moved with unnecessary and idle fears," replied Wilkin Flammock — " I am castellane in this house, by command of its lord, and what I hold for the advantage of mine service, that will I do." " But I," said the angry monk, " I am the servant of the Pope — the chaplain of this castle, with power to bind and to unloose. I fear me thou art no true Christian, Wilkin Flammock, but dost lean to the heresy of the mountaineers. Thou hast refused to take the blessed cross — thou hast breakfasted, and drunk both ale and wine, ere thou hast heard mass. Thou art not to be trusted, man, and I will not trust thee— I demand to be present at the conference betwixt thee and the Welshman." " It may not be, good father," said Wilkin, with the same smiling, heavy countenance, which he maintained on all occasions of life, however urgent. " It is true, as thou sayest, good father, that I have mine own reasons for not marching quite so far as the gates of Jericho at present ; and lucky I have such reasons, since I had not else been here to defend the gate of the Garde Doloureuse. It is also true that I may have been sometimes obliged to visit my mills earlier than the chaplain was called by his zeal to the altar, and that my stomach brooks not working ere I break my fast. But for this, father, I have paid a mulct even to your worshipful reve- rence, and methinks since you are pleased to remember the con- fession so exactly, you should not forget the penance and the abso- lution." The monk, in alluding to the secrets of the confessional, had gone a step beyond what the rules of his order and of" the church permitted. He was baffled by the Fleming's reply, and iinding him unmoved by the charge of heresy, he could only answer, in some confusion, " You refuse, then, to admit me to your conference with the Welshman ? " " Reverend father," said Wilkin, " it altogether respecteth secular matters. If aught of religious tenor should intervene, you shall be summoned without delay." " I will be there in spite of thee, thou Flemish ox," muttered the monk to himself, but in a tone not to be heard by the bystanders • and so speaking, he left the battlements. Wilkin Flammock, a few minutes afterwards, having first seen THE BETROTHED. 57 that all was arranged on the battlements, so as to give an imposing idea of a strength which did not exist, descended to a small guard- room, betwixt the outer and inner gate, where he was attended by half-a-dozen of his own people, disguised in the N orman armour which they had found in the armoury of the castle, — their strong, tall, and bulky forms, and motionless postures, causing them to look rather like trophies of some past age, than living and existing soldiers. Surrounded by these huge and inanimate figures, in a little vaulted room which almost excluded daylight, Flammock received the Welsh envoy, who was led in blindfolded betwixt two Flemings, yet not so carefully watched but that they permitted him to have a glimpse of the preparations on the battlements, which had, in fact, been made chiefly for the purpose of imposing on him. For the same purpose an occasional clatter of arms was made without ; voices were heard, as if officers were going their rounds ; and other sounds of active preparation seemed to announce that a numerous and regular garrison was preparing to receive an attack. When the bandage was removed from Jorworth's, eyes, — for the same individual who had formerly brought Gwenwyn's offer of alliance, now bare his summons of surrender, — he looked haughtily around him, and demanded to whom he was to deliver the com- mands of his master, the Gwenwyn, son of CyveUoc, Prince of Powys. "His highness," answered Flammock, with his usual smiling indifference of manner, " must be contented to treat with Wilkin Flammock of the Fulling-mills, deputed governor of the Garde Doloureuse." " Thou deputed governor ! " exclaimed Jorworth ; " thou ! — a low-country weaver ! — it is impossible. Low as they are, the English Crogan* cannot have sunk to a point so low, as to be commanded by thee ! — These men seem English, to them I will deliver my message." " You may if you will," replied Wilkin, " but if they return you any answer save by signs, you shall call me schelm." "Is this true ?" said the Welsh envoy, looking towards the men- at-arms, as they seemed, by whom Flammock was attended ; " are you really come to this pass ? I thought that the mere having been bom on British earth, though the children of spoilers and invaders, had inspired you with too much pride to brook the yoke of a base mechanic. Or, if you are not courageous, should you not be cautious .'—Well speaks the proverb, Woe to him that will trust a stranger !— Still mute— still silent ?— answer me by word or sign— Do you really call and acknowledge him as your leader ? " The men in armour with one accord nodded their casques in 58 THE BETROTHED. reply to Jorworth's question, and then remained motionless as before. The Welshman, with the acute genius of his country, suspected there was something in this which he could not entirely compre- hend, but, preparing himself to be upon his guard, he proceeded as follows : " Be it as it may, I care not who hears the message of my sovereign, since it brings pardon and mercy to the inhabitants of this Castell an Carrig,* which you have called the Garde Dolou- reuse, to cover the usurpation of the territory by the change of the name. Upon surrender of the same to the Prince of Powys, with its dependencies, and with the arms which it contains, and with the maiden Eveline Berenger, all within the castle shall depart un- molested, and have safe-conduct wheresoever they will, to go beyond the marches of the Cymry." " And how, if we obey not this summons ? " said the imperturb- able Wilkin Flammock. " Then shall your portion be with Raymond Berenger, your late leader," replied Jorworth, his eyes, while he was speaking, glancing with the vindictive ferocity which dictated his answer. " So many strangers as be here amongst ye, so many bodies to the ravens, so many heads to the gibbet ! — It is long since the kites have had such a banquet of lurdane Flemings and false Saxons." " Friend Jorworth," said Wilkin, " if such be thy only message, bear mine answer back to thy master, That wise men trust not to the words of others that safety, which they can secure by their own deeds. We have walls high and strong enough, deep moats, and plenty of munition, both longbow and arblast. We will keep the castle, trusting the castle will keep us, till God shall send us succour." "Do not peril your lives on such an issue," said the Welsh emis- sary, changing his language to the Flemish, which, from occasional communication with those of that nation in Pembrokeshire, he spoke fluently, and which he now adopted, as if to conceal the purport of his discourse from the supposed English in the apart- ment. " Hark thee hither," he proceeded, " good Fleming. Knowest thou not that he in whom is your trust, the Constable De Lacy, hath bound himself by his vow to engage in no quarrel till he crosses the sea, and cannot come to your aid without perjury.' He and the other Lords Marchers have drawn their forces far north- ward to join the host of Crusaders. What will it avail you to put us to the toil and trouble of a long siege, when you can hope no rescue ? " " And what will it avail me more," said Wilkin, answering in his native language, and looking at the Welshman fixedly, yet with a countenance from which all expression seemed studiously banished, THE BETROTHED. S9 and which exhibited, upon features otherwise tolerable, a remark- able compound of dulness and simplicity, " what will it avail me whether your trouble be great or small ? " " Come, friend Flammock," said the Welshman, " frame not thy- self more unapprehensive than nature hath formed thee. The glen is dark, but a sunbeam can light the side of it. Thy utmost efforts cannot prevent the fall of this castle ; but thou mayst hasten it, and the doing so shall avail thee much." Thus speaking, he drew close up to Wilkin, and sunk his voice to an insinuating whisper, as he said, " Never did the withdrawing of a bar, or the raising of a portcullis, bring such vantage to Fleming as they may to thee, if thou wilt." " I only know," said Wilkin, " that the drawing the one, and the dropping the other, have cost me my whole worldly substance." " Fleming, it shall be compensated to thee with an overflowing measure. The liberality of Gwenwyn is as the summer rain." " My whole mills and buildings have been this morning burnt to the earth " " Thou shalt have a thousand marks of silver, man, in the place of thy goods," said th^ Welshman; but the Fleming continued, without seeming to hear him, to number up his losses. "My lands are forayed, twenty kine driven off, and" " Threescore shall replace them," interrupted Jorworth, " chosen from the most bright-skinned of the spoil." " But my daughter — but the Lady Eveline "—said the Fleming, with some slight change in his monotonous voice, which seemed to express doubt and perplexity — "You are cruel conquerors, and" "To those who resist us we are fearful," said Jorworth, "but not to such as shall deserve clemency by surrender. Gwenwyn will forget the contumelies of Raymond, and raise his daughter to high honour among the daughters of the Cymry. For thine own child, form but a wish for her advantage, and it shall be fulfilled to the uttermost. Now, Fleming, we understand each other." " I understand thee, at least," said Flammock. "And I thee, I trust?" said Jorworth, bending his keen, wild blue eye on the stolid and unexpressive face of the Netherlander, like an eager student who seeks to discover some hidden and mys- terious meaning in a passage of a classic author, the direct import of which seems trite and trivial. " You believe that you understand me," said Wilkin ; " but here lies the difficulty, — which of us shall trust the other?" " Barest thou ask ? " answered Jorworth. " Is it for thee, or such as thee, to express doubt of the purposes of the Prince of Powys ?" " I know them not, good Jorworth, but through thee ; and well 6o THE BETROTHED. I wot thou art not one who will let thy traffic miscarry for want of aid from the breath of thy mouth." " As I am a Christian man," said Jorworth, hurrying assevera tion on asseveration—" by the soul of my father— by the. faith of my mother — by the black rood of" " Stop, good Jorworth— thou heapest thine oaths too thickly on each other, for me to value them to the right estimate," said Flam- mock ; " that which is so lightly pledged, is sometimes not thought worth redeeming. Some part of the promised guerdon in hand the whilst, were worth an hundred oaths." " Thou suspicious churl, darest thou doubt my word ? " " No— by no means," answered Wilkin ;— " ne'ertheless, I will believe thy deed more readily." " To the point, Fleming," said Jorworth—" What wouldst thou have of me ? " " Let me have some present sight of the money thou didst pro- mise, and I will think of the rest of thy proposal." " Base silver-broker ! " answered Jorworth, " thinkest thou the Prince of Powys has as many money-bags, as the merchants of thy land of sale and barter? He gathers treasures by his conquests, as the waterspout sucks up water by its strength ! but it is to dis- perse them among his followers, as the cloudy column restores its contents to earth and ocean. The silver that I promise thee has yet to be gathered out of the Saxon chests — nay, the casket of Berenger himself must be ransacked to make up the tale." " Methinks I could do that myself, (having full power in the castle,) and so save you a labour," said the Fleming. " True," answered Jorworth, " but it would be at the expense of a cord and a noose, whether the Welsh took the place or the Normans relieved it — the one would expect their booty entire — the other their countryman's treasures to be delivered undi- minished." " I may not gainsay that," said the Fleming. " Well, say I were content to trust you thus far, why not return my cattle, which are in your own hands, and at your disposal ? If you do not plea- sure me in something beforehand, what can I expect of you after- wards ? " " I would pleasure you in a greater matter," answered the equally suspicious Welshman. " But what would it avail thee to have thy cattle within the fortress ? They can be better cared for on the plain beneath." " In faith," replied the Fleming, " thou sayst truth— they will be but a trouble to us here, where we have so many already provided for the use of the garrison. — And yet, when I consider it more closely, we have enough of forage to maintain all we have, and THE BETROTHED. 6t more. Now, my cattle are of a peculiar stock, brought from the rich pastures of Flanders, and I desire to have them restored ere your axes and Welsh books be busy with their hides." " You shall have them this night, hide and horn," said Jorworth ; " it is but a small earnest of a great boon." "Thanks to your munificence," said the Fleming; "I am a simple-minded man,' and bound my wishes to the recovery of my own property." " Thou wilt be ready, then, to deliver the castle?" said Jorworth. " Of that we will talk farther to-morrow," said Wilkin Flammock ; " if these English and Normans should suspect such a purpose, we should have wild work — they must be fully dispersed ere I can hold farther communication on the subject. Meanwhile, I pray thee, depart suddenly, and as if offended with the tenor of our discourse." " Yet would I fain know something more fixed and absolute," said Jorworth. " Impossible — impossible," said the Fleming ; " see you not yonder tall fellow begins already to handle his dagger — Go hence in haste, and angrily — and forget not the cattle." " I will not forget them," said Jorworth ; " but if thou keep not faith with us" So speaking, he left the apartment with a gesture of menace, partly really directed to Wilkin himself, partly assumed in conse- quence of his advice. Flammock replied in English, as if that all around might understand what he said, " Do thy worst. Sir Welshman ! I am a true man ; I defy the proposals of rendition, and will hold out this castle to thy shame and thy master's ! — Here — let him be blindfolded once more, and returned in safety to his attendants without ; the next Welshman who appears before the gate of the Garde Doloureuse, shall be more sharply received." The Welshman was blindfolded and withdrawn, when, as Wilkin Flammock himself left the guard-room, one of the seeming men-at- arms who had been present at this interview, said in his ear, in English, " Thou art a false traitor, Flammock, and shalt die a traitor's death!" Startled at this, the Fleming would have questioned the man farther, but he had disappeared so soon as the words were uttered. Flammock was disconcerted by this circumstance, which showed him that his interview with Jorworth had been observed, and its purpose known or conjectured, by some one who was a stranger to his confidence, and might thwart his intentions ; and he quickly after learned that this was the case. THE BETROTHED. CHAPTER VI. Blessed Mary, mother dear, To a maiden laend thine ear ; Virgin, undefiled, to thee A wretched virgin bends the knee. Hymn to the Virgin. The daughter of the slaughtered Raymond had descended irom the elevated station whence she had beheld the field of battle, in the agony of grief natural to a child whose eyes have beheld the death of an honoured and heloved father. But her station, and the principles of chivalry in which she had been trained up, did not permit any prolonged or needless indulgence of inactive sorrow. In raising the young and beautiful of the female sex to the rank of princesses, or rather goddesses, the spirit of that singular system exacted from them, in requital, a tone of character, and a line of conduct, superior and something contradictory to that of natural or merely human feeling. Its heroines frequently resembled por- traits shown by an artificial light — strong and luminous, and which placed in high relief the objects on which it was turned ; but having still something of adventitious splendour, which, compared with that of the natural day, seemed glaring and exaggerated. It was not permitted to' the orphan of the Garde Doloureuse, the daughter of a line of heroes, whose stem was to be found in the race of Thor, Balder, Odin, and other deified warriors of the North, whose beauty was the theme of a hundred minstrels, and her eyes the leading star of half the chivalry of the warlike marches of Wales, to mourn her sire with the ineffectual tears of a village maiden. Young as she was, and horrible as was the incident which she had but that instant witnessed, it was not altogether so appalling to her as to a maiden whose eye had not been accus- tomed to the rough, and often fatal sports of chivalry, and whose residence had not been among scenes and men where war and . death had been the unceasing theme of every tongu?, whose im- agination had not been familiarized with wild and bloody events, or, finally, who had not been trained up to consider an honourable " death under shield," as that of a field of battle was termed, as a more desirable termination to the life of a warrior, than that linger- ing and unhonoured fate which comes slowly on, to conclude the listless and helpless inactivity of prolonged old age. Evehne, while she wept for her father, felt her bosom glow when she recollected THE BETROTHED. 63 that he died in the blaze of his fame, and amidst heaps of his slaughtered enemies ; and when she thought of the exigencies of her own situation, it was with the determination to defend her own liberty, and to avenge her father's death, by every means which Heaven had left within her power. The aids of religion were not forgotten ; and according to the custom of the times, and the doctrines of the Roman church, she endeavoured to propitiate the favour of Heaven by vows as well as prayers. In a small crypt, or oratory, adjoining to the chapel, was hung over an altar-piece, on which a lamp constantly burned, a small picture of the Virgin Mary, revered as a household and peculiar deity by the family of Berenger, one of whose ancestors had brought it from the Holy Land, whither he had gone upon pilgrimage. It was of the period of the Lower Empire, a Grecian painting, not unlike those which in Catholic countries are often imputed to the Evangelist Luke. The crypt in which it was placed was accounted a shrine of uncommon sanctity — nay, sup- posed to have displayed miraculous powers ; and Eveline, by the daily garland of flowers which she offered before the painting, and by the constant prayers with which they were accompanied, had constituted herself the peculiar votaress of Our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse, for so the picture was named. Now, apart from others, alone, and in secrecy, sinking in the extremity of her sorrow before the shrine of her patroness, she besought the protection of kindred purity for the defence of her freedom and honour, and invoked vengeance on the wild'* and treacherous chieftain who had slain her father, and was now beleaguering her place of strength. Not only did she vow a large donative in lands to the shrine of the protectress whose aid she implored ; but the oath passed her lips, (even though they faltered, and though something within her remon- strated against the vow,) that whatsoever favoured knight Our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse might employ for her rescue, should obtain from her in guerdon, whatever boon she might honourably grant, were it that of her virgin hand at the holy altar. Taught as she was to believe, by the assurances of many a knight, that such a surrender was the highest boon which Heaven could bestow, she felt as discharging a debt of gratitude when she placed herself entirely at the disposal of the pure and blessed patroness in whose aid she confided. Perhaps there lurked in this devotion some earthly hope of which she was herself scarce conscious, and which reconciled her to the indefinite sacrifice thus freely offered. The Virgin, (this flattering hope might insinuate,) kindest and most benevolent of patron- esses, will use compassionately the power resigned to her, and 64 THE BETROTHED. he will be the favoured champion of Maria, upon whom her votaress would most willingly confer favour. But if there was such a hope, as something selfish will often mingle with our noblest and purest emotions, it arose uncon- scious of Eveline herself, who, in the full assurance of implicit faith, and fixing on the representative of her adoration, eyes in which the most earnest supplication, the most humble con& dence, struggled with unbidden tears, was perhaps more beautifu, than when, young as she was, she was selected to bestow the prize of chivalry in the lists of Chester. It was no wonder that, in such a moment of high excitation, when prostrated in devo- tion before a being of whose power to protect her, and to make her protection assured by a visible sign, she doubted nothing, the Lady Eveline conceived she saw with her own eyes the ac- ceptance of her vow. As she gazed on the picture with an over- strained eye, and an imagination heated with enthusiasm, the expression seemed to alter from the hard outline, fashioned by the Greek painter ; the eyes appeared to become animated, and to return with looks of compassion the suppliant entreaties of the votaress, and the mouth visibly arranged itself into a smile of inexpressible sweetness. It even seemed to her that the head made a gentle inclination. Overpowered by supernatural awe at appearances, of which her faith permitted her not to question the reality, the Lady Eveline folded her arms on her bosom, and prostrated her forehead on the pavement, as the posture most fitting to listen to divine com- munication. But her vision went not so far ; there was neither sound nor voice, and when, after stealing her eyes all around the crypt in which she knelt, she again raised them to the figure of Our Lady, the features seemed to be in the form in which the limner had sketched them, saving that, to Eveline's imagination, they still retained an august and yet gracious expression, which she had not before remarked upon the countenance. With awful rever- ence, almost amounting to fear, yet comforted, and even elated, with the visitation she had witnessed, the maiden repeated again and again the orisons which she thought- most grateful to the ear of her benefactress ; and, rising at length, retired backwards, as from the presence of a sovereign, until she attained the outer chapel. Here one or two females still knelt before the saints which the walls and niches presented for adoration ; but the rest of the terrified suppliants, too anxious to prolong their devotions, had dispersed through the castle to learn tidings of their friends, and to obtain some refreshment, or at least some place of repose for themselves and their families. THE BETROTHED. 65 Bowing her head, and muttering an ave to each saint as she passed his image, (for impending danger makes men observant of the rites of devotion,) the Lady Eveline had almost reached the door of the chapel, when a man-at-arms, as he seemed, entered hastily ; and, with a louder voice than suited the holy place, unless when need was most urgent, demanded the Lady Eveline. Im- pressed with the feelings of veneration which the late scene had produced, she was about to rebuke his military rudeness, when he spoke again, and in anxious haste, " Daughter, we are betrayed J " and though the form, and the coat-of-mail which covered it, were those of a soldier, the voice was that of Father Aldrovand, who, eager and anxious at the same time, disengaged himself from the mail hood, and showed his countenance. " Father," she said, " what means this ? Have you forgotten the confidence in Heaven which you are wont to recommend, that you bear other arms than your order assigns to you ? " " It may come to that ere long," said Father Aldrovand ; " for I was a soldier ere I was a monk. But now I have donn'd this har- ness to discover treachery, not to resist force. Ah ! my beloved daughter — we are dreadfully beset — foemen without — traitors with- in ! The false Fleming, Wilkin Flammock, is treating for the surrender of the castle ! " " Who dares say so ? " said a veiled female, who had been kneel- ing unnoticed in a sequestered corner of the chapel, but who now started up and came boldly betwixt Lady Eveline and the monk. " Go hence, thou saucy minion," said the monk, surprised at this bold interruption ; " this concerns not thee." " But it doth concern me," said the damsel, throwing back her veil, and discovering the juvenile countenance of Rose, the daughter of Wilkin Flammock, her eyes sparkling, and her cheeks blushing with anger, the vehemence of which made a singular contrast with the very fair complexion, and almost infantine features of the speaker, whose whole form and figure was that of a girl who has scarce emerged from childhood, and indeed whose general manners were as gentle and bashful as they now seemed bold, impassioned, and undaunted. — " Doth it not concern me," she said, " that my father's honest name should be tainted with treason ? Doth it not concern the stream when the fountain is troubled ? It doth concern me, and I will know the author of the calumny." " Damsel," said Eveline, " restrain thy useless passion ; the good father, though he cannot intentionally calumniate thy father, speaks, it may be, from false report." " As I am an unworthy priest," said the father, " I speak from the report of my own ears. Upon the oath of my order, myself heard this Wilkin Flammock chaffering: with the Welshman for F 66 THE BETROTHED. the surrender of the Garde Doloureuse. By help of this hauberk and mail hood, I gained admittance to a conference where he thought there were no English ears. They spoke Flemish too, but I knew the jargon of old." " The Flemish," said the angry maiden, whose headstrong passion led her to speak first in answer to the last insult offered, " is no jargon like your piebald English, half Norman, half Saxon, but a noble Gothic tongue, spoken by the brave warriors who fought against the Roman Kaisars, when Britain bent the necV to them— and as for this he has said of Wilkin Flammock," she continued, collecting her ideas into more order as she went on, " believe it not, my dearest lady ; but, as you value the honour of your own noble father, confide, as in the Evangelists, in the honesty of mine ! " This she spoke with an imploring tone of voice, mingled with sobs, as if her heart had been breaking. Evehne endeavoured to soothe her attendant. " Rose,'' she said, " in this evil time suspicions will light on the best men, and mis- understandings will arise among the best friends. Let us hear the good father state what he hath to charge upon your parent. Fear not but that Wilkin shall be heard in his defence. Thou wert wont to be quiet and reasonable." " I am neither quiet nor reasonable on this matter," said Rose, with redoubled indignation ; " and it is ill of you, lady, to listen to the falsehoods of that reverend mummer, who is neither true priest nor true soldier. But I will fetch one who shall confront him either in casque or cowl." So saying, she went hastily out of the chapel, while the monk, after some pedantic circumlocution, acquainted the Lady Eveline with what he had overheard betwixt Jorworth and Wilkin ; and proposed to her to draw together the few English who were in the castle, and take possession of the innermost square tower ; a keep which, as usual in Gothic fortresses of the Norman period, was situated so as to make considerable defence, even after the exterior works of the castle, which it commanded, were in the hand of the enemy. " Father," said Eveline, still confident in the vision she had lately witnessed, " this were good counsel in extremity ; but otherwise, it were to create the very evil we fear, by setting our garrison at odds amongst themselves. I have a strong, and not unwarranted con- fidence, good father, in our blessed Lady of this Garde Doloureuse, that we shall attain at once vengeance on our barbarous enemies, and escape from our present jeopardy ; and I call you to witness the vow I have made, that to him whom Our Lady should employ to work us succour, I will refuse nothing, were it my father's inhe- ritance, or the hand of his daughter." THE BETROTHED. 67 '■'■Ave Maria! Ave Regitia Cceli/" said the priest; "on a rock more sure you could not have founded your trust. — But, daughter," he continued, after the proper ejaculation had been made, " have you never heard, even by a hint, that there was a treaty for your hand betwixt our much-honoured lord, of whom we are cruelly bereft, (may God assoilzie his soul !) and the great house of Lacy?" " Something I may have heard," said Eveline, dropping her eyes, while a slight tinge suffused her cheek ; " but I refer me to the disposal of Our Lady of Succour and Consolation." As she spoke, Rose entered the chapel with the same vivacity she had shown in leaving it, leading by the hand her father, whose sluggish though firm step, vacant countenance, and heavy de- meanour, formed the strongest contrast to the rapidity of her motions, and the anxious animation of her address. Her task o dragging him forward might have reminded the spectator of some of those ancient monuments, on which a small cherub, singu- larly inadequate to the task, is often represented as hoisting upward towards the empyrean the fleshy bulk of some ponderous tenant of the tomb, whose disproportioned weight bids fair to render ineffectual the benevolent and spirited exertions of its fluttering guide and assistant. "Roschen — my child — what grieves thee?" said the Nether- landeiy as he yielded to his daughter's violence with a smile, which, being on the countenance of a father, had more of ex- pression and feeling than those which seemed to have made their constant dwelling upon his lips. " Here stands my father," said the impatient maiden ; " im- peach him with treason, who can or dare ! There stands Wilkin Flammock, son of Dieterick, the Cramer of Antwerp, — let those accuse him to his face who slandered him behind his back ! " " Speak, Father Aldrovand," said the Lady Eveline ; " we are young in our lordship, and, alas ! the duty hath descended upon us in an evil hour ; yet we will, so may God and Our Lady help us, hear and judge of your accusation to the utmost of our power." " This Wilkin Flammock," said the monk, " however bold liie hath made himself in villainy, dares not deny that I heard him with my own ears treat for the surrender of the castle." " Strike him, father ! " said the indignant Rose, — " strike the disguised mummer ! The steel hauberk may be struck, though not the monk's frock — strike him, or tell him that he lies foully ! " " Peace, Roschen, thou art mad," said her father, angrily ; " the monk hath more truth than sense about him, and I would his ears had been farther off when he thrust them into what concerned him not." F 2 68 THE BETROTHED. Rose's countenance fell when she heard her father bluntly avow the treasonable communication of which she had thought him incapable— she dropt the hand by which she had dragged him into the chapel, and stared on the Lady Eveline, with eyes which seemed starting from their sockets, and a countenance from which the blood, with which it was so lately highly coloured, had retreated to garrison the heart. Eveline looked upon the culprit with a countenance in which sweetness and dignity were mingled with sorrow. " Wilkin," she said, " I could not have believed this. What ! on the very day of thy confiding benefactor's death, canst thou have been tampering with his murderers, to deliver up the castle, and betray thy trust ! — But I will not upbraid thee — I deprive thee of the trust reposed in so unworthy a person, and appoint thee to be kept in ward in the western tower, till God send us relief ; when, it may be, thy daughter's merits shall atone for thy offences, and save farther punishment. — See that our commands be presently obeyed." " Yes — yes — yes 1 '' exclaimed Rose, hurrying one word on the other as fast and vehemently as she could articulate— "Let us go — let us go to the darkest dungeon — darkness befits us better than light." The monk, on the other hand, perceiving that the Fleming made no motion to obey the mandate of arrest, came forward, in a manner more suiting his ancient profession, and present disguise, than his spiritual character ; and with the words, " I attach thee, Wilkin Flammock, of acknowledged treason to your liege lady," would have laid hand upon him, had not the Fleming stepped back and warned him off, with a menacing and determined gesture, while he said, — " Ye are mad ! — all of you English are mad when the moon is full, and my silly girl hath caught the malady. — Lady, your honoured father gave me a charge, which I purpose to execute to the best for all parties, and you cannot, being a minor, deprive me of it at your idle pleasure. — Father Aldrovand, a monk makes no lawful arrest. — Daughter Roschen, hold your peace and dry your eyes — you are a fool." " I am, I am," said Rose, drying her eyes and regaining her elasticity of manner — " I am indeed a fool, and worse than a fool, for a moment to doubt my father's probity. — Confide in him, dearest lady ; he is wise though he is grave, and kind though he is plain and homely in his speech. Should he prove false he wiU fare the worse ! for I will plunge myself from the pinnacle of the Warder's Tower to the bottom of the moat, and he shall lose his own daughter for betraying his master's." "This is all frenzy," said the monk— "Who trusts avowed traitors ? — Here, Normans, English, to the rescue of your liege lady— BowB and bills — bows and bills 1 " THE BETROTHED. 69 " You may spare your throat for your next homily, good father," said the Netherlander, " or call in good Flemish, since you under- stand it, for to no other language will those within hearing reply." He then approached the Lady Eveline with a real or affected air of clumsy kindness, and something as nearly approaching to courtesy as his manners and features could assume. He bade her good night, and assuring her that he would act for the best, left the chapel. The monk was about to break forth into revilings, but Eveline, with more prudence, checked his zeal. " I cannot," she said, " but hope that this man's intentions are honest " " Now, God's blessings on you, lady, for that very word ! " said Rose, eagerly interrupting her, and kissing her hand. " But if unhappily they are doubtful," continued Eveline, " it is not by reproach that we can bring him to a better purpose. Good father, give an eye to the preparations for resistance, and see nought omitted that our means furnish for the defence of the castle." " Fear nothing, my dearest daughter," said Aldrovand ; " there are stiU some English hearts amongst us, and we will rather kill and eat the Flemings themselves, than surrender the castle." " That were food as dangerous to come by as bear's venison, father," answered Rose, bitterly, still on fire with the idea that the monk treated her nation with suspicion and contumely. On these terms they separated ; — the women to indulge their fears and sorrows in private grief, or alleviate them by private devotion ; the monk to try to discover what were the real purposes of Wilkin Flammock, and to counteract them if possible, should they seem to indicate treachery. His eye, however, though sharpened by strong suspicion, saw nothing to strengthen his fears, excepting that the Fleming had, with considerable military skill, placed the principal posts of the castle in the charge of his own countrymen, which must make any attempt to dispossess him of his present authority both difficult and dangerous. The monk at length retired, summoned by the duties of the evening service, and with the determination to b& stirring with the light ths next morning. 70 THE BETROTHED. CHAPTER VII. O, sadly shines the morning sun On leaguer'd castle wall, When bastion, tower, and battlement, Seem nodding to their fall. Old Ballad. True to his resolution, and telling his beads as he went, that he might lose no time. Father Aldrovand began his rounds in the castle so soon as daylight had touched the top of the eastern horizon. A natural instinct led him first to those stalls which, had the fortress been properly victualled for a siege, ought to have been tenanted by cattle ; and great was his delight to see more than a score of fat kine and bullocks in the place which had last night been empty ! One of them had already been carried to the shambles, and a Fleming or two, who played butchers on the occasion, were dividing the carcass for the cook's use. The good father had wellnigh cried out, a miracle ; but, not to b^ too pre- cipitate, he limited his transport to a private exclamation in honour of Our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse. "Who talks of lack of provender.' — who speaks of surrender now? "he said. "Here is enough to maintain us till Hugo de Lacy arrives, were he to sail back from Cyprus to our relief. 1 did purpose to have fasted this morning, as well to save victuals as on a religious score ; but the blessing of the saints must not be slighted. — Sir Cook, let me have half a yard or so of broiled beef presently ; bid the pantler send me a manchet, and the butler a cup of wine. I will take a running breakfast on the western battle- ments." * At this place, which was rather the weakest point of the Garde Doloureuse, the good father found Wilkin Flammock anxiously superintending the necessary measures of defence. He greeted him courteously, congratulated him on the stock of provisions with which the castle had been supplied during the night, and was en- quiring how they had been so happily introduced through the Welsh besiegers, when Wilkin took the first occasion to interrupt him. " Of all this another time, good father ; but I wish at present, and before otljer discourse, to consult thee on a matter which presses my conscience, and moreover deeply concerns my worldly estate." " Speak on, my excellent son," said the father, conceiving that he should thus gain the key to Wilkin's real intentions. " O, a THE BEtROTHED. jt tender conscience is a jewel ! and he that will not listen when it saith, ' pour out thy doubts into the ear of the priest,' shall one day- have his own dolorous outcries choked with fire and brimstone. Thou wert ever of a tender conscience, son Wilkin, though thou hast but a rough and borrel bearing." " Well, then," said Wilkin, " you are to know, good father, that I have had some dealings with my neighbour, Jan Vanwelt, concern- ing my daughter Rose, and that he has paid me certain gilders on condition I will match her to him." " Pshaw, pshaw ! my good son," said the disappointed confessor, " this gear can lie over — this is no time for marrying or giving in marriage, when we are all like to be murdered." " Nay, but hear me, good father," said the Fleming, " for this point of conscience concerns the present case more nearly than you wot of. — You must know I have no will to bestow Rose on this same Jan Vanwelt, who is old, and of ill conditions ; and I would know of you whether I may, in conscience, refuse him my consent?" " Truly," said Father Aldrovand, " Rose is a pretty lass, though somewhat hasty ; and I think you may honestly withdraw your consent, always on paying back the gilders you have received." " But there lies the pinch, good father," said the Fleming — " the refunding this money will reduce me to utter poverty. The Welsh have destroyed my substance ; and this handful of money is all, God help me ! on which I must begin the world again." " Nevertheless, son Wilkin," said Aldrovand, " thou must keep thy word, or pay the forfeit ; for what saith the text ? Quis habitabit in tabernaculo, quis requiescet in monte sanctof Who shall ascend to the tabernacle, and dwell in the holy mountain ? Is it not answered again. Qui jurat proximo et non decipitf — Go to, my son — break not thy plighted word for a little filthy lucre — better is an empty stomach and an hungry heart with a clear conscience, than a fatted ox with iniquity and word-breaking. — Sawest thou not our late noble lord, who (may his soul be happy !) chose rather to die in unequal battle, like a true knight, than live a perjured man, though he had but spoken a rash word to a Welsh- man over a wine flask?" " Alas ! then," said the Fleming, " this is even what I feared ! We must e'en render up the castle, or restore to the Welshman, Jorworth, the cattle, by means of which I had schemed to victual and defend it." " How — wherefore — what dost thou mean ? " said the monk, in astonishment. " I speak to thee of Rose Flammock, and Jan Van-devil, or whatever you call him, and you reply with talk about cattle and castles, and I wot not what ! " " So please you, holy father, I did but speak in parables. This 72 THE BETROTHED. castle was the daughter I had promised to deliver over— the Welsh- man is Jan Vanwelt, and the gilders were the cattle he has sent m, as a part-payment beforehand of my guerdon." " Parables ! " said the monk, colouring with anger at the trick put on him ; " what has a boor like thee to do with parables ?— But I forgive thee — I forgive thee." " I am therefore to yield the castle to the Welshman, or restore him his cattle ? " said the impenetrable Dutchman. " Sooner yield thy soul to Satan I" replied the monk. " I fear me it must be the alternative," said the Fleming ; " for the example of thy honourable lord " "The example of an honourable fool"— answered the monk; then presently subjoined, " Our Lady be with her servant !— This Belgic-brained boor makes me forget what I would say." " Nay, but the holy text which your reverence cited to me even now," continued the Fleming. " Go to," said the monk ; "what hast thou to do to presume to think of texts ?— knowest thou not that the letter of the Scripture slayeth, and that it is the exposition which maketh to live ? — Art thou not like one who, coming to a physician, conceals from him half the symptoms of the disease? — I tell thee, thou foolish Fleming, the text speaketh but of promises made unto Christians, and there is in the Rubric a special exception of such as are made to Welshmen." At this commentary the Fleming grinned so broadly as to show his whole case of broad strong white teeth. Father Aldrovand himself grinned in sympathy, and then proceeded to say, — " Come, come, I see how it is. Thou hast studied some small revenge on me for doubting of thy truth ; and, in verity, I think thou hast taken it wittily enough. But wherefore didst thou not let me into the secret from the beginning .■' I promise thee I had foul suspicions of thee." " What ! " said the Fleming, " is it possible I could ever think of involving your reverence in a little matter of deceit? Surely Heaven hath sent me more grace and manners. — Hark, I hear Jorworth's horn at the gate." " He blows like a town swineherd," said Aldrovand, in disdain. " It is not your reverence's pleasure that I should restore the cattle unto him, then ? " said Flammock. " Yes, thus far. Prithee deliver him straightway over the walls such a tub of boiling water as shall scald the hair from his goat- skin cloak. And, hark thee, do thou in the first place, try the tem- perature of the kettle with thy forefinger, and that shall be thy penance for the trick thou hast played me." The Fleming answered this with another broad grin of intelli- gence, and they proceeded to the outer gate, to which Jorworth had come alone. Placing himself at the wicket, which, however, he THE BETROTHED. 73 kept carefully barred, and speaking through a small opening, contrived for such purpose, Wilkin Flammock demanded of the Welshman his business. " To receive rendition of the castle, agreeable to promise," said Jorworth. "Ay? and art thou come on such an errand alone?" said Wilkin. " No, truly," answered Jorworth ; " I have'some two score of men concealed among yonder bushes." "Then thou hadst best lead them away quickly," answered Wilkin, "before our archers let fly a sheaf of arrows among them." "How, villain! Dost thou not mean to keep thy promise?" said the Welshman. " I gave thee none," said the Fleming ; " I promised but to think on what thou didst say. I have done so, and have commu- nicated with my ghostly father, who will in no respect hear of me listening to thy proposal." " And wilt thou," said Jorworth, " keep the cattle, which I simply sent in to the castle on the faith of our agreement ? " " I will excommunicate and deliver him over to Satan," said the monk, unable to wait the phlegmatic and lingering answer of the Fleming, " if he give horn, hoof, or hair of them, to such an uncir- cumcised Philistine as thou or thy master." " It is well, shorn priest," answered Jorworth, in great anger. " But mark me — reckon not on your frock for ransom. When Gwenwyn hath taken this castle, as it shall not longer shelter such a pair of faithless traitors, I will have you sewed up each into the carcass of one of these kine, for which your penitent has forsworn himself, and lay you where wolf and eagle shall be your only com- panions." " Thou wilt work thy will when it is matched with thy power," said the sedate Netherlander. " False Welshman, we defy thee to thy teeth ! " answered, in the same breath, the more irascible monk. " I trust to see the hounds gnaw thy joints ere that day come that ye talk of so proudly." By way of answer to both, Jorworth drew back his arm with his levelled javelin, and shaking the shaft till it acquired a vibratory motion, he hurled it with equal strength and dexterity right against the aperture in the wicket. It whizzed through the opening at which it was aimed, and flew (harmlessly, however) between the heads of the monk and the Fleming ; the former of whom started back, while the latter only said, as he looked at the javelin, which stood quivering in the door of the guard-room, " That was well aimed, and happily baulked." 74 THE BETROTHED. Jorworth, the instant he had flung his dart, hastened to the ambush which he had prepared, and gave them at once the signal and the example of a rapid retreat down the hill. Father Aldro- vand would willingly have followed them with a volley of arrows, but the Fleming observed that ammunition was too precious with them to be wasted on a few runaways. Perhaps the honest man remembered that they had come within the danger of such a salu- tation, in some measure, on his own assurance." When the noise of the hasty retreat of Jorworth and his fol- lowers had died away, there ensued a dead silence, well corre- sponding with the coolness and calmness of that early hour in the morning. " This will not last long," said Wilkin to the monk, in a tone of foreboding seriousness, which found an echo in the good father's bosom. " It will not, and it cannot," answered Aldrovand ; " and we must expect a shrewd attack, which I should mind little, but that their numbers are great, ours few ; the extent of the walls considerable, and the obstinacy of these Welsh fiends almost equal to their fury. But we will do the best. I will to the Lady Eveline — She must show herself upon the battlements — She is fairer in feature than be- cometh a man of my order to speak of; and' she has withal a breathing of her father's lofty spirit. The look and the word of such a lady will give a man double strength in the hour of need." " It may be," said the Fleming ; " and I will go see that the good breakfast which I have appointed be presently served forth ; it will give my Flemings more strength than the sight of the ten thousand virgins — may their help be with us ! — were they all arranged on a fair field." CHAPTER VIII. 'Twas when ye raised, 'mid sap and siege, The banner of your rightful liege At your she captain's call, Who, miracle of womankind. Lent mettle to the meanest hind That mann'd her castle wall. William Stewart Rose. The morning light was scarce fully spread abroad, when Eveline Berenger, in compliance with her confessor's advice, commenced her progress around the walls and battlements of the beleaguered castle, to confirm, by her personal entreaties, the minds of the valiant, and THE BETROTHED. 75 to rouse the more timid to hope and to exertion. She wore a rich collar and bracelets, as ornaments which indicated her rank and high descent ; and her under tunic, in the manner of the times, was gathered around her slender waist by a girdle, embroidered with precious stones, and secured by a large buckle of gold. From one side of the girdle was suspended a pouch or purse, splendidly adorned with needle-work, and on the left side it sustained a small dagger of exquisite workmanship. A dark- coloured mantle, chosen as emblematic of her clouded fortunes, was flung loosely around her ; and its hood was brought forward, so as to shadow, but not hide, her beautiful countenance. Her looks had lost the high and ecstatic expression which had been inspired by supposed revelation, but they retained a sorrowful and mild, yet determined character — and, in addressing the soldiers, she used a mixture of entreaty and command — now throwing her- self upon their protection — now demanding in her aid the just tribute of their allegiance. The garrison was divided, as military skill dictated, in groups, on the points most liable to attack, or from which an assailing enemy might be best annoyed ; and it was this unavoidable se- paration of their force into small detachments, which showed to disadvantage the extent of walls, compared with the number of the defenders ; and though Wilkin Flammock had contrived se- veral means of concealing this deficiency of force from the enemy, he could not disguise it from the defenders of the castle, who cast mournful glances on the length of battlements which were unoccupied save by sentinels, and then looked out to the fatal field of battle, loaded with the bodies of those who ought to have been their comrades in this hour of peril. The presence of Eveline did much to rouse the garrison from this state of discouragement. She glided from post to post, from tower to tower of the old grey fortress, as a gleam of light passes over a clouded landscape, and touching its various points in suc- cession, calls them out to beauty and effect. Sorrow and fear sometimes make sufferers eloquent. She addressed the various nations who composed her little garrison, each in appropriate language. To the English, she spoke as children of the soil — to the Flemings, as men who had become denizens by the right of hospitality — to the Normans, as descendants of that victorious race, whose sword bad made them the nobles and sovereigns of every land where its edge had been tried. To them she used the language of chivalry, by whose rules the meanest of that nation regulated, or affected to regulate, ■ his actions. The English she reminded of their good faith and honesty of heart ; and to the Flemings sh6 spoke of the destruction of their property, the fruits 76 THE BETROTHED. of their honest industry. To all she proposed vengeance for the death of their leader and his followers— to all she recommended confidence in God and Our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse ; and she ventured to assure all, of the strong and victorious bands that were already in march to their relief. "Will the gallant champions of the Cross," she said, "think of leaving their native land, while the wail of women and of orphans is in their ears ? — it were to convert their pious purpose into mortal sin, and to derogate from the high fame they have so well won. Yes — fight but valiantly, and perhaps, before the very sun that is now slowly rising shall sink in the sea, you will see it shining on the ranks of Shrewsbury and Chester. When did the Welshmen wait to hear the clangour of their trumpets, or the rustling of their silken banners ? Fight bravely — fight freely but a while ! — our castle is strong — our munition ample— your hearts are good — your arms are powerful — God is nigh to us, and our friends are not far distant. Fight, then, in the name of all that is good and holy — fight for yourselves, for your wives, for your children, and for your property — and oh ! fight for an orphan maiden, who hath no other defenders but what a sense of her sorrows, and the re- membrance of her father, may raise up among you ! " Such speeches as these made a powerful impression on the men to whom they were addressed, already hardened, by habits and sentiments, against a sense of danger. The chivalrous Nor- mans swore, on the cross of their swords, they would die to a man ere they would surrender their posts — the blunter Anglo- Saxons cried, " Shame on him who would render up such a lamb as Eveline to a Welsh wolf, while he could make her a bulwark with his body ! " — Even the cold Flemings caught a spark of the enthusiasm with which the others were animated, and muttered to each other praises of the young lady's beauty, and short but honest resolves to do the best they might in her defence. Rose Flammock, who accompanied her lady with one or two attendants upon -her circuit around the castle, seemed to have relapsed into her natural character of a shy and timid girl, out of the excited state into which she had been brought by the suspicions which in the evening before had attached to her father's character. She tripped closely but respectfully after Eveline, and listened to what she said from time to time, with the awe and admiration of a child listening to its tutor, while only her m.ois- tened eye expressed how far she felt or comprehended the extent of the danger, or the force of the exhortations. There was, however, a moment when the youthful maiden's eye became more bright, her step more confident, her looks more elevated. This was when they approached the spot where her father, having dis- THE BETROTHED. 77 charged the duties of commander of the garrison, was now exercis- ing those of engineer, and displaying great skill, as well as wonder- ful personal strength, in directing and assisting the estabUshment of a large mangonel, (a military engine used for casting stones,) upon a station commanding an exposed postern-gate, which led from the western side of the castle down to the plain ; and where a severe assault was naturally to be expected. The greater part of his armour lay beside him, but covered with his cassock to screen it from morning dew; while in his leathern doublet, with arms bare to the shoulder, and a huge sledge-hammer in his hand, he set an example to the mechanics who worked under his direction. In slow and solid natures there is usually a touch of shamefaced- ness, and a sensitiveness to the breach of petty observSnces. Wil- kin Flammock had been unmoved even to insensibility at the imputation of treason so lately cast upon him ; but he coloured high, and was confused, while, hastily throwing on his cassock, he endeavoured to conceal the dishabille in which he had been sur- prised by the. Lady Eveline. Not so his daughter. Proud of her father's zeal, her eye gleamed from him to her mistress with a look of triumph, which seemed to say, " And this faithful follower is he who was suspected of treachery ! " Eveline's own bosom made her the same reproach ; and anxious to atone for her momentary doubt of his fidelity, she offered for his acceptance a ring of value, " in small amends," she said, " of a momentary misconstruction." " It needs not, lady," said Flammock, with his usual bluntness, " unless I have the freedom to bestow the gaud on Rose ; for I think she was grieved enough at that which moved me little, — as why should it ? " " Dispose of it as thou wilt," said Eveline ; " the stone it bears is as true as thine own faith." Here Eveline paused, and looking on the broad expanded plain which extended between the site of the castle and the river, ob- served how silent and still the morning was rising over what had so lately been a scene of such extensive slaughter. " It will not be so long," answered Flammock ; " we shall have noise enough, and that nearer to our ears than yesterday." Which way lie the enemy ? " said Eveline ; " methinks I can spy neither tents nor pavilions." " They use none, lady," answered Wilkin Flammock. " Heaven has denied them the grace and knowledge to weave linen enough for such a purpose— Yonder they lie on both sides of the river, covered with naught but their white mantles. Would one think that a host of thieves and cut-throats could look so like the finest 78 THE BETROTHED. object in nature— a well-spread bleaching-field ?— Hark— haVk I— the wasps are beginning to buzz ; they will soon be plying their stings." In fact, there was heard among the Welsh army a low and indis- tinct murmur, like that of " Bees alarm'd, and arming in their hives." Terrified at the hollow menacing sound, which grew louder every moment, Rose, who had all the irritability of a sensitive tempera- ment, clung to her father's arm, saying, in a terrified whisper, " It is like the sound of the sea the night before the great inundation." " And it betokens too rough weather for women to be abroad in," said Flammock. "'Go to your chamber. Lady Eveline, if it be your will — and go you too, Roschen— God bless you both— ye do but keep us idle here." And, indeed, conscious that she had done all that was incumbent upon her, and fearful lest the chill which she felt creeping over her own heart should infect others, Eveline took her vassal's advice, and withdrew slowly to her own apartment, often casting back her eye to the place where the Welsh, now drawn out and under arms, were advancing their ridgy battalions, like the waves of an ap- proaching tide. The Prince of Powys had, with considerable military skill, adopted a plan of attack suitable to the fiery genius of his fol- lowers, and calculated to alarm on every point the feeble garrison. The three sides of the castle which were defended by the river, were watched each by a numerous body of the British, with in- structions to confine themselves to the discharge of arrows, unless they should observe that some favourable opportunity of close attack should occur. But far the greater part of Gwenwyn's forces, con- sisting of three columns of great strength, advanced along the plain on the western side of the castle, and menaced, with a des- perate assault, the walls, which, in that direction, were deprived of the defence of the river. The first of these formidable bodies con- sisted entirely of archers, who dispersed themselves in front of the beleaguered place, and took advantage of every bush and rising ground which could afford them shelter ; and then began to bend their bows and shower their arrows on the battlements and loop- holes, suffering, however, a great deal more damage than they were able to inflict, as the garrison returned their shot in comparative safety, and with more secure and deliberate aim.* Under cover, however, of their discharge of arrows, two very strong bodies of Welsh attempted to carry the outer defences of the castle by storm. They had axes to destroy the palisades, then called barriers ; fagots THE BETROTHED. 79 to fill up the external ditches ; torches to set fire to aught combus- tible which they might find ; and, above all, ladders to scale the walls. These detachments rushed with incredible fury towards the point of attack, despite a most obstinate defence, and the great loss which they sustained by missiles of every kind, and continued the assault for nearly an hour, supplied by reinforcements which more than recruited their diminished numbers. When they were at last compelled to retreat, they seemed to adopt a new and yet more harassing species of attack. A large body assaulted one exposed point of the fortress with such fury as to draw thither as many of the besieged as could possibly be spared from other defended posts, and when there appeared a point less strongly manned than was adequate to defence, that, in its turn, was furiously assailed by a separate body of the enemy. Thus the defenders of the Garde Doloureuse resembled the em- barrassed traveller, engaged in repelling a swarm of hornets, which, while he brushes them from one part, fix in swarms upon another, and drive him to despair by their numbers, and the boldness and multiplicity of their attacks. The postern being of course a prin- cipal point of attack. Father Aldrovand, whose anxiety would not permit him to be absent from the walls, and who, indeed, where decency would permit, took an occasional share in the active defence of the place, hasted hither, as the point chiefly in danger. Here he found the Fleming, like a second Ajax, grim with dust and blood, working with his own hands the great engine which he had lately helped to erect, and at the same time giving heedful eye to all the exigencies around. " How thinkest thou of this day's work ? " said the monk in a whisper. " What skills it talking of it, father ? " replied Flammock ; " thou art no soldier, and I have no time for words." " Nay, take thy breath," said the monk,- tucking up the sleeves of his frock ; " I will try to help thee the whilst — although. Our Lady pity me, I know nothing of these strange devices, — not even the names. But our rule commands us to labour ; there can be no harm, therefore, in turning this winch — or in placing this steel- headed piece of wood opposite to the cord, (suiting his action to his words,) nor see I aught uncanonical in adjusting the lever thus, or in touching the spring." The large bolt whizzed through the air as he spoke, and was so successfully aimed, that it struck down a Welsh chief of eminence, to whom Gwenwyn himself was in the act of giving some important charge. "Well driven, trebuchet—\it\\ flown, quarrel.'" cried the monk, 3o THE BETROTHED. unable to contain his delight, and giving, in his triumph, the true technical names to the engine, and the javelin which it discharged. " And well aimed, monk," added Wilkin Flammock ; " I think thou knowest more than is m thy breviary." " Care not thou for that," said the father ; " and now that thou seest I can work an engine, and that the Welsh knaves seem some- thing low in stomach, what think'st thou of our estate ? " " Well enough — for a bad one — if we may hope for speedy suc- cour ; but men's bodies are of flesh, not of iron, and we may be at last wearied out by numbers. Only one soldier to four yards of wall, is a fearful odds ; and the villains are aware of it, and keep us to sharp work." The renewal of the assault here broke off their conversation, nor did the active enemy permit them to enjoy much repose until sun- set ; for, alarming them with repeated menaces of attack upon different points, besides making two or three formidable and furious assaults, they left them scarce time to breathe, or to take a mo- ment's refreshment. Yet the Welsh paid a severe price for their temerity ; for, while nothing could exceed the bravery with which their men repeatedly advanced to the attack, those which were made latest in the day had less of animated desperation than their first onset ; and it is probable, that the sense of having sustained great loss, and apprehension of its effects on the spirits of his people, made nightfall, and the interruption of the contest, as acceptable to Gwenwyn as to the exhausted garrison of the Garde Doloureuse. But in the camp or leaguer of the Welsh there was glee and triumph, for the loss of the past day was forgotten in recollection of the signal victory which had preceded this siege ; and the dis- pirited garrison could hear from their walls the laugh and the song, the sound of harping and gaiety, which triumphed by anticipation over their surrender. The sun was for some time sunk, the twilight deepened, and night closed with a blue and cloudless sky, in which the thousand spangles that deck the firmament received double brilliancy from some slight touch of frost, although the paler planet, their mistress, was but in her first quarter. The necessities of the garrison were considerably aggravated by that of keeping a very strong and watchful guard, ill according with the weakness of their numbers, at a time which appeared favourable to any sudden nocturnal alarm ; and, so urgent was this duty, that those who had been more slightly wounded on the preceding day, were obliged to take their share in it, notwithstanding their hurts. The monk and Fleming, who now perfectly understood each other, went in company around the walls at midnight, exhorting the warders to be watchful, and examining THE BETROTHED. 8t with their own eyes the state of the fortress. It was in the course of these rounds, and as they were ascending an elevated platform by a range of narrow and uneven steps, something galling to the monk's tread, that they perceived on the summit to which they were ascending, instead of the black corslet of the Flemish sen- tinel who had been placed there, two white forms, the appearance of which struck Wilkin Flammock with more dismay than he had shown during any of the doubtful events of the preceding day's fight. " Father," he s^id, " betake yourself to your tools — es spuckt^ there are hobgoblins here." The good father had not learned as a priest to defy the spiritual host, whom, as a soldier, he had dreaded more than any mortal enemy ; but he began to recite with chattering teeth, the exorcism of the church, '• Conjuro vos omnes, spiritus maligni, magni, aigiie patvi," — when he was interrupted by the voice of Eveline, who called out, " Is it you. Father Aldrovand ?" Much lightened at heart by finding they had no ghost to deal with, Wilkin Flammock and the priest advanced hastily to the platform, where they found the lady with her faithful Rose, the for- mer with a half-pike in her hand, like a sentinel on duty. " How is this, daughter?" said the monk ; " how came you here, and thus armed? and where is the sentinel, — the lazy Flemish hound, that should have kept the post?" " May he not be a lazy hound, yet not a Flemish one, father ? said Rose, who was ever awakened by any thing which seemed a reflection upon her country ; " meth inks I have heard of such curs of English breed." " Go to, Rose, you are too malapert for a young maiden," said her father. " Once more, where is Peterkin Vorst, who should have kept this post ?" " Let him not be blamed for my fault," said Eveline, pointing to a place where the Flemish sentinel lay in the shade of the battle- ment fast asleep — " He was overcome with toil — had fought hard through the day, and when I saw him asleep as I came hither, like a wandering spirit that cannot take slumber or repose, I would not disturb the rest which I en\ied. As he had fought for me, I might, I thought, watch an hour for him ; so I took his weapon with the purpose of remaining here till some one should come to relieve him." "I will relieve the schelm, with a vengeance!" said Wilkin Flammock, and saluted the slumbering and prostrate warder with two kicks, which made his corslet clatter. The man started to his feet in no small alarm, which he would have communicated to the next sentinels and to the whole garrison, by crying out that the Welsh weire upon the walls, had not the monk covered his broad G 82 THE BETROTHED. mouth with his hand just as the roar was issuing forth.—" Peace, and get thee down to the under bayley," said he ;— "thou deservest death, by all the policies of war— but, look ye, varlet, and see who has saved your worthless neck, by watching while you were dream- ing of swine's flesh and beer-pots." The Fleming, although as yet but half awake, was sufficiently conscious of his situation, to sneak off without reply, after two or three awkward congees, as well to Eveline as to those by whom his repose had been so unceremoniously interrupted. " He deserves to be tied neck and heel, the houndsfoot," said Wilkin. " But what would you have, lady ? My countrymen can- not live without rest or sleep." So saying, he gave a yawn so wide, as if he had proposed to swallow one of the turrets at an angle of the platform on which he stood, as if it had only garnished a Christmas pasty. •' True, good Wilkin," said Eveline ; " and do you therefore take some rest, and trust to my watchfulness, at least till the guards are relieved. I cannot sleep if I would, and I would not if I could." " Thanks, lady," said Flammock ; " and in truth, as this is a centrical place, and the rounds must pass in an hour at farthest, I will e'en close my eyes for such a space, for the lids feel as heavy as flood-gates." " O, father, father !" exclaimed Rose, alive to her sire's uncere- monious neglect of decorum — " think where you are, and in whose presence !" " Ay, ay, good Flammock," said the monk, " remember the pre- sence of a noble Norman maiden is no place for folding of cloaks and donning of nightcaps." " Let him alone, father," said Eveline, who in another moment might have smiled at the readiness with which Wilkin Flnmmock folded himself in his huge cloak, extended his substantial form on the stone bench, and gave the most decided tokens of profound re- pose, long ere the monk had done speaking. — " Forms and fashions of respect," she continued, " are for times of ease and nicety ; — when in danger, the soldier's bedchamber is wherever he can find leisure for an hour's sleep — his eating-hall, wherever he can obtain food. Sit thou down by Rose and me, good father, and tell us of some holy lesson which may pass away these hours of weariness and calamity." The father obeyed ; but however willing to afford consolation, his ingenuity and theological skill suggested nothing better than a recitation of the penitentiary psalms, in which task he continued until fatigue became too powerful for him also, when he committed the same breach of decorum for which he had upbraided Wilkin Flammock, and fell fast asleep in the midst of his devotions. THE BETROTHED. 83 CHAPTER IX. " O-night of woe," she said and wept, " O night foreboding sorrow ! O night of woe," she said and wept, " But more I dread the morrow !" Sir Gilbert Elliot. The fatigue which had exhausted Flammock and the monk, was unfelt by the two anxious maidens, who remained with their eyes bent, now upon the dim landscape, now on the stars by which it was Ughted, as if they could have read there the events which the morrow was to bring forth. It was a placid and melancholy scene. Tree and field, and hill and plain, lay before them in doubtful light, while at greater distance, their eye could with difficulty trace one or two places where the river, hiddgn in general by banks and trees, spread its more expanded bosom to the stars, and the pale crescent. All was still, excepting the solemn rush of the waters, and now and then the shrill tinkle of a harp, which, heard from more than a mile's distance through the midnight silence, announced that some of the Welshmen still protracted their most beloved amusement. The wild notes, partially heard, seemed like the voice of some pass- ing spirit ; and, connected as they were with ideas of fierce and unrelenting hostility, thrilled on Eveline's ear, as if prophetic of war and woe, captivity and death. The only other sounds which disturbed the extreme stillness of the night, were the occasional step of a sentinel upon his post, or the hooting of the owls, which seemed to wail the approaching downfall of the moonlight turrets, in which they had established their ancient habitations. The calmness of all around seemed to press like a weight on the bosom of the unhappy Eveline, and brought to her mind a deeper sense of present grief, and keener apprehension of future horrors, than had reigned there during the bustle, blood, and confusion of the preceding day. She rose up — she sat down — she moved to and fro on the platform — she remained fixed like a statue to a single spot, as if she were trying by variety of posture to divert her internal sense of fear and sorrow. At length, looking at the monk and the Fleming as they slept soundly under the shade of the battlement, she could no longer for- bear breaking silence. " Men are happy," she said, " my beloved Rose ; their anxious thoughts are either diverted by toilsome exer- tion, or drowned in the insensibility which follows it. They may encounter wounds and death, but it is we who feel in the spirit a more keen anguish than the body knows, and in the gnawing sense 84 THE BETROTHED. of present ill and fear of future misery, suffer a living death, more cruel than that which ends our woes at once." " Do not be thus downcast, my noble lady," said Rose ; " be rather what you were yesterday, caring for the wounded, for the aged, for every one but yourself— exposing even your dear life among the showers of the Welsh arrows, when doing so could give courage to others ; while I — shame on me— could but tremble, sob, and weep, and needed all the little wit I have to prevent my shout- ing with the wild cries of the Welsh, or screaming and groaning wifti those of our friends who fell around me." "Alas! Rose," answered her mistress, "you may at pleasure indulge your fears to the verge of distraction itself — you have a father to fight and watch for you. Mine — my kind, noble, and , honoured parent, lies dead on yonder field, and all which remains for me is to act as may best become his memory. But, this moment is at least mine, to think upon and to mourn for him." So saying, and overpowered by the long-repressed burst of filial sorrow, she sunk down on the banquette which ran along the inside of the embattled parapet of the platform, and murmuring to herself, " He is gone for ever ! " abandoned herself to the extremity of grief. One hand grasped unconsciously the weapon which she held, and served, at the same time, to prop her forehead, while the tears, by which she was now for the first time relieved, flowed in torrents from her eyes, and her sobs seemed so convulsive, that Rose almost feared her heart was bursting. Her affection and sympathy dictated at once the kindest course which EveUne's condition permitted. Without attempting to control the torrent of grief in its full current, she ggntly sat her down beside the mourner, and possessing herself of the hand which had sunk motionless by her side, she alternately pressed it to her lips, her bosom, and her brow — now covered it with kisses, now bedewed it with tears, and amid these tokens of the most devoted and humble sympathy, waited a more composed moment to offer her little stock of consolation in such deep silence and stillness, that, as the pale light fell upon the two beautiful young women, it seemed rather to show a group of statuary, the work of some eminent sculptor, than beings whose eyes still wept, and whose hearts still throbbed. At a little distance, the gleaming corslet of the Fleming, and the dark garments of Father Aldrovand, as they lay prostrate on the stone steps, might represent the bodies of those for whom the principal figures were mourning. After a deep agony of many minutes, it seemed that the sorrows of Eveline were assuming a more composed character ; her con- vulsive sobs were changed for long, low, profound sighs, and the course of her tears, though they still flowed, was milder and less violent. Her kind attendant, availing herself of these gentler .^--r^' or are they yet on their couches, making up for the slumber they have lost by midnight dis- turbances ? " Rose announced that her train was in the court, and mounted ; when, with a low reverence, Eveline endeavoured to pass her relation, and leave the apartment without farther ceremony. Ermen- garde at first confronted her with a grim and furious glance, which seemed to show a soul fraught with more rage than the thin blood and rigid features of extreme old age had the power of expressing, and raised her ebony staff as if about even to proceed to some act of personal violence. But she changed her purpose, and suddenly made way for Evehne, who passed without further parley ; and as she descended the staircase, which conducted from the apartment to the gateway, she heard the voice of her aunt behind her, like that of an aged and offended sibyl, denouncing wrath and woe upon her insolence and presumption. " Pride," she exclaimed, " goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. She who scorneth the house of her forefathers, a stone from its battlements shall crush her 1 She who mocks the grey hairs of a parent, never shall one of her own locks be silvered with age ! She who weds with a man of war and of blood, her end shall neither be peaceful nor bloodless ! " Hurrying to escape from these and other ominous denunciations, Eveline rushed from the house, mounted her palfrey with the pre- cipitation of a fugitive, and, surrounded by hef attendants, who had caught a part of her alarm, though without conjecturing the cause, rode hastily into the forest ; old Raoul, who was well acquainted with the country, acting as their guide. Agitated more than she was willing to confess to herself, by thus THE BETROTHED. r,™ leaving the habitation of so near a relation, loaded with maledic- tions, instead of the blessings which are usually bestowed on a departing kinswoman, Eveline hastened forward, until the huge oak-trees with intervening arms had hidden from her view the fatal mansion. The trampling and galloping of horse was soon after heard, announcing the approach of the patrol left by the Constable for the protection of the mansion, and who now, collecting from their' different stations, came prepared to attend the Lady Eveline on her farther road 'to Gloucester, great part of which lay through the extensive forest of Deane, then a silvan region of large extent, though now much denuded of trees for the service of the iron mines. The cavaliers came up to join the retinue of Lady Eveline, with armour glittering in the morning rays, trumpets sounding, horses prancing, neighing, and thrown, each by his chivalrous rider, into the attitude best qualified to exhibit the beauty of the steed and dexterity of the horseman ; while their lances, streaming with long penoncelles, were brandished in every manner which could display elation of heart and readiness of hand. The sense of the military character of her countrymen of Normandy gave to Eveline a feeling at once of security and of triumph, which operated towards the dis- pelling of her gloomy thoughts, and of the feverish disorder which affected her nerves. The rising sun also — the song of the birds among the bowers — the lowing of the cattle as they were driven to pasture — the sight of the hind, who, with her fawn trotting by her side, often crossed some forest glade within view of the travellers, — all contributed to dispel the terror of Eveline's noc- turnal visions, and soothe to rest the more angry passions which had agitated her bosom at her departure from Baldringham. She suffered her palfrey to slacken his pace, and, with female attention to propriety, began to adjust her riding robes, and compose her head-dress, disordered in her hasty departure. Rose saw her cheek assume a paler but more settled hue, instead of the angry hectic which had coloured it — saw her eye become more steady as she looked with a sort of triumph upon her military attendants, and pardoned (what on other occasions she would probably have made some reply to) her enthusiastic exclamations in praise- of her countrymen. " We journey safe," said Eveline, " under the care of the princely and victorious Normans. Theirs is the noble wrath of the lion, which destroys or is appeased at once— there is no guile in their romantic affection, no suUenness mixed with their generous indigna- tion — they know the duties of the hall as well as those of battle ; and were they to be surpassed in the arts of war (which will only be when Plinlimmon is removed from its base), they would still 138 THE BETROTHED. remain superior to every other people in generosity and courtesy." " If I do not feel all their merits so strongly as if I shared their blood," said Rose, " I am at least glad to see them around us, in woods which are said to abound with dangers of various kinds. And I confess, my heart is the lighter, that I can now no longer observe the least vestige of that ancient mansion, in which we passed so unpleasant a night, and the recollection of which will always be odious to me." Eveline looked sharply at her. " Confess the truth, Rose ; thou wouldst give thy best kirtle to know all of my horrible adventure." " It is but confessing that I am a woman," answered Rose ; " and did I say a man, I dare say the difference of sex would imply but a small abatement of curiosity." " Thou makest no parade of othe^ feelings, which prompt thee to enquire into my fortunes," said Eveline ; " but, sweet Rose, I give thee not the less credit for them. Believe me, thou shalt know all — but, I think, not now." " At your pleasure," said Rose ; " and yet, methinks, the bearing in your solitary bosom such a fearful secret will only render the weight more intolerable. On my silence you may rely as on that of the Holy Image, which hears us confess what it never reveals. Besides, such things become familiar to the imagination when they have been spoken of, and that which is familiar gradually becomes stripped of its terrors." " Thou speakest with reason, my prudent Rose ; and surely in this gallant troop, borne like a flower on a bush by my good palfry Yseulte — fresh gales blowing round us, flowers opening and birds singing, and having thee by my bridle-rein, I ought to feel this a fitting time to communicate what thou hast so good a title to know. And — yes ! — thou shalt know all ! — Thou art not, I presume, igno- rant of the qualities of what the Saxons of this land call a Bahr- gcistV " Pardon me, lady," answered Rose, " my father discouraged my listening to such discourses. I might see evil spirits enough, he said, without my imagination being taught to form such as were fantastical. The word Bahr-geist, I have heard used by Gillian and other Saxons ; but to me it only conveys some idea of in- definite terror, of which I have never asked nor received an explanation." " Know then," said Eveline, "it is a spectre, usually the image of a departed person, who, either for wrong sustained in some par- ticular place during life, or through treasure hidden there, or from some such other cause, haunts the spot from time to time, becomes familiar to- those who dwell there, takes an interest in their fate, THE BETROTHED. 339 occasionally for good, in other instances or times for evil. The Bahr-geist is, therefore, sometimes regarded as the good genius, sometimes as the avenging fiend, attached to particular families and classes of men. It is the lot of the family of Baldringham (of no mean note in other respects), to be subject to the visits of such a being." " May I ask the cause (if it be known) of such visitation ? " said Rose, desirous to avail herself to the uttermost of the commu- nicative mood of her young lady, vifhich might not perhaps last very long. " I know the legend but imperfectly," replied Eveline, proceed- ing with a degree of calmness, the result of strong exertion over her mental anxiety, "but in general it runs thus: — Baldrick, the Saxon hero who first possessed yonder dwelling, became enamoured of a fair Briton, said to have been descended from those Druids of whom the Welsh speak so much, and deemed not unacquainted with the arts of sorcery which they practised, when they offered up human sac rifices amid those circles of unhewn and living rock, of which thou hast seen so many. After more than two years' -wedlock, Baldrick became weary of his wife to such a point, that he formed the cruel resolution of putting her to death. Some say he doubted her fidelity — some that the matter was pressed on him by the church, as she was suspected of heresy — some that he re- moved her to make way for a more wealthy marriage — but all agree in the result. He sent two of his Cnichts to the house of Baldring- ham, to put to death the unfortunate Vanda, and commanded them to bring him the ring which had circled her finger on the day of wedlock, in token that his orders were accomplished. The men were ruthless in their office ; they strangled Vanda in yonder apartment, and as the hand was so swollen that no effort could draw off the ring, they obtained possession of it by severing the finger. But long before the return of those cruel perpetrators of her death, the shadow of Vanda had appeared before her appalled hu sband, and holding up to him her bloody hand, made him fear- fully sensible how well his savage commands had been obeyed. After haunting him in peace and war, in desert, court, and camp, until he died despairingly on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, the Bahr-geist, or ghost of the murdered Vanda, became so terrible in the House of Baldringham, that the succour of Saint Dunstan was itself, scarcely sufficient to put bounds to her visitation. Yea, the blessed saint, when he had succeeded in his exorcism, did, in requital of Baldrick's crime, impose a strong and enduring penalty upon every female descendant of the house in the third degree ; namely, that once in their lives, and before their twenty-first year, they should each spend a solitary night in the chamber of the mur- i-jo THE BETROTHED. dered Vanda, saying therein certain prayers, as well for her repose, as for the suffering soul of her murderer. During that awful space, it is generally believed that the spirit of the murdered Jierson appears to the female who observes the vigil, and shows some sign of her future good or bad fortune. If favourable, she appears with a smiling aspect, and crosses them with her unbloodied hand ; but she announces evil fortune by showing the hand from which the finger was severed, with a stern countenance, as if resenting upon the descendant of her husband his inhuman cruelty. Sometimes she is said to speak. These particulars I learned long since from an old Saxon dame, the mother of our Margery, who had been an attendant on my grandmother, and left the House of Baldringham when she made her escape from it with my father's father." " Did your grandmother ever render this homage," said Rose, "which seems to me — under favour of Saint Dunstan — to bring humanity into too close intercourse with a being of a doubtful nature ? " " My grandfather thought so, and never permitted my grand- mother to revisit the House of Baldringham after her marriage ; hence disunion betwixt him and his stvn on the one part, and the members of that family on the other. They laid sundry misfor- tunes, and particularly the loss of male heirs which at that time befell them, to my parent's not having done the hereditary homage to the bloody-fingered Bahr-geist." " And how could you, my dearest lady," said Rose, " knowing that they held among them a usage so hideous, think of accepting the invitation of Lady Ermengarde?" " I can hardly answer you the question," answered Eveline. " Partly 1 feared my father's recent calamity, to be slain" (as 1 have heard him say his aunt once prophesied^of him) by the enemy he most despised, might be the result of this rite having been neg- lected ; and partly I hoped, that if my mind should be appalled at the danger, when it presented itself closer to my eye, it could not be urged on me in courtesy and humanity. You saw how soon my cruel-hearted relative pounced upon the opportunity, and how im- possible it became for me, bearing the name, and, I trust, the spirit of Berenger, to escape from the net in which I had iiivolved myself" " No regard for name or rank should have engaged me," replied Rose, " to place myself where apprehension alone, even without the terrors of a real visitation, might have punished my presump- tion with insanity. But what, in the name of Heaven, did you see at this horrible rendezvous ? " " Ay, there is the question," said Eveline, raising her hand to her brow—" how I could witness that which I distinctly saw, yet be THE BETROTHED. 141 able to retain command of thought and intellect ! — I had recited the prescribed devotions for the murderer and his victim, and sitting down on the couch which was assigned me, had laid aside such of my clothes as might impede my rest — I had surmounted, in short, the first shock which I experienced in committing myself to this mysterious chamber, and I hoped to pass the night in slumber as sound as my thoughts were innocent. But I was fear- fully disappointed. I cannot judge how long I had slept, when my bosom was oppressed by an unusual weight, which seemed at once to stifle my voice, stop the beating of my heart, and prevent me from drawing my breath ; and when I looked up to discover the cause of this homble suffocation, the form of the murdered British matron stood over my couch, taller than life, shadowy, and with a countenance where traits of dignity and beauty were mingled with a fierce expression of vengeful exultation. She held over me the hand which bore the bloody marks of her husband's cruelty, and seemed as if she signed the cross, devoting me to destruction ; while, with an unearthly tone, she uttered these words : — ' Widow'd wife, and married maid. Betrothed, betrayer, and betra/d ! ' The phantom stooped over me as she spoke, and lowered her gory fingers, as if to touch my face, when, terror giving me the power of which at first it deprived me, I screamed aloud — the casement of the apartment was thrown open with a loud noise, — and — But what signifies my telling aU this to thee. Rose, who show so plainly, by the movement of eye and lip, that you consider me as a silly and childish dreamer ? " " Be not angry, my dear lady," said Rose ; " I do indeed believe that the witch we call Mara* has been dealing with you ; but she, you know, is by leeches considered as no real phantom, but solely the creation of our own imagination, disordered by causes which arise from bodily indisposition." " Thou art learned, maiden," said Eveline, rather peevishly ; " but when I assure thee that my better angel came to my assist- ance in a human form — that at his appearance the fiend vanished — and that he transported me in his arms out of the chamber of terror, I think thou wilt, as a good Christian, put more faith in that which I tell you." " Indeed, indeed, my sweetest mistress, 1 cannot," replied Rose. " It is even that circumstance of the guardian angel which makes me consider the whole as a dream. A Norman sentinel, whom I myself called from his post on purpose, did indeed come to your assistance, and, breaking into your apartment, transported you to 142 THE BETROTHED. that where I myself received you from his arms in a lifeless con- dition." " A Norman soldier, ha ! " said Eveline, colouring extremely ; " and to whom, maiden, did you dare give commission to break into my sleeping-chamber ? " "Your eyes flash anger, madam, but is it reasonable they should? — Did I not hear your screams of agony, and was I to stand fettered by ceremony at such a moment ?— no more than if the castle had been on fire." " I ask you again. Rose," said her -mistress, still with discom- posure, though less angrily than at first, " whom you directed to break into my apartment?" " Indeed, I know not, lady," said Rose ; " for besides that he was muffled in his mantle, little chance was there of my knowing his features, even had I seen them fully. But I can soon discover the cavalier ; and I will set about it, that I may give him the reward I promised, and warn him to be silent and discreet in this matter." " Do so," said Eveline ; " and if you find him among those soldiers who attend us, I will indeed lean to thine opinion, and think that fantasy had the chief share in the evils I have endured the last night." Rose struck her palfrey with the rod, and, accompanied by her mistress, rode up to Philip Guarine, the Constable's squire, who for the present commanded their little escort. " Good Guarine," she said, " I had talk with one of these sentinels last night from my window, and he did me some service, for which I promised him recompense — Will you enquire for the man, that I may pay him his guerdon?" " Truly, I will owe him a guerdon also, pretty maiden," answered the squire ; " for if a lance of them approached near enough the house to hold speech from the windows, he transgressed the precise orders of his watch." " Tush ! you must forgive that for my sake," said Rose. " I warrant, had I called on yourself, stout Guarine, I should have had influence to bring you under my chamber window." Guarine laughed, and shrugged his shoulders. " True it is," he said, " when women are in place, discipline is in danger." He then went to make the necessary enquiries among his band, and returned with the assurance, that his soldiers, generally and severally, denied having approached the mansion of the Lady Erraengarde on the preceding night." " Thou seest. Rose," said Eveline, with a significant look to her attendant. " The poor rogues are afraid of Guarine's severity," said Rose, THE BETROTHED, 143 "and dare not tell the truth— I shall have some one in private claiming the reward of me." " I would I had the privilege myself, damsel," said Guarine ; "but for these fellows, they are not so timorous as you suppose them, being even too ready to avouch their roguery when it hath less excuse — Besides, I promised them impunity. — Have you any thing farther to order ? " " Nothing, good Guarine," said Eveline ; " only this small dona- tive to procure wine for thy soldiers, that they may spend the next night more merrily than the last. — And now he is gone,— Maiden, thou must, I think, be now well aware, that what thou sawest was no earthly being ? " " I must believe mine own, ears and eyes, madam," replied Rose. " Do — but allow me the same privilege," answered Eveline. " Believe me that my deliverer (for so I must call him) bore the features of one who neither was, nor could be, in the neighbourhood of Baldringham. — Tell me but one thing — What dost thou think of this extraordinary prediction — ' Widow'd wife and wedded maid. Betrothed, betrayer, and betray'd ? ' Thou wilt say it is an idle invention of my brain — but think it for a moment the speech of a true diviner, and what wouldst thou say of it?" " That you may be betrayed, my dearest lady, but never can be a betrayer," answered Rose, with animation. Eveline reached her hand out to her friend, and as she pressed affectionately that which Rose gave in return, she whispered to her with energy, " I thank thee for the judgment, which my own heart confirms." A cloud of dust now announced the approach of the Constable of Chester and his retinue, augmented by the attendance of his host Sir William Herbert, and some of his neighbours and kinsmen, who came to pay their respects to the orphan of the Garde Doloureuse, by which appellation Eveline was known upon her passage through their territory. Eveline remarked, that, at their greeting, De Lacy looked with displeased surprise at the disarrangement of her dress and equipage, which her hasty departure from Baldringham had necessarily occa- sioned ; and she was, on her part, struck with an expression of countenance which seemed to say, " I am not to be treated as an ordinary person, who may be received with negligence, and treated slightly with impunity." For the first time, she thought that, though always deficient in grace and beauty, the Constable's countenance 144 THE BETROTHED. was formed to express the more angry passions with force and vivacity, and that she who shared his rank and name must lay her account with the implicit surrender of her will and wishes to those of an arbitrary lord and master. But the cloud soon passed from the Constable's brow ; and in the conversation which he afterwards maintained with Herbert and the other knights and gentlemen, who from time to time came to greet and accompany them for a little way on their journey, Eveline had occasion to admire his superiority, both of sense and expres- sion, and to remark the attention and deference with which his words were listened to by men too high in rank, and too proud, readily to admit any pre-eminence that was not founded on acknow- ledged merit. The regard of women is generally much influenced by the estimation which an individual maintains in the opinion of men ; and Eveline, when she concluded her journey in the Bene- dictine nunnery in Gloucester, could not think without respect upon the renowned warrior, and celebrated politician, whose acknow- ledged abilities appeared to place him above every one whom she had seen approach him. His wife, Eveline thought (and she was not without ambition), if relinquishing some of those qualities ina husband which are in youth most captivating to the female imagi- nation, must be still generally honoured and respected, and have contentment, if not romantic felicity, within her reach. CHAPTER XVI. The Lady Eveline remained nearly four months with her aunt, the Abbess of the Benedictine nunnery, under whose auspices the Constable of Chester saw his suit advance and prosper as it would probably have done under that of the deceased Raymond Berenger, her brother. It is probable, however, that, but for the supposed vision of the Virgin, and the vow of gratitude which that supposed vision had called forth, the natural dislike of so young a person to a match so unequal in years, might have effectually opposed his success. Indeed Eveline, while honouring the Constable's virtues, doing justice to his high character, and admiring his talents, could never altogether divest herself of a secret fear of him, which, while it prevented her from expressing any direct disapprobation of his addresses, caused her sometimes to shudder, she scarce knew why, at the idea of their becoming successful. The ominous words, " betraying and betrayed," would then occur to her memory ; and when her aunt (the period of the deepest mournmg being elapsed) had fixed a period for her betrothal, she THE BETROTHED. 143 looked forward to it with a feeling of terror, for which she was un- able to account to herself, and which, as well as the particulars of her dream, she concealed even from Father Aldrovand in the hours of confession. It was not aversion to the Constable — it was far less preference to any other suitor — it was one of those instinctive movements and emotions by which Nature seems to warn us of approaching danger, though furnishing no information respecting its nature, and suggesting no means of escaping from it. So strong were these intervals of apprehension, that if they had been seconded by the remonstrances of Rose Flammock, as for- merly, they might perhaps have led tor Eveline's even yet forming some resolution unfavourable to the suit of the Constable. But, still more zealous for her lady's honour than even for her happiness, Rose had strictly forborne every effort which could affect Eve- line's purpose, when she had once expressed her approbation of De Lacy's addresses ; and whatever she thought or anticipated concerning the proposed marriage, she seemed from that moment to consider it as an event which must necessarily take place. De Lacy himself, as he learned more intimately to know the merit of the prize which he was desirous of possessing, looked for- ward with different feelings towards the union, than those with which he had first proposed the measure to Raymond Berenger. It was then a mere match of interest and convenience, which had occurred to the mind of a proud and politic feudal lord, as the best mode of consolidating the power and perpetuating the line of his family. Nor did even the splendour of Eveline's beauty make that impression upon De Lacy, which it was calculated to do on the fiery and impassioned chivalry of the age. He was past that period of life when the wise are captivated by outward form, and might have said with truth, as well as with discretion, that he could have wished his beautiful bride several years older, and possessed of a more moderate portion of personal charms, in order to have ren- dered the match more fitted for his own age and disposition. This stoicism, however, vanished, when, on repeated interviews with his destined bride, he found that she was indeed inexperienced in life, but desirous to be guided by superior wisdom ; and that, although gifted with high spirit, and a disposition which began to recover its natural elastic gaiety, she was gentle, docile, and, above all, en- dowed with a firmness of principle, which seemed to give assurance that she would tread uprightly, and without spot, the slippery paths in which youth, rank, and beauty, are doomed to move. As feelings of a warmer and more impassioned kind towards Eveline began to glow in De Lacy's bosom, his engagements as a crusader became more and more burdensome to him. The Bene- dictine Abbess, the natural guardian of Eveline's happiness, added L 146 THE BETROTHED. to these feelings by her reasoning and remonstrances. Although a nun and a devotee, she held in reverence the holy state of matri- mony, and comprehended so much of it as to be aware, that its important purposes could not be accomplished while the whole continent of Europe was interposed betwixt the married pair ; for as to a hint from the Constable, that his young spouse might accompany him into the dangerous and dissolute precincts of the Crusaders' camp, the good lady crossed herself with horror at the proposal, and never permitted it to be a second time mentioned in her presence^ It was not, however, uncommon for kings, princes, and other persons of high consequence, who had taken upon them the vow to lescue Jerusalem, to obtain delays, and even a total remission of their engagement, by proper application to the Church of Rome. The Constable was sure to possess the full advantage of his sove- reign's interest and countenance, in seeking permission to remain in England, for he was the noble to whose valour and policy Henry had chiefly intrusted the defence of the disorderly Welsh marches ; and it was by no means with his good-will that so useful a subject had ever assumed the cross. It was settled, therefore, in private betwixt the Abbess and the Constable, that the latter should solicit at Rome, and with the Pope's Legate in England, a remission of his vow for at least two years ; a favour v/hich it was thought could scarce be refused to one of his wealth and influence, backed as it was with the most liberal offers of assistance towards the redemption of the Holy Land. His offers were indeed munificent ; for he proposed, if his own personal attendance were dispensed with, to send an hundred lances at his own cost, each lance accompanied by two squires, three archers, and a varlet or horse-boy ; being double the retinue by which his own person was to have been accompanied. He offered besides to deposit the sum of two thousand bezants to the general expenses of the expedition, to surrender to the use of the Christian armament those equipped vessels 'which he had provided, and which even now awaited the embarkation of himself and his followers. Yet, while making these magnificent proffers, the Constable could not help feeling they would be inadequate to the expectations of the rigid prelate Baldwin, who, as he had himself preached the crusade, and brought the Constable and many others into that holy engagement, must needs see with displeasure the_work of his eloquence endangered, by the retreat of so important an associate from his favourite enterprise. To soften, therefore, his disappoint- ment as much as possible, the Constable offered to the Archbishop, that, in the event of his obtaining license to remain in Britain, THE BETROTHED. 147 his forces should be led by his nephew, Damian Lacy, already renowned for his early feats of chivalry, the present hope of his house, and, failing heirs of his own body, its future head and support. The Constable took the most prudent method of communicating this proposal to the Archbishop Baldwin, through a mutual friend, on whose good offices he could depend, and whose interest with the Prelate was regarded as great. But notwithstanding the splen- dour of the proposal, the Prelate heard it with sullen and obstinate silence, and referred for answer to a personal conference with the Constable at an appointed day, when concerns of the church would call the Archbishop to the city of Gloucester. The report of the mediator was such as induced the Constable to expect a severe struggle with the proud and powerful churchman ; but, himself • proud and powerful, and backed by the favour of his sovereign, he did not expect to be foiled in the contest. The necessity that this point should be previously adjusted, as well as the recent loss of Eveline's father, gave an air of privacy to De Lac/s courtship, and prevented its being signalized by tour- naments, and feats of military skill, in which he would have been otherwise desirous to display his address in the eyes of his mis- tress. The rules of the convent prevented his giving entertain- ments of dancing, music, or other more pacific revels ; and although the Constable displayed his affection by the most splendid gifts to his future bride and her attendants, the whole affair, in the opinion of the experienced Dame Gillian, proceeded more with the solem- nity of a funeral, than the light pace of an approaching bridal. The bride herself felt something of this, and thought occasionally it might have been lightened by the visits of young Damian, in whose age, so nearly corresponding to her own, she might have expected some relief from the formal courtship of his graver uncle. But he came not ; and from what the Constable said conce.ning him, she was led to imagine that the relations had, for a time at least, exchanged occupations and character. The elder De Lacy continued, indeed, in nominal observance of his vow, to dwell in a pavilion by the gates of Gloucester ; but he seldom donned his armour, substituted costly damask and silk for his war-worn shamoy doublet, and affected at his advanced time of life more gaiety of attire thiui his contemporaries remembered as distinguishing his early youth. His nephew, on the contrary, resided almost con- stantly on the marches of Wales, occupied in settling by prudence, or subduing by main force, the various disturbances by which these provinces were continually agitated ; and Eveline learned with sur- prise, that it was with difficulty his uncle had prevailed on him to be present at the ceremony of their being betrothed to each other, L 2 148 THE BETROTHED. or, as the Normans entitled the ceremony, their fianqailles. This engagement, which preceded the actual marriage for a space more or less, according to circumstances, was usually celebrated with a solemnity corresponding to the rank of the contracting parties. The Constable added, with expressions of regret, that Damian gave himself too little rest, considering his early youth, slept too little, and indulged in too restless a disposition — that his health was suffering — and that a learned Jewish leech, whose opinion had been taken, had given his advice that the warmth of a more genial climate was necessary to restore his constitution to its general and natural vigour. Eveline heard this with much regret, for she remembered Damian as the angel of good tidings, who first brought her news of deliver- ance from the forces of the Welsh ; and the occasions on which they had met, though mournful, brought a sort of pleasure in recol- lection, so gentle had been the youth's deportment, and so consol- ing his expressions of sympathy. She wished she could see him, that she might herself judge of the nature of his illness ; for, like other damsels of that age, she was not entirely ignorant of the art of healing, and had been taught by Father Aldrovand, himself no mean physfcian, how to extract healing essences from plants and herbs gathered under planetary hours. She thought it possible that her talents in this art, slight as they were, might perhaps be of service to one already her friend and liberator, and soon about to become her very near relation. It was therefore with a sensation, of pleasure, mingled with some confusion, (at the idea, doubtless, of assuming the part of medical adviser to so young a patient,) that one evening, while the convent was assembled about some business of their chapter, she heard Gillian announce that the kinsman of the Lord Constable desired to speak with her. She snatched up the veil, which she wore in compliance with the customs of the house, and hastily descended to the parlour, commanding the attendance of Gillian, who, never- theless, did not think proper to obey the signal. When she entered the apartment, a man whom she had never seen before advanced, kneeled on one knee, and taking up the hem of her veil, saluted it with an air of the most profound respect. She stepped back, surprised and alarmed, although there was nothing in the appearance of the stranger to justify her apprehension. He seemed to be about thirty years of age, tall of stature, and bearing a noble though wasted form, and a countenance on which disease, or perhaps youthful indulgence, had anticipated the traces of age. His demeanour seemed courteous and respectful, even in a degree which approached to excess. He observed Eveline's surprise, and said, in a tone of pride, mingled with emotion, " I fear that I have THE BETROTHED. 149 been mistaken, and that my visit is regarded as an unweltome intrusion." " Arise, sir," answered Eveline, " and let me know your name vand business. I was summoned to a kinsman of the Constable of Chester." " And you expected the stripling Damian," answered the stranger. " But the match with which England rings will connect you with others of the house besides that young person ; and amongst these, with the luckless Randal de Lacy. Perhaps," continued he, " the fair Eveline Berenger may not even have heard his name breathed by his more fortunate kinsman — more fortunate in every respect, but most fortunate in his present prospects." This compliment was accompanied by a deep reverence, and Eveline stood much embarrassed how to reply to his civilities ;-for although she now well remembered to have heard this Randal slightly mentioned by the Constable when speaking of his family, it was in terms which implied that there was no good understanding betwixt them. She therefore only returned his courtesy by general thanks for the honour of his visit, trusting he would then retire ; but such was not his purpose. " I comprehend," he said, " from the coldness with which the Lady Eveline Berenger receives me, that what she has heard of me from my kinsman (if indeed he thought me worthy of being men- tioned to her at all), has been, to say the least, unfavourable. And yet my name once stood as high in fields and courts, as that of the Constable ; nor is it aught more disgraceful than what is indeed often esteemed the worst of disgraces — poverty, which prevents my still aspiring to places of honour and fame. If my youthful follies have been numerous, I have paid for them by the loss of my fortune, and the degradation of my condition ; and therein my happy kins- man might, if he pleased, do me some aid — I mean not with his purse or estate ; for, poor as I am, I would not live on alms extorted from the reluctant hand of an estranged friend ; but his counte- nance would put him to no cost, and, in so far, I might expect some favour." "In that my Lord Constable," said Eveline, "must judge for himself. I have — as yet, at least — no right to interfere in his family affairs ; and if I should ever have such right, it will well become me to be cautious how I use it." " It is prudently answered," replied Randal ; "but what I ask of you is merely, that you, in your gentleness, would please to convey to my cousin a suit, which I find it hard to bring my ruder tongue to utter with sufficient submission. The usurers, whose claims have eaten like a canker into my means, now menace me with a dungeon ; a threat which they dared not mutter, far less attempt ISO THE BETROTHED. to execute, were it not that they see me an outcast, unprotected by the natural head of my family, and regard me rather as they would some unfriended vagrant, than as a descendant of the powerful House of Lacy." "It is a sad necessity," replied Eveline ; "but I see not how I can help you in such extremity." " Easily," replied Randal de Lacy. " The day of your betrothal is fixed, as I hear reported ; and it is your right to select what witnesses you please to the solemnity, which may the saints bless ! To every one but myself, presence or absence on that occasion is a matter of mere ceremony — to me it is almost life or death. So am I situated, that the marked instance of slight or contempt, implied by my exclusion from this meeting of our family, will be held for the signal of my final expulsion from the House of the De Lacys, and for a thousand bloodhounds to assail me without mercy or forbearance, whom, cowards as they are, even the slightest show of countenance from my powerful kinsman would compel to stand at bay. But why should I occupy your time in talking thus ? — Farewell, madam — be happy — and do not think of me the more harshly, that for a few minutes I have broken the tenor of your happy thoughts, by forcing my misfortunes on your notice." " Stay, sir," said Eveline, affected by the tone and manner of the noble suppliant ; " you shall not have it to say that you have told your distress to Evehne Eerenger, without receiving such aid as is in her power to give. I will mention your request to the Constable of Chester." " You must do more, if you really mean to assist me," said Randal de Lacy, " you must make that request your own. You do not know," said he, continuing to bend on her a fixed and expressive look, " how hard it is to change the fixed purpose of a De Lacy— a twelvemonth hence you will probably be better acquainted with the firm texture of our resolutions. But, at present, what can withstand your wish should you deign to express it .' " " Your suit, sir, shall not be lost for want of my advancing it with my good word and good wishes," replied Eveline ; " but you must be well aware that its success or failure must rest with the Con- stable himself." Randal de Lax:y took his leave with the same air of deep reverence which had marked his entrance ; only that, as he then saluted the skirt of Eveline's robe, he now rendered the same homage by touching her hand with his lip. She saw him depart with a mixture of emotions, in which compassion was predomi- nant ; although in his complaints of the Constable's unkindness to him there was something offensive, and his avowal of folhes THE BETROTHED. 151 and excess seemed uttered rather in the spirit of wounded pride, than in that of contrition. When Evehne next saw the Constable, she told him of the visit of Randal, and of his request ; and strictly observing his counte- nance while she spoke, she saw, that at the first mention of his kinsman's name, a gleam of anger shot along his features. He soon subdued it, however, and, fixing his eyes on the ground, jlistened to Eveline's detailed account of the visit, and her request "that Randal might be one of the invited witnesses to their fiancailles" The Constable paused for a moment, as if he were considering how to elude the solicitation. At length he replied, " You do not know for whom you ask this, or you would perhaps have forborne your request ; neither are you apprized of its full import, though my crafty cousin well knows, that when I do him this grace which he asks, I bind myself, as it were, in the eye of the world once~ more — and it will be for the third time — to interfere in his affairs, and place them on such a footing as may afford him the means of re-establishing his fallen consequence, and repairing his numerous errors." " And wherefore not, my lord ?" said the generous Eveline. " If he has been ruined only through follies, he is now of an age when these are no longer tempting snares ; and if his heart and hand be good, he may yet be an honour to the House of De Lacy." The Constable shook his head. " He hath indeed," he said, " a heart and hand fit for serrice, God knoweth, whether in good or evil. But never shall it be said that you, my fair Eveline, made request of Hugh de Lacy, which he was not to his uttermost willing to comply with. Randal shall attend at our Jiangaillesj — there is indeed the more cause for his attendance, as I somewhat fear we may lack that of our valued nephew Damian, whose malady rather increases than declmes, and, as I hear, with strange symptoms of unwonted disturbance of mind and starts of temper, to which the youth hath not hitherto been subject." CHAPTER XVII. Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches. The blush upon her cheek has shamed the morning, For that is dawning palely. Grant, good saints, These clouds betoken nought of evil omen ! Old Play. The day of the fianqailles, or espousals, was now approaching ; and it seems that neither the profession of the Abbess, nor her 152 THE BETROTHED. practice at least, were so rigid as to prevent her selecting the great parlour of the convent for that holy rite, although necessarily intro- ducing many male guests within those vestal precincts, and not- withstanding that the rite itself was the preliminary to a state which the inmates of the cloister had renounced for ever. The Abbess's Norman pride of birth, and the real interest which she took in her niece's advancement, overcame all scruples ; and the venerable mother might be seen in unwonted bustle, now giving orders to the gardener for decking the apartment with flowers — now to her cellaress, her precentrix, and the lay-sisters of the kitchen, for pre- paring a splendid banquet, mingling her commands on these worldly subjects with an occasional ejaculation on their vanity and worth- lessness, and every now and then converting the busy and anxious looks which she threw upon her preparations into a solemn turning upward of eyes and folding of hands, as one who sighed over the mere earthly pomp which she took such trouble in superintending. At another time the good lady might have been seen in close con- sultation with Father Aldrovand, upon the ceremonial, civil and religious, which was to accompany a solemnity of such consequence to her family. Meanwhile the reins of discipline, although relaxed for a season, were not entirely thrown loose. The outer court of the convent was indeed for the time opened for the reception of the male sex ; but the younger sisters and novices of the house being carefully secluded in the more inner apartments of the extensive building, under the immediate eye of a grim old nun, or, as the conventual rule designed her, an ancient, sad, and virtuous person, termed Mistress of the Novices, were not permitted to pollute their eyes by looking on waving plumes and rustling mantles. A few sisters, indeed, of the Abbess's own standing, were left at liberty, being such goods as it was thought could not, in shopman's phrase, take harm from the air, and which are therefore left lying loose on the counter. These antiquated dames went mumping about with much affected indifference, and a great deal of real curiosity, en- deavouring indirectly to get information concerning names, and dresses, and decorations, without daring to show such [interest in these vanities as actual questions on the subject might have implied. A stout band of the Constable's spearmen guarded the gate of the nunnery, ddmitting within the hallowed precinct the few only who were to be present at the solemnity, with their principal attendants ; and while the former were ushered with all due cere- mony into the apartments dressed out for the occasion, the attend- ants, although detained in the outer court, were liberally supplied with refreshments of the most substantial kind ; and had the THE BETROTHED. 153 amusement, so dear to the menial classes, of examining and criticising their masters and mistresses, as they passed into the interior apartments prepared for their reception. Amongst the domestics who were thus employed were old Raoul the huntsman and his jolly dame ; — he gay and glorious, in a new cassock of green velvet, she gracious and comely, in a kirtle of yel- low silk, fringed with minivair, and that at no mean cost, were equally busied in beholding the gay spectacle. The most inveterate wars have their occasional terms of truce ; the most bitter and boisterous weather its hours of warmth and of calmness ; and so was it with the matrimonial horizon of this amiable pair, which, usually cloudy, had now for brief space cleared up. The splendour of their new apparel, the mirth of the spectacle around them, with the aid, perhaps, of a bowl of muscadine quaffed by Raoul, and a qup of hippocras sipped by his wife, had rendered them rather more agreeable in each other's eyes than was their wont ; good cheer being in such cases, as oil is to a rusty lock, the means of making those valves move smoothly and glibly, which otherwise work not together at all, or by shrieks and groans express their reluctance to move in union. The pair had stuck themselves into a kind of nicl i, three or four steps from the ground, which contailied a small stone bench, whence their curious eyes could scrutinize with advantage every guest who entered the court. Thus placed, and in their present state of temporary concord, Raoul with his frosty visage formed no unapt representative of January, the bitter father of the year ; and though Gillian was past the delicate bloom of youthful May, yet the melting fire of a full black eye, and the genial glow of a ripe and crimson cheek, made her a lively type of the fruitful and jovial August. Dame GiUian used to make it her boast, that she could please every body with her gossip, when she chose it, from Raymond Berenger down to Robin the horse-boy ; and like a good housewife, who, to keep her hand in use, will sometimes even condescend to dress a dish for her husband's sole eating, she now thought proper to practise her powers of pleasing on old Raoul, fairly conquering, in her successful sallies of mirth and satire, not only his cynical temperament towards all human kind, but his peculiar and special disposition to be testy with his spouse. Her jokes, such as they were, and the coquetry with which they were enforced, had such an effect on this Timon of the woods, that he curled up his cynical nose, displayed his few strag- gling teeth like a cur about to bite, broke out into a barking laugh, which was more like the cry of one of his own hounds— stopped short in the explosion, as if he had suddenly recollected that it was out of character ; yet, ere he resumed his acrimonious gravity, shot such a glance at Gillian as made his nut-cracker jaws, pinched eyes. IS4 THE BETROTHED. and convolved nose, bear no small resemblance to one of those fantastic faces which decorate the upper end of old bass viols. "Is not this better than laying your dog-leash on your loving wife, as if she were a brach of the kennel.'" said August to January. " In troth is it," answered January, in a frost-bitten tone ; — " and so it is also better than doing the brach-tricks which bring the leash into exercise." "Humph!" said Gillian, in the tone of one who thought her husband's proposition might bear being disputed ; but instantly changing the note to that of tender complaint, "Ah ! Raoul," she said, " do you not remember how you once beat me because our late lord— Our Lady assoilzie him ! — took my crimson breastknot for a peony rose?" " Ay, ay," said the huntsman ; " I remember our old master would make such mistakes— Our Lady assoilzie him ! as you say — The best hound will hunt counter." " And how could you think, dearest Raoul, to let the wife of thy bosom go so long without a new kirtle ?" said his helpmate. " Why, thou hast got one from our young lady that might serve a countess," said Raoul, his concord jarred by her touching this chord — "how many kirtles wouldst thou have ?" " Only two, kind Raoul ; just that folk may not count their children's age by the date of Dame Gillian's last new gown." " Well, well — it is hard that a man cannot be in good-humour once and away without being made to pay for it. But thou shalt have a new kirtle at Michaelmas, when I sell the bucks' hides for the season. The very antlers should bring a good penny this year." " Ay, ay," said Gillian ; " I ever tell thee, husband, the horns would be worth the hide in a fair market." Raoul turned briskly round as if a wasp had stung him, and there is no guessing what his reply might have been to this seemingly innocent observation, had not a gallant horseman at that inst3.nt entered the court, and, dismounting like the others, gave his horse to the charge of a squire, or equerry, whose attire blazed with embroidery. " By Saint Hubert, a proper horseman, and a destrier for an earl," said Raoul ; " and my Lord Constable's liveries withal — yet I know not the gallant." " But I do," said Gillian ; " it is Randal de Lacy, the Con- stable's kinsman, and as good a man as ever came of the name ! " " Oh ! by Saint Hubert, I have heard of him — men say he is a reveller, and a jangler, and a waster of his goods." " Men lie now and then," said Gillian, dryly. THE BETROTHED. iSS " And women also," replied Raoul ;— " why, metliinks he winked on thee just now." " That right eye of thine saw never true since our good lord — Saint Mary rest him !— flung a cup of wine in thy face, for pressing over boldly into his withdrawing-room." " I marvel," said Raoul, as if he heard her not, " that yonder ruffler comes hither. I have heard that he is suspected to have attempted the Constable's life, and that they have not spoken together for five years." " He comes on my young lady's invitation, and that I know full well," said Dame Gillian ; " and he is less like to do the Constable wrong than to have wrong at his hand, poor gentleman, as indeed he has had enough of that already." " And who told thee so ?" said Raoul, bitterly. "No matter, it was one who knew all about it very well," said the dame, who began to fear that, in displaying her triumph of superior information, she had been rather over-communicative. " It must have been the devil, or Randal himself," said Raoul, " for no other mouth is large enough for such a lie. — But hark ye, Dame Gillian, who is he that presses forward next, like a man that scarce sees how he goes ?" " Even your angel of grace, my young Squire Damian," said Dame Gillian. " It is impossible I" answered Raoul — " Call me blind if thou wilt ; — but I have never seen man so changed in a few weeks — and his attire is flung on him so wildly as if he wore a horse-cloth round him instead of a mantle — Wfiat can ail the youth ? — ^he has made a dead pause at the door, as if he saw something on the threshold that debarred his entrance. — Saint Hubert, but he looks as if he were elf-stricken !" " You ever thought him such a treasure !" said Gillian ; " and now look at him as be stands by the side of a real gentleman, how he stares and trembles as if he were distraught." " I will speak to him," said Raoul, forgetting his lameness, and springing from his elevated station — " I will speak to him ; and, if he be unwell, I have my lancets and fleams to bleed man as well as brute." " And a fit physician for such a patient," muttered Gillian, — " a dog-leech for a dreamy madman, that neither knows his own disease nor the way to cure it." Meanwhile the old huntsman made his way towards the entrance, before which Damian remained standing, in apparent uncertainty whether he should enter or not, regardless of the crowd around, and at the same time attracting their attention by the singularity of his deportment. 156 THE BETROTHED. Raoul had a private regard for Damian ; for which, perhaps, it was a chief reason, that of late his wife had been in the habit of speaking of him in a tone more disrespectful than she usually applied to handsome young men. Besides, he understood the youth was a second Sir Tristrem in silvan sports by wood and river, and there needed no more to fetter Raoul's soul to him with bands of steel. He saw with great concern his conduct attract general notice, mixed with some ridicule. "He stands," said the town-jester, who had crowded into the gay throng, "before the gate, like Balaam's ass in the Mystery, when the animal sees so much more than can be seen by any one else." A cut from Raoul's ready leash rewarded the felicity of this appli- cation, and sent the fool howling off to seek a more favourable audience for his pleasantry. At the same time Raoul pressed up to Damian, and with an earnestness very different from his usual dry causticity of manner, begged him for God's sake not to make him- self the general spectacle, by standing there as if the devil sat on the doorway, but either to enter, or, what might be as becoming, to retire, and make himself more fit in apparel for attending on a solemnity so nearly concerning his house. " And what ails my apparel, old man ?" said Damian, turning sternly on the huntsman, as one who has been hastily and uncivilly roused from a reverie. " Only, with respect to your valour," answered the huntsman, " men do not usually put old mantles over new doublets ; and methinks, with submission, that of yours neither accords with your dress, nor is fitted for this noble presence." "Thou art a fool !" answered Damian, " and as green in wit as grey in years. Know you not that in these days the young and old consort together — contract together — wed together ? and should we take more care to make our apparel consistent than our actions ?"' " For God's sake, my lord," said Raoul, " forbear these wild and dangerous words ! they may be heard by other ears than mine, and construed by worse interpreters. There may be here those who will pretend to track mischief from light words, as I would find a buck from his frayings. Your cheek is pale, my lord, your eye is bloodshot ; for Heaven's sake, retire !" " I will not retire," said Damian, with yet more distemperature of manner, "till I have seen the Lady Eveline." " For the sake of all the saints," ejaculated Raoul, " not now ! — You will do my lady incredible injury by forcing yourself into her presence in this condition." " Do you think so ?" said Damian, the remark seeming to operate as a sedative which enabled him to collect his scattered thoughts — THE BETROTHED. 157 „ Do you really think so ? — I thought that to have looked upon her once more — but no — you are in the right, old man." He turned from the door as if to withdraw, but ere he could accomplish his purpose, he turned yet more pale than before, stag- gered, and fell on the pavement ere Raoul could afford him his support, useless as that might have proved. Those who raised him were suprised to observe that his garments were soiled with blood, and that the stains upon his cloak, which had been criticised by Raoul, were of the same complexion. A grave-looking personage, wrapped in a sad-coloured mantle, came forth from the crowd. " I knew how it would be," he said ; " I made venesection this morning, and commanded repose and sleep according to the aphorisms of Hippocrates ; but if young gentlemen will neglect the ordinance of their physician, medicine will avenge herself It is impossible that my bandage or ligature, knit by these fingers, should have started, but to avenge the neglect of the precepts of art." " What means this prate ?" said the voice of the Constable, before which all others were silent. He had been summoned forth just as the rite of espousal or betrothing was concluded, on the confusion occasioned by Damian's situation, and now sternly commanded the physician to replace the bandages which had slipped from his nephew's arm, himself assisting in the task of supporting the patient, with the anxious and deeply agitated feelings of one who saw a near and justly valued relative — as yet, the heir of his fame and family — stretched before him in a condition so dangerous. But the griefs of the powerful and ,the fortunate are often mingled with the impatience of interrupted prosperity. "What means this ? " he demanded sternly of the leech. " I sent you this morn- ing to attend my nephew on the first tidings of his illness, and commanded that he should make no attempt to be present on this day's solemnity, yet I find him in this state, and in this place." " So please your lordship," replied the leech, with a conscious self-importance, which even the presence of the Constable could not subdue — " Curatio est canonica, non coactaj which signifieth, my lord, that the physician acteth his cure by rules of art and science — byadvice and prescription, but not by force or violence upon the patient, who cannot be at all benefited unless he be voluntarily amenable to the orders of his medicum." " Tell me not of your jargon," said De Lacy ; " if my nephew was light-headed enough to attempt to come hither in the heat of a delirious distemper, you should have had sense to prevent him, had it been by actual force." " It may be," said Randal de Lacy, joining the crowd, who, for- getting the cause which had brought them together, were now assembled about Damian, " that more powerful was the magnet is8 THE BETROTHED. which drew our kinsman hither, than aught the leech could do to withhold him." The Constable, still busied about his nephew, looked up as Ran- dal spoke, and, when he was done, asked, with formal coldness of manner, " Ha, fair kinsman, of what magnet do you speak ? " ■■' Surely of your nephew's love and regard to your lordship," answered Randal, " which, not to mention his respect for the Lady Eveline, must have compelled him hither, if his limbs were able to bear him. — And here the bride comes, I think, in charity, to thank him for his zeal." " What unhappy case is this ? " said the Lady Eveline, pressing forward, much disordered with the intelligence of Damian's danger, which had been suddenly conveyed to her. " Is there nothing in which my poor service may avail ? " " Nothing, lady," said the Constable, rising from beside his nephew, and taking her hand ; "your kindness is here mistimed. This motley assembly, this unseeming confusion, become not your presence." " Unless it could be helpful, my lord," said Eveline, eagerly. " It is your nephew who is in danger — my deliverer — one of my deliv- erers, I would say." " He is fitly attended by his chirurgeon," said the Constable, leading back his reluctant bride into the convent, while the medical attendant triumphantly exclaimed, " Well judgeth my Lord Constable, to withdraw his noble lady from the host of petticoated empirics," who, like so many Amazons, break in upon and derange the regular course of physical practice, with their petulant prognostics, their rash recipes, their mithridate, their febrifuges, their amulets, and their charms. Well speaketh the Ethnic poet, ' Non audet, nisi quae didicit, dare quod medicorum est ; Promittunt medici — tractant fabrilia fabri.' " As he repeated these lines with much emphasis, the doctor per' mitted his patient's arm to drop from his hand, that he might aid the cadence with a flourish of his own. " There," said he to the spectators, " is what none of you understand— no, by Saint Luke, nor the Constable himself." " But he knows how to whip in a hound that babbles when he should be busy," said Raoul ; and, silenced by this hint, the chi- rurgeon betook bimself to his proper duty, of superintending the removal of young Damian to an apartment in the neighbouring street, where the symptoms of his disorder seemed rather to increase than diminish, and speedily required all the skill and at*;ention which the leech could bestow. THE BETftOTHED. t^g The subscription of the contract of marriage had, as already- noticed, been'just concluded, when the company assembled on the occasion were interrupted by the news of Damian's illness. When the Constable led his bride from the court-yard into the apartment where the company was assembled, there was discomposure and uneasiness on the countenance of both ; and it was not a little increased by the bride pulling her hand hastily from the hold of the bridegroom, on observing that the latter was stained with recent blood, and had in truth left the same stamp upon her own. With a faint exclamation she showed the marks to Rose, saying, at the same time, " What bodes this ? — Is this the revenge of the Bloody- finger already commencing ? " " It bodes nothing, my dearest lady," said Rose — " it is our own fears that are prophets, not those trifles which we take for augury. For God's sake, speak to my lord. He is surprised at your agita- tion." " Let him ask me the cause himself," said Eveline ; " fitter it should be told at his bidding, than be offered by me unasked." The Constable, while his bride stood thus conversing with her mr.iden, had also observed, that in his anxiety to assist his nephew, he had transferred part of his blood from his own hands to Eveline's dress. He came forward to apologize for what at such a moment seemed almost ominous. " Fair lady," said he, " the blood of a true De Lacy can never bode aught but peace and happiness to you." Eveline seemed as if she would have answered, but could not immediately find words. The faithful Rose, at the risk of incurring the censure of being over forward, hastened to reply to the com- pliment. " Every damsel is bound to believe what you say, my noble lord," was her answer, " knowing how readily that blood hath ever flowed for -rotecting the distressed, and so lately for our own relief." " It is well spoken, little one," answered the Constable ; " and the Lady Eveline is happy in a maiden who so well knows how to speak when it is'her own pleasure to be silent. — Come, lady," he added, " let us hope this mishap of my kinsman is but like a sacri- fice to fortune, which permits not the brightest hour to pass without some intervening shadow. Damian, I trust, will speedily recover ; and be we mindful that the blood-drops which alarm you have been drawn by a friendly steel, and are symptoms rather of recovery than of illness. — Come, dearest lady, your silence discourages our friends, and wakes in them doubts whether we be sincere in the welcome due to them. Let me be your sewer," he said ; and, taking a silver ewer and napkin from the standing cupboard, which was loaded with plate, he presented them on his knee to his bride. i6o THE BETROTHED. Exerting herself to shake off the alarm into which she had been thrown by some supposed coincidence of the present accident with the apparition at Baldringham, Eveline, entering into her betrothed husband's humour, was about to raise him from the ground, when she was interrupted by the arrival of a hasty messen- ger, who, coming into the room without ceremony, informed the Constable that his nephew was so extremely ill, that if he hoped to see him alive, it would be necessary he should come to his lodgings instantly. The Constable started up, made a brief adieu to Eveline and to the guests, who, dismayed at this new and disastrous intelligence, were preparing to disperse themselves, when, as he advanced to- wards the door, he was met by a Paritor, or Summoner of the Ecclesiastical Court, whose official dress had procured him unob- structed entrance into the precincts of the abbey. " Detcs vobisaim," said the paritor ; " I would know which of this fair company is the Constable of Chester ? " " I am he," answered the elder De Lacy ; " but if thy business be not the more hasty, I cannot now speak with thee — I am bound on matters of life and death." " I take all Christian people to witness that I have discharged my duty," said the paritor, putting into the hand of the Constable a slip of parchment. " How is this, fellow ? " said the Constable, in great indignation — " for whom or what does your master the Archbishop take me, that he deals with me in this uncourteous fashion, citing me to compeer before him more like a delinquent than a friend or a nobleman ? '' " My gracious lord," answered the paritor, haughtily, " is ac- countable to no one but our Holy Father the Pope, for the exercise of the power which is intrusted to him by the canons of the Church. Your lordship's answer to my citation ?" " Is the Archbishop present in this city ? " said the Constable, after a moment's reflection — " I knew not of his Rurpose to travel hither, still less of his purpose to exeercise authority within these bounds." "My gracious lord the Archbishop," said the paritor, "is but now arrived in this city, of which he is metropolitan ; and, besides, by his apostolical commission, a legate a latere hath plenary juris- diction throughout all England, as those may find (whatsoever be their degree) who may dare to disobey his summons." " Hark thee, fellow," said the Constable, regarding the paritor with a grim and angry countenance, " were it not for certain respects, which I promise thee thy tawny hood hath little to do with, thou wert better have swallowed thy citation, seal and all, THE BETROTHED. i6i than delivered it to me with the addition of such saucy terms. Go hence, and tell your master I will see him within the space of an hour, during which time I am delayed by the necessity of attending a sick relation." The paritor left the apartment with more hnmility in his manner than when he had entered, and left the assembled guests to look upon each other in silence and dismay. The reader cannot fail to remember how severely the yoke of the Roman supremacy pressed both on the clergy and laity of England during the reign of Henry II. Even the attempt of that wise and courageous monarch to make a stand for the independence of his throne in the memorable case of Thomas a Becket, had such an unhappy issue, that, like a suppressed rebellion, it was found to add new strength to the domination of the Church. Since the submission of the king in that ill-fated struggle, the voice of Rome had double potency whenever it was heard, and the boldest peers of England held it more wise to siibmit to her imperious dictates, than to provoke a spiritual censure which had so many secular consequences, bence the slight and scornful manner in which the Constable was treated by the prelate Baldwin struck a chill of astonishment into the assembly of friends whom he had collected to witness his espousals ; and as he glanced his haughty eye around, he saw that many who would have stood by him through life and death in any other quarrel, had it even been with his sovereign, were turning pale at the very thought of a collision with the Church. Embarrassed, and at the same time incensed at their.timidity, the - Constable hasted to dismiss them, with the general assurance that all would be well — that his nephew's indisposition was a trifling complaint, exaggerated by a conceited physician, and by his own want of care — ^and that the message of the Archbishop, so uncere- moniously delivered, was but the consequence of their mutual and friendly familiarity, which induced them sometimes, for the jest's sake, to reverse or neglect the ordinary forms of intercourse. — " If I wanted to speak with the prelate Baldwin on express busi- ness and in haste, such is the humility and indifference to form of that worthy pillar of the Church, that I should not fear oflFence," said the Constable, " did I send the meanest horseboy in my troop to ask an audience of him." So he spoke — but there was something in his countenance which contradicted his words ; and his friends and relations retired from the splendid and joyful ceremony of his espousals as from a funeral feast, with anxious thoughts and with downcast eyes. Randal was the only person, who, having attentively watched the whole progress of the affair during the evening, ventured to approach his cousin as he left the house, and asked him, " in the M 162 THE BETROTHED. name of their reunited friendship, whether he had nothing to command him ? " assuring him, with a look more expressive than his words, that he would not find him cold in his service. " I have nought which can exercise your zeal, fair cousin," replied the Constable, with the air of one who partly questioned the speaker's sincerity ; and the parting reverence with which he accompanied his words, left Randal no pretext for continuing his attendance, as he seemed to have designed. CHAPTER XVIII. Oh, were I seated high as my ambition, I'd place this naked foot on necks of monarchs ! Mysterious Mother. The most anxious and unhappy moment of Hugo de Lacy's Ufe, was unquestionably that in which, by espousing Eveline with all civil and religious solemnity, he seemed to approach to what for some time he had considered as the prime object of his wishes. He was assured of the early possession of a beautiful and amiable wife, endowed with such advantage of worldly goods, as gratified his ambition as well as his affections — Yet, even in this fortunate moment, the horizon darkened around him, in a manner which presaged nought but storm and calamity. At his nephew's lodging Ixe learned that the pulse of the patient had risen, and his delirium had augmented, and all around him spoke very doubtfully of his chance of recovery, or surviving a crisis which seemed speedily approaching. The Constable stole towards the door of the apart- ment which his feelings permitted him not to enter, and listened to the raving which the fever gave rise to. Nothing can be more melancholy than to hear the mind at work concerning its ordinary occupations, when the body is stretched in pain and danger upon the couch of severe sickness ; the contrast betwixt the ordinary state of health, its joys or its labours, renders doubly affecting the actual helplessness of the patient before whom these visions are rising, and we feel a corresponding degree of compassion for the sufferer whose thoughts are wandering so far from his real condition. The Constable felt this acutely, as he heard his nephew shout the war-cry of the family repeatedly, appearing, by the words of command and direction, which he uttered from time to time, to be actively engaged in leading his men-at-arms against the Welsh. At another time he muttered various terms of the manege, of falconry, and of the chase— -he mentioned his uncle's name re- THE BETROTHED. 163 peatedly on these occasions, as if the idea of his kinsman had been connected alike with his martial encounters, and with his sports by wood and river. Other sounds there were, which he muttered so low as to be altogether undistinguishable. With a heart even still more softened towards his kinsman's sufferings from hearing the points on which his mind wandered, the Constable twice applied his hand to the latch of the door, in order to enter the bedroom, and twice forbore, his eyes running faster with tears than he chose should be witnessed by the attendants. At length, relinquishing his purpose, he hastily left the house, mounted his horse, and, followed only by four of his personal attendants, rode towards -the palace of the Bishop, where, as he learned from public rumour, the Archprelate Baldwin had taken up his temporary residence. The train of riders and of led horses, of sumpter-mules, and of menials and attendants, both lay and ecclesiastical, which thronged around the gate of the Episcopal mansion, together with the gaping crowd of inhabitants who had gathered around, some to gaze upon the splendid show, some to have the chance of receiving the bene- diction of the Holy Prelate, was so great as to impede the Constable's approach to the palace-door ; and when this obstacle was surmounted, he found another in the obstinacy of the Arch- bishop's attendants, who permitted him not, though announced by name and title, to cross the threshold of the mansion, until they should receive the express command of their master to that effect. The Constable felt the full effect of this slighting reception. He had dismounted from his horse in full confidence of being instantly admitted into the palace at least, if not into the Prelate's presence ; and as he now stood on foot among the squires, grooms, and horse- boys of the spiritual lord, he was so much disgusted, that his first impulse was to remount his horse, and return to his pavilion, pitched for the time before the city walls, leaving it to the Bishop to seek him there, if he really desired an interview. But the necessity of conciliation almost immediately rushed on his mind, and subdued the first haughty impulse of his offended pride. " If our wise King," he said to himself, "hath held the stirrup of one Prelate of Canterbury when living, and submitted to the most degrading observances before his shrine when dead, surely I need not be more scrupulous towards his priestly successor in the same overgrown authority." Another thought, which he dared hardly to acknowledge, recommended the same humble and submissive course. He could not but feel that, in endeavouring to evade his vows as a crusader, he was incurring some just censure from the Church ; and he was not unwilling to hope, that his present cold and scornful reception on Baldwin's part, might be meant as a part I64 THE BETROTHED. of the penance which his conscience informed him his conduct was about to receive. After a short interval, De Lacy was at length invited to enter'the palace of the Bishop of Gloucester, in which he was to meet the Primate of England ; but there was more than one brief pause, in hall and anteroom, ere he at length was admitted to Baldwin's presence. The successor of the celebrated Becket had neither the extensive views, nor the aspiring spirit, of that redoubted personage ; but, on the other hand, saint as the latter had become, it may be questioned, whether, in his professions for the weal of Christendom, he was half so sincere as was the present Archbishop. Baldwin was, in truth, a man well qualified to defend the powers which the Church had gained, though perhaps of a character too sincere and candid to be active in extending them. The advancement of the Crusade was the chief business of his life, his success the principal cause of his pride ; and, if the sense of possessing the powers of eloquent persuasion, and skill to bend the minds of men to his purpose, was blended with his religious zeal, still the tenor of his life, and after- wards his death before Ptolemais, showed that the liberation of the Holy Sepulchre from the infidels was the unfeigned object of all his exertions. Hugo de Lacy well knew this ; and the difficulty of managing such a temper appeared much greater to him on the eve of the interview in which the attempt was to be made, than he had suffered himself to suppose when the crisis was yet distant. The Prelate, a man of a handsome and stately form, with features rather too severe to be pleasing, received the Constable in all the pomp of ecclesiastical dignity. He was seated on a chair of oak, richly carved with Gothic ornaments, and placed above the rest of the floor under a niche of the same workmanship. His dress was the rich episcopal robe, ornamented with costly embroidery, and fringed around the neck and cuffs ; it opened from the throat and in the middle, and showed an under vestment of embroidery, betwixt the folds of which, as if imperfectly concealed, peeped the close shirt of haircloth which the Prelate constantly wore under all his pompous attire. His mitre was placed beside him on an oaken table of the same workmanship with his throne, against which also rested his pastoral staff, representing a shepherd's crook of the simplest form, yet which had proved more powerful and fearful than lance or scimitar, when wielded by the hand of Thomas a Becket. A chaplain in a white surplice kneeled at a httle distance before a desk, and read forth from an illuminated volume some portion of a theological treatise, in which Baldwin appeared so deeply interested, that he did not appear to notice the entrance of the Constable, who. THE BETROTHED. 165 highly displeased at this additional slight, stood on the floor of the hall, undetermined whether to interrupt the reader and address the Prelate at once, or to withdraw without saluting him at all. Ere he had formed 3 resolution, the chaplain had arrived at some con- venient pausL in the lecture, where the Archbishop stopped him with, " Satis est, mi fili" It was in vain that the proud secular Baron strove to conceal ths embarrassment with which he approached the Prelate, whose attitude was plainly assumed for the purpose of impressing him with awe and solicitude. He tried, indeed, to exhibit a demeanour of such ease as might characterise their old friendship, or at least of such indifference as might infer the possession of perfect tranquillity; but he failed in both, and his address expressed mortified pride, mixed with no ordinary degree of embarrassment. The genius of the Catholic Church was on such occasions sure to predominate over the haughtiest of the laity. " I perceive," said De Lacy, collectmg his thoughts, and ashamed to find he had difficulty in doing so, — " I perceive that an old friendship is here dissolved. Methinks Hugo de Lacy might have expected another messenger to summon him to this reverend pre- sence, and that aiiother welcome should wait him on his arrival." The Archbishop raised himself slowly in his seat, and made a^ half inclination towards the Constable, who, by an instinctive desire of conciliation, returned it lower than he had intended, or than the scanty courtesy merited. The Prelate at the same time signing to his chaplain, the latter arose to withdraw, and receiving permission in the phrase " Do veniam" retreated reverentially, without either turning his back or looking upwards, his eyes fixed on the ground, his hands still folded in his habit, and crossed over his bosom. When this mute attendant had disappeared, the Prelate's brow became more open, yet retained a dark shade of grave displeasure, and he replied to the address of De Lacy, but still without rising from his seat. " It skills not now, my lord, to say what the brave Constable of Chester has been to the poor priest Baldwin, or with what love and pride we beheld him assume the holy sign of salvation, and, to honour Him by whom he has himself been raised to honour, vow himself to the deliverance of the Holy Land. If I still see that noble lord before roe, in the same holy resolution, let me know the joyful truth, and I will lay aside rochet and mitre, and tend his horse like a groom, if it be necessary by such menial service to show the cordial respect I bear to him." " Reverend father," answered De Lacy, with hesitation, " I had hoped that the propositions which were made to you on my part by the Dean of Hereford, might have seemed more satisfactory in your eyes." Then, regaining his native confidence, he proc-eeded with i65 THE BETROTHED. more assurance in speech and manner ; for the cold inflexible looks of the Archbishop irritated him. " If these proposals can be amended, my lord, let me know in what points, and, if possible, your pleasure shall be done, even if it should prove somewhat un- reasonable. I would have peace, my lord, with Holy Church, and am the last who would despise her mandates. This has been known by my deeds in field, and counsels in the state ; nor can I think my services have merited cold looks and cold language from the Primate of England." "Do you upbraid the Church *ith your services, vain man?" said Baldwin. " I tell thee, Hugh de Lacy, that what Heaven hath wrought for the Church by thy hand, could, had it been the divine pleasure, have been achieved with as much ease by the meanest horseboy in thy host. It is thou that art honoured, in being the chosen instrument by which great things have been -wrought in Israel. — Nay, interrupt me not — I tell thee, proud baron, that, in the sight of Heaven, thy wisdom is but as folly — thy courage, which thou dost boast, but the cowardice of a village maiden — thy strength weakness — thy spear an osier, and thy sword a bulrush." " All this I know, good father," said the Constable, " and have ever heard it repeated when such poor services as I may have rendered are gone and past. Marry, when there was need for my helping hand, I was the very good lord of priest and prelate, and one who should be honoured and prayed for with patrons and founders who sleep in the choir and under the high altar. There was no thought, I trow, of osier or of bulrush, when I have been prayed to couch my lance or draw my weapon ; it is only when they are needless that they and their owner are undervalued. Well, my reverend father, be it so — if the Church can cast the Saracens from the Holy Land by grooms and horseboys, wherefore do you preach knights and nobles from the homes and the countries which they are born to protect and defend ? " The Archbishop looked steadily on him as he replied, " Not for the sake of their fleshly arm do we disturb your knights and barons in their prosecution of barbarous festivities, and murderous feuds, which you call enjoying their homes and protecting their domains, — not that Omnipotence requires their arm of flesh to execute the great predestined work of liberation, — but for the weal of their immortal souls." These last words he pronounced with great emphasis. The Constable paced the floor impatiently, and muttered to him- self, " Such is the airy guerdon for which hosts on hosts have been drawn from Europe to drench the sands of Palestine with their gore — such the vain promises for which we are called upon to barter our country, our lands, and our lives ! " THE BETROTHED. 167 " Is it Hugo de Lacy speaks thus ? " said the Archbishop, arising from his seat, and qualifying his tone of censure with the appearance of shame and of regret — " Is it he who underprizes the renown of a knight — the virtue of a Christian — the advancement of his earthly honour — the more incalculable profit of his immortal soul ? — Is it he who desires a solid and substantial recompense in lands or treasure, to be won by warring on his less powerful neighbours at home, while knightly honour and religious faith, his vow as a knight and his baptism as a Christian, call him to a more glorious and more dangerous strife ? — Can it be indeed Hugo de Lacy, the mirror of the Anglo-Norman chivalry, whose thoughts can conceive such sentiments, whose words can utter them ? " " Flattery and fair speech, suitably mixed with taunts and re- proaches, my lord," answered the Constable, colouring and biting his lip, " may carry youf point with others ; but I am of a temper too solid to be either wheedled or goaded into measures of im- portance. Forbear, therefore, this strain of affected amazement ; and believe me, that whether he goes to the Crusade or abides at home, the character of Hugh Lacy will remain as unimpeached in point of courage as that of the Archbishop Baldwin in point of sanctitude." " May it stand much higher,'' said the Archbishop, " than the reputation with which you vouchsafe to compare it ! but a blaze may be extinguished as well as a spark ; and I tell the Constable of Chester, that the fame which has sat on his basnet for so many years, may flit from it in one moment, never to be recalled." " Who dares to say so ? " said the Constable, tremblingly alive to the honour for which he had encountered so many dangers. ''A friend," said the Prelate, "whose stripes should be received as benefits. You think of pay. Sir Constable, and of guerdon, as if you still stood in the market, free to chaffer on the terms of your service. I tell you, you are no longer your own master — you are, fcy the blessed badge you have voluntarily assumed, the soldier of "Lrod himself ; nor can you fly from your standard without such infamy as even coistrels or grooms are unwilling to incur." " You deal all too hardly with us, my lord," said Hugo de Lacy, stopping short in his- troubled walk. " You of the spirituality mal^e us laymen the pack-horses of your own concerns, and climb to ambitious heights by the help of our overburdened shoulders ; but all hath its limits — Becket transgressed it, and" A gloomy and expressive look corresponded with the tone in which he spoke this broken sentence ; and the Prelate, at no loss to comprehend his meaning, replied, in a firm and determined voice, " And he was inurdered ! — that is what you dare to hint to me— even to me, the successor of that glorified saint— as a motive i6S THE Betrothed. for complying with your fickle and selfish wish to withdraw your hand from the plough. You know not to whom you address such a threat. True, Becket, from a saint miUtant on earth, arrived, by the bloody path of martyrdom, to the dignity of a saint in Heaven ; and no less true is it, that, to attain a seat a thousand degrees beneath that of his blessed predecessor, the unworthy Baldwin were willing to submit, under Our Lady's protection, to whatever the worst of wicked men can inflict on his earthly frame." " There needs not this show of courage, reverend father," said Lacy, recollecting himself, "where there neither is, nor can be, danger. I pray you, let us debate this matter more deliberately. I have never meant to break off my purpose for the Holy Land, but only to postpone it. Methinks the offers that I have made are fair, and ought to obtain for me what has been granted to others in the like case — a slight delay in the time of my departure." " A slight delay on the part of such a leader as you, noble De Lacy," answered the Prelate, " were a death-blow to our holy and most gallant enterprise. To meaner men we might have granted the privilege of marrying and giving in marriage, even although they care not for the sorrows of Jacob ; but you, my lord, are a main prop of our enterprise, and, being withdrawn, the whole fabric may fall to the ground. Who in England will deem himself obliged to press forward, when Hugo de Lacy falls back ? Think, my lord, less upon your plighted bride, and more on your plighted word ; and believe not that a union can ever come to good, which shakes your purpose towards our blessed undertaking for the honour of Christendom." The Constable was embarrassed by the pertinacity of the Prelate, and began to give way to his arguments, though most reluctantly, and only because the habits and opinions of the time left him no means of combating his arguments, otherwise than by solicitation. " I admit," he said, " my engagements for the Crusade, nor have I — I repeat it — further desire than that brief interval which may be necessary to place my important affairs in order. Meanwhile, my vassals led by my nephew " " Promise that which is within thy power," said the Prelate. " Who knows whether, in resentment of thy seeking after other things than his most holy cause, thy nephew may not be called hence, even while we speak together ? " " God forbid ! " said the Baron, starting up, as if about to fly to his nephew's assistance ; then suddenly pausing, he turned on the Prelate a keen and investigating glance. " It is not well," he said, "that your reverence should thus trifle with the dangers which threaten my house. Damian is dear to me for his own good qualities— dear for the sake of my only brother.— May God forgive THE BETROTHED. 169 US both ! he died when we were in unkindness with each other. — My lord, your words import that my beloved nephew suffers pain and incurs danger on account of my offences ? " The Archbishop perceived he had at length touched the chord to which his refractory penitent's heart-strings must needs vibrate. He replied with circumspection, as well knowing with whom he had to deal, — " Far be it from me to presume to interpret the councils of Heaven I but we read in- Scripture, that when the fathers eat sour grapes, the teeth of the children are set on edge. What so reasonable as that we should be punished for our pride and contu- macy, by a judgment specially calculated to abate and bend that spirit of surquedry ? * You yourself best know if this disease clung to thy nephew before you had meditated defection from the banner of the Cross." Hugo de Lacy hastily recollected himself, and found that it was indeed true, that, until he thought of his union with Eveline, there had appeared no change in his nephew's health. His silence and confusion did not escape the artful Prelate. He took the hand of the warrior as he stood before him overwhelmed in doubt, lest his preference of the continuance of his own house to the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre should have been punished by the disease which threatened his nephew's life. " Come," he said, " noble De Lacy — the judgment provoked by a moment's presumption may tie even yet averted by prayer and penitence. The dial went back at the prayer of the good King Hezekiah — down, down upon thy knees, and doubt not that, with confession, and penance, and absolution, thou mayst yet atone for thy falling away from the cause of Heaven." Borne down by the dictates of the religion in which he had been educated, and by the fears lest his delay was punished by his nephew's indisposition and danger, the Constable sunk on his knees before the Prelate, whom he had shortly before wellnigh braved, confessed, as a sin to be deeply repented of, his purpose of delaying his departure for Palestine, and received, with patience at least, if not with willing acquiescence, the penance inflicted by the Arch- bishop ; which consisted in a prohibition to proceed farther in his proposed wedlock with the Lady Eveline, until he was returned from Palestine, where he was bound by his vow to abide for the term of three years. " And now, noble De Lacy," said the Prelate, " once more my best beloved and most honoured friend — is not thy bosom lighter since thou hast thus nobly acquitted thee of thy debt to Heaven, and cleansed thy gallant spirit from those selfish and earthly stains which dimmed its brightness ? " The Constable sighed. " My happiest thoughts at this moment," I70 THE BETROTHED. he said, " would arise from knowledge that my nephew's health is amended." ' Be not discomforted on the score of the noble Damian, your hopeful and valorous kinsman," said the Archbishop, '' for well I trust shortly ye shall hear of his recovery ; or that, if it shall please God to remove him to a better world, the passage shall be so easy, and his arrival in yonder haven of bliss so speedy, that it were better for him to have died than to have lived." The Constable looked at him, as if to gather from his countenance more certainty of his nepheVs fate than his words seemed to imply; and the Prelate, to escape being farther pressed on a subject on which he was perhaps conscious he had adventured too iar, rung a silver bell which stood before him on the table, and commanded the chaplain who entered at the summons, that he should dispatch a careful messenger to the lodging of Damian Lacy, to bring par- ticular accounts of his health. "A stranger," answered the chaplain, "just come from the sick chamber of the noble Damian Lacy waits here even now to have speech of my Lord Constable." " Admit him instantly," said the Archbishop — " my mind tells me he brings us joyful tidings. — Never knew I such humble peni- tence, — such willing resignation of natural affections and desires to the doing of Heaven's service, but it was rewarded with a guerdon either temporal or spiritual." As he spoke, a man siiigularly dressed entered the apartment. His garments, of various colours and showily disposed, were none of the newest or cleanest, neither were they altogether fitting for the presence in which he now stood. " How now, sirrah ! " said the Prelate ; " when was it that jugglers and minstrels pressed into the company of such as we without permission?" " So please you," said the man, " my instant business was not with your reverend lordship, but with my lord the Constable, to whom I will hope that my good news may atone for my evil apparel." " Speak, sirrah, does my kinsman live ? " said the Constable eagerly. " And is like to live, my lord," answered the man — " afavourable crisis (so the leeches call it) tiath taken place in his disorder, and they are no longer under any apprehensions fer his life." " Now, God be praised, that hath granted me so much mercy ! " said the Constable. " Amen, amen ! " replied the Archbishop solemnly ;—" About what period did this blessed change take place ? " "Scarcely a quarter of an hour since," said the messenger, "a THE BETROTHED. 171 soft sleep fell on the sick youth, like dew upon a parched field in summer — he breathed freely — the burning heat abated — and, as I said, the leeches no longer fear for his life." " Marked you the hour, my Lord Constable ? " said the Bishop, with exultation — " even then you stooped to those counsels which Heaven suggested through the meanest of its servants ! But two words avouching penitence — but one brief prayer — and some kind saint has interceded for an instant hearing, and a liberal granting of thy petition. Noble Hugo," he continued, grasping his hand in a species of enthusiasm, " surely Heaven designs to work high things by the hand of him whose faults are thus readily forgiven — whose prayer is thus instantly heard. For this shall Te Detim Laudamus be said in each church, and each convent of Gloucester, ere the world be a day older." The Constable, no less joyful, though perhaps less able to per- ceive an especial providence in his nephew's recovery, expressed his gratitude to the messenger of the good tidings, by throwing him his purse. " I thank you, noble lord," said the man ; " but if I stoop to pick up this taste of your bounty, it is only to restore it again to the donor." " How now, sir ? " said the Constable, " methinks thy coat seems not so well lined as needs make thee spurn at such a guerdon." " He that designs to catch larks, my lord," replied the messenger, " must not close his net upon sparrows — I have a greater boon to ask of your lordship, and therefore I decline your present gratuity." " A greater boon, ha ! " said the Constable, — " I am no knight- errant, to bind myself by promise to grant it ere I know its import ; but do thou come to my pavilion to-morrow, and thou wilt not find me unwilling to do what is reason." So saying, he took leave of the Prelate, and returned homeward, failing not to visit his nephew's lodging as he passed, where he received the same pleasant assurances which had been communi- cated by the messenger of the parti-coloured mantle. 172 THE BETROTHED. CHAPTER XIX. He was a minstrel — in his mood Was wisdom mix'd with folly ; A tame companion to the good, But wild and fierce among the rude, And jovial with the jolly. Archibald Armstrong. The events of the preceding day had been of a nature so inte- resting, and latterly so harassing, that the Constable felt weary as after a severely contested battle-field, and slept soundly until the earliest beams of dawn saluted him through the opening of the tent. It was then that, with a mingled feeling of pain and satisfac- tion, he began to review the change which had taken place in his condition since the preceding morning. He had then arisen an ardent bridegroom, anxious to find favour in the eyes of his fair bride, and scrupulous about his dress and appointments, as if he ■had been as young in years as in hopes and wishes. This was over, and he had now before him the painful task of leaving his betrothed for a term of years, even before wedlock had united them indissolubly, and of reflecting that she was exposed to all the dangdrs which assail female constancy in a situation thus critical. When the immediate anxiety for his nephew was removed, he was tempted to think that he had been something hasty in listening to the arguments of the Archbishop, and in believing that Damian's death or recovery depended upon his own accomplishing, to the letter, and without delay, his vow for the Holy Land. " How many princes and kings," he thought to himself, "have assumed the Cross, and delayed or renounced it, yet lived and died in wealth and honour, without sustaining such a visitation as that with which Baldwin threatened me ; and in what case or particular did such meii deserve more indulgence than I ? But the die is now cast, and it signifies little to enquire whether my obedience to the mandates of the Cliurch has saved the life of my nephew, or whether I have not fallen, as laymen are wont to fall, whenever there is an en- counter of wits betwixt them and those of the spirituality. I would to God it may prove otherwise, since, girding on my sword as Heaven's champion, I might the better expect Heaven's protection for her whom I must unhappily leave behind me." As these reflections passed through his mind, he heard the warders at the entrance of his tent challenge some one whose foot- steps were heard approaching it. The person stopped on their challenge, and presently after was heard the sound of a rote, (a THE BETROTHED. 173 small species of lute,) the strings of which were managed by means of a small wheel. After a short prelude, a manly voice, of good compass, sung verses, which, translated into modern language, might run nearly thus : I. " Soldier, wake — the day is peeping, Honour ne'er was won in sleeping, Never when the sunbeams still Lay unreflected on the hill : 'Tis when they are glinted back From axe and armour, spear and jack, That they promise future story Many a page of deathless glory. Shields that are the foeman's terror. Ever are the morning's mirror. II. " Arm and up — the morning beam Hath call'd the rustic to his team. Hath call'd the falc'ner to the lake, Hath call'd the huntsman to the brake ; The early student ponders o'er His dusty tomes of ancient lore. Soldier, wake — thy harvest, fame ; Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game. Shield, that would be foeman's terror. Still should gleam the morning's mirror. III. " Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ; More paltry still the sportsman's gain : Vainest of all, the student's theme Ends in some metaphysic dream : Yet each is up, and each has toil'd Since first the peep of dawn has smiled ; And each is eagerer in his aim Than he who barters life for fame. Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror ! Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror." When the song was finished, the Constable heard some talking without, and presently Philip Guarine entered the pavilion to tell that a person, come hither as he said by the Constable's appoint- ment, waited permission to speak with him. "By my appointment?" said De Lacy; "admit him imme- diately." The messenger of the preceding evening entered the tent holding 174 THE BETROTHED. in one hand his small cap and feather, in the other the rote on which he had been just playing. His attire was fantastic, consist- ing of more than one inner dress of various colours, all of the brightest and richest dyes, and disposed so as to contrast with each other— the upper garment was a very short Norman cloak of bright green. An embroidered girdle sustained, in lieu of offensive weapons, an inkhorn with its appurtenances on the one side, on the other a' knife for the purposes of the table. His hair was cut in imitation of the clerical tonsure, which was designed to intimate that he had arrived to a certain rank in his profession ; for the Joyous Science, as the profession of minstrelsy was termed, had its various ranks, like the degrees in the church and in chivalry. The features and manners of the man seemed to be at variance with his profession and habit ; for, as the latter was gay and fantastic, the former had a cast of gravity, and almost of sternness, which, unless when kindled by the enthusiasm of his poetical and musical exer- tions, seemed rather to indicate deep "reflection, than the thought- less vivacity of observation which characterised most of his brethren. His countenance, t'hough not handsome, had therefore something in it striking and impressive, even from its very contrast with the parti-coloured hues and fluttermg shape of his vestments ; and the Constable felt something inclined to patronise him, as he said, " Good morrow, friend, and I thank thee for thy morning greeting ; it was well sung and well meant, for when we call forth any one to bethink him how time passes, we do him the credit of supposing that he can employ to advantage that flitting treasure." The man, who had listened in silence, seemed to pause and make an effort ere he replied, " My intentions, at least, were good, when I ventured to disturb my lord thus early ; and I am glad to learn that my boldness hath not been evil received at his hand." " True," said the Constable, " you had a boon to ask of me. Be speedy, and say thy request — my leisure is short." " It is for permission to follow you to the Holy Land, my lord," said the man. " Thou hast asked what I can hardly grant, my friend," answered De Lacy — " Thou art a minstrel, art thou not ? " "An unworthy graduate of the Gay Science, my lord," said the musician ; " yet let me say for myself, that I will not yield to the king of minstrels, Geoffrey Rudel, though the King of England hath given him four manors for one song. I would be willing to contend with him in romance, lay, or fable, were the judge to be King Henry himself." "You have your own good word, doubtless," said De Lacy; " nevertheless. Sir Minstrel, thou goest not with me. The Crusade has been already too much encumbered by men of thy idle profes- THE BETROTHED »7S sion ; and if thou dost add to the number, it shall not be under my protection. I am too old to be charmed by thy art, charm thou never so wisely." " He that is young enough to seek for and to wm the love of beauty," said the minstrel, but in a submissive tone, as if fearing his freedom might give offence, "should not term himself too old to feel the charms of minstrelsy." The Constable smiled, not insensible to the flattery which assigned to him the character of a younger gallant. "Thou art a jester," he said, " I warrant me, in addition to thy other qualities." " No," replied the minstrel, " it is a branch of our profession which I have for some time renounced— my fortunes have put me out of tune for jesting." " Nay, comrade," said the Constable, "if thou hast been hardly dealt with in the world, and canst comply with the rules of a family so strictly ordered as mine, it is possible we may agree together better than I thought. What is thy name and country? thy speech, methinks, soujids somewhat foreign." " I am an Armorican, my lord, from the merry shores of Morbi- han ; and hence my tongue hath some touch of my country speech. My name is Renault Vidal." " Such being the case, Renault," said the Constable, " thou shalt follow me, and I will give orders to the master of my house- hold to have thee attired something, according to thy function, but in more orderly guise than thou now appearest in. Dost thou understand the use of a weapon ? " " Indifferently, my lord," said the Armorican ; at the same time taking a sword from the wall, he drew it, and made a pass with it so close to the Constable's body as he sat on the couch, that he started up, crying, " Villain, forbear ! " " La you ! noble sir," replied Vidal, lowering with all submission the point of his weapon — " I have already given you a proof of sleight which has alarmed even your experience — I have an hundred other besides." " It may be so," said De Lacy, somewhat ashamed at having shown himself moved by the sudden and lively action of the juggler ; " but I love not jesting with edgetdols, and have too much to do with sword and sword-blows in earnest, to toy with them ; so I pray you let us have no more of this, but call me my squire and my chamberlain, for I am about to array me and go to mass." The religious duties of the morning performed, it was the Con- stable's intention to visit the Lady Abbess, and communicate, with the necessary precautions and qualifications, the altered X76 THE BETROTHED. relations in which he was placed towards her niece, by the resolution he had been compelled to adopt, of departing for the Crusade before accomplishing his marriage, in the terms of the precontract already entered into. He was conscious that it would be difficult to reconcile the good lady to this change of measures, and he delayed some time ere he could think of the best mode of communicating and softening the unpleasant intelligence. An interval was also spent in a visit to his nephew, whose state of convalescence continued to be as favourable, as if in truth it had been a miraculous consequence of the Constable's having complied with the advice of the Archbishop. From the lodging of Damian, the Constable proceeded to the convent of the Benedictine Abbess. But she had been already made acquainted with the circumstances which he came to com- municate, by a still earlier visit from the Archbishop Baldwin himself. The Primate had undertaken the office of mediator on this occasion, conscious that his success of the evening before must have placed the Constable in a delicate situation with the relations of his betrothed bride, and willing, by his countenance and authority, to reconcile the disputes which might ensue. Per- haps he had better have left Hugo de Lacy to plead his own cause ; for the Abbess, though she listened to the communication with all the respect due to the highest dignitary of the English Church, drew consequences from the Constable's change of reso- lution which the Primate had not expected. She ventured to oppose no obstacle to De Lacy's accomplishment of his vows, but strongly argued that the contract with her niece should be entirely set aside, and each party left at liberty to form a new choice. It was in vain that the Archbishop endeavoured to dazzle the Abbess with the future honours to be won by the Constable in the Holy Land ; the splendour of which would attach not to his lady alone, but to all in the remotest degree allied to or connected with her. All his eloquence was to no purpose, though upon so favourite a topic he exerted it to the utmost. The Abbess, it is true, remained silent for a moment after his arguments had been exhausted, but it was only to consider how she should intimate, in a suitable and re- verent manner, that children, the usual attendants of a happy union, and the existence of which she looked to for the continuation of the house of her father and brother, could not be hoped for with any probability, unless the precontract was followed by marriage, and the residence of the married parties in the same country. She therefore insisted, that the Constable having altered his intentions in this most important particular, the fiati^ailles should be entirely abrogated and set aside; and she demanded of the Primate, as an THE BETROTHED. 177 act of justice, that, as he had interfered to prevent the bridegroom's execution of his original purpose, he should now assist with his influence wholly to dissolve an engagement which had been thus materially innovated upon. The Primate, who was sensible he had himself occasioned De Lacy's breach of contract, felt himself bound in honour and repu- tation to prevent consequences so disagreeable to his friend, as the dissolution of an engagement in which his interest and inclin- tions were alike concerned. He reproved the Lady Abbess for the carnal and secular views which she, a dignitary of the Church, en- tertained upon the subject of matrimony, and concerning the inter- est of her house. He even upbraided her with selfishly preferring the continuation of the line of Berenger to the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, and denounced to her that Heaven would be avenged of the shortsighted and merely human policy, which postponed the interests of Christendom to those of an individual family. After this severe homily, the Prelate took his departure, leaving the Abbess highly incensed, though she prudently forbore returning any irreverent answer to his paternal admonition. In this humour the venerable lady was found by the Constable himself, when, with some embarrassment, he proceeded to explain to her the necessity of his present departure for Palestine. She received the communication with sullen dignity ; her ample black robe and scapular seeming, as it were, to swell out in yet prouder folds as she listened to the reasons and the emergencies which compelled the Constable of Chester to defer the marriage, which he avowed was the dearest wish of his heart, until after his return from the Crusade, for which he was about to set forth. " Methinks," repUed the Abbess, with much coldness, " if this communication is meant for earnest,— and it were no fit business — I myself no fit person— for jesting with,— methinks the Constable's resolution should have been proclaimed to us yesterday, before the fianqailleshzA united his troth with that of Eveline Berenger, under expectations very different from those which he now announces." " On the word of a knight and a gentleman, reverend lady," said the Constable, " I had not then the slightest thought that I should be called upon to take a step no less distressing to me, than, as I see with pain, it is unpleasing to you." " I can scarcely conceive," replied the Abbess, " the cogent reasons, which, existing as they must have done yesterday, have nevertheless delayed their operation until to-day." "I own," said De Lacy, reluctantly, "that I entertained too ready hopes of obtaining a remission from my vow, which my Lord of Canterbury hath, in his zeal for Heaven's service, deemed it necessary to refuse me.'' N 178 THE BETROTHED. " At least, then," said the Abbess, veiling her resentment under the appearance of extreme coldness, " your lordship will do us the justice to place us in the same situation in which we stood yester- day morning ; and, by joining with my niece and her friends in desiring the abrogation of a marriage contract, entered into with very different views from those which you now entertain, put a young person in that state of liberty of which she is at present deprived by her contract with you." "Ah, madam ! " said the Constable, "what do you ask of me? and in a tone how cold and indifferent do you demand me to resign hopes, the dearest which my bosom ever entertainted since the lifeblood warmed it ! " " I am unacquainted with language belonging to such feehngs, my lord," replied the Abbess ; "but methinks the prospects which could be so easily adjourned for years, might, by a little, and a very little, further self-control, be altogether abandoned." Hugo de Lacy paced the room in agitation, nor did he answer until after a considerable pause. " If your niece, madam, shares the sentiments which you have expressed, I could not, indeed, with justice to her, or perhaps to myself, desire to retain that in- terest in her, which our solemn espousals have given me. But 1 must know my doom from her own lips ; and if it is as severe as that which your expressions lead me to fear, I will go to Palestine the better soldier of Heaven, that I shall have little left on earth that can interest me." The Abbess, without farther answer, called on her Prascentrix, and desired her to command her niece's attendance immediately. The Praecentrix bowed reverently, and withdrew. " May I presume to enquire," said De Lacy, " whether the Lady Eveline hath been possessed of the circumstances which have occasioned this unhappy alteration in my purpose ? " " I have communicated the whole to her, from point to point," said the Abbess, even as it was explained to me this morning by my Loi-d of Canterbury, (for with him I have already spoken upon the subject,) and confirmed but now by your lordship's own mouth." " I am little obliged to the Archbishop," said the Constable, " for having forestalled my excuses in the quarter where it was most important for me that they should be accurately stated, and favour- ably received." " That," said the Abbess, " is but an item of the account betwixt you and the Prelate, — it concerns not us." " Dare I venture to hope," continued De Lacy, without taking offence at the dryness of the Abbess's manner, " that Lady Eveline has heard this most unhappy change of circumstances without emotion, — I would say, without displeasure ? " THE BETROTHED. 179 " She is the daughter of a Berenger, my lord," answered the Abbess, " and it is our custom to punish a breach of faith or to contemn it — never to grieve over it. What my niece may do in this case, I know not. I am a woman of religion, sequestered from the world, and would advise peace and Christian forgiveness, with a proper sense of contempt for the unworthy treatment which she has received. She has followers and vassals, and friends, doubtless, and advisers, who may not, in blinded zeal for worldly honour, recommend to her to sit down slightly with this injury, but desire she should rather appeal to the King, or to the arms of her father's followers, unless her liberty is restored to her by the sur- render of the contract into which she has been enticed. — But she comes, to answer for herself." Eveline entered at the moment, leaning on Rose's arm. She had laid aside mourning since the ceremony of the Jiangatlles, and was dressed in a kirtle of white, with an upper robe of pale blue. Her head was covered with a veil of white gauze, so thin, as to float about her like the misty cloud usually painted around the countenance of a seraph. But the face of Eveline, though in beauty not unworthy one of this angelic order, was at present far from resembling that of a seraph in tranquillity of expression. Her limbs trembled, her cheeks were pale, the tinge of red around the eyelids expressed recent tears ; yet amidst these natural signs of distress and uncertainty, there was an air of profound resigna- tion — a resolution to discharge her duty in every emergence reign- ing in the solemn expression of her eye and eyebrow, and showing her prepared to govern the agitation which she could not entirely subdue. And so well were these opposing qualities of timidity and resolution mingled on her cheek, that Eveline, in the utmost pride of her beauty, never looked more fascinating than at that instant ; and Hugo de Lacy, hitherto rather an unimpassioned lover, stood in her presence with feelings as if all the exaggerations of romance were realized, and his mistress were a being of a higher sphere, from whose doom he was to receive happiness or misery, life or death. It was under the influence of such a feeling, that the warrior dropped on one knee before Eveline, took the hand which she rather resigned than gave to him, pressed it to his lips fervently, and ere he parted with it, moistened it with one of the few tears which he was ever known to shed. But, although surprised, and carried out of his character by a sudden impulse, he regained his composure on observing that the Abbess regarded his humiliation, if it can be so termed, with an air of triumph ; and he entered on his defence before Eveline with a manly earnestness, not devoid of fervour, nor free from agitation, yet made in a tone of firmness and N 2 i8o THE BETROTHED. pride, which seemed assumed to meet and control that of the offended Abbess. " Lady," he said, addressing EveUne, " you have heard from the venerable Abbess in what nnhappy position 1 have been placed since yesterday by the rigour of the Archbishop— perhaps I should rather say by his just though severe interpretation of my engage- ment in the Crusade. I cannot doubt that all this has been stated with accurate truth by the venerable lady ; but as I must no longer call her my friend, let me fear whether she has done me justice in her commentary upon the unhappy necessity which must presently compel me to leave my country, and with my country to forego — at best to postpone — the fairest hopes which man ever entertained. The venerable lady hath upbraided me, that being myself the cause that the execution of yesterday's contract is postponed, I would fain keep it suspended over your head for an indefinite term of years. No one resigns willingly such rights as yesterday gave me ; and, let me speak a boastful word, sooner than yield them up to man of woman born, I would hold a fair field against all comers, with grinded sword and sharp spear, from sunrise to sunset, for three days' space. But what I would retain at the price of a thou- sand lives, I am willing to renounce if it would cost you a single sigh. If, therefore, you think you cannot remain happy as the betrothed of De Lacy, you may command my assistance to have the contract annulled, and make some more fortunate man happy." He would have gone on, but felt the danger of being overpowered again by those feelings of tenderness so new to his steady nature, that he blushed to give way to them. Eveline remained silent. The Abbess took the word. " Kins- woman," she said, " you hear that the generosity — or the justice— of the Constable of Chester, proposes, in consequence of his depar- ture upon a distant and perilous expedition, to cancel a contract entered into upon the specific and precise understanding that he was to remain in England for its fulfilment. You cannot, methinks, hesitate to accept of the freedom which he offers you, with thanks for his bounty. For my part, I will reserve mine own until I shall see that your joint application is sufficient to win to your purpose his Grace of Canterbury, who may again interfere with the actions of his friend the Lord Constable, over whom he has already exerted so much influence — for the weal, doubtless, of his spiritual concerns." " If it is meant by your words, venerable lady," said the Con- stable, " that I have any purpose of sheltering myself behind the Prelate's authority, to avoid doing that which I proclaim my readi- ness, though not my willingness, to do, I can only say, that you are the first who has doubted the faith of Hugh de Lacy." — And while the proud Baron thus addressed a female and a recluse, he TH^ BETROTHED. i8i could not prevent his eye from sparkling, and his cheek from flushing. " My gracious and venerable kinswoman," said Eveline, sum- moning together her resolution, " and you, my good lord, be not offended if I pray you not to increase by groundless suspicions and hasty resentments your difficulties and mine. My lord, the obliga- tions which I lie under to you are such as I can never discharge, since they comprehend fortune, life, and honour. Know that, in my anguish of mind, when besieged by the Welsh in my castle of the Garde Doloureuse, I vowed to the Virgin, that (my honour safe) I would place myself at the disposal of him whom Our Lady should employ as her instrument to relieve me from yonder hour of agony. In giving me a deliverer, she gave me a master j nor could I desire a more noble one than Hugo de Lacy." " God forbid, lady," said the Constable, speaking eagerly, as if he was afraid his resolution should fail him ere he could get the renunciation uttered, "that I should, by such a tie, to which you subjected yourself in the extremity of your distress, bind you to any resolution in my favour which can put force on your own incli- nations ! " The Abbess herself could not help expressing her applause of this sentiment, declaring it was spoken like a Norman gentleman ; but at the same time, her eyes, turned towards her niece, seemed to exhort her to beware how she declined to profit by the candour of De Lacy. But Eveline proceeded, with her eyes fixed on the ground, and a slight colour overspreading her face, to state her own sentiments, without listening to the suggestions of any one. " I will own, noble sir," she said, " that when your valour had rescued me from ap- proaching destruction, I could have wished — honouring and respect- ing you, as I had done your late friend, my excellent father — that you could have accepted a daughter's service from me. I do not pretend entirely to have surmounted these sentiments, although I have combated them, as being unworthy of me, and ungrateful to you. But, from the moment you were pleased to honour me by a claim on this poor hand, I have studiously examined my senti- ments towards you, and taught myself so far to make them coincide with my duty, that I may call myself assured that De Lacy would not find in Eveline Berenger an indifferent, far less an unworthy bride. In this, sir, you may boldly confide, whether the union you have sought for takes place instantly, or is delayed till a longer season. Still farther, I must acknowledge that the postponement of these nuptials will be more agreeable to me than their imme- diate accomplishment. I am at present very young, and totally i82 THE BETROTHED. inexperienced. Two or three years will. I trust, render me yet more worthy the regard of a man of honour." At this declaration in his favour, however cold and qualified, De Lacy had as much difficulty to restrain his transports as for- merly to moderate his agitation. " Angel of bounty and of kindness ! " he said, kneeling once more, and again possessing himself of her hand, " perhaps I ought in honour to resign voluntarily those hopes which you decline to ravish from me forcibly. But who could be capable of such unre • lenting magnanimity ? — Let me hope that my devoted attachment — that which you shall hear of me when at a distance — that which you shall know of me when near you — may give to your sentiments a more tender warmth than they now express ; and, in the mean- while, blame me not that I accept your plighted faith anew, under the conditions which you attach to it. I am conscious my wooing has been too late in life to expect the animated returns proper to youthful passion — Blame me not if I remain satisfied with those calmer sentiments which make life happy, though they cannot make passion rapturous. Your hand remains in my grasp, but it acknowledges not my pressure — Can it be that it refuses to ratify what your lips have said ? " " Never, noble De Lacy ! " said Eveline, with more animation than she had yet expressed ; and it appeared that the tone was at length sufficiently encouraging, since her lover was emboldened to take the lips themselves for guarantee. It was with an air of pride, mingled with respect, that, after having received this pledge of fidelity, he turned to conciliate and to appease the offended Abbess. " I trust, venerable mother," he said, " that you will resume your former l-'ijid thoughts of me, which I am aware were only interrupted by your tender anxiety for the interest of her who should be dearest to us both. Let me hope that I may leave this fair flower under protection of the honoured lady who is her next in blood, happy and secure as she must ever be, while listening to your counsels, and residing within these sacred walls." But the Abbess was too deeply displeased to be propitiated by a compliment, which perhaps it had been better policy to have de- layed till a calmer season. " My lord," she said, " and you, fair kinswoman, you ought needs to be aware how little my counsels — not frequently given where they are unwillingly listened to — can be of avail to those embarked in worldly affairs. I am a woman dedicated to religion, to sohtude, and seclusion — to the service, in brief, of Our Lady and Saint Benedict. I have been already cen- sured by my superior because I have, for love of you, fair niece, mixed more deeply in secular affairs than became the head of a THE BETROTHED, 183 convent of recluses — I will merit no farther blame on such an account ; nor can you expect it of me. My brother's daughter, unfettered by worldly ties, had been the welcome sharer of my poor solitude. But this house is too mean for the residence of the vowed bride of a mighty baron ; nor do I, in my lowliness and inexperience, feel fitness to exercise over such a one that authority, which must belong to me over every one whom this roof protects. The grave tenor of our devotions, and the serener contemplation to which the females of this house are devoted," continued the Abbess, with increasing heat and vehemence, " shall not, for the sake of my worldly connexions, be disturbed by the intrusion of one whose thoughts must needs be on the worldly toys of love and marriage." " I do indeed believe, reverend mother," said the Constable, in his turn giving way to displeasure, " that a richly-dowered maiden, unwedded, and unlikely to wed, were a fitter and more welcome inmate to the convent, than one who cannot be separated from the world, and whose wealth is not likely to increase the House's revenues." The Constable did the Abbess great injury in this hasty insinua- tion^ and it only went to confirm her purpose of rejecting all charge of her niece during his absence. She was in truth as disinterested as haughty ; and her only reason for anger against her niece was, that her advice had not been adopted without hesitation," although the matter regarded Eveline's happiness exclusively. The ill-timed reflection of the Constable confirmed her in the resolution which she had already and hastily adopted. " May Heaven forgive you, Sir Knight," she replied, "your injurious thoughts of His servants ! It Is indeed time, for your soul's sake, that you do penance in the Holy Land, having such rash judgments to repent of. — For you, my niece, you cannot want that hospitality, which, without verifying, or seeming to verify, unjust suspicions, I cannot now grant to you, while you have, in your kinswoman of Baldringham, a secular relation, whose 'nearness of blood ap- proaches mine, and who may open her gates to you without incurring the unworthy censure, that she means to enrich herself at your cost." The Constable saw the deadly paleness which came over Eve- line's cheek at this proposal, and, without knowing the cause of her repugnance, he hastened to relieve her from the apprehensions which she seemed evidently to entertain. " No, reverend mother," he said ; " since jfou so harshly reject the care of your kinswoman, she shall not be a burden to any of her other relatives. While Hugo de Lacy hath six gallant castles, and many a manor besides, to maintain fire upon their hearths, his betrothed bride shall burden no one with her society, who may regard it as otherwise than a l84 THK BETROTHED. great honour ; and methinks I were much poorer than Heaven hath made me, could I not furnish friends and followers sufficient to serve, obey, and protect her." " No, my lord," said Eveline, recovering from the dejection into which she had been thrown by the unkindness of her relative ; " since some unhappy destiny separates me from the protection of my father's sister, to whom I could so securely have resigned my- self, I will neither apply for shelter to any more distant relation, nor accept -of that which you, my lord, so generously offer; since my doing so might excite harsh, and, I am sure, undeserved re- proaches, against her by whom I was driven to choose a less advisable dwelling-place. I have made my resolution. I have, it is true, only one friend left, but she is a powerful one, and is able to protect me against the particular evil fate which seems to follow me, as well as against the ordinary evils of human life." "The Queen, I suppose?" said the Abbess, interrupting her impatiently. " The Queen of Heaven ! venerable kinswoman," answered Eveline ; " Our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse, ever gracious to our house, and so lately my especial guardian and protectress. Methinks, since the vowed votaress of the Virgin rejects me, it is to her holy patroness whom I ought to apply for succour." The venerable dame, taken soji^ewhat at unawares by this an- swer, pronounced the interjection " Umph ! " in a tone better befit- ting a Lollard or an Iconoclast, than a Catholic Abbess, and a daughter of the House of Berenger. Truth is, the Lady Abbess's hereditary devotion to the Lady of the Garde Doloureuse was much decayed since she had known the full merits of another gifted image, the property of her own convent. Recollecting herself, however, she remained silent, while the Constable alleged the vicinity of the Welsh, as what might possibly again render the abode of his betrothed bride at the Garde Dolou- reuse as perilous as she had on a former occasion found it. To this Eveline replied, by reminding him of the great strength of her native fortress— the various sieges which it had withstood— and the important circumstance, that, upon the late occasion, it was only endangered, because, in compUance with a point of honour, her father Raymond had sallied out with the garrison, and fought at disadvantage a battle under the walls. She farther suggested, that it was easy for the Constable to name, from among his own vassals or hers, a seneschal of such approved prudence and valour, as might ensure the safety of the place, and of its lady. Ere De Lacy could reply to her arguments the Abbess rose, and, pleading her total inability to give counsel in secular affairs, and the rules of her order, which called her, as she said, with a height- THE BETROTHED. 183 »ned colour and raised voice, " to the simple and peaceful discharge of her conventual duties," she left the betrothed parties in the locu- tory, or parlour, without any company, save Rose, who prudently remained at some distance. The issue of their private conference seemed agreeable to both ; and when Eveline told Rose that they were to return presently to the Garde Doloureuse, under a sufficient escort, and were to remain there during the period of the Crusade, it was in a tone of heartfelt satisfaction, which her follower had not heard her make use of for many days. She spoke also highly in praise of the kind acquiescence of the Constable in her wishes, and of his whole conduct, with a warmth of gratitude approaching to a more tender feeling. " And yet, my dearest lady," said Rose, " if you will speak un- feignedly, you must, I am convinced, allow that you look upon this interval of years, interposed betwixt your contract and your mar- riage, rather as a respite than in any other light." " I confess it," said Eveline, " nor have I concealed from my future lord that such are my feelings, ungracious as they may seem. But it is my youth, Rose, my extreme youth, which makes me fear the duties of De Lacy's wife. Then those evil auguries hang strangely about me. Devoted to evil by one kinswoman, expelled almost from the roof of another, 1 seem to myself, at present, a creature wno must carry distress with her, pass where she will. This evil hour, and, what is more, the apprehensions of it, will give way to time. When I shall have attained the age of twenty. Rose, I shall be a full-grown woman, with all the soul of a Berenger strong within me, to overcome those doubts and tremors which agitate the girl of seventeen." "Ah ! my sweet mistressj" answered Rose, "may God and our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse guide all for the best ! — But I would that this contract had not taken place, or, having taken place, that it could have been fulfilled by your immediate union." CHAPTER XX. The King called down his merry-men all, By one, and by two, and three ; Earl Marshal was wont to be the foremost man, But the hindmost man was he. Old Ballad. If the Lady Eveline retired satisfied and pleasod from her pri- vate interview with De Lacy, the joy on the part of the Constable i86 THE BETROTHED. arose to a higher pitch of rapture than he was in the habit of feel ing or expressing ; and it was augmeftted by a visit of the leeches who attended his nephew, from whom he received a minute and particular account of his present disorder, with every assurance of a speedy recovery. The Constable caused alms to be distributed to the convents and to the poor, masses to be said, and tapers to be lighted. He visited the Archbishop, and received from him his full approbation of the course which he proposed to pursue, with the promise, that out of the plenary power which he held from the Pope, the Prelate was willing, in consideration of his instant obedience, to limit his stay in the Holy Land to the term of three years, to become current from his leaving Britain, and to include the space necessary for his return to his native country. Indeed, having succeeded in the main point, the Archbishop judged it wise to concede every inferior consideration to a person of the Constable's rank and character, whose good-will to the proposed expedition was perhaps as essen- tial to its success as his bodily presence. In short, the Constable returned to his pavilion highly satisfied with the manner in which he had extricated himself from those difficulties which in the morning seemed almost insuperable ; and when his officers assembled to disrobe him, (for great feudal lords had their levees and couchees, in imitation of sovereign princes,) he distributed gratuities among them, and jested and laughed in a much gayer humour than they had ever before witnessed. " For thee," he said, turning to Vidal the minstrel, who, sumptu- ously dressed, stood to pay his respects among the other atten- dants, " I will give thee nought at present ; but do thou remain by my bedside until I am asleep, and I will next morning reward thy minstrelsy as I like it." " My lord," said Vidal, " I am already rewarded, both by the honour, and by the liveries, which better befit a royal minstrel than one of my mean fame ; but assign me a subject, and I will do my best, not out of greed of future largess, but gratitude for past favours." " Gramercy, good fellow," said the Constable. " Guarine," he added, addressing his squire, " let the watch be posted, and do thou remain within the tent — stretch thyself on the bear-hide, and sleep, or listen to the minstrelsy, as thou likest best. Thou thinkest thyself a judge, I have heard, of such gear." It was usual, in those insecure times, for some faithful domestic to sleep at night within the tent of every great baron, that, if danger arose, he might not be unsupported or unprotected. Gua- rine accordingly drew his sword, and, taking it in his hand, stretched himself on the ground in such a manner, that, on the THE BETROTHED. 187 slightest alarm, he could spring up, sword in hand. His broad black eyes, in which sleep contended with a desire to listen to the music, were fixed on Vidal, who saw them glittering in the reflection of the silver lamp, like those of a dragon or basilisk. After a few preliminary touches on the chords of his rote, the minstrel requested of the Constable to name the subject on which he desired the exercise of his powers. " The truth of woman," answered Hugo de Lacy, as he laid his head upon his pillow. After a short prelude, the minstrel obeyed, by singing nearly as follows : — I. " Woman's faith, and woman's trust — Write the characters in dust ; Stamp them on the running stream. Print them on the moon's pale beam, And each evanescent letter Shall be clearer, firmer, better, And more permanent, I ween, Than the thing those letters mean. II. " I have strain'd the spider's thread 'Gainst the promise of a maid ; I have weigh'd a grain of sand 'Gainst her plight of heart and hand ; I told my true love of the token. How her faith proved light, and her word was broken : Again her word and truth she plight. And I believed them again ere night." " How now, sir knave," said the Constable, raising himself on his elbow, " from what drunken rhymer did you learn that half- witted satire ? " " From an old, ragged, crossgrained friend of mine, called Expe- rience," answered Vidal. " I pray Heaven he may never take your lordship, or any other worthy man, under his tuition." " Go to, fellow," said the Constable, in reply ; " thou art one of those wiseacres, I warrant me, that would fain be thought witty, because thou canst make a jest of those things which wiser men hold worthy of most worship — the honour of men, and the truth of women. Dost thou call thyself a minstrel, and hast no tale of female fidelity ! " " I had right many a one, noble sir, but I laid them aside when I disused my practice of the jesting part of the Joyous Science. Nevertheless, if it pleases your nobleness to listen, 1 can sing you an established lay upon such a subject," i88 THE BETROTHED. De Lacy made a sign of acquiescence, and laid himself as if to slumber ; while Vidal began one of those interminable and almost innumerable adventures concerning that paragon of true lovers, fair Ysolte ; and of the constant and uninterrupted faith and affection which she displayed in numerous situations of difficulty and peril, to her paramour, the gallant Sir Tristrem, at- the expense of her less favoured husband, the luckless King Mark of Cornwall ; to whom, as all the world knows, Sir Tristrem was nephew. This was not the lay of love and fidelity which De Lacy would have chosen ; but a feeling like shame prevented his interrupting it, perhaps because he was unwilling to yield or to acknowledge the unpleasing sensations excited by the tenor of the tale. He soon fell asleep, or feigned to do so ; and the harper, continuing for a time his monotonous chant, began at length himself to feel the in- fluence of slumber ; his words, and the notes which he continued to touch upon the harp, were broken and interrupted, and seemed to escape drowsily from his fingers and voice. At length the sounds ceased entirely, and the minstrel seemed to have sunk into profound repose, with his head reclining on his breast, and one arm dropped down by his side, while the other rested on his harp. His slumber, however, was not very long, and when he awoke from it, and cast his eyes around him, reconnoitring, by the light of the night-lamp, whatever was in the tent, he felt a heavy hand, which pressed his shoulder as if gently to solicit his attention. At the same time the voice of the vigilant Philip Guarine whispered in his ear, " Thine office for the night is ended — depart to thine own quarters with all the silence thou mayst." The minstrel wrapt himself in his cloak without reply, though perhaps not without feeling some resentment at a dismissal so unceremonious. CHAPTER XXI. O ! then I see Queen Mab has been with you. Romeo and Juliet. The subject on which the mind has last been engaged at night is apt to occupy our thoughts even during slumber, when Imagina- tion, uncorrected by the organs of sense, weaves her own fantastic web out of whatever ideas rise at random in the sleeper. It is not surprising, therefore, that De Lacy in his dreams had some con- fused idea of being identified with the unlucky Mark of Cornwall ; and that he awakened from such unpleasant visions with a brow more clouded than when he was preparing for his couch on the THE BETROTHED. 189 evening before. He was silent, and seemed lost in thought, while his squire assisted at his levee with the respect now only paid to sovereigns. " Guarine," at length he said, "know you the stout Fleming, who was said to have borne him so well at the siege of the Garde Doloureuse ?— a tall, big, brawny man." " Surely, my lord," answered his squire ; " I know Wilkin Flam- mock — I saw him but yesterday." " Indeed ! " replied the Constable — " Here, meanest thou i* — In this city of Gloucester ? " " Assuredly, my good lord. He came hither partly about his merchandise, partly, I think, to see his daughter Rose, who is in attendance on the gracious young Lady Eveline." " He is a stout soldier, is he not ? " " Like most of his kind — a rampart to a castle, but rubbish in the field," said the Korman squire. " Faithful, also, is he not ? " continued the Constable. " Faithful as most Flemings, while you can pay for their faith," replied Guarine, wondering a little at the unusual interest taken in one whom he esteemed a being of an inferior order ; when, after some farther enquiries, the Constable ordered the Fleming's atten- dance to be presently commanded. Other business of the morning now occurred, (for his speedy de- parture required many arrangements to be hastily adopted,) when, as the Constable was giving audience to several officers of his troops, the bulky figure of Wilkin Flammock was seen at the entrance of the pavilion, in jerkin of white cloth, and having only a knife by his side. " Leave the tent, my masters," said De Lacy, " but eontinue in attendance in the neighbourhood ; for here comes one I must speak to in private." The officers withdrew, and the Constable and Fleming were left alone. " You are Wilkin Flammock, who fought well against the Welsh at the Garde Doloureuse ? " " I did my best, my lord," answered Wilkin — " I was bound to it by my bargain ; and I hope ever to act like a man of credit." " Methinks," said the Constable, " that you, so stout of limb, and, as I hear, so bold in spirit, might look a little higher than this weaving trade of thine." " No one is reluctant to mend his station, my lord," said Wilkin; " yet am I so far from complaining of mine, that I would willingly consent it should never be better, on condition I could be assured it were never worse." "Nay, but Flammock," said the Constable, "I mean higher tilings for you than your modesty apprehends — I mean to leave thee in a charge of great trust." igo THE BETROTHED. " Let it concern bales of drapery, my lord, and no one will per- form it better," said the Fleming. " Away ! thou art too lowly minded," said the Constable. " What think'st thou of being dubbed knight, as thy valour well deserves, and left as Chattelain of the Garde Doloureuse ? " " For the knighthood, my lord, I should crave your forgiveness j for it would sit on me like a gilded helmet on a hog. For any charge, whether of castle or cottage, I trust I might discharge it as well as another." " I fear me thy rank must be in some way mended," said the Constable, surveying the unmilitary dress of the figure before him ; " it is at present too mean to befit the protector and guardian of a young lady of high birth and rank." " I the guardian of a young lady of birth and rank ! " said Flam- mock, his light, large eyes turning larger, lighter, and rounder as he spoke. " Even thou," said the Constable. " The Lady Eveline proposes to take up her residence in her castle of the Garde Doloureuse. I have been casting about to whom I may intrust the keeping of her person, as well as of the stronghold. Were I to choose some knight of name, as I have many in my household, he would be setting about to do deeds of vassalage upon the Welsh, and engag- ing himself in turmoils, which would render the safety of the castle precarious ; or he would be absent on feats of chivalry, tourna- ments, and hunting parties ; or he would, perchance, have shows of that light nature under the walls, or even within the courts of the castle, turning the secluded and quiet abode, which becomes the situation of the Lady Eveline, into the misrule of a dissolute revel. — Thee I can confide in — thou wilt fight when it is requisite, yet wilt not provoke danger for the sake of danger itself — thy birth, thy habits, will lead thee to avoid those gaieties, which, however fascinating to others, cannot but be distasteful to thee — thy manage- ment will be as regular, as I will take care that it shall be honour- able ; and thy relation to her favourite. Rose, will render thy guardianship more agreeable to the Lady Eveline, than, perchance, one of her own rank — And, to speak to thee a language which thy nation readily comprehends, the reward, Fleming, for the regular discharge of this most weighty trust, shall be beyond thy most flattering hope." The Fleming had listened to the first part of this discourse with an expression of surprise, which gradually gave way to one of deep and anxious reflection. He gazed fixedly on the earth for a minute after the Constable had ceased speaking, and then raising up his eyes suddenly, said, " It is needless to seek for roundabout excuses. THE BETROTHED. igi This cannot be your earnest, my lord — but if it is, the scheme is naught." " How and wherefore ? " asked the Constable, with displeased surprise. " Another man might grasp at your bounty," continued Wilkin, " and leave you to take chance of the value you were to receive for it ; but I am a downright dealer, I will not take payment for service I cannot render." " But I demand, once more, wherefore thou canst not, or rather wilt not, accept this trust ? " said the Constable. " Surely, if I am willing to confer such confidence, it is well thy part to answer it" " True, my lord," said the Fleming ; " but methinks the noble Lord de Lacy should feel, and the wise Lord de Lacy should fore- see, that a Flemish weaver is no fitting guardian for his plighted bride. Think her shut up in yonder solitary castle, under such respectable protection, and reflect how long the place will be soli- tary in this land of love and of adventure ! We shall have minstrels singing ballads by the threave under our windows, and such twangling of harps as would be enough to frighten our walls from their foundations, as clerks say happened to those of Jericho — We shall have as many knights-errant around us as ever had Charlemagne, or King Arthur. Mercy on me ! A less matter than a fine and noble recluse immured — so will they term it — in a tower, under the guardianship of an old Flemish weaver, would bring half the chivalry in England round us, to break lances, vow vows, display love-liveries, and I know not what follies besides. — ■ Think you such gallants, with the blood flying through their veins like quicksilver, would much mind my bidding them begone ? " " Draw bolts, up with the drawbridge, drop portcullis," said the Constable, with a constrained smile. "And thinks your lordship such gallants would mind these impediments ? such are the very essence of the adventures which they come to seek. — The Knight of the Swan would swim through the moat — he of the Eagle would fly over the walls — he of the Thunderbolt would burst open the gates." " Ply crossbow and mangonel," said De Lacy. " And be besieged in form," said the Fleming, " like the castle of Tintadgel in the old hangings, all for the love of fair lady ? — And then those gay dames and demoiselles, who go upon adventure from castle to castle, from tournament to tournament, with bare bosoms, flaunting plumes, poniards at their sides and javelins in their hands, chattering like magpies, and fluttering like jays, and, ever and anon, cooing like doves — how am I to exclude such from the Lady Eveline's privacy ? " 192 THE BETROTHED. " By keeping the doors shut, I tell thee,." answered the Constable, still in the same tone of forced jocularity ; " a wooden bar will be thy warrant." " Ay, but," answered Flammock, " if the Flemish weaver say -sh-utf-vihexv the; Norman young lady says o/^w, think which has best chance of being obeyed ? At at word, my lord, for the matter of guardianship, and such like, I wash my hands of it — I would not undertake to be guardian to the chaste Susannah, though she lived in an enchanted castle which no living thing could approach." "Thou boldest the language and thoughts," said De Lacy, " of a vulgar debauchee, who laughs at female constancy, because he has lived only with the most worthless of the sex. Yet thou shouldst know the contrary, having, as I know, a most virtuous daugh- ter " " Whose mother was not less so," said Wilkin, breaking in upon the Constable's speech with somewhat more emotion than he usually displayed. " But law, my lord, gave me authority to govern and direct my wife, as both law and nature give me power and charge over my daughter. That which I can govern, I can be answerable for ; but how to discharge me so well of a dele- gated trust, is another question. — Stay at home, my good lord," continued the honest Fleming, observing that his speech made some impression upon De Lacy ; " let a fool's advice for once be of avail to change a wise man's purpose, taken, let me say, in no wise hour. Remain in your own land — rule your own vassals — and protect your own bride. You only can claim her cheerful love and ready obedience ; and sure I am, that, without pretend- ing to guess what she may do if separated from you, she will, imder your own eye, do the duty of a faithful and a loving spouse." "And the Holy Sepulchre?" said the Constable, with a sigh, his heart confessing the wisdom of the advice, which circum- stances prevented him from following. " Let those who lost the Holy Sepulchre regain it, my lord," replied Flammock. " If those Latins and Greeks, as they call them, are no better men than I have heard, it signifies very little whether they or the heathen have the country that has cost Europe so much blood and treasure." " In good faith," said the Constable, " there is sense in what thou say'st ; but I caution thee to repeat it not, lest thou be taken for a heretic or a Jew. For me, my word and oath are pledged beyond retreat, and I have only to consider whom I may best name for that important station, which thy caution has — not without some shadow of reason— induced thee to decline." " There is no man to whom your lordship can so naturally or THE BETROTHED. 193 honourably transfer such a charge," said Wilkin Flaramock, " as to the kinsman near to you, and possessed of your trust ; yet much better would it be were there no such trust to be reposed in any one." "If," said the Constable, "by my near kinsman, you mean Randal de Lacy, I care not if I tell you, that I consider him as totally worthless, and undeserving of honourable confidence." " Nay, I mean another," said Flammock, " nearer to you by blood, and, unless I greatly mistake, much nigher also in affection — I had in mind your lordship's nephew, Damian de Lacy." The Constable started as if a wasp had stung him ; but instantly replied, with forced composure, " Damian was to have gone in my stead to Palestine — it now seems I must go in his ; for, since this last illness, the leeches have totally changed their minds, and con- sider that warmth of the climate as dangerous, which they formerly decided to be salutary. But our learned doctors, like our learned priests, must ever be in the right, change their counsels as they may ; and we poor laymen still in the wrong. I can, it is true, rely on Damian with the utmost confidence ; but he is young, Flam- mock — very young — and, in that particular, resembles but too nearly the party who might be otherwise committed to his charge." " Then once more, my lord," s'aid the plain-spoken Fleming, " remain at home, and be yourself the protector of what is naturally so dear to you." " Once more, I repeat that I cannot," answered the Constable. " The step which I have adopted as a great duty, may perhaps be a great error. —I only know that it is irretrievable." " Trust your nephew, then, my lord," replied Wilkin — " he is honest and true ; and it is better trusting young lions than old wolves. He may err, perhaps, but it will not be from premeditated treachery." " Thou art right, Flammock," said the Constable ; " and perhaps I ought to wish I had sooner asked thy counsel, blunt as it is. But let what has passed be a secret betwixt us ; and bethink thee of something that may advantage thee more than the privilege of speaking about my affairs." " That accompt will be easily settled, my lord," replied Flam- mock ; " for my object was to ask your lordship's favour to obtain certain extensions of our privileges, in yonder wild corner where we Flemings have made our retreat." " Thou shalt have them, so they be not exorbitant," said the Constable. And the honest Fleming, among whose good qualities scrupulous delicacy was not the foremost, hastened to detail, with great minuteness, the particulars of his request or petition, long pursued in vain, but to which this interview was the means of insuring success. o 154 THE BETROTHED. The Constable, eager to execute the resolution which he had formed, hastened to the lodging of Damian da Lacy, and to the no small astonishment of his nephew, intimated to him his change of destination; alleging his own hurried departure, Damian's late and present illness, together with the necessary protection to be afforded to the Lady Eveline, as reasons why his nephew must needs remain behind him— to represent him during his absence — to prot^t the family rights, and assert the family honour of' the house of De Lacy — above all, to act as the guardian of the young and beautiful bride, whom his uncle and patron had been in some measure compelled to abandon for a time. Damian yet occupied his bed while the Constable communicated this change of purpose. Perhaps he might think the circumstance fortunate, that in this position he could conceal from his uncle's observation the various emotions which he could not help feeling ; while the Constable, with the eagerness of one who is desirous of hastily finishing what he has to say on an unpleasing subject, hurried over an account of the arrangements which he had made, in order that his nephew might have the means of discharging, with sufficient effect, the important trust committed to him. The youth listened as to a voice in a dream, which he had not the power of interrupting, though there was something within him which whispered there would be both prudence and integrity in remonstrating against his uncle's alteration of plan. Something he accordingly attempted to say, when the Constable at length paused ; but it was too feebly spoken to shake a resolution fully though hastily adopted, and explicitly announced, by one not in the use to speak before his purpose was fixed, or to alter it when it was declared. The remonstrance of Damian, besides, if it could be termed such, was spoken in terms too contradictoiy to be intelligible. In one moment he professed his regret for the laurels which he had hoped to gather in Palestine, and implored his uncle not to alter his purpose, but permit him to attend his banner thither ; and in the next sentence, he professed his readiness to defend the safety of Lady Eveline with the last drop of his blood. De Lacy saw nothing inconsistent in these feelings, though they were for the moment con- tradictory to each other. It was natural, he thought, that a young knight should be desirous to win honour — natural also that he should willingly assume a charge so honourable and important as that with which he proposed -to invest him ; and therefore he thought it was no wondef that, assuming his new office willingly, the young man should yet feel regret at losing the prospect of honourable adventure, which he must abandon. He therefore only smiled in reply to the brokesi expostulations of his nephew ; and, THE BETROTHED. 195 having confirmed his former arrangement, left the young man to reflect at leisure on his change of destination, while he himself, in a second visit to the Benedictine Abbey, communicated the purpose which he had adopted, to the Abbess, and to his bride-elect. The displeasure of the former lady was in no measure abated by this communication ; in which, indeed, she affected to take very little interest. She pleaded her religious duties, and her want of luiowledge of secular affairs, if she should chance to mistake the usages of the world ; yet she had always, she said, under- stood, that the guardians of the young and beautiful of her own sex were chosen from the more mature of the other. " Your own unkindness, lady," answered the Constable, " leaves me no better choice than I have made. Since the Lady Eveline's nearest friends deny her the privilege of their roof, on account of the claim with which she has honoured me, I, on my side, were worse than ungrateful did I not secure for her the. protection of my nearest male heir. Damian is young, but he is true and honour- able J nor does the chivalry of England afford me a better choice." Eveline seemed surprised, and even struck with consternation, at the resolution which her bridegroom thus suddenly announced ; and perhaps it was fortunate that the rexnark of the Lady Abbess made the answer of the Constable necessary, and prevented him from observing that her colour shifted more than once from pale to deep red. Rose, who was not excluded from the conference, drew close up to her mistress : and, by affecting to adjust her veil, while in secret she strongly pressed her hand, gave her time and encouragement to compose her mind for a reply. It was brief and decisive, and announced with a firmness which showed that the uncertainty of the moment had passed away or been suppressed. " In case of danger," she said, " she would not fail to apply to Damian de Lacy to come to her aid, as he had once done before ; but she did not apprehend any danger at present, within her own secure castle of the Garde Doloureuse, where it was her purpose to dwell, attended only by her own household. She was resolved," she continued, " in consideration of her peculiar condition, to observe the strictest retirement, which she expected would not be violated even by the noble young knight who was to act as her guardian, unless some apprehension for her safety made his visit unavoidable." The Abbess acquiesced, though coldly, in a proposal, which her ideas of decorum recommended ; and preparations were hastily made for the Lady Eveline's return to the castle of her father. Two interviews which intervened before her leaving the convent, were in. their nature painful. The first was when Damian was formally presented to her by his uncle, as the delegate to whom O 2 Ig6 THE BETROTHED he had committed the charge of his own property, and, which was much dearer to him, as he affirmed, the protection of her person and interest. Eveline scarce trusted herself with one glance ; but that single look comprehended and reported to her the ravage which disease, aided by secret grief, had made on the manly form and handsome countenance of the youth before her. She received his salutation in a manner as embarrassed as that in which it was made ; and, to his hesitating proffer of service, answered, that she trusted only to be obliged to him for his good-will during the interval of his uncle's absence. Her parting with the Constable was the next trial which she was to undergo. It was not without emotion, although she preserved her modest composure, and De Lacy his calm gravity of deport- ment. His voice faltered, however, when he came to announce, " that it were unjust she should be bound by the engagement which she had been graciously contented to abide under. Three years he had assigned for its term ; to which space the Archbishop Baldwin had consented to shorten the period of his absence. If I appear not when these are elapsed," he said, "let the Lady Eveline conclude that the grave holds De Lacy, and seek out for her mate some happier man. She cannot find one moi'e grateful, though there are many who better deserve her." On these terms they parted ; and the Constable, speedily after- wards embarking, ploughed the narrow seas for the shores of Flanders, where he proposed to unite his forces with the Count of that rich and warlike country, who had lately taken the Cross, and to proceed by the route which should be found most practicable on their destination for the Holy Land. The broad pennon, with the arms of the Lacys, streamed forward with a favourable wind from the prow of the vessel, as if pointing to the quarter of the horizon where its renown was to be augmented ; and, considering the fame of the leader, and the excellence of the soldiers who followed him, a more gallant band, in proportion to their numbers, never went to avenge on the Saracens the evils endured by the Latins of Palestine. Meanwhile Eveline, after a cold parting with the Abbess, whose offended dignity had not yet forgiven the slight regard which she had paid to her opinion, resumed her journey homeward to her paternal castle, where her household was to be arranged in a man- ner suggested by the Constable, and approved of by herself. The same preparations were made for her accommodation at every halting place which she had experienced upon her journey to Gloucester, and, as before, the purveyor was invisible, although she could be at little loss to guess his name. Yet it appeared as if the character of these preparations was in some degree altered. All THE BETROTHED. 197 the realities of convenience and accommodation, with the most per- fect assurances of safety, accompanied her everywhere on the route ; but they were no longer iningled with that display of tender gallantry and taste, which marked that the attentions were paid to a young and beautiful female. The clearest fountain-head, and the most shady grove, were no longer selected for the noontide repast ; but the house of some franklin, or a small abbey, afforded the necessary hospitaUty. All seemed to be ordered with the most severe atten- tion to rank and decorum — it seemed as if a nun of some strict order, rather than a young maiden of high quality and a rich inherit- ance, had been journeying through the land, and Eveline, though pleased with the delicacy which seemed thus to respect her unpro- tected and peculiar condition, would sometimes think it unnecessary, that, by so many indirect hints, it should be forced on her recol- lection. She thought it strange also, that Damian, to whose care she had been so solemnly committed, did not even pay his respeets to her on the road. Something there was which whispered to her, that close and frequent intercourse might be unbecoming— even danger- ous ; but surely the ordinary duties of a knight and gentleman enjoined him some personal communication with the maiden under his escort, were it only to ask if her accommodations had been made to her satisfaction, or if she had any special wish which was un- gratified. The only intercourse, however, which took place betwixt them, was through means of Amelot, Damian de Lacy's youthful page, who came at morn and evening to receive Eveline's com- mands concerning their route, and the hours of journey and repose. These formalities rendered the solitude of Eveline's return less endurable ; and had it not been for the society of Rose, she would have found herself under an intolerably irksome degree of constraint. She even hazarded to her attendant some remarks upon the sin- gularity of De Lacy's conduct, who, authorized as he was by his situation, seemed yet as much afraid to approach her as if she had been a basilisk. Rose let the first observation of this nature pass as if it had been unheard ; but when her mistress made a second remark to the same purpose, she answered, with the truth and freedom of her character, though perhaps with less of her usual prudence, " Damian de Lacy judges well, noble lady. He to whom the safe keeping of a royal treasure is intrusted, should not indulge himself too often by gazing upon it." Eveline blushed, wrapt herself closer in her veil, nor did she again during their journey mention the name of Damian de Lacy. When the grey turrets of the Garde Doloureuse greeted her sight on the evening of the second day, and she once more beheld her 193 THE BETROTHED. father's banner floating from its highest watch-tower in honour of her approach, her sensations were mingled with pain ; but, upon the whole, she looked towards that ancient home as a place of refuge, where she might indulge the new train of thoughts which circumstances had opened to her, amid the same scenes which had sheltered her infancy and childhood. She pressed forward her palfrey, to reach the ancient portal as soon as possible, bowed hastily to the well-known faces which showed themselves on all sides, but spoke to no one, until, dismount- ing at the chapel door, she had penetrated to the crypt, in which was preserved the miraculous painting. There, prostrate on the ground, she implored the guidance and protection of the Holy Virgin through those intricacies in which she had involved herself, by fulfil- ment of the vow which she had made in her anguish before the same shrine. I f the prayer was misdirected, its purport was virtuous and sincere ; nor are we disposed to doubt that it attained that Heaven towards which it was devoutly addressed. CHAPTER XXII. The Virgin's image falls — yet some, I ween. Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend, As to a visible power, in which might blend All that was mix'd, and reconciled in her. Of mother's love with maiden's purity. Of high with low, celestial with terrene. Wordsworth. The household of the Lady Eveline, though of an establishment becoming her present and future rank, was of a solemn and seques- tered character, corresponding to her place of residence, and the privacy connected with her situation, retired as she was from the class of maidens who are yet unengaged, and yet not united with that of matrons, who enjoy the protection of a married name. Her immediate female attendants, with whom the reader is already acquainted, constituted almost her whole society. The garrison of the castle, besides household servants, consisted of veterans of tried faith, the followers of Berenger and of De Lacy in many a bloody field, to whom the duties of watching and warding were as familiar as any of their more ordinary occupations, and whose courage, nevertheless, tempered by age and experience, was not likely to engage in any rash adventure or accidental quarrel. These men maintained a constant and watchful guard, commanded by the steward, but under the eye of Father Aldrovand, who, besides dis- THE BETROTHED. 199 charging his ecclesiastical functions, was at times pleased to show some sparkles of his ancient military education. Whilst this garrison afforded security against any sudden attempt on the part of the Welsh to surprise the castle, a strong body of forces were disposed within a few miles of the Garde Doloureuse, ready, on the least alarm, to advance to defend the place against any more numerous body of invaders, who, undeterred by the fate of Gwenwyn, might have the hardihood to form a regular siege. To this band, which, under the eye of Damian de Lacy himself, was kept in constant readiness for action, could be added on occasion all the military force of the Marches, comprising numerous bodies of Flemings, and other foreigners, who held their establishments by military tenure. While the fortress was thus secure from hostile violence, the life of its inmates was so unvaried and simple, as might have excused youth and beauty for wishing for variety, even at the expense of some danger. The labours of the needle were only relieved by a walk round the battlements, where Eveline, as she passed arm in arm with Rose, received a military salute from each sentinel in turn, or in the court-yard, where the caps and bonnets of the domestics paid her the same respect which she received above from the pikes and javelins of the warders. Did they wish to extend their airing beyond the castle gate, it was not sufficient that doors and bridges were to be opened and lowered ; there was, besides, an escort to get under arms, who, on foot or horseback as the case might require, attended for the security of the Lady Eveline's person. Without this military attendance they could not in safety move even so far as the mills, where honest Wilkin Flammock, his warlike deeds for- gotten, was occupied with his mechanical labours. But if a further disport was intended, and the Lady of the Garde Doloureuse pro- posed to hunt or hawk for a few hours, her safety was not confided to a guard so feeble as the garrison of the castle could afford. It was necessary that Raoul should announce her purpose to Damian by a special messenger dispatched the evening before, that there might be time before daybreak to scour, with a body of light cavalry, the region in which she intended to take her pleasure ; and sentinels were placed in all suspicious places while she continued in the field. In truth, she tried, upon one or two occasions, to make an excursion, without any formal annunciation of her intention ; but all her pur- poses seemed to be known to Damian as soon as they were formed, and she was no sooner abroad than parties of archers and spearmen from his camp were seen scouring the valleys, and guarding the mountain-pass, and Damian's own plume was usually beheld con- spicuous among the distant soldiers. The formality of these preparations so much allayed the pleasure SCO THE BETROTHED. derived from the sport, that Eveline seldom resorted to amusement which vcas attended with such bustle, and put in motion so many persons. The day being worn out as it best might, in the evening Father Aldrovand was wont to read out of some holy legend, or from the homilies of some departed saint, such passages as he deemed fit for the hearing of his little congregation. Sometimes also he read and expounded a chapter of the Holy Scripture ; but in such cases, the good man's attention was so strangely turned to the miUtary part of the Jewish history, that he was never able to quit the books of Judges and of Kings, together with the triumphs of Judas Macca- beus ; although the manner in which he illustrated the victories of the children of Israel, was much more amusing to himself than edifying to his female audience. Sometimes, but rarely. Rose obtained permission for a strolling minstrel to entertain an hour with his ditty of love and chivalry ; sometimes a pilgrim from a distant shrine, repaid by long tales of the wonders which he had seen in other lands, the hospitality which the Garde Doloureuse afforded ; and sometimes also it happened, that the interest and intercession of the tiring-woman obtained ad- mission for travelling merchants, or pedlars, who, at the risk of their lives, found profit by carrying from castle to castle the materials of rich dresses and female ornaments. The usual visits of mendicants, of jugglers, of traveUing jesters, are not to be forgotten in this list of amusements ; and though his nation subjected him to close watch and observation, even the Welsh bard, with his huge harp strung with horse hair, was some- times admitted to vary the uniformity of their secluded life. But, saving such amusements, and saving also the regular attendance upon the religious duties at the chapel, it was impossible for life to glide away in more wearisome monotony than at the castle of the Garde Doloureuse. Since the death of its brave owner, to whom feasting and hospitality seemed as natural as thoughts of honour and deeds of chivalry, the gloom of a convent might be said to have enveloped the ancient mansion of Raymond Berenger, were it not that the presence of so many armed warders, stalking in solemn state on the battlements, gave it rather the aspect of a state-prison; and the temper of the inhabitants gradually became infected by the character of their dwelling. The spirits of Eveline in particular felt a depression, which her naturally lively temper was quite inadequate to resist ; and as her ruminations became graver, had caught that calm and contempla- tive manner, which is so often united with an ardent and enthu- siastical temperament. She meditated deeply upon the former accidents of her life ; nor can it be wondered that her thoughts THE BETROTHED. zot repeatedly wandered back to the two several periods on which she had witnessed, or supposed that she had witnessed, a supernatural appearance. Then it was that it often seemed to her, as if a good and evil power strove for mastery over her destiny. Solitude is favourable to feelings of self-importance ; and it is when alone, and occupied only with their own thoughts, that fanatics have reveries, and imagined saints lose themselves in imaginary ecstasies. With Eveline the influence of enthusiasm went not such a length, yet it seemed to her as if in the vision of the night she saw sometimes the aspect of the Lady of the Garde Doloureuse, bend- ing upon her glances of pity, comfort, and protection ; sometimes the ominous form of the Saxon castle of Baldringham, holding up the bloody hand as witness of the injuries with which she had been treated while in life, and menacing with revenge the descendant of her murderer. On awaking from such dreams, Eveline would reflect that she was the last branch of her house — a house to which the tutelage and protection of the miraculous Image, and the enmity and evil in- fluence of the revengeful Vanda, had been peculiarly attached for ages. It seemed to her as if she were the prize, for the disposal of which the benign saint and vindictive fiend were now to play their last and keenest game. Thus thinking, and experiencing little interruption of her medi- tations from any external circumstance of interest and amusement, she became pensive, absent, wrapt herself up in contemplations which withdrew her attention from the conversation around her, and walked in the world of reality like one who is still in a dream. When she thought of her engagement with the Constable of Chester, it was with resignation, but without a wish, and almost without an expectation, that she would be called upon to fulfil it. She had accomplished her vow by accepting the faith of her deliverer in ex- change for her own ; and although she held herself willing to redeem the pledge — nay, would scarce confess to herself the reluctance with which she thought of doing so — yet it is certain that she entertained unavowed hopes that Our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse would not be a severe creditor ; but, satisfied with the readiness she had shown to accomplish her vow, would not insist upon her claim in its full rigour. It would have been the blackest ingratitude, to have wished that her gallant deliverer, whom she had so much cause to pray for, should experience any of those fatalities which in the Holy Land so often changed the laurel- wreath into cypress ; but other accidents chanced, when men had been long abroad, to alter those purposes with which they had left home. A strolling minstrel, who sought the Garde Doloureuse, had re- cited, for the amusement of the lady and household, the celebrated 202 THE BETROTHED. lay of the Count of Gleichen, who, already married in his own country, laid himself under so many obligations in the East to a Saracen princess, through whose means he achieved his freedom, that he married her also. The Pope and his conclave were pleased to approve of the double wedlock, in a case so extraordinary ; and the good Count of Gleichen shared his nuptial bed between two wives of equal rank, and now sleeps between them under the same monument. The commentaries of the inmates of the castle had been various and discrepant upon this legend. Father Aldrovand considered it as altogether false, and an unworthy calumny on the head of the church, in affirming his Holiness would countenance such irre- gularity. Old Margery, with the tender-heartedness of an ancient nurse, wept bitterly for pity during the tale, and, never questioning either the power of the Pope or the propriety of his decision, was pleased that a mode of extrication was found for a complication of love distresses which seemed almost inextricable. Dame Gillian declared it unreasonable, that, since a woman was only allowed one husband, a man should, under any circumstances, be permitted to have two wives ; whilst Raoul, glancing towards her a look of ver- juice, pitied the deplorable idiocy of the man who could be fool enough to avail himself of such a privilege. " Peace, all the rest of you," said the Lady Eveline ; " and do you, my dear Rose, tell me your judgment upon tliis Count of Gleichen and his two wives." Rose blushed, and replied, " She was not much accustomed to think of such matters ; but that, in her apprehension, the wife who could be contented with but one half of her husband's affections, had never deserved to engage the slightest share of them." " Thou art partly right. Rose,'' said Eveline ; " and methinks the European lady, when she found herself outshone by the young and beautiful foreign princess, would have best consulted her own dignity in resigning the place, and giving the Holy Father no more trouble than in annulling the marriage, as has been done in cases of more frequent occurrence." This she said with an air of indifference and even gaiety, which intimated to her faithful attendant with how little effort she herself could have made such a sacrifice, and served to indicate the state of her affections towards the Constable. But there was another than the Constable on whom her thoughts turned more frequently, though involuntarily, than perhaps in prudence they should have done. The recollections of Damian de Lacy had not been erased from Eveline's mind. They were, indeed^ renewed by hearing his name so often mentioned, and by knowing that he was almost constantly THE BETROTHED. 203 in the neighbourhood, with his whole attention fixed upon her con- irenience, interest, and safety ; whilst, on the other hand, so far from waiting on her in person, he never even attempted, by a direct com- munication with herself, to consult her pleasure, even upon what most concerned her. The messages conveyed by Father Aldrovand, or by Rose, to Amelot, Damian's page, while they gave an air of formality to their Intercourse, which Eveline thought unnecessary, and even unkind, yet served to fix her attention upon the connexion between them, and to keep it ever present to her memory. The remark by which Rose had vindicated the distance observed by her youthful guardian, sometimes arose to her recollection ; and while her soul repelled with scorn the suspicion, that, in any case, his presence, whether at intervals or constantly, could be prejudicial to his uncle's interest, she conjured up various arguments for giving him a frequent place in her memory. — Was it not her duty to think of Damian often and kindly, as the Constable's nearest, best beloved, and most trusted relative ? — Was he not her former deliverer and her present guardian? — And might he not be considered as an instrument specially employed by her divine patroness, in rendering effectual the protection with which she had graced her in more than one emergency. Eveline's mind mutinied against the restrictions which were laid on their intercourse, as against something which inferred suspicion and degradation, like the compelled seclusion to which she had heard the Paynim infidels of the East subjected their females. Why should she see her guardian only in the benefits which he conferred upon her, and the cares he took for her safety, and hear his sentiments only by the mouth of others, as if one of them had been infected with the plague, or some other fatal or infectious dis- order, which might render their meeting dangerous to the other ?— And if they did meet occasionally, what else could be the con- sequence, save that the care of a brother towards a sister — of a trusty and kind guardian to the betrothed bride of his near relative and honoured patron, might render the melancholy seclusion of the Garde Doloureuse more easy to be efndured by one so young in years,? and, though dejected by present circumstances, naturally so gay in temper ? Yet, though this train of reasoning appeared to Eveline, when tracing it in her own mind, so conclusive, that she several times resolved to communicate her view of the case to Rose Flammock, it so chanced that, whenever she looked on the calm steady blue eye of the Flemish maiden, and remembered that her unblemished faith was mixed with a sincerity and plain dealing proof against every consideration, she feared lest she mierht be subjected in the opinion £04 THE BETROTHED. of her attendant to suspicions from which her own mind freed her and her proud Norman spirit revolted at the idea of being obliged to justify herself to another, when she stood self-acquitted to her own mind. " Let things be as they are," she said ; " and let us endure all the weariness of a life which might be so easily rendered more cheerful, rather than that this zealous but punctilious friend should, in the strictness and nicety of her feelings on my account, conceive me capable of encouraging an intercourse which could lead to a less worthy thought of me in the mind of the most scrupulous of man — or of womankind." But even this vacillation of opinion and resolution tended to bring the image of the hand- some young Damian more frequently before the Lady Eveline's fancy, than perhaps his uncle, had he known it, would altogether have approved of. In- such reflections, however, she never indulged long, ere a sense of the singular destiny which had hitherto attended her, led her back into the more melancholy contemplations from which the buoyancy of her youthful fancy had for a short time emancipated her. CHAPTER XXIII. Ours is the skie, Where at what fowl we please our hawk shall flie. Randolph. One bright September morning, old Raoul was busy in the mews where he kept his hawks, grumbling all the while to himself as he surveyed the condition of each bird, and blaming alternately the carelessness of the under-falconer, and the situation of the building, and the weather, and the wind, and all things around him, for the dilapidation which time and disease had made in the neglected hawking establishment of the Garde Doloureuse. While in these unpleasing meditations, he was surprised by the voice of his beloved Dame Gillian, who seldosn was an early riser, and yet more rarely visited him when he was in his sphere of peculiar authority. " Raoul, Raoul ! where art thou, man .'' — Ever to seek for, when thou canst make aught of advantage for thyself or me ! " " And what want'st thou, dame ? " said Raoul, " what means thy screaming worse than the sea-gull before wet weather ? A murrain on thy voice ! it is enough to fray every hawk from the perch." " Hawk ! " answered Dame Gillian ; " it is time to be looking for hawks, when here is a cast of the bravest falcons come hither for sale, that ever flew by lake, brook, or meadow ! " " Kites ! hke her that brings the news," said Raaul. THE BETROTHED. 203 "No, nor kestrils like him that hears it," replied Gillian; "but brave jerfalcons, with large nares, strongly armed, and beaks short and something bluish " " Pshaw, with thy jargon i— Where came they from ? " said Raoul, interested in the tidings, but unwilling to give his wife the satisfaction of seeing that he was so. " From the Isle of Man," replied Gillian. "They must be good, then, though it was a woman brought tidings of them," said Raoul, smiling grimly at his own wit ; then, leaving the mews, he demanded to know where this famous falcon- merchant was to be met withal. " Why, between the barriers and the inner gate," replied Gillian, " where other men are admitted that have wares to utter — Where should he be ? " "And who let him in?" demanded the suspicious Raoul. " Why, Master Steward, thou owl ! " said Gillian ; " he came but now to my chamber, and sent me hither to call you." " Oh, the steward — the steward— I might have guessed as much. And he came to thy chamber, doubtless, because he could not have as easily come hither to me himself. — Was it not so, sweetheart ? " " I do not know why he chose to come to me rather than to you, Raoul," said Gillian ; " and if I did know, perhaps I would not tell you. Go to — miss your bargain, or make your bargain, I care not which — the man will not wait for you— he has good proffers fronx the Seneschal of Malpas, and the Welsh Lord of Dinevawr." " I come-^I come," said Raoul, who felt the necessity of em- bracing this opportunity of improving his hawking establishment, and hastened to the gate, where he met the merchant, attended by a servant, who kept in separate cages the three falcons which he offered for sale. The first glance satisfied Raoul that they were of the best breed in Europe, and that, if their education were in correspondence to their race, there could scarce be a more valuable addition even to a royal mews. The merchant did not fail to enlarge upon all their points of excellence ; the breadth of their shoulders, the strength of their train, their full and fierce dark eyes, the boldness with which they endured the approach of strangers, and the lively spirit and vigour with which they pruned their plumes, and shook, or, as it was technically termed, roused themselves. He expatiated on the difficulty and danger with which they were obtained from the Rock of Ramsey, on which they were bred, and which was an eyry un- rivalled even on the coast of Norway. Raoul turned apparently a deaf ear to aU these commendations. " Friend merchant," said he, " I know a falcon as well as thou dost, and I will not deny that thine are fine ones; but if they be not 2o5 THE BETROTHED. carefully trained and reclaimed, I would rather have a goss-hawk on my perch than the fairest falcon that ever stretched wing to weather." " I grant ye," said the merchant ; " but if we agree on the price, for that is the main matter, thou shalt see the birds fly if thou wilt, and then buy them or not as thou likest. I am no true merchant if thou ever saw'st birds beat them, whether at the mount or the stoop." " That I call fair,'' said Raoul, " if the price be equally so." " It shall be corresponding," said the hawk-merchant ; " for I have brought six casts from the island, by the good favour of good King Reginald of Man, and I have sold every feather of them save these ; and so, having emptied my cages and filled my purse, I desire not to be troubled longer with the residue ; and if a good fellow, and a judge, as thou seemest to be, should hke the hawks when he has seen them fly, he shall have the price of his own making." " Go to," said Raoul, " we will have no blind bargains ; my lady, if the hawks be suitable, is more able to pay for them than thou to give them away.— Will a bezant be a conformable price for the cast?" "A bezant, Master Falconer! — By my faith, you are no bold bodesman ! nevertheless, double your offer, and I will consider it." " If the hawks are well reclaimed," said Raoul, " I wiU give you a bezant and a half ; but I will see them strike a heron ere I will be so rash as deal with you." " It is well," said the merchant, " and I had better take your offer than be longer cumbered with them ; for were I to carry them into Wales, I might get paid in a worse fashion by some of their long knives. — Will you to horse presently ? " " Assuredly," said Raoul ; " and, though March be the fitter month for hawking at the heron, yet I will show you one of these frogpeckers for the trouble of riding the matter of a mile by the water-side." " Content, Sir Falconer," said the merchant. " But are we to go alone, or is there no lord or lady in the castle who would take pleasure to see a piece of game gallantly struck? I am not afraid to show these hawks to a countess." " My lady used to love the sport well enough," said Raoul ; " but I wot not why, she is moped and mazed ever since her father's death, and lives in her fair castle like a nun in a cloister, without disport or revelry of any kind.— Nevertheless, Gillian, thou c^anst do some- thing with her— good now, do a kind deed for once, and move her to come out and look on this morning's sport — The poor heart hath seen no pastime this summer." THE BETROTHED. 207 " That I will do," quoth Gillian ; and, moreover, I will show her such a new riding-tire for the head, that no woman born could ever look at without the wish to toss it a little in the wind." As Gillian spoke, it appeared to her jealous-pated husband that he surprised a glance of more intelligence exchanged betwixt her and the trader than brief acquaintance seem to warrant, even when allowance was made for the extreme frankness^ of Dame Gillian's disposition. He thought also, that, on looking more closely at the merchant, his lineaments were not totally unknown to him ; and proceeded to say to him dryly, " We have met before, friend, but I cannot call to remembrance where.'' " Like enough," said the merchant ; " I have used this country often, and may have taken money of you in the way of trade. If I were in fitting place, I would gladly bestow a pottle of wine to our better acquaintance." " Not so fast, friend," said the old huntsman ; " ere I drink to better acquaintance with any one, I must be well pleased with what I already know of him. We will see thy hawks fly, and if their breeding match thy bragging, we may perhaps crush a cup together. — And here come grooms and equerries, in faith — my lady has consented to come forth." The opportunity of seeing this rural pastime had offered itself to Eveline, at a time when the delightful brilliancy of the day, the temperance of the air, and the joyous work of harvest, proceeding in every direction around, made the temptation to exercise almost irresistible. As they proposed to go no farther than the side of the neigh- bouring river, near the fatal bridge, over which a small guard of infantry was constantly maintained, Eveline dispensed with any farther escort, and, contrary to the custom of the castle, took no one in her train save Rose and Gillian, and one or two servants, who led spaniels, or carried appurtenances of the chase. Raoul, the merchant, and an equerry, attended her of course, each holding a hawk on his wrist, and anxiously adjusting the mode in which they should throw them off, so as best to ascertain the extent of their powers and training. When these important points had been adjustea, the party rode down the river, carefully looking on every side for the object of their game ; but no heron was seen stalking on the usual haunts of the bird, although there was a heronry at no great distance. Few disappointments of a small nature are more teasing than that of a sportsman, who, having set out with all means and appliances for destruction of game, finds that there is none to be met with ; because he conceives himself, with his full shooting trim and his empty game-pouch, to be subjected to the sneer of 2o8 THE BETROTHED. every passing rustic. The party of the Lady Eveline felt all the degradation of such disappointment. " A fair country this," said the merchant, " where, on two miles of river, you cannot find one poor heron ! " " It is the clatter those d — d Flemings make with their water- mills and fulling-mills," said Raoul ; " they destroy good sport and good company wherever they come. But were my lady willing to ride a mile or so farther to the Red Pool, I could show you a long- shanked fellow who would make your hawks canceller till their brains were giddy." " The Red Pool ! " said Rose ; " thou knowest it is more than three miles beyond the bridge, and lies up towards the hills." " Ay, ay," said Raoul, " another Flemish freak to spoil pastime ! They are not so scarce on the Marches these Flemish wenches, that they should fear being hawked at by Welsh haggards." " Raoul is right, Rose," answered Eveline ; " it is absurd to be cooped up like birds in a cage, when all around us has been so uniformly quiet. I am determined to break out of bounds for once, and see sport in our old fashion, without being surrounded with armed men like prisoners of state. We will merrily to the Red Pool, wench, and kill a heron like free maids of the Marches." " Let me but tell my father, at least, to mount and follow us," said Rose — for they were now near the re-established manufacturing houses of the stout Fleming. " I care not if thou dost. Rose," said Eveline ; " yet credit me, girl, we will be at the Red Pool, and thus far on our way home again, ere thy father has donned his best doublet, girded on his two-handed sword, and accoutred his strong Flanderkin elephant of a horse, which he judiciously names Sloth — nay, frown not — and lose not, in justifying thy father, the time that may be better spent in calling him out." Rose rode to the mills accordingly, when Wilkin Flammock, at the command of his liege mistress, readily hastened to get his steel cap and habergeon, and ordered half-a-dozen of his kinsmen and servants to get on horseback. Rose remained with him, to urge him to more dispatch than his methodical disposition rendered natural to him ; but in spite of all her efforts to stimulate him, the Lady Eveline had passed the bridge more than half an hour ere her escort was prepared to follow her. Meanwhile, apprehensive of no evil, and riding gaily on, with the sensation of one escaped from confinement, Eveline moved forward on her lively jennet, as light as a lark ; the plumes with which Dame Gillian had decked her riding-bonnet dancing in the wind, and her attendants galloping behind her, with dogs, pouches, lines, and all other appurtenances of the royal sport of hawking. THE BETROTHED. aog After passing the river, the wild greensward path which they pursued began to wind upward among small eminences, sometimes bare and craggy, sometimes overgrown with hazel, sloe-thorn, and other dwarf shrubs, and at length suddenly descending, brought them to the verge of a mountain rivulet, that, like a lamb at play, leapt merrily from rock to rock, seemingly uncertain which way to run. ''This little stream was always my favourite. Dame Gillian," said EveUne, " and now methinks it leaps the lighter that it sees me again." " Ah ! lady," said Dame Gillian, whose turn for conversation never extended in such cases beyond a few phrases of gross flattery, " many a fair knight would leap shoulder-height for leave to look on you as free as the brook may ! more especially now that you have donned that riding-cap, which, in exquisite delicacy of invention, methinks is a bowshot before aught that I ever invented — ^What thinkest thou, Raoul ? " " I think," answered her well-natured helpmate, " that women's tongues were contrived to drive all the game out of the country. — Here we come near to the spot where we hope to speed, or nowhere ; wherefore, pray, my sweet lady, be silent yourself, and keep your followers as much so as their natures will permit, while we steal along the bank of the pool, under the wind, with our hawks' hoods cast loose, all ready for a flight." As he spoke, they advanced about a hundred yards up the brawl- ing stream, until the little vale through which it flowed, making a very sudden turn to one side, showed them the Red Pool, the super- fluous water of which formed the rivulet itself. This mountain-lake, or tarn, as it is called in some countries, was a deep basin of about a mUe in circumference, but rather oblong than circular. On the side next to our falconers arose a ridge of rock', of a dark red hue, giving name to the pool, which, reflecting this massive and dusky barrier, appeared to partake of its colour. On the opposite side was a heathy hill, whose autumnal bloom had not yet faded from purple to russet ; its surface was varied by the dark green furze and the fern, and in many places grey cliffs, or loose stones of the same colour,, formed a contrast to the ruddy precipice to which they lay opposed. A natural road of beautiful sand was formed by a beach, which, extending all the way around the lake, separated its waters from the precipitous rock on the one hand, and on the other from the steep and broken hill ; and being nowhere less than five or six yards in breadth, and in most places greatly more, offered around its whole circuit a tempting opportunity to the rider, who desired to exercise and breathe the horse on which he was mounted. The verge of the pool on the 210 THE BETROTHED. rocky side was here and there strewed with fragments of large size, detached from the precipice above, but not in such quantity as to encumber this pleasant horse-course. Many of these rocky masses, having passed the margin of the water in their fall, lay immersed there like small islets ; and, placed amongst a little archipelago, the quick eye of Raoul detected the heron which they were in search of. A moment's consultation was held to consider in what manner they should approach the sad and solitary bird, which, unconscious that itself was the object of a formidable ambuscade, stood motion- less on a stone, by the brink of the lake, watching for such small fish or water-reptiles as might chance to pass by its lonely station. A brief debate took place betwixt Raoul and the hawk-merchant on the best mode of starting the quarry, so as to allow Lady Eveline and her attendants the most perfect view of the flight. The facility of killing the heron at the farjettee or at \h& jettee ferrJ — that is, upon the hither or farther side of the pool — was anxiously debated in language of breathless importance, as if some great and perilous enterprise was about to be executed. At length the arrangements were fixed, and the party began to advance towards the aquatic hermit, who, by this time aware of their approach, drew himself up to his full height, erected his long lean neck, spread his broad fan-like wings, uttered his usual clang- ing cry, and, projecting his length of thin legs far behind him, rose upon the gentle breeze. It was then, with a loud whoop of encou- ragement, that the merchant threw off the noble hawk he bore, having first unhooded her to give her a view of her quarry. Eager as a frigate in chase of some rich galleon, darted the falcon towards the enemy, which she had been taught to pursue ; while, preparing for defence, if he should be unable to escape by flight, the heron exerted all his powers of speed to escape from an enemy so formidable. Plying his almost unequalled strength of wing, he ascended high and higher in the air, by short gyrations, that the hawk might gain no vantage ground for pouncing at him ; while his spiked beak, at the extremity of so long a neck as enabled him to strike an object at a yard's distance in every direction, possessed for any less spirited assailant all the terrors of a Moorish javelin. Another hawk was now thrown off, and encouraged by the halloos of the falconer to join her companion. Both kept mounting, or scahng the air, as it were, by a succession of small circles, endea- vouring to gain that superior height which the heron on his part was bent to preserve ; and to the exquisite delight of the spectators, the contest was continued until all three were wellnigh mingled with the fleecy clouds, from which was occasionally heard 'the THE BKTROTHED. 211 harsh and plaintive cry of the quarry, appealing as it were to the heaven which he was approaching, against the wanton cruelty of those by whom he was persecuted. At length one of the falcons had reached a pitch from which she ventured to stoop at the heron ; but so judiciously did the quarry maintain his defence, as to receive on his beak the stroke which ■the falcon, shooting down at full descent, had made against his right wing ; so that one of his enemies, spiked through the body by his own weight, fell fluttering into the lake, very near the land, on the side farthest from the falconers, and perished there. " There goes a gallant falcon to the fishe"" " said Raoul. " Mer- chant, thy cake is dough." Even as he spoke, however, the remaining bird haa avenged the fate of her sister ; for the success which the heron met with on one side, did not prevent his being assailed on the other wing ; and the falcon stooping boldly, and grappling with, or, as it is called in falconry, binding his prey, both came tumbling down together, from a great height in the air. It was then no small object on the part of the falconers to come in as soon as possible, lest the falcon should receive hurt from the beak or talons of the heron ; and the whole party, the men setting spurs, and the females switching their palfreys, went off like the wind, sweeping along the fair and smooth beach betwixt the rock and the water. Lady Eveline, far better mounted than any of her train, her spirits elated by the sport, and by the speed at which she moved, was much sooner than any of her attendants at the spot where the falcon and heron, still engaged in their mortal struggle, lay fighting upon the moss ; the wing of the latter having been broken by the stoop of the former. The duty of a falconer in such a crisis was to rush in and assist the hawk, by thrusting the heron's bill into the earth, and breaking his legs, and thus permitting the falcon to dispatch him on easy terms. Neither would the sex nor quality of the Lady Eveline have excused her becoming second to the falcon in this cruel manner ; but, just as she had dismounted for that purpose, she was surprised to find herself seized on by a wild form, who exclaimed in Welsh, that he seized her as a -waif, for hawking on the demesnes of Dawfyd with the one eye. At the same time many other Welsh- men, to the number of more than a score, showed themselves from behind crags and bushes, all armed at point with the axes called Welsh hooks, long knives, darts, and bows and arrows. Eveline screamed to her attendants for assistance, and at the same time made use of what Welsh phrases she possessed, to move the fears or excite the compassion of the outlawed moun- taineers ; for she doubted not that she had fallen under the power F 2 213 THE BETROTHED. of such a party. When she found her requests were unheeded, and she perceived it was their purpose to detain her prisoner, she disdained to use farther entreaties ; but demanded at their peril that they should treat her with respect, promising in that case that she would pay them a large ransom, and threatening them with the vengeance of the Lords Marchers, and particularly of Sir Damian de Lacy, if they ventured to use her otherwise. The men seemed to understand her, and although they proceeded to tie a bandage over her eyes, and to bind her arms with her own veil, yet they observed in these acts of violence a certain delicacy and attention both to her feelings and her safety, which led her to hope that her request had had some effect on them. They secured her to the saddle of her palfrey, and led her away with them through the i-ecesses of the hills ; while she had the additional distress to hear behind her the noise of a conflict, occasioned by the fruitless efforts of her retinue to procure her rescue. Astonishment had at first seized the hawking party, when they saw from some distance their sport interrupted by a violent assault on their mistress. Old Raoul valiantly put spurs to his horse, and calling on the rest to follow him to the rescue, rode furiously towards the banditti ; but, having no other arms save a hawking-pole and short sword, he and those who followed him in his meritorious but ineffectual attempt were easily foiled, and Raoul and one or two of the foremost severely beaten ; the banditti exercising upon them their own poles till they were broken to splinters, but generously abstaining from the use of more dangerous weapons. The rest of the retinue, completely discouraged, dispersed to give the alarm, and the merchant and Dame Gillian remained by the lake, filling the air with shrieks of useless fear and sorrow. The outlaws, mean- while, drawing together in a body, shot a few arrows at the fugitives, but more to alarm than to injure them, and then marched off in a body, as if to cover their companions who had gone before, with the Lady Eveline in their custody. THE BETROTHED. 213 CHAPTER XXIV. Four ruffians seized me yester morn — Alas ! a maiden most forlorn ! - They choked my cries with wicked might, And bound me on a palfrey white. Coleridge. Such adventures as are now only recorded in works of mere fiction, were not uncommon in the feudal ages, when might was so universally superior to right ; and it followed that those whose condition exposed them to frequent violence, were more prompt in repeUing, and more patient in enduring it, than could otherwise have beeij expected from their sex and age. The Lady Eveline felt that she was a prisoner, nor was she devoid of fears concerning the purpose of this assault ; but she suffered neither her alarm, nor the violence with which she was hurried along, to deprive her of the power of observing and reflect- ing. From the noise of hoofs which now increased around, she concluded that the greater part of the ruffians by whom she had been seized had betaken themselves to their horses. This she knew was consonant to the practice of the Welsh marauders, who, although the small size and slightness of their nags made them totally unfit for service in battle, availed themselves of their activity and sureness of foot to transport them with the necessary celerity to and flrom the scenes of their rapine ; ensuring thus a rapid and unperceived approach, and a secure and speedy retreat. These animals traversed without difficulty, and beneath the load of a heavy soldier, the wild mountain-paths by which the country was intersected, and in one of which Lady Eveline Berenger concluded she was now engaged, from the manner in which her own palfrey, supported by a man on foot at either rein, seemed now to labour up some precipice, and anon to descend with still greater risk on the other side. At one of those moments, a voice which she had not yet distin- guished addressed her in the Anglo-Norman language, and asked, with apparent interest, if she sat safely on her saddle, offering at the same time to have her accoutrements altered at her pleasure and convenience. " Insult not my condition with the mention of safety," said Eve- line ; " you may well believe that I hold my safety altogether irre- concilable with these deeds of violence. If I or my vassals have done injury to any of the Cyjnry,* let me know, and it shall be 214 THE BETROTHED. amended — If it is ransom which you desire, name the sum, and I will send an order to treat for it ; but detain me not prisoner, for that can but injure me, and will avail you nothing." " The Lady Eveline," answered the voice, still in a tone of courtesy inconsistent with the violence which she sustained, " will speedily find that our actions are more rough than our purposes." " If you know who I am," said Eveline, " you cannot doubt that this atrocity will be avenged — you must know by whose banner my lands are at present protected." " Under De Lacy's," answered the voice, with a tone of indiffe- rence. " Be it so — falcons fear not falcons." At this moment there was a halt, and a confused murmur arose amongst those around her, who had hitherto been silent, unless when muttering to each other in Welsh, and as briefly as possible directions which way to hold, or encouragement to use haste. These murmurs ceased, and there was a pause of several minutes ; at length Eveline again heard the voice which formerly addressed her, giving directions which she could not understand. He then spoke to herself, " You will presently see," he said, " whether I have spoken truly, when I said I scorned the ties by which you are fettered. But you are at once the cause of strife and the reward of victory — your safety must be cared for as time will admit ; and, strange as the mode of protection is to which we are to intrust you, I trust the victor in the approaching struggle will find you uninjured." " Do not, for the sake of the Blessed Virgin, let there be strife and bloodshed ! " said Eveline ; " rather unbind my eyes, and let me speak to those whose approach you dread. If friends, as it would seem to me, I will be the means of peace between you." " I despise peace," replied the speaker. " I have not undertaken a resolute and daring adventure, to resign it as a child doth his plaything, at the first frown of fortune. Please to alight, noble lady ; or rather be not offended that I thus lift you from the seat, and place you on the greensward." As he spoke, Eveline felt herself lifted from her palfrey, and placed carefully and safely on the ground, in a sitting posture. A moment after, the same peremptory valet who had aided her to dis- mount, disrobed her of her cap, the masterpiece of Dame Gillian, and of her upper mantle. " I must yet further require you," said the bandit leader, " to creep on hands and knees into this narrow aperture. Believe me, I regret the nature of the singular fortifica- tion to which I commit your person for safety." Eveline crept forwards as directed, conceiving resistance to be of no avail, and thinking that compliance with the request of one who spoke like a person of consequence, might find her protection THE BETROTHED. 213 against the unbridled fury of the Welsh, to whom she was ob- noxious, as being the cause of Gwenwyn's death, and the defeat of the Britons under the walls of the Garde Doloureuse. She crept then forwards through a narrow and damp passage, built on either side with rough stones, and so low that she could not have entered it in any other posture. When she had proceeded about two or three yards, the passage opened into a concavity or apartment, high enough to permit her to sit at her ease, and of irregular, but narrow, dimensions. At the same time she became sensible, from the noise which she heard behind her, that the ruffians were stopping up the passage by which she had been thus introduced into the bowels of the earth. She could distinctly hear the clattering of stone with which they close.d the entrance, and she became sensible that the current of fresh air, which had rushed through the opening, was gradually failing, and that the atmosphere of the subterranean apartment became yet more damp, earthy, and oppressive, than at first. At this moment came a distant sound from without, in which Eveline thought she could distinguish cries, blows, the trampling of horse, the oaths, shouts, and screams of the combatants, but all deadened by the rude walls of her prison, into a confused hollow murmur, conveying such intelligence to her ears as we may sup- nose the dead to hear from the world they have quitted. Iniluenced by desperation, under circumstances so dreadful, Eveline struggled for liberty with such frantic energy, that she partly effected her purpose by forcing her arms from the bonds which confined them. But this only convinced her of the impossi- bility to escape ; for, rending off the- veil which wrapt her head, she found herself in total darkness, and flinging her arms hastily around her, she discovered she was cooped up in a subterranean cavern, of very narrow dimensions. Her hands, which groped around, encountered only pieces of decayed metal, and a substance which, at another moment, would have made her shudder, being, in truth, the mouldering bones of the dead. At present, not even this circumstance could add to her fears, immured as she seemed to be, to perish by a strange and subterranean death, while her friends and deliverers were probably within a few yards of her. She flung her arms wildly around in search of some avenue of escape, but every effort she made for liberating herself from the ponderous circumvallation, was as ineffectual as if directed against the dome of a cathedral. The noise by which her ears were at first assailed, increased rapidly, and at one moment it seemed as if the covering of the vault under which she lay, sounded repeatedly to blows, or the gbogk of substances which had fallen, or been thrown, against it. Bi6 THE BETROTHED. It was impossible that a human brain could have withstood these terrors, operating upon it so immediately ; but happily this extre- mity lasted not long. Sounds, more hollow, and dying away in distance, argued that one or other of the parties had retreated ; and at length all was silent. Eveline was now left to the undisturbed contemplation of her own disastrous situation. The ilght was over, and, as circum- stances led her to infer, her own friends were conquerors ; for otherwise the victor would have relieved her from her place of con- finement, and carried her away captive with him, as his words had menaced. But what could the success of her faithful friends and followers avail Eveline, who, pent up under a place of concealment which, whatever was its character, must have escaped their obser- vation, was left on the field of battle, to become again the prize of the enemy, should their band venture to return, or die in darkness and privation, a death as horrid as ever tyrant invented, or martyr underwent, and which the unfortunate young lady could not even bear to think of without a prayer that her agony might at least be shortened. In this hour of dread she recollected the poniard which she wore, and the dark thought crossed her mind, that, when life became hopeless, a speedy death was at least within her reach. As her soul shuddered at so dreadful an alternative, the question suddenly occurred, might not this weapon be put to a more hallowed use, and aid her emancipation, instead of abridging her sufferings ! This hope once adopted, the daughter of Raymond Berenger hastened to prove the experiment, and by repeated efforts suc- ceeded, though with difficulty, in changing her posture, so as to admit of her inspecting her place of confinement all around, but particularly the passage by which she had entered, and by which she now attempted again to return to the light of day. She crept to the extremity, and found it, as she expected, strongly blocked up with large stones and earth, rammed together in such a manner as nearly to extinguish all hope of escape. The work, however, had been hastily performed, and life and liberty were prizes to stimulate exertion. With her poniard she cleared away the earth and sods — with her hands, little accustomed to such labour, she removed several stones, and advanced in her task so far as to obtain a glimmering of light, and, what was scarce less precious, a supply of purer air. But, at the same time, she had the misfortune to ascertain, that, from the size and massiveness of a huge stone which closed the extremity of the passage, there was no hope that her unassisted strength could effect her extrication. Yet her con- dition was improved by the admission of air and light, as well as by the opportunity afforded of calling out for assistance. THE BETROTHED. 217 Such cries, indeed, were for some time uttered in vain — the field had probably been left to the dead and the dying ; for low and indistinct groans were the only answer which she received for several minutes. At length, as she repeated her exclamation, a voice, faint as that of one just awakened from a swoon, pronounced these words in answer : — " Edris of the Earthen House, dost thou call from thy tomb to the wretch who just hastens to his own ? — Are the boundaries broken down which connect me with the living? — And do I already hear, with fleshly ears, the faint and screaming accents of the dead ? " " It is no spirit who speaks," replied Eveline, overjoyed at finding she could at least communicate her existence to a living person — " no spirit, but a most unhappy maiden, Eveline Berenger by name, immured beneath this dark vault, and in danger to perish horribly, unless God send me rescue ! " " Eveline Berenger ! " exclaimed he whom she addressed, in the accents of wonder. " It is impossible ! — I watched her green mantle — I watched her plumy bonnet as I saw her hurried from the field, and felt my own inability to follow to the rescue; nor did force or exertion altogether leave me till the waving of the'robe and the dancing of the feathers were lost to my eyes, and all hope of rescuing her abandoned my heart." "Faithful vassal, or right true friend, or courteous stranger, whichsoever I may name thee," answered Eveline, " know thou hast been abused by the artifices of these Welsh banditti — the mantle and head-gear of Evehne Berenger they have indeed with them, and may have used them to mislead those true friends, who, like thee, are anxious for my fate. Wherefore, brave sir, devise some succour, if thou canst, for thyself and me ; since I dread that these ruffians, when they shall have escaped immediate pursuit, will return hither, like the robber to the hoard where he has deposited his stolen booty." " Now, the Holy Virgin be praised," said the wounded man, " that I can spend the last breath of my life in thy just and honour- able service ! I would not before blow my bugle, lest I recalled from the pursuit to the aid of my worthless self some of those who might be effectually engaged in thy rescue ; may Heaven grant that the recall may now be heard, that my eyes may yet see the Lady Eveline in safety and liberty ! " The words, though spoken in a feeble tone, breathed a spirit of enthusiasm, and were followed by the blast of a horn, faintly winded, to which no answer was made save the echoing of the dell. A sharper and louder blast was then sent forth, but sunk so sud- denly, that it seemed the breath of him who sounded the instrument had failed in the effort.— A strange thought crossed Evehne's mind 2i8 THE BETROTHED. even in that moment of uncertainty and terror. " That," she said, " was the note of a De Lacy — surely you cannot be my gentle kins- man, Sir Damian ! " " I am that unhappy wretch, deserving of death for the evil care which I have taken of the treasure intrusted to me. — What was my business to trust to reports and messengers ? I should have wor- shipped the saint who was committed to my keeping, with such vigilance as avarice bestows on the dross which he -calls treasure — I should have rested nowhere, save at your gate ; outwatched the brightest stars in the horizon; unseen and unknown myself, I should never have parted from your neighbourhood ; then had you not been in the present danger, and — much less important conse- quence — thou, Damian de Lacy, had not filled the grave of a for- sworn and negligent caitiff ! " " Alas ! noble Damian," said Eveline, " break not my heart by blaming yourself for an imprudence which is altogether my own. Thy succour was ever near when I intimated the least want of it ; and it embitters my own misfortune to know that my rashness has been the cause of your disaster. Answer me, gentle kinsman, and give me to hope that the wounds you have suffered are such as may be cured. — Alas ! how much of your blood have I seen spilled, and what a fate is mine, that I should ever bring distress on all for whom I would most willingly sacrifice my own happiness ! — But do not let us embitter the moments given us in mercy, by fruit- less repinings — Try what you can to stop thine ebbing blood, which is so dear to England — to Eveline — and to thine uncle." Damian groaned as she spoke, and was silent ; while, maddened with the idea that he might be perishing for want of aid, Eveline repeated her efforts to extricate herself for her kinsman's assistance, as well as her own. It was all in vain, and she had ceased the attempt in despair ; and, passing from one hideous subject of terror to another, she sat listening, with sharpened ear, for the dying groan of Damian, when — feeling of ecstasy ! — the ground was shaken with horses' feet advancing rapidly. Yet this joyful sound, if decisive of life, did not assure her of liberty — It might be the banditti of the mountains returning to seek their captive. Even then they would surely allow her leave to look upon and bind up the wounds of Damian de Lacy ; for to keep him as a captive might vantage them more in many degrees, than could his death. A horseman came up — Eveline invoked his assistance, and the first word she heard was an exclamation in Flemish from the faithful Wilkin Flammock, which nothing save some spectacle of the most unusual kind was ever known to compel from that phlegmatic person. His presence, indeed, was particularly useful on this occasion j THE BETROTHED. 219 for, being informed by the Lady Eveline in what condition she was placed, and implored at the same time to 'look to the situation of Sir Damian de Lacy, he began, with admirable composure and some skill, to stop the wounds of the one, while his attendants col- lected levers, left by the Welsh as they retreated, and were soon ready to attempt the hberation of Evehne. With much caution, and under the experienced direction of Flammock, the stone was at length so much raised, that the Lady Eveline was visible, to the delight of all, and especially of the faithful Rose, who, regardless of the risk of personal harm, fluttered around her mistress's place of confinement, like a bird robbed of her nestlings around the cage in which the truant urchin has imprisoned them. Precaution was necessary to remove the stone, lest falling inwards it might do the lady injury. At length the rocky fragment was so much displaced that she could issue forth ; while her people, as in hatred of the coercion which she had sustained, ceased not to heave, with bar and lever, till, totally destroying the balance of the heavy mass, it turned over from the little flat on which it had been placed at the mouth of the subterranean entrance, and, acquiring force as it revolved down a steep declivity, was at length put into rapid motion, and rolled, crashed, and thundered, down the hill, amid flashes of fire which it forced from the rocks, and clouds of smoke and dust, until it alighted in the channel of a brook, where it broke into several massive fragments, with a noise that might have been heard some miles off. With garments rent and soiled through the violence she had sus- tained ; with dishevelled hair, and disordered dress ; faint from the stifling effect of her confinement, and exhausted by the efforts she had made to reheve herself, Eveline did not, nevertheless, waste a single minute in considering her own condition ; but, with the eagerness of a sister hastening to the assistance of her only brother, betook herself to examine the several severe wounds of Damian de Lacy, and to use proper means to stanch the blood and recall him from his swoon. We have said elsewhere, that, like other ladies of the time, Eveline was not altogether unacquainted with the surgi- cal art, and she now displayed a greater share of knowledge than she had been thought capable of exerting. There was prudence, foresight, and tenderness, in every direction which she gave, and the softness of the female sex, with their officious humanity, ever ready to assist in alleviating human misery, seemed in her en- hanced, and rendered dignified, by the sagacity of a strong and powerful understanding. After hearing with wonder for a minute or two the prudent and ready-witted directions of her mistress. Rose seemed at once to recollect that the patient should not be left 220 THE BETROTHED. to the exclusive care of the Lady Eveline, and joining, therefore, in the task, she rendered what assistance she could, while the attendants were employed in forming a litter, on which the wounded knight was to be conveyed to the castle of the Garde Doloureuse. CHAPTER XXV. A merry place, 'tis said, in times of yore ; But something ails it now — the place is cursed. Wordsworth. The place on which the skirmish had occurred, and the deliver- ance of the Lady Eveline had been effected, was a wild and singu- lar spot, being a small level plain, forming a sort of stage, or resting-place, between two very rough paths, one of which winded up the rivulet from below, and another continued the ascent above. Being surrounded by hills and woods, it was a celebrated spot for finding game, and, in former days, a Welsh prince, renowned for his universal hospitality, his love of crw and of the chase, had erected a forest-lodge, where he used to feast his friends and fol- lowers with a profusion unexampled in Cambria. The fancy of the bards, always captivated with magnificence, and having no objections to the peculiar species of profusion prac- tised by this potentate, gave him the surname of Edris of the Goblets ; and celebrated him in Jheir odes in terms as high as those which exalt the heroes of the famous Hirlas Horn> The subject of their praises, however, fell finally a victim to his propen- sities, having been stabbed to the heart in one of those scenes of confusion and drunkenness which were frequently the conclusion of his renowned banquets. Shocked at this catastrophe, the assembled Britons interred the relics of the Prince on the place where he had died, within the narrow vault where Eveline had been confined, and having barricaded the entrance of the sepulchre with frag- ments of rock, heaped over it an immense cairn, or pile of stones, on the summit of which they put the assassin to death. Supersti- tion guarded the spot ; and for many a year this memorial of Edris remained unviolated, although the lodge had gone to ruin, and its vestiges had totally decayed. In latter years, some prowling band of Welsh robbers had dis- covered the secret entrance, and opened it with the view of ran- sacking the tomb for arms and treasures, which were in ancient limes often buried with the dead. These marauders were disap- pointed, and obtained nothing by the violation of the grave of THE BETROTHED. 221 Edris, excepting the knowledge of a secret place, which might be used for depositing their booty, or even as a place of retreat for one of their number in a case of emergency. When the followers of Damian, five or six in number, explained their part of the history of the day to Willcin Flammock, it ap- peared that Damian had ordered them to horse at break of day, with a more considerable body, to act, as they understood, against a party of insurgent peasants, when of a sudden, he had altered his mind, and, dividing his force into small bands, employed him- self and them in reconnoitring more than one mountain-pass betwixt Wales and the Marches of the English country, in the neighbour- hood of the Garde Doloureuse. This was an occupation so ordinary lor him, that it excited no particular notice. These manoeuvres were frequently undertaken by the warlike marchers, for the purpose of intimidating the Welsh in general, more especially the bands of outlaws, who, independent of any regular government, infested those wild frontiers. Yet it escaped not comment, that, in undertaking such service at this moment, Damian seemed to abandon that of dispersing the insur- gents, which had been considered as the chief object of the day. It was about noon, when, falling in, as good fortune would have it, with one of the fugitive grooms, Damian and his immediate attendants received information of the violence committed on the Lady Eveline, and, by their perfect knowledge of the country, were able to intercept the ruffians at the Pass of Edris, as it was called, by which the Welsh rovers ordinarily returned to their strongholds in the interior. It is probable that the banditti were not aware of the small force which Damian headed in person, and at the same time knew that there would be an immediate and hot pursuit in their rear ; and these circumstances led their leader to adopt the singular expedient of hiding Eveline in the tomb, while one of their own number, dressed in her clothes, might serve as a decoy to deceive their assailants, and lead them from the spot where she; was really concealed, to which it was no doubt the purpose of the ban- ditti to return, when they had eluded their pursuers. Accordingly, the robbers had already drawn up before the tomb for the purpose of regularly retreating, until they should find some suitable place either for making a stand, or where, if overmatched, they might, by abandoning their horses, and dispersing among the rocks, evade the attack of the Norman cavalry. Their plan had been defeated by the precipitation of Damian, who, beholding as he thought the plumes and mantle of the Lady Eveline in the rear of their party, charged them without considering either the odds of numbers, or the lightness of his own armour, which, consisting only of a headpiece and a buff surcoat, offered but imperfect resis- 222 THE BETROTHED. tance to the Welsh knives and glaives. He was accordingly wounded severely at the onset, and would have been slain, but for the exertions of his few followers, and the fears of the Welsh, that, while thus continuing the battle in front, they might be assaulted in the rear by the followers of Eveline, whom they must now sup- pose were all in arms and motion. They retreated, therefore, or rather fled, and the attendants of Damian were dispatched after them by their fallen master, with directions to let no consideration induce them to leave oiif the chase, until the captive Lady of the Garde Doloureuse was delivered from her ravishers. The outlaws, secure in their knowledge of the paths, and the activity of their small Welsh horses, made an orderly retreat, with the exception of two or three of their rear-guard, cut down by Damian in his furious onset. They shot arrows, from time to time, at the menrat-arms, and laughed at the ineffectual efforts which these heavy-armed warriors, with their barbed horses, made to overtake them. But the scene was changed by the appearance of Wilkin Flammock, on his puissant war-horse, who was beginning to ascend the pass, leading a party consisting both of foot and horse. The fear of being intercepted caused the outlaws to have recourse to their last stratagem, and, abandoning their Welsh nags, they betook themselves to the cliffs, and, by superior activity and dexterity, baffled, generally speaking, the attempts of their pursuers on either hand. All of them, however, were not equally fortunate, for two or three fell into the hands of Flammock's party ; amongst others, the person upon whom Eveline's clothes had been placed, and who now, to the great disappointment of those who had attached themselves to his pursuit, proved to be, not the lady whom they were emulous to deliver, but a fair- haired young Welsh- man, whose wild looks, and incoherent speech, seemed to argue a disturbed imagination. This would not have saved him from im- mediate death, the usual doom of captives taken in such skirmishes, had not the faint blast of Damian's horn, sounding from above, recalled his own party, and summoned that of Wilkin Flammock to the spot ; while, in the confusion and hurry of their obeying the signal, the pity or the contempt of his guards suffered the prisoner to escape. They had, indeed, little to learn from him, even had he been disposed to give intelligence, or capable of communicating it. All were well assured that their lady had fallen into-an ambuscade, formed by Dawfyd the one-eyed, a redoubted freebooter of the period, who had ventured upon this hardy enterprise in the hope of obtaining a large ransom for the captive Eveline, and all, incensed at his extreme insolence and audacity, devoted his head and hmbs to the eagles and the ravens. These were the particulars which the followers of Flammoclc and THE BETROTHED. 223 of Damian 'learned by comparing notes with each other, on the incidents of the day. As they returned by the Red Pool they were joined by Dame Gillian, who, after many exclamations of joy at the unexpected liberation of her lady, and as many of sorrow at the unexpected disaster of Damian, proceeded to inform the men- at-arms, that the merchant, whose hawks had been the original cause of these adventures, had been taken prisoner by two or three of the Welsh in their retreat, and that she herself and the wounded Raoul would have shared the same fate, but that they had no horse left to mount her upon, and did not consider old Raoul as worth either ransom, or the trouble of killing. One had, indeed, flung a stone at him as he lay on the hillside, but happily, as his dame said, it fell something short of him — " It was but a little fellow who threw it," she said — " there was a big man amongst them — if he had tried, it's like, by our Lady's grace, he had cast it a thought farther." So saying, the dame gathered herself up, and adjusted her dress for again mounting on horseback. < The wounded Damian was placed on a litter, hastily constructed of boughs, and, with the females, was. placed in the centre of the little troop, augmented by the rest of the young knight's followers, who began to rejoin his standard. The united body now marched with mihtary order and precaution, and winded through the passes with the attention of men prepared to meet and to repel injury. CHAPTER XXVI. What ! fair, and young, and faithful too ? A miracle, if this be true. Waller. Rose, by nature, one of the most disinterested and affectionate maidens that ever breathed, was the first who, hastily considering the peculiar condition in which her lady was placed, and the marked degree of restraint which had hitherto characterised her intercourse with her youthful guardian, became anxious to know how the wounded knight was to be disposed of; and when she came to Eveline's side for the purpose of asking this important question, her resolution wellnigh failed her. The appearance of Eveline was indeed such as might have made it almost cruelty to intrude upon her any other subject of anxious consideration than those with which her mind had been so lately assailed, and was still occupied. Her countenance was as pale as death could have made it, unless where it was specked with drops 224 THE BETROTHED. of blood ; her veil, torn and disordered, was soiled with dust and with gore ; her hair, wildly dishevelled, fell in elf-locks on her brow and shoulders, and a single broken and ragged feather, which was all that remained of her headgear, had been twisted among her tresses and still flowed there, as if in mockery, rather than orna- ment. Her eyes were fixed on the htter where Damian was depo- sited, and she rode close beside it, without apparently wasting a thought on any thing, save the danger of him who was extended there. Rose plainly saw that her lady was under feelings of excitation, which might render it difficult for her to take a wise and prudent view of her own situation. She endeavoured gradually to awaken her to a sense of it. " Dearest lady," said Rose, " will it please you to take my mantle ? " " Torment me not," answered Eveline, with some sharpness in her accent. " Indeed, my lady," said Dame Gillian, bustling up as one who feared her functions as mistress of the robes might be interfered with — " indeed, my lady, Rose Flammock speaks truth ; and neither your kirtle nor your gown are sitting as they should do ; and, to speak truth, they are but barely decent. And so, if Rose will turn herself, and put her horse out of my way," continued the tire-woman, " I will put your dress in better order in the sticking in of a bodkin, than any Fleming of them all could do in twelve hours." " I care not for my dress," replied Eveline, in the same manner as before. " Care then for your honour — for your fame," said Rose, riding close to her mistress, and whispering in her ear ; " think, and that hastily, how you are to dispose of this wounded young man." " To the castle," answered Eveline aloud, as if scorning the affectation of secrecy ; " lead to the castle, and that straight as you can." " Why not rather to his own camp, or to Malpas ? " said Rose — " dearest lady, believe, it will be for the best." "Wherefore not — wherefore not — wherefore not leave him on the wayside at once, to the knife of the Welshman, and the teeth of the wolf ? — once — twice — three times has he been my preserver. Where I go, he shall go ; nor will I be in safety myself a moment sooner than I know that he is so." Rose saw that she could make no impression on her mistress, and her own reflection told her that the wounded man's life might be endangered by a longer transportation than was abso- lutely necessary. An expedient occurred to her, by which she imagined this objection might be obviated ; but it was necessary THE BETROTHED. 223 she should consult her father. She struck her palfrey with her riding-rod, and in a moment her diminutive, though beautiful figure, and her spirited little jennet, were by the side of the gigantic Fleming and his tall black horse, and riding, as it were, in their vast shadow. " My dearest father," said Rose, " the lady intends that Sir Damian be transported to the castle, where it is like he may be a long sojourner ; — what think you ? — is that wholesome counsel ? " "Wholesome for the youth, surely, Roschen," answered the Fleming, " because he will escape the better risk of a fever." " True ; but is it wise for my lady ? " continued Rose. " Wise enough, if she deal wisely. But wherefore shouldst thou doubt her, Roschen ? " " I know not," said Rose, unwilling to breathe even to her father the fears and doubts which she herself entertained ; " but where there are evil tongues, there may be evil rehearsing. Sir Damian and my lady are both very young — Methinks it were better, dearest father, would you oifer the shelter of your roof to the wounded knight, in the stead of his being carried to the castle." " That I shall not, wench," answered the Fleming, hastily — " that I shall not, if I may help. Norman shall not cross my quiet threshold, nor Englishman neither, to mock my quiet thrift, and consume my substance. Thou dost not know them, because thou art ever with thy lady, and hast her good favour ; but I know them well ; and the best I can get from them is Lazy Flanderkin, and Greedy Flanderkin, and Flemish sot — I thank the saints they cannot say Coward Flanderkin, since Gwenwyn's Welsh uproar." " I had ever thought, my father,'' answered Rose, " that your spirit was too calm to regard these base calumnies. Bethink you we are under this lady's banner, and that she has been my loving mistress, and her father was your good lord ; to the Con- stable, too, are you beholden, for enlarged privileges. Money may pay debt, but kindness only can requite kindness ; and I forebode that you will never have such an opportunity to do kindness to the houses of Berenger and De Lacy, as by opening the doors of your house to this wounded knight." " The doors of my house ! " answered the Fleming — " do I know how long I may call that, or any house upon earth, my own ? Alas, my daughter, we came hither to fly from the rage of the elements, but who knows how soon we may perish by the wrath of men ! " " You speak strangely, my father," said Rose ; " it holds not with your solid wisdom to augur such general evil from the rash enterprise of a Welsh outlaw." Q S26 THE BETROTHED. " I think not of the One-eyed robber," said Wilkin ; " although the increase and audacity of such robbers as Dawfyd is no good sign of a quiet country. But thou, who livest within yonder walls, hearest but Uttle of what passes without, and your estate is less anxious ; — you had known nothing of the news from me, unless in case I had found it necessary to remove to another country." "To remove, my dearest father, from the land where your thrift and industry have gained you an honourable competency ? " " Ay, and where the hunger of wicked men, who envy me the produce of my thrift, may likely bring me to a dishonourable death. There have been tumults among the English rabble in more than one county, and their wrath is directed against those of our nation, as if we were Jews or heathens, and not better Christians and better men than themselves. They have, at York, Bristol, and elsewhere, sacked the houses of the Flemings, spoiled their goods, misused their families, and murdered themselves. — And why ?— except that we have brought among them the skill and the industry which they possessed not ; and because wealth, which they would never else have seen in Britain, was the reward of our art and our toil. Roschen, this evil spirit is spreading wider daily. Here we are more safe than elsewhere, because we form a colony of some numbers and strength. But I confide not in our neighbours ; and hadst not thou, Rose, been in security, I would long ere this have given up all, and left Britain." " Given up all, and left Britain !" — The words sounded prodigi- ous in the ears of his daughter, who knew better than any one how successful her father had been in his industry, and how unlikely one of his firm and sedate temper was to abandon known and present advantages for the dread of distant or contingent peril. At length she replied, " If such be your peril, my father, methinks your house and goods cannot have a better protection than the presence of this noble knight. Where lives the man who dare aught of violence against the house which harbours Damian de Lacy ? " " I know not that," said the Fleming, in the same composed and steady, but ominous tone — " May Heaven forgive it me, if it be sin ! but I see little save folly in these Crusades, which the priest- hood have preached up so successfully. Here has the Constable been absent for nearly three years, and no certain tidings of his life or death, victory or defeat. He marched from hence, as if he meant not to draw bridle or sheathe sword until the Holy Sepul- chre was won from the Saracens, yet we can hear with no certainty whether even a hamlet has been taken from the Saracens. In the meanwhile, the people that are at home grow discontented ; their lords, with the better part of their followers, are in Palestine — dead or alive we scarcely know ; the people themselves are oppressed THE BETROTHED. 227 and flayed by stewards and deputies, whose yoke is neither so light nor so lightly endured as that of the actual lord. The commons, who naturally hate the knights and gentry, think it no bad time to make some head against them — ay, and there be some of noble blood who would not care to be their leaders, that they may have their share in the spoil ; for foreign expeditions and profligate habits have made many poor ; and he that is poor will murder his father for money. I hate poor people ; and I would the devil had every man who cannot keep himself by the work of his own hand !" The Fleming concluded, with this characteristic imprecation, a speech which gave Rose a more frightful view of the state of England, than, shut up as she was within the Garde Doloureuse, she had before had an opportunity of learning. " Surely," she said — "surely these violences of which you speak are not to be dreaded by those who live under the banner of De Lacy and of Berenger?" " Berenger subsists but in name," answered Wilkin Flammock, " and.Damian, though a brave youth, hath not his uncle's ascend- ency of character and authority. His men also complain that they are harassed with the duty of watching for protection of a castle, in itself impregnable, and sufficiently garrisoned, and that they lose all opportunity of honourable enterprise, as they call it — that is, of fight and spoil— in this inactive and inglorious manner of life. They say that Damian the Beardless was a man, but that Damian with the moustache is no better than a woman ; and that age, which has darkened his upper lip, hath at the same time blenched his courage. — And they say more, which were but weari- some to tell." " Nay, but, let me know what they say ; let me know it, for Heaven's sake ! " answered Rose, " if it concern, as it must concern, my dear lady." " Even so, Roschen," answered Wilkin. " There are many among the Norman men-at-arms who talk, over their wine cups, how that Damian de Lacy is in love with his uncle's betrothed bride ; ay, and that they correspond together by art magic." " By art magic, indeed, it must be," said Rose, smiling scorn- fully, " for by no earthly means do they correspond, as I, for one, can bear witness." " To art magic, accordingly, they impute it," quoth Wilkin Flammock, " that so soon as ever my lady stirs beyond the portal of her castle, De Lacy is in the saddle with a party of his cavalry, though they are positively certain that he has received no messen- ger, letter, or other ordinary notice of her purpose ; nor have they ever, on such occasions, scoured the passes long, ere they have seen or heard of my Lady Eveline's being abroad." Q 3 223 THE BETROTHED. " This has not escaped me," said Rose ; " and my lady has expressed herself even displeased at the accuracy which Uamian displayed in procuring a knowledge of her motions, as well as at the officious punctuality with which he has attended and guarded them. To-day has, however, shown," she continued, " that his vigilance may serve a good purpose ; and as they never met upon these occasions, but continued at such distance as excluded even the possibility of intercourse, methinks they might have escaped the censure of the most suspicious." "Ay, my daughter Roschen," replied Wilkin, " but it is possible even to drive caution so far as to excite suspicion. Why, say the men-at-arms, should these two observe such constant, yet such guarded intelligence with one another ? Why should their approach be so near, and why, yet, should they never meet ? If they had been merely the nephew and the uncle's bride, they must have had interviews avowedly and frankly ; and, on the other hand, if they be two secret lovers, there is reason to believe that they do find their own private places of meeting, though they have art sufficient to conceal them." " Every word that you speak, my father," replied the generous Rose, " increases the absolute necessity that you receive this wounded youth into your house. Be the evils you dread ever so great, yet, may you rely upon it, that they cannot be augmented by admitting him, with a few of his faithful followers." " Not one follower," said the Fleming, hastily, " not one beef-fed knave of them, save the page that is to tend him, and the doctor that is to attempt his cure." " But I may offer the shelter of your roof to these three, at least ? " answered Rose. " Do as thou wilt, do as thou wilt," said the doating father. " By my faith, Roschen, it is well for thee thou hast sense and moderation in asking, since I am so foolishly prompt in granting. This is one of your freaks, now, of honour or generosity — but commend me to prudence and honesty. — Ah ! Rose, Rose, those who would do what is better than good, sometimes bring about what is worse than bad !— But I think I shall be quit of the trouble for the fear ; and that thy mistress, who is, with reverence, some- thing of a damsel-errant, will stand stoutly for the chivalrous, privilege of lodging her knight in her own bower, and tending him in person." ' The Fleming prophesied true. Rose had no sooner made the proposal to Eveline, that the wounded Damian should be left at her father's house for his recovery, than her mistress briefly and positively rejected the proposal. " He has been my preserver," she said, " and if there be one being left for whom the gates of the THE BETROTHED. 229 Garde Doloureuse should of themselves fly open, it is to Damian de Lacy. Na.y, damsel, look not upon me with that suspicious and yet sorrowful countenance — they that are beyond disguise, my girl, contemn suspicion — It is to God and our Lady that I must answer, and to them my bosom lies open ! " They proceeded in silence to the castle gate, when the Lady Eveline issued her orders that her Guardian, as she emphatically termed Damian, should be lodged in her father's apartment ; and, with the prudence of more advanced age, she gave the necessary directions for the reception and accommodation of his followers, and the arrangements which such an accession of guests required in the fortress. All this she did with the utmost composure and presence of mind, even before she altered or arranged her own disordered dress. Another step still remained to be taken. She hastened to the Chapel of the Virgin, and prostrating herself before her divine protectress, returned thanks for her second deliverance, and im- plored her guidance and direction, and, through her intercession, that of Almighty God, for the disposal and regulation of her conduct. " Thou knowest," she said, " that from no confidence in my own strength, have I thrust myself into danger. O make me strong where I am most weak — Let not my gratitude and my com- passion be a snare to me ; and while I strive to discharge the duties which thankfulness imposes on me, save me from the evil tongues of men — and save — O save me from the insidious devices of my own heart ! " She then told her rosary with devout fervour, and retiring from the chapel to her own apartment, summoned her women to adjust her dress, and remove the external appearance of the violence to which she had been so lately subjected. CHAPTER XXVII. Julia. Gentle sir, You are our captive — but we'll use you so, That you shall think your prison joys may match Whate'er your liberty hath known of pleasure. Roderick. No, fairest, we have trifled here too long ; And, lingering to see your roses blossom, I've let my laurels wither. Old Play. Arrayed in garments of a mourning colour, and of a fashion more matronly than perhaps altogether befitted her youth— plain to an extremity, and devoid of all ornament, save Jier rosary — Eveline now performed the duty of waiting upon her wounded deliverer ; a 230 THE BETROTHED. duty which the etiquette of the time not only permitted, but peremptorily enjoined. She was attended by Rose and Dame GilHan. Margery, whose element was a sick-chamber, had been already dispatched to that of the young knight, to attend to what- ever his condition might require. Eveline entered the room with a light step, as if unwilling to disturb the patient. She paused at the door, and cast her eyes around her. It had been her father's chamber ; nor had she entered it since his violent death. Around the walls hung a part of his armour and weapons, with hawking-gloves, hunting-poles, and other instruments of silvan sport. These relics brought as it were in living form before her, the stately presence of old Sir Raymond. " Frown not, my father," — her lips formed the words, though her voice did not utter them — " frown not — Eveline will never be unworthy of thee." Father Aldrovand, and Amelot, the page of Damian, were seated by the bedside. They rose as Lady Eveline entered ; and the first, who meddled a little with the healing art, said to Eveline, " that the knight had slumbered for some time, and was now about to awake." Amelot at the same time came forward, and in a hasty and low voice, begged that the chamber might be kept quiet, and the spec- tators requested to retire. " My lord," he said, " ever since his illness at Gloucester, is apt to speak something wildly as he awakes from sleep, and will be displeased with me should I permit any one to be near him." Eveline accordingly caused her women and the monk to retire into the anteroom, while she herself remained - standing by the door-communication which connected the apartments, and heard Damian mention her name as he turned himself painfully on his couch. " Is she safe and unharmed?" was his first question, and it was asked with an eagerness which intimated how far it pre- ceded all other considerations. — When Amelot replied in the affirmative, he sighed, as one whose bosom is relieved from some weighty load, and in a less animated voice, asked of the page where they were. " This apartment," he said, " with its furni- ture, are all strange to me." " My dear master," said Amelot, " you are at present too weak to ask questions and receive explanations." '■ Be I where I will," said Damian, as if recovering his recollec- tion, " I am not in the place where my duty calls me. Tell my trumpets to sound to horse— to horse, and let Ralph Genvil carry my banner. To horse — to horse ! we have not a moment to lose !" The wounded knight made some effort to rise, which, in his state of weakness, Amelot was easily able to frustrate. "Thou art THE Betrothed. 431 right," he said, as he sunk back into his reclining posture — " thou art right — I am weak — but why should strength remain when honour is lost ? " The unhappy young man covered his face with his hands, and groaned in agony, which seemed more that of the mind than of the body. Lady Eveline approached his bedside with unassured steps, fearing she knew not what, yet earnest to testify the interest which she felt in the distresses of the sufferer. Damian looked up and beheld her, and again hid his face with his hands. " What means this strange passion, Sir Knight?" said Eveline, with a voice which, at first weak and trembling, gradually obtained steadiness and composure. " Ought it to grieve you so much, sworn as you are to the duties of chivalry, that Heaven hath twice made you its instrument to save the unfortunate Eveline Berenger ?" " O no, no ! " he exclaimed with rapidity ; " since you are saved, aU is well — but time presses — it is necessary I should presently depart — nowhere ought I now to tarry — least of all, within this castle — Once more, Amelot, let them get to horse ! " " Nay, my good lord," said the damsel, " this must iiot be. As 5'our ward, I cannot let my guardian part thus suddenly — as a phy- sician, I cannot allow my patient to destroy himself-^It is impos- sible that you can brook the saddle." " A litter — a bier — a cart, to drag forth the dishonoured knight and traitor — all were too good for me — a coffin were best of all ! — But see, Amelot, that it be framed like that of the meanest churl — no spurs displayed on the pall — no shield with the ancient coat of the De Lacys — no helmet with their knightly crest must deck the hearse of him whose name is dishonoured ! " " Is his brain unsettled?" said Eveline, looking with terror from the wounded man to his attendant; "or is there some dreadful mystery in these broken words ? — If so, speak it forth ; and if it may be amended by life or goods, my deliverer will sustain no wrong." Amelot regarded her with a dejected and" melancholy air, shook his head, and looked down on his master with a countenance which seemed to express, that the questions which she asked could not be prudently answered in Sir Damian's presence. The Lady Eveline, observing this gesture, stepped back into the outer apart- ment, and made Amelot a sign to follow her. He obeyed, after a glance at his master, who remained in the same disconsolate posture as formerly, with his hands crossed over his eyes, like one who wished to exclude the light, and all which the light made visible. When Amelot was in the wardrobe, Eveline, making signs to her attendants to keep at such distance as the room permitted, questioned him closely on the cause of his master's desperate ex- 232 THK BETROTHED. pression of sorrow and remorse. "Thou knowest," she said, " that I am bound to succour thy lord, if I may, both from grati- tude, as one whom he hath served to the peril of his life— and also from kinsmanship. Tell me, therefore, in what case he stands, that I may help him if I can— that is," she added, her pale cheeks deeply colouring, " if the cause of his distress be fitting for me to hear." The page bowed low, yet showed such embarrassment when he began to speak, as produced a corresponding degree of confusion in the Lady Eveline, who, nevertheless, urged him as before " to speak without scruple or delay — so that the tenor of his discourse was fitting for heir ears." " Believe me, noble lady," said Amelot, " your commands had been instantly obeyed, but that I fear my master's displeasure if I talk of his affairs without his warrant ; nevertheless, on your com- mand, whom 1 know he honours above all earthly beings, I will speak thus far, that if his life be safe from the wounds he has received, his honour and worship may be in great danger, if it please not Heaven to send a remedy." " Speak on," said Eveline ; " and be assured you will do Sir Damian de Lacy no prejudice by the confidence you may rest in me." " I well believe it, lady,'' said the page. " Know, then, if it be not already known to you, that the clowns and rabble, who have taken arms against the nobles in the west, pretend to be favoured in their insurrection, not only by Randal Lacy, but by my master. Sir Damian." " They lie that dare charge him with such foul treason to his own blood, as well as to his sovereign ! " replied Eveline. " Well do I believe they lie," said Amelot ; " but this hinders not their falsehoods from being believed by those who know him less inwardly. More than one runaway from our troop have joined this rabblement, and that gives some credit to the scandal. And then they say — they say — that — in short, that my master longs to possess the lands in his proper right which he occupies as his uncle's administrator ; and that if the old Constable — I crave your pardon, madam — should return from Palestine, he should find it difficult to obtain possession of his own again." " The sordid wretches judge of others by their own base minds, and conceive those temptations too powerful for men of worth, which they are themselves conscious they would be unable to resist. But are the insurgents then so insolent and so powerful ? We have heard of their violences, but only as if it had been some popular tumult." "We had notice last night that they have drawn together in THE BETROTHED. 233 great force, and besieged or blockaded Wild Wenlock, with his men-at-arms, in a village about ten miles hence. He hath sent to my master, as his kinsman and companion-at-arms, to come to his assistance. We were on horseback this morning to march to the rescue — when" He paused, and seemed unwilling to proceed. Eveline caught at the word. " When you heard of my danger ? " she said. " I would ye had rather heard of my death ! " " Surely, noble lady," said the page, with his eyes fixed on the ground, " nothing but so strong a cause could have made my master halt his troop, and carry the better part of them to the Welsh mountains, when his countryman's distress, and the com- mands of the King's Lieutenant, so peremptorily demanded his presence elsewhere." " I knew it," she said — " I knew I was born to be his destruc- tion ! yet methinks this is worse than I dreamed of, when the worst was in my thoughts. I feared to occasion his death, not his loss of fame. For God's sake, young Amelot, do what thou canst, and that without loss of time ! Get thee straightway to horse, and join to thy own men as many as thou canst gather of mine — Go — ride, my brave youth — show thy master's banner, and let them see that his forces and his heart are with them, though his person be absent. Haste, haste, for the time is precious." " But the safety of this castle — But your own safety ? " said the page. " God knows how willingly I would do aught to save his fame ! But I know my master's mood ; and were you to suffer by my leaving the Garde Doloureuse, even although I were to save him lands, life, and honour, by my doing so, I should be more like to taste of his dagger, than of his thanks or bounty." " Go, nevertheless, dear Amelot," said she ; " gather what force thou canst make, and begone." " You spur a willing horse, madam," said the page, springing to his feet ; " and in the condition of my master, I see nothing better than that his banner should be displayed against these churls." " To arms, then," said Eveline, hastily ; " to arms, and win thy spurs. Bring me assurance that thy master's honour is safe, and I will myself buckle them on thy, heels. Here — take this blessed rosary — bind it on thy crest, and be the thought of the Virgin of the Garde Doloureuse, that never failed a votary, strong with thee in the hour of conflict." She had scarcely ended, ere Amelot flew from her presence, and summoning together such horse as he could assemble, both of his master's, and of those belonging to the castle, there were soon forty cavaliers mounted in the court-yard. But although the page was thus far readily obeyed, yet when the 234 THE BETROTHED. soldiers heard they were to go forth on a dangerous expedition, with no more experienced general than a youth of fifteen, they showed a decided reluctance to move from the castle. The old soldiers of De Lacy said, Damian himself was almost too youthful to command them, and had no right to delegate his authority to a mere boy; while the followers of Berenger said, their mistress might be satisfied with her deliverance of the morning, without trying farther dangerous conclusions by diminishing the garrison of her castle — " The times," they said, " were stormy, and it was wisest to keep a stone roof over their heads." The more the soldiers communicated their ideas and appre- hensions to each other, the stronger their disinclination to the undertaking became ; and when Amelot, who, page-like, had gone to see that his own horse was accoutred and brought forth, re- turned to the castle-yard, he found them standing confusedly together, some mounted, some on foot, all men speaking loud, and all in a state of disorder. Ralph Genvil, a veteran whose face had been seamed with many a scar, and who had long followed the trade of a soldier of fortune, stood apart from the rest, holding his horse's bridle in one hand, and in the other the banner-spear, around which the banner of De Lacy was still folded. " What means this, Genvil ? " said the page, angrily. " Wh)' do you not mount your horse and display the banner? and what occa- sions all this confusion ? " " Truly, Sir Page," said Genvil, composedly, " I am not in my saddle, because I have some regard for this old silken rag, which I have borne to honour in my time, and I will not willingly carry it where men are unwilling to follow and defend it." " No march — no sally — no lifting of banner to-day 1 " cried the soldiers, by way of burden to the banner-inan's discourse. " How now, cowards? do you mutiny?" said Amelot, laying his hand on his sword. " Menace not me, Sir Boy," said Genvil ; " nor shake your sword my way. I tell thee, Amelot, were my weapon to cross with yours, never flail sent abroad more chaff than I would make splinters of your hatched and gilded toasting-iron. Look you, there are grey-bearded men here that care not to be led about on any boy's humour. For me, I stand little upon that ; and I care not whether one boy or another commands me. But I am the Lacy's man for the time ; and I am not sure that, in marching to the aid of this Wild Wenlock, we'shall do an errand the Lacy will thank us for. Why led he us not thither in the morning, when we were commanded off into the mountains ? " " You well know the cause," said the page. " Yes, we do know the cause ; or, if we do not, we can guess it," THE BETROTHED. 235 answered the banner-man, with a horse laugh, which was echoed by several of his companions. ' " I will cram the calumny down thy false throat, Genvil ! " said the page ; and, drawing his sword, threw himself headlong on the banner-man, without considering their great difference of strength. Genvil was contented to foil his attack by one, and, as it seemed, a slight movement of his gigantic arm, with which he forced the page aside, parrying, at the same time, his blow with the standard- spear. There was another loud laugh, and Amelot, feeling all his efforts baffled, threw his sword from him, and weeping in pride and indignation, hastened back to tell the Lady Eveline of his bad success. " All," he ' said, " is lost — the cowardly villains have mutinied, and will not move ; and the blame of their sloth and faintheartedness will be laid on my dear master.'' " That shall never be," said Eveline, " should I die to prevent it. ^Follow me, Amelot." She hastily threw a scarlet scarf over her dark garments, and hastened down to the court-yard, followed by Gillian, assuming, as she went, various attitudes and actions, expressing ^istonishment and pity, and by Rose, carefully suppressing all appearance of the feelings which she really entertained. Eveline entered the castle-court, with the kindling eye and glow- ing brow which her ancestors were wont to bear in danger and extremity, when their soul was arming to meet the storm, and displayed in their mien and looks high command and contempt of danger. She seemed at the moment taller than her usual size ; and it was with a voice distinct and clearly heard, though not exceeding the delicacy of feminine tone, that the mutineers heard her address them. " How is this, my masters? " she said ; and as she spoke, the bulky forms of the armed soldiers seemed to draw closer toge- ther, as if to escape her individual censure. It was like a group of heavy water-fowl, when they close to avoid the stoop of the slight and beautiful merlin, dreading the superiority of its nature and breeding over their own inert physical strength. — "How now?" again she demanded of them ; " is it a time, think ye, to mutiny, when your lord is absent, and his nephew and lieutenant lies stretched on a bed of sickness ? — Is it thus you keep your oaths ? — Thus ye merit your leader's bounty? — Shame on ye, craven hounds, that quail and give back the instant you lose sight of the huntsman ! " There was a pause — the soldiers looked on each other, and then again on Eveline, as if ashamed alike to hold out in their mutiny, or to return to their usual discipline. 236 THE BETROTHED. " I see how it is, my brave friends— ye lack a leader here ; but stay not for that— I will guide you myself, and, woman as I am, there need not a man of you fear disgrace where a Berenger com- mands.— Trap my palfrey with a steel saddle," she said, "and that instantly." She snatched from the ground the page's light head- piece, and threw it over her hair, caught up his drawn sword, and went on. " Here I promise you my countenance and guidance— this gentleman," she pointed to Genvil, " shall supply my lack of military skill. He looks like a man that hath seen many a day of battle, and can well teach a young leader her devoir." " Certes," said the old soldier, smiling in spite of himself, and shaking his head at the same time, " many a battle have I seen, but never under such a commander." " Nevertheless," said Eveline, seeing how the eyes of the rest turned on Genvil, " you do not — cannot — ^will not — refuse to follow me ? You do not as a soldier, for my weak voice supplies your captain's orders— you cannot as a gentleman, for a lady, a forlorn and distressed female, asks you a boon — you will not as an Englishman, for your country requires your sword, and your comrades are in danger. Unfurl your banner, then, and march." " I would do so, upon my soul, fair lady," answered Genvil, as if preparing to unfold the banner — " And Amelot might lead us well enough, with advantage of some lessons from me. But I wot not whether you are sending us on the right road." " Surely, surely," said Eveline, earnestly, " it must be the right road which conducts you to the relief of Wenlock and his followers, besieged by the insurgent boors." " I know not," said Genvil, still hesitating. " Our leader here. Sir Damian de Lacy, protects the commons — men say he befriends them — and I know he quarrelled with Wild Wenlock once for some petty wrong he did to the miller's wife at Twineford. We should be finely off, when our fiery young leader is on foot again, if he should find we had been fighting against the side he favoured." " Assure yourself," said the maiden, anxiously, " the more he would protect the commons against oppression, the more he would put them down when oppressing others. Mount and ride — save Wenlock and his men — there is life and death in every moment. I will warrant, with my life and lands, that whatsoever you do will be held good service to De Lacy. Come, then, follow me." " None surely can know Sir Damian's purpose better than you, fair damsel," answered Genvil ; " nay, for that matter, you can make him change as ye list — And so I will march with the men, and we will aid Wenlock, if it is yet time, as I trust it may; for he is a rugged wolf, and when he turns to bay, will cost the boors THE BETROTHED. 237 blood enough ere they sound a mort. But do you remain within the castle, fair lady, and trust to Amelot and me. — Come, Sir Page, assume the command, since so it must be ; though, by my faith, it is pity to take the>headpiece from that pretty head, and the sword from that pretty hand— ^By Saint George ! to see them there is a credit to the soldier's profession." The lady accordingly surrendered the weapons to Amelot, ex- horting him in few words to forget the offence he had received, and do his devoir manfully. Meanwhile Genvil slowly unrolled the pennon — then shook it abroad, and without putting his foot in the stirrup, aided himself a little with resting on the spear, and threw himself into the saddle, heavily armed as he was. " We are ready now, an it like your juvenility," said he to Amelot ; and then while the page was putting the band into order, he whispered to his nearest comrade, " Methinks, instead of this old swallow's tail,* we should muster rarely under a broidered petticoat — a furbelowed petticoat has no fellow in my mind. — Look you, Stephen Pontoys — I can forgive Damian now for forgetting his uncle and his own credit, about this wench ; for, by my faith, she is^ one I could have doated to death upon par amours. Ah ! evil luck be the women's portion ! — they govern us at every turn, Stephen, and at every age. When they are young, they bribe us with fair looks and sugared words, sweet kisses and love tokens ; and when they are of middle age, they work us to their will by presents and courtesies, red wine and red gold ; and when they are old, we are fain to run their errands to get out of sight of their old leathern visages. Well, old De Lacy should have staid at home and watched his falcon. But it is all one to us, Stephen, and we may make some vantage to-day, for these boors have plundered more than one castle." " Ay, ay," answered Pontoys, " the boor to the booty, and the banner-man to the boor, a right pithy proverb. But, prithee, canst thou say why his page-ship leads us not forward yet .'' " Pshaw ! " answered Genvil, " the shake I gave him has addled his brains — or perchance he has not swallowed all his tears yet ; sloth it is not, for 'tis a forward cockeril for his years, wherever honour is to be won. — See, they now begin to move. — Well, it is a singular thing this gentle blood, Stephen ; for here is a child whom I but now baffled like a schoolboy, must lead us grey-beards where we may get our heads broken, and that at the command of a light lady." " I warrant Sir Damian is secretary to my pretty lady," answered Stephen Pontoys, " as this springald Amelot is to Sir Damian ; and so we poor ir.sn nmst obey, and keep our mouths shut." 233 THE BETROTHED. " But our eyes open, Stephen Pontoys— forget not that." They were by this time out of the gates of the castle, and upon the road leading to the village, in which, as they understood by the intelligence of the morning, Wenlock was besieged or blockaded by a greatly superior number of the insurgent commons. Amelot rode at the head of the troop, still embarrassed by the affront which he had received in presence of the soldiers, and lost in meditating how he was to eke out that deficiency of experience, which on former occasions had been supplied by the counsels of the banner- man, with whom he was ashamed to seek a reconciliation. But Genvil was not of a nature absolutely sullen, though an habitual grumbler. He rode up to the page, and having made his obeisance, respectfully asked him whether it were not well that some one or two of their number pricked forward upon good horses to learn how it stood with Wenlock, and whether they should be able to come up in time to his assistance. " Methinks, banner-man,'' answered Amelot, " you should take the ruling of the troop, since you know so fittingly what should be done. You maybe the fitter to command, because — But I will not upbraid you." " Because I know so ill how to obey," replied Genvil ; that is what you would say ; and, by my faith, I cannot deny but there may be some truth in it. But is it not peevish in thee to let a fair expedition be unwisely conducted, because of a foohsh word or a sudden action ? — Come, let it be peace with us." " With all my heart," answered Ainelot ; " and I will send out an advanced party upon the adventure, as thou hast advised me." " Let it be old Stephen Pontoys and two of the Chester spears — he is as wily as an old fox, and neither hope nor fear will draw him a hairbreadth farther than judgment warrants." Amelot eagerly embraced the hint, and, at his command, Pontoys and two lances darted forward to reconnoitre the road before them, and enquire into the condition of those whom they were advancing to succour^ " And now that we are on the old terms, Sir Page," said the banner-man, " tell me, if thou canst, doth not yonder fair lady love our handsome knight par amours ? " "It is a false calumny," said Amelot, indignantly; "betrothed as she is to his uncle, I am convinced she would rather die than have such a thought, and so would our master. I have noted this heretical belief in thee before now, Genvil, and I have prayed thee to check it. You know the thing cannot be, for you know they have scarce ever met." " How should I know that," said Genvil, " or thou either ? Watch them ever so close— much water slides past the mill that Hob Miller THE BETROTHED. 239 never wots of. They do correspond j that, at least, thou canst not deny?" " I do deny it," said Amelot, " as I deny all that can touch their honour." "Then how, in Heaven's name, comes he by such perfect know- ledge of her motions, as he has displayed no longer since than the morning ? " | "How should I tell?" answered the page; "there be such things, surely, as saints and good angels, and if there be one on earth deserves their protection, it is Dame Evehne Berenger." " Well said. Master Counsel-keeper," replied Genvil, laughing ; " but that will hardly pass on an old trooper. — Saints and angels, quotha ! most saint-like doings, I warrant you." The page was about to continue his angry vindication, when Stephen Pontoys and his followers returned upon the spur, " Wen- Jock holds out Isravely," he exclaimed, " though he is felly girded in with these boors. The large crossbows are doing good service ; and I little doubt his making his place good till we come up, if it please you to ride something sharply. They have assailed the barriers, and were close up to them even now, but were driven back with small success." ' The party were now put in as rapid motion as might consist with order, and soon reached the top of a small eminence, beneath which lay the village where Wenlock was making his defence. The air rung with the cries and shouts of the insurgents, who, numerous as bees, and possessed of that dogged spirit of courage so peculiar to the English, thronged like ants to the barriers, and endeavoured to break down the palisades, or to climb over them, in despite of the showers of stones and arrows from within, by which they suffered great loss, as well as by the swords and battle-axes of the men-at-arms, whenever they came to hand- blows. " We are in time, we are in time," said Amelot, dropping the reins of his bridle, and joyfully clapping his hands ; " shake thy banner abroad, Genvil— give Wenlock and his fellows a fair view of it. — Comrades, halt — breathe your horses for a moment. — Hark hither, Genvil— If we descend by yonder broad pathway into the meadow where the cattle are " " Brave, my young falcon ! " replied Genvil, whose love of battle, like that of the war-horse of Jpb, kindled at the sight of the spears, and at the sound pf the trumpet ; " we shall have then an easy field for a charge on yonder knaves." " What a thick black cloud the villains make ! " said Amelot ; " but we will let day-light through it with our lances — See, Genvil, the defenders hoist a signal to show they have seen us." 240 THE BETROTHED. "A signal to us ! " exclaimed Genvil. " By Heaven, it is a white flag — a signal of surrender." " Surrender ! they cannot dream of it, when we are advancing to their succour," rephed Amelot ; when two or three melancholy notes from the trumpets of ihe besieged, with a thundering and tumuhuous acclamation from the besiegers, rendered the fact in- disputable. " Down goes Wenlock's pennon," said Genvil, " and the churls enter the barricades on all points. — Here has been cowardice or treachery — What is to be done ? " " Advance on them," said Amelot, " retake the place, and deliver the prisoners." " Advance, indeed ! " answered the banner-man — " Not a horse's length by my counsel — we should have every nail in our corslets counted with arrow-shot, before we got down the hill in the face of such a multitude ; and the place to storm afterwards — it were mere insanity." " Yet come a little forward along with me," said the page ; " perhaps we may find some path by which we could descend unperceived." Accordingly they rode forward a little way to reconnoitre the face of the hill, the page still urging the possibility of descending it un- perceived amid the confusion, when Genvil answered impatiently, " Unperceived ! — you are already perceived — here comes a fellow, pricking towards us as fast as his beast may trot." As he spoke, the rider came up to them. He was a short, thick- set peasant, in an ordinary frieze jacket and hose, with a blue cap on his head, which he had been scarcely able to pull over a shock head of red hair, that seemed in arms to repel the covering. The man's hands were bloody, and he carried at his saddlebow a linen bag, which was also stained with blood. " Ye be of Damian de Lacy's company, be ye not ? " said this rude messenger ; and, when they answered in the affirmative, he proceeded with the same blunt courtesy, " Hob Miller of Twyford commends him to Damian Lacy, and, knowing his purpose to amend disorders in the common- wealth. Hob Miller sends him toll of the grist which he hath grinded ; " and with that he took from the bag a human head, and tendered it to Amelot. « It is Wenlock's head," said Genvil—" how his eyes stare ! " " They will stare after no more wenches now," said the boor—" I have cured him of caterwauling." " Thou ! " said Amelot, stepping back in disgust and indignation. " Yes, I myself," replied the peasant ; " I am Grand Justiciary of the Commons, for lack of a better." " Giand hangman, thou wouldst say," rephed Genvil THE BETROTIIED. 24.1 " Call it what thou list," replied the peasant. " Truly, it behoves men in state to give good example. I'll bid no man do that I am not ready to do myself. It is as easy to hang a man, as to say hang him ; we will have no splitting of offices in this new world, which is happily set up in old England. " Wretch 1 " said Amelot, " take back thy bloody token to them that sent thee ! Hadst thou not come upon assurance, I had pinned thee to the earth with my lance — But, be assured, your cruelty shall be fearfully avenged.— Come, Genvil, let us to our men ; there is no farther use in abiding here." The fellow, who had expected a very different reception, stood staring after them for a few moments, then replaced his bloody trophy in the wallet, and rode back to them who sent him. " This comes of meddling with men's amourettes,^' said Genvil ; '■ Sir Dam'ian would needs brawl with Wenlock about his dealings with this miller's daughter, and you see they account him a favourer of their enterprise ; it will be well if others do not take up the same opinion. — I wish wa were rid of the trouble which such suspicions may bring upon us — ay, were it at the price of my best horse— I am like to lose him at any rate with the day's hard service, and ' would it were the worst it is to cost us." The party returned, wearied and discomforted, to the castle of the Garde Doloureuse,and not without losing'Several of their number by the way, some straggling owing to the weariness of their horses, and others taking the opportunity of desertion, in order to join with the bands of insurgents and plunderers, who had now gathered together in different quarters, and were augmented by recruits from the dissolute soldiery. Amelot, on his return to the castle, found that i.xie state of his master was still very precarious, and that the Lady Eveline, though much exhausted, had not yet retired to rest, but was awaiting his return with impatience. He was introduced to her accordingly, and, with a heavy heart, mentioned the ineffectual event of his expedition. " Now the saints have pity upon us ! " said the Lady EveUne ; " for it seems as if a plague or pest attached to me, and extended itself to all who interest themselves in my welfare. From the moment they do so, their very virtues become snares to them ; and what would, in every other case, recommend them to honour, is turned to destruction to the friends of Eveline Berenger." " Fear not fair lady," said Amelot ; 1 " there are still men enough in my master's camp to put down these disturbers of the public peace I will but abide to receive his instructions, and will hence to-morrow and draw out a force to restore quiet in thi|ipart of the . country." 242 THE BETROTHED. "Alas ! you know not yet the worst of it," replied Eveline. "Since you went hence we have received certain notice, that when the soldiers at Sir Damian's camp heard of the accident which he this morning met with, already discontented with the inactive life which they had of late led, and dispirited by the hurts and reported death of their leader, they have altogether broken up and dispersed their forces.— Yet be of good courage, Amelot," she said ; " this house is strong enough to bear out a worse tempest than any that is likely to be poured on it ; and if all men desert your master in wounds and affliction, it becomes yet more the part of Eveline Berenger to shelter and protect her deliverer." CHAPTER XXVIII. Let our proud trumpet shake their castle wall. Menacing death and ruin. Otway. The evil news with which the last chapter concluded were necessarily told to Damian de Lacy, as the person whom they chiefly concerned ; and Lady Eveline herself undertook the task of communicating them, mingling what she said with tears, and again interrupting those tears to suggest topics of hope and comfort, which carried no consolation to her own bosom. The wounded knight continued with his face turned towards her, listening to the disastrous tidings, as one who was no otherwise affected by them, than as they regarded her who told the story. When she had done speaking, he continued as in a reverie, with his eyes so intently fixed upon her, that she rose up, with the purpose of with- drawing from looks by which she felt herself embarrassed. He hastened to speak, that he might prevent her departure. " All that you have said, fair lady," he replied, " had been enough, if told by another, to have broken my heart ; for it tells me that the power and honour of my house, so solemnly committed to my charge, have been blasted in my misfortunes. But when I look upon you, and hear your voice, I forget everything, saving that you have been rescued, and are here in honour and safety. Let me therefore pray of your goodness that I may be removed from the castle which holds you, and sent elsewhere. I am in no shape worthy of your farther care, since I have no longer the swords of others at my dis- posal, and am totally unable for the present to draw my own." " And if you are generous enough to think of me in your own misfortunes^ noble knight," answered Eveline, "can you suppose that I forgS wherefore, and in whose rescue, these wounds were in- THE BETROTHED, 243 curred? No, Damian, speak not of removal — while there is a turret of the Garde Doloureuse standing, within that turret shall you find shelter and protection. Such, I am well assured, would be the pleasure of your uncle, were he here in person." It seemed as if a sudden pang of his wound had seized upon Damian ; for, repeating the words " My uncle ! " he writhed him- self round, and averted his face from Eveline ; then again com- posing himself, replied, " Alas I knew my uncle how ill I have obeyed his precepts, instead of sheltering me within this house, he would command me to be flung from the battlements ! " " Fear not his displeasure," said Eveline, again preparing to with- draw ; " but endeavour, by the composure of your spirit, to aid the healing of your wounds ; when, I doubt not, you will be able again to establish good order in the Constable's jurisdiction, long before his return." She coloured as she pronounced the last words, and hastily left the apartment. When she was in her own chamber, she dismissed her other attendants, and retained Rose. " What dost thou think of these things, my wise maiden and monitress ? " said she. " I would," replied Rose, " either that this young knight had never entered this castle — or, that being here, he could presently leave it — or, that he could honourably remain here for ever." " What dost thou mean by remaining here for ever ? " said Eveline, sharply and hastily. " Let me answer that question with another— How long has the Constable of Chester been absent from England ? " " Three years come Saint Clement's day," said Eveline ; " and what of that ? " " Nay, nothing ; but " " But what ? — I command you to speak out." " A few weeks will place your hand at your disposal." " And think you, Rose," said Eveline, rising with dignity, " that there are no bonds save those which are drawn by the scribe's pen ? — We know little of the Constable's adventures ; but we know enough to show that his towering hopes have fallen, and his sword and courage proved too weak to change the fortunes of the Sultan Saladin. Suppose him returning some brief time hence, as we have seen so many crusaders regain their homes, poor and broken in health — suppose that he finds his lands laid waste, and his followers dispersed, by the consequence of their late misfortunes, how would it sound should he also find that his betrothed bride had wedded and endowed with her substance the nephew whom he most trusted ? — Dost thou think such an engagement is like a Lombard's mortgage, which must be redeemed on the very day, else forfeiture is sure to be awarded ? " R 2 244 THE BETROTHED. « I cannot tell, madam," replied Rose ; " but they that keep their covenant to the letter, are, in my country, held bound to no more." " That is a Flemish fashion, Rose," said her mistress ; " but the honour of a Norman is not satisfied with an observance so limited. What ! wouldst thou have my honour, my affections, my duty, all that is most valuable to a woman, depend on the same progress of the kalendar which an usurer watches for the purpose of seizing on a forfeited pledge? — Am I such a mere commodity, that I must belong to one man if he claims me before Michaelmas, to another if he comes afterwards ? — No, Rose ; I did not thus interpret my engagement, sanctioned as it was by the special providence of Our Lady of the Garde Doloureuse." " It is a feeling -worthy of you, my dearest lady," answered the attendant; "yet you are so young— so beset with dangers— so much exposed to calumny — that I, at least, looking forward to the time when yoit may have a legal companion and protector, see it as an extrication from much doubt and danger." " Do not think of it, Rose," answered Eveline ; " do not liken your mistress to those provident dames, who, while one husband yet lives, though in old age or weak health, are prudently engaged in plotting for another." " Enough, my dearest lady," said Rose ; — " yet not so. Permit me one word more. Since you are determined not to avail yourself of your freedom, even when the fatal period of your engagement is expired, why suffer this young man to share our solitude ? — He is surely well enough to be removed to some other place of security. Let us resume our former sequestered mode of life, until Providence send us some better or more certain prospects." EveUne sighed — lookea down — then looking upwards, once more had opened her lips to express her willingness to enforce so reason- able an arrangement, but for Damian's recent wounds, and the dis- tracted state of the country, when she was interrupted by the shrill sound of trumpets, blown before the gate of the castle ; and Raoul, with anxiety on his brow, came limping to inform his lady, that a knight, attended by a pursuivant-at-arms, in the royal livery, with a strong guard, was in front of the castle, and demanded admittance in the name of the King. Eveline paused a moment ere she replied, " Not even to the King's order shall the castle of my ancestors be opened, until we are well assured of the person by whom, and the purpose for which, it is demanded. We will ourself to the gate, and learn the meaning of this summons. — My veil, Rose ; and call my women. — Again that trumpet sounds ! Alas ! it rings like a signal to death and ruin." THE BETROTHED. 245 The prophetic apprehensions of Eveline were not false ; for scarce had she reached the door of the apartment, when she was met by the page Amelot, in a state of such disordered apprehension as an dleve of chivalry was scarce on any occasion permitted to display. " Lady, noble lady," he said, hastily bending his knee to Eveline, " save my dearest master ! — You, and you alone, can save him at this extremity." "I ! " said Eveline, in astomsnment— " I save him ? — ^And from what danger ? — God knows how willingly ! " There she stopped short, as if afraid to trust herself with express- ing what rose to her lips. " Guy Monthermer, lady, is at the gate, with a pursuivant and the royal banner. The hereditary enemy of the House of Lacy, thus accompanied, comes hither for no good — the extent of the evil I know not, but for evil he comes. My master slew his nephew at the field of Malpas, and therefore " He was here interrupted by another flourish of trumpets, which rung as if in shrill impatience through the vaults of the ancient fortress. The Lady Eveline hasted to the gate, and found that the wardens, and others who attended there, were looking on each other with doubtful and alarmed countenances, which they turned upon her at her arrival, as if to seek from their mistress the comfort and the courage which they could not communicate to each other. Without the gate, mounted, and in complete armour, was an elderly and stately knight, whose raised visor and beaver depressed, showed a beard already grizzled. Beside him appeared the pursuivant on horseback ; the royal arms embroidered on his heraldic dress^ of office, and all the importance of offended con- sequence on his countenance, which was shaded by his barret-cap and triple plume. They were attended by a body of about fifty soldiers, arranged under the guidon of England. When the Lady Eveline appeared at the barrier, the knight, after a slight reverence, which seemed more in formal courtesy than in kindness, demanded if he saw the daughter of Raymond Berenger. " And is it," he continued, when he had received an answer in the affirmative, "before the castle of that approved and favoured servant of the House of Anjou, that King Henry's trumpets have thrice sounded, without obtaining an entrance for those who are honoured with their Sovereign's command?" " My condition," answered Eveline, " must excuse my caution. I am a lone maiden, residing in a frontier fortress. I may admit no one without enquiring his purpose, and being assured that his entrance consists with the safety of the place, and mine own honour." " Since you are so punctilious, lady," replied Monthermer, "know, that in the present distracted state Qf the country, it is his Grace 246 THE BETROTHED. the King's pleasure to place within your walls a body of men-at- arms, sufficient to guard this important castle, both from the insur- gent peasants, who burn and slay, and from the Welsh, who, it must be expected, will, according to their wont in time of disturbance, make incursions on the frontiers. Undo your gates, then, Lady of Berenger, and suffer his Grace's forces to enter the castle." " Sir Knight," answered the lady, " this castle, like every other fortress in England, is the King's by law ; but by law also I am the keeper and defender of it ; and it is the tenure by which my ancestors held these lands. I have men enough to maintain the Garde Doloureuse in my time, as my father, and my grandfather before him, defended it in theirs. The King is gracious to send me suc- cours, but I need not the aid of hirehngs ; neither do I think it safe to admit such into my castle, who may, in this lawless time, make themselves masters of it for other than its lawful mistress." " Lady," replied the old warrior, " his Grace is not ignorant of the motives which produce a contumacy like this. It is not any apprehension for the royal forces which influences you, a royal vas- sal, in this refractory conduct. I might proceed upon your refusal to proclaim you a traitor to the Crown, but the King remembers the services of your father. Know, then, we are not ignorant that Damian de Lacy, accused of instigating and heading this insur- rection, of deserting his duty in the field and abandoning a noble comrade to the sword of the brutal peasants, has found shelter under this roof, with little credit to your loyalty as a vassal, or your con- duct as a high-born maiden. Deliver him up to us, and I will draw off these men-at-arms, and dispense, though I may scarce answer doing so, with the occupation of the castle." "Guy de Monthermer," answered Eveline, "he that throws a stain on my name, speaks falsely and unworthily ; as for Damian de Lacy, he knows how to defend his own fame. This only let me say, that, while he takes his abode in the castle of the betrothed of his kinsman, she delivers him to no one, least of all to his well-known feudal enemy. — Drop the portcullis, wardens, and let it not be raised without my special order." The portcullis, as she spoke, fell rattling and clanging to the ground, and Monthermer, in baffled spite, remained excluded from the castle. " Unworthy lady "—he began in passion, then checking himself, said calmly to the pursuivant, " Ye are witness that she hath admitted that the traitor is within that castle — ye are witness that, lawfully summoned, this Eveline Berenger refuses to deliver him up. Do your duty. Sir Pursuivant, as is usual in such cases." The pursuivant then advanced and proclaimed, in the formal and fatal phrase befitting the occasion, that Eveline Berenger, lawfully summoned, refusing to admit the King's forces into her castle, and THE BKTROTHED. 247 to deliver up the body of a false traitor, called Damian de Lacy, had herself incurred the penalty of high treason, and had involved within the same doom all who aided, abetted, or maintained her in holding out the said castle against their allegiance to Henry of Anjou. The trumpets, so soon as the voice of the herald had ceased, confirmed the doom he had pronounced, by a long and ominous peal, startling fi-om their nests the owl and the raven, who replied to it by their ill-boding screams. The defenders of the castle looked on each other with blank and dejected countenances, while Monthermer, raising aloft his lance, exclaimed, as he turned his horse from the castle gate, " When I next approach the Garde Doloureuse, it will be not merely to intimate, but to execute, the mandate of my Sovereign." As Eveline stood pensively to behold the retreat of Monthermer and his associates, and to consider what was to be done in this emergency, she heard one of the Flemings, in a low tone, ask an Eng- lishman, who stood beside him, what was the meaning of a traitor. " One who betrayeth a trust reposed — a betrayer," said the inter- preter. The phrase which he used recalled to Eveline's memory her boding vision or dream. " Alas ! " she said, " the vengeance of the fiend is about to be accomplished. Widow'd wife and wedded maid — these epithets have long been mine. Betrothed ! — woe's me ! it is the key-stone of my destiny. Betrayer I am now denounced, though, thank God, I am clear from the guilt ! It only follows that I should be betrayed, and the evil prophecy will be fulfilled to the very letter." CHAPTER XXIX. Out on ye, owls ! — Nothing but songs of death ? Richard III. More than three months had elapsed since the event narrated in the last chapter, and it had been the precursor of others of still greater importance, which will evolve themselves in the course of our narrative. But, as we profess to present to the reader not a precise detail of circumstances, according to their order and date, but a series of pictures, endeavouring to present the most striking incidents before the 6ye or imagination of those whom it may con- cern, we therefore onen a new scene, and bring other actors upon the stage. Along a wasted tract ol country, more than twelve miles distant from the Garde Doloureuse, in the heat of a summer noon, which shed a burning lustre on the silent valley, and the blackened ruins- Z4S , THE PETROTHED. of the cottages with which it had been once graced, two travellers walked slowly, whose palmer cloaks, pilgrims' staves, large slouched hats, with a scallop shell bound on the front of each, above all, the cross, cut in red cloth upon their shoulders, marked them as pilgrims who had accomplished their vow, and had returned from that fatal bourne, from which, in those days, returned so few of the thousands who visited it, whether in the love of enterprise, or in the ardour of devotion. The pilgrims had passed, that morning, through a scene of devas- tation similar to, and scarce surpassed in misery by, those which they had often trod during the wars of the Cross. They had seen hamlets which appeared to have suffered all the fury of military execution, the houses being burned to the ground ; and in many •cases the carcasses of the miserable inhabitants, or rather relics of such objects, were suspended on temporary gibbets, or on the trees, which had been allowed to remain standing, only, it would seem, to serve the convenience of the executioners. Living creatures they saw none, excepting those wild denizens of nature who seemed silently resuming the now wasted district, from which they might have been formerly expelled by the course of civilisation. Their ears were no less disagreeably occupied than their eyes. The pen- sive travellers might indeed hear the screams of the raven, as if lamenting the decay of the carnage on which he had been gorged ; and now and then the plaintive howl of some dog, deprived of his home and master ; but no sounds which argued either labour or domestication of any kind. The sable figures, who, with wearied steps, as it appeared, travelled through these scenes of desolation and ravage, seemed assimilated to them in appearance. They spoke not with each other — they looked not to each other — but one, the shorter of the pair, keeping about half a pace in front of his companion, they moved slowly, as priests returning from a sinner's death-bed, or rather as spectres flitting along the precincts of a churchyard. At length they reached a grassy mound, on the top of which was placed one of those receptacles for the dead of the ancient British chiefs of distinction, called Kist-vaen, which are composed of upright fragments of granite, so placed as to form a stone coffin, or something bearing that resemblance. The sepulchre had been long violated by the victorious Saxons, either in scorn or in idle curiosity, or because treasures were supposed to be sometimes concealed in such spots. The huge flat stone which had once been the cover of the coffin, if so it might be termed, lay broken in two pieces at some distance from the sepulchre ; and, overgrown as the fragments were with grass and lichens, showed plainly that the lid had been removed to its present situation many years before. A stunted and doddered THE BETROTHED. 249 oak still spread ts branches over the open and rude mausoleum, as if the Druid's badge and emblem, shattered and storm-broken, was still bending to offer its protection to the last remnants of their worship. " This, then, is the Kist-vaen," said the shorter pilgrim ; " and here we must abide tidings of our scout. But what, Philip Guarine, have we to expect as an explanation of the devastation which we have traversed?" " Some incursion of the Welsh wolves, my lord," replied Guarine ; " and, by Our Lady, here lies a poor Saxon sheep whom they have snapped up." The Constable (for he was the pilgrim who had walked foremost) turned as he heard his squire speak, and saw the corpse of a man amongst the long grass ; by which, indeed, it was so hidden, that he himself had passed without notice, what the esquire, in less abstracted mood, had not failed to observe. The leathern doublet of the slain bespoke him an English peasant — the body lay on its face, and the arrow which had caused his death still stuck in his baok. Philip Guarine, with the cool indifference of one accustomed to such scenes, drew the shaft from the man's back, as composedly as he would have removed it from the body of a deer. With similar indifference the Constable signed to his esquire to give him the arrow — looked at it with indolent curiosity, and then said, " Thou hast forgotten thy old craft, Guarine, when thou callest that a Welsh shaft. Trust me, it flew from a Norman bow; but why it should be found in the body of that English churl, I can ill guess," " Some runaway serf, I would warrant — some mongrel cur, who had joined the Welsh pack of hounds," answered the esquire. " It may be so," said the Constable ; " but I rather augur some civil war among the Lords Marchers themselves. The Welsh, indeed, sweep the villages, and leave nothing behind them but blood and ashes, but here even castles seem to have been stormed and taken. May God send us good news of the Garde Doloureuse ! " " Amen !" replied his squire ; " but if Renault Vidal brings it, 'twill be the first time he has proved a bird of good omen." " Philip," said the Constable, " I have already told thee thou art a jealous-pated fool. How many times has Vidal shown his faith in doubt — his address in difficulty— his courage in battle — his patieiice under suffering ?" " It may be all very true, my lord," replied Guarine ; " yet — but what avails to speak? — I own he has done you sometimes good service ; but loath were I that your life or honour were at the mercy of Renault Vidal." " In the name of all the saints, thou peevish and suspicious fool, what is it thou canst found upon to his prejudice?" 250 THE BETROTHED. " Nothing, my lord," replied Guarine, " but instinctive suspicion and aversion. The child that, for the first time, sees a snake, knows nothing of its evil properties, yet he will not chase it and take it up as he would a butterfly. Such is my dislike of Vidal— I cannot help it. I could pardon the man his malicious and gloomy sidelong looks, when he thinks no one observes him ; but his sneering laugh I cannot forgive— it is like the beast we heard of in Judea, who laughs, they say, before he tears and destroys." " Phihp," said De Lacy, " I am sorry for thee — sorry, from my soul, to see such a predominating and causeless jealousy occupy the brain of a gallant old soldier. Here, in this last misfortune, to recall no more ancient proofs of his fidelity, could he mean other- wise than well with us, when, thrown by shipwreck upon the coast of Wales, we would have been doomed to instant death, had the Cymri recognised in me the Constable of Chester, and in thee his trusty esquire, the executioner of his commands against the Welsh in so many instances ?" " I acknowledge," said Philip Guarine, " death had surely been our fortune, had not that man's ingenuity represented us as pilgrims, and, under that character, acted as our interpreter — and in that character he entirely precluded us from getting information from any one respecting the state of things here, which it behoved your lordship much to know, and which I must needs say looks gloomy and suspicious enough." " Still art thou a fool, Guarine," said the Constable ; " for, look you, had Vidal meant ill by us, why should he not have betrayed us to the Welsh, or suffered us, by showing such knowledge as thou and I may have of their gibberish, to betray ourselves ? " " Well, my lord," said Guarine, " I may be silenced, but not satis- fied. All the fair words he can speak — all the fine tunes he can play — Renault Vidal will be to my eyes ever a dark and suspicious man, with features always ready to mould themselves into the fittest form to attract confidence ; with a tongue framed to utter the most flattering and agreeable words at one time, and at another to play shrewd plainness or blunt honesty ; and an eye which, when he thinks himself unobserved, contradicts every assumed expression of features, every protestation of honesty, and every word of courtesy or cordiality to which his tongue lias given utterance. But I speak not more on the subject ; only I am an old mastiff, of the true breed — I love my master, but cannot endure some of those whom he favours ; and yonder, as I judge, comes Vidal, to give us such an account of our situation, as it shall please him." A horseman was indeed seen advancing in the path towards the Kist-vaen, with a hasty pace ; and his dress, in which something of the Eastern fashion was manifest, with the fantastic attire usually THE BETROTHED. 2£i worn by men of his profession, made the Constable aware that the minstrel, of whom they were speaking, was rapidly approaching them. Although Hugo de Lacy rendered this attendant no more than what in justice he supposed his services demanded, when he vindi- cated him from the suspicions thrown out by Guarine, yet at the bottom of his heart he had sometimes shared those suspicions, and was often angry at himself, as a just and honest man, for censuring, on the slight testimony of looks, and sometimes casual expressions, a fidelity which seemed to be proved by many acts of zeal and integrity. When Vidal approached and dismounted to make his obeisance, his master hasted to speak to him in words of favour, as if con- scious he had been partly sharing Guarine's unjust judgment upon him, by even listening to it. " Welcome, my trusty Vidal," he said ; " thou hast been the raven that fed us on the mountains of Wales, be now the dove that brings us good tidings from the Marches. — Thou art silent. What mean these downcast looks — that embarrassed carriage — that cap plucked down o'er thine eyes? — In God's name, man, speak ! — Fear not for me — I can bear worse than tongue of man may tell. Thou hast seen me in the wars of Palestine, when my brave followers fell, man by man, around me, and when I was left wellnigih alone — and did I blench then ? — Thou hast seen me when the ship's keel lay grating on the rock, and the billows flew in foam over her deck — did I blench then ? — No — nor will I now." " Boast not," said the minstrel, looking fixedly upon the Con- stable, as the former assumed the port and countenance of one who sets Fortune and her utmost malice at defiance — " boast not, lest thy bands be made strong." There was a pause of a minute, during which the group formed at this instant a singular picture. Afraid to ask, yet ashamed to seem to fear the ill tidings which impended, the Constable confronted his messenger with person erect, arms folded, and brow expanded with resolution ; while the minstrel, carried beyond his usual and guarded apathy by the interest of the moment, bent on his master a keen fixed glance, as if to observe whether his courage was real or assumed. Philip Guarine, on the other hand, to whom Heaven, in assigning him a rough exterior, had denied neither sense nor observation, kept his eye in turn firmly fixed on Vidal, as if endeavouring to determine what was the character of that deep interest which gleamed in the minstrel's looks apparently, and was unable to ascertain whether it was that of a faithful domestic sympathetically agitated by the bad news with which he was about to afflict his 252 THE BETROTHED. master, or that of an executioner standing with his knife suspended over his victim, deferring his blow until he should discover where it would be most sensibly felt. In Guarine's mind, prejudiced, perhaps, by the previous opinion he had entertained, the latter sentiment so decidedly predominated, that he longed to raise his staff, and strike down to the earth the servant, who seemed thus to enjoy the protracted sufferings of their common master. At length a convulsive movement crossed the brow of the Con- stable, and Guarine, when he beheld a sardonic smile begin to curl Vidal's lip, could keep silence no longer, " Vidal," he said, " thou art a " " A bearer of bad tidings," said Vidal, interrupting him, " there- fore subject to the misconstruction of every fool who cannot dis- tinguish between the author of harm, and him who unwillingly reports it." " To what purpose this delay ? " said the Constable. " Come, Sir Minstrel, I will spare you a pang — Eveline has forsaken and forgotten me ? " The minstrel assented by a low inclination. Hugo de Lacy paced a short turn before the stone monument, endeavouring to conquer the deep emotion which he felt. " I forgive her," he said. " Forgive, did I say ? — Alas ! I have nothing to forgive. She used but the right I left in her hand — yes — our date of engagement was out — she had heard of my losses — my defeats— the destruction of my hopes— the expenditure of my wealth ; and has taken the first opportunity which strict law afforded, to break off her engagement with one bankrupt in fortune and fame. i\Iany a maiden would have done — perhaps in prudence should have done — this ; — but that woman's name should not have been Eveline Berenger." He leaned on his esquire's arm, and for an instant laid his head on his shoulder with a depth of emotion which Guarine had never before seen him betray, and which, in awkward kindness, he could only attempt to console by bidding his master " be of good courage —he had lost but a woman." " This is no selfish emotion, Philip," said the Constable, resuming self-command. " I grieve less that she has left me, than that she has misjudged me — that she has treated me as the pawnbroker does his wretched creditor, who arrests the pledge as the very moment elapses within which it might have been relieved. Did she then think that I in my turn would have been a creditor so rigid ? — that I, who, since I knew her, scarce deemed myself worthy of her when I had wealth and fame, should insist on her sharing my diminished and degraded fortunes ? How little she ever knew me, or how selfish must she have supposed my misfortunes to have THE BETROTHED. 253 made me ! But be it so — she is gone, and may she be happy. The thought that she disturbed me shall pass from my mind ; and I will think she has done that which I myself, as her best friend, must in honour have advised." So saying, his countenance, to the surprise of his attendants, resumed its usual firm composure. " I give you joy," said the esquire, in a whisper to the minstrel ; " your evQ news have wounded less deeply than, doubtless, you believed was possible." " Alas ! " replied the minstrel, " I have others and worse behind." This answer was made in an equivocal tone of voice, correspond- ing to the peculiarity of his manner, and like that seeming emotion of a deep but very doubtful character. " Eveline Berenger is then married," said the Constable ; " and, let me make a wild guess, — she has not abandoned the family, though she has forsaken the individual — she is still a Lacy ? ha ? — Dolt that thou art, wilt thou not understand me ? She is married to Damian de Lacy — to my nephew ? " The effort with which the Constable gave breath to this suppo- sition formed a strange contrast to the constrained smile to which he compelled his features while he uttered it. With such a smile a man about to drink poison might name a health, as he put the fatal beverage to his lips. " No, my lord^-not married" answered the minstrel, with an emphasis on the word, which the Constable knew how to interpret. " No, no," he replied quickly, " not married, perhaps, but engaged — troth-plighted. Wherefore not ? The date of her old affiance was out, why not enter into a new engagement ? " " The Lady Eveline and Sir Damian de Lacy are not affianced that I know of," answered his attendant. This reply drove De Lacy's patience to extremity. " Dog ! dost thou trifle with me ! " he exclaimed : " Vile wire- pincher, thou torturest me ! Speak the worst at orice, or I will presently make thee minstrel to the household of Satan." ^ Calm and collected did the minstrel reply, — " The Lady Eveline and Sir Damian are neither married nor affianced, my lord. They have loved and lived together — par amours^' "Dog, and son of a dog," said De Lacy, "thou Hest !" And, seizing the minstrel by the breast, the exasperated baron shook him with his whole strength. But great as that strength was, it was unable to stagger Vidal, a practised wrestler, -in the firm pos- ture which he had assumed, any more than his master's wrath could disturb the composure of the minstrel's bearing. " Confess thou hast lied," said the Constable, releasing him, after 2S^^ THE BETROTHED. having effected by his violence no greater degree of agitation than the exertion of human force produces upon the Rocking Stones of the Druids, which may be shaken, indeed, but not displaced. " Were a lie to buy my own life, yea, the lives of all my tribe," said the minstrel, " I would not tell one. But truth itself is ever termed falsehood when it counteracts the train of our passions." " Hear him, Philip Guarine, hear him ! " exclaimed the Con- stable, turning hastily to his squire : " He tells me of my disgrace • — of the dishonour of my house — of the depravity of those whom I have loved the best in the world — he tells me of it with a calm look, an eye composed, an unfaltering tongue. — Is this — can it be natural ? Is De Lacy sunk so low, that his dishonour shall be told by a common strolling minstrel, as calmly as if it were a theme for a vain ballad ? Perhaps thou wilt make it one, ha ! " as he concluded, darting a furious glance at the minstrel. " Perhaps I might, my lord," replied the minstrel, " were it not that I must record therein the disgrace of Renault Vidal, who served a lord without either patience to bear insults and wrongs, or spirit to revenge them on the authors of his shame." " Thou art right, thou art right, good fellow," said the Constable, hastily ; " it is vengeance now alone which is left us — And yet upon whom ! " As he spoke, he walked shortly and hastily to and fro ; and, becoming suddenly silent, stood still and wrung his hands with deep emotion. " I told thee,'' said the minstrel to Guarine, " that my muse would find a tender part at last. Dost thou remember the bull- fight we saw in Spain ? — A thousand little darts perplexed and annoyed the noble animal, ere he received the last deadly thrust from the lance of the Moorish cavalier." " Man, or fiend, be which thou wilt," replied Guarine, " that can thus drink in with pleasure, and contemplate at your ease, the misery of another, I bid thee beware of me ! Utter thy cold- blooded taunts in some other ear ; for if my tongue be blunt, I wear a sword that is sharp enough." "Thou hast seen me among swords," answered the minstrel, " and knowest how little terror they have for such as I am." Yet as he spoke he drew off from the esquire. He had, in fact, only addressed him in that sort of fulness of heart, which would have vented itself in soliloquy if alone, and now poured itself out on the nearest auditor, without the speaker being entirely conscious of the sentiments which his speech excited. Few minutes had elapsed before the Constable ot Chester had regained the calm external semblance with which, until this last dreadful wound, he had borne all he inflictions of fortune. He THE BETROTHED. 253 turned towards his followers, and addressed the minstrel with his usual calmness, " Thou art right, good fellow," he said, " in what thou saidst to me but now, and I forgive thee the taunt which accompanied thy good counsel. Speak out, in God's name ! and speak to one prepared to endure the evil which God hath sent him. Certes, a good knight is best known in battle, and a Christian in the time of trouble and adversity." , The tone in which the Constable spoke, seemed to produce a corresponding effect upon the deportment of his followers. The minstrel dropped at once the cynical and audacious tone in which he had hitherto seemed to tamper with the passions of his master ; and in language simple and respectful, and which even approached to sympathy, informed him of the evil news which he had collected during his absence. It was indeed disastrous. The refusal of the Lady Eveline Berenger to admit Monthermer and his forces into her castle, had of course given circulation and credence to all the calumnies which had been circulated to her prejudice, and that of Damian de Lacy ; and there were many who for various causes, were interested in spreading and supporting these slanders. A large force had been sent into the country to subdue the insurgent peasants ; and the knights and nobles dis- patched for that purpose, failed not to avenge to the uttermost, upon the wretched plebeians, the noble blood which they had spilled during their temporary triumph. The followers of the unfortunate Wenlock were infected with the same persuasion. Blamed by many for a hasty and cowardly sur- render of a post which might have been defended, they endeavoured to vindicate themselves by alleging the hostile demonstrations of De Lacy's cavalry as the sole cause of their premature submission. These rumours, supported by such interested testimony, spread wide and far through the land ; and, joined to the undeniable fact that Damian had sought refuge in the strong castle of Garde Doloureuse, which was now defending itself against the royal arms, animated the numerous enemies of the house of De Lacy, and drove its vassals and friends almost to despair, as men reduced either to disown their feudal allegiance, or renounce that still more sacred fealty which they owed to their sovereign. At this crisis they received intelligence that the wise and active monarch by whom the sceptre of England was then swayed, was moving towards that part of England, at the head of a large body of soldiers, for the purpose at once of pressing the siege of the Garde Doloureuse, and completing the suppression of the insur- rection of the peasantry, which Guy • Monthermer had nearly accomplished. In this emergency, and when the friends and dependents of the 2^5 THE BETROTHED. House of Lacy scarcely knew whicn hand to turn to, Randal, the Constable's kinsman, and, after Damian, his heir, suddenly ap- peared amongst them, with a royal commission to raise and com- mand such followers of the family as might not desire to be involved in the supposed treason of the Constable's delegate. In trouble- some times, men's vices are forgotten, provided they display activity, courage, and prudence, the virtues then most required ; and the appearance of Randal, who was by no means deficient in any of these attributes, was received as a good omen by the fol- lowers of his cousin. They quickly gathered around him, sur- rendered to the royal mandate such strongholds as they possessed, and, to vindicate themselves from any participation in the alleged crimes of Damian, they distinguished themselves, under Randal's command, against such scattered bodies of peasantry as still kept the field, or lurked in the mountains and passes ; and conducted themselves with such severity after success, as made the troops even of Monthermer appear gentle and clement in comparison with those of De Lacy. Finally, with the banner of his* ancient house displayed, and five hundred good men assembled under it, Randal appeared before the Garde Doloureuse, and joined Henry's camp there. The castle was already hardly pressed, and the few defenders, disabled by wounds, watching, and privation, had now the addi- tional discouragement to see displayed against their walls the only banner in England, under which they had hoped forces might be mustered for their aid. The high-spirited entreaties of Eveline, unbent by adversity and want, gradually lost effect on the defenders of the castle ; and pro- posals for surrender were urged and discussed by a tumultuary council, into which not only the inferior officers, but many of the common men, had thrust themselves, as in a period of such general distress as unlooses all the bonds of discipline, and leaves each man at liberty to speak and act for himself. To their surprise, in the midst of their discussions, Damian de Lacy, arisen from the sick-bed to which he had been so long confined, appeared among them, pale and feeble, his cheek tinged with the ghastly look which is left by long illness— he leaned on his page Amelot. " Gentle- men," he said, " and soldiers— yet why should I call you either ?— Gentlemen are ever ready to die in behalf of a lady — soldiers hold life in scorn compared to their honour." " Out upon him ! out upon him ! " exclaimea some of the soldiers, interrupting him ; " he would have us, who are innocent, die the death of traitors, and be hanged in our armour over the walls, rather than part with his leman." " Peace, irreverent slave ! " said Damian, in a voice like thunder, THE BETROTHED. 357 "or my last blow shall be a mean one, aimed against such a caitiff as thou art. — And you," he continued, addressing the rest, — "you, who are shrinking from the toils of your profession, because if you persist in a course of honour, death may close them a few years sooner than it needs must — you, who are scared like children at the sight of a death's-head, do not suppose tliat Damian de Lacy would desire to shelter himself at the expense of those lives which you hold so dear. Make your bargain with King Henry. Deliver me up to his justice, or his severity ; or, if you like it better, strike my head from my body, and hurl it, as a peace- offering, from the walls of the castle. To God, in his good time, will I trust for the clearance of mine honour. In a word, surrender me, dead or alive, or open the gates and permit me to surrender myself. Only, as ye are men, since I may not say better of ye, care at least for the safety of your mistress, and make such terms as may secure her safety, and save yourselves from the dishonour of being held cowardly and perjured caitiffs in your graves." " Methinks the youth speaks well and reasonably," said Wilkin Flammock. " Let us e'en make a grace of surrendering his body up to the King, and assure thereby such terms as we can for ourselves and the lady, ere the last morsel of our provision is consumed." " I would hardly have proposed this measure," said, or rather mumbled. Father Aldrovand, who had recently lost four of his front teeth by a stone from a sling — " yet, being so generously offered by the party principally concerned, I hold with the learned scholiast, Volenti nonfit injttria." " Priest and Fleming,* said the old banner-man, Ralph Genvil, " I see how the wind stirreth you ; but you deceive yourselves if you think to make our young master, Sir Damian, a scape-goat for your light lady. — Nay, never frown nor fume. Sir Damian ; if you know not your safest course, we know it for you. — Followers of De Lacy, throw yourselves on your horses, and two men on one, if it be necessary — we will take this stubborn boy in the midst of us, and the dainty squire Amelot shall be prisoner too, if he trouble us with his peevish opposition. Then let us make a fair sally upon the siegers. Those who can cut their way through will shift well enough ; those who fall, will be provided for." A shout from the troopers of Lacy's band approved this proposal. Whilst the followers of Berenger expostulated in loud and angry tone, Eveline, summoned by the tumult, in vain endeavoured to appease it ; and the anger and entreaties of Damian were equally lost on his followers. To each and either the answer was the same. " Have you no care of it— Because you love jiar amours, is it S SjS THE BETROTHED. reasonable you should throw away your life and ours?" So exclaimed Genvil to De Lacy ; and in softer language, but with equal obstinacy, the followers of Raymond Berenger refused on the present occasion to listen to the commands or prayers of his daughter. Wilkin Flammock had retreated from the tumult, when he saw the turn which matters had taken. He left the castle by a sally- port, of which he had been intrusted with the key, and proceeded without observation or opposition to the royal camp, where he requested access to the Sovereign. This was easily obtained, and Wilkin speedily found himself in the presence of King Henry. The monarch was in his royal pavilion, attended by two of his sons, Richard and John, who afterwards swayed the sceptre of England with very different auspices. " How now ? — What art thou ?" was the royal question. " An honest man, from the castle of the Garde Doloureuse." " Thou may'st be honest," replied the Sovereign, " but thou comest from a nest of traitors." " Such as they are, my lord, it is my purpose to put them at your royal disposal ; for they have no longer the wisdom to guide themselves, and lack alike prudence to hold out, and grace to submit. But I would first know of your grace to what terms you will admit the defenders of yonder garrison ? " " To such as kings give to traitors," said Henry, sternly — " sharp knives and tough cords." " Nay, my gracious lord, you must be kinder than that amounts to, if the castle is to be rendered by my means ; else will your cords and knives have only my poor body to work upon, and you will be as far as ever from the inside of the Garde Doloureuse." The King looked at him fixedly. " Thou knowest," he said, " the law of arms. Here, provost-marshal, stands a traitor, and yonder stands a tree." "And here is a throat," said the stout-hearted Fleming, un- buttoning the collar of his doublet. " By mine honour," said Prince Richard, " a sturdy and faithful yeoman ! It were better send such fellows their dinner, and then buffet it out with them for the castle, than to starve them as the beggarly Frenchmen famish their hounds." " Peace, Richard," said his father ; " thy wit is over green, and thy blood over hot, to make thee my counsellor here. — And you, knave, speak you some reasonable terms, and we will not be over strict with thee." " First, then," said the Fleming,"! stipulate full and free pardon for life, limb, body, and goods, to me, Wilkin Flammock, and my daughter Rose." THE BETROTHED. 259 " A true Fleming," said Prince John ; " he takes care of himself in the first instance." " His request," said the King, " is reasonable. What next ? " " Safety, in life, honour, and land, for the demoiselle Eveline Berenger." "How, sir knave ! " said the King, angrily, " is it for such as thou to dictate to our judgment or clemency in the case of a noble Norman lady .■" Confine thy mediation to such as thyself ; or rather render us this castle without farther delay ; and be assured thy doing so will be of more service to the traitors within, than weeks more of resistance, which must and shall be bootless." The Fleming stood silent, unwilling to surrender without some specific terms, yet half convinced, from the situation in which he had left the garrison of the Garde Doloureuse, that his admitting the King's forces would be, perhaps, the best he could do for Lady Eveline. " I like thy fidelity, fellow," said the King, whose acute eye per- ceived the struggle in the Fleming's bosom ; " but carry not thy stubbornness too far. Have we not said we will be gracious to yonder offenders, as far as our royal duty will permit ? " " And, royal father," said Prince John, interposing, " I pray you let me have the grace to take first possession of the Garde Doloureuse, and the wardship or forfeiture of the offending lady." " / pray you also, my royal father, to grant John's boon," said his brother Richard, in a tone of mockery. " Consider, royal father, it is the first desire he hath shown to approach the barriers of the castle, though we have attacked them forty times at least. Marry, crossbow and mangonel were busy on the former occasions, and it is like they will be silent now." " Peace, Richard," said the King ; " your words, aimed at thy brother's honour, pierce my heart. — ^John, thou hast thy boon as concerns the castle ; for this unhappy young lady, we will take her in our own charge.^Fleming, how many men wilt thou undertake to admit ? ' Ere Flammock could answer, a squire approached Prince Richard, and whispered in his ear, yet so as to be heard by all present, " We have discovered that some internal disturbance, or other cause unknown, has withdrawn many of the warders from the castle walls, and that a sudden attack might " " Dost thou hear that, John ? " exclaimed Richard. " Ladders, man — get ladders, and to the wall. How I should delight to see thee on the highest round — thy knees shaking — thy hands grasping convulsively, like those of one in an ague fit — all air around thee, save a baton or two of wood — the moat below — half-a-dozen pikes at thy throat "— — S 2 26o THE BETROTHED. " Peace, Richard, for shame, if not for charity ! " said his father, in a tone of anger, mingled with grief. " And thou, John, get ready for the assault." " As soon as I have put on my armour, father," answered the Prince ; and withdrew slowly, with a visage so blank as to promise no speed in his preparations. His brother laughed as he retired, and said to his squire, " It were no bad jest, Alberick, to carry the place ere John can change his silk doublet for a steel one." So saying, he hastily withdrew, and his father exclaimed in paternal distress, " Out, alas ! as much too hot as his brother is too cold ; but it is the manlier fault. — Gloucester," said he to that celebrated earl, "take sufficient strength, and follow Prince Richard to guard and sustain him. If any one can rule him, it must be a knight of thy established fame. Alas, alas ! for what sin have I deserved the affliction of these cruel family feuds ! " " Be comforted, my lord," said the chancellor, who was also in attendance. " Speak not of comfort to a father, whose sons are at discord with each other, and agree only in their disobedience to him !" Thus spoke Henry the Second, than whom no wiser, or, gene- rally speaking, more fortunate monarch, ever sat upon the throne of England ; yet whose life is a striking illustration, how family dissensions can tarnish the most brilliant lot to which Heaven permits humanity to aspire ; and how little gratified ambition, extended power, and the highest reputation in war and in peace, can do towards curing the wounds of domestic affliction. The sudden and fiery attack, of Richard, who hastened to the escalade at the head of a score of followers, collected at random, had the complete effect of surprise ; and having surmounted the walls with their ladders, before the contending parties within were almost aware of the assault, the assailants burst open the gates, and admitted Gloucester, who had hastily followed with a strong body of men-at-arms. The garrison, in their state of sur- prise, confusion, and disunion, offered but little resistance, and would have been put to the sword, and the place plundered, had not Henry himself entered it, and by his personal exertions and authority, restrained the excesses of the dissolute soldiery. The King conducted himself, considering the times and the provocation, with laudable moderation. He contented himself with disarming and dismissing the common soldiers, giving them some trifle to carry them out of the country, lest want should lead them to form themselves into bands of robbers. The officers were more severely treated, being for the greater part thrown into dungeons, to abide the course of the law. In particular. THE BETROTHED. 261 imprisonment was th? lot of Damian de Lacy, against whom, believing the various charges with which he was loaded, Henry was so highly incensed, that he purposed to make him an example to all false knights and disloyal subjects. To the Lady Eveline Berenger he assigned her own apartment as a prison, in which she was honourably attended by Rose and Alice, but guarded with the utmost strictness. It was generally reported that her demesnes would be declared a forfeiture to the crown, and bestowed, at least in part, upon Randal de Lacy, who had done good service during the siege. Her person, it was thought, was destined to the seclusion of some distant French nunnery, where she might at leisure repent her of her follies and her rashness. Father Aldrovand was delivered up to the discipline of his convent, long experience having very effectually taught Henry the imprudence of infringing on the privileges of the church ; although, when the King first beheld him with a rusty corslet clasped over his frock, he with difficulty repressed the desire to cause him be hanged over the battlements, to preach to the ravens. With Wilkin Flammock, Henry held much conference, particu- larly on the subject of manufactures and commerce ; on which the sound-headed, though blunt-spoken Fleming, was well qualified to instruct an intelligent monarch. " Thy intentions," he said, " shall not be forgotten, good fellow, though they have been anticipated by the headlong valour of my son Richard, which has cost some poor caitiffs their lives — Richard loves not to sheathe a bloodless weapon. But thou and thy countrymen shall return to thy mills yonder, with a full pardon for past offences, so that you meddle no more with such treasonable matters." " And our privileges and duties, my liege ? " said Flammock. " Your Majesty knows well we are vassals to the lord of this castle, and must follow him in battle." " It shall no longer be so," said Henry ; " I will form a commu- nity of Flemings here, and thou, P'lammock, shalt be Mayor, that thou may'st not plead feudal obedience for a relapse into treason." " Treason, my liege ! " said Flammock, longing, yet scarce ven- turing, to interpose a' word in behalf of Lady Eveline, for whom, despite the constitutional coolness of his temperament, he really felt much interest — " I would that your Grace but justly knew how many threads went to that woof." " Peace, sirrah ! — meddle with your loom," said Henry ; " and if we deign to speak to thee concerning the mechanical arts which thou dost profess, take it for no warrant to intrude further on our privacy." The Fleming retired, rebuked, and in silence ; and the fate of 262 THE BETROTHED. the unhappy prisoners remained in the King's bosom. He himself took up his lodging in the castle of the Garde Doloureuse, as a convenient station for sending abroad parties to suppress and extinguish all the embers of rebellion ; and so active was Randal de Lacy on these occasions, that he appeared daily to rise in the King's grace, and was gratified with considerable grants out of the domains of Berenger and Lacy, which the King seemed already to treat as forfeited property. Most men considered this growing favour of Randal as a perilous omen, both for the life of young De Lacy, and for the fate of the unfortunate Eveline. CHAPTER XXX. A vow, a vow — I have a vow in Heaven. Shall 1 bring perjury upon my soul ? No, not for Venice. Merchant of Venice, The conclusion of the last chapter contains the tidings with which the minstrel greeted his unhappy master, Hugo de Lacy ; not indeed with the same detail of circumstances witli which we have been able to invest the narrative, but so as to infer the general and appalling facts, that his betrothed bride, and beloved and trusted kinsman, had leagued together for his dishonour — had raised the banner of rebellion against their lawful sovereign, and, failing in their audacious attempt, had brought the life of one of them, at least, into the most imminent danger, and the fortunes of the House of Lacy, unless some instant remedy could be found, to the very verge of ruin. Vidal marked the countenance of his master as he spoke, with the same keen observation which the chirurgeon gives to the pro- gress of his dissecting-knife. There was grief on the Constable's features— deep grief— but without the expression of abasement or prostration, which usually accompanies it ; anger and shame were there — but they were both of a noble character, seemingly excited by his bride and nephew's transgressing the laws of allegiance, honour, and virtue, rather than by the disgrace and damage which he himself sustained through their crime. The minstrel was so much astonished at this change of deport- ment, from the sensitive acuteness of agony which attended the beginning of his narrative, that he stepped back two paces, and gazing on the Constable with wonder, mixed with admiration, exclaimed, "We have heard of martyrs in Palestine, but this exceeds them ! " THE BETROTHED. 263 "Wondef not so much, good friend," said the Constable, patiently ; " it is the first blow of the lance or mace which pierces or stuns — those which follow are little felt."* " Think, my lord," said Vidal, " all is lost — love, dominion, high office, and bright fame — so late a chief among nobles — now a poor palmer ! " " Wouldst thou make sport with my misery ?" said Hugo, sternly; " but even that comes of course behind my back, and why should it not be endured when said to my face ? — Know, then, minstrel, and put it in song if you list, that Hugo de Lacy, having lost all he carried to Palestine, and all which he left at home, is still lord of his own mind ; and adversity can no more shake him, than the breeze which strips the oak of its leaves can tear up the trunk by the roots." " Now, by the tomb of my father," said the minstrel, rapturously, " this man's nobleness is too much for my resolve ! " and stepping hastily to the Constable, he kneeled on one knee, and caught his hand more freely than the state maintained by men of De Lacy's rank usually permitted. " Here," said Vidal, " on this hand— this noble hand^l re- nounce " fiut ere he could utter another word, Hugo de Lacy, who, pef" haps, felt the freedom of the action as an intrusion on his fallen condition, pulled back his hand, and bid the minstrel) with a stern frown, arise, and remember that misfortune made not De Lacy a fit personage for a mummery. Renault Vidal rose rebuked. " I had forgot," he said, " ths distance between an Armorican violer and a high Norman baron. I thought that the same depth of sorrow, the same burst of joy) levelled, for a moment at least, those artificial barriers by which men are divided. But it is well as it is. Live within the limits of your rank, as heretofore within your donjon tower and your fosses, my lord, undisturbed by the sympathy of any mean man like me. I, too, have my duties to discharge." " And now to the Garde Doloureuse," said the baron, turning to Philip Guarine— " God knoweth how well it deserveth the name ! ■ — there to learn, with our own eyes and ears, the truth of these woful tidings. — Dismount, minstrel, and give me thy palfrey — I would, Guarine, that I had one for thee — as for Vidal, his attend- ance is less necessary. I will face my foes, or my misfortunes, like a man — that be assured of, violer ; and look not so sullen, knave — I will not forget old adherents." " One of them, at least, will not forget you, my lord," replied the minstrel, with his usual dubious tone of look and emphasis. But just as the Constable was about to prick forwards, two 264 THE BETROTHED. persons appeared on the path, mounted on one horse, who, hidden by some dwarf-wood, had come very near them without being perceived. They were male and female ; and the man, who rode foremost, was such a picture of famine, as the eyes of the pilgrims had scarce witnessed in all the wasted lands through which they had travelled. His features, naturally sharp and thin, had disap- peared almost entirely among the uncombed grey beard and hairs with which they were overshadowed ; and it was but the glimpse of a long nose, that seemed as sharp as the edge of a knife, and the twinkling glimpse of his grey eyes, which gave any intimation of his lineaments. His leg, in the wide old boot which enclosed it, looked like the handle of a mop left by chance in a pail — his arms were about the thickness of riding-rods — and such parts of his person as were not concealed by the tatters of a huntsman's cassock, seejned rather the appendages of a mummy than a live man. The female who sat behind this spectre exhibited also some symptoms of extenuation ; but being a brave jolly dame naturally, famine had not been able to render her a spectacle so rueful as the anatomy behind which she rode. Dame Gillian's cheek (for it was the reader's old acquaintance) had indeed lost the rosy hue of good cheer, and the smoothness of complexion which art and easy living had formerly substituted for the more delicate bloom of youth ; her eyes were sunken, and had lost much of their bold and roguish lustre ; but she was still in some measure herself, and the remnants of former finery,' together with the tight-drawn scarlet hose, though sorely faded, showed still a remnant of coquettish pretension. So soon as she came within sight of the pilgrims, she began to punch Raoul with the end of her riding-rod. " Try thy new trade, man, since thou art unfit for any other — to the good men— to them — crave their charity." " Beg from beggars ? " — muttered Raoul ; " that were hawking at spaiTows, dame." " It will bring our hand in use though," said Gillian ; and com- menced, in a whining tone, " God love you, holy men, who have had the grace to go to the Holy Land, and, what is more, have had the grace to come back again ; I pray, bestow some of your alms upon my poor old husband, who is a miserable object, as you see, and upon one who has the bad luck to be his wife — Heaven help me ! '' " Peace, woman, and hear what I have to say," said the Con- stable, laying his hand upon the bridle of the horse — " I have present occasion for that horse, and " " By the hunting-horn of St. Hubert, but thou gettest him not without blows ! " answered the old huntsman. "A finq world it is, when palmers turn horse-stealers." THE BETROTHED. 265 " Peace, fellow ! " said the Constable, sternly, — " I say I have occasion presently for the service of thy horse. Here be two gold bezants for a day's use of the brute ; it is well worth the fee-simple of him, were he never returned." " But the palfrey is an old acquaintance, master," said Raoul ; "and if perchance" " Out upon if and ferchance both," said the dame, giving her husband so determined a thrust as wellnigh pushed him out of the saddle. " Off the horse ! and thank God and this worthy man for the help he has sent us in extremity. What signifies the palfrey, when we have not enough to get food either for the brute or our- selves ? not though we would eat grass and corn with him, like King Somebody, whom the good father used to read us to sleep about." " A truce with your prating, dame," said Raoul, offering his assistance to help her from the croupe ; but she preferred that of Guarine, who, though advanced in years, retained the advantage of his stout soldierly figure. " I humbly thank your goodness," said she, as, (having first kissed her,) the squire set her on the ground. " And, pray, sir, are ye come from the Holy Land ? — Heard ye any tidings there of him that was Constable of Chester ? " De Lacy, who was engaged in removing the pillion from behind the saddle, stopped short in his task, and said, " Ha, dame ! what would you with him ? " "A great deal, good palmer, an I could light on him ; for his lands and offices are all to be given, it's like, to that false thief, his kinsman." " What ! — to Damian, his nephew ? " exclaimed the Constable, in a harsh and hasty tone. " Lord, how you startle' me, sir ! " said Gillian ; then continued, turning to Philip Guarine, " Your friend is a hasty man, belike." " It is the fault of the sun he has lived under so long," said the squire ; "but look you answer his questions truly, and he will make it the better for you." Gillian instantly took the hint. " Was it Damian de Lacy you asked after ? — Alas ! poor young gentleman ! no offices or lands for him — more likely to have a gallows-cast, poor lad — and all for nought, as I am a true dame. Damian ! — no, no, it is not Damian, nor damson neither — but Randal Lacy, that must rule the roast, and have all the old man's lands, and livings, and lordships." " What ? " said the Constable — " before they know whether the old man is dead or no? — Methinks that were against law and reason both." " Ay, but Randal Lacy has brought about less likely matters. 266 THE BETROTHfiD. Look you, he hath sworn to the King that they have true tidings of the Constable's death — ay, and let him alone to make them soothfast enough, if the Constable were once within his danger." " Indeed ! " said the Constable. " But you are forging tales on a noble gentleman. Come, come, dame, you say this because you like not Randal Lacy." " Like him not ! — And what reason have I to like him, I trow ? " answered Gillian. "Is it because he seduced my simplicity to let him into the castle of the Garde Doloureuse — ay, oftener than once or twice either, — when he was disguised as a pedlar, and told him all the secrets of the family, and how the boy Damian, and the girl Eveline, were dying of love with each other, but had not courage to say a word of it, for fear of the Constable, though he were a thousand miles off? — You seem concerned, worthy sir — may I offer your reverend worship a trifling sup from my bottle, which is sovereign for tremor cordis and fits of the spleen ? " " No, no," ejaculated De Lacy — " I was but grieved with the shooting of an old wound. But, dame, I warrant me this Damian and Eveline, as you call them, became better, closer friends, in time ? " " They ! — not they indeed, poor simpletons ! " answered the dame ; " they wanted some wise counsellor to go between and advise them. For, look you, sir, if old Hugo be dead, as is most like, it were more natural that his bride and his nephew should inherit his lands, than this same Randal, who is but a distant kinsman, and a forsworn caitiff to boot. — Would you think it, reverend pilgrim, after the mountains of gold he promised me ? — When the castle was taken, and he saw I could serve him no more, he called me old beldame, and spoke of the beadle and the cucking-stool. — Yes, reverend sir, old beldam and cucking-stool were his best words, when he knew I had no one to take my part, save old Raoul, who cannot take his own. But if grim old Hugh bring back his weatherbeaten carcass from Palestine, and have but half the devil in him which he had when he was fool enough to go away, Saint Mary, but I will do his kinsman's office to him ! " There was a pause when she had done speaking. " Thou say'st," at length exclaimed the Constable, " that Damian de Lacy arid Eveline love each other, yet are unconscious of guilt, or falsehood, or ingratitude to me— I would say, to their relative in Palestine?" " Love, sir !— in troth and so it is— they do love each other," said Gillian ; 'ibut it is like angels— or like lambs— or like fools, if you will ; for they would never so much as have spoken together, but for a prank of that same Randal Lacy's." THE BETROTHED. 267 " How ! " demanded the Constable — " a prank of Randal's ? — What motive had he that these two should meet ? " " Nay, their meeting was none of his seeking ; but he had formed a plan to carry off the Lady Eveline himself, for he was a wild rover, this same Randal ; and so he came disguised as a merchant of falcons, and trained out my old stupid Raoul, and the Lady Eveline, and all of us, as if to have an hour's mirth in hawking at the heron. But he had a band of Welsh kites in readiness to pounce upon us ; and but for the sudden making in of Damian to our rescue, it is undescribable to think what might have come of us ; and Damian being hurt in the onslaught, was carried to the Garde Doloureuse in mere necessity ; and but to save his life, it is my belief my lady would never have asked him to cross the drawbridge, even if he had offered." "Woman," said the Constable, "think what thou say'st ! If thou hast done evil in these matters heretofore, as I suspect from thine own story, think not to put it right by a train of new false- hoods, merely from spite at missing thy reward." "Palmer," said old Raoul, with his broken-toned voice, cracked by many a hollo, " I am wont to leave the business of tale-bearing to my wife Gillian, who will tongue-pad it with any shrew in Christendom. But thou speak'st like one having some interest in these matters, and therefore I will tell thee plainly, that although this woman has published her own shame in avowing her corres- pondence with that same Randal Lacy ; yet v^hat she has said is true as the gospel ; and, were it my last word, I would say that Damian and the Lady Eveline are innocent of all treason and all dishonesty, as is the babe unborn. — But what avails what the like of us say, who are even driven to the very begging for mere support, after having lived at a good house, and in a good lord's service — blessing be with him ! " " But hark you," continued the Constable, " are there left no ancient servants of the house, that could speak out as well as you ? " " Humph ! " answered the huntsman — " men are not willing to babble when Randal Lacy is cracking his thong above their heads. Many are slain, or starved to death — some disposed of — some spirited away. But there are the weaver Flammock and his daughter Rose, who know as much of the matter as we do." " What ! — Wilkin Flammock, the stout Netherlander ? " said the Constable; "he and his blunt but true daughter Rose? — I will venture my life on their faith. Where dwell they ? — What has been their lot amidst these changes ? " " And in God's name who are you that ask these questions ? " said Dame Gillian. " Husband, husband— we have been too free ; 268 THE BETROTHED. there is something in that look and that tone which I should remember." " Yes, look at me more fixedly," said the Constable, throwing back the hood which had hitherto in some degree obscured his features. "On your knees— on your knees, Raoul?" exclaimed Gillian, dropping on her own at the same time ; " it is the Constable him- self, and he has heard me call him old Hugh ! " " It is all that is left of him who was the Constable, at least," replied De Lacy ; " and old Hugh willingly forgives your freedom, in consideration of your good news. Where are Flammock and his daughter ? " " Rose is with the Lady Eveline," said Dame Gillian ; " her lady- ship, belike, chose her for bower-woman in place of me, although Rose was never fit to attire so much as a Dutch doll." " The faithful girl ! " said the Constable. " And where is Flam- mock?" " Oh, for him, he has pardon and favour from the King," said Raoul ; " and is at his o\\n house, with his rabble of weavers, close beside the Battle-bridge, as they now call the place where )our lordship quelled the Welsh." " Thither will I then," said the Constable ; " and will then see what welcome King Henry of Anjou has for an old servant. You two must accompany me." " My lord," said Gillian, with hesitation,. " you know poor folk are little thanked for interference with great men's affairs. I trust your lordship will be able to protect us if we speak the truth ; and that you will not look back with displeasure on what I did, acting for the best." " Peace, dame, with a wanion to ye ! " said Raoul. " Will you think of your own old sinful carcass, when you should be saving your sweet young mistress from shame and oppression ? — And for thy ill tongue, and worse practices, his lordship knows they are bred in the bone of thee." " Peace, good fellow ! " said the Constable ; " we will not look back on thy wife's errors, and your fidelity shall be rewarded.— For you, my faithful followers," he said, turning towards Guarine and Vidal, "when De Lacy shall receive his rights, of which he doubts nothing, his first wish shall be to reward your fidelity." " Mine, such as it is, has been and shall be, its own reward," said Vidal. " I will not accept favours from him in prosperity, who, in adversity, refused me his hand — our account stands yet open." " Go to, thou art a fool ; but thy profession hath a privilege to be humorous," said the Constable, whose weatherbeaten and homely features looked even handsome, when animated by gratitude to THE BETROTHED. 269 Heaven and benevolence towards mankind. " We will meet," he said, " at Battle-bridge, an hour before vespers, — I shall have much achieved before that time." " The space is short," said his esquire. " I have won a battle in yet shorter," replied the Constable. ■' In which," said the minstrel, " many a man has died that thought himself well assured of life and victory." " Even so shall my dangerous cousin Randal find his schemes of ambition blighted," answered the Constable ; and rode forwards, accompanied by Raoul and his wife, who had remounted their pal- frey, while the minstrel and squire followed a-foot, and, of course, much more slowly. CHAPTER XXXI. " Oh, fear not, fear not, good Lord John, That I would you betray, Or sue requital for a debt. Which nature cannot pay. " Bear witness, all ye sacred powers — Ye lights that 'gin to shine — • This night shall prove the sacred tie That binds your faith and mine." Ancient Scottish Ballad. Left behind by their master, the two dependants of Hugh de Lacy marched on in sullen silence, like men who dislike and dis- trust each other, though bound to one common service, and partners, therefore, in the same hopes and fears. The dislike, indeed, was chiefly upon Guarine's side ; for nothing could be more indifferent to Renault Vidal than was his companion, farther than as he was conscious that Philip loved him not, and was not unlikely, so far as lay in his power, to thwart some plans which he had nearly at heart. He took little notice of his companion, but hummed over to himself, as for the exercise of his memory, romances and songs, many of which were composed in languages which Guarine, who had only an ear for his native Norman, did not understand^ They had proceeded together in this sullen manner for nearly two hours, when they were met by a groom on horseback, leading a saddled palfrey. " Pilgrims," said the man, after looking at them with some attention, " Which of you is called Philip Guarine ? " " I, for fault of a better," said the esquire, " reply to that name." " Thy lord, in that case, commends him to you," said the groom ; " and sends you this token, by which you shall know that 1 am his true messenger." 270 THE BETROTHED. He showed the esquire a rosary, which Philip instantly recog- nised as that used by the Constable. "I acknowledge the token," he said; "speak my master's pleasure." " He bids me say," replied the rider, " that his visit thrives as well as is possible, and that this very evening, by time that the sun sets, he will be possessed of his own. He desires, therefore, you will mount this palfrey, and come with me to the Garde Doloureuse, as your presence will be wanted there." " It is well, and I obey him," said the esquire, much pleased with the import of the message, and not dissatisfied at being separated from his travelling companion. " And what charge for me ? " said the minstrel, addressing the messenger. " If you, as I guess, are the minstrel, Renault Vidal, you are to abide your master at the Battle-bridge, according to the charge formerly given." " I will meet him, as in duty bound," was Vidal's answer ; and scarce was it uttered, ere the two horsemen, turning their backs on him, rode briskly fo;:ward, and were speedily out of sight. It was now four hours past noon, and the sun was declining, yet there was more than three hours' space to the time of rendezvous, and the distance from the place did not now exceed four miles. Vidal, therefore, either for the sake of rest or reflection, withdrew from the path into a thicket on the left hand, from which gushed the waters of a streamlet, fed by a small fountain that bubbled up amongst the trees. Here the traveller sat himself down, and with an air which seemed unconscious of what he was doing, bent his eye on the little sparkling font for more than half an hour, without change of posture ; so that he might, in Pagan times, have repre- sented the statue of a water-god bending over his urn, and atten- tive only to the supplies which it was pouring forth. At length, however, he seemed to recall himself from this state of deep ab- straction, drew himself up, and took some coarse food from his pilgrim's scrip, as if suddenly reminded that life is not supported without means. But he had probably something at his heart which affected his throat or appetite. After a vain attempt to swallow a morsel, he threw it from him in disgust, and applied him to a small flask, in which he had some wine or other liquor. But seemingly this also turned distasteful, for he threw from him both scrip and bottle, and, bending down to the spring, drank deeply of the pure element, bathed in it his hands and face, and arising from the fountain apparently refreshed, moved slowly on his way, singing as he went, but in a low and saddened tone, wild fragments of ancient poetry, in a tongue equally ancient. THE BETROTHED. 271 Journeying on in this melancholy manner, he at length came in sight of the Battle-bridge ; near to which arose, in proud and gloomy strength, the celebrated castle of the Garde Doloureuse. " Here, then," he said — "here, then, I am to await the proud De Lacy. Be it so, in God's name ! — he shall know me better ere we part." So saying, he strode, with long and resolved steps, across the bridge, and ascending a mound which arose on the opposite side at some distance, he gazed for a time upon the scene beneath — the beautiful river, rich with the reflected tints of the western sky — the trees, which were already brightened to the eye, and saddened to the fancy, with the hue of autumn — and the darksome walls and towers of the feudal castle, from which, at times, flashed a glimpse of splendour, as some sentinel's arms caught and gave back a transient ray of the setting sun. The countenance of the minstrel, which had hitherto been dark and troubled, seemed softened by the quiet of the scene. He threw loose his pilgrim's dress, yet suffering part of its dark folds to hang around him mantle-wise ; under which appeared his minstrel's tabard. He took from his side a rote, and striking, from time to time, a Welsh descant, sung at others a lay, of which we can offer only a few fragments, literally translated from the ancient language in which they were chanted, premising that they are in that excur- sive symbolical style of poetry, which Taliessin, Llewarch Hen, and other bards, had derived perhaps from the time of the Druids. " I asked of my harp, ' Who hath injured thy chords ? ' And she replied, ' The crooked finger, which I mocked in my tune,' A blade of silver may be bended — a blade of steel abideth — Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. " The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips, But they are long corroded by the juice of wormwood ; The lamb is brought to the shambles, but the wolf rangeth the mountain ; Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. " I asked the red-hot iron, when it glimmered on the anvil, ' Wherefore glowest thou longer than the firebrand ? ' — ' I was born in the dark mine, and the brand in the pleasant greenwood.' Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. " I asked the green oak of the assembly, wherefore its ,boughs were dry and seared like the horns of the stag ? And it showed me that a small worm had gnawed its roots. 272 THE BETROTHED. The boy who remembered the scourge, undid the wicket of the castle at midnight. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. " Lightning destroyeth temples, though their spires pierce the clouds ; Storms destroy armadas, though their sails intercept the gale. He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a contemptible enemy. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth." More of the same wild images were thrown out, each bearing some analogy, however fanciful and remote, to the theme, which occurred like a chorus at the close of each stanza ; so that the poetry resembled a piece of music, which, after repeated excursions through fanciful variations, returns ever and anon to the simple melody which is the subject of ornament. As the minstrel sung, his eyes were fixed on the bridge and its vicinity ; but when, near the close of his chant, he raised up his eyes towards the distant towers of the Garde Doloureuse, he saw that the gates were opened, and that there was a mustering of guards and attendants without the barriers, as if some expedition were about to set forth, or some person of importance to appear on the scene. At the same time, glancing his eyes around, he discovered that the landscape, so solitary when he first took his seat on the grey stone from which he overlooked it, was now becoming filled with figures. During his reverie, several persons, solitary and in groups, men, women, and children, had begun to assemble themselves on both sides of the river, and were loitering there, as if expecting some spectacle. There was also much bustling at the Flemings' mills, which, though at some distance, were also completely under his eye. A procession seemed to be arranging itself there, which soon began to move forward, with pipe and tabor, and various other in- struments of music, and soon approached, in regular order, the place where Vidal was seated. It appeared the business in hand was of a pacific character ; for the grey-bearded old men of the little settlement, in their decent russet gowns, came first after the rustic band of music, walking in ranks of three and three, supported by their staves, and regulating the motion of the whole procession by their sober and staid pace. After these fathers of the settlement came Wilkin Flammock, mounted on his mighty war-horse, and in complete ariftour, save his head, Uke a vassal prepared to do military service for his lord. After him followed, and in battle rank, the flower of the little colony, consisting of thirty men, well armed and appointed, whose steady march, as well as their clean and glittering armour, showed THE BETROTHED, 273 steadiness and discipline, although they lacked alike the fiery glance of the French soldiery, or the look of dogged defiance which charac- terised the English, or the wild ecstatic impetuosity of eye which then distinguished the Welsh. The mothers and the maidens of the colony came next ; then followed the children, with faces as chubby, and features as serious, and steps as grave, as their parents ; and last, as a rear-guard, came the youths from fourteen to twenty, armed with light lances, bows, and similar weapons becoming their age. This procession wheeled around the base of the mound or em- bankment on which the minstrel was seated ; crossed the bridge with the same slow and regular pace, and formed themselves into a double line, facing inwards, as if to receive some person of con- sequence, or witness some ceremonial. Flammock remained at the extremity of the avenue thus formed by his countrymen, and quietly, yet earnestly, engaged in making arrangements and pre- parations. In the meanwhile, stragglers of different countries began to draw together, apparently brought there by mere curiosity, and fonned a motley assemblage at the farther end of the bridge, which was that nearest to the castle. Two English peasants passed very near the stone on which Vidal sat. — " Wilt thou sing us a song, minstrel^' said one of them, " and here is a tester for thee ? " throwing into his hat a small silver coin. " I am under a vow," answered the minstrel, " and may not practise the gay science at present." " Or you are too proud to play to English churls," said the elder peasant, " for thy tongue smacks of the Norman." " Keep the coin, nevertheless," said the younger man. " Let the Palmer have what the minstrel refuses to earn." " I pray you reserve your bounty, kind friend," said Vidal, " I need it not ; — and tell me of your kindness, instead, what matters are going forward here." •' "Why, know you not that we have got our Constable De Lacy again, and that he is to grant solemn investiture to the Flemish weavers of all these fine things Harry of Anjou has given ? — Had Edward the Confessor been alive, to give the Netherland knaves their guerdon, it would have been a cast of the gallows-tree. But come, neighbour, we shall lose the show." So saying, they pressed down the hill. Vidal fixed his eyes on the gates of the distant castle ; and tHe distant waving of banners, and mustering of men on horseback, though imperfectly seen al such a distance, apprized him that one of note was about to set forth at the head of a considerable train of military attendants. Distant flourishes of trumpets, which came 274 THE BETROTHED. faintly yet distinctly on his ear, seemed to attest the same. Pre- sently he perceived, by the dust which began to arise in columns betwixt the castle and the bridge, as well as by the nearer sound of the clarions, that the troop was advancing towards him in pro- cession. Vidal, on his own part, seemed as if irresolute whether to retain his present position, where he commanded a full but remote view of the whole scene, or to obtain a nearer but more partial one, by involving himself in the crowd which now closed around on either hand of the bridge, unless where the avenue was kept open by the armed and arrayed Flemings. A monk next hurried past Vidal, and on his enquiring as for- merly the cause of the assembly, answered, in a muttering tone, from beneath his hood, that it was the Constable De Lacy, who, as the first act of his authority, was then and there to deliver to the Flemings a royal charter of their immunities. " He is in haste to exercise his authority, methinks," said the minstrel. " He that has just gotten a sword is impatient to draw it," replied the monk, who added more which the minstrel understood imper- fectly ; for Father Aldrovand had not recovered the injury which he had received during the siege. Vidal, however, understood him to say, that he was to meet the Constable there, to beg his favourable intircession. " I also will meet him," said Renault Vidal, rising suddenly from the stone which he occupied. " Follow me then," mumbled the priest ; " the Flemings know me, and will let me forward." But Father Aldrovand being in disgrace, his influence was not so potent as he had flattered himself; and both he and the minstrel were jostled to and fro in the crowd, and separated from each other. Vidal, however, was recognised by the English peasants who had before spoke to him. " Canst thou do any jugglers' feats, minstrel ? " said one. " Thou may'st earn a fair largess, for our Norman masters \o\t jonglerie." " I know but one," said Vidal, " and I will show it, if you will yield me some room." They crowded a little off from him, and gave him time to throw aside his bonnet, bare his legs and knees, by stripping off the leathern buskins which swathed them, and retaining only his sandals. He then tied a parti-coloured handkerchief around his swarthy and sunburnt hair, and casting off his upper doublet, showed his brawny and nervous arms, naked to the shoulder. But while he amused those immediately about him with these THE BETROTHED. 275 preparations, a commotion and rush among the crowd, together with the close sound of trumpets, answered by all the Flemish instruments of music, as well as the shouts in Norman and English, of " Long live the gallant Constable !— Our Lady for the bold De Lacy ! " announced that the Constable was close at hand. Vidal made incredible exertions to approach the leader of the procession, whose morion, distinguished by its lofty plumes, and right hand holding his truncheon or leading-staff, was all he could , see, on account of the crowd of olScers and ai-med men around him. At length his exertions prevailed, and he came within three yards of the Constable, who was then in a small circle which had Iseen with difficulty kept clear for the purpose of the ceremonial of the day. His back was towards the minstrel, and he was in the act of bending fro.m his horse to deliver the royal charter to Wilkin Flammock, who had knelt on one knee to receive it the more reverentially. His discharge of this duty occasioned the Constable to stoop so low that his plume seemed in the act of mixing with the flowing mane of his noble charger. At this moment, Vidal threw himself with singular agility, over the heads of the Flemings who guarded the circle ; and, ere an eye could twinkle, his right knee was on the croupe of the Constable's horse — the grasp of his left hand on the collar of De Lacy's buff- coat ; then, clinging to his prey like a tiger after its leap, he drew, in th? same instant of time, a short, sharp dagger — and buried it in the back of the neck, just where the spine, which was severed by the stroke, serves to convey to the trunk of the human body the mysterious influences of the brain. The blow was struck with the utmost accuracy of aim and strength oi^rm. The unhappy horse- man dropped from his saddle, without groan or struggle, like a bull in the amphitheatre, under the steel of the tauridor ; and in the same saddle sat his murderer, brandishing the bloody poniard, and urging the horse to speed. There was indeed a possibility of his having achieved his escape, so much were those around paralysed for the moment by the sud- denness and audacity of the enterprise ; but Flammock's presence of mind did not forsake him — he seized the horse by the bridle, and, aided by those who wanted but an example, made the rider prisoner, bound his arms, and called aloud that he must be carried before King Henry, This proposal, uttered in Flammock's strong and decided tone of voice, silenced a thousand wild cries of murder and treason, which had arisen while the different and hostile na- tives, of which the crowd was composed, threw upon each other reciprocally the charge of treachery. All the streams, however, now assembled in one channel, and poured with unanimous assent towards the Garde Doloureuse, T 2 276 THE BETROTHED. excepting a few of the murdered nobleman's train, who remained to transport their master's body, in decent solemnity of mourning, from the spot which he had sought with so much pomp and triumph. When Flammock reached the Garde Doloureuse, he was readily admitted with his prisoner, and with such witnesses as he had selected to prove the execution of the crime. To his request of an audience, he was answered, that the King had commanded that none should be admitted to him for some time ; yet so singular were the tidings of the Constable's slaughter, that the captain of the guard ventured to interrupt Henry's privacy, in order to com- municate that event ; and returned with orders that Flammock and his prisoner should be instantly admitted to the royal apart- ment. Here they found HenryJ attended by several persons, who stood respectfully behind the royal seat, in a darkened part of the room. \Vhen Flammock entered, his large bulk and massive limbs were strangely contrasted with cheeks pale with horror at what he had just witnessed, and with awe at finding himself in the royal pre- sence-chamber. Beside him stood his prisoner, undaunted by the situation in which he was placed. The blood of his victim, which had spirted from the wound, was visible on his bare limbs and his scanty garments ; but particularly upon his brow, and the hand- kerchief with which it was bound. Henry gazed on him with a stern look, which the other not only endured without dismay, but seemed to return with a frown of defiance. "Does no one know this caitiff?" said Henry, looking around him. There was no immediate answer, until Philip Guarine, stepping from the group which stood behind the royal chair, said, though with hesitation, " So please you, my liege, but for the strange guise in which he is now arrayed, I should say there was a household minstrel of my master, by name Renault Vidal." " Thou art deceived, Norman," replied the minstrel ; " my menial place and base lineage were but assumed — I am Cadwallon the Briton — Cadwallon of the Nine Lays — Cadwallon, the chief bard of Gwenwyn of Powys-land — and his avenger ! " As he uttered the last word, his looks encountered those of a palmer, who had gradually advanced from the recess in which the attendants were stationed, and now confronted him. The Welshman's eyes looked so eagerly ghastly as if flying from their sockets, while he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise, mingled with horror, " Do the dead come before monarchs ? — Or, if thou art alive, whom have I slain? — I dreamed not, surely, of that THE BETROTHED. 277 bound, and of that home blow ? — yet my victim stands before me ! Have I not slain the Constable of Chester ? " Thou hast indeed slain the Constable,'' answered the King ; " but know, Welshman, it was Randal dc Lacy, on whom that charge was this morning conferred, by our belief of our loyal and faithful Hugh de Lacy's having been lost upon his return from the Holy Land, as the vessel in which he had taken passage was reported to have suffered shipwreck. Thou hast cut short Randal's brief elevation but by a few hours ; for to-morrow's sun would ha\ e again seen him without land or lordship." The prisoner dropped his head on his bosom in evident despair. " I thought," he murmured, " that he had changed his slough, and come forth so glorious all too soon. May the eyes drop out that were cheated with those baubles, a plumed cap and a lacquered baton ! " " I will take care, Welshman, thine eyes cheat thee not again," said the King, sternly ; " before the night is an hour older, they shall be closed on all that is earthly." " May I request of your nobleness,'' said the Constable, " that you will permit me to ask the unhappy man a few questions ? " " When I have demanded of him myself," said the King, " why he has dipt his hands in the blood of a noble Norman.'' " Because he at whom I aimed my blow," said the Briton, his eye glancing fiercely from the King to De Lacy, and back, " had spilled the blood of the descendant of a thousand kings ; to which his own gore, or thine, proud Count of Anjou, is but as the puddle of the highway to the silver fountain." Henry's eye menaced the audacious speaker ; but the King reined in his wrath when he beheld the imploring look of his servant. — " What wouldst thou ask of him.'"' he said; "be brief, for his time is short." " So please you, my liege, I would but demand wherefore he has for years forborne to take the life he aimed at, when it was in his power — nay, when it must have been lost but for his seemingly faithful service ?" " Norman," said Cadwallon, "I will answer thee. When I first took upon me thy service, it was well my purpose to have slain thee that night. There stands the man," pointing to Philip Guarine, "to whose vigilance thou owed'st thy safety." " Indeed," said De Lacy, " I do remember some indications of such a purpose ; but why didst thou forego it, when following op- portunities put it in thy power?" " When the slayer of my Sovereign became God's soldier," an- swered Cadwallon, " and served his cause in Palestine, he was safe from my earthly vengeance." 278 THE BETROTHED. " A wonderful forbearance on the part of a Welsh assassin !" said the -King, scornfully. " Ay," answered Cadwallon ; " and which certain Christian princes have scarce attained to, who have never neglected the chance of pillage or conquest afforded by the absence of a rival in the Holy Crusade." " Now, by the Holy Rood " — said Henry, on the point of burst- ing out, for the insult affected him pecuharly; but, suddenly stopping, he said, with an air of contempt, " To the gallows with the knave ! " " But one other question," said De Lacy, " Renault, or by what- ever name thou art called. Ever since my return thou hast ren- dered me service inconsistent with thy stern resolution upon my life — thou didst aid me in my shipwreck — and didst guide me safely through Wales, where my name would have insured my death ; and all this after the crusade was accomplished ? " " I could explain thy doubt," said the bard, " but that it might be thought I was pleadirig for my life." " Hesitate not for that," said the King ; " for were our Holy Father to intercede for thee, his prayer were in vain." " Well then," said the bard, " know the truth — I was too proud to permit either wave or Welshman to share in my revenge. Know also, what is perhaps Cadwallon's weakness — use and habit had divided my feelings towards De Lacy, between aversion and admi- ration. I still contemplated my revenge, but as something -which I might never complete, and which seemed rather an image in the clouds, than an object to which I must one day draw near. And when I beheld thee," he said, turning to De Lacy, " this very day so determined, so sternly resolved, to bear thy impending fate like a man — that you seemed to me to resemble the last tower of a ruined palace, still holding its head to heaven, when its walls of splendour, and its bowers of delight, lay in desolation around — may I perish, I said to myself in secret, ere I perfect its ruin ! Yes, De Lacy, then, even then — but some hours since — hadst thou accepted my proffered hand, I had served thee as never follower served master. You rejected it with scorn — and yet notwithstand- ing that insult, it required that I should have seen ■j/ou, as I thought, trampling over the field in which you slew my master, in the full pride of Norman insolence, to animate my resolution to strike the blow, which, meant for you, has slain at least one of your usurping race. — I will answer no more questions — lead on to axe or gallows — it is indifferent to Cadwallon — my soul will soon be with my free and noble ancestry, and with my beloved and royal patron." " My liege and prince," said De Lacy, bending his knee to Henry, THE BE7R0TI-IED. 279 " can you hear this, and refuse your ancient servant one request ? — Spare this man I — Extinguish not such a light, because it is devious and wild." " Rise, rise, De Lacy ; and shame thee of thy petition," said the King. " Thy kinsman's blood — the blood of a noble Norman, is on the Welshman's hands and brow. As I am crowned King, he shall die ere it is wiped off. — Here ! have him to present execution ! " Cadwallon was instantly withdrawn under a guard. The Con- stable seemed, by action rather than words, to continue his intercession. " Thou art mad, De Lacy — thou art mad, mine old and true friend, to urge me thus," said the King, compelliiig De Lacy to rise. " See'st thou not that my care in this matter is for thee ?— This Randal, by largesses and promises, hath made many friends, who will not, perhaps, easily again be brought to your allegiance, returning as thou dost, diminished in power and wealth. Had he lived, we might have had hard work to deprive him entirely of the power which he had acquired. We thank the Welsh assassin who hath rid us of him ; but his adherents would cry foul play were the murderer spared. When blood is paid for blood, all will be forgotten, and their loyalty will once more flow in its proper channel to thee, their lawful lord." Hugo de Lacy arose from his knees, and endeavoured re- spectfully to combat the politic reasons of his wily sovereign, which he plainly saw were resorted to less for his sake than with the prudent purpose of effecting the change of feudal authority, with the least possible trouble to the country or Sovereign. Henry listened to De Lacy's arguments patiently, and combated them with temper, until the death-drum began to beat, and the castle bell to toll. He then led De Lacy to the window; on which, for it was now dark, a strong ruddy light began to gleam from without. A body of men-at-arms, each holding in his hand a blazing torch, were returning along the terrace from the execution of the wild but high-soul'd Briton, with cries of " Long live King Henry ! and so perish all enemies of the gentle Nonman men ! " s8o THE BETROTHED. CONCLUSION. A sun hath set — a star hath risen, O, Geraldine ! since arms of thine Have been the lovely lady's prison. Coleridge. Popular fame had erred in assigning to Eveline Berenger, after the capture of her castle, any confinement more severe than that of her aunt the Lady Abbess of the Cistertians' convent afforded. Yet that vi^as severe enough ; for maiden aunts, whether abbesses or no, are not tolerant of the species of errors of which Evehne was accused ; and the innocent damosel was brought in many ways to eat her bread in shame of countenance and bitterness of heart. Every day of her confinement was ren- dered less and less endurable by taunts, in the various forms of sympathy, consolation, and exhortation ; but which, stript of their assumed forms, were undisguised anger and insult. The company of Rose was all which Eveline had to sustain her under these inflictions, and that was at length withdrawn on the very morning when so many important events took place at the Garde Doloureuse. The unfortunate young lady enquired in vain of a grim-faced nun, who agpeared in Rose's place to assist her to dress, why her companion and friend was debarred attendance. The nun ob- served on that score an obstinate silence, but threw out many hints on the importance attached to the vain ornaments of a frail child of clay, and on the hardship that even a spouse of Heaven was compelled to divert her thoughts from her higher duties, and condescend to fasten clasps and adjust veils. The Lady Abbess, however, told her niece after matins, that her attendant had not been withdrawn from her for a space only, but was likely to be shut up in a house of the severest profession, for having afforded her mistress assistance in receiving Damian de Lacy into her sleeping apartment at the castle of Baldringham. A soldier of De Lac/s band, who had hitherto kept what he had observed a secret, being off his post that night, had now in Damian's disgrace found he might benefit himself by telling the story. This new blow, so unexpected, so afflictive — this new charge, which it was so difficult to explain, and so impossible utterly to deny, seemed to Eveline to seal Damian's fate and her own ; while the thought that she had involved in ruin her single- hearted and high-soul'd attendant, was all that had been wanting to produce a, state which approached to the apathy of despair, THE BETROTHED. zSl " Think of me what you will," she said to her aunt, " I will no longer defend myself— say what you will, 1 will no longer reply — carry me where you will, I will no longer resist — God will, in his good time, clear my fame — may he forgive my persecutors ! " After this, and during several hours of that unhappy day, the Lady Eveline, pale, cold, silent, glided from chapel to refectory, from' refectory to chapel again, at the shghtest beck of the Abbess or her official sisters, and seemed to regard the various privations, penances, admonitions, and reproaches, of which she, in the course of that day, was subjected to an extraordinary share, no more than a marble statue minds the inclemency of the external air, or the rain-drops which fall upon it, though they must in time waste and consume it. The Abbess, who loved her niece, although her affection showed itself often in a vexatious manner, became at length alarmed — countermanded her orders for removing Eveline to an inferior cell — attended herself to see her laid in bed, (in which, as in every thing else, the young lady seemed entirely passive,) and, with something like reviving tenderness, kissed and blessed her on leaving the apartment. Slight as the mark of kindness was, it was unexpected, and, like the rod of Moses, opened the hidden fountains of waters. Eveline wept, a resource which had been that day denied to her — she prayed — and, finally, sobbed herself to sleep, like an infant, with a mind somewhat tranquillized by having given way to this tide of natural emotion. She awoke more than' once in the night to recall mingled and gloomy dreams of cells and of castles, of funerals and of bridals, of coronets and of racks and gibbets ; but towards morning she fell into sleep more sound than she had hitherto enjoyed, and her visions partook of its soothing character. The Lady of the Garde Doloureuse seemed to smile on her amid her dreams, and to pro- mise her votaress protection. The shade of her father was there also ; and with the boldness of a dreamer, she saw the paternal resemblance with awe, but without fear ; his lips moved, and she heard words — their import she did not fully comprehend, save that they spoke of hope, consolation, and approaching happiness. There also glided in, with bright blue eyes fixed upon hers, dressed in a tunic of saffron-coloured silk, with a mantle of ceru- lean blue of antique fashion, the form of a female, resplendent in that delicate species of beauty which attends the fairest complexion. It was, she thought, the Britoness Vanda ; but her countenance was no longer resentful — her long yellow hair flew not loose on her shoulders, but was mysteriously braided 'with oak and mistle- toe ; above all, her right hand was gracefully disposed of under her jnantle ; and it wss aii unniutilated, unspotted, and beautifully 282 THE BETROTHED. formed hand which crossed the brow of EveUne. Yet, under these assurances of favour, a thrill of fear passed over her as the vision seemed to repeat, or chant, " Widow'd wife and wedded maid. Betrothed, betrayer, and betray'd, All is done that has been said ; Vanda's wrong has been y-wroken — Take her pardon by this token." She bent down, as if to kiss Eveline, who started at that instant, and then awoke. Her hand was indeed gently pressed, by one as pure and white as her own. The blue eyes and fair hair of a lovely female face, with half-veiled bosom and dishevelled locks, flitted through her vision, and indeed its lips approached to those of the lovely sleeper at the moment of her awakening ; but it was Rose in whose arms her mistress found herself pressed, and who moistened her face with tears, as in a passion of affection she covered it with kisses. " What means this. Rose ? " said Eveline ; " thank God, you are restored to me ! — But what mean these bursts of weeping ? " " Let me weep — let me weep," said Rose j " it is long since I have wept for joy, and long, I trust, it will be ere I again weep for sorrow. News are come on the spur from the Garde Doloureuse — Amelot has brought them — he is at liberty — so is his master, and in high favour with Henry. Hear yet more, but let me not tell it too hastily— You grow pale." " No, no," said Eveline ; " go on — go on — I think I understand you — I think I do." " The villain Randal de Lacy, the master-mover of all our sorrows, will plague you no more ; he was slain by an honest Welshman, and grieved am I that they have hanged the poor man for his good service. Above all, the stout old Constable is himself returned from Palestine, as worthy, and somewhat wiser, than he' was ; for it is thought he will renounce his contract with your lady- ship." " Silly girl," said Eveline, crimsoning as high as she had been before pale, "jest not amidst such a tale. — But can this be reality ? — Is Randal indeed slain ?^-and the Constable returned ? " These were hasty and hurried questions, answered as hastily and confusedly, and broken with ejaculations of surprise and thanks to Heaven, and to Our Lady, until the ecstasy of delight sobered down into a sort of tranquil wonder. Meanwhile Damian Lacy also had his explanations to receive, and the mode in which they were conveyed had something re- markable. Damian had for some time been the inhabitant of THE BETROTHED. 283 what our age would have termed a dungeon, but which, in the ancient days, they called a prison. We are perhaps censurable in making the dwelling and the food of acknowledged and convicted guilt more comfortable and palatable than what the parties could have gained by any exertions when at large, and supporting them- selves by honest labour; but this is a venial error compared to that of our ancestors, who, considering a charge and a conviction as synonymous, treated the accused before sentence in a manner which would have been of itself a severe punishment after he was found guilty. Damian, therefore, notwithstanding his high birth and distinguished rank, was confined after the manner of the most atrocious criminal, was heavily fettered, fed on the coarsest food, and experienced only this alleviation, that he was permitted to indulge his misery in a solitary and separate cell, the wretched furniture of which was a mean bedstead, and a broken table and chair. A coffin — and his own arms and initials were painted upon it — stood in one corner, to remind him of his approaching fate ; and a crucifix was placed in another, to intimate to him that there was a world beyond that which must soon close upon him. No noise could penetrate into the iron silence of his prison — no rumour, either touching his own fate or that of his friends. Charged with being taken in open arms against the King, he was object to military law, and to be put to death even without the formality of a hearing ; and he foresaw no milder conclusion to his imprisonment. This melancholy dwelling had been the abode of Damian for nearly a month, when, strange as it may seem, his health, which had suffered much from his wounds, began gradually to improve, either benefited by the abstemious diet to which he was reduced, or that certainty, however melancholy, is an evil better endured by many constitutions than the feverish contrast betwixt passion and duty. But the term of his imprisonment seemed drawing speedily to a close ; his jailer, a sullen Saxon of the lowest order, in more words than he had yet used to him, warned him to look to a speedy change of dwelling ; and the tone in which he spoke convinced the prisoner there was no time to be lost. He demanded a confessor, and the jailer, though he withdrew without reply, seemed to intimate by his manner that the boon would be granted. Next morning, at an unusually early hour, the chains and bolts of the cell were heard to clash and groan, and Damian was startled from a broken sleep, which he had not enjoyed for above two hours. His eyes were bent on the slowly opening door, as if he had ex- pected the headsman and his assistants ; but the jailer ushered in a stout man in a pilgrim's habit. " Is it a priest whom you bring me, warden ?" said the unhappy prisoner. 284 THE BETROTHED. " He can best answer the question himself," said the surly official, and presently withdrew. The pilgrim remained standing on the floor, with his back to the small window, or rather loophole, by which the cell was imperfectly lighted, and gazed intently upon Damian, who was seated on the side of his bed ; his pale cheek and dishevelled hair bearing a melancholy correspondence to his heavy irons. He returned the pilgrim's gaze, but the imperfect light only showed him that his visitor was a stout old man, who wore the scallop-shell on his bonnet, as a token that he had passed the sea, and carried a palm branch in his hand, to show he had visited the Holy Land. " Benedicite, reverend father," said the unhappy young man ; " are you a priest come to unburden my conscience ?" "I am not a priest," replied the Palmer, "but one who brings you news of discomfort." "You bring them to one to whom comfort has been long a stranger, and to a place which perchance never knew it," replied Damian. " I may be the bolder in my communication," said the Palmer ; " those in sorrow will better hear ill news than those whom they surprise in the possession of content and happiness." " Yet even the situation of the wretched," said Damian, " can be rendered more wretched by suspense. I pray you, reverend sir, to speak the worst at once — If you come to announce the doom of this poor frame, may God be gracious to the "Spirit which must be violently dismissed from it ! " " I have no such charge " — said the Palmer. — " I come from the Holy Land, and have the more grief in finding you thus, because my message to you was one addressed to a free man, and a wealthy one." " For my freedom," said Damian, " let these fetters speak, and this apartment for my wealth. — But speak out thy news — should my uncle, for I fear thy tale regards him, want either my arm or my fortune, this dungeon and my degradation have further pangs than I had yet supposed, as they render me unable to aid him." " Your uncle, young man," said the Palmer, " is prisoner, I should rather say slave, to the great Soldan, taken in a battle in which he did his duty, though unable to avert the defeat of the Christians, with which it was concluded. He was made prisoner while cover- ing the retreat, but not until he had slain with his own hand, for his misfortune as it has proved, Hassan Ali, a favourite of the Soldan. The cruel pagan has caused the worthy knight to be loaded with irons heavier than those you wear, and the dungeon to which he is confined would make this seem a palace. The infidel's first re- solution was to put the valiant Constable to the most dreadful death THE BETROTHED. 285 which his tormentors could devise. But fame told him that Hugo de Lacy was a man of great power and wealth ; and he has de- manded a ransom of ten thousand bezants of gold. Your uncle replied that the payment would totally impoverish him, and oblige him to dispose of his whole estates ; even then he pleaded, time must be allowed him to convert them into money. The Soldan replied, that it imported little to him whether a hound like the Constable were fat or lean, and that he therefore insisted upon the full amount of the ransom. But he so far relaxed as to make it payable in three portions, on condition that, along with the first portion of the price, the nearest of kin and heir of De Lacy iriust be placed in his hands as a hostage for what remained due. On these conditions he consented your uncle should be put at liberty so soon as you arrive in Palestine with the gold." " Now may I indeed call myself unhappy," said Damian, " that I cannot show my love and duty to my noble uncle, who hath ever been a father to me in my orphan state." "It will be a heavy disappointment, doubtless, to the Constable," said the Palmer, " because he was eager to return to this happy country, to fulfil a contract of marriage which he had formed with a lady of great beauty and fortune." Damian shrunk together in such sort that his fetters clashed, but he made no answer. " Were he not your uncle," continued the Pilgrim, " and well known as a wise man, I should think he is not quite prudent in this matter. Whatever he was before he left England, two summers spent in the wars of Palestine, and another amid the tortures and restraints of a heathen prison, have made him a sorry bride- groom." " Peace, pilgrim," said De Lacy, with a commanding tone. " It is not thy part to censure such a noble knight as my uncle, nor is it meet that I should listen to your strictures." " I crave your pardon, young man," said the Palmer. " I spoke not without some view to your interest, which, methinks, does not so well consort with thine uncle having an heir of his body." " Peace, base man ! " said Damian. " By Heaven, I think worse of my cell than I did before, since its doors opened to such a counsellor, and of my chains, since they restrain me from chastising him. — Depart, I pray thee." "Not till I have your answer for your uncle," answered the Palmer. " My age scorns the anger of thy youth, as the rock despises the foam of the rivulet dashed against it." "Then, say to my uncle," answered Damian, " I am a prisoner, or I would have come to him — I am a confiscated beggar, or I would have sent him my all." 286 THE BETROTHED. " Such virtuous purposes are easily and boldly announced," said the Palmer, "when he who speaks them knows that he cannot be called upon to make good the boast of his tongue. But could I tell thee of thy restoration to freedom and wealth, I trow thou wouldst consider twice ere thy act confirmed the sacrifice thou hast in thy present state promised so glibly." " Leave me, I prithee, old man," said Damian ; " thy thought cannot comprehend the tenor of mine — go, and add not to my dis- tress insults which I have not the means to avenge." " But what if I had it in my power to place thee in the situation of a free and wealthy man, would it please thee then to be reminded of thy present boast ? for if not, thou may'st rely on my discretion never to mention the difference of sentiment between Damian bound and Damian at liberty." " How meanest thou ?— or hast thou any meaning, save to torment me?" said the youth. " Not so," replied the old Palmer, plucking from his bosom a parchment scroll to which a heavy seal was attached. — "Know that thy cousin Randal hath been strangely slain, and his treacheries towards the Constable and thee as strangely discovered. The King, in requital of thy sufferings, hath sent thee this full pardon, and endowed thee with a third part of those simple estates, which, by his death, revert to the crown." " And hath the King also restored my freedom and my right of blood ? " exclaimed Damian. " From this moment, forthwith," said the Palmer — " look upon the parchment — behold the royal hand and seal." " I must have better proof. — Here," he exclaimed, loudly clashing his irons at the same time, " Here, thou Dogget — warder, son of a Saxon wolf-hound ! " The Palmer, striking on the door, seconded the previous exertions for summoning the jailer, who entered accordingly. " Warder," said Damian de Lacy, in a stern tone, " am I yet thy prisoner, or no ? " The sullen jailer consulted the Palmer by a look, and then answered to Damian that he was a free man. "Then, death of thy heart, slave," said Damian, impatiently, '' why hang these fetters on the free limbs of a Norman noble ? each moment they confine him are worth a lifetime of bondage to such a serf as thou ! " " They are soon rid of. Sir Damian," said the man ; " and I pray you to take some patience, when you remember that ten minutes since you had little right to think these bracelets would have been removed for any other purpose than your progress to the scaffold." " Peace, ban-dog," said Damian, "and be speedy !— And thou, THE BETROTHED. 287 who hast brought me these good tidings, I forgive thy former bearing — thou thoughtest, doubtless, that it was prudent to extort from me professions during my bondage which might in honour decide my conduct when at large. The suspicion inferred in it somewhat offensive, but thy motive was to ensure my uncle's liberty." " And is it really your purpose," said the Palmer, " to employ your newly-gained freedom in a voyage to Syria, and to exchange your English prison for the dungeon of the Soldan ? " " If thou thyself wilt act as my guide," answered the undaunted youth, " you shall not say I dally by the way." "And the ransom," said the Palmer, "how is that to be provided ? " "How, but from the estates, which, nominally restored to me, remain in truth and justice my uncle's, and must be applied to his use in the first instance ? If I mistake not greatly, there is not a Jew or Lombard who would not advance the necessary sums on each security. — Therefore, dog," he continued, addressing the jailer, " hasten thy unclenching and undoing of rivets, and be not dainty of giving me a little pain, so thou break no limb, for I cannot afford to be stayed on my journey." The Palmer looked on a little while, as if surprised at Damian's determination, then exclaimed, " I can keep the old man's secret no longer — such high-souled generosity must not be sacrificed. — Hark thee, brave Sir Damian, I have a mighty secret still to impart, and as this Saxon churl understands no French, this is no unfit op- portunity to communicate it. Know that thine uncle is a changed man in mind, as he is debilitated and broken down in body. Peevishness and jealousy have possessed themselves of a heart which was once strong and generous ; his life is now on the dregs, and, I grieve to speak it, these dregs are foul and bitter." "Is this thy mighty secret?" said Damian. "That men grow old, I know ; and if with infirmity of body comes infirmity of temper and mind, their case the more strongly claims the dutiful observance of those who are bound to them in blood or affection." " Ay," replied the Pilgrim, " but the Constable's mind has been poisoned against thee by rumours which have reached his ear from England, that there have been thoughts of affection betwixt thee and his betrothed bride, Eveline Berenger. — Ha ! have I touched you now ? " " Not a whit," said Damian, putting on the strongest resolution with which his virtue could supply him — " it was but this fellow who struck my shin-bone somewhat sharply with his hammer. Proceed. My uncle heard such a report, and believed it ? " " He did," said the Palmer—" I can well aver it, since he con- i288 THE BETROTHED.. cealed no thought from me. But he prayed me carefully to hide his suspicions from you, 'otherwise,' said he, 'the young wolf-cub will never thrust himself into the trap for the deliverance of the old he-wolf Were he once in my prisonhouse,' your uncle continued to speak of you, ' he should rot and die ere I sent one penny of ransom to set at liberty the lover of my betrothed bride.' " "Could this be my uncle's sincere purpose?" said Damian, all aghast. " Could he plan so much treachery towards me as to leave me in the captivity into which I threw myself for his redemption ? — Tush ] it cannot be." " Flatter not yourself vjfith such a vain opinion," said the Palmer — " if you go to Syria, you go to eternal captivity, while your uncle returns to possession of wealth little diminished— and of Eveline Berenger." " Ha ! " ejaculated Damian ; and, looking down for an instant, demanded of the Palmer, in a subdued voice, what he would have him to do in such an extremity. " The case is plain, according to my poor judgment," replied the Palmer. " No one is bound to faith with those who mean to observe none with him. Anticipate this treachery of your uncle, and let his now shortand infirm existence moulder out in the.pes- tiferous cell to which he would condemn your youthful strength. The royal grant has assigned you lands enough for your honourable support ; and wherefore not unite with them those of the Garde Doloureuse ? — Eveline Berenger, if I do not greatly mistake, will scarcely say nay. Ay, more — I vouch it on my soul that she will say yes, for I have sure information of her mind ; and for her pre- contract, a word from Henry to his holiness, now that they are in the heyday of their reconciliation, will obliterate the name Hugh from the parchment, and insert Damian in its stead." " Now, by my faith," said Damian, arising and placing his foot upon the stool, that the warder might more easily strike off the last ring by which he was encumbered, — " I have heard of such things as this — I have heard of beings who, with seeming gravity of word and aspect — with subtle counsels, artfully applied to the frailties of human nature — have haunted the cells of despairing men, and made them many a fair promise, if they would but ex- change for their by-ways the paths of salvation. Such are the fiend's dearest agents, and in such a guise hath the fiend himself been known to appear. In the name of God, old man, if human thou art, begone !— I like not thy words or thy presence — I spit at thy counsels. And mark me," he added, with a menacing gesture, " Look to thine own safety— I shall presently be at liberty ! " " Boy," replied the Palmer, folding his arms contemptuously in his cloak, " I scorn thy menaces— I leave thee not till we know each other better ! " THE BETROTHED. 289 "I too," said Damian, "would fain know whether thou be'st man or fiend ; and now for ',the trial ! " As he spoke, (the last shackle fell from his leg, and clashed on the pavement, and at the same moment he sprung on the Palmer, caught him by the waist, and exclaimed, as he made three distinct and desperate attempts to lift him up, and dash him headlong to the earth, " This for maligning a nobleman — this for doubting the honour of a knight — and this (with a yet more violent exertion) for belying a lady ! " Each effort of Damian seemed equal to have rooted up a tree ; yet though they staggered the old man, they overthrew him not ; and while Damian panted with his last exertion, he replied, " And take thou this, for so roughly entreating thy father's brother." As he spoke, Damian de Lacy, the best youthful wrestler in Cheshire, received no soft fall on the floor of the dungeon. He arose slowly and astounded ; but the Palmer had now thrown back both hood and dalmatique, and the features, though bearing marks of age and climate, were those of his uncle the Constable, who calmly observed, " I think, Damian, thou art become stronger, or I weaker, since my breast was last pressed against yours in our country's celebrated sport. Thou hadst nigh had me down in that last turn, but that I knew the old De Lacy's back-trip as well as thou. — But wherefore kneel, man ? " He raised him with much kindness, kissed his cheek, and proceeded ; " Think not, my dearest nephew, that I meant in my late disguise to ' try your faith, which I myself never doubted. But evil tongues had been busy, and it was this which made me resolve on an experiment, the result of which has been, as I expected, most honourable for you. And know, (for these walls have sometimes ears, even according to the letter,) there are ears and eyes not far distant which have heard and seen the whole. Marry, I wish, though, thy last hug had not been so severe a one. My ribs still feel the impression of thy knuckles." " Dearest and honoured uncle," said Damian, " excuse " " There is nothing to excuse," replied his uncle, interrupting him. " Have we not wrestled a turn before now ? — But there remains yet one trial for thee to go through — Get thee out of this hole speedily — don thy best array to accompany me to the church at noon ; for, Damian, thou must be present at the marriage of the Lady Eveline Berenger." This proposal at once struck to the earth the unhappy young man. "For mercy's sake," he exclaimed, "hold me excused in this, my gracious uncle ! — I have been of late severely wounded, and am very weak." " As my bones can testify," — said his uncle. " Why, man, thou hast the strength of a Norway bear." u ago THE BETROTHKD, *' Passion," answered Damian, " might give me strength for a moment ; but, dearest uncle, ask any thing of me rather than this. Methinks, if I have been faulty, some other punishment might sufifice." " I tell thee," said the Constable, " thy presence is necessary— indispensably necessary. Strange reports have been abroad, which thy absence on this occasion would go far to confirm. Eveline's character and mine own are concerned in this." " If so," said Damian, " if it be indeed so, no task will be too hard for me. But I trust, when the ceremony is over, you will not refuse me your consent to take the cross, unless you should prefer my joining the troops destined, as I heard, for the conquest of Ireland." " Ay, ay," said the Constable ; " if Eveline grant you permission, I will not withhold mine." " Uncle," said Damian, somewhat sternly, " you do not know the feelings which you jest with." " Nay," said the Constable, " I compel nothing ; for if thou goest to the church, and likest not the match, thou may'st put a stop to it if thou wilt — the sacrament cannot proceed without the bride- groom's consent." " I understand you not, uncle," said Damian ; "you have already consented." " Yes, Damian," he said, " I have — to withdraw my claim, and to relinquish it in thy favour ; for if Eveline Berenger is wedded to-day, thou art her bridegroom ! The Church has given her sanction — ^the King his approbation — the lady says not nay — and the question only now remains, whether the bridegroom will say yes." The nature of the answer may be easily conceived ; nor is it necessary to dwell upon the splendour of the ceremonial, which, to atone for his late unmerited severity, Henry honoured with his own presence. Amelot and Rose were shortly afterwards united, old Flammock having been previously created a gentleman of coat armour, that the gentle Norman blood might, without utter deroga- tion, mingle with the meaner stream which coloured the cheek in crimson, and meandered in azure over the lovely neck and bosom of the fair Fleming. There was nothing in the manner of the Constable towards his nephew and his bride, which could infer a regret of the generous self-denial which he had exercised in favour of their youthful passion. But he soon after accepted a high com- mand in the troops destined to invade Ireland ; and his name is found among the highest in the roll of the chivalrous Normans who first united that fair island to the English crown. Eveline, restored to her own fair castle and domains, failed not THE BETROTHED. 291 to provide for her confessor, as well as for her old soldiers, ser- vants, and retainers, forgetting their errors, and remembering their fidelity. The Confessor was restored to the flesh-pots of Egypt, more congenial to his habits than the meagre fare of his convent. Even Gillian had the means of subsistence, since to punish her would have been to distress the faithful Raoul. They quarrelled for the future part of their lives in plenty, just as they had formerly quarrelled in poverty ; for wrangling curs will fight over a banquet as fiercely as over a bare bone. Raoul died first, and Gillian having lost her whetstone, found that as her youthful looks decayed her wit turned somewhat blunt. She therefore prudently commenced devotee, and spent hours in long panegyrics on her departed husband. The only serious cause of vexation which I can trace the Lady Eveline having been tried with, arose from a visit of her Saxon relative, made with much form, but, unfortunately, at the very time which the Lady Abbess had selected for that same purpose. The discord which arose between these honoured personages was of a double character, for they were Norman and Saxon, and, moreover, differed in opinion concferning the time of holding Easter. This, however, was but a slight gale to disturb the general serenity of Eveline ; for with her unhoped-for union with Damian, ended the trials and sorrows of The Betrothed. U 3 \- THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. INTRODUCTION CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. Sic itur ad astra. The circumstances which rendered it impossible for the "Author of Waverley " to continue longer in th€ possession of his incognito, were communicated in 1827, in the Introduction to the first series of Chronicles of the Canongate, — consisting (besides a biographi- cal sketch of the imaginary chronicler) of three tales, entitled " The Highland Widow," " The Two Drovers," and " The Surgeon's Daughter." I have, perhaps, said enough on former occasions of the misfor- tunes which led to the dropping of that mask under which I had, for a long series of years, enjoyed so large a portion of public favour. Through the success of those literary effol-ts, I had been enabled to indulge most of the tastes, which a retired person of my station might be supposed to entertain. In the pen of this nameless romanser, I seemed to possess something like the secret fountain of coined gold and pearls vouchsafed to the traveller of the Eastern Tale ; and no doubt believed that I might venture, without silly imprudence, to extend my personal expenditure con- siderably beyond what I should have thought of, had my means been limited to the competence which I derived from inheritance, with the nioderate income of a professional situation. I bought, and built, and planted, and was considered by myself, as by the rest of the world, in the safe possession of an easy fortune. My riches, however, like the other riches of this world, were liable to 294 INTRODUCTION TO accidents, under which they were ultimately destined to make unto themselves wings and fly away. The year 1825,50 disastrous to many branches of industry and commerce, did not spare the market of literature ; and the sudden ruin that fell on so many of the booksellers, could scarcely have been expected to leave un- scathed one, whose career had of necessity connected him deeply and extensively with the pecuniary transactions of that profession. In a word, almost without one note of premonition, I found myself involved in the sweeping catastrophe of the unhappy time, and called on to meet the demands of creditors upon commercial establishments with which my fortunes had long been bound up, to the extent of no less a sum than one hundred and twenty thousand pounds. The author having, however rashly, committed his pledges thus largely to the hazards of trading companies, it behoved him, of course, to abide the consequences of his conduct, and, with what- ever feelings, he surrendered on the instant every shred of property which he had been accustomed to call his own. It became vested in the hands of gentlemen, whose integrity, prudence, and intelli- gence, were combined with all possible liberality and kindness of disposition, and who readily afforded every assistance towards the execution of plans, in the success of which the author contemplated the possibility of his ultimate extrication, and which were of such a nature, that, had assistance of this sort been withheld, he could have had little prospect of carrying them into effect. Among other resources which occurred, was the project of that complete and corrected edition of his Novels and Romances, (whose real parentage had of necessity been disclosed at the moment of the commercial convulsions alluded to,) which has now advanced with unprecedented favour nearly to its close ; but as he purposed also to continue, for the behoof of those to whom he was indebted, the exer- cise of his pen in the same path of literature, so long as the taste of his countrymen should seem to approve of his efforts, it appeared to him that it would have been an idle piece of affectation to attempt getting up a new incognitq, after his original visor had been thus dashed from his brow. Hence the personal narrative prefixed to the first work of fiction which he put forth after the paternity of the " Waverley Novels " had come to be publicly ascertained : and though many of the particulars originally avowed in that Notice have been unavoidably adverted to in the prefaces and notes to some of the preceding volumes of the present collec- tion, it is now reprinted as it stood at the time, because some interest is generally attached to a coin or medal struck on a special occasion, as expressing, perhaps, more faithfully than the same artist could have afterwards conveyed, the feelings of the moment CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 29s that gave it birth. The Introduction to the first series of Chroni- cles of the Canongate ran, then, in these words : INTRODUCTION. All who are acquainted with the early history of the Italian stage are aware, that Arlechino is not, in his original conception, a mere worker of marvels with his wooden sword, a jumper in and out of windows, as upon our theatre, but, as his party-coloured jacket implies, a buffoon or clown, whose mouth, far from being eternally closed, as amongst us, is filled, like that of Touchstone, with quips, and cranks, and witty devices, very often delivered extempore. It is not easy to trace how he became possessed of his black vizard, which was anciently made in the resemblance of the face of a cat ; but it seems that the mask was essential to the performance of the character, as will appear from the following theatrical anecdote : — An actor on the Italian stage permitted at the Foire du St. Ger- mains, in Paris, was renowned for the wild, venturous, and extrava- gant wit, the briUiant sallies and fortunate repartees, with which he prodigally seasoned the character of the party-coloured jester. Some critics, whose good-will towards a favourite performer was stronger than their judgment, took occasion to remonstrate with the successful actor on the subject of the grotesque vizard. They v/ent wilily to their purpose, observing that his classical and attic wit, his delicate vein of humour, his happy turn for dialogue, were rendered burlesque and ludicrous by this unmeaning and bizarre disguise, and that those attributes would become far more impres- sive, if aided by the spirit of his eye and the expression of his natural features. The actor's vanity was easily so far engaged as to induce him to make the experiment. He played Harlequin barefaced, but was considered on all hands as having made a total failure. He had lost the audacity which a sense of incognito bestowed, and with it all the reckless play of raillery which gave vivacity to his original acting. He cursed his advisers, and resumed his grotesque vizard ; but, it is said, without ever being able to regain the careless and successful levity which the con- sciousness of the disguise had formerly bestowed. Perhaps the Author of Waverley is now about to incur a risk of the same kind, and endanger his popularity by having laid aside his incognito. It is certainly not a voluntary experiment, like that of Harlequin ; for it was my original intention never to have avowed these works during my lifetime, and the original manu- scripts were carefully preserved, (though by the care of others 296 INTROnUCTION TO rather 'than" mine,) with the purpose of supplying the necessary evidence of the truth when the period of announcing it should arrive.* But the affairs of my publishers having unfortunately passed into a management different from their own, I hadno right any longer to rely upon secrecy in that quarter ; and thus my mask, like my Aunt Dinah's in " Tristram Shandy," having begun to wax a little threadbare about the chin, it became time to lay it aside with a good grace, unless I desired it should fall in pieces from my face, which was now become likely. Yet I had not the slightest intention of selecting the time and place in which the disclosure was finally made ; nor was there any concert betwixt my learned and respected friend Lord Meadow- bank and myself upon that occasion. It was, as the reader is probably aware, upon the 23d February last, at a public meeting, called for establishing a professional Theatrical Fund in Edinburgh, that the communication took place. Just before we sat down to table. Lord Meadowbank * asked me privately,. whether I was still anxious to preserve my incognito on the subject of what were called the Waverley Novels ? I did not immediately see the purpose of his lordship's question, although I certainly might have been led to infer it, and replied, that the secret had now of neces- sity become known to so many people that 1 was indifferent on the subject. Lord Meadowbank was thus induced, while doing me the great honour of proposing my health to the meeting, to say some- thing on the subject of these novels, so strongly connecting them with me as the author, that by remaining silent, I must have stood convicted, either of the actual paternity, or of the still greater crime of being supposed willing to receive indirectly praise to which I had no just title. I thus found myself suddenly and unexpectedly placed in the confessional, and had only time to recollect that 1 had been guided thither by a most friendly hand, and could not, perhaps, find a better public opportunity to lay down a disguise, which began to resemble that of a detected masquerader. I had therefore the task of avowing myself, to the numerous and respectable company assembled, as the sole and unaided author of these Novels of Waverley, the paternity of which was likely at one time to have formed a controversy of some celebrity, for the ingenuity with which some instructors of the public gave their assurance on the subject, was extremely persevering. I now think it further necessary to say, that while I take on myself all the merits and demerits attending these compositions, I am bound to acknowledge with gratitude, hints of subjects and legends which I have received from various quarters, and have occasionally used as a foundation of my fictitious compositions, or woven up with CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 297 them in the shape of episodes. I am bound, in particular, to acknowledge the unremitting kindness of Mr. Joseph Train, super- visor of excise at Dumfries, to whose unwearied industry I have been indebted for many curious traditions, and points of antiquarian interest. It was Mr. Train who brought to my recollection the history of Old Mortality, although I myself had had a personal interview with that celebrated wanderer so far back as about 1792, when I found him on his usual task. He was then engaged in repairing the gravestones of the Covenanters, who had died while imprisoned in the Castle of Dunnottar, to which many of them were committed prisoners at the period -of Argyle's rising ; their place of confinement is still called the Whigs' Vault. Mr. Train, however, procured for me far more extensive information concerning this singular person, whose name was Patterson, than I had been able to acquire during my own short conversation with him.* He was (as I think I have somewhere already stated) a native of the parish of Closeburn, in Dumfries-shire, and it is believed that domestic affliction, as well as devotional feeling, induced him to commence the wandering mode of life, which he pursued for a very long period. It is more than twenty years since Robert Patterson's death, which took place on the high road near Lockerby, where he was found exhausted and expiring. The white pony, the companion of his pilgrimage, was standing by the side of its dying master ; the whole furnishing a scene not unfitted for the pencil. These particulars I had from Mr. Train. Another debt, which I pay most willingly, I owe to an unknown correspondent (a lady),* who favoured me with the history of the upright and high-principled female, whom, in the Heart of Mid- Lothian, I have termed Jeanie Deans. The circumstance of her refusing to save her sister's life by an act of perjury, and under- taking a pilgrimage to London to obtain her pardon, are both represented as true by my fair and obliging correspondent ; and they led me to consider the possibility of rendering a fictitious per- sonage interesting by mere dignity of mind and rectitude of principle, assisted by unpretending good sense and temper, without any of the beauty, grace, talent, accomplishment, and wit, to which a heroine of romance is supposed to have a prescriptive right. If the portrait was received with interest by the public, I am conscious how much it was owing to the truth and force of the original sketch, v;hich I regret that I am unable to present to the public, as it was written with much feeling and spirit. Old and odd books, and a considerable collection of family legends, formed another quarry, so ample, that it was much more likely that the strength of the labourer should be exhausted, than 298 INTRODUCTION TO that materials should fail. I may mention, for example's sake, that the terrible catastrophe of the Bride of Lammermoor actually occurred in a Scottish family of rank. The female relative, by ■whom the melancholy tale was communicated to me many years since, was a near connexion of the family in which the event happened, and always told it with an appearance of melancholy mystery, which enhanced the interest. She had known, in her youth, the brother who rode before the unhappy victim to the fatal altar, who, though then a mere boy, and occupied almost entirely with the gaiety of his own appearance in the bridal procession-, could not but remark that the hand of his sister was moist, and cold as that of a statue. It is unnecessary further to withdraw the veil from this scene of family distress, nor, although it occurred more than a hundred years since, might it be altogether agreeable to the representatives of the families concerned in the narrative. It may be proper to say, that the events alone are imitated ; but I had neither the means nor intention of copying the manners, or tracing the characters, of the persons concerned in the real story. Indeed, I may here state generally, that although I have deemed historical personages free subjects of delineation, I have never on any occasion violated the respect due to private life. It was indeed impossible that traits proper to persons, both living and dead, with whom I have had intercourse in society, should not have risen to my pen in such works as Waverley, and those which followed it. But I have always studied to generalize the portraits, so that they should still seem, on the whole, the productions of fancy, though possessing some resemblance to real individuals. Yet I must own my attempts have not in this last particular been uniformly suc- cessful. There are men whose characters are so peculiarly marked, that the delineation of some leading and principal feature, inevit- ably places the whole person before you in his individuality. Thus, the character of Jonathan Oldbuck, in the Antiquary, was partly founded on that of an old friend of my youth, to whom I am in- debted for introducing me to Shakspeare, and other invaluable favours ; but I thought I had so completely disguised the likeness, that his features could not be recognised by any one now alive. I was mistaken, however, and indeed had endangered what I desired should be considered as a secret ; for I afterwards learned that a highly respectable gentleman, one of the few surviving friends of my father,* and an acute critic, had said, upon the appearance of the work, that he was now convinced who was the author of it, as he recognised, in the Antiquary of Monkbarns, traces of the character of a very intimate friend of my father's family. CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 299 I may here also notice, that the sort of exchange of gallantry, which is represented as taking place betwixt Waverley and Colonel Talbot, is a literal fact. The real circumstances of the anecdote, alike honourable to Whig and Tory, are these :— Alexander Stewart of Invernahyle, — a name which I cannot write without the warmest recollections of gratitude to the friend of my childhood, who first introduced me to the Highlands, their traditions, and their manners, — had been engaged actively in the troubles of 1745. As he charged at the battle of Preston with his clan, the Stewarts of Appine, he saw an officer of the opposite army standing alone by a battery of four cannon, of which he dis- charged three on the advancing Highlanders, and then drew his sword. Invernahyle rushed on him, and required him to surren- dw. " Never to rebels ! " was the undaunted reply, accompanied with a lunge, which the Highlander received on his target ; but instead of using his sword in cutting down his now defenceless an- tagonist, he employed it in parrying the blow of a Lochaber axe, aimed at the officer by the Miller, one of his own followers, a grim- looking old Highlander, whom I remember to have seen. Thus overpowered, Lieutenant-Colonel Allan Whitefoord, a gentleman of rank and consequence, as well as a brave officer, gave up his sword, and with it his purse and watch, which Invernahyle accepted, to save them from his followers. After the affair was over, Mr. Stewart sought out his prisoner, and they were introduced to each other by the celebrated John Roy Stewart, who acquainted Colonel Whitefoord with the quality of his captor, and made him aware of the necessity of receiving back his property, which he was inclined to leave in the hands into which it had fallen. So great became the confidence established betwixt them, that Invernahyle obtained from the Chevalier his prisoner's freedom upon parole ; and soon afterwards, having been sent back to the Highlands to raise men, he visited Colonel Whitefoord at his own house, and spent two happy days with him and his Whig friends, without thinking, on either side, of the civil war which was then raging. When the battle of Culloden put an end to the hopes of Charles Edward, Invernahyle, wounded and unable to move, was borne from the field by the faithful zeal of his retainers. But, as he had been a distinguished Jacobite, his family and property were exposed to the system of vindictive destruction, too generally carried into execution through the country of the insurgents. It was now Colonel Whitefoord's turn to exert himself, and he wearied all the authorities, civil and military, with his solicitations for pardon to the saver of his life, or at least for a protection for his wife and family. His applications were for a long time unsuccessful : " I 300 INTRODUCTION TO was found with the mark of the Beast upon me in every list," was Invernahyle's expression. At length Colonel Whitefoord applied to the Duke of Cumberland, and urged his suit with every argument which he could think of. Being still repulsed, he took his commis- sion from his bosom, and, having said something of his own and his family's exertions in the cause of the House of Hanover, begged to resign his situation in their service, since he could not be per- mitted to show his gratitude to the person to whom he owed his life. The Duke, struck with his earnestness, desired him to take up his commission, and granted the protection required for the family of Invernahyle. The chieftain himself lay concealed in a cave near his own house, before which a small body of regular soldiers were encamped. He could hear their muster-roll called every morning, and their drums beat to quarter at nights, and not a change of the sentinels escaped him. As it was suspected that he was lurking somewhere on the property, his family were closely watched, and compelled to use the utmost precaution in supplying him with food. One of his daughters, a child of eight or ten years old, was employed as the agent least likely to be suspected. She was an instance among others, that a time of danger and difficulty creates a premature sharpness of intellect. She made herself acquainted among the soldiers, till she became so familiar to them, that her motions escaped their notice ; and her practice was, to stroll away in the neighbourhood of the cave, and leave what slender supply of food she carried for that purpose under some remarkable stone, or the root of some tree, where her father might find it as he crept by night from his lurking-place. Times became milder, and my excel- lent friend was relieved from proscription by the Act of Indemnity. Such is the interesting story which I have rather injured than improved, by the manner in which it is told in Waverley. This incident, with several other circumstances illustrating the Tales in question, was communicated by me to my late lamented friend, William Erskine, (a Scottish Judge, by the title of Lord Kinedder,) who afterwards reviewed with far too much partiality the Tales of my Landlord, for the Quarterly Review of January, 1 817.* In the same article, are contained other illustrations of the Novels, with which I supplied my accomplished friend, who took the trouble to write the review. The reader who is desirous of such information, will find the original of Meg Merrilees, and I beheve of one or two other personages of the same cast of character, in the article referred to. I may also mention, that the tragic and savage circumstances which are represented as preceding the birth of Allan MacAulay, CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 301 in the Legend of Montrose, really happened in the family of Stewart of Ardvoirlich. The wager about the candlesticks, whose place was supplied by Highland torch-bearers, was laid and won by one of the MacDonalds of Keppoch. There can be but little amusement in winnowing out the few grains of truth which are contained in this mass of empty fiction. I may, however, before dismissing the subject, allude to the various localities which have been affixed to some of the scenery intro- duced into these Novels, by which, for example, Wolf's-Hope is identified with Fast-Castle in Berwickshire, — Tillietudlem with Draphane in Clydesdale, — and the valley in the Monastery, called Glendearg, with the dale of the river Allan, above Lord Somerville's villa, near Melrose. I can only say, that, in these and other instances, I had no purpose of describing any particular local spot ; and the resemblance must therefore be of that general kind which necessarily exists between scenes of the same character. The iron-bound coast of Scotland affords upon its headlands and pro- montories fifty such Castles as Wolf's Hope ; every county has a valley more or less resembling Glendearg ; and if castles like Til- lietudlem, or mansions like the Baron of Bradwardine's, are now less frequently to be met with, it is owing to the rage of indiscrimi- nate destruction, which has removed or ruined so many monuments of antiquity, when they were not protected by their inaccessible situation.* The scraps of poetry which have been in most cases tacked to the beginning of chapters in these Novels, are sometimes quoted either from reading or from memory, but, in the general case, are pure invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to the collection of the British Poets to discover apposite mottoes, and, in the situa- tion of the theatrical mechanist, who, when the white paper which represented his shower of snow was exhausted, continued the storm by snowing brown, I drew on my memory as long as I could, and, when that failed, eked it out with invention. I believe that, in some cases, where actual names are affixed to the supposed quota- tions, it would be to little purpose to seek them in the works of the authors referred to. In some cases, I have been entertained when Dr. Watts and other graver authors, have been ransacked in vain for stanzas for which the novelist alone was responsible. And now the reader may expect me, while in the confessional, to explain the motives why I have so long persisted in disclaiming the works of which I am now writing. To this it would be difficult to give any other reply, save that of Corporal Nym — It was the author's humour or caprice for the time. I hope it will not be con- strued into ingratitude to the public, to whose indulgence I have owed my ^angjroid much more than to any merit of my own, if I 302 INTRODUCTION TO confess that I am, and have been, more indifferent to success, or to failure, as an author, than may be the case with others, who feel more strongly the passion for literary fame, probably because they are justly conscious of a better title to it. It was not until I had attained the age of thirty years that I made any serious attempt at distinguishing myself as an author ; and at that period, men's hopes, desires, and wishes, have usually acquired something of a decisive character, and are not eagerly and easily diverted into a new channel. When I made the discovery, — for to me it was one, — that by amusing myself with composition, which I felt a delight- ful occupation, I could also give pleasure to others, and became aware that literary pursuits were likely to engage in future a con- siderable portion of my time, I felt some alarm that I might acquire those habits of jealousy and fretfulness which have les- sened, and degraded, the character even of great authors, and rendered them, by their petty squabbles and mutual irritability, the laughing-stock of the people of the world. I resolved, there- fore, in this respect to guard my breast, perhaps an unfriendly critic may add, my brow, with triple brass,* and as much as possible to avoid resting my thoughts and wishes upon literary success, lest I should endanger my own peace of mind and tranquillity by literary failure. It would argue either stupid apathy, or ridiculous affecta- tion, to say that I ha;ve been insensible to the public applause, when I have been honoured with its testimonies ; and still more highly do I prize the invaluable friendships which some temporary popu- larity has enabled me to form among those of my contemporaries most distinguished by talents and genius, and which I venture to hope now rest upon a basis more firm than the circumstances which gave rise to them. Yet feeling all these advantages as a man ought to do, and must do, I may say, with truth and confidence, that I have, I think, tasted of the intoxicating cup with moderation, and that I have never, either in conversation or correspondence, encouraged discussions respecting my own literary pursuits. On the contrary, I have usually found such topics, even when intro- duced from motives most flattering to myself, rather embarrassing and disagreeable. I have now frankly told my motives for concealment, so far as I am conscious of having any, and the public will forgive the egotism of the detail, as what is necessarily connected with it. The author, so long and loudly called for, has appeared on the stage, and made his obeisance to the audience. Thus far his conduct is a mark of respect. To linger in their presence would be intrusion. I have only to repeat, that I avow myself in print, as formerly in words, the sole and unassisted author ot all the Novels published as works of the " Author of Waverley." I do this without shame, CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 303 for I am unconscious that there is any thing in their composition which deserves reproach, either on the score of rehgion or moraUty ; and without any feeling of exultation, because, whatever may have been their temporary success, I am well aware how much their reputation depends upon the caprice of fashion ; and I have already mentioned the precarious tenure by which it is held, as a reason for displaying no great avidity in grasping at the posses- sion. I ought to mention, before concluding, that twenty persons, at least, were, either from intimacy or from the confidence which cir- cumstanees rendered necessary, participant of this secret ; and as there was no instance, to my knowledge, of any one of the number breaking faith, I am the more obliged to them, because the slight and trivial character of the mystery was not qualified to inspire much respect in those intrusted with it. Nevertheless, like Jack the Giant-Killer, I was fully confident in the advantage of my " Coat of Darkness," and had it not been from compulsory cir- stances, I would indeed have been very, cautious how I parted with it. As for the work which follows, it was meditated, and in part printed, long before the avowal of the novels took place, and originally commenced with a declaration that it was neither to have introduction nor preface of any kind. This long proem, prefixed to a work intended not to have any, may, however, serve to show how human purposes, in the most trifling, as well as the most important aifairs, are liable to be controlled by the course of events. Thus, we begin to cross a strong river with our eyes and our resolution fixed on that point of the opposite shore, on which we purpose to land ; but, gradually giving way to the torrent, are glad, by the aid perhaps of branch or bush, to extricate ourselves at some distant and perhaps dangerous landing-place, much farther down the stream than that on which we had fixed our intentions. Hoping that the Courteous Reader will afford to a known and familiar acquaintance some portion of the favour which he extended ' to a disguised candidate for his applause, I beg leave to subscribe myself his obliged humble servant, WALTER SCOTT. Abbotsford, October i, 1837. 304 INTRODUCTION TO Such was the little narrative which I thought proper to put forth in October 1827 : nor have I much to add to it now. About to appear for the first time in my own name in this department of letters, it occurred to me that something in the shape of a periodi- cal publication might carry with it a certain air of novelty, and I was willing to break, if I may so express it, the abruptness of my personal forthcoming, by investing an imaginary coadjutor with at least as much distinctness of individual existence as I had ever previously thought it worth while to bestow on shadows of the same convenient tribe. Of course, it had never been in my contempla- tion to invite the assistance of any real person in the sustaining of my quasi-editorial character and labours. It had long been my opinion, that any thing like a literary /zV«/f is likely to end in suggesting comparisons, justly termed odious, and therefore to be_ avoided : and, indeed, I ' had also had some occasion to know, that promises of assistance, in efforts of that order, are apt to be more magnificent than the subsequent performance. I therefore planned a Miscellany, to be dependent, after the old fashion, on my own resources alone, and although conscious enough that the moment which assigned to the Author of Waverley " a local habitation and a name," had seriously endangered his spell, I felt inclined to adopt the sentiment of my old hero Montrose, and to say to myself, that in literature, as in war, " He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To win or lose it all." To the particulars explanatory of the plan of these Chronicles, which the reader is presented with in Chapter II. by the imaginary Editor, Mr. Croftangry, I have now to add, that the lady, termed in his narrative, Mrs. Bethune Baliol, was designed to shadow out in its leading points the interesting character of a dear friend of mine, Mrs. Murray Keith,* whose death occurring shortly before had saddened a wide circle, much attached to her, as well for her genuine virtue and amiable qualities of disposition, as for the extent of information which she possessed, and the delightful manner in which she was used to communicate it. In truth, the author had, on many occasions, been indebted to her vivid memory for the substratum of his Scottish fictions — and she accordingly had been, from an early period, at no loss to fix the Waverley Novels on the right culprit. In the sketch of Chrystal Croftangry's own history, the author has been accused of introducing some not polite allusions to respectable living individuals ; but he may safely, he presumes, CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. 3O5 pass over such an insinuation. The first of the narratives which Mr. Croftangry proceeds to lay before the pubhc, " The Highland Widow," was derived from Mrs. Murray Keith, and is given, with the exception of a few additional circumstances — the introduction of which I am rather inclined to regret — very much as the excellent old lady used to tell the story. Neither the Highland cicerone MacLeish, nor the demure waiting-woman, were drawn from imagi- nation ; and on re-reading my tale, after the lapse of a few years, and comparing its effect with my remembrance of my worthy friend's oral narration, which was certainly extremely affecting, I cannot but suspect myself of having marred its simplicity by some of those interpolations, which, at the time when I penned them, no doubt passed with myself for embellishments. The next tale, entitled "The Two Drovers," I learned from another old friend, the late George Constable, Esq. of Wallace- Craigie, near Dundee, whom I have already introduced to my reader as the original Antiquary of Monkbarns. He had been present, I think, at the trial at Carlisle, and seldom mentioned the venerable Judge's charge to the jury, without shedding tears, — which had peculiar pathos, as flowing down features, carrying rather a sarcastic, or almost a cynical expression. This worthy gentleman's reputation for shrewd Scottish sense — knowledge of our national antiquities — and a racy humour, pecu- liar to himself — must be still remembered. For myself, I have pride in recording, that for many years we were, in Wordsworth's language, ■ a pair of friends, though I was young. And ' George ' was seventy-two." W. AbBOTSFORD, ^«^. 15, 183I. 3o5 APPEN'DIX TO APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. [It has been suggested to the Author, that it might be well to reprint here a detailed account of the public dinner alluded to in the foregoing Introduction, as given in the newspapers of the time ; and the reader is accordingly presented with the following extract from the Edinburgh Weekly Journal for Wednesday, 28th February, 1827.] THEATRICAL FUND DINNER. Before proceeding with our account of this very interesting festival — for so it may be termed — it is our duty to present to our readers the following letter, which we have received from the President : TO THE EDITOR OF THE EDINBURGH WEEKLY JOURNAL. Sir, — I am extremely sorry I have not leisure to correct the copy you sent me of what I am stated to have said at the.Dinner for the Theatrical Fund. I am no orator ; and upon such occasions as are alluded to, I say as well as I can what the time requires. However, I hope your reporter has been more accurate in other instances than in mine. I have corrected one passage, in which I am made to speak with great impropriety and petulance, respecting the opinions of those who do not approve of dramatic entertain- , Tnents. I have restored what I said, which was meant to be ■ respectful, as every objection founded in conscience is, in my opinion, entitled to be so treated. Other errors I left as I found them, it being of little consequence whether I spoke sense or non- ■ sense, in what was merely intended for the purpose of the hour. I am, sir. Your obedient servant, Walter Scott. Mdinburghf Monday, The Theatrical Fund Dinner, which took place on Friday, in the Assembly Rooms, was conducted with admirable spirit. The Chairman, Sir Walter Scott, among his other great qualifica- tions, is well fitted to enliven such an entertainment. His manners are extremely easy, and his style of speaking simple and natural, yet full of vivacity and point ; and he has the art, if it be art, of INTRODUCTION. 307 relaxing into a certain homeliness of manner, without losing one particle of his dignity. He thus takes off some of that solemn formality which belongs to such meetings, and, by his easy and graceful familiarity, imparts to them somewhat of the pleasing character of a private entertainment. Near Sir W. Scott sat the Earl of Fife, Lord Meadowbank, Sir John Hope of Pinkie, Bart., Admiral Adam, Baron Clerk Rattray, Gilbert Innes, Esq., James Walker, Esq., Robert Dundas, Esq., Alexander Smith, Esq., &c. The cloth being removed, " Non Nobis Domine" was sung by Messrs. Thome, Swift, Collier, and Hartley, after which the follow- ing toasts were given, from the chair : — " The King " — all the honours. " The Duke of Clarence and the Royal Family." The Chairman, in proposing the next toast, which he wished to be drunk in solemn silence, said, it was to the memory of a regretted prince, whom we had lately lost. Every individual would at once conjecture to whom he alluded. He had no in- tention to dwell on his military merits. They had been told in the senate ; they had been repeated in the cottage ; and when- ever a soldier was the theme, his name was never far distant. But it was chiefly in connexion with the business of this meeting, which his late Royal Highness had condescended in a particular manner to patronise, that they were called on to drink to his memory. To that charity he had often sacrificed his time, and had given up the little leisure which he had from important business. He was always ready to attend on every occasion of this kind ; and it was in that view that he proposed to drink to the memory of his late Royal Highness the Duke of York. — Drunk in solemn silence. The Chairman then requested that gentlemen would fill a bumper as full as it would hold, while he would say only a few words. He was in the habit of hearing speeches, and he knew the feeling with which long ones were regarded. He was sure that it was perfectly unnecessary for him to enter into any vindication of the dramatic art, which they had come here to support. This, however, he considered to be the proper time and proper occasion for him to say a few words on that love of representation which was an innate feeling in human nature. It was the first amusement that the child had — it grew greater as he grew up ; and, even in the decline of life, nothing amused so much as when a common tale is told with appropriate per- sonification. The first thing a child does is to ape his school- master, by flogging a chair. The assuming a character ourselves, or the seeing others assume an imaginary character, is an enjoy- ment natural to humanity. It was implanted in our very nature, X 3 3o8 APPENDIX TO to take pleasure from such representations, at proper times and on proper occasions. In all ages the theatrical art had kept pace with the improvement of mankind, and with the progress of letters and the fine arts. As man has advanced from the ruder stages of society, the love of dramatic representations has increased, and all works of this nature have been improved, in character and in structure. They had only to turn their eyes to the history of ancient Greece, although he did not pretend to be very deeply versed in its ancient drama. Its first tragic poet commanded a body of troops at the battle of Marathon. Sophocles and Euri- pides were men of rank in Athens, when Athens was in its highest renown. They shook Athens with their discourses, as their theatrical works shook the theatre itself. If they turned to France in the time of Louis the Fourteenth, that era which is the classical history of that country, they would find that it was referred to by all Frenchmen as the golden age of the drama there. And also in England, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, the drama was at its highest pitch, when , the nation began to mingle deeply and wisely in the general politics of Europe, not only not receiving laws from others, but giving laws to the world, and vindicating the rights of mankind. (Cheers.) There have been various times when the dramatic art subsequently fell into disrepute. Its pro- fessors have been stigmatized ; and laws have been passed against them, less dishonourable to them than to the statesman by whom they were proposed, and to the legislators by whom they were adopted. What were the times in which these laws were passed ? Was it not when virtue was seldom inculcated as a moral duty, that we were required to relinquish the most rational of all our amusements, when the clergy were enjoined celibacy, and when the laity were denied the right to read their Bibles ? He thought that it must have been from a notion of penance that they erected the drama into an ideal place of profaneness, and spoke of the theatre as of the tents of sin. He did not mean to dispute, that there were many excellent persons who thought differently from him, and he disclaimed the slightest idea of charging them with bigotry or hypocrisy on that account. He gave them full credit for their tender consciences, in making these objections, although they did not appear relevant to him. But to these persons, being, as he believed them, men of worth and piety, he was sure the purpose of this meeting would furnish some apology for an error, if there be any, in the opinions of those who attend. They would approve the gift, although they might differ in other points. Such might not approve of going to the Theatre, but at least could not deny that they might give away from their superfluity, what was required for the relief of the sick, the support of the aged, and the INTRODUCTION. 309 comfort of the afflicted. These were duties enjoined by our religion itself. (Loud cheers.) The performers are in a particular manner entitled to the sup- port or regard, when in old age or distress, of those who had partaken of the amusements of those places which they render an ornament to society. Their art was of a peculiarly delicate and precarious nature. They had to serve a long apprenticeship. It was very long before even the first-rate geniuses could acquire the mechanical knowledge of the stage business. They must languish long in obscurity before they can avail themselves of their natural talents ; and after that, they have but a short space of time, during which they are fortunate if they can provide the means of comfort in the decline of life. That comes late, and lasts but a short time ; after which they are left dependent. Their limbs fail — their teeth are loosened — their voice is lost — and they are left, after giving happiness to others, in a most disconsolate state. The public were liberal and generous to those deserving their protection. - It was a sad thing to be dependent on the favour, or, he might say, in plain terms, on the caprice, of the public ; and this more particularly for a class of persons of whom extreme prudence is not the character. There might be instances of opportunities being neglected ; but let each gentleman tax himself, and consider the opportunities they had neglected, and the ' sums of money they had wasted ; let every gentleman look into his own bosom, and say whether these were circumstances which would soften his own feelings were he to be plunged into distress. He put it to every generous bosom — to every better feeling — to say what consolation was it to old age to be told that you might have made provision at a time which had been neglected — (loud cheers), — and to find it objected, that if you had pleased you might have been wealthy. He had hitherto been speaking of what, in theatrical language, was called stars, but they were sometimes falling ones. There were another class of sufferers naturally and necessarily connected with the theatre, without whom it was impossible to go on. The sailors have a saying-, every man cannot be a boatswain. If there must be a great actor to act Hamlet, there must also be people to act Laertes, the King, Rosen- crantz, and Guildenstern, otherwise a drama cannot go on. If even Garrick himself were to rise from the dead, he could not act Hamlet alone. There must be generals, colonels, commanding- officers, subalterns. But what are the private soldiers to do ? Many have mistaken their own talents, and have been driven in early youth to try the stage, to which they are not competent. He would know what to say to the indifferent poet and to the bad artist. He would say that it was foolish ; and he would recommend to the poet to become a scribe, and the artist to paint sign-posts — (loud 310 APPENDIX TO laughter).— But you could not send the player adrift, for if he can- not play Hamlet, he must play Guildenstern. Where there are many labourers, wages must be low, and no man in such a situa- tion can decently support a wife and family, and save something off his income for old age. What is this man to do in latter life ? Are you to cast him off like an old hinge, or a piece of useless machinery, which has done its work ? To a person who had con- tributed to our amusement, this would be unkind, ungrateful, and unchristian. His wants are not of his own making, but arise from the natural sources of sickness and old age. It cannot be denied that there is one class of sufferers to whom no imprudence can be ascribed, except on first entering on the profession. After putting his hand to the dramatic plough, he cannot draw back ; but must continue at it, and toil, till death release him from want ; or charity, by its milder influence, steps in to render that want more tolerable. He had little more to say, except that he sincerely hoped that the collection to-day, from the number of respectable gentlemen pre- sent, would meet the views entertained by the patrons. He hoped it would do so. They should not be disheartened. Though they could not do a great deal, they might do something. They had this consolation, that every thing they parted with from their super- fluity would do some good. They would sleep the better themselves when they have been the means of giving sleep to others. It was ungrateful and unkind, that those who had sacrificed their youth to our amusement should not receive the reward due to them, but should be reduced to hard fare in their old age. We cannot think of poor Falstaff going to bed without his cup of sack, or Macbeth fed on bones as marrowless as those of Banquo. — (Loud cheers and laughter.) — As he believed that they were all as fond of the dramatic art as he was in his younger days, he would propose that they should drink " The Theatrical Fund " with three times three. Mr. Mackay rose, on behalf of his brethren, to return their thanks for the toast just drunk. Many of the gentlemen present, he said, were perhaps not fully acquainted with the nature and i ntention of the institution, and it might not be amiss to enter into some explanation on the subject. With whomsoever the idea of a Theatrical Fund might have originated, (and it had been disputed by the surviving relatives of two or three individuals,) certain it was, that the first legally constituted Theatrical Fund owed its origin to one of the brightest ornaments of the profession, the late David Garrick. That eminent actor conceived that, by a weekly subscription in the Theatre, a fund might be raised among its members, from which a portion might be given to those of his less fortunate brethren, and thus an opportunity would-be offered for INTRODUCTION, sn prudence to provide what fortune had denied— a comfortable pro- vision] for the winter of life. With the welfare of his profession constantly at heart, the zeal with which he laboured to uphold its respectability, and to impress upon the minds of his brethren, not only the necessity, but the blessing of independence, the Fund became his peculiar care. He drew up a form of laws for its government, procured, at his own expense, the passing of an Act of Parliament for its confirmation, bequeathed to it a handsome legacy, and thus became the Father of the Drury-Lane Fund, So constant was his attachment to this infant establishment, that he chose to grace the close of the brightest theatrical life on record, by the last display of his transcendent talent, on the occasion of a benefit for this child of his adoption, which ever since has gone by the name of the Garrick Fund, In imitation of his noble example. Funds had been established in several provincial theatres in England ; but it remained for Mrs, Henry Siddons and Mr. William Murray to become the founders of the first Theatrical Fund in Scotland, (Cheers,) This Fund commenced under the most favourable auspices ; it was liberally supported by the management, and highly patronized by the public. Notwith- standing, it fell short in the accomplishment of its intentions. What those intentions were, he (Mr. Mackay) need not recapitu- late, but they failed ; and he did not hesilate to confess that a want of energy on the part of the performers was the probable cause. A new set of Rules and Regulations were lately drawn up, submitted to and approved of at a general meeting of the members of the Theatre ; and accordingly the Fund was re-modelled on the ist of January last. And here he thought he did but echo the feelings of his brethren, by publicly acknowledging the obligations they were under to the management, for the aid given, and the warm interest they had all along taken in the welfare of the Fund, (Cheers.) The nature and object of the profession had been so well treated of by the President, that he would say nothing ; but of the numerous offspring of science and genius that court precarious fame, the Actor boasts the slenderest claim of all ; the sport of fortune, the creatures of fashion, and the victims of caprice — they are seen, heard, and admired, but to be forgot — they leave no trace, no memorial of their existence — they " come like shadows, so depart." (Cheers.) Yet humble though their pretensions be, there was no profession, trade, or calling, where such a combination of requisites, mental and bodily, were indispensable. In all others the principal may practise after he has been visited by the afflicting hand of Providence — some by the loss of limb — some of voice — and many, when the faculty of the mind is on the wane, may be assisted by dutiful children, or devoted servants, Not so 3ia APPEXDIX TO the Actor — he must retain all he ever did possess, or sink dejected to a mournful home. (Applause.) Yet while they are toiling for ephemeral theatric fame, how very few ever possess the means of hoarding in their youth that which would give bread in old age ! But now a brighter prospect dawned upon them, and to the success of this their infant establishment they looked with hope, as to a comfortable and peaceful home in their declining years. He con- cluded by' tendering to the meeting, in the name of his brethren and sisters, their unfeigned thanks for their liberal support, and begged to propose the health of the Patrons of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund. (Cheers.) Lord Meadoweank said, that by desire of his Hon. Friend in the chair, and of his Noble Friend at his right hand, he begged leave to return ihanks for the honour which had been conferred on the Patrons of this e-\cellent Institution. He could answer for himself — he could answer for them all — that they were deeply impressed with the meritorious objects which it has in view, and of their anxious wish to promote its interests. For himself, he hoped he might be permitted to say, that he was rather surprised at find- ing his own name as one of the Patrons, associated with so many individuals of high rank and powerful influence. But it was an excuse for those who had placed him in a situation so honourable and so distinguished, that when this charity was instituted, he happened to hold a high and responsible station under the Crown, when he might have been of use in assisting and promoting its objects. His Lordship much feared that he could have little expectation, situated as he now was, of doing either ; but he could confidently assert, that few things would give him greater gratifica- tion than being able to contribute to its prosperity and support ; and, indeed, when one recollects the pleasure which at all periods of life he has received from the exhibitions of the stage, and the exertions of the meritorious individuals for whose aid this fund has been established, he must be divested both of gratitude and feeling who would not give his best endeavours to promote its welfare. And now, that he might in some measure repay the gratification which had been afforded himself, he would beg leave to propose a toast, the health of one of the Patrons, — a great and distinguished individual, whose name must always stand by itself, and which, in an assembly such as this, or in any other assembly of Scotsmen, can never be received, (not, he would say, with ordinary feelings of pleasure or of delight,) but with those of rapture and enthusiasm. In doing so he felt that he stood in a somewhat new situation. Whoever had been called upon to propose the health of his Hon. Friend to whom he alluded, some time ago, would have found himself enabled, from the mystery in which certain matters were INTRODUCTION. 313 involved, to gratify himself and his auditors by allusions which found a responding chord in their own feelings, and to deal in the language, the sincere language, of panegyric, without intruding on the modesty of the great individual to whom he referred. But it was no longer possible, consistently with the respect to one's auditors, to use upon this subject terms either of mystification, or of obscure or indirect allusion. The clouds have been dispelled — the darkness visible has been cleared away — and the Great Un- known — the minstrel of our native land — the mighty magician who has rolled back the current of time, and conjured up before our living senses the men and the manners of days which have long passed away, stands revealed to the hearts and the eyes of his affectionate and admiring countrymen. If he himself were capable of imagining all that belonged to this mighty subject — were he even able to give utterance to all that, as a friend, as a man, and as a Scotsman, he must feel regarding it ; yet knowing, as he well did, that this illustrious individual w^s not more distinguished for his towering talents, than for those feelings which rendered such allu- sions ungrateful to himself, however sparingly introduced, he would, on that account, still refrain from doing that which would otherwise be no less pleasing to him than to his audience. But this, his Lordship hoped, he would be allowed to say, (his auditors would not pardon him were he to say less,) we owe to him, as a people, a large and heavy debt of gratitude. He it is who has opened to foreigners the grand and characteristic beauties of our country. It is to him that we owe that our gallant ancestors, and the struggles of our illustrious patriots, — who fought and bled in order to obtain and secure that independence and that liberty we now enjoy, — have obtained a fame no longer confined to the boundaries of a remote and comparatively obscure nation, and who has called down upon their struggles for glory and freedom the admiration of foreign countries. He it is who has conferred a new reputation on our national character, and bestowed on Scot- land an imperishable name, were it only by her having given birth to himself. (Loud and rapturous applause.) Sir Walter Scott certainly did not think that, in coming here to-day, he would have the task of acknowledging, before 300 gen- tlemen, a secret which, considering that it was communicated to more than twenty people, had been remarkably well kept. He was now before the bar of his country, and might be understood to be on trial before Lord Meadowbank as an offender ; yet he was sure that every impartial jury would bring in a verdict of Not Proven. He did not now think it necessary to enter into the reasons of his long silence. Perhaps caprice might have a considerable share in it. He had now to say, however, that the merits of these works, if 314 APPENDIX TO they had any, and their faults, were entirely imputable to himself. (Long and loud cheering.) He was afraid to think on what he had done. " Look on't again I dare not." He had thus far unbosomed himself, and he ]?;nevv that it would be reported to the public. He meant, then, seriously to state, that when he said he was the author, he was the total and undivided author. With the excep- tion of quotations, there was not a single word that was not derived from himself, or suggested in the course of his reading. The wand was now broken, and the book buried. You will allow me further to say, with Prospero, it is your breath that has filled my sails, and to crave one single toast in the capacity of the author of these novels ; and he would dedicate a bumper to the health of one who has represented some of those characters, of which he had endeavoured to give the skeleton, with a degree of hveliness which rendered him grateful. He would propose the - health of his friend Baihe Nicol Jarvie, (loud applause) — and he was sure, that when the author of Waverley and Rob Roy drinks to Nicol Jarvie, it would be received with that degree of applause to which that gentleman has always been accustomed, and that they would take care that on the present occasion it should be PRODIGIOUS ! (Long and vehement applause.) Mr. Mackay, who here spoke with great humour in the cha- racter of Bailie Jarvie. — My conscience ! My worthy father the deacon could not have believed that his son could hae had sic a compliment paid to him by the Great Unknown ! Sir Walter Scott. — The Small Known now, Mr. Bailie. Mr. Mackay. — He had been long identified with the Bailie, and he was vain of the cognomen which he had now worn for eight years ; and he questioned if any of his brethren in the Council had given such universal satisfaction. (Loud laughter and applause.) Before he sat down, he begged to propose " The Lord Provost, and the City of Edinburgh." Sir Walter Scott apologized for the absence of the Lord Provost, who had gone to London on public business. Tune — " Within a mile of Edinburgh town." SirWALTER Scott gave, "The Duke of WeUington and the Army." Glee — " How merrily we live." " Lord Melville and the Navy, that fought till they left nobody to fight with, like an arch sportsman who clears all and goes after the game." Mr. Pat. Robertson.— They had heard this evening a toast, which had been received with intense delight, which will be pub- lished in every newspaper, and will be hailed with joy by all Europe. He had one toast assigned him which he had great pleasure in giving. He was sure that the stage had in all ages a INTRODUCTION. 315 great effect on the morals and manners of the people. It was very desirable that the stage should be well regulated ; and there was no criterion by which its regulation could be better determined than by the moral character and personal respectability of the per- formers. He was not one of those stern moralists who objected to the Theatre. The most fastidious moralist could not possibly appre- hend any injury from the stage of Edinburgh, as it was presently managed, and so long as it was adorned by that illustrious indi- vidual, Mrs. Henry Siddons, whose public exhibitions were not more remarkable for feminine grace and delicacy, than was her private character for every virtue which could be admired in domestic life. He would conclude with reciting a few words from Shakspeare, in a spirit not of contradiction to those stern moralists who disliked the Theatre, but of meekness : — " Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed ? do you hear, let them be well used, for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time." He then gave " Mrs. Henry Siddons, and success to the Theatre- Royal of Edinburgh." Mr. Murray. — Gentlemen, I- rise to return - thanks for the honour you have done Mrs. Siddons, in doing which I am some- what difficulted, from the extreme delicacy which attends a bro- ther's expatiating upon a sister's claims to honours publicly paid — (hear, hear)— yet. Gentlemen, your kindness emboldens liie to say, that were I to give utterance to all a brother's feelings, I should not exaggerate those claims. (Loud applause.) I therefore. Gentlemen, thank you most cordially for the honour you have done her, and shall now request permission to make an observation on the establishment of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund. Mr. Mackay has done Mrs. Henry Siddons and myself the honour to ascribe the establishment to us ; but no, Gentlemen, it owes its origin to a higher source — the publication of the novel of Rob Roy — the un- precedented success of the opera adapted from that popular pro- duction. (Hear, hear.) It was that success which relieved the Edinburgh Theatre from its difficulties, and enabled Mrs. Siddons to carry into effect the establishment of a fund she had long desired, but was prevented from effecting, from the unsettled state of her theatrical concerns. I therefore hope that, in future years, when the aged and infirm actor derives relief from this fund, he will, in the language of the gallant Highlander, " Cast his eye to good old Scotland, and not forget Rob Roy." (Loud applause.) Sir Walter Scott here stated, that Mrs. Siddons wanted the means but not the will of beginning the Theatrical Fund. He here alluded to the great merits of Mr. Murray's management, and to his merits as an actor, which were of the first order, and of which every person who attends the Theatre must be sensible ; and after 3i6 APPENDIX TO alluding to the embarrassments with which the Theatre had been at one period threatened, he concluded by giving the health of Mr. Murray, which was drunk with three times three. Mr. Murray.— Gentlemen, I wish I could believe, that, in any degree, I merited the compliments with which it has pleased Sir Walter Scott to preface the proposal of my health, or the very flat- tering manner in which you have done me the honour to receive it. The approbation of such an assembly is most gratifying to me, and might encourage feelings of vanity, were not such feelings crushed by my conviction, that no man holding the situation I have so long held in Edinburgh, could have failed, placed in the peculiar circum- stances in which I have been placed. Gentlemen, I shall not insult your good taste by eulogiums upon your judgment or kindly feeling ; though to the first I owe any improvement I may have made as an actor, and certainly my success as a Manager to the second. (Applause.) When, upon the death of my dear brother, the late Mr. Siddons, it was proposed that I should undertake the management of the Edinburgh Theatre, I confess I drew back, doubting my capability to free it from the load of debt and diffi- culty with which it was surrounded. In this state of anxiety, I solicited the advice of one who had ever honoured me with his kindest regard, and whose name no member of my profession can pronounce without feelings of the deepest respect and gratitude — I allude to the late Mr. John Kemble. (Great applause.) To him I applied ; and with the repetition of his advice I shall cease to trespass upon your time — (Hear, hear.) — " My dear William, fear not ; integrity and assiduity must prove an overmatch for all diffi- culty ; and though I approve your not indulging a vain confidence in your own ability, and viewing with respectful apprehension the judgment of the audience you have to act before, yet be assured that judgment will ever be tempered by the feeling that you are acting for the widow and the fatherless." (Loud applause.) Gen- tlemen, those words have never passed from my mind ; and I feel convinced that you have pardoned my many errors, from the feel- ing that I was striving for the widow and the fatherless. (Long and enthusiastic applause followed Mr. Murray's address.) Sir Walter Scott gave the health of the Stewards. Mr. Vandenhoff.— Mr. President and Gentlemen, the honour conferred upon the Stewards, in the very flattering compliment you have just paid us, calls forth our warmest acknowledgments. In tendering you our thanks for the approbation you have been pleased to express of our humble exertions, I would beg leave to advert lo the cause in which we have been engaged. Yet, sur- rounded as I am by the genius- the eloquence of this enlightened city, I cannot but feel the presumption which ventures to address INTRODUCTION. 317 you on so interesting a subject. Accustomed to speak in the language of others, I feel quite at a loss for terms wherein to clothe the sentiments excited by the present occasion. (Applause.) The nature of the Institution which has sought your fostering patronage, and the objects which it contemplates, have been fully explained to you. But, gentlemen, the relief which it proposes is not ii gra- tuitous relief — but to be purchased by the individual contribution of its members towards the general good. This fund lends no encouragement to idleness or improvidence ; but it offers an oppor- tunity to prudence, in vigour and youth, to make provision against the evening of life and its attendant infirmity. A period is fixed, at which we admit the plea of age as an exemption from profes- sional labour. It is painful to behold the veteran on the stage (compelled by necessity) contending against physical decay, mock- ing the joyousness of mirth with the feebleness of age, when the energies decline, when the memory fails, and " the big manly voice, turning again towards childish treble, pipes and whistles in the sound." We would remove him from the mimic scene, where fiction constitutes the charm ; we would not view old age carica- turing itself. (Applause.) But as our means may be found, in time of need, inadequate to the fulfilment of our wishes — fearful of raising expectations, which we may be unable to gratify — desirous not " to keep the word of promise to the ear, and break it to the hope" — we have presumed to court the assistance of the friends of the drama to strengthen our infant institution. Our appeal has been successful, beyond our most sanguine expectations. The distinguished patronage conferred on us by your presence on this occasion, and the substantial support which your benevolence has so liberally afforded to our institution, must impress every member of the Fund with the most grateful sentiments — sentiments which no language can express, no time obliterate. (Applause.) ' I will not trespass longer on your attention. I would the task of acknow- ledging our obligation had fallen into abler hands. (Hear, hear.) In the name of the Stewards, I most respectfully and cordially thank you for the honour you have done us, which greatly overpays our poor endeavours. (Applause.) [This speech, though rather inadequately reported, was one of the best delivered on this occasion. That it was creditable to Mr. Vandenhoff's taste and feelings, the preceding sketch will show ; but how much it was so, it does not show.] Mr. J. Cay gave Professor Wilson and the University of Edin- burgh, of which he was one of the brightest ornaments. Lord Meadowbank, after a suitable eulogium, gave the Earl of Fife, which was drunk with three times three. Earl Fife expressed his high gratification at the honour con- 3i8 APPENDIX TO ferred on him. He intimated his approbation of the institution, and his readiness to promote its success by every means in his power. He concluded with giving the health of the Company of Edinburgh. Mr. Jones, on rising to return thanks, being received with con- siderable applause, said he was truly grateful for the kind encou- ragement he had experienced, but the novelty of the situation in which he now was, renewed all the feelings he experienced when he first saw himself announced in the bills as a young gentleman, being his first appearance on any stage. (Laughter and applause.) Although in the presence of those whose indulgence had, in ano- ther sphere, so often shielded him from the penalties of inability, he was unable to execute the task which had so unexpectedly de- volved upon him in behalf of his brethren and himself. He there- fore begged the company to imagine all that grateful hearts could prompt the most eloquent to utter, and that would be a copy of their feelings. (Applause.) He begged to trespass another moment on their attention, for the purpose of expressing the thanks of the members of the Fund to the Gentlemen of the Edinburgh Professional Society of Musicians, who, finding that this meeting was appointed to take place on the same evening with their concert, had in the handsomest manner agreed to postpone it. Although it was his duty thus to preface the toast he had to pro- pose, he was certain the meeting required no farther inducement than the recollection of the pleasure the exertions of those gentle- men had often afforded them within those walls, to join heartily in drinking " Health and Prosperity to the Edinburgh Professional Society of Musicians." (Applause.) Mr. Pat. Robertson proposed "the health of Mr. Jeffrey," whose absence was owing to indisposition. The public was well aware that he was the most distinguished advocate at the bar ; he was likewise distinguished for the kindness, frankness, and cordial manner in which he communicated with the junior members of the profession, to the esteem of whom his splendid talents would always entitle him. Mr. J. Maconochie gave " the health of Mrs. Siddons, senior— the most distinguished ornament of the stage." Sir W. Scott said, that if anything could reconcile him to old age, it was the reflection that he had seen the rising as well as the setting sun of Mrs. Siddons. He remembered well their break- fasting near to the theatre — waiting the whole day — the crushing at the doors at six o'clock — and their going in and counting their fingers till seven o'clock. But the very first step — the very first word which she uttered, was sufficient to overpay him for all his labours. The house was literally electrified ; and it was only from INTRODUCTION. 319 witnessing the effects of her genius, that he could guess to what a pitch theatrical excellence could be carried. Those young gentle- men who have only seen the setting sun of this distinguishing per- former, beautiful and serene as that was, must give us old fellows, who have seen its rise and its meridian, leave to hold our heads a little higher. Mr. DUNDAS gave " The memory of Home, the author of Douglas." Mr. Mackay here announced that the subscription for the night amounted to ;£28o ; and he expressed gratitude for this substantial proof of their kindness. [We are happy to state that subscriptions have since flowed in very Uberally.] Mr. Mackay here entertained the company with a pathetic song. Sir Walter Scott apologized for having so long forgotten theu- native land. He would now give Scotland, the Land of Cakes. He would give every river, every loch, every hill, from Tweed to Johnnie Groat's house — every lass in her cottage and countess in her castle ; and may her sons stand by her, as their fathers did before them, and he who would not drink a bumper to his toast, may he never drink whisky more ! Sir Walter Scott here gave Lord Meadowbank, who returned thanks. Mr. H. G. Bell said, that he should not have ventured to in- trude himself upon the attention of the assembly, did he not feel confident, that the toast he begged to have the honour to propose, would make amends for the very imperfect manner in which he might express his sentiments regarding it. It had been said, that notwithstanding the mental supremacy of the present age, notwith- standing that the page of our history was studded with names destined also for the page of immortality, — that the genius of Shakspeare was extinct, and the fountain of his inspiration dried up. It might be that these observations were unfortunately correct, or it might be that we were bewildered with a name, not disap- pointed of the reality, — for though Shakspeare had brought a Hamlet, an Othello, and a Macbeth, an Ariel, a Juliet, and a Rosa- lind, upon the stage; were there not authors living who had brought as varied, as exquisitely painted, and as undying a range of charac- ters into our hearts ? The shape of the mere mould into which genius poured its golden treasures was surely a matter of little moment, — let it be called a Tragedy, a Comedy, or a Waverley Novel. But even among the dramatic authors of the present day, he was unwilling to allow that there was a great and palpable de- cline from the glory of preceding ages, and his toast alone would bear him out in denying the truth of the proposition. After eulo- 320 APPENDIX TO gizing the names of Baillie, Byron, Coleridge, Maturin, and others, he begged to have the honour of proposing the health of James Sheridan Knowles. Sir Walter Scott. — Gentlemen, I crave a bumper all over. The last toast reminds me of a neglect of duty. Unaccustomed to a public duty of this kind, errors in conducting the ceremonial of it may be excused, and omissions pardoned. Perhaps I have made one or two omissions in the course of the evening, for which I trust you will grant me your pardon and indulgence. One thing in par- ticular I have omitted, and I would now wish to make amends for it, by a libation of reverence and respect to the memory of Shak- SPEARE. He was a man of universal genius, and from a period soon after his own era to the present day, he has been universally idolized. When I come to his honoured name, I am like the sick man who hung up his crutches at the shrine, and was obliged to confess that he did not walk better than before. It is indeed diffi- cult, gentlemen, to compare him to any other individual. The only one to whom I can at all compare him, is the wonderful Arabian dervise, who dived into the body of each, and in this way became familiar with the thoughts and secrets of their hearts. He was a man of obscure origin, and, as a player, limited in his acquirements, but he was born evidently with a universal genius. His eyes glanced at all the varied aspects of life, and his fancy portrayed with equal talents the king on the throne, and the clown that crackles his chestnuts at a Christmas fire. Whatever note he takes, he strikes it just and true, and awakens a corresponding chord in our own bosoms. Gentlemen, I propose " The memory of William Shakspeare." Glee, — " Lightly tread, 'tis hallowed ground." After the glee. Sir Walter rose, and begged to propose as a toast the health of a lady, whose living merit is not a little honourable to Scotland. The toast (he said) is also flattering to the national vanity of a Scotchman, as the lady whom I intend to propose is a native of this country. From the public her works have met with the most favourable reception. One piece of hers, in particular, was often acted here of late years, and gave pleasure of no mean kind to many brilliant and fashionable audiences. In her private character she (he begged leave to say) is as remarkable, as in a public sense she is for her genius. In short, he would in one word name — " Joanna Baillie." This health being drunk, Mr. Thorne was called on for a song, and sung, with great taste and feeling, " The Anchor's weighed." W. Menzies, Esq., Advocate, rose to propose the health of a gentleman for many years connected at intervals with the dramatic art in Scotland. Whether we look at the range of characters he INTRODUCTION. 3«l performs, or at the capacity which he evinces in executing those which he undertakes, he is equally to be admired. In all his parts he is unrivalled. The individual to whom he alluded is (said he) well known to the gentlemen present, in the characters of Malvolio, Lord Ogleby, and the Green Man ; and, in addition to his other qualities, he merits, for his perfection in these characters, the grateful sense of this meeting. He would wish, in the first place, to drink his health as an actor ; but he was not less estimable in domestic life, and as a private gentleman ; and when he announced him as one whom the Chairman had honoured with his friendship, he was sure that all present would cordially join him in drinking " The health of Mr. Terry." Mr. William Allan, banker, said, that he did not rise with the intention of making a speech. He merely wished to contribute in a few words to the mirth of the evening — an evening which certainly, had not passed off without some blunders. It had been under- stood — at least he had learnt or supposed, from the expressions of Mr. Pritchard — that it would be sufficient to put a paper, with the name of the contributor, into the box, and that the gentleman thus contributing would be called on for the money next morning. He, for his part, had committed a blunder, but it might serve as a caution to those who may be present at the dinner of next year. He had merely put in his name, written on a slip of pa^er, without the money. But he would recommend that, as some of the gentle- men might be in the same situation, the box should be again sent round, and he was confident that they, as well as he, would redeem their error. Sir Walter Scott said, that the meeting was somewhat in the situation of Mrs. Anne Page, who had £300 and possibilities. We have already got, said he, ;£28o, but I should like, I confess, to have the ;£300. He would gratify himself by proposing the health of an honourable person, the Lord Chief Baron, whom England has sent to us, and connecting with it that of his " yokefellow on the bench," as Shakspeare says, Mr. Baron Clerk— The Court of Exchequer. Mr. Baron CLERK regretted the absence of his learned brother. None, he was sure, could be more generous in his nature, or more ready to help a Scottish purpose. Sir Walter Scott. — There is one who ought to be remembered on this occasion. He is, indeed, well entitled to our grateful recol- lection — one, in short, to whom the drama in this city owes much. He succeeded, not without trouble, and perhaps at some consider- able sacrifice, in establishing a theatre. The younger part of the company may not recollect the theatre to which I allude ; but there are some with me who may remember by name a plaoe called Y 322 APPENDIX TO Carmbber's Close. There Allan Ramsay established his little theatre. His own pastoral was not fit for the stage, but it has its admirers in those who love the Doric language in which it is written ; and it is not without merits of a very peculiar kind. But, laying aside all considerations of his literary merit, Allan was a good, jovial, honest fellow, who could crack a bottle with the best. — The memory of Allan Ramsay. Mr. Murray, on being requested, sung, " 'Twas merry in the hall," and at the conclusion was greeted with repeated rounds of applause. Mr. Jones. — One omission I conceive has been made. The cause of the fund has been ably advocated, but it is still susceptible, in my opinion, of an additional charm — Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh, what were man ? — a world without a sun ! And there would not be a darker spot in poetry than would be the corner in Shakspeare Square, if, like its fellow, the Register Office, the Theatre were deserted by the ladies. They are, in fact, our most attractive stars. — " The Patronesses of the Theatre — the Ladies of the City of Edinburgh." This toast I ask leave to drink with all the honours which conviviality can confer. Mr. Patrick Robertson would be the last man willingly to introduce any topic calculated to interrupt the harmony of the evening ; yet he felt himself treading upon ticklish ground when he approached the region of the Nor' Loch. He assured the company, however, that he was not about to enter on the subject of the Improvement Bill. They all knew, that if the public were unanimous — if the consent of all parties were obtained — if the rights and interests of every body were therein attended to, saved, reserved, respected, and excepted — if every body agreed to it— and finally, a most essential point — if nobody opposed it — then, and in that case, and provided also, that due intimation were given — the bill in question might pass — would pass — or might, could, would, or should pass — all expenses being defrayed. — (Laughter.) —He was the advocate of neither champion, and would neither avail himself of the absence of the Right Hon. the Lord Provost, nor take advantage of the non-appearance of his friend, Mr. Cockburn. — (Laughter.)— But in the midst of these civic broils, there had been elicited a ray of hope, that, at some future period, in Bereford Park, or some other place, if all parties were consulted and satis- fied, and if intimation were duly made at the Kirk doors of all the parishes in Scotland, in terms of the statute in that behalf provided —the people of Edinburgh might by possibility get a new theatre. INTRODUCTION, 323 — (Cheers and laughter.) — But wherever the belligerent powers might be pleased to set down this new theatre, he was sure they all hoped to meet the Old Company in it. He should therefore pro- pose — " Better accommodation to the. Old Company in the new theatre, site unknown." — Mr. Robertson's speech was most humor- ously given, and he sat down amidst loud cheers and laughter. Sir Walter Scott. — Wherever the new theatre is built, I hope it will not be large. There are two errors which we commonly commit — the one arising from our pride, the other from our poverty. If there are twelv-e plans, it is odds but the largest, without any regard to comfort, or an eye to the probable expense, is adopted. There was the College projected on this scale, and undertaken in the same manner, and who shall see the end of it ? It has been building all my life, and may probably last during the lives of my children, and my children's children. Let not the same prophetic hymn be sung, when we commence a new theatre, which was per- formed on the occasion of laying the foundation stone of a certain edifice, "behold the endless work begun." Play-going folks should attend somewhat to convenience. The new theatre should, in the first place, be such as may be finished in eighteen months or two years ; and, in the second place, it should be one in which we can hear our old friends with comfort. It is better that a moderate- sized house should be crowded now and then, than to have a large Theatre with benches continually empty, to the discouragement of the actors, and the discomfort of the spectators. — (Applause.) — He then commented in flattering terms on the genius of Mackenzie and his private worth, and concluded by proposing " the health of Henry Mackenzie, Esq." Immediately afterwards he said : Gentlemen, — It is now wearing late, and I shall request permission to retire. Like Partridge I may say, " non sum qualis eram." At my time of day, I can agree with Lord Ogleby as to his rheumatism, and say, "There's a twinge." I hope, therefore, you will excuse me for leaving the chair.— (The worthy Baronet then retired amidst long, loud, and rapturous cheering.) Mr. Patrick Robertson was then called to the chair by common acclamation. Gentlemen, said Mr. Robertson, I take the liberty of asking you to fill a bumper to the very brim. There is not one of us who will not remember, while he lives, being present at this day's festival, and the declaration made this night by the gentleman who has just left the chair. That declaration has rent the veil from the features of the Great Unknown — a name which must now merge in the name of the Great Known. It will be hpnceforth coupled with the name of Scott, which will become familiar like Y 2 324 APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION. a household word. We have heard the confession from his own immortal lips — (cheering) — and we cannot dwell with too much, or too fervent praise, on the merits of the greatest man whom Scotland has produced. After which, several other toasts were given, and Mr. Robertson left the room about half^past eleven. A few choice spirits, how- ever, rallied round Captain Broadhead of the 7th Hussars, who was called to the chair, and the festivity was prolonged till an early hour on Saturday morning. The band of the Theatre occupied the gallery, and that of the 7th Hussars the end of the room, opposite the chair, whose per- formances were greatly admired. It is but justice to Mr. Gibb to state, that the dinner was very handsome (though slowly served in) and the wines good. The attention of the stewards was exemplary. Mr. Murray and Mr. Vandenhoff, with great good taste, attended on Sir Walter Scott's right and left, and we know that he has expressed himself much gratified by their anxious politeness and sedulity. CHRONICLES of the CANONGATE. CHAPTER I. MR. CHRYSTAL CROFTANGRY'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. Sic itur ad astra. " This is the path to heaven." Such is the ancient motto attached to the armorial bearings of the Canongate, and which is inscribed, with greater or less propriety, upon all the public buildings, from the church -to the pillory, in the ancient quarter of Edinburgh, which bears, or rather once bore, the same relation to the Good Town that Westminster does to London, being still possessed of the palace of the sovereignj as it formerly was digni- fied by the residence of the principal nobility and gentry. I may, therefore, with some propriety, put the same motto at the head of the literary undertaking by which I hope to illustrate the hitherto undistinguished name of Chr)'Stal Croftangry. The public may desire to know something of an author who pitches at such height his ambitious expectations. The gentle reader, therefore — for I am much of Captain Bobadil's humour, and could to no other extend myself so far — the gentle reader, then, will be pleased to understand, that I am a Scottish gentleman of the old school, with a fortune, temper, and person, rather the worse for wear. I have known the world for these forty years, having written myself man nearly since that period— and I do not think it is much mended. But this is an opinion which I keep to myself when I am among younger folk, for I recollect, in my youth, quizzing the Sexagenarians who carried back their ideas of a perfect state of society to the days of laced coats and triple ruffles, and some of them to the blood and blows of the Forty-five : Therefore I am cautious in exercising the right of censorship, which is supposed to be acquired by men arrived at, or approach- ing, the mysterious period of life, when the numbers of seven and nine multiplied into each other, form what sages have termed the Grand Climacteric. Of the earlier part of my life it is only necessary to say, that I swept the boards of the Parliament-House with the skirts of my 326 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. gown for the usual numbet of years during which young Lairds were in my time expected to keep term — got no fees— laughed, and made others laugh — drank claret at Bayle's, Fortune's, and Walker's — and eat oysters in the Covenant Close. Becoming my own master, I ilung my gown at the bar-keeper, and commenced gay man on my own account. In Edinburgh, I ran into all the expensive society which the place then afforded. When I went to my house in the shire of Lanark, I emulated to the utmost the expenses of men of large fortune, and had my hunters, my first-rate pointers, my gamecocks, and feeders. I can more easily forgive myself for these follies, than for others of a still more blameable kind, so indifferently cloaked over, that my poor mother thought herself obliged to leave my habitation, and betake herself to a small inconvenient jointure-house, which she occupied till her death. I think, however, I was not exclusively to blame in this separation, and I believe my mother afterwards con- demned herself for being too hasty. Thank God, the adversity which destroyed the means of continuing my dissipation, restored me to the affections of my surviving parent. My course of life could not last. I ran too fast to run long; and when I would have checked my career, I was perhaps too near the brink of the precipice. Some mishaps I prepared by my own folly, others came upon me unawares. I put my estate out to nurse to a fat man of business, who smothered the babe he should have brought back to me in health and strength, and, in dispute with this honest gentleman, I found, like a skilful general, that my position would be most judiciously assumed by taking it up near the Abbey of Holyrood.* It was then I first became acquainted with the quarter, which my little work will, I hope, render immor- tal, and grew familiar with those magnificent wilds, through which the Kings of Scotland once chased the dark-brown deer, but which were chiefly recommended to me in those days, by their being inaccessible to those metaphysical persons, whom the law of the neighbouring country terms John Doe and Richard Roe. In short, the precincts of the palace are now best known as being a place of refuge at any time from all pursuit for civil debt. Dire was the strife betwixt my quondam doer and myself ; during which my motions were circumscribed, like those of some conjured demon, within a circle, which, " beginning at the northern gate of the King's Park, thence running northways, is bounded on the left by the King's garden-wall and the gutter, or kennel, in a line where- with it crosses the High Street to theWatergate,and passingthrough the sewer, is bounded by the walls of the Tennis-court and Physic- garden, &c. It then follows the wall of the churchyard, joins the northwest wall of St. Ann's Yards, and going east to the clack INTRODUCTORY. 3=7 mill-house, turns southward to the turnstile in the King's park-wall, and includes the whole King's Park within the Sanctuary." These limits, which I abridge from the accurate Maitland, once marked the Girth, or Asylum, belonging to the Abbey of Holyrood, and which, being still an appendage -to the royal palace, has retained the privilege of an asylum for civil debt. One would think the space sufficiently extensive for a man to stretch his limbs in, as, besides a reasonable proportion of level ground, (considering that the scene lies in Scotland,) it includes within its precincts the mountain of Arthur's Seat, and the rocks and pasture land called Salisbury Crags. But yet it is inexpressible how, after a certain time had elapsed, I used to long for Sunday, which permitted me to extend my walk without limitation. During the other six days of the week I felt a sickness of heart, which, but for the speedy approach of the hebdomadal day of liberty, I could hardly have endured. I experienced the impatience of a mastiff, who tugs in vain to extend the limits which his chain permits. Day after day I walked by the side of the kennel which divides the Sanctuary from the unprivileged part of the Canongate ; and though the month was July, and the scene the old town of Edin- burgh, I preferred it to the fresh air. and verdant turf which I might have enjoyed in the King's Park, or to the cool and solemn gloom of the portico which surrounds the palace. To an indifferent person either side of the gutter would have seemed much the same — the houses equally mean, the children as ragged and dirty, the carmen as brutal, the whole forming the same picture of low life in a deserted and impoverished quarter of a large city. But to me the gutter, or kennel, was what the brook Kedron was to Shimei ■; death was denounced against him should he cross it, doubtless because it was known to his wisdom who pronounced the doom, that from the time the crossing the stream was debarred, the devoted man's desire to transgress the precept would become irresistible, and he would be sure to draw down on his head the penalty which he had already justly incurred by cursing the anointed of God. For my part, all Elysium seemed opening on the other side of the kennel, and I envied the little blackguards, who, stopping the current with their little dam-dikes of mud, had a right to stand on either side of the nasty puddle which best pleased them. I was so childish as even to make an occasional excursion across, were it only for a few yards, and felt the triumph of a schoolboy, who, trespassing in an orchard, hurries back again with a fluttering sensation of joy and terror, betwixt the pleasure of having executed his purpose, and the fear of being taken or discovered. I have sometimes asked m)self, what I should have done in 32§ CHRONICLES OF THE CAXONGATE. case of actual imprisonment, since I could not bear without im- patience a restriction which is comparatively a mere trifle ; but I really could never answer the question to my own satisfaction. I have all my life hated those treacherous expedients called mezzo- termini, and it is possible with this disposition I might have endured more patiently an absolute privation of liberty, than the more modified restrictions to which my residence in the Sanctuary at this period subjected me. If, however, the feelings I then experienced were to increase in intensity according to the differ- ence between a jail and my actual condition, I must have hanged myself, or pined to death ; there could have been no other alter- native. Amongst many companions who forgot and neglected me of course, when my difficulties seemed to be inextricable, I had one true friend ; and that friend was a barrister, who knew the laws of his country well, and, tracing them up to the spirit of equity and justice in which they originate, had repeatedly prevented, by his benevolent and manly exertions, the triumphs of selfish cunning over simplicity and folly. He undertook my cause, with the assistance of a solicitor of a character similar to his own. My quondam doer had ensconsed himself chin-deep among legal trenches, hornworks, and covered ways ; but my two protectors shelled him out of his defences, and I was at length a free man, at liberty to go or stay wheresoever my mind listed. I left my lodgings as hastily as if it had been a pest-house ; l_did not even stop to receive some change that was due to me on settling with my landlady, and I saw the poor woman stand at her door looking after my precipitate flight, and shaking her head as she wrapped the silver which she was counting for me in a separate piece of paper, apart from the store in her own moleskin purse. An honest Highlandwoman was Janet MacEvoy, and deserved a greater remuneration, had I possessed the power of bestowing it. But my eagerness of delight was too extreme to pause for explanation with Janet. On I pushed through the groups of children, of whose sports I had been so often a lazy lounging spectator. I sprung over the gutter as if it had been the fatal Styx, and I a ghost, which, eluding Pluto's authority, was making its escape from Limbo lake. My friend had difficulty to restrain me from running like a madman up the street ; and in spite of his kindness and hospitality, which soothed me for a day or two, I was not quite happy until I found myself aboard of a Leith smack, and, standing down the Frith with a fair wind, might snap my fingers at the retreating outline of Arthur's Seat, to the vicinity of which I had been so long confined. It is not my purpose to trace my future progress through life. I INTRODUCTORY. 329 had extricated myself, or rather had been freed by my friends, from the brambles and thickets of the law, but, as befell the sheep in the fable, a great part of my fleece was left behind me. Something remained, however ; I was in the season for exertion, and, as my good mother used to say, there was always life for living folk. Stern necessity gave my manhood that prudence which my youth was a stranger to. I faced danger, I endured fatigue, I sought foreign climates, and proved that I belonged to the nation which is proverbially patient of labour and prodigal of life. Independ- ence, like liberty to Virgil's shepherd, came late, but came at last, with no great affluence in its train, but bringing enough to support a decent appearance for the rest of my life, and to induce cousins to be civil, and gossips to say, " I wonder who old Croft will make his heir ? he must have picked up something, and I should not be surprised if it proved more than folk think of." My first impulse when I returned home was to rush to the house of my benefactor, the only man who had in my distress interested himself in my behalf. He was a snufF-taker, and it had been the pride of my heart to save the ipsa corpora of the first score o guineas I could hoard, and to have them converted into as tasteful a snuff-box as Rundell and Bridge could devise. This I had thrust for security into the breast of my waistcoat, while, impatient to transfer it to the person for whom it was destined, I hastened to his house in Brown's Square. When the front of the house became visible, a feeling of alarm checked me. I had been long absent from Scotland, my friend was some years older than I ; he might have been called to the congregation of the just. I paused, and gazed on the house, as if I had hoped to form some conjecture from the outward appearance concerning the state of the family within. I know not how it was, but the lower windows being all closed and no one stirring, my sinister forebodings were rather strengthened. I regretted now that I had not made enquiry before I left the inn where I alighted from the mail-coach. But it was too late ; so I hurried on, eager to know the best or the worst which I could learn. The brass-plate bearing my friend's name and designation was still on the door, and when it was opened, the old domestic ap- peared a good deal older, I thought, than he ought naturally to have looked, considering the period of my absence. "Is Mr. Sommerville at home ?" said I, pressing forward. "Yes, sir," said John, placing himself in opposition to my en- trance, "he is at home, but " " But he is not in," said I. " I remember your phrase of old, John. Come, I will step into his room, and leave a line for him." John was obviously embarrassed by my familiarity. I was some 33° CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. one, he saw, whom he ought to recollect, at the same time it was evident he remembered nothing about me. " Ay, sir, my master is in, and in his own room, but " I would not hear him out, but passed before him, towards the well-known apartment. A young lady came out of the room a little disturbed, as it seemed, and said, " John, what is the matter?" " A gentleman. Miss Nelly, that insists on seeing my master." "A very old and deeply indebted friend," said I, "that ventures' to press myself on my much-respected benefactor on my return from abroad." "Alas, sir," replied she, "my uncle would be happy to see you, but" At this moment, something was heard within the apartment like the falling of a plate, or glass, and immediately after my friend's voice called angrily and eagerly for his niece. She entered the room hastily, and so did I. But it was to see a spectacle, com- pared with which that of my benefactor stretched on his bier would have been a happy one. The easy-chair fdled with cushions, the extended limbs swathed in flannel, the wide wrapping-gown and nightcap, showed illness ; but the dimmed eye, once so replete with living fire, the blabber lip, whose dilation and compression used to give such character to his animated countenance, — the stammering tongue, that once poured forth such floods of masculine eloquence, and had often swayed the opinion of the sages whom he addressed, — all these sad symptoms evinced that my friend was in the melancholy con- dition of those, in whom the principle of animal life has unfortu- nately survived that of mental intelligence. He gazed a moment at me, but then seemed insensible of my presence, and went on — he, once the most courteous and well-bred ! — to babble unintelli- gible but violent reproaches against his niece and servant, because he himself had dropped a teacup in attempting to place it on a table at his elbow. His eyes caught a momentary fire from his irritation ; but he struggled in vain for words to express himself adequately, as, looking from his servant to his aiiece, and then to the table, he laboured to explain that they had placed it (though it touched his chair) at too great a distance from him. The young person, who had naturally a resigned Madonna-like expression of countenance, listened to his impatient chiding with the most humble submission, checked the servant, whose less deli- cate feelings would have entered on his justification, and gradually, by the sweet and soft tone of her voice, soothed to rest the spirit of causeless irritation. She then cast a look towards me, which expressed, " You see all that remains of him whom you call friend." It seemed also to INTRODUCTORY. 331 say, ' Your longer presence here can only be distressing to us all." " Forgive me, young lady," I said, as well as tears would permit ; " I am a person deeply obliged to your uncle. My name is Croft- angry." " Lord ! and that I should not hae minded ye, Maister Croft- angry," said the servant. "Ay, I mind my master had muckle fash ■ about your job. I hae heard him order in fresh candles as midnight chappit, and till't again. Indeed, ye had aye his gude word, Mr. Croftangry, for a' that folks said about you." " Hold your tongue, John," said the lady, somewhat angrily ; and then continued, addressing herself to me, " I am sure, sir, you must be sorry to see my uncle in this state. I know you are his friend. I have heard him mention your name, and wonder he never heard from you." A new cut, this, and it went to my heart. But she continued, " I really do not know if it is right that any should — If my uncle should know you, which I scarce think pos- sible, he would be much affected, and the doctor says that any agitation But here comes Dr. to give his own opinion." Dr. entered. I had left him a middle-aged man ; he was now an elderly one ; but still the same benevolent Samaritan, who went about doing good, and thought the blessings of the poor as good a recompense of his professional skill, as the gold of the rich. He looked at me with surprise, but the young lady said a word of introduction, and I, who was known to the doctor formerly, hastened to complete it. He recollected me perfectly, and inti- mated that he was well acquainted with the reasons I had for being deeply interested in the fate of his patient. He gave me a very melancholy account of my poor friend, drawing me for that pur- pose a little apart from the lady. " The light of life," he said, " was trembling in the socket ; he scarcely expected it would ever leap up even into a momentary flash, but more was impossible." He then stepped towards his patient, and put some questions, to which the poor invalid, though he seemed to recognise the friendly and familiar voice, answered only in a faltering and uncertain manner. The young lady, in her turn, had drawn back when the doctor approached his patient. " You see how it is with him," said the doctor, addressing me ; " I have heard our poor friend, in one of the most eloquent of his pleadings, give a description of this very disease, which he compared to the tortures inflicted by Mezehtius, when he chained the dead to the living. The soul, he said, is im- prisoned in its dungeon of flesh, and though retaining its natural and unalienable properties, can no more exert them than the captive enclosed within a prison-house can act as a free agent. 332 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. Alas ! to see him, who could so well describe what this malady was in others, a prey himself to its infirmities ! I shall never forget the solemn tone of expression with which he summed up the incapaci- ties of the paralytic, — the deafened ear, the dimmed eye, the crippled limbs, — in the noble words of Juvenal — Membrorum damno major, dementia, quae nee Nomina servorum, nee vultum agnoscit amici.' " As the physician repeated these lines, a flash of intelligence seemed to revive in the invalid's eye — sunk again — again struggled, and he spoke more intelligibly than before, and in the tone of one eager to say something which he felt would escape him unless said instantly. " A question of death-bed, a question of death-bed, doctor — a reduction ex capite lecti— Withering against Wilibus — about the tnorbus soniiais. I pleaded the cause for the pursuer — I, and — and — Why, I shall forget my own name — I, and — he that was the wittiest and the best-humoured man living " The description enabled the doctor to fill up the blank, and the patient joyfully repeated the name suggested. " Ay, ay," he said, "just he— Harry — poor Harry." The light in his eye died away, and he sunk back in his easy-chair. " You have now seen more of our poor friend, Mr. Croftangry," said the physician, " than I dared venture to promise you ; and now I must take my professional authority on me, and ask you to retire. Miss Sommerville will, I am sure, let you know if a moment should by any chance occur when her unele can see you." What could I do ? I gave my card to the young lady, and, taking my offering from my bosom — " If my poor friend," I said, with accents as broken almost as his own, " should ask where this came from, name me ; and say from the most obliged and most grateful man alive. Say, the gold of which it is composed was saved by grains at a time, and was hoarded with as much avarice as ever was a miser's ; — to bring it here I have come a thousand miles, and now, alas, I find him thus ! " I laid the box on the table, and was retiring with a lingering step. The eye of the invalid was caught by it, as that of a child by a glittering toy, and with infantine impatience he faltered out en- quiries of his niece. With gentle mildness she repeated again and again who I was, and why I came, &c. I was about to turn, and hasten from a scene so painful, when the physician laid his hand on my sleeve — " Stop," he said, " there is a change." There was indeed, and a marked one. A faint glow spread over his pallid features— they seemed to gain the look of intelligence which belongs to vitality — his eye once more kindled — his lip INTRODUCTORY. 333 coloured— and drawing himself up out of the listless posture he had hitherto maintained, he rose without assistance. The doctor and the servant ran to give him their support. He waved them aside, and they were contented to place themselves in such a posi- tion behind as might ensure against accident, should his newly- acquired strength decay as suddenly as it had revived. " My dear Croftangry," he said, in the tone of kindness of other days, " I am glad to see you returned — ^You find me but poorly — but my little niece here and Dr. are very kind — God bless you, my dear friend ! we shall not meet again till we meet in a better world." I pressed his extended hand to my lips — I pressed it to my bosom — I would fain have flung myself on my knees ; but the doctor, leaving the patient to the young lady and the servant, who wheeled forward his' chair, and were replacing him in it, hurried me out of the room. " My dear sir," he said, " you ought to be satisfied ; you have seen our poor invalid more like his former self than he has been for months, or than he may be perhaps again until all is over. The whole Faculty could not have assured such an interval — I must see whether any thing can be derived from it to improve the general health — Pray, begone." The last argument hurried me froth the spot, agitated by a crowd of feelings, all of them painful. When I had overcome the shock of this great disappointment, I renewed gradually my acquaintance with one or two old com- panions, who, though of infinitely less interest to my feelings than my unfortunate friend, served to relieve the pressure cf actual solitude, and who were not perhaps the less open to my advances, that I was a bachelor somewhat stricken in years, newly arrived from foreign parts, and certainly independent, if not wealthy. I was considered as a tolerable subject of speculation by some, and I could not be burdensome to any : I was therefore, according to the ordinary rule of Edinburgh hospitality, a welcome guest in several respectable families ; but I found no one who could replace the loss I had sustained in my best friend and benefactor. I wanted something more than mere companionship could give me, and where was I to look for it ? — among the scattered remnants of those that had been my gay friends of yore ? — alas ; Many a lad I loved was dead, And many a lass grown old. Besides, all community of ties between us had ceased to exist, and such of former friends as were still in the world, held their life in a different tenor from what I did. Some had become misers, and were as eager in saving sixpence 334 CHRONICLKS OF THE CAXONGATE. as ever they had been in spending a guinea. Some had turned agriculturists — their talk was of oxen, and they were only fit com- panions for graziers. Some stuck to cards, and though no longer deep gamblers, rather played small game than sat out. This I particularly despised. The strong impulse of gaming, alas ! I had felt it in my time — it is as intense as it is criminal ; but it pro- duces excitation and interest, and I can conceive how it should become a passion with strong and powerful minds. But to dribble away life in exchanging bits of painted pasteboard round a green table, for the piddling concern of a few shillings, can only be ex- cused in folly or superannuation. It is hke riding on. a rocking- horse, where your utmost exertion never carries you a foot forward ; it is a kind of mental treadmill, where you are perpetually climb- ing, but can never rise an inch. From these hints, my readers will perceive I am incapacitated for one of the pleasures of old age, which, though not mentioned by Cicero, is not the least frequent resource in the present day — the club-room, and the snug hand at whist. To return to my old companions : Some frequented public as- semblies, like the ghost of Beau Nash, or any other beau of half a century back, thrust aside by tittering youth, and pitied by those of their own age. In fine, some went into devotion, as the French term it, and others, I fear, went to the devil ; a few found resources in science and letters ; one or two turned philosophers in a small way, peeped into microscopes, and became familiar with the fashionable experiments of the day. Some took to reading, and I was one of them. Some grains of repulsion towards the society around me — some painful recollections of early faults and follies — some touch of dis- pleasure with living mankind, inclined me rather to a study of antiquities, and particularly those of my own country. The reader, if I can prevail on myself to continue the present work, will pro- bably be able to judge, in the course of it, whether I have made any useful progress in the study of the olden times. I owed this turn of study, in part, to the conversation of my kind man of business, Mr. Fairscribe, whom I mentioned as having seconded the efforts of my invaluable friend, in bringing the cause on which my liberty and the remnant of my property depended, to a favourable decision. He had given me a most kind reception on my return. He was too much engaged in his profession for me to intrude on him often, and perhaps his mind was too much tram- melled with its details to permit his being willingly withdrawn from them. In short, he was not a person of my poor friend Sommer- ville's expanded spirit, and rather a lawyer of the ordinary' class of formalists, but a most able and excellent man. When my estate INTRODUCTORY. 335 was sold, he retained some of the older title-deeds, arguing, from his own feelings, that they would be of more consequence to the heir of the old family than to the new purchaser. And when I returned to Edinburgh, and found him still in the exercise of the profession to which he was an honour, he sent to my lodgings the old family-bible, which lay always on my father's table, two or three other mouldy volumes, and a couple of sheep-skin bags, full of parch- ments and papers, whose appearance was by no means inviting. The next time I shared Mr. Fairscribe's hospitable dinner, I failed not to return him due thanks for his kindness, which acknow- ledgment, indeed, I proportioned rather to the idea which I knew he entertained of the value of such things, than to the interest with which I myself regarded them. But the conversation turning on my family, who were old proprietors in the Upper Ward of Clydes- dsile, gradually excited some interest in my mind ; and when I retired to my solitary parlour, the first thing I did was to look for a pedigree, or a sort of history of the family, or House of Croftangry, once of that Ilk, latterly of Glentanner. The discoveries which I made shall enrich the next chapter. CHAPTER II. IN WHICH MR. CROFTANGRY CONTINUES HIS STORY. " What's property, dear Swift ? I see it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter." Pope. " Croftangry — Croftandrew — Croftanridge — Croftandgrey — for sa mony wise hath the name been spellit — is weel known to be ane house of grit antiquity ; and it is said, that King Milcolumb, or Malcolm, being the first of our Scottish princes quha removit across the Firth of Forth, did reside and occupy ane palace at Edinburgh, and had there ane valziant man, who did him man- service, by keeping the croft, or corn-land, which was tilled for the convenience of the king's household, and was thence callit Croft- an-ri, that is to say, the Kin^ his croft ; quhilk place, though now coverit with biggings, is to this day called Croftangry, and lyeth near to the royal palace. And whereas that some of those who bear this auld and honourable name may take scorn that it ariseth from the tilling of the ground, quhilk men account a slavish occu- pation, yet we ought to honour the pleugh and spade, seeing we all derive our being from our father Adam, whose lot it became to cultivate the earth, in respect of his fall and transgression. 9 6 CHRONICLES OF THE CAXONGATE. " Also we have witness, as weel in holy writt as in profane history, of the honour in quhilk husbandrie was held of old, and how prophets have been taken from the pleugh, and great captains raised up to defend their ain countries, sic as Cincinnatus, and the like, who fought not the common enemy with the less valiancy that their arms had been exercised in balding the stilts of the pleugh, and their bellicose skill in driving of yauds and owsen. " Likewise there are sindry honourable families, quhilk are now of our native Scottish nobility, and have clombe higher up the brae of preferment than what this house of Croftangry hath done, quhilk shame not to carry in their warUke shield and insignia of dignity, the tools and implements the quhilk their first forefathers exercised in labouring the croft-rig, or, as the poet Virgilius calleth it elo- quently, in subduing the soil. And no doubt this ancient house of Croftangry, while it continued to be called of that Ilk, produced many worshipful and famous patriots, of quhom I now prsetennit the names ; it being my purpose, if God shall spare me life for sic an pious ofificium, or duty, to resume the first part of my narrative touching the house of Croftangry, when I can set down at length the evidents, and historical witness anent the facts which I shall allege, seeing that words, when they are unsupported by proofs, are like seed sown on the naked rocks, or like an house biggit on the flitting and faithless sands." Here I stopped to draw breath ; for the style of my grandsire, the inditer of this goodly matter, was rather lengthy, as our Ameri- can friends say. Indeed, I reserve the rest of the piece until I can obtain admission to the Bannatyne Club,* when I propose to throw off an edition, limited according to the rules of that erudite Society, with a facsimile of the manuscript, emblasonry of the family arms, surrounded by their quartering, and a handsome disclamation of family pride, with Hac nos novimus esse nihil, or Vix ea nostra voco. In the meantime, to speak truth, I cannot but suspect, that though my worthy ancestor puffed vigorously to swell up the dig- nity of his family, we had never, in fact, risen above the rank of middling proprietors. The estate of Glentanner came to us by the intermarriage of my ancestor with Tib Sommeril, termed by the southrons Sommerville,* a daughter of that noble house, but I fear on what my great-grandsire calls " the wrong side of the blanket," Her husband, Gilbert, was killed fighting, as the Inquisitio post mortem has it, '■'■sub vexillo regis, aptid prcelium juxta Branxton, LIE Floddenfield" We had our share in other national misfortunes — were forfeited, like Sir John Colville of the Dale, for following our betters to the field of Langside ; and, in the contentious times pf the last Stewarts, we were severely fined for harbouring and resetting intercommuned INTRODUCTORY. 335* ministers ; and narrowly escaped giving a martyr to the Calendar of the Covenant, in the person of the father of our family historian. He "took the sheaf from the mare," however, as the MS. expresses it, and agreed to accept of the terms of pardon offered by govern- ment, and sign the bond, in evidence he would give no farther ground of offence. My grandsire glosses over his father's back- sliding as smoothly as he can, and comforts himself with ascribing his want of resolution to his unwilUngness to ^wreck the ancient name and family, and to permit his lands and lineage to fall under a doom of forfeiture. " And indeed," said the venerable compiler, "as, praised be God, ^^ e seldom meet in Scotland with these belly-gods and voluptuaries, whilk are unnatural enough to devour their patrimony bequeathed to them by their forbears in chambering and wantonness, so that they come, with the prodigal son, to the husks and the swine- trough ; and as I have the less to dreid the existence of such un- natural Neroes in mine own family to devour the substance of their own house like brute beasts out of mere gluttonie and Epicurish- nesse, so I need only warn mine descendants against over hastily meddling with the mutations in state and in religion, which have been near-hand to the bringing this poor house of Croftangry to perdition, as we have shown more than once. And albeit I would not that my successors sat still altogether when called on by their duty to Kirk and King ; yet I would have them wait till stronger and walthier men than themselves were up, so that either they may have the better chance of getting through the day ; or, failing of that, the conquering party having some fatter quarry to live upon, may, like gorged hawks, spare the smaller game." There was something in this conclusion which at first reading piqued me extremely, and I was so unnatural as to curse the whole concern, as poor, bald, pitiful trash, in which a silly old man was saying a great deal about nothing at all. Nay, my first impression was to thrust it into the fire, the rather that it reminded me, in no very flattering manner, of the loss of the family property, to which the compiler of the history was so much attached, in the very man- ner which he most severely reprobated. It even seemed to my aggrieved feelings, that his unprescient gaze on futurity, in which he could not anticipate the folly of one of his descendants, who should throw away the whole inheritance in a few years of idle expense and folly, was meant as a personal incivility to myself, though written fifty or sixty years before I was bom. A little reflection made me ashamed of this feeling of impatience, and as I looked at the even, concise, yet tremulous hand in which the manuscript was written, I could not help thinking, according to an opinion I have heard seriously maintained, that something of a z 335 CHROXICLES OF THE CANONGATE. man's character may be conjectured from his handwriting. That neat, but crowded and constrained small hand, argued a man of a good conscience, well-regulated passions, and, to use his own phrase, an upright walk in life ; but it also indicated narrowness of spirit, inveterate prejudice, and hinted at some degree of intoler- ance, which, though not natural to the disposition, had arisen out of a limited education. The passages from Scripture and the classics, rather profusely than happily introduced, and written in a half-text character to mark their importance, illustrated that peculiar sort^ of pedantry which always considers the argument as gained, if secured by a quotation. Then the flourished capital letters, which ornamented the commencement of each paragraph, and the name of his family and of his ancestors, whenever these occurred in the page, do they not express forcibly the pride and sense of import- ance with which the author undertook and accomplished his task ? I persuaded myself, the whole was so complete a portrait of the man, that it would not have been a more undutiful act to have defaced his picture, or even to have disturbed his bones in his coffin, than to destroy his manuscript. I thought, for a moment, of pre- senting it to Mr. Fairscribe ; but that confounded passage about the prodigal and swine-trough — I settled at last it was as well to lock it up in my own bureau, with the intention to look at it no more. But I do not know how it was, that the subject began to sit nearer my heart than I was aware of, and I found myself repeatedly engaged in reading descriptions of farms which were no longer mine, and boundaries which marked the property of others. A love of the natale solum, if Swift be right in translating these words, " family estate," began to awaken in my bosom ; the recollections of my own youth adding little to it, save what was connected with field-sports. A career of pleasure is unfavourable for acquiring a taste for natural beauty, and still more so for forming associations of a sentimental kind, connecting us with the inanimate objects around us. I had thought little about my estate, while I possessed and was wasting it, unless as affording the rude materials out of which a certain inferior race of creatures, called tenants, were bound to produce (in a greater quantity than they actually did) a certain return called rent, which was destined to supply my expenses. This was my general view of the matter. Of particular places, I recollected that Garval-hill was a famous piece of rough upland pasture, for rearing young colts, and teaching them to throw their feet, — that Minion-burn had the finest yellow trout in the country, — that Seggycleugh was unequalled for woodcocks, — that Bengib- bert-moors afforded excellent moorfowl-shooting, and that the clear bubbling fountain called the Harper's Well, was the best recipe in INTRODUCTORY. 339 the world on the morning after a Hard-go with my neighbour fox- hunters. Still these ideas recalled, by degrees, pictures, of which I had since learned to appreciate the merit — scenes of silent loneli- ness, where extensive moors, undulating into wild hills, were only disturbed by the whistle of the plover, or the crow of the heath- cock ; wild ravines creeping up into mountains, filled with natural wood, and which, when traced downwards along the path formed by shepherds and nutters, were found gradually to enlarge and deepen, as each formed a channel to its own brook, sometimes bordered by steep banks of earth, often with the more romantic boundary of naked rocks or cliffs, crested with oak, mountain-ash, and hazel, — all gratifying the eye the more that the scenery was, from the bare nature of the country around, totally unexpected. I had recollections, too, of fair and fertile holms, or level plains, extending between the wooded banks and the bold stream of the Clyde, which, coloured like pure amber, or rather having the hue of the pebbles called Cairngorm, rushes over sheets of rock and beds of gravel, inspiring a species of awe from the few and faith- less fords which it presents, and the frequency of fatal accidents, now diminished by the number of bridges. These alluvial holms were frequently bordered by triple and quadruple rows of large trees, which gracefully marked their boundary, and dipped their long arms into the foaming stream of the river. Other places I remembered, which had been described by the old huntsman as the lodge of tremendous wild-cats, or the spot where tradition stated the mighty stag to have been brought to bay, or where heroes, whose might was now as much forgotten, were said to have been slain by surprise, or in battle. It is not to be supposed that these finished landscapes became visible before the eyes of my imagination, as the scenery of the stage is disclosed by the rising of the curtain. I have said, that I had looked upon the country around me, during the hurried and dissipated period of my life, with the eyes indeed of my body, but without those of my understanding. It was piece by piece, as a child picks out its lesson, that I began to recollect the beauties of nature which had once surrounded me in the home of my fore- fathers. A natural taste for them must have lurked at the bottom of my heart, which awakened when I was in foreign countries, and becoming by degrees a favourite passion, gradually turned its eyes inwards, and ransacked the neglected stores which my memory had involuntarily recorded, and when excited, exerted herself to collect and to complete. I began now to regret more bitterly than ever the having fooled away my family property, the care and improvement of which, I saw, might have afforded an agreeable employment for my leisure, 340 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. which only went to brood on past misfortunes, and increase useless repining. " Had but a single farm been reserved, however small," said I, one day to Mr. Fairscribe, " I should have had a place I could call my home, and something that I could call business." " It might have been managed," answered Fairscribe ; " and for my part, I inclined to keep the mansion-house, mains, and some of the old family acres together ; but both Mr. and you were of opinion that the money would be more useful." " True, true, my good friend," said I, " I was a fool then, and did not think I could incline to be Glentanner with ^200 or ;£3oo a- year, instead of Glentanner with as many thousands. I was then a haughty, pettish, ignorant, dissipated, broken-down Scottish laird ; and thinking my imaginary consequence altogether ruined, I cared not how soon, or how absolutely, I was rid of every thing, that re- called it to my own memory, or that of others." " And now it is like you have changed your mind.''" said Fair- scribe. " Well, fortune is apt to circumduce the term upon us ; but I think she may allow you to revise your condescendence." " How do you mean, my good friend ? " " Nay," said Fairscribe, " there is ill luck in averring till one is sure of his facts. I will look back on a file of newspapers, and to- morrow you shall hear from me ; come, help yourself— I have seen you fill your glass higher." "And shall see it again," said I, pouring out what remained of our bottle of claret ; " the wine is capital, and so shall our toast be — To your fireside, my good friend. And now we shall go beg a Scots song without foreign graces, from my little siren Miss Katie." The next day accordingly I received a parcel from Mr. Fair- scribe with a newspaper enclosed, among the advertisements of which, one was marked with a cross as requiring my attention. I read to my surprise — "desirable estate for sale. " By order of the Lords of Council and Session, will be exposed to sale in the New Sessions House of Edinburgh, on Wednesday the 2Sth November, 18 — , all and whole the lands and barony of Glentanner, iiow called Castle-Treddles, lying in the Middle Ward of Clydesdale, and shire of Lanark, with the teinds, parsonage and vicarage, fishings in the Clyde, woods, mosses, moors, and pastu- rages," &c., &c. The advertisement went on to set forth the advantages of the soil, situation, natural beauties and capabilities of improvement, not forgetting its being a freehold estate, with the particular polypus capacity of being sliced up into two, three, or, with a little assistance, four freehold qualifications, and a hint that the county INTRODUCTORY. 341 was likely to be eagerly contested between two great families. The upset price at which " the said lands and barony and others '' were to be exposed, was thirty years' purchase of the proven rental, which was about a fourth more than the property had fetched at the last sale. This, which was mentioned, I suppose, to show the improvable character of the land, would have given another some pain ; but let me speak truth of myself in good as in evil — it pained not me. I was only angry that Fairscribe, who knew some- thing generally of the extent of my funds, should have tantalized me by sending me information that my family property was in the market, since he must have known that the price was far out of my reach. But a letter dropped from the parcel on the floor, which attracted my eye, and explained the riddle. A client of Mr. Fairscribe's, a monied man, thought of buying Glentanner, merely as an invest- ment of money — it was even unlikely he would ever see it ; and so the price of the whole being some thousand pounds beyond what cash he had on hand, this accommodating Dives would gladly take a partner in the sale for any detached farm, and would make no objection to its including the most desirable part of the estate in point of beauty, provided the price was made adequate. Mr. Fairscribe would take care I was not imposed on in the matter, and said in his card, he believed, if I really wished to make such a purchase, I had better go out and look at the premises, advising me, at the same time, to keep a strict incognito ; an advice some- what superfluous, since I am naturally of a retired and reserved disposition. CHAPTER III. JIR. CROFTANGRY, INTER ALIA, REVISITS GLENTANNER. Then sing of stage-coaches. And fear no reproaches For riding in one ; But daily be jogging, Whilst, whistling and flogging. Whilst, whistling and flogging. The coachman drives on. Farquhar. Disguised in a grey surtout which had seen service, a white castor on my head, and a stout Indian cane in my hand, the next week saw me on the top of a mail-coach driving to the westward. I like mail-coaches, and I hate them. I like them for my con- 342 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. venience, but I detest them for setting the whole world a-gaddmg, instead of sitting quietly still minding their own business, and pre- serving the stamp of originality of character which nature or education may have impressed on them. Off they go, jingling against each other in the rattling vehicle till they have no more variety of stamp in them than so many smooth shillings — the' same even in their Welsh wigs and great coats, each without more individuality, than belongs to a partner of the company, as the waiter calls them, of the North coach. Worthy Mr. Piper, best of contractors who ever furnished four frampal jades for pubUc use, I bless you when I set out on a journey myself ; the neat coaches under your contract render the intercourse, from Johnnie Groat's House to Ladykirk and Cornhill Bridge, safe, pleasant, and cheap. But, Mr. Piper, you, who are a shrewd arithmetician, did it never occur to you to calculate how many fools' heads, which [might have produced an idea or two in the year, if suffered to remain in quiet, get effectually addled by iolting to and fro in these flying chariots of yours ; how many decent countrymen become conceited bumpkins after a cattle-show dinner in the capital, which they could not have attended save for your means ; how many decent country parsons return critics and spouters, by way of importing the newest taste from Edinburgh ? And how will your conscience answer one day for carrying so many bonny lasses to barter modesty for conceit and levity at the metro- politan Vanity Fair? Consider, too, the low rate to which you reduce human intellect. I do not believe your habitual customers have their ideas more en- larged than one of your coach-horses. They knows the road, like the English postilion, and they know nothing beside. They date, like the carriers at Gadshill, from the death of John Ostler ;* the succession of guards forms a dynasty in their eyes ; coachmen are their ministers of state, and an upset is to them a greater incident than a change of administration. Their only point of interest on the road is to save the time, and see whether the coach keeps the hour. This is surely a miserable degradation of human intellect. Take my advice, my good sir, and disinterestedly contrive that once or twice a-quarter, your most dexterous whip shall overturn a coach- ful of these superfluous travellers, in terrorem to those who, as Horace says, " delight in the dust raised by your chariots." Your current and customary mail-coach passenger, too, gets abominably selfish, schemes successfully for the best seat, the freshest egg, the right cut of the sirloin. The mode of travelling is death to all the courtesies and kindnesses of life, and goes a great way to demoralize the character, and cause it to retrograde to barbarism. You allow us excellent dinners, but only twenty INTRODUCTORY, 343 minutes to eat them ; and what is the consequence ? Bashful beauty sits on the one side of us, timid childhood on the other ; respectable, yet somewhat feeble old age is placed on our front ; and all require those acts of politeness which ought to put every degree upon a level at the convivial board. But have we time — we the strong and active of the party — to perform the duties of the ' table to the more retired and bashful, to whom these little atten- tions are due ? The lady should be pressed to her chicken — the old man helped to his favourite and tender slice— the child to his tart. But not a fraction of a minute have we to bestow on any other person than ourselves ; and the prtU-firut — tut-tut of the guard's discordant note, summons us to the coach, the weaker party having gone without their dinner, and the able-bodied and active threatened with indigestion, from having swallowed victuals like a Lei'stershire clown bolting bacon. On the memorable occasion I am speaking of I lost my break- fast, sheerly from obeying the commands of a respectable-looking old lady, who once required me to ring the bell, and another time to help the tea kettle. I have some reason to think, she was literally an otd Stager, who laughed in her sleeve at my complais- ance ; so that I have sworn in my secret soul revenge upon her sex, and all such errant damsels of whatever age and degree, whom I may encounter in my travels. I mean all this without the least ill-will to my friend the contractor, who, I think, has ap- proached as near as any one is like to do towards accomplish- ing the modest wish of the Amatus and Amata of the Peri Bathous, Ye gods, annihilate but time and space. And make two lovers happy. I intend to give Mr. P. his full revenge when I come to discuss the more recent enormity of steamboats ; meanwhile, I shall only say of both these modes of conveyance, that There is no living with them or without them, I am perhaps more critical on the mail-coach on this par- ticular occasion, that I did not meet all the respect from the worshipful company in his Majesty's carriage that I think I was entitled to. I must say it for myself, that I bear, in my own opinion at least, not a vulgar point about me. My face has seen service, but there is still a good set of teeth, an aquiline nose, and a quick grey eye, set a little too deep under the eyebrow ; and a cue of the kind once called military, may serve to show that my civil occupations have been sometimes mixed with those of war. Nevertheless, two idle young fellows in the vehicle, or rather on th^ 344 CHRONICLES OF THK CANONGATE. top of it, were so much amused with the deUberation which I used in ascending to the same place of eminence, that I thought I should have been obliged to pull them up a httle. And I was in no good-humour, at an unsuppressed laugh following my descent, when set down at the angle, where a cross road, striking off from the main one, led me towards Glentanner, from which I was still nearly five miles distant. It was an old-fashioned road, which, preferring ascents to sloughs, was led in a straight line over height and hollow, through moor and dale. Every object around me, as I passed them in suc- cession, reminded me of old days, and at the same time formed the strongest contrast with them possible. Unattended, on foot, with a small bundle in my hand, deemed scarce sufficient good company for the two shabby genteels with whom I had been lately perched on the top of a mail-coach, I did not seem to be the same person with the young prodigal, who lived with the noblest and gayest in the land, and who, thirty years before, would, in the same country, have been on the back of a horse that had been victor for a plate, or smoking along in his travelling chaise-and- four. My sentiments were not less changed than my condition. I could quite well remember, that my ruling sensation in the days of heady youth, was a mere schoolboy's eagerness to get farthest for- ward in the race in which I had engaged ; to drink as many bottles as ; to be thought as good a judge of a horse as ; to have the knowing cut of 's jacket. These were thy gods, Israel ! Now I was a mere looker-on ; seldom an unmoved, and some- times an angry spectator, but still a spectator only, of the pursuits of mankind. I felt how little my opinion was valued by those engaged in the busy turmoil, yet I exercised it with the profusion of an old lawyer retired from his profession, who thrusts himself into his neighbour's affairs, and gives advice where it is not wanted, merely uncfer pretence of loving the crack of the whip. I came amid these reflections to the brow of a hill, from which I expected to see Glentanner ; a modest-looking yet comfortable house, its walls covered with the most productive fruit-trees in that part of the country, and screened from the most stormy quarters of the horizon by a deep and ancient wood, which over- hung the neighbouring hill. The house was gone ; a great part of the wood was felled ; and instead of the gentlemanlike mansion, shrouded and embosomed among its old hereditary trees, stood Castle-Treddles, a huge lumping four-square pile of freestone, as bare as my nail, except for a paltry edging of decayed and linger- ing exotics, with an impoverished lawn stretched before it, which, instead of boasting deep green tapestry, enamelled with daisies, and with crowsfoot and cowslips, showed an extent of nakedness, INTRODUCTORY. 34S raked, indeed, and levelled, but where the sown grasses had failed with drought, and the earth, retaining its natural complexion, seemed nearly as brown and bare as when it was newly dug up. The house was a large fabric, which pretended to its name of Castle only from the front windows being finished in acute Gothic arches, (being, by the way, the very reverse of the castellated style,) and each angle graced with a turret about the size of a pepper-box. In every other respect it resembled a large town- house, which, like a fat burgess, had taken a walk to the country on a holyday, and climbed to the top of an eminence to look around it. The bright red colour of the freestone, the size of the building, the formality of its shape, and awkwardness of its position, harmonized as ill with the sweeping Clyde in front, and the bubbling brook which danced down on the right, as the fat civic form, with bushy wig, gold-headed cane, maroon-coloured coat, and mottled silk stockings, would have accorded with the wild and magnificent scenery of Corehouse Linn. I went up to the house. It was in that state of desertion which is perhaps the most unpleasant to look on, for the place was going to decay, without having been inhabited. There were about the mansion, though deserted, none of the slow mouldering touches of time, which communicate to buildings, as to the human frame, a sort of reverence, while depriving them of beauty and of strength. The disconcerted schemes of the Laird of Castle- Treddles, had resembled fruit that becomes decayed without ever having ripened. Some windows broken, others patched, others blocked up with deals, gave a disconsolate air to all around, and seemed to say, " There Vanity had purposed to fix her seat, but was anticipated by Poverty." To the inside, after many a vain summons, I was at length admitted by an old labourer. The house contained every con- trivance for luxury and accommodation ; — the kitchens were a model, and there were hot closets on the office staircase, that the dishes might not cool, as our Scottish phrase goes, between the kitchen and the hall. But instead of the genial smell of good cheer, these temples of Comus emitted the damp odour of sepul- chral vaults, and the large cabinets of cast-iron looked like the cages of some feudal Bastile. The eating-room and drawing-room, with an interior boudoir, were magnificent apartments, the ceilings fretted and adorned with stucco-work, which already was broken in many places, and looked in others damp and mouldering ; the wood paneling was shrunk and warped, and cracked ; the doors, which had not been hung for more than two years, were, neverthe- less, already swinging loose from their hinges. Desolation, in short, was where enjoyment had never been; and the want of 345 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. all the usual means to preserve, was fast performing the work of decay. The story was a common one, and told in a few words. Mr. Treddles, senior, who bought the estate, was a cautious money- making person ; his son, still embarked in commercial specula- tions, desired at the same time to enjoy his opulence and to increase it. He incurred great expenses, amongst which this edifice was to be numbered. To support these he speculated boldly, and unfortunately ; and thus the whole history is told, which may serve for more places than Glentanner., Strange and various feelings ran through my bosom, as I loitered in these deserted apartments, scarce hearing what my "guide said to me about the size and destination of each room. The first senti- ment, I am ashamed to say, was one of gratified spite. My patrician pride was pleased, that the mechanic, who had not thought the house of the Croftangrys sufficiently good for him, had now experienced a fall in his turn. My next thought was as mean, though not so malicious. " I have had the better of this fellow," thought I ; " if I lost the estate, I at least spent the price ; and Mr. Treddles has lost his among paltry commercial engagements." " Wretch ! " said the secret voice within, " darest thou exult in thy shame ? Recollect how thy youth and fortune were wasted in those years, and triumph not in the enjoyment of an existence which levelled thee with the beasts that perish. Bethink thee, how this poor man's vanity gave at least bread to the labourer, peasant, and citizen ; and his profuse expenditure, like water spilt on the ground, refreshed the lowly herbs and plants where it fell. But thou ! whom hast thou enriched, during thy career of extra- vagance, save those brokers of the devil, vintners, panders, gamblers, and horse-jockeys?" The anguish produced by this self-reproof was so strong, that I put my hand suddenly to my forehead, and was obliged to allege a sudden megrim to my attendant, in apology for the action, and a slight groan with which it was accompanied. I then made an effort to turn my thoughts into a more philoso- phical current, and muttered half aloud, as a charm to lull any more painful thoughts to rest — Nunc ager Umbreni sub nomine, nuper 0/elli, Dictus, erit nulli proprius ; sed cedit in usum Nunc raihi, mate alii. Quocirca vivite fortes, Fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus.* In my anxiety to fix the philosophical precept in my mind, I recited the last line aloud, which, joined to my previous agitation, I afterwards found became the cause of a report, that a mad school- INTRODUCTORY. 347 master had come from Edinburgh, with the idea in his head of buying Castle-Treddles. As I saw my companion was desirous of getting rid of me, I asked where I was to find the person in whose hands were left the map of the estate, and other particulars connected with the sale. The agent who had this in possession, I was told, lived at the town of ; which I was informed, and indeed knew well, was distant five miles and a bittock, which may pass in a country where they are less lavish o# their land, for two or three more. Being some- what afraid of the fatigue of walking so far, I enquired if a horse, or any sort of carriage was to be had, and was answered in the negative. " But," said my cicerone, " you may halt a blink till next morning at the Treddles Arms, a very decent house, scarce a mile off." " A new house, I suppose ? " replied I. " Na, it's a new public, but it's an auld house : it was aye the Leddy',s jointure-house in the Croftangry-folk's time ; but Mr. Treddles has fitted it up for the convenience of the country. Poor man, he was a public-spirited man, when he had the means.'' "Duntarkin a public-house ! " I exclaimed. " Ay ? " said the fellow, surprised at my naming the place by its ormer title, " ye'U hae been in this country before, I'm thinking ? " " Long since," I replied — " and there is good accommodation at the what-d'ye-call-'em arms, and a civil landlord ? " This I said by way of saying something, for the man stared very hard at me. " Very decent accommodation. Ye'U no be for fashing wi' wine, I'm thinking, and there's walth o' porter, ale, and a drap gude whisky " — (in an under tone) — " Fairntosh, if you can get on the lee-side of the gudewife — for there is nae gudeman — They ca' her Christie Steele." I almost started at the sound. Christie Steele ! Christie Steele was my mother's body servant, her very right hand, and, between ourselves, something like a viceroy over her. I recollected her perfectly ; and though she had, in former times, been no favourite of mine, her name now sounded in my ear like that of a friend, and was the first word I had heard somewhat in unison with the asso- ciations around me. I sallied from Castle-Treddles, determined to make the best of my way to Duntarkin, and my cicerone hung by me for a little way, giving loose to his love of talking ; an oppor- tunity which, situated as he was, the seneschal of a deserted castle, was not likely to occur frequently. " Some folk think," said my companion, " that Mr. Treddles might as weel have put my wife as Christie Steele into the Treddles- Arms, for Christie had been aye in service, and never in the public 348 CHRONICLES OF THF, CANONGATE. line, and so it's liTce she is ganging back in the world, as I hear — now, my wife had keepit a victualling office." " That would have been an advantage, certainly," I replied. " But I am no sure that I wad ha' looten Eppie take it, if they had put it in her offer." " That's a different consideration." ' " Ony way, I wadna ha' liked to have offended Mr. Treddles ; he was a wee toustie when you rubbed him again' the hair — but a kind, weel-meaning man." I wanted to get rid of this species of chat, and finding myself near the entrance of a footpath which made a short cut to Dun- tarkin, I put half-a-crown into my guide's hand, bade him good- evening, and plunged into the woods. " Hout, sir — fie, sir — no from the like of you — stay, sir, ye wunna find the way that gate — Odd's mercy, he maun ken the gate as weel as I do mysell — weel, I wad like to ken wha the chield is." Such were the last words of my guide's drowsy, uninteresting tone of voice ; and glad to be rid of him, I strode out stoutly, in despite of large stones, briers, and bad steps, which abounded in the road I had chosen. In the interim, I tried as much as I could, with verses from Horace and Prior, and all who have lauded the mixture of literary with rural life, to call back the visions of last night and this morning, imagining myself settled in some detached farm of the estate of Glentanner, Which sloping hills around enclose — Where many a birch and brown oak grows ; when I should have a cottage with a small library, a small cellar, a spare bed for a friend, and live more happy and more honoured than when I had the whole barony. But the sight of Castle-Tred- dles had disturbed all my own castles in the air. The realities of the matter, like a stone plashed into a limpid fountain, had de- stroyed the reflection of the objects around, which, till this act of \iolence, lay slumbering on the crystal surface, and I tried in vain to re-establish the picture which had been so rudely broken. Well, then, I would try it another way ; I would try to get Christie Steele out of \\tr public, since she was not thriving in it, and she who had been my mother's governante should be mine. I knew all her faults, and I told her history over to myself. She was a grand-daughter, I believe, at least some relative, of the famous Covenanter of the name, whom Dean Swift's friend. Captain Creichton, shot on his own staircase in the times of the persecutions,* and had perhaps derived from her native stock much both of its good and evil properties. No one could say of her that she was the life and spirit of the family, though, in my mother's INTRODUCTORY. 349 time, she directed all family affairs; her look was austere and gloomy, and when she was not displeased with you, you could only find it out by her silence. If there was cause for complaint, real or imaginary, Christie was loud enough. She loved my mother with the devoted attachment of a younger sister, but she was as jealous of her favour to any one else as if she had been the aged husband of a coquettish wife, and as severe in her reprehensions as an abbess over her nuns. The command which she exercised over her, was that, I fear, of a strong and determined over a feeble and more nervous disposition ; and though it was used with rigour, yet, to the best of Christie Steele's belief, she was urging her mistress to her best and most becoming course, and would have died rather than have recommended any other. The attachment of this woman was limited to the family of Croftangry, for she had few relations ; and a dissolute cousin, whom late in life she had taken as a husband, had long left her a widow. To me she had ever a strong dislike. Even from my early child- hood, she was jealous, strange as it may seem, of my interest in my mother's affections ; she saw my foibles and vices with abhorrence, and without a grain of allowance ; nor did she pardon the weak- ness of maternal agection, even when, by the death of two brothers, I came to be the only child of a widowed parent. At the time my disorderly conduct induced my mother to leave Glentanner, and retreat to her jointure house, I always blamed Christie Steele for having influenced her resentment, and prevented her from listening to my vows of amendment, which at times were real and serious, and might, perhaps, have accelerated that change of disposition which has since, I trust, taken place. But Christie regarded me as altogether a doomed and predestinated child of perdition, who was sure to hold on my course, and drag downwards whosoever might attempt to afford me support. Still, though I knew such had been Christie's prejudices against me in other days, yet I thought enough of time had since passed away to destroy all of them. I knew, that when, through the dis- order of my affairs, my mother underwent some temporary incon- venience about money matters, Christie, as a thing of course, stood in the gap, and having sold a small inheritance which had de- scended to her, brought the purchase-money to her mistress, with a sense of devotion as deep as that which inspired the Christians of the first age, when they sold all they had, and followed the apostles of the church. I therefore thought that we might, in old Scottish phrase, " let byganes be byganes," and begin upon a new account. Yet I resolved, like a skilful general, to reconnoitre a little before laying down any precise scheme of proceeding, and in the interim I determined to preserve my incognito. 350 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. CHAPTER IV. MR. CROFTANGRY BIDS ADIEU TO CLYDESDALE. Alas, how changed from what it had once been ! 'Twas now degraded to a common inn. Gay. An hour's brisk walking, or thereabouts; placed me in front of Duntarkin, which had also, I found, undergone considerable altera- tions, though it had not been altogether demolished like the prin- cipal mansion. An inn-yard extended before the door of the decent little jointure-house, even amidst the remnants of the holly hedges which had screened the lady's garden. Then a broad, raw-looking, new-made road intruded itself up the little glen, instead of the old horseway, so seldom used that it was almost entirely covered with grass. It is a great enormity of which gentlemen trustees on the highways are sometimes guilty, in adopting the breadth necessary for an avenue to the metropolis, where all that is required is an access to some sequestered and unpopulous district. I do not say any thing of the expense ; that the trustees and their constituents may settle as they please. But the destruction of silvan beauty is great, when the breadth of the road is more than proportioned to the vale through which it runs, and lowers of course the conse- quence of any objects of wood or water, or broken and varied ground, which might otherwise attract notice, and give pleasure. A bubbling runnel by the side of one of those modern Appian or Flaminian highways, is but like a kennel, — the little hill is dimin- ished to a hillock, — the romantic hillock to a molehill, almost too small for sight. Such an enormity, however, had destroyed the quiet loneliness of Duntarkin, and intruded its breadth of dust and gravel, and its associations of pochays and mail-coaches, upon one of the most sequestered spots in the Middle Ward of Clydesdale. The house was old and dilapidated, and looked sorry for itself, as if sensible of a derogation ; but the sign was strong and new, and brightly painted, displaying a heraldic shield, three shuttles in a field diapre, a web partly unfolded for crest, and two stout giants for supporters, each one holding a weaver's beam proper. To have displayed this monstrous emblem on the front of the house might have hazarded bringing down the wall, but for certain would have blocked up one or two windows. It was therefore established independent of the mansion, being displayed in an iron framework, and suspended upon two posts, with as much wood and iron about it as would have builded a brig ; and there it hung, creaking, groaning, and screaming in every blast of wind, and frightening for five miles INTRODUCTORY. 351 distance, for aught I know, the nests of thrushes and linnets, the ancient denizens of the little glen. When I entered the place, I was received by Christie Steele her- self, who seemed uncertain whether to drop me in the kitchen, or usher me into a separate apartment. As I called for tea, with something rather more substantial than bread and butter, and spoke of supping and sleeping, Christie at last inducted me into the room where she herself had been sitting, probably the only one which had a fire, though the month was October. This answered my plan ; an,d, as she was about to remove her spinning-wheel, I begged she would have the goodness to remain and make my tea, adding, that I liked the sound of the wheel, and desired not to disturb her housewife-thrift in the least, " I dinna ken, sir," — she replied in a dry reveche tone, which carried me back twenty years, " I am nane of thae heartsome land- leddies that can tell country cracks, and make themsells agreeable ; and I was ganging to pit on a fire for you in the Red Room ; but if it is your will to stay here, he that pays the lawing maun choose the lodging." I endeavoured to engage her in conversation ; but, though she answered with a kind of stiff civility, I could get her into no free- dom of discourse, and she began to look at her wheel and at the door more than once, as if she meditated a retreat. I was obhged, therefore, to proceed to some special questions that might have interest for a person, whose ideas were probably of a very bounded description. I looked round the apartment, being the same in which I had last seen my poor mother. The author of the family history, formerly mentioned, had taken great credit to himself for the im- provements he had made in this same jointure-house of Duntarkin, and how, upon his marriage, when his mother took possession of the same as her jointure-house, " to his great charges and expenses he caused box the walls of the great parlour," (in which I was now sitting,) "empanel the same, and plaster the roof, finishing the apartment with ane concave chimney, and decorating the same with pictures, and a barometer and thermometer." And in parti- cular, which his good mother used to say she prized above all the rest, he had caused his own portraiture be limned over the mantel- piece by a skilful hand. And, in good faith, there he remained still, — having much the visage which I was disposed to ascribe to him on the evidence of his handwriting, — grim and austere, yet not without a cast of shrewdness and determination ; in armour, though he never wore it, I fancy ; one hand on an open book, and one resting on the hilt of his sword, though, I dare say, his head never ached with reading nor his limbs with fencing. S33 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. " That picture is painted on the wood, madam?" said I. " Ay, sir, or it's Uke it would not have been left there. They took a' they could." " Mr. Treddles's creditors, you mean ? " said I. " Na," replied she, dryly, " the creditors of another family, that sweepit cleaner than this poor man's, because, I fancy, there was less to gather." " An older family, perhaps, and probably more remembered and regretted than later possessors ? " Christie here settled herself in her seat, and pulled her wheel towards her. I had given her something interesting for her thoughts to dwell upon, and her wheel was a mechanical accom- paniment on such occasions, the revolutions of which assisted her n the explanation of her ideas. " Mair regretted — mair missed? — I liked ane of. the auld family very weel, but I winna say that for them a'. How should they be mair missed than the Treddleses ? The cotton mill was such a thing for the country ! The. mair bairns a cottar body had the better ; they would make their awn keep frae the time they were five years auld ; and a widow, wi' three or four bairns, was a wealthy woman in the time of the Treddleses.'' " But the health of these poor children, my good friend— their education and religious instruction " " For health," said Christie, looking gloomily at me, " ye maun ken little of' the warld, sir, if ye dinna ken that the health of the poor man's body, as weel as his youth and his strength, are all at the command of the rich man's purse. There never was a trade so unhealthy yet, but men would fight to get wark at it for twa pennies a-day aboon the common wage. But the bairns were reasonably weel cared for in the way of air and exercise, and a very responsible youth heard them their carritch, and gied them lessons in Reediemadeasy.* Now, what did they ever get before ? Maybe on a winter day they wad be called out to beat the wood for cocks or sicklike, and then the starving weans would maybe get a bite of broken bread, and maybe no, just as the butler was in humour— that was a' they got." " They were not, then, a very kind family to the poor, these old possessors?" said I, somewhat bitterly ; for I had expected to hear my ancestors' praises recorded, though I certainly despaired of being regaled with my own. " They werena ill to them, sir, and that is aye something. They were just decent bien bodies ;— ony poor creature that had face to beg got an awmous and welcome ; they that were shamefaced gaed by and twice as welcome. But they keepit an honest walk before God and man, the Croftangrys, and, as I said before, if they did INTRODUCTORY. 353 little good, they did as little ill. They lifted their rents and spent them, called in their kain and eat them : gaed to the kirk of a Sunday, bowed civilly if folk took aff their bannets as they gaed by, and lookit as black as sin at them that keepit them on." " These are their arms that you have on the sign ? " " What ! on the painted board that is skirling and groaning at the door ? — Na, these are Mr. Treddles's arms — ^though they look as like legs as arms — ill pleased I was at the fule thing, that cost as muckle as would hae repaired the house from the wa' stane to the rigging-tree. But if I am to bide here, I'll hae a decent board wi'a punch bowl on it." " Is there a doubt of your staying here, Mrs. Steele ? " " Dinna Mistress me," said the cross old woman, whose fingers were now plying their thrift in a manner which indicated nervous irritation — " there was nae luck in the land since Luckie turned Mistress, and Mistress my Leddy ; and as for staying here, if it concerns you to ken, I may stay if I can pay a hundred pund Ster- ling for the lease, and I may flit if I canna ; and so gude-e'en to you, Christie," — and round went the wheel with much activity. " And you like the trade of keeping a public house ? " " I can scarce say that," she replied. " But worthy Mr. Prender- gast is clear of its lawfulness, and I hae gotten used to it, and made a decent living, though I never make out a fause reckoning, or give ony ane the means to disorder reason in my house." " Indeed ?" said I ; "in that case, there is no wonder you have not made up the hundred pounds to purchase the lease," " How do you ken," said she sharply, " that I might not have had a hundred punds of my ain fee ? If I have it not, I am sure it is my ain faut ; and I wunna ca' it faut neither, for it gaed to her wha was weel entitled to a' my service." Again she pulled stoutly at the flax, and the wheel went smartly round. " This old gentleman," said I, fixing my eye on the painted panel, " seems to have had his arms, painted as well as Mr. Treddles — that is, if that painting in the corner be a scutcheon." "Ay, ay — cushion, just sae, they maun a' hae their cushions ; there's sma' gentry without that ; and so the arms, as they ca' them, of the house of Glentanner, may be seen on an auld stane in the west end of the house. But to do them justice, they didna propale sae muckle about them as poor Mr. Treddles did ;— it's like they were better used to them." " Very likely. — Are there any of the old family in life, good- wife?" " No," she replied ; then added, after a moment's hesitation — "not that I know of," — and the wheel, which had intermitted, began again to revolve. A A 354 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE, " Gone abroad, perhaps ?" I suggested. She now looked up, and faced me — " No, sir. There were three sons of the last Laird of Glentanner, as he was then called ; John and William were hopeful young gentlemen, but they died early — one of a decline, brought on by the mizzles, the other lost his life in a fever. It would hae been lucky for mony ane that Chrystal had gane the same gate." " Oh — he must have been the young spendthrift that sold the pro- perty ? Well, but you should not have such an ill-will against him ; remember necessity has no law ; and then, goodWife, he was not more culpable than Mr. Treddles, whom you are so sorry for." " I wish I could think sae, sir, for his mother's sake ; but Mr. Treddles was io trade, and though he had no preceese right to do so, yet there was some warrant for a man being expensive that imagined he was making a mint of money. But this unhappy lad devoured his patrimony, when he kenned that he was living like a ratten in a Dunlap cheese, and diminishing his means at a' hands ^I canna bide to think on't." With this she broke out into a snatch of a ballad ; but little of mirth was there either in the tone or the expression :— " For he did spend, and make an end Of gear that his forefathers wan ; Of land and ware he made him bare, ' So speak nae mair of the auld gudeman." "Come, dame," said I, "it is a long lane that has no turning. I will not keep from you that I have heard something of this poor fellow, Chrystal Croftangry. He has sown his wild oats, as they say, and has settled into a steady respectable man." "And wha tell'd ye that tidings?" said she, looking sharply at me. " Not perhaps the best judge in the world of his character, for it was himself, dame," " And if he tell'd you truth, it was a virtue he did not aye use to practise," said Christie. " The devil ! " said I, considerably nettled ; " all the world held him to be a man of honour." " Ay, ay ! he would hae shot onybody wi' his pistols and his guns, that had evened him to be a liar. But if he promised to pay an honest tradesman the next term-day, did he keep his word then ? And if he promised a puir silly lass to make gude her shame, did he speak truth then ? And what is that, but being a liar, and a black-hearted deceitful liar to boot ? " My indignation was rising, but I strove to suppress it ; indeed, I should only have afforded my tormentor a triumph by an angry reply. I partly suspected she began to recognise me ; yet she INTRODUCTORY. 35S testified so little emotion, that I could not think my suspicion well founded. I went on, therefore, to say, in a tone as indifferent as I could command, " Well, goodwife, I see you will believe no good of this Chrystal of yours, till he comes back and buys a good farm on the estate, and makes you his housekeeper." The old woman dropped her thread, folded her hands, as she looked up to heaven with a face of apprehension. " The Lord," she exclaimed, " forbid ! The Lord in his mercy forbid ! Oh, sir ! if you really know this unlucky man, persuade him to settle where folk ken the good that you say he has come to, and dinna ken the evil of his former days. He used to be proud enough — O dinna let him come here, even for his own sake. — He used ance to have some pride." Here she once more drew the wheel close to her, and began to pull at the flax with both hands — " Dinna let him come here, to be looked down upon by ony that may be left of his auld reiving companions, and to see the decent folk that he looked over his nose at look over their noses at him, baith at kirk and market. Dinna let him come to his ain country to be made a tale about when ony neighbour points him out to another, and tells what he is, and what he was, and how he wrecked a dainty estate, and brought harlots to the door-cheek of his father's house, till he made it nae residence for his mother ; and how it had been fore- tauld by a servant of his ain house, that he was a ne'er-do-weel, and a child of perdition, and how her words were made good, and" " Stop there, goodwife, if you please," said I ; " you have said as much as I can well remember, and more than it may be safe to repeat. I can use a great deal of freedom with the gentleman we speak of ; but I think were any other person to carry him half of your message, I would scarce ensure his personal safety. And now, as I see the night is settled to be a fine one, I will walk on to , where I must meet a coach to-morrow, as it passes to Edin- burgh." So saying, I paid my moderate reckoning, and took my leave, without being able to discover whether the prejudiced and hard- hearted old iWoman did, or did not, suspect the identity of her guest with the Chrystal Croftangry against whom she harboured so much dislike. The night was fine and frosty, though, when I pretended to see what its character was, it might have rained like the deluge. I only made the excuse to escape from old Christie Steele. The horses which run races in the Corso at Rome without any riders, in order to stimulate their exertion, carry each his own spurs, namely, small balls of steel, with sharp projecting spikes, which 3s6 chr6nicles of the canongate. are attached to loose straps of leather, and, flying about in the vio- lence of the agitation, keep the horse to his speed by pricking him as they strike against his flanks. The old woman's reproaches had the same eff'ect on me, and urged me to a rapid pace, as if it had been possible to escape from my own recollections. In the best days of my life, when I won one or two hard walking matches, I doubt if I ever walked so fast as I did betwixt the Treddles Arms and the borough town for which I was bound. Though the night was cold, I was warm enough by the time I got to my inn ; and it required a refreshing draught of porter, with half an hour's repose, ere I could determine to give no farther thought to Christie and her opinions, than those of any other vulgar prejudiced old woman. I resolved at last to treat the thing en bagatelle, and, calling for writing materials, I folded up a cheque for ^loo, with these lines on the envelope ; " Chrystal, the ne'er-do-weel, Child destined to the deil. Sends this to Christie Steele.'' And I was so much pleased with this new mode of viewing the subject, that I regretted the lateness of the hour prevented my finding a person to carry the letter express to its destination. " But with the morning cool reflection came." I considered that the money, and probably more, was actually due by me on my mother's account to Christie, who had lent it in a moment of great necessity, and that the returning it in a light or ludicrous manner was not unlikely to prevent so touchy and punc- tilious a person from accepting a debt which was most justly her due, and which it became me particularly to see satisfied. Sacri- ficing then my triad with little regret, (for it looked better by candlelight, and through the medium of a pot of porter, than it did by daylight, and with bohea for a menstruum,) I determined to employ Mr. Fairscribe's mediation in buying up the lease of the little inn, and conferring it upon Christie in the way which should make it most acceptable to her feelings. It is only necessary to add, that my plan succeeded, and that Widow Steele even yet keeps the Treddles Arms. Do not say, therefore, that I have been disingenuous with you, reader ; since, if I have not told all the ill of myself I might have done, I have indicated to you a person able and willing to supply the blank, by relating all my delin- quencies, as well as my misfortunes. In the meantime, I totally abandoned the idea of redeeming any part of my paternal property, and resolved to take Christie Steele's advice, as young Noi-val does Glenalvon's, " although it sounded harshly." INTRODUCTORY. 357 CHAPTER V. MR. CROFTANGRY SETTLES IN THE CANONGATE. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. As You Like It, By a revolution of humour which I am unable to account for, I changed my mind entirely on my plans of life, in consequence of the disappointment, the history of which fills the last chapter. I began to discover that the country would not at all suit me ; for I had relinquished field-sports, and felt no inclination whatever to farming, the ordinary vocation of country gentlemen ; besides that, I had no talent for assisting either candidate in case of an expected election, and saw no amusement in the duties of a road trustee, a commissioner of supply, or even in the magisterial functions of the bench. I had begun to take some taste for reading ; and a domiciliation in the country must remove me from the use of books, excepting the small subscription library, in which the very book which you want is uniformly sure to be engaged. I resolved, therefore, to make the Scottish metropolis my regular resting-place, reserving to myself to take occasionally those excursions, which, spite of all I have said against mail- coaches, Mr. Piper has rendered so easy. Friend of our life and of our leisure, he secures by despatch against loss of time, and by the best of coaches, cattle, and steadiest of drivers, against hazard of limb, and wafts us, as well as our letters, from Edinburgh to Cape Wrath, in the penning of a paragraph. When my mind was quite made up to make Auld Reekie my headquarters, reserving the privilege of exploring in all directions, I began to explore in good earnest for the purpose of discovering a suitable habitation. "And whare trew ye I gaed?" as Sir Pertinax says. Not to George's Square — nor to Charlotte Square — nor to the old New Town — nor to the new New Town — nor to the Calton Hill ; I went to the Canongate, and to the very portion of the Canongate in which I had formerly been immured, like the errant knight, prisoner in some enchanted castle, where spells have made the ambient air impervious to the unhappy captive, although the organs of sight encountered no obstacle to his free passage. Why I should have thought of pitching my tent here I cannot tell. Perhaps it was to enjoy the pleasures of freedom, where I had so long endured the bitterness of restraint ; on the principle of the officer, who, after he had retired from the army, ordered his servant to continue to call him at the hour of parade, simply that 358 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. he might have the pleasure of saying — " D — n the parade ! " and turning to the other side to enjoy his slumbers. Or perhaps I expected to find in the vicinity some little old-fashioned house, having somewhat of the rus in iirbe, which I was ambitious of en- joying; Enough, I went, as aforesaid, to the Canongate. I stood by the kennel, of which I have formerly spoken, and, my mind being at ease, my bodily organs were more delicate. I was more sensible than heretofore, that like the trade of Pompey in Measure for Measure — it did in some sort pah— an ounce of civet, good apothecary ! — Turning from thence, my steps naturally directed themselves to my own humble apartment, where my little Highland landlady, as dapper and as tight as ever, (for old women wear a hundred times better than the hard-wrought seniors of the masculine sex,) stood at the door, teedling to herself a Highland song as she shook a table napkin over the forestair, and then pro- ceeded to fold it up neatly for future service. " How do you, Janet ? " " Thank ye, good sir," answered my old friend, without looking at me ; "but ye might as weel say Mrs. MacEvoy, for she is na a'body's Shanet — umph." " You must be my Janet, though, for all that — have you forgot me ? — Do you not remember Chrystal Croftangry ? " The light, kind-hearfed creature threw her napkin into the open door, skipped down the stair like a fairy, three steps at once, seized me by the hands, — both hands, — jumped up, and actually kissed me. I was a little ashamed ; but what swain,- of some- where inclining to sixty, could resist the advances' of a fair con- temporary ? So we allowed the full degree of kindness to the meeting, — honi soit qui mal y pense, — and then Janet entered instantly upon business. " An' ye'U gae in, man, and see your auld lodgings, nae doubt, and Shanet will pay ye the fifteen shillings of change that ye ran away without, and without bidding Shanet good-day.— But never mind," (nodding good-humouredly,) " Shanet saw you were carried for the time." By this time we were in my old quarters, and Janet, with her bottle of cordial in one hand and the glass in the other, had forced on me a dram of usquebaugh, distilled with saffron and other herbs, after some old-fashioned Highland receipt. Then was unfolded, out of many a little scrap of paper, the I'eserved sum of fifteen shillings, which Janet had treasured for twenty years and upwards. " Here they are," she said, in honest triumph, "just the same I was holding out to ye when ye ran as if ye had been fey. Shanet has had siller, and Shanet has wanted siller, mony a time since that — and the gauger has come, and the factor has come, and the butcher and baker — Cot bless us— just like to tear poor auld Shanet INTRODQCTORY. i59 to pieces; but she took good care of Mr. Croftangry's fifteen shillings." " But what if I had never come back, Janet ? " " Och, if Shanet had heard you were dead, she would hae gien it to the poor of the chapel, to pray for Mr. Croftangry," said Janet, crossing herself, for she was a Catholic ; — " you maybe do not think it would do you cood, but the blessing of the poor can never do no harm." I heartily agreed in Janet's conclusion ; and, as to have desired her to consider the hoard as her own property, would have been an indelicate return to her for the uprightness of her conduct, I re^ quested her to dispose of it as she had proposed to do in the event of my death, that is, if she knew any poor people of merit to whom it might be useful. " Ower mony of them," raising the corner of her checked apron to her eyes, " e'en ower raony of them, Mr. Croftangry. — Och, ay — there is the puir Highland creatures frae Glenshee, that cam down for the harvest, and are lying wi' the fever — Eve shillings to them, and half-a-crown to Bessie MacEvoy, whose coodman, puir crea- ture, died of the frost, being a shairman, for a' the whisky he could drink to keep it out o' his stamoch — and " But she suddenly interrupted the bead-roll of her proposed chari- ties, and assuming a very sage look, and primming up her little chattering mouth, she went on in a different tone — " But, och, Mr. Croftangry, bethink ye whether ye wfll not need a' this siller your- sell, and maybe look back and think lang for ha'en kiven it away, whilk is a creat sin to forlhink a wark o' charity, and also is un- lucky, and, moreover, is not the thought of a shentleman's son like ' yoursell, dear. And I say this, that ye may think a bit ; for your mother's son kens that ye are no so careful as you should be of the gear, and I hae tauld ye of it before, jewel." I assured her I could easily spare the money, without risk of future repentance ; and she went on to infer, that, in such a case, " Mr. Croftangry Ijad grown a rich man in foreign parts, and was free of his troubles with messengers and sheriff-officers, and siclike scum of the earth, and Shanet MacEvoy's mother's daughter be a blithe woman to hear it. But if Mr. Croftangry was in trouble, there was his room, and his ped, and Shanet to wait on him, and tak payment when it was quite convenient." I explained to Janet my situation, in which she expressed un- qualified delight. I then proceeded to enquire into her own cir- cumstances, and, though she spoke cheerfully and contentedly, I could see they were precarious. I had paid more than was due ; other lodgers fell into an opposite error, and forgot to pay Janet at all. Then, Janet being ignorant of all indirect modes of screwing 3«o CHRONICLES OF THE CANON GATE. money out of her lodgers, others in the same line of life, who were sharper than the poor simple Highland woman, were enabled to let their apartments cheaper in appearance, though the inmates usually found them twice as dear in the long-run. As I had already destined my old landlady to be my housekeeper and governante, knowing her honesty, good-nature, and, although a Scotchwoman, her cleanliness and excellent temper, (saving the short and hasty expressions of anger which Highlanders call s-fuff^ I now proposed the plan to her in such a way as was likely to make it most acceptable. Very acceptable as the proposal was, as I could plainly see, Janet, however, took a day to consider upon it ; and her reflections against our next meeting had suggested only one objection, which was singular enough. " My honour," so she now termed me, " would pe for biding in some fine street apout the town ; now Shanet wad ill like to live in a place where polish, and sheriffs, and bailiffs, and sic thieves and trash of the world, could tak puir shentlemen by the throat, just because they wanted a wheen dollars in the sporran. She had lived in the bonny glen of Tomanthoulick — Cot, an ony of the vermint had come there, her father wad hae wared a shot on them, and he could hit a buck within as mony measured yards as e'er a man of his clan. And the place here was so quiet frae them, they durstna put their nose ower the gutter. Shanet owed nobody a bodle, put she couldna pide to see honest folk and pretty shentle- men forced away to prison whether they would or no ; and then if Shanet was to lay her tangs ower ane of the ragamuffin's heads, it would be, maybe, that the law would gi'ed a hard name." One thing I have learned in life, — never to speak sense when nonsense will answer the purpose as well. I should have had great difficulty to convince this practical and disinterested admirer and vindicator of liberty, that arrests seldom or never were to be seen in the streets of Edinburgh, and to satisfy her of their justice and necessity, would have been as difficult as to convert her to the Protestant faith. I therefore assured her my intention, if I could get a suitable habitation, was to remain in the quarter where she at present dwelt. Janet gave three skips on the floor, and uttered as many short shrill yells of joy ; yet doubt almost instantly re- turned, and she insisted on knowing what possible reason I could have for making my residence where few lived, save those whose misfortunes drove them thither. It occurred to me to answer her by recounting the legend of the rise of my family, and of our deriv- ing our name from a particular place near Holyrood Palace. This, which would have appeared to most people a very absurd reason for choosing a residence, was entirely satisfactory to Janet Mac- Evoy. INTRODUCTORV. 361 " Och, nae doubt ! if it was the land of her fathers, there was nae mair to be said. Put it was queer that her family estate should just lie at the town tail, and covered with houses, where the King's cows. Cot bless them hide and horn, used to craze upon. It was strange changes." — She mused a little, and then added, " Put it is something better wi' Croftangry when the changes is frae the field to the habited place, and not from the place of habitation to the desert ; for Shanet, her nainsell, kent a glen where there were men as weel as there maybe in Croftangry, and if there werena altogether sae mony of them, they were as good men in their tartan as the others in their broadcloth. And there were houses too ; and if they were not biggit with stane and lime, and lofted like the houses at Croftangry, yet they served the purpose of them that lived there ; and mony a braw bonnet, and mony a silk snood, and comely white curch, would come out to gang to kirk or chapel on the Lord's day, and little bairns toddling after ; and now, — Och, Och, Ohellany, Ohonari ! the glen is desolate, and the braw snoods and bonnets are gane, and the Saxon's house stands dull and lonely, like the single bare-breasted rock that the falcon builds on — the falcon that drives the heath-bird frae the glen." Janet, like many Highlanders, was full of imagination ; and, when melancholy themes came upon her, expressed herself almost poetically, owing to the genius of the Celtic language in which she thought, and' in which, doubtless, she would have spoken, had I understood Gaelic. In two minutes the shade of gloom and regret had passed from her good-humoured features, and she was again the little, busy, prating, important old woman, undisputed owner of one flat of a small tenement in the Abbey-yard, and about to be promoted to be housekeeper to an elderly bachelor gentleman, Chrystal Croftangry, Esq.- It was not long before Janet's local researches found out exactly the sort of place I wanted, and there we settled. Janet was afraid I would not be satisfied, because it is not exactly part of Croft- angry ; but I stopped her doubts, by assuring her it had been part and pendicle thereof in my forefathers' time, which passed very well. I do not intend to possess any one with an exact knowledge of my lodging ; though, as Bobadil says, " I care not who knows it, since the cabin is convenient." But I may state in general, that it is a house " within itself," or, according to a newer phraseology in advertisements, self-contained, has a garden of near half an acre, and a patch of ground with trees in front. It boasts five rooms, and servants' apartments — looks in front upon the palace, and from behind towards the hill and crags of the King's Park. Fortunately the place had a name, which, with a little improvement, served to 3S2 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. countenance the legend which I had imposed on Janet, and would not perhaps have been sorry if I had been able to impose on myself. It was called Littlecroft ; we have dubbed it Little Croftangry, and the men of letters belonging to the Post Office have sanctioned the change, and deliver letters so addressed. Thus I am to all intents and purposes Chrystal Croftangry of that Ilk. My establishment consists of Janet, an under maid-servant, and a Highland wench for Janet to exercise her Gaelic upon, with a handy lad who can lay the cloth, and take care besides of a pony, on which I find my way to Portobello sands, especially when the cavalry have a drill; for, like an old fool as I am, I have not altogether become indifferent to the tramp of horses and the flash of weapons, of which, though no professional soldier, it has been my fate to see something in my youth. For wet mornings, I have my book— is it fine weather, I visit, or I wander on the Crags, as the humour dictates. My dinner is indeed solitary, yet not quite so neither ; for though Andrew waits, Janet, or, — as she is to all the world but her master, and certain old Highland gossips, — Mrs. MacEvoy, attends, bustles about, and desires to see every thing is in first-rate order, and to tell me. Cot pless us, the wonderful news of the Palace for the day. When the cloth is removed, and I light my cigar, and begin to husband a pint of port, or a glass of old whisky and water, it is the rule of the house that Janet takes a chair at some distance, and nods or works her stocking, as she may be disposed ; ready to speak, if I am in the talking humour, and sitting quiet as a mouse if I am rather inclined to study a book or the newspaper. At six precisely she makes my tea, and leaves me to drink it ; and then occurs an interval of time which most old bachelors find heavy on their hands. The theatre is a good occa- sional resource, especially if Will Murray acts, or a bright star of eminence shines forth ; but it is distant, and so are one or two public societies to which I belong ; besides, these evening Walks are all incompatible with the elbow-chair feeling, which desires some employment that may divert the mind without fatiguing the body. Under the influence of these impressions, I have sometimes thought of this literary undertaking. I must have been the Bonas- sus himself to have mistaken myself for a genius, yet I have leisure and reflections like my neighbours. I am a borderer also between two generations, and can point out more perhaps than others of those fading traces of antiquity which are daily vanishing ; and I know many a modern instance and many an old tradition, and therefore I ask — What ails me, I may not, as well as they, Rake up some threadbare tales, that mouldering lay INTRODUCTORY. 363 In chimney corners, wont by Christthas fires To read and rock to sleep our ancient sires ? No man his threshold better knows, than I Brute's first arrival and first victory, Saint George's sorrel and his cross of blood, Arthur's round board and Caledonian wood. No shop is so easily set up as an antiquary's. Like those of the lowest order of pawnbrokers, a commodity of rusty iron, a bag or two of hobnails, a few odd shoebucldes, cashiered kail-pots, and fire-irons declared incapable of service, are quite sufficient to set him up. If he add a sheaf or two of penny ballads and broadsides, he is a great man — an extensive trader. And then — like the pawn- brokers aforesaid, if the author understands a little legerdemain, he may, by dint of a little picking and stealing, make the inside of his shop a great deal richer than the out, and be able to show you things which cause those who do not understand the antiquarian trick of clean conveyance, to wonder how the devil he came by them. It may be said, that antiquarian articles interest but few cus- tomers, and that we may bawl ourselves as rusty as the wares we deal in without any one asking the price of our merchandise. But I do not rest my hopes upon this department of my labours only, I propose also to have a corresponding shop for Sentiment, and Dialogues, and Disquisition, which may captivate the fancy of those who have no relish, as the established phrase goes, for pure anti- quity ; — a sort of green-grocer's stall erected in front of my iron- mongery wares, garlanding the rusty memorials of ancient times with cresses, cabbages, leeks, and water purpy. As I have some idea that I am writing too well to be understood, I humble myself to ordinary language, and aver, with becoming modesty, that I do think myself capable of sustaining a publication of a miscellaneous nature, as like to the Spectator, or the Guardian, the Mirror, or the Lounger, as my poor abilities may be able to accomplish. Not that I have any purpose of imitating Johnson, whose general learning and power of expression I do not deny, but many of whose Ramblers are little better than a sort of pageant, where trite and obvious maxims are made to swagger in lofty and inystic language, and get some credit only because they are not easily understood. There are some of the great Moralist's papers which I cannot peruse without thinking on a second-rate masque- rade, where the best-known and least-esteemed characters in town march in as heroes, and sultans, and so forth, and, by dint of tawdry dresses, get some consideration until they are found out. — It is not, however, prudent to commence with throwing stones, just when I am striking out windows of my own. 364 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. I think even the local situation of Little Croftangry may be con- sidered as favourable to my undertaking. A nobler contrast there can hardly exist than that of the huge city, dark with the smoke of ages, and groaning with the various sounds of active industry or idle revel, and the lofty and craggy hill, silent and solitary as the grave ; one exhibiting the full tide of existence, pressing and preci- pitating itself forward with the force of an inundation ; the other resembling some time-worn anchorite, whose life passes as silent and unobserved as the slender rill which escapes unheard, and scarce seen, from the fountain of his patron saint. The city re- sembles the busy temple where the modern Comus and Mammon hold their court, and thousands sacrifice ease, independence, and virtue itself, at their shrine ; the misty and lonely mountain seems as a throne to the majestic but terrible Genius of feudal times, when the same divinities dispensed coronets and domains to those who had heads to devise, and arms to execute, bold enterprises. I have, as it were, the two extremities of the moral world at my threshold. From the front door, a few minutes' walk brings me into the heart of a wealthy and populous city ; as many paces from my opposite entrance, places me in a solitude as complete as Zimmer- man could have desired. Surely with such aids to my imagina- tion, I may write better than if I were in a lodging in the New Town, or a garret in the old. As the Spaniard says, " Viamos — Caracco ! " I have not chosen to publish periodically, my reason for which was twofold. In the first place, I don't like to be hurried, and have had enough of duns in the early part of my life, to make me reluctant to hear of, or see one, even in the less awful shape of a printer's devil. But, secondly, a periodical paper is not easily extended in circulation beyond the quarter in which it is pub- lished. This work, if published in fugitive numbers, would scarce, without a high pressure on the part of the bookseller, be raised above the Netherbow, and never could be expected to ascend to the level of Prince's Street. Now, I am ambitious that my compo- sitions, though having their origin in this Valley of Holyrood, should not only be extended into those exalted regions I have mentioned, but also that they should cross the Forth, astonish the long town of Kirkaldy, enchant the skippers and colliers of the East of Fife, venture even into the classic arcades of St. Andrews, and travel as much farther to the north as the breath of applause will carry their sails. As for a southward direction, it is not to be hoped for in my fondest dreams. I am informed that Scottish literature, like Scottish whisky, will be presently laid under a pro- hibitory duty. But enough of this. If any reader is dull enough not to comprehend the advantages which, in point of circulation. INTRODUCTORY. 365 a compact book has over a collection of fugitive numbers, let him try the range of a gun loaded with hail-shot, against that of the same piece charged with an equal weight of le,ad consolidated in a single bullet. Besides, it was of less consequence that I should have published periodically, since I did not mean to solicit or accept of the con- tributions of friends, or the criticisms of those who may be less kindly disposed. Notwithstanding the excellent examples which might be quoted, I will establish no begging-box, either under the name of a lion's head or an ass's. What is good or ill shall be mine own, or the contribution of friends to whom I may have private access. Many of my voluntary assistants might be cleverer than myself, and then I should have a brilliant article appear among my chiller effusions, like a patch of lace on a Scottish cloak of Galashiels grey. Some might be worse, and then I must reject them, to the injury of the feelings of the writer, or else insert them, to make my own darkness yet more opaque and palpable. " Let every herring," says our old-fashioned proverb, " hang by his own head." One person, however, I may distinguish, as she is now no more, who, living to the utmost term of human life, honoured me with a great share of her friendship, as indeed we were blood- relatives in the Scottish sense — Heaven knows how many degrees removed — and friends in the sense of Old England. I mean the late excellent and regretted Mrs. Bethune Baliol. But as I design this admirable picture of the olden time for a principal character in my work, I will only say here, that she knew and ap proved of my present purpose ; and though she declined to con- tribute to it while she lived, from a sense of dignified retirement, which she thought became her age, sex, and condition in life, she left me some materials for carrying on my proposed work, which I coveted when I heard her detail them in conversation, and which now, when I have their substance in her own handwriting, I account far more valuable than any thing I have myself to offer. I hope the mentioning her name in conjunction with my own, will give no offence to any of her numerous friends, as it was her own express pleasure that I should employ the manuscripts, which she did me the honour to tequeath me, in the manner in which I have now used them. It must be added, however, that in most cases I have disguised names, and in some have added shading and colour- ing to bring out the narrative. Much of my materials, besides these, are derived from friends, living or dead. The accuracy of some of these may be doubtful, in which case I shall be happy to receive, from sufficient authority, the correction of the errors which must creep into traditional docu- 366 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. ments. The object of the whole publication is, to throw some light on the manners of Scotland as they were, and to contrast them, occasionally, with those of the present day. My own opinions are in favour of our own times in many respects, but not in so far as affords means for exercising the imagination, or exciting the interest which attaches to other times. I am glad to be a writer or a reader in 1826, but I would be most interested in reading or relating what happened from half a century to a century before. We have the best of it. Scenes in which our ancestors thought deeply, acted fiercely, and died desparately, are to us tales to divert the tedium of a winter's evening, when we are engaged to no party, or beguile a summer's morning, when it is too scorching to ride or walk. Yet I do not mean that my essays and narratives should be limited to Scotland. I pledge myself to no particular line of sub- jects ; but, on the contrary, say with Burns, Perhaps it may turn out a sang. Perhaps turn out a sermon. I have only to add, by way of postscript to these preliminary chapters, that I have had recourse to Moliere's recipe, and read my manuscript over to my old woman, Janet MacEvoy. The dignity of being consulted delighted Janet ; and Wilkie, or Allan, would have made a capital sketch of her, as she sat upright in her chair, instead of her ordinary lounging posture, knitting her stocking systematically, as if she meant every twist of her thread, and inclination of the wires, to bear burden to the cadence of my voice. I am afraid, too, that I myself felt more delight than I ought to have done in my own composition, and read a little more oratorically than I should have ventured to do before an auditor, of whose applause I was not so secure. And the result did not entirely encourage my plan of censorship. Janet did indeed seriously incline to the account of my previous life, and bestowed some Highland maledictions more emphatic than courteous on Christie Steele's reception of a " shentlemans in distress," and of her own mistress's house too. I omitted for certain reasons, or greatly abridged, what related to herself. But when I came to treat of my general views in publication, I saw poor Janet was entirely thrown out, though, like a jaded hunter, panting, puffing, and short of wind, she endeavoured at least to keep up with the chase. Or rather her perplexity made her look all the while like a deaf person ashamed of his infirmity, who does not understand a word you are saying, yet desires you to believe that he does under- stand you, and who is extremely jealous that you suspect his incapacity. When she saw that some remark was necessary, she resembled exactly in her criticism the devotee who pitched on the INTRODUCTORY. 367 " sweet word Mesopotamia," as the most edifying note which she could bring away from a sermon. She indeed hastened to bestow general praise on what she said was all " very fine ;" but chiefly dwelt on what I said about Mr. Timmerman, as she was pleased to call the German philosopher, and supposed he must be of the same descent with the Highland clan of M'lntyre, which signifies Son of the Carpenter. " And a fery honourable name too — Shanet's own mither was a M'lntyre." In short, it was plain the latter part of my introduction was altogether lost on poor Janet ; and so, to have acted up to Moliere's system, I should have cancelled the whole, and written it anew. But I do not know how it is ; I retained, I suppose, some tolerable opinion of my own composition, though Janet did not comprehend it, and felt loath to retrench those delilahs of the imagination, as Dryden calls them, the tropes and figures of which are caviar to the multitude. Besides, I hate re-writing, as much as Falstaff did paying back — it is a double labour. So I determined with myself to consult Janet, in future, only on such things as were within the limits of her comprehension, and hazard my arguments and my rhetoric on the public without her imprimatur. I am pretty sure she will "applaud it done." And in such narratives as come within her range of thought and feeling, I shall, as I first intended, take the benefit of her unsophisticated judgment, and attend to it deferentially — that is, when it happens not to be in peculiar oppo- sition to my own ; for, after all, I say, with Almanzor — Know that I alone am king of me. The reader has now my who and my whereabout, the purpose of the work, and the circumstances under which it is undertaken. He has also a specimen of the author's talents, and may judge for himself, and proceed, or send back the volume to the bookseller, as his own taste shall determine. CHAPTER VI. MR. CROFTANGRY'S ACCOUNT OF MRS. BETHUNE BALIOL. The moon, were she earthly, no nobler. Coriolanus. When we set out on the jolly voyage of life, what a brave fleet there is around us, as stretching our fresh canvass to the breeze, all " shipshape and Bristol fashion," pennons flying, music playing, cheering each other as we pass, we are rather amused than alarmed when some awkward comrade goes right ashore for want of 368 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. pilotage ! — Alas ! when the voyage is well spent, and we look about us, toil-worn mariners, how few of our ancient consorts still remain in sight, and they, how torn and wasted, and, like ourselves, struggling to keep as long as possible off the fatal shore, against which we are all finally drifting ! I felt this very trite but melancholy] truth in all its force the other day, when a packet with a black seal arrived, containing a letter addressed to me by my late excellent friend Mrs. Martha Bethune Baliol, and marked with the fatal indorsation, " To be delivered according to address, after I shall be no more." A letter from her executors accompanied the packet, mentioning that they had found in her will a bequest to me of a painting of some value, which she stated would just fit the space above my cupboard, and fifty guineas to buy a ring. And thus I separated, with all the kindness which we had maintained for many years, from a friend, who, though old enough to have been the companion of my mother, was yet, in gaiety of spirits, and admirable sweetness of temper, capable of being agreeable, and even animating society, for those who write themselves in the vaward of youth ; an advantage which I have lost for these five-and-thirty years. The contents of the packet I had no difficulty in guessing, and have partly hinted at them in the last chapter. But, to instruct the reader in the particulars, and at the same time to indulge myself with recalling the virtues and agreeable qualities of my late friend, I will give a short sketch of her manners and habits. Mrs. Martha Bethune Baliol was a person of quality and for- tune, as these are esteemed in Scotland. Her family was ancient, and her connections honourable. She was not fond of specially indicating her exact age, but her juvenile recollections stretched backwards till before the eventful year 1745 ; and she remembered the Highland clans being in possession of the Scottish capital, though probably only as an indistinct vision. Her fortune, inde- pendent by her father's bequest, was rendered opulent by the death of more than one brave brother, who fell successively in the service of their country; so that the family estates became vested in the only surviving child of the ancient house of Bethune Baliol. My intimacy was formed with the excellent lady after this event, and when she was already something advanced in age. She inhabited, when in Edinburgh, where she regularly spent the winter season, one of those old hotels, which, till of late, were to be found in the neighbourhood of the Canongate, and of the Palace of Holyroodhouse, and which, separated from the street, now dirty and vulgar, by paved courts, and gardens of some extent, made amends for an indifferent access, by showing some- thing of aristocratic state and seclusion, when you were once iNtRODUdtOkV. 3S9 admitted within their precincts. They have pulled her house down ; for, indeed, betwixt building and burning, every ancient monument of the Scottish capital is now likely to be utterly de- molished. I pause on the recollections of the place, however ; and since nature has denied a pencil when she placed a pen in my hand, I will endeavour to make words answer the purpose of deli- neation. Baliol's Lodging, so was the mansion named, reared its high stack of chimneys, among which were seen a turret or two^ and one of those small projecting platforms called bartizans, above the mean and modern buildings which line the south side of the Canongate, towards the lower end of that street, and not distant from the palace. A parte cochire, having a wicket for foot pas- sengers, was, upon due occasion, unfolded by a lame old man, tall, grave, and thin, who tenanted a hovel beside the gate, and acted as porter. To this office he had been promoted by my friend's charitable feelings for an old soldier, and partly by an idea, that his head, which was a very fine one, bore some resemblance to that of Garrick in the character of Lusignan. He was a man saturnine, silent, and slow in his proceedings, and would never open the parte cochire to a hackney coach ; indicating the wicket with his finger, as the proper passage for all who came in that obscure vehicle, which was not permitted to degrade with its ticketed presence the dignity of Baliol's Lodging. I do not think this peculiarity would have met with his lady's approbation, any more than the occasional partiality of Lusignan, or, as mortals called him, Archy Macready, to a dram. But Mrs. Martha Bethune Baliol, conscious that, in case of conviction, she could never have pre- vailed upon herself to dethrone the King of Palestine from the stone bench on which he sat for hours, knitting his stocking, refused, by accrediting the intelligence, even to put him upon his trial ; well judging that he would observe more wholesome caution if he conceived his character unsuspected, than if he were detected, and suffered to pass unpunished. For after all, she said, it would be cruel to dismiss an old Highland soldier for a peccadillo so appropriate to his country and profession. The stately gate for carriages, or the humble accommodation for foot-passengers, admitted into a narrow and short passage, running between two rows of lime-trees, whose green foliage, during the spring, contrasted strangely with the swart complexion of the two walls by the side of which they grew. This access led to the front of the house, which was formed by two gable ends, notched, and having their windows adorned with heavy architec- tural ornaments ; they joined each other at right angles ; and a half circular tower, which contained the entrance and the staircase, 37° Chronicles of the CANONCAtE. occupied the point of junction, and rounded the acute angle. One of other two sides of the little court, in which there was just sufficient room to turn a carriage, was occupied by some low buildings answering the purpose of ofiftces ; the other, by a parapet surrounded by a highly ornamented iron railing, twined round with honeysuckle and other parasitical shrubs, which permitted the eye to peep into a pretty suburban garden, extending down to the road called the South Back of the Canongate, and boasting a number of old trees, many flowers, and even some fruit. We must not forget to state, that the extreme cleanliness of the court-yard was such as intimated that mop and pail had done their utmost in that favoured spot, to atone for the general dirt and dinginess of the quarter where the premises were situated. Over the doorway were the arms of Bethune and Baliol, with various other devices carved in stone ; the door itself was studded with iron nails, and formed of black oak ; an iron rasp,* as it was called, was placed on it, instead of a knocker, for the purpose of summoning the attendants. He who usually appeared at the summons was a smart lad, in a handsome livery, the son of Mrs. Martha's gardener at Mount Baliol. Now and then a servant girl, nicely but plainly dressed, and fully accoutred with stockings and shoes, would perform this duty ; and twice or thrice I remember being admitted by Beauffet himself, whose exterior looked as much like that of a clergyman of rank as the butler of a gentleman's family. He had been valet-de-chambre to the last Sir Richard Bethune Baliol, and was a person highly trusted by the present lady. A full stand, as it is called in Scotland, of garments of a dark colour, gold buckles in his shoes, and at the knees of his breeches, with his hair regularly dressed and powdered, announced him to be a domestic of trust and importance. His mistress used to say of him, He's sad and civil. And suits well for a servant with my fortunes. As no one can escape scandal, some said that Beauffet made a rather better thing of the place than the modesty of his old- fashioned wages would, unassisted, have amounted to. But the man was always very civil to me. He had been long in the family ; had enjoyed legacies, and laid by a something of his own, upon which he now enjoys ease with dignity, in as far as his newly married wife, Tibbie Shortacres, will permit him. The Lodging — Dearest reader, if you are tired, pray pass over the next page or two — was not by any means so large as its external appearance led people to conjecture. The interior ac- commodation was much cut up by cross walls and long passages. INTRODUCTORY. 371 and that neglect of economizing space which characterises old Scottish architecture. But there was far more room than my old friend required, even when she had, as was often the case, four or five young cousins under her protection ; and I believe much of the house was unoccupied. Mrs. Bethune Baliol never, in my presence, showed herself so much offended, as once with a meddling person who advised her to have the windows of these supernumerary apartments built up, to save the tax. She said in ire, that, while she lived, the light of God should visit the house of her fathers ; and while she had a penny, king and country should have their due. Indeed she was punctiliously loyal, even in that most staggering test of loyalty, the payment of imposts. Mr, Beauffet told me he was ordered to offer a glass of wine to the person who collected the income tax, and that the poor man was so overcome by a reception so unwontedly generous, that he had wellnigh fainted on the spot. You entered by a matted anteroom into the eating parlour, filled with old-fashioned furniture, and hung with family portraits, which, excepting one of Sir Bernard Bethune, in James the Sixth's time, said to be by Jameson, were exceedingly frightful. A saloon, as it was called, a long narrow chamber, led out of the dining-parlour, and served for a drawing-room. It was a pleasant apartment, looking out upon the south flank of Holyrood house, the gigantic slope of Arthur's Seat, and the girdle of lofty rocks, called Salisbury Crags ; * objects so rudely wild, that the mind can hardly conceive them to exist in the vicinage of a populous metropolis. The paint- ings of the saloon came from abroad, and had some of them much merit. To see the best of them, however, you must be admitted into the very penetralia of the temple, and allowed to draw the tapestry at the upper end of the saloon, and enter Mrs. Martha's own special dressing-room. This was a charming apartment, of which it would be difficult to describe the form, it had so many recesses, which were filled up with shelves of ebony, and cabinets of japan and or moluj some for holding books, of which Mrs. Martha had an admirable collection, some for a display of orna- mental china, others for shells and similar curiosities. In a little niche, half screened by a curtain of crimson silk, was disposed a suit of tilting armour of bright steel, inlaid with silver, which had been worn on some memorable occasion by Sir Bernard Bethune, already mentioned ; while over the canopy of the niche, hung the broadsword with which her father had attempted to change the fortunes of Britain in 1715, and the spontoon which her elder brother bore when he was leading on a company of the Black Watch* at Fontenoy, , There were some Italian and Flemish pictures of admitted B B 2 372 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. authenticity, a few genuine bronzes and other objects of curiosity, which her brothers or herself had picked up while abroad. In short, it was a place where the idle were tempted to become studious, the studious to grow idle — where the grave might find , matter to make them gay, and the gay subjects for gravity. That it might maintain some title to its name, I must not forget to say, that the lady's dressing-room exhibited a superb mirror, framed in silver filagree work ; a beautiful toilet, the cover of which was of Flanders lace ; and a set of boxes corresponding in materials and work to the frame of the mirror. This dressing apparatus, however, was mere matter of parade : Mrs. Martha Bethune Baliol always went through the actual duties of the toilet in an inner appartment, which corresponded with her sleeping-room by a small detached staircase. There were, I believe, more than one of those turnpike stairs, as they were called, about the house, by which the public rooms, all of which entered through each other, were accommodated with separate and independent modes of access. In the little boudoir we have described, Mrs. Martha Baliol had her choicest meetings. She kept early hours ; and if you went in the morning, you must not reckon that space of day as extending beyond three o'clock, or four at the utmost. These vigilant habits were attended with some restraint on her visitors, but they were indemnified by your always finding the best society, and the best information, which was to be had for the day in the Scottish capital. Without at all affecting the blue stocking, she liked books — they amused her — and if the authors were persons of character, she thought she owed them a debt of civility, which she loved to discharge by personal kindness. When she gave a dinner to a small party, which she did now and then, she had the good nature to look for, and the good luck to discover, what sort of people suited each other best, and chose her company as Duke Theseus did his hounds, matched in mouth like bells, Each under each,* so that every guest could take his part in the cry ; instead of one mighty Tom of a fellow, like Dr. Johnson, silencing all besides, by the tremendous depth of his diapason. On such occasions she afforded clilre exquisej and every now and then there was some dish of French, or even Scottish derivation, which, as well as the numerous assortment of vins extraordinaires produced by Mr. Beauffet, gave a sort of antique and foreign air to the entertain- ment, which rendered it more interesting. It was a great thing to be asked to such parties ; and not legs so to be invited to the early conversazione, which, in spite of fashion, INTRODUCTORY. 373 by dint of the best coffee, the finest tea, and chasse cafe, that would have called the dead to life, she contrived now and then to assemble in her saloon already mentioned, at the unnatural hour of eight in the evening. At such times, the cheerful old lady seemed to enjoy herself so much in the happiness of her guests, that they exerted themselves, in turn, to prolong her amusement and their own; and a certain charm was excited around, seldom to be met with in parties of pleasure, and which was founded on the general desire of every one present to contribute something to the common amusement. But, although it was a great privilege to be admitted to wait on my excellent friend in the morning, or be invited to her dinner or evening parties, I prized still higher the right which I had acquired, by old acquaintance, of visiting Baliol's Lodging, upon the chance of finding its venerable inhabitant preparing for tea just about six o'clock in the evening. It was only to two or three old friends that she permitted this freedom, nor was this sort of chance-party ever allowed to extend itself beyond five in number. The answer to those who came later, announced that the company was filled up for the evening ; which had the double effect, of making those who waited on Mrs. Bethune Baliol in this unceremonious manner punctual in observing her hour, and of adding the zest of a little difficulty to the enjoyment of the party. It more frequently happened that only one or two persons partook of this refreshment on the same evening ; or, supposing the case of a single gentleman, Mrs. Martha, though she did not hesitate to admit him to her boudoir, after the privilege of the French and the old Scottish school, took care, as she used to say, to preserve all possible propriety, by commanding the attendance of her principal female attendant, Mrs. Alice Lambskin, who might, from the gravity and dignity of her appearance, have sufficed to matronize a whole boarding-school, instead of one maiden lady of eighty and upwards. As the weather permitted, Mrs. Alice sat duly remote from the company in a fauteuil behind the projecting chimney- piece, or in the embrazure of a window, and prosecuted in Carthusian silence, with indefatigable zeal, a piece of embroidery, which seemed no bad emblem of eternity. But I have neglected all this while to introduce my friend herself to the reader, at least so far as words can convey the peculiarities by which her appearance and conversation were distinguished. A little woman, with ordinary features, and an ordinary form, and hair, which in youth had no decided colour, we may believe Mrs. Martha, when she said of herself that she was never remark- able for personal charms ; a modest admission, which was readily 374 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. confirmed by certain old ladies, her contemporaries, who, whatever might have been the youthful advantages which they more than hinted had been formerly their own share, were now, in personal appearance, as well as in everything else, far inferior to my accom- plished friend. Mrs. Martha's features had been of a kind which might be said to wear well ; their irregularity was now of little con- sequence, animated as they were by the vivacity of her conversa- tion ; her teeth were excellent, and her eyes, although inclining to grey, were lively, laughing, and undimmed by time. A slight .shade of complexion, more brilliant than her years promised, subjected my friend amongst strangers to the suspicion of having stretched her foreign habits as far as the prudent touch of the rouge. But it was a calumny ; for when telling or listening to an interesting and affecting story, I have seen her colour come and go as if it played on the cheek of eighteen. Her hair, whatever its former deficiencies, was nowt he most beautiful white that time could bleach, and was disposed with some degree of pretension, though in the simplest manner possible, so as to appear neatly smoothed under a cap of Flanders lace, of an old- fashioned, but, as I thought, of a very handsome form, which un- doubtedly has a name, and I would endeavour to recur to it, if I thought it would make my description a bit more intelligible. I think I have heard her say these favourite caps had been her mother's, and had come in fashion with a peculiar kind of wig used by the gentlemen about the time of the battle of Ramillies. The rest of her dress was always rather costly and distinguished, especially in the evening. A silk or satin gown, of some colour becoming her age, and of a form, which, though complying to a certain degree with the present fashion, had always a reference to some more distant period, was garnished with triple ruffles ; her shoes had diamond buckles, and were raised a little at heel, an advantage which, possessed in her youth, she alleged her size would not permit hereto forego in her old age. She always wore rings, bracelets, and other ornaments of value, either for the materials or the workmanship ; nay, perhaps she was a little profuse in this species of display. But she wore them as subordinate matters, to which the habit of being constantly in high life rendered her in- different. She wore them because her rank required it ; and thought no more of them as articles of finery, than a gentleman dressed for dinner thinks of his clean linen and well-brushed coat, the consciousness of which embarrasses the rustic beau on a Sunday. Now and then, however, if a gem or ornament chanced to be noticed for its beauty or singularity, the observation usually led the way to an entertaining account of the manner in which it had been INTRODUCTORY. 37S acquired, or the person from whom it had descended, to its present possessor. On such and similar occasions my old friend spoke willingly, which is not uncommon ; but she also, which is more rare, spoke remarkably well, and had in her little narratives con^ ceming foreign parts, or former days, which formed an interesting part of her conversation, the singular art of dismissing all the usual protracted tautology respecting time, place, and circumstances, which is apt to settle like a mist upon the cold and languid tales of age, and at the same time of bringing forward, dwelling upon, and illustrating, those incidents and characters which give point and interest to the story. She had, as we have hinted, travelled a good deal in foreign countries ; for a brother, to whom she was much attached, had been sent upon various missions of national importance to the continent, and she had more than once embraced the opportunity of accompanying him. This furnished a great addition to the in- formation which she could supply, especially during the last war, when the continent was for so many years hermetically sealed against the English nation. But, besides, Mrs. Bethune Baliol visited distant countries, not in the modern fashion, when English travel in caravans together, and see in France and Italy little besides the same society which they might have enjoyed at home. On the contrary, she mingled, when abroad, with the natives of those countries she visited, and enjoyed at once the advantage of their society, and the pleasure of comparing it with that of Britain. In the course of her becoming habituated with foreign manners, Mrs. Bethune Baliol had, perhaps, acquired some slight tincture of them herself. Yet I was always persuaded, that the peculiar vivacity of look and manner — the pointed and appropriate action — with which she accompanied what she said — the use of the gold and gemmed tabatiere, or rather I should say bonbonniere, (for she took no snuff, and the little box contained only a few pieces of candied angelica, or some such lady-like sweetmeat), were of real old-fashioned Scottish growth, and such as might have graced the tea-table of Susannah, Countess of EgUnton,* the patroness of Allan Ramsay, or of the Hon. Mrs. Colonel Ogilvy, who was another mirror by whom the maidens of Auld Reekie were requiredto dress themselves. Although well acquainted with the customs of other countries, her manners had been chiefly formed in her own, at a time when great folk lived within little space, and when the dis- tinguished names of the highest society gave to Edinburgh the eclat, which we now endeavour to derive from the unbounded ex- pense and extended circle of our pleasures. I was more confirmed in this {opinion, by the peculiarity of the dialect which Mrs. Baliol used. It was Scottish, decidedly Scottish, 376 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONCATE. often containing phrases and words little used in the present day. But then her tone and mode of pronunciation were as different from the usual accent of the ordinary Scotch patois, as the accent of St. James's is from that of Billingsgate. The vowels were not pro- nounced much broader than in the Italian language, and there was none of the disagreeable drawl which is so offensive to southern ears. In short, it seemed to be the Scottish as spoken by the ancient court of Scotland, to which no idea of vulgarity could be attached ; and the lively manner and gestures with which it was accompanied, were so completely in accord with the sound of the voice and the style of talking, that I cannot assign them a different origin. In long derivation, perhaps the manner of the Scottish court might have been originally formed on that of France, to which it had certainly some affinity ; but I will live and die in the belief, that those of Mrs. BaUol, as pleasing as they were pecuhar, came to her by direct descent from the high dames who anciently adorned with their presence the royal halls of Holyrood. CHAPTER VII. MRS. BALIOL ASSISTS MR. CROFTANGRY IN HIS LITERARY SPECULATIONS. Such as I have described Mrs. Bethune Baliol, the reader will easily believe that when I thought of the miscellaneous nature of my work, I rested upon the information she possessed, and her communicative disposition, as one of the principal supports of my enterprise. Indeed, she by no means disapproved of my proposed publication, though expressing herself very doubtful how far she could personally assist it — a doubt which might be perhaps set down to a little lady-like coquetiy, which required to be sued for the boon she was not unwilling to grant. Or, perhaps, the good old lady, conscious that her unusual term of years must soon draw to a close, preferred bequeathing the materials in the shape of a legacy, to subjecting them to the judgment of a critical public during her lifetime. Many a time I used, in our conversations of the Canongate, to resume my request of assistance, from a sense that my friend was the most valuable depository of Scottish traditions that was probably now to be found. This was a subject on which my mind was so much made up, that when I heard her carry her description of manners so far back .beyond her own time, and describe how Fletcher of Salton spoke, how Graham of Claverhouse danced, what were the jewels worn by the famous Duchess of Lauderdale, INTRODUCTORY. 377 and how she came by them, I could not help telling her I thought her some fairy, who cheated us by retaining the appearance of a mortal of our own day, when, in fact, she had witnessed the re- volutions of centuries. She was much diverted when I required her to take some solemn oath that she had not danced at the balls given by Mary of Este, when her unhappy husband* occupied Holyrood in a species of honourable banishment; — or asked, whether she could not recollect Charles the Second, when he came to Scotland in 1650, and did not possess some slight recollections of the bold usurper, who drove him beyond the Forth. " Beau cousin," she said, laughing, " none of these do I remember personally ; but you must know there has been wonderfully little change on my natural temper from youth to age. From which it follows, cousin, that being even now something too young in spirit for the years which Time has marked me in his calendar, I was, when a girl, a little too old for those of my own standing, and as much inclined at that period to keep the society of elder persons, as I am now disposed to admit the company of gay young fellows of fifty or sixty like yourself, rather than collect about me all the octogenarians. Now, although I do not actually come from Elfland, and therefore cannot boast any personal knowledge of the great personages you enquire about, yet I have seen and heard those who knew them well, and who have given me as distinct an account of them as I could give you myself of the Empress Queen, or Frederick of Prussia ; and I will frankly add," said she, laughing and offering her bonbonniere, " that / have heard so much of the years which immediately succeeded the Revolution, that I some- times am apt to confuse the vivid descriptions fixed on my memory by the frequent and animated recitation of others, for things which I myself have actually witnessed. I caught myself but yesterday describing to Lord M the riding of the last Scottish Parliament, with as much minuteness as if I had seen it, as my mother did, from the balcony in front of Lord Moray's Lodging in the Canongate." " I am sure you must have given Lord M a high treat." " I treated him to a hearty laugh, I believe,'' she replied ; "but it is you, you vile seducer of youth, who lead me into such follies. But I will be on my guard against my own weakness. I do not well know if the wandering Jew is supposed to have a wife, but I should be sorry a decent middle-aged Scottish gentlewoman should be suspected of identity with such a supernatural person." " For all that, I must torture you a little more, via belle cousine, with my interrogatories ; for how shall I ever turn author unless on the strength of the information which you have so often procured me on the ancient state of manners ? " 378 CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. " Stay, I cannot allow you to give your points of enquiry a name so very venerable, if I am expected to answer them. Ancient is a term for antediluvians. You may catechise me about the battle of Flodden, or ask particulars about Bruce and Wallace, under pretext of curiosity after ancient manners ; and that last subject would wake my Baliol blood, you know." " Well, but, Mrs. Baliol, suppose we settle our era : — you do not call the accession of James the Sixth to the kingdom of Britain very ancient ? " " Umph ! no, cousin — I think I could tell you more of that than folk now-a-days remember, — for instance, that as James was troop- ing towards England, bag and baggage, his journey was stopped near Cockenzie by meeting the funeral of the Earl of Winton, the old and faithful servant and follower of his ill-fated mother, poor Mary ! It was an ill omen for the infare, and so was seen of it, cousin." * I did not choose to prosecute this subject, well knowing Mrs. Bethune Baliol did not like to be much pressed on the subject of the Stewarts, whose misfortunes she pitied, the rather that her father had espoused their cause. And yet her attachment to the present dynasty being very sincere, and even ardent, more especially as her family had served his late Majesty both in peace and war, she experienced a little embarrassment in reconciUng her opinions respecting the exiled family, with those she entertained for the present. In fact, like many an old Jacobite, she was contented to be somewhat inconsistent on the subject, comforting herself, that now everything stood as it ought to do, and that there was no use in looking back narrowly on the right or wrong of the matter half a century ago. " The Highlands," I suggested, " should furnish you with ample subjects of recollection. You have witnessed the complete change of that primeval country, and have seen a race not far removed from the earliest period of society, melted down into the great mass of civilisation ; and that could not happen without incidents striking in themselves, and curious as chapters in the history of the human race." " It is very true,'' said Mrs. Baliol ; " one would think it should have struck the observers greatly, and yet it scarcely did so. For me, I was no Highlander myself, and the Highland chiefs of old, of whom I certainly knew several, had little in their manners to dis- tinguish them from the Lowland gentry, when they mixed in society in Edinburgh, and assumed the Lowland dress. Their peculiar character was for the clansmen at home ; and you must not imagine that they swaggered about in plaids and broadswords at the Cross, or came to the Assembly- Rooms in bonnets and kilts." INTRODUCTORY. 379 " I remember," said I, " that Swift, in his Journal, tells Stella he had dined in the house of a Scots nobleman, with two Highland chiefs, whom he had found as well-bred men as he had ever met with." * " Very likely,'' said my friend. "The extremes of society ap- proach much more closely to each other than perhaps the Dean of Saint Patrick's expected. The savage is always to a certain degree polite. Besides, going always armed, and having a very punctilious idea of their own gentility and consequence, they usually behaved to each other and to the lowlanders, with a good deal of formal poUteness, which sometimes even procured them the character of insincerity." " Falsehood belongs to an early period of society, as well as the deferential forms which we style politeness," I replied. " A child does not see the least moral beauty in truth, until he has been flogged half-a-dozen times. It is so easy, and apparently so natural, to deny what you cannot be easily convicted of, that a savage as well as a child lies to excuse himself, almost as instinc- tively as he raises his hand to protect his head. The old saying, ' confess and be hanged,' carries much argument in it. I observed a remark the other day in old Birrel. He mentions that M'Gregor of Glenstrae and some of his people had surrendered themselves to one of the Earls of Argyle, upon the express condition that they should be conveyed safe into England. The Maccallan Mhor of the day kept the word of promise, but it was only to the ear. He indeed sent his captives to Berwick, where they had an airing on the other side of the Tweed, but it was under the custody of a strong guard, by whom they were brought back to Edinburgh, and delivered to the executioner. This, Birrel calls keeping a High- landman's promise." * " Well," replied Mrs. Baliol, " I might add, that many of the Highland chiefs whom I knew in former days had been brought up in France, which might improve their politeness, though perhaps it did not amend their sincerity. But considering, that, belonging to the depressed and defeated faction in the state, they were com- pelled sometimes to use dissimulation, you must set their uniform fidelity to their friends against their occasional falsehood to their enemies, and then you will not judge poor John Highlandman too severely. They were in a state of society where bright lights are strongly contrasted with deep shadows." " It is to that point I would bring you, ma belle cousine, — and therefore they are most proper subjects for composition." " And you want to turn composer, my good friend, and set my old tales to some popular tune ? But there have been too many composers, if that be the word, in the field before. The Highlands 38o CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE. were indeed a rich mine; but they have, I think, been fairly wrought out, as a good tune is grinded into vulgarity when it descends to the hurdy-gurdy, and the barrel-organ." "If it be really tune," I replied, "it will recover its better qualities when it gets into the hands of better artists." " Umph ! " said Mrs. Baliol, tapping her box, " we are happy in our own good opinion this evening, Mr. Croftangry. And so you think you can restore the gloss to the tartan, which it has lost by being dragged through so many fingers ? " " With your assistance to procure materials, my dear lady, much, I think, may be done. " Well — I must do my best, I suppose ; though all I know about the Gael is but of little consequence— indeed, I gathered it chiefly from Donald MacLeish." "And who might Donald MacLeish be ? " " Neither bard nor sennachie, I assure you ; nor monk, nor hermit, the approved authorities for old traditions. Donald was a good a postilion as ever drove a chaise and pair between Glencroe and Inverary. I assure you, when T give you my Highland anec- dotes, you will hear much of Donald MacLeish. He was Alice Lambskin's beau and mine through a long Highland tour." "But when am I to possess these anecdotes ? — You answer me as Harley did poor Prior — Let that be done which Mat doth say, ' Yea,' quoth the Earl, ' but not to-day.' " " Well, mon beau cousin, if you begin to remind me of my cruelty I must remind you it has struck nine on the Abbey clock, and it is time you were going home to Little Croftangry. — For my promise to assist your antiquarian researches, be assured, I will one day keep it to the utmost extent. It shall not be a Highlandman's promise, as your old citizen calls it." I, by this time, suspected the purpose of my friend's procrastina- tion ; and it saddened my heart to reflect that I was not to get the information which I desired, excepting in the shape of a legacy. I found accordingly, in the packet transmitted to me after the excel- lent lady's death, several anecdotes respecting the Highlands, from which I have selected that which follows, chiefly on account of its possessing great power over the feelings of my critical house- keeper, Janet MacEvoy, who wept most bitterly when I read it to her. It is, however, but a very simple tale, and may have no interest for persons beyond Janet's rank of life or understanding. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. CHAPTER I. It wound as near as near could be, But what it is she cannot tell ; On the other side it seem'd to be, Of the huge broad-breasted old oak-tree. Coleridge. Mrs. BEthune Baliol's memorandum begins thus : — It is five-and-thirty, or perhaps nearer forty years ago, since, to relieve the dejection of spirits occasioned by a great family loss sustained two or three months before, I undertook what was called the short Highland tour. This had become in some degree fashion- able ; but though the military roads were excellent, yet the accom- modation was so indifferent that it was reckoned a little adventure to accomplish it. Besides, the Highlands, though now as peace- able as any part of King George's dominions, was a sound which still carried terror, while so many survived who had witnessed the insurrection of 1745 ; and a vague idea of fear was impressed on many, as they looked from the towers of Stirling northward to the huge chain of mountains, which rises like a dusky rampart to con- ceal in its recesses a people, whose dress, manners, and language, differed still very much from those of their Lowland countrymen. For my part, I come of a race not greatly subject.to apprehensions arising from imagination only. I had some Highland relatives, knew several of their families of distinction ; and, though only having the company of my bower-maiden, Mrs. Alice Lambskin, I went on my journey fearless. But then I had a guide and cicerone, almost equal to Greatheart in the Pilgrim's Progress, in no less a person than Donald MacLeish, the postilion whom I hired at Stirling, with a pair of able-bodied horses, as steady as Donald himself, to drag my carriage, my duenna, and myself, wheresoever it was my pleasure to go. Donald MacLeish was one of a race of post-boys, whom, I sup- pose, mail-coaches and steam-boats have put out of fashion. They A\ere to be found chiefly at Perth, Stirling, or Glasgow, where they 382 The highland widow. and their horses were usually hired by travellers, or tourists, to accomplish such journeys of business or pleasure as they might have to perform in the land of the Gael. This class of persons approached to the character of what is called abroad a conducteur; or might be compared to the sailing-master on board a British ship of war, who follows out after his own manner the course which the captain commands him to observe. You explained to your postilion the length of your tour, and the objects you were desirous it should embrace ; and you found him perfectly competent to fix the places of rest or refreshment, with due attention that those should be chosen with reference to your convenience, and to any points of interest which you might desire to visit. The qualifications of such a person were necessarily much supe- rior to those of the " first ready," who gallops thrice-a-day over the same ten miles. Donald MacLeish, besides being quite alert at repairing all ordinary accidents to his horses and carriage, and in making shift to support them, where forage was scarce, with such substitutes as bannocks and cakes, was likewise a man of intellectual resources. He had acquired a general knowledge of the traditional stories of the country which he had traversed so often ; and, if encouraged, (for Donald was a man of the most decorous reserve,) he would willingly point out to you the site of the principal clan-battles, and recount the most remarkable legends by which the road, and the objects which occurred in travelling it, had been distinguished. There was some originality in the man's habits of thinking and expressing himself, his turn for legendary lore strangely contrasting with a portion of the knowing shrewd- ness belonging to his actual occupation, which made his conversa- tion amuse the way well enough. Add to this, Donald knew all his peculiar duties in the country which he traversed so frequently. He could tell, to a day, when they would " be killing " lamb at Tyndrum or Glenuilt ; so that the stranger would have some chance of being fed like a Christian; and knew to a mile the last village where it was possible to procure a wheaten loaf, for the guidance of those who were little familiar with the Land of Cakes. He was acquainted with the road every mile, and could tell to an inch which side of a Highland bridge was passable, which decidedly dangerous.* In short, Donald MacLeish was not only our faithful attendant and steady servant, but our humble and obliging friend ; and though I have known the half-classical cicerone of Italy, the talkative French valet-de place, and even the muleteer of Spain, who piques himself on being a maize-eater, and whose honour is not to be questioned without danger, I do not think I have ever had so sensible and intelligent a guide. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 383 Our motions were of course under Donald's direction ; and it frequently happened, when the weather was serene, that we pre- ferred halting to rest his horses even where there was no established stage, and taking our refreshment under a crag, from which leaped a waterfall, or beside the verge of a fountain, enamelled with ver- dant turf and wild-flowers. Donald had an eye for such spots, and though he had, I dare say, never read Gil Bias or Don Quixote, yet he chose such halting-places as Le Sage or Cervantes would have described. Very often, as he observed the pleasure 1 took in conversing with the country people, he would manage to fix our place of rest near a cottage where there was some old Gael, whose broadsword had blazed at Falkirk or Preston, and who seemed the frail yet faithful record of times which had passed away. Or he would contrive to quarter us, as far as a cup of tea went, upon the hospitality of some parish minister of worth and intelligence, or some country family of the better class, who mingled with the wild simplicity of their original manners, and their ready and hospitable welcome, a sort of courtesy belonging to a people, the lowest of whom are accustomed to consider themselves as being, according to the Spanish phrase, " as good gentlemen as the king, only not quite so rich." To all such persons Donald MacLeisH was well known, and his introduction passed as current as if we had brought letters from some high chief of the country. Sometimes it happened that the Highland hospitality, which welcomed" us with all the variety of mountain fare, preparations of milk and eggs, and girdle-cakes of various kinds, as well as more substantial dainties, according to the inhabitant's means of regaling the passenger, descended rather too exuberantly on Donald MacLeish in the shape of mountain dew. Poor Donald ! he was on such occasions like Gideon's fleece, moist with the noble element, which, of course, fell not on us. But it was his only fault, and when pressed to drink doch-an-dorroch to my ladyship's good health, it would have been ill taken to have refused the pledge, nor was he willing to do such discourtesy. It was, I repeat, his only fault, nor had we any great right to complain ; for if it rendered him a little more talkative, it augmented his ordinary share of punctilious civihty, and he only drove slower, and talked longer and more pompously than when he had not come by a drop of usquebaugh. It was, we remarked, only on such occasions that Donald talked with an air of importance of the family of MacLeish ; and we had no title to be scrupulous in censuring a foible, the con- sequences of which were confined within such innocent limits. We became so much accustomed to Donald's mode of managing us, that we observed with some interest the art which he used to 384 tHE HiGHLANb WlhOW. produce, a little agreeable surprise, by concealing from us the spot where he proposed our halt to be made, when it was of an unusual and interesting character. This was so much his wont, that when he made apologies at setting off, for being obliged to stop in some strange solitary place, till the horses should eat the corn which he brought on with them for that purpose, our imagination used to be on the stretch to guess what romantic retreat he had secretly fixed upon for our noontide baiting-place. We had spent the greater part of the morning at the delightful village of Dalmally, and had gone upon the lake under the guidance of the excellent clergyman who was then incumbent at Glenorquhy,* and had heard a hundred legends of the stern chiefs of Loch Awe, Duncan with the thrum bonnet, and the other lords of the now mouldering towers of Kilchurn.* Thus it was later than usual when we set out on our journey, after a hint or two from Donald concerning the length of the way to the next stage, as there was no good halting-place between Dalmally and Oban. Having bid adieu to our venerable and kind cicerone, we pro- ceeded on our tour, winding round the tremendous mountain called Cruachan Ben, which rushes down in all its majesty of rocks and wilderness on the lake, leaving only a pass, in which, notwithstand- ing its extreme strength, the warlike clan of MacDougal of Lorn were almost destroyed by the sagacious Robert Bruce. That King, the Wellington of his day, had accomplished, by a forced march, the unexpected manoeuvre of forcing a body of troops round the other side of the mountain, and thus placed him in the flank and in the rear of the men of Lorn, whom at the same time he attacked in front. The great number of cairns yet visible, as you descend the pass on the westward side, shows the extent of the vengeance which Bruce exhausted on his inveterate and personal enemies. I am, you know, the sister of soldiers, and it has since struck me forcibly that the manoeuvre which Donald described, resembled those of Wellington or of Bonaparte. He was a great man Robert Bruce, even a Baliol must admit that ; although it begins now to be allowed that his title to the crown was scarce so good as that of the unfortunate family with whom he contended. — But let that pass. — The slaughter had been the greater, as the deep and rapid river Awe is disgorged from the lake, just in the rear of the fugitives, and encircles the base of the tremendous mountain ; so that the retreat of the unfortunate fliers was intercepted on all sides by the inac- cessible character of the country, which had seemed to promise them defence and protection.* Musing, like the Irish lady in the song, " upon things which are long enough a-gone,"* we felt ho impatience at the slow, and almost creeping pace, with which our conductor proceeded along \ THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 385 General Wade's military road, which never or rarely condescends to turn aside from the steepest ascent, but proceeds right up and down hill, with the indifference to height and hollow, steep or level, indicated by the old Roman engineers. Still, however, the sub- stantial excellence of these great works — for such are the military highways in the Highlands — deserved the compliment of the poet, who, whether he came from our sister kingdom, and spoke in his own dialect, or whether he supposed those whom he addressed might have some national pretension to the second sight, produced the celebrated couplet — Had you but seen these roads before they were made, You would hold up your hands, and bless General Wade. Nothing indeed can be more wonderful than to see these wilder- nesses penetrated and pervious in every quarter by broad accesses of the best possible construction, and so superior to what the country could have demanded for many centuries for any pacific purpose of commercial interdourse. Thus the traces of war are sometimes happily accommodated to the purposes of peace. The victories of Bonaparte have been without results ; but his road over the Simplon will long be the communication betwixt peaceful countries, who will apply to the ends of commerce and friendly intercourse that gigantic work, which was formed for the ambitious purpose of warlike invasion. While we were thus stealing along, we gradually turned round the shoulder of Ben Cruachan, and, descending the course of the foaming and rapid Awe, left behind us the expanse of the majestic lake which gives birth to that impetuous river. The rocks and precipices which stooped down perpendiculjirly on our path on the right hand, exhibited a few remains of the wood which once clothed them, but which had, in latter times, been felled to supply, Donald MacLeish informed us, the iron-founderies at the Bunawe. This made us fix our eyes with interest on one large oak, which grew on the left hand towards the river. It seemed a tree of extra- ordinary magnitude and picturesque beauty, and stood just where there appeared to be a few roods of open ground lying among huge stones, which had rolled down from the mountain. To add to the romance of the situation, the spot of clear ground extended round the foot of a proud-browed rock, from the summit of which leaped a mountain stream in a fall of sixty feet, in which it was dissolved into foam and dew. At the bottom of the fall the rivulet with difficulty collected, like a routed general, its dispersed forces, and, as if tamed by its descent, found a noiseless passage through the heath to join the Awe. I was much struck with the tree and waterfall, and wished C C 386 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. myself nearer them ; not that I thought of sketch-book or port- folio, — for, in my younger days. Misses were not accustomed to black-lead pencils, unless they could use them to some good purpose — but merely to indulge myself with a closer vieiv. Donald immediately opened the chaise door, but observed it was rough walking down the brae, and that I would see the tree better by keeping the road for a hundred yards farther, when it passed closer to the spot, for which he seemed, however, to have no predilection. " He knew," he said, " a far bigger tree than that nearer Bunawe, and it was a place where there was flat ground for the carriage to stand, which it could simply do on these braes ;-^but just as my leddyship liked." My ladyship did choose rather to look at the fine tree before me, than to pass it by in hopes of a finer ; so we walked beside the carriage till we should come to a point, from which, Donald assured us, we might, without scrambling, go as near the tree as we chose, " though he wadna advise us to go nearer than the high-road." There was something grave and mysterious in Donald's sun- browned countenance when he gave us this intimation, and his manner was so different from his usual frankness, that my female curiosity was set in motion. We walked on the whilst, and I found the tree, of which we now lost sight by the intervention of some rising ground, was really more distant than I had at first supposed. " I could have sworn now," said I to my cicerone, " that yon tree and waterfall was the very place where you intended to make a stop to-day." " The Lord forbid ! " said Donald, hastily. " And for what, Donald ? why should you be willing to pass such a pleasant spot ? " " It's ower near Dalmally, my leddy, to corn the beasts — it would bring their dinner ower near their breakfast, poor things : — an', besides, the place is not canny." " Oh ! then the mystery is out. There is a bogle or a brownie, a witch or a gyre-carlin, a bodach or a fairy in the case ? " " The ne'er a bit, my leddy — ye are clean aff the road, as I may say. But if your leddyship will just hae patience, and wait till we are by the place and out of the glen, I'll tell ye all about it. There is no much luck in speaking of such things in the place they chanced in." I was obliged to suspend my curiosity, observing, that if I persisted in twisting the discourse one way while Donald was twining it another, I should make his objection, like a hempen- cord, just so much the tougher. At length the promised turn of the road brought us within fifty paces of the tree which I desired to admire, and I now saw to my surprise, that there was a human THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 387 habitation among the cliffs which surrounded it. It was a hut of the least dimensions, and most miserable description, that I ever saw even in the Highlands. The walls of sod, ox divot, as the Scotch call it, were not four feet high — the roof was of turf, repaired with reeds and sedges — the chimney was composed of clay, bound round by straw ropes — and the whole walls, roof and chimney, were alike covered with the vegetation of house-leek, rye-grass, and moss, common to decayed cottages formed of such materials. There was not the slightest vestige of a kale-yard, the usual accom- paniment of the very worst huts ; and of living things we saw nothing, save a kid which was browsing on the roof of the hut, and a goat,' its mother, at some distance, feeding betwixt the oak and the river Awe. " What man," I could not help exclaiming, " can have committed sin deep enough to deserve such a miserable dwelling ! " " Sin enough," said Donald MacLeish, with a half-suppressed groan ; " and God he knoweth, misery enough too ; — and it is no man's dwelling neither, but a woman's." " A woman's ! " I repeated, " and in so lonely a place — What sort of woman can she be ? " " Come this way, my leddy, and you may judge that for yourself," said Donald. And by advancing a few steps, and making a sharp turn to the left, we gained a sight of the side of the great broad- breasted oak, in the direction opposed to that in which we had hitherto seen it. " If she keeps her old wont, she will be there at this hour of the day," said Donald ; but immediately became silent, and pointed with his finger, as one afraid of being overheard. I looked, and beheld, not without some sense of awe, a female form seated by the stem of the oak, with her head drooping, her hands clasped, and a dark-coloured mantle drawn over her head, exactly as Judah is represented in the Syrian medals as seated under her palm-tree. I was infected with the fear and reverence which my guide seemed to entertain towards this solitary being, nor did I think of advanc- ing towards her to obtain a nearer view until I had cast an enquir- ing look on Donald ; to which he replied in a half-whisper — " She has been a fearfu' bad woman, my leddy." " Mad woman, said you," replied I, hearing him imperfectly ; " then she is perhaps dangerous ? " "1^0— she is not mad," replied Donald; "for then it may be she would be happier than she is ; though when she thinks on what she has done, and caused to be done, rather than yield up a hairbreadth of her ain wicked will, it is not likely she can be very well settled. But she neither is mad nor mischievous ; and yet, my leddy, I think you had best not go nearer to her." And then c c 2 388 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. in a few hurried words, he made me acquainted with the story which I am now to tell more in detail. I heard the narrative with a mixture of horror and sympathy, which at once impelled me to approach the sufferer, and speak to her the words of comfort, or rather of pity, and at the same time made me afraid to do so. This indeed was the feeling with which she was regarded by the Highlanders in the neighbourhood, who looked upon Elspat Mac- Tavish, or the Woman of the Tree, as they called her, as the Greeks considered those who were pursued by the Furies, and endured the mental torment consequent on great criminal actions. They regarded such unhappy beings as Orestes and CEdipus, as being the less voluntary perpetrators of their crimes, than as the passive instruments by which the terrible decrees of Destiny had been accomplished ; and the fear with which they beheld them was not unmingled with veneration. I also learned farther from Donald MacLeish, that there was some apprehension of ill luck attending those who had the boldness to approach too near, or disturb the awful solitude of a being so unutterably miserable ; that it was supposed that whosoever approached her must experience in some respect the contagion of her wretchedness. It was therefore with some reluctance that Donald saw me prepare to obtain a nearer view of the sufferer, and that he himself followed to assist me in the descent down a very rough path. I believe his regard for me conquered some ominous feelings in his own breast, which connected his duty on this occasion with the presaging fear of lame horses, lost linch-pins, overturns, and other perilous chances of the postilion's life. I am not sure if my own courage would have carried me so close to Elspat, had he not followed. There was in her countenance the stern abstraction of hopeless and overpowering sorrow, mixed with the contending feelings of remorse, and of the pride which struggled to conceal it. She guessed, perhaps, that it was curiosity, arising out of her uncommon story, which induced me to intrude on her solitude — and she could not be pleased that a fate like hers had been the theme of a traveller's amusement. Yet the look with which she regarded me was one of scorn instead of embarrassment. The opinion of the world and all its children could not add or take an iota from her load of misery ; and, save from the half smile that seemed to intimate the contempt of a being rapt by the very intensity of her affliction above the sphere of ordinary humanities, she seemed as indifferent to my gaze, as if she had been a dead corpse or a marble statue. Elspat was above the middle stature ; her hair, now grizzled, was still profuse, and it had been of the most decided black. So were THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 389 her eyes, in which, contradicting the stern and rigid features of her countenance, there shone the wild and troubled hght that indicates an unsettled mind. Her hair was wrapt round a silver bodkin with some attention to neatness, and her dark mantle was disposed around her with a degree of taste, though the materials were of the most ordinary sort. After gazing on this victim of guilt and calamity till I was ashamed to remain silent, though uncertain how I ought to address her, 1 began to express my surprise at her choosing such a desert and deplorable dwelling. She cut short these expressions of sympathy, by answering in a stern voice, without the least change of countenance or posture— " Daughter of the stranger, he has told you my story." I was silenced at once, and felt how little all earthly accommodation must seem to the mind which had such subjects as hers for rumination. Without again attempting to open the conversation, I took a piece of gold from my purse, (for Donald had intimated she lived on alms,) expecting she would at least stretch her hand to receive it. But she neither accepted nor rejected the gift — she did not even seem to notice it, though twenty times as valuable, probably, as was usually offered. I was obliged to place it on her knee, saying involutarily, as 1 did so, " May God pardon you, and relieve you ! " I shall never forget the look which she cast up to Heaven, nor the tone in which she exclaimed, in the very words of my old friend, John Home — " My beautiful — my brave ! " It was the language of nature, and arose from the heart of the deprived mother, as it did from that gifted imaginative poet, while furnishing with appropriate expressions the ideal grief of Lady Randolph. CHAPTER II. O, I'm come to the Low Country, Och, och, ohonochie. Without a penny in my pouch To buy a meal for me. I was the proudest of my clan, Long, long may I repine ; And Donald was the bravest man, And Donald he was mine. Old Song. Elspat had enjoyed happy days, though her age had sunk into hopeless and inconsolable sorrow and distress. She was once the beautiful and happy wife of Hamish MacTavish, for whom his 390 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. strength and feats of prowess had gained the title of MacTavish Mhor. His life was turbulent and dangerous, his habits being of the old Highland stamp, which esteemed it shame to want any thing that could be had for the taking. Those in the Lowland line who lay near him, and desired to enjoy their lives and property in quiet, were contented to pay him a small composition, in name of protection money, and comforted themselves with the old proverb, that it was better to " fleech the deil than fight him." Others, who accounted such composition dishonourable, were often surprised by MacTavish Mhor, and his associates and followers, who usually inflicted an adequate penalty, either in person or property, or both. The creagh is yet remembered, in which he swept one hundred and fifty cows from Monteith in one drove ; and how he placed the Laird of Ballybught naked in a slough, for having threatened to send for a party of the Highland Watch to protect his property. Whatever were occasionally the triumphs of this daring cateran, they were often exchanged for reverses ; and his narrow escapes, rapid flights, and the ingenious stratagems with which he extri- cated himself from imminent danger, were no less remembered and admired than the exploits in which he had been successful. In weal or woe, through every species of fatigue, difficulty, and danger, Elspat was his faithful companion. She enjoyed with him the fits of occasional prosperity ; and when adversity pressed them hard, her strength of mind, readiness of wit, and courage- ous endurance of danger and toil, are said often to have stimu- lated the exertions of her husband. Their morality was of the old Highland cast, faithful friends and fierce enemies : the Lowland herds and harvests they ad- counted their own, whenever they had the means of driving off the one, or of seizing upon the other; nor did the least scruple on the right of property interfere on such occasions. Hamish Mhor argued like the old Cretan warrior : My sword, my spear, my shaggy shield. They make me lord of all below ; For he who dreads the lance to wield. Before my shaggy shield must bow. His lands, his vineyards, must resign, And all that cowards have is mine. But those days of perilous, though frequently successful depreda- tion, began to be abridged, after the failure of the expedition of Prince Charles Edward. MacTavish Mhor had not sat stiU on that occasion, and he was outlawed, both as a traitor to the state, and as a robber and cateran. Garrisons were now settled in many places where a red-coat had never before been seen, and the Saxon THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 391 war-drum resounded among the most hidden recesses of the High- land mountains. The fate of MacTavish became every day more inevitable ; and it was the more difficult for him to make his exer- tions for defence or escape, that Elspat, amid his evil days, had increased his family with an infant child, which was a considerable incumbrance upon the necessary rapidity of their motions. At length the fatal day arrived. In a strong pass on the skirts of Ben Cruachan, the celebrated MacTavish Mhor was surprised by a detachment of the Sidier Roy.* His wife assisted him heroic- ally, charging his piece from time to time ; and as they were in ■ possession of a post that was nearly unassailable, he might have perhaps escaped if his ammunition had lasted. But at length his balls were expended, although it was not until he had fired off most of the silver buttons from his waistcoat, and the soldiers, no longer deterred by fear of the unerring marksman, who had slain three, and wounded more of their number, approached his stronghold, and, unable to take him alive, slew him, after a most desperate resistance. All this Elspat witnessed and survived, for she had, in the child which relied on her for support, a motive for strength and exertion. In what manner she maintained herself it is not easy to say. Her only ostensible means of support were a flock of three or four goats, which she fed wherever she pleased on the mountain pastures, no one challenging the intrusion. In the general distress of the country, her ancient acquaintances had little to bestow ; but what they could part with from their own necessities, they willingly devoted to the relief of others. From Lowlanders she sometimes demanded tribute, rather than requested alms. She had not for- gotten she was the widow of MacTavish Mhor, or that the child who trotted by her knee might, such were her imaginations, emulate one day the fame of his father, and command the same influence which he had once exerted without control. She associated so little with others, went so seldom and so unwillingly from the wildest recesses of the mountains, where she usually dwelt with her goats, that she was quite unconscious of the great change which had taken place in the country around her, the substitution of civil order for military violence, and the strength gained by the law and its adherents over those who were called in Gaelic song, "the stormy sons of the sword." Her own diminished consequence and straitened circumstances she indeed felt, but for this the death of MacTavish Mhor, was, in her apprehension, a sufficing reason ; and she doubted not that she should rise to her former state of importance, when Hamish Bean (or Fair-haired James) should be able to wield the arms of his father. If, then, Elspat was repelled rudely when she demanded any thing necessary for her wants, or 392 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW the accommodation of her little flock, by a churlish farmer, her threats of vengeance, obscurely expressed, yet terrible in their tenor, used frequently to extort, through fear of her maledictions, the relief which was denied to her necessities ; and the trembling goodwife, who gave meal or money to the widow of MacTavish Mhor, wished in her heart that the stern old carlin had been burnt on the day her husband had his due. Years thus ran on, and Hamish Bean grew up, not indeed to be of his father's size or strength, but to become an active, high- spirited, fair-haired youth, with a ruddy cheek, an eye like an eagle, and all the agility, if not all the strength, of his formidable father, upon whose history and achievements his mother dwelt, in order to form her son's mind to a similar course of adventures. But the young see the present state of this changeful world more keenly than the old. Much attached to his mother, and disposed to do all in his power for her support, Hamish yet perceived, when he mixed with the world, that the trade of the cateran was now alike dangerous and discreditable, and that if he were to emulate his father's prowess, it must be in some other line of warfare, more consonant to the opinions of the present day. As the faculties of mind and body began to expand, he became more sensible of the precarious nature of his situation, of the erroneous views of his mother, and her ignorance respecting the changes of the society with which she mingled so little. In visit- ing friends and neighbours, he became aware of the extremely reduced scale to which his parent was limited, and learned that she possessed little or nothing more than the absolute necessaries of life, and that these were sometimes on the point of failing. At times his success in fishing and the chase was able to add some- thing to her subsistence ; but he saw no regular means of con- tributing to her support, unless by stooping to servile labour, which, if he himself could have endured it, would, he knew, have been like a death's-wound to the pride of his mother. Elspat, meanwhile, saw with surprise, that Hamish Bean, although now tall and fit for the field, showed no disposition to enter on his father's scene of action. There was something of the mother at her heart, which prevented her from urging him in plain terms to take the field as a cateran, for the fear occurred of the perils into which the trade must conduct him ; and when she would have spoken to him on the subject, it seemed to her heated imagi- nation as if the ghost of her husband arose between them in his bloody tartans, and laying his finger on his lips, appeared to pro- hibit the topic. Yet she wondered at what seemed his want of spirit, sighed as she saw him from day to day lounging about in the long-skirted Lowland coat, which the legislature had imposed THIC HIGHLAND WIDOW. 393 upon the Gael instead of their own romantic garb, and thought how much nearer he would have resembled her husband, had he been clad in the belted plaid and short hose, with his polished arms gleaming at his side. Besides these subjects for anxiety, Elspat had others arising from the engrossing impetuosity of her temper. Her love of Mac- Tavish Mhor had been qualified by respect and sometimes even by fear ; for the cateran was not the species of man who submits to female government ; but over his son she had exerted, at first during childhood, and afterwards in early youth, an imperious authority, which gave her maternal love a character of jealousy. She could not bear, when Hamish, with advancing life, made repeated steps towards independence, absented himself from her cottage at such season, and for such length of time as he chose, and seemed to consider, although maintaining towards her every possible degree of respect and kindness, that the control and responsibility of his actions rested on himself alone. This would have been of little consequence, could she have concealed her feel- ings within her own bosom ; but the ardour and impatience of her passions made her frequently show her son that she conceived herself neglected and ill used. When he was absent for any length of time from her cottage, without giving intimation of his purpose, her resentment on his return used to be so imreasonable, that it naturally suggested to a young man, fond of independence, and desirous to amend his situation in the world, to leave her, even for the very purpose of enabling him to provide for the .parent whose egotistical demands on his filial attention tended to confine him to a desert, in which both were starving in hopeless and helpless indigence. Upon one occasion, the son having been guilty of some inde- pendent excursion, by which the mother felt herself affronted and disobliged, she had been more than usually violent on his return, and awakened in Hamish a sense of displeasure, which clouded his brow and cheek. At length, as she persevered in her unrea- sonable resentment, his patience became exhausted, and taking his gun from the chimney corner, and muttering to himself the reply which his respect for his mother prevented him from speak- ing aloud, he was about to leave the hut which he had but barely entered. " Hamish," said his mother, "are you again about to leave me?" But Hamish only replied by looking at, and rubbing the lock of his gun. " Ay, rub the lock of your gun," said his parent, bitterly ; " I am glad you have courage enough to fire it, though it be but at a roe- deer," Hamish started at this undeserved taunt, and cast a look 394 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. of anger at her in reply. She saw that she had found the means of giving him pain. " Yes," she said, " look fierce as you will at an old woman, and your mother ; it would be long ere you bent your brow on the angry countenance of a bearded man." " Be silent, mother, or speak of what you understand," said Hamish, much irritated, " and that is of the distaff and the spindle." " And was it of spindle and distaff that I was thinking when I bore you away on my back, through the fire of six of the Saxon soldiers, and you a wailing child ? I tell you, Hamish, I know a hundredfold more of swords and guns than ever you will ; and you will never learn so much of noble war by yourself, as you have seen when you were wrapped up in my plaid." " You are determined at least to allow me no peace at home, mother ; but this shall have an end," said Hamish, as, resuming his purpose of leaving the hut, he rose and went towards the door. " Stay, I command you," said his mother ; " stay, or may the gun you carry be the means of your ruin— may the road you are going be the track of your funeral ! " "What makes you use such words, mother?" said the young man, turning a little back — " they are not good, and good cannot come of them. Farewell just now, we are too angry to speak together — farewell ; it will be long ere you see me again." And he departed, his mother, in the first burst of her impatience, shower- ing after him her maledictions, and in the next invoking them on her own head, so that they might spare her son's. She passed that day and the next in all the vehemence of impotent and yet unrestrained passion, now entreating Heaven, and such powers as were familiar to her by rude tradition, to restore her dear son, " the calf of her heart;" now in impatient resentment, meditating with what bitter terms she should rebuke his filial disobedience upon his return, and now studying the most tender language to attach him to the cottage, which, when her boy was present, she would not, in the rapture of her affection, have exchanged for the apart- ments of Taymouth Castle. Two days passed, during which, neglecting even the slender means of supporting nature which her situation afforded, nothing but the strength of a frame accustomed to hardships and priva- tions of every kind, could have kept her in existence, notwith- standing the aYiguish of her mind prevented her being sensible of her personal weakness. Her dwelling, at this period, was the same cottage near which I had found her, but then more habitable by the exertions of Hamish, by whom it had been in a great measure built and repaired, It was oji the third day after her son had disappeared, as she sat THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 395 at the door rocking herself, after the fashion of her counti-ywomen when in distress, or in pain, that the then unwonted circumstance occurred of a passenger being seen on the high-road above the cottage. She cast but one glance at him — ^he was on horseback, so that it could not be Hamish, and Elspat cared not enough for any other being on earth, to make her turn her eyes towards him a second time. The stranger, however, paused opposite to her cottage, and dismounting from his pony, led it down the steep and broken path which conducted to her door. " God bless you, Elspat MacTavish ! "—She looked at the man as he addressed her in her native language, with the displeased air of one whose reverie is interrupted ; but the traveller went on to say, " I bring you tidings of your son Hamish." At once, from being the most uninteresting object, in respect to Elspat, that could exist, the form of the stranger Taecame awful in her eyes, as that of a messenger descended from Heaven, expressly to pronounce upon her death or life. She started from her seat, and with hands convulsively clasped together, and held up to Heaven, eyes fixed on the stranger's countenance, and person stooping forward to him, she looked those enquiries, which her faltering tongue could not articulate. " Your son sends you his dutiful remembrance and this," said the messenger, putting into Elspat's hand a small purse containing four or five dollars. " He is gone, he is gone ! " exclaimed Elspat ; " he has sold him- self to be the servant of the Saxons, and I shall never more behold him ! Tell me. Miles MacPhadraick, for now I know you, is it the price of the son's blood that you have put into the mother's hand ? " " Now, God forbid ! " answered MacPhadraick, who was a tacks- man, and had possession of a considerable tract of ground under his Chief, a proprietor who lived about twenty miles off — " God forbid I should do wrong, or say wrong, to you, or to the son of MacTavish Mhor ! I swear to you by the hand of my Chief, that your son is well, and will soon see you, and the rest he will tell you himself. So saying, MacPhadraick hastened back up the pathway, gained the road, mounted his pony, and rode upon his way. CHAPTER III. Elspat MacTavish remained gazing on the money, as if the impress of the coin could have conveyed information how it was procured. " I love not this MacPhadraick," she said to herself ; " it was his race of whom the Bard hath spoken, saying, Fear them not when their words are loud as the winter's wind, but fear them when 336 THE HTGHIAND WIDOW. they fall on you like the sound of the thrush's song. And yet this riddle can be read but one way : My son hath taken the sword, to win that with strength like a man, which churls would keep him from with the words that frighten children." This idea, when once it occurred to her, seemed the more reasonable, that MacPhadraick, as she well knew, himself a cautious man, had so far encouraged her husband's practices, as occasionally to buy cattle of Mac- Tavish, although he must have well known how they were come by, taking care, however, that the transaction was so made, as to be accompanied with great profit and absolute safety. Who so likely as MacPhadraick to indicate to a young cateran the glen in which he could commence his perilous trade with most prospect of suc- cess, who so likely to convert his booty into money ? The feelings which another might have experienced on believing that an only son had rushed forward on the same path in which his father had perished, were scarce known to the Highland mothers of that day. She thought of the death of MacTavish Mhor as that of a hero who had fallen in his proper trade of war, and who had not fallen unavenged. She feared less for her son's life than for his dis- honour. She dreaded on his account the subjection to strangers and the death-sleep of the soul which is brought on by what she regarded as slavery. The moral principle which so naturally and so justly occurs to the mind of those who have been educated under a settled govern- ment of laws that protect the property of the weak against the incursions of the strong, was to poor Elspat a book sealed and a fountain closed. She had been taught to consider those whom they called Saxons, as a race with whom the Gael were constantly at war, and she regarded every settlement of theirs within the reach of Highland incursion, as affording a legitimate object of attack and plunder. Her feelings on this point had been strength- ened and confirmed, not only by the desire of revenge for the death of her husband, but by the sense of general indignation entertained, not unjustly, through the Highlands of Scotland, on account of the barbarous and violent conduct of the victors after the battle of CuUoden. Other Highland clans, too, she regarded as the fair objects of plunder when that was possible, upon the score of ancient enmities and deadly feuds. The prudence that might have weighed the slender means which the times afforded for resisting the efforts of a combined govern- ment, which had, in its less compact and established authority, been unable to put down the ravages of such lawless caterans as Maq- Tavish Mhor, was unknown to a solitary woman, whose ideas still dwelt upon her own early times. She imagined that her son had only to proclaim himself his father's succesgpr in adventure and THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 397 enterprise, and that a force of men as gallant as those who had followed his father's banner, would crowd around to support it when again displayed. To her, Hamish was the eagle who had only to soar aloft and resume his native place in the skies, without her being able to comprehend how many additional eyes would have watched his flight, how many additional bullets would have been directed at his bosom. To be brief, Elspat was one who viewed the present state of society with the same feelings with which she regarded the times that had passed away. She had been indigent, neglected, oppressed, since the days that her hus- band had no longer been feared and powerful, and she thought that the term of her ascendance would return when her son had determined to play the part of his father. If she permitted her eye to glance farther into futurity, it was but to anticipate, that she must be for many a day cold in the grave, with the coronach of her tribe cried duly over her, before her fair-haired Hamish could, according to her calculation, die with his hand on the basket-hilt of the red claymore. His father's hair was grey, ere, after a himdred dangers, he had fallen with his arms in his hands. That she should have seen and survived the sight, was a natural consequence of the manners of that age. And better it was — such was her proud thought — that she had seen him so die, than to have witnessed his departure from life in a smoky hovel — on a bed of rotten straw, like an over-worn hound, or a bullock which died of disease. But the hour of her young, her brave Hamish, was yet far distant. He must succeed — ^he must conquer, Uke his father. And when he fell at length, — for she anticipated for him no bloodless death, — Elspat would ere then have lain long in the grave, and could neither see his death-struggle, nor mourn over his grave-sod. With such wild notions working in her brain, the spirit of Elspat rose to its usual pitch, or rather to one which seemed higher. In the emphatic language of Scripture, which in that idiom does not greatly differ from her own, she arose, she washed and changed her apparel, and ate bread, and was refreshed. She longed eagerly for the return of her son, but she now longed not with the bitter anxiety of doubt and apprehension. She said to herself, that much must be done ere he could, in these times, arise to be an eminent and dreaded leader. Yet when she saw him again, she almost expected him at the head of a daring band, with pipes playing, and banners flying, the noble tartans fluttering free in the wind, in despite of the laws which had suppressed, under severe penalties, the use of the national garb, and all the appurte- nances of Highland chivalry. For all this, her eager imagination was content only to allow the interval of some days. From the moment this opinion had taken deep and serious pos- 398 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. session of her mind, her thoughts were bent upon receiving her son at the head of his adherents in the manner in which she used to adorn her hut for the return of his father. The substantial means of subsistence she had not the power of providing, nor did she consider that of importance. The success- ful caterans would bring with them herds and flocks. But the interior of her hut was arranged for their reception— the usque- baugh was brewed, or distilled, in a larger quantity than it could have been supposed one lone woman could have made ready. Her hut was put into such order as might, in some degree, give it the appearance of a day of rejoicing. It was swept and decorated with boughs of various kinds, like the house of a Jewess, upon what Is termed the Feast of the Tabernacles. The produce of the milk of her little flock was prepared in as great variety of forms as her skill admitted, to entertain her son and his associates, whom she expected to receive along with him. But the principal decoration, which she sought with the greatest toil, was the cloud-berry, a scarlet fruit, which is only found on very high hills, and there only in small quantities. Her husband, or perhaps one of his forefathers, had chosen this as the emblem of his family, because it seemed at once to imply by its scarcity the smallness of their clan, and by the places in which it was found, the ambitious height of their pretensions. For the time that these simple preparations of welcome endured, Elspat was in a state of troubled happiness. In fact, her only anxiety was, that she might be able to complete all that she could do to welcome Hamish and the friends who she supposed must have attached themselves to his band, before they should arrive, and find her unprovided for their reception. But when such efforts as she could make had been accomplished, she once more had nothing left to engage her save the trifling care of her goats ; and when these had been attended to, she had only to review her little preparations, renew such as were of a transitory nature, replace decayed branches and fading boughs, and then to sit down at her cottage door and watch the road, as it ascended on the one side from the banks of the Awe, and on the other wound round the heights of the mountain, with such a degree of accom- modation to hill and level as the plan of the military engineer per- mitted. While so occupied, her imagination, anticipating the future from recollections of the past, formed out of the morning- mist, or the evening-cloud, the wild forms of an advancing band, which were then called " Sidier Dhu," — dark soldiers — dressed in their native tartan, and so named to distinguish them from the scarlet ranks of the British army. In this occupation she spent many hours of each morning and evening. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 399 CHAPTER IV. It was in vain that Elspat's eyes surveyed the distant path, by the earliest light of the dawn and the latest glimmer of the twilight. No rising dust awakened the expectation of nodding plumes or flashing arms ; the solitary traveller trudged listlessly along in his brown lowland great-coat, his tartans dyed black or purple, to comply with, or evade, the law, which prohibited their being worn in their vaiiegated hues. The spirit of the Gael, sunk and broken by the severe though perhaps necessary laws, that proscribed the dress and arms which he considered as his birthright, was intimated by his drooping head and dejected appearance. Not in such de- pressed wanderers did Elspat recognise the light and free step of her son, now, as she concluded, regenerated from every sign of Saxon thraldom. Night by night, as darkness came, she removed from her unclosed door to throw herself on her restless pallet, not to sleep, but to watch. The brave and the terrible, she said, walk by night — their steps are heard in darkness, when all is silent save the whirlwind and the cataract — the timid deer comes only forth when the sun is upon the mountain's peak ; but the bold wolf walks in the red light of the harvest-moon. She reasoned in vain — her son's expected summons did not call her from the lowly couch, where she lay dreaming of his approach. Hamish came not. " Hope deferred," saith the royal sage, "maketh the heart sick;" and strong as was Elspat's constitution, she began to experience that it was unequal to the toils to which her anxious and im- moderate affection subjected her, when early one morning the ap- pearance of a traveller on the lonely mountain-road, revived hopes which had begun to sink into listless despair. There was no sign of Saxon subjugation about the stranger. At a distance she could see the flutter of the belted-plaid, that drooped in graceful folds behind him, and the plume that, placed in the bonnet, showed rank and gentle birth. He carried a gun over his shoulder, the claymore was swinging by his side, with its usual appendages, the dirk, the pistol, and the sporran inollach.* Ere yet her eye had scanned all these particulars, the hght step of the traveller was hastened, his arm was waved in token of recognition — a moment more, and Elspat held in her arms her darling son, dressed in the garb of his ancestors, and looking, in her maternal eyes, the fairest among ten thousand ! The first outpouring of affection it would be impossible to describe. Blessings mingled with the most endearing epithets which her energetic language affords, in striving to express the wild rapture of Elspat's joy. Her board was heaped hastily with all she had to 400 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. offer ; and the mother watched the young soldier, as he partook of the refreshment, with feelings how similar to, yet how different from, those with which she had seen him draw his first sustenance from her bosom ! When the tumult of joy was appeased, Elspat became anxious to know her son's adventures since they parted, and could not help greatly censuring his rashness for traversing the hills in the High- land dress in the broad sunshine, when the penalty was so heavy, and so many red soldiers were abroad in the country. " Fear not for me, mother," said Hamish, in a tone designed to relieve her anxiety, and yet somewhat embarrassed ; " I may wear the breacan * at the gate of Fort- Augustus, if I like it." " Oh, be not too daring, my beloved Hamish, though it be the fault which best becomes thy father's son — yet be not too daring ! Alas, they fight not now as in former days, with fair weapons, and on equal terms, but take odds of numbers and of arms, so that the feeble and the strong are alike levelled by the shot of a boy. And do not think me unworthy to be called your father's widow, and your mother, because I speak thus ; for God knoweth, that, man to man, I would peril thee against the best in Breadalbane, and broad Lorn besides." " I assure you, my dearest mother," replied Hamish, "that I am in no danger. But have you seen MacPhadraick, mother, and what has he said to you on my account ? " " Silver he left me in plenty, Hamish ; but the best of his comfort was, that you were well, and would see me soon. But beware of MacPhadraick, my son ; for when he called himself the friend of your father, he better loved the most worthless stirk in his herd, than he did the life-blood of MacTavish Mhor. Use his services, therefore, and pay him for them — for it is thus we should deal with the unworthy ; but take my counsel, and trust him not." Hamish could not suppress a sigh, which seemed to Elspat to intimate that the caution came too late. " What have you done with him ? " she continued, eager and alarmed. " I had money of him, and he gives not that without value — he is none of those who exchange barley for chaff. Oh, if you repent you of your bargain, and if it be one which you may break off without disgrace to your truth or your manhood, take back his silver, and trust not to his fair words." " It may not be, mother," said Hamish ; " I do not repent my engagement, unless that it must make me leave you soon." " Leave me ! how leave me ? Silly boy, think you I know not what duty belongs to the wife or mother of a daring man ? Thou art but a boy yet ; and when thy father had been the dread of the country for twenty years, he did not despise my company and THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 401 assistance, but often said my help was worth that of two strong gillies." " It is not on that score, mother ; but since I must leave the country " " Leave the country ! " replied his mother, interrupting him ; " and think you that I am like a bush, that is rooted to the soil where it grows, and must die if carried elsewhere ? I have breathed other winds than these of Ben Cruachan— I have followed your father to the wilds of Ross, and the impenetrable deserts of Y Mac Y Mhor — Tush, man, my limbs, old as they are, will bear me as far as your young feet can trace the way." " Alas,- mother," said the young man, with a faltering accent, " but to cross the sea " " The sea ! who am I that I should fear the sea ? Have I never been in a birling in my life— never known the Sound of Mull, the Isles of Treshornish, and the rough rocks of Harris ? " " Alas, mother, I go far, far from all of these— I am enlisted in one of the new regiments, and we go against the French in America." " Enlisted ! " uttered the astonished mother—" against my will — without my consent— You could not— you would not,"— then rising up, and assuming a posture of almost imperial command, " Hamish, you DARED not ! " "Despair, mother, dares everything," answered Hamish, in a tone of melancholy resolution. " What should I do here, where I- can scarce get bread for myself and you, and when the 'times are growing daily worse 1 Would you but sit down and listen, I would convince you I have acted for the best." With a bitter smile Elspat sat down, and the same severe ironical expression wg.s on her features, as, with her lips firmly closed, she listened to his vindication. Hamish went on, without being disconcerted by her expected displeasure. " When I left you, dearest mother, it was to go to MacPhadraick's house; for although I knew he is crafty and worldly, after the fashion of the Sassenach, yet he is wise, and I thought how he would teach me, as, it would cost him nothing, in which way I could mend our estate in the world." " Our estate in the world ! " said Elspat, losing patience at the word ; " and went you to a base fellow with a soul no better than that of a cowherd, to ask counsel about your conduct t Your father asked none, save of his courage and his sword." " Dearest mother," answered Hamish, " how shall I convince you that you live in this land of our fathers, as if our fathers were yet living? You walk as it were in a dream, surrounded by the phantoms of those who have been long with the dead. When my 402 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. father lived and fought, the great respected the man oi tne strong right hand, and the rich feared him. He had protection from MacAllan Mhor, and from Caberfae,* and tribute from meaner men. That is ended, and his son would only earn a disgraceful and unpitied death, by the practices which gave his father credit and power among those who wear the breacan. The land is conquered — its lights are quenched, — Glengary, Lochiel, Perth, Lord Lewis, all the high chiefs are dead or in exile — We may mourn for it, but we cannot help it. Bonnet, broadsword, and sporran — power, strength, and wealth, were all lost on Drummossie-muir." " It is false ! " said Elspat, fiercely ; " you, and such like das- tardly spirits, are quelled by your own faint hearts, not by the strength of the enemy ; you are like the fearful waterfowl, to whom the least cloud in the sky seems the shadow of the eagle.'' " Mother," said Hamish, proudly, " lay not faint heart to my charge. I go where men are wanted who have strong arms and bold hearts too. I leave a desert, for a land where I may gather fame." " And you leave your mother to perish in want, age, and solitude," said Elspat, essaying successively every means of moving a resolu- tion, which she began to see was more deeply rooted than she had at first thought. " Not so, neither," he answered ; " I leave you to comfort and certainty, which you have yet never known. Barcaldine's son is made a leader, and with him I have enrolled myself; Mac- Phadraick acts for him, and raises men, and finds his own in doing it." " That is the truest word of the tale, were all the rest as false as hell," said the old woman, bitterly. " But we are to find our good in it also," continued Hamish ; " for Barcaldine is to give you a shieling in his wood of Letter- findreight, with grass for your goats, and a cow, when you please to have one, on the common ; and my own pay, dearest mother, though I am far away, will do more than provide you with meal, and with all else you can want. Do not fear for me. I enter a private gentleman ; but I will return, if hard fighting and regular duty can deserve it, an officer, and with half a dollar a-day." " Poor child ! " — repUed Elspat, in a tone of pity mingled with contempt, " and you trust MacPhadraick ? " " I might, mother,"— said Hamish, the dark red colour of his race crossing his forehead and cheeks, " for MacPhadraick knows the blood which flows in my veins, and is aware, that should he break trust with you, he might count the days which could bring Hamish back to Breadalbane, and number those of his life within three suns more. I would kill him at his own hearth, did he break THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 403 his word with me — I would, by the great Being who made us both!" The look and attitude of the young soldier for a moment over- awed Elspat ; she was unused to see him express a deep and bitter mood, which reminded her so strongly of his father, but she re- sumed her remonstrances in the same taunting manner in which she had commenced them. " Poor boy ! " she said ; " and you think that at the distance of half the world your threats will be heard or thought of ! But, go — go — place your neck under him of Hanover's yoke, against whom every true Gael fought to the death. — Go, disown the royal Stewart, for whom your father and his fathers, and your mother's fathers, have crimsoned many a field with their blood. — Go, put your head under the belt of one of the race of Dermid, whose children murdered — Yes," she added with a wild shriek, " murdered your mother's fathers in their peaceful dwellings in Glencoe ! — Yes," she again exclaimed, with a wilder and shriller scream, " I was then unborn, but my mother has told me — and I attended to the voice of my mother — Well I remember her words ! — They came in peace, and were received in friendship, and blood and fire arose, and screams, and murder ! " * " Mother," answered Hamish, mournfully, but with a decided tone, " all that I have thought over — there is not a drop of the blood of Glencoe on the noble hand of Barcaldine — with the un- happy house of Glenlyon the curse remains, and on them God hath avenged it." *' You speak like the Saxon priest already," replied his mother ; " wiU you not better stay, and ask a kirk from MacAllan Mhor, that you may preach forgiveness to the race of Dermid ? " " Yesterday was yesterday," answered Hamish, " and to-day is to-day. When the clans are crushed and confounded together, it is well and wise that their hatreds and their feuds should not survive their independence and their power. He that cannot execute vengeance like a man, should not harbour useless enmity like a craven. Mother, young Barcaldine is true and brave; I know that MacPhadraick counselled him, that he should not let me take leave of you, lest you dissuaded me from my purpose ; but he said, ' Hamish MacTavish is the son of a brave man, and he will not break his word.' Mother, Barcaldine leads an hundred of the bravest of the sons of the Gael in their native dress, and with their fathers' arms— heart to heart — shoulder to shoulder. I have sworn to go with him — He has trusted me, and I will trust him." At this reply, so firmly and resolvedly pronounced, Elspat remained like one thunderstruck, and sunk in despair. The arguments which she had considered so irresistibly conclusive, had D D 2 404 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. recoiled like a wave from a rock. After a long pause, she filled her son's quaigh, and presented it to him with an air of dejected deference and submission. " Drink," she said, " to thy father's roof-tree, ere you leave it for ever ; and tell me, — since the chains of a new King, and of a new Chief, whom your fathers knew not save as mortal enemies, are fastened upon the limbs of your father's son, — tell me how many links you count upon them ? " Hamish took the cup, but looked at her as if uncertain of her meaning. She proceeded in a raised voice. " Tell me," she said, ", for I have a right to know, for how many days the will of those you have made your masters permits me to look upon you? — In other words, how many are the days of my life — for when you leave me, the earth has nought besides worth living for ! " " Mother," replid Hamish MacTavish, " for six days I may remain with you, and if you will set out with me on the fifth, I will conduct you in safety to your new dwelling. But if you remain here, then I will depart on the seventh by daybreak — then, as at the last moment, I MUST set out for Dunbarton, for if I appear not on the eighth day, I am subject to punishment as a deserter, and am dishonoured as a soldier and a gentleman." " Your father's foot," she answered, " was free as the wind on the heath — it were as vain to say to him where goest thou, as to ask that viewless driver of the clouds, wherefore blowest thou. Tell me under what penalty thou must — since go thou must, and go thou wilt — return to thy thraldom ? " " Call it not thraldom, mother, it is the service of an honourable soldier — the only service which is now open to the son of MacTavish Mhor." " Yet say what is the penalty if thou shouldst not return ? " replied Elspat. " Military punishment as a deserter," answered Hamish ; writh- ing, however, as his mother failed not to observe, under some internal feelings, which she resolved to probe to the uttermost. " And that," she said, with assumed calmness, which her glancing eye disowned, " is the punishment of a disobedient hound, is it not?" " Ask me no more, mother," said Hamish ; " the punishment is nothing to one who will never deserve it." "To me it is something," replied Elspat, "since I know better than thou, that where there is power to inflict, there is often the will to do so without cause. I would pray for thee, Hamish, and I must know against what evils I should beseech Him who leaves none unguarded, to protect thy youth and simplicity." " Mother," said Hamish, " it signifies little to what a criminal may be exposed, if a man is determined not to be such. Our THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 403 Highland chiefs used also to punish their vassals, and, as I have heard, severely. — Was it not Lachlan Maclan, whom we remember of old, whose head was struck off by order of his chieftain for shooting at the stag before him ? " " Ay," said Elspat, " and right he had to lose it, since he dis- honoured the father of the people even in the face of the assembled clan. But the chiefs were noble in their ire — they punished with the sharp blade, and not with the baton. Their punishments drew blood, but they did not infer dishonour. Canst thou say the same for the laws under whose yoke thou hast placed thy freeborn neck.'" " I cannot — mother — I cannot," said Hamish, mournfully. " I saw them punish a Sassenach for deserting, as they called it, his banner. He was scourged — I own it — scourged like a hound who has offended an imperious master. I was sick at the sight — I con- fess it. But the punishment of dogs is only for those worse than dogs, who know not how to keep their faith." " To this infamy, however, thou hast subjected thyself, Hamish,'' replied Elspat, " if thou shouldst give, or thy officers take, measure of offence against thee. — 1 speak no more to thee on thy purpose. — Were the sixth day from this morning's sun my dying day, and thou wert to stay to close mine eyes, thou wouldst run the risk of being lashed like a dog at a post — yes ! unless thou hadst the gallant heart to leave me to die alone, and upon my desolate hearth, the last spark of thy father's fire, and of thy forsaken mother's life, to be extinguished together ! "—Hamish traversed the hut with an impatient and angry pace. " Mother," he said at length, " concern not yourself about such things. I cannot be subjected to such infamy, for never will I deserve it ; and were I threatened with it, I should know how to die before I was so far dishonoured." " There spoke the son of the husband of my heart ! " repKed Elspat ; and she changed the discourse, and seemed to listen in melancholy acquiescence, when her son reminded her how short the time was which they were permitted to pass in each other's society, and entreated that it might be spent without useless and unpleasant recollections respecting the circumstances under which they must soon be separated. Elspat was now satisfied that her son, with some of his father's other properties, preserved the haughty mascuhne spirit which rendered it impossible to divert him from a resolution which he had deliberately adopted. She assumed, therefore, an. exterior of apparent submission to their inevitable separation ; and if she now and then broke out into complaints and murmurs, it was either that she could not ahogether suppress the natural impetuosity of her 4o6 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. temper, or because she had the wit to consider, that a total an unreserved acquiescence might have seemed to her son constrained and suspicious, and induced him to watch and defeat the means by which she still hoped to prevent his leaving her. Her ardent, though selfish affection for her son, incapable of being qualified by a regard for the true interests of the unfortunate object of her attachment, resembled the instinctive fondness of the animal race for their offspring ; and diving little farther into futurity than one of the inferior creatures, she only felt, that to be separated from Hamish was to die. In the brief interval permitted them, Elspat exhausted every art which affection could devise, to render agreeable to him the space which they were apparently to spend with each other. Her memory carried her far back into former days, and her stores of legendary history, which furnish at all times a principal amusement of the Highlander in his moments of repose, were augmented by an unusual acquaintance with the songs of ancient bards, and traditions of the most approved Seannachies and tellers of tales. Her officious attentions to her son's accommodation, indeed, were so unremitted as almost to give him pain ; and he endeavoured quietly to prevent her from taking so much personal toil in select- ing the blooming 'heath for his bed, or preparing the meal for his refreshment. " Let me alone, Hamish," she would reply on such occasions ; " you follow your own will in departing from your mother, let your mother have hers in doing what gives her pleasure while you remain." So much she seemed to be reconciled to the arrangements which he had made in her behalf, that she could hear him speak to her of her removing to the lands of Green Colin, as the gentleman was called, on whose estate he had provided her an asylum. In truth, however, nothing could be farther from her thoughts. From what he had said during their first violent dispute, Elspat had gathered, that if Hamish returned not by the appointed time permitted by his furlough, he would incur the hazard of corporal punishment. Were he placed within the risk of being thus dishonoured, she was well aware that he would never submit to the disgrace, by a return to the regiment where it might be inflicted. Whether she looked to any farther probable consequences of her unhappy scheme, cannot be known ; but the partner of MacTavish Mhor, in all his perils and wanderings, was familiar with a hundred instances of resistance or escape, by which one brave man, amidst a land of rocks, lakes, and mountains, dangerous passes, and dark forests, might baffle the pursuit of hundreds. For the future, therefore, she feared nothing ; her sole engrossing object was to prevent her son from keeping his word with his commanding officer. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 407 With this secret purpose, she evaded the proposal which Hamish repeatedly made, that they should set out together to take posses- sion of her new abode ; and she resisted it upon grounds apparently so natural to her character, that her son was neither alarmed nor displeased. " Let me not," she said, " in the same short week, bid farewell to my only son, and to the glen in which I have so long dwelt. Let my eye, when dimmed with weeping for thee, still look around, for a while at least, upon Loch Awe and on Ben Cruachan. Hamish yielded the more willingly to his mother'-s humour in this particular, that one or two persons who resided in a neighbouring glen, and had given their sons to Barcaldine's levy, were also to be provided for on the estate of the chieftain, and it was apparently settled that Elspat was to take her journey along with them when they should remove to their new residence. Thus, Hamish be- lieved that he had at once indulged his mother's humour, and ensured her safety and accommodation. But she nourished in her mind very different thoughts and projects ! The period of Hamish's leave of absence was fast approaching, and more than once he proposed to depart, in such time as to ensure his gaining easily and early Dunbarton, the town where were the headquarters of his regiment. But still his mother's entreaties, his own natural disposition to linger among scenes long dear to him, and, above all, his firm reliance in his speed and activity, induced him to protract his departure till the sixth day, being the very last which he could possibly afford to spend with his mother, if indeed he meant to comply with the conditions of his furlough. CHAPTER V. But, for your son,— believe it. Oh, beheve it — Most dangerously you have with him prevailed, If not most mortal to him. — Coriolamts. On the evening which preceded his proposed departure, Hamish walked down to the river with his fishing-rod, to practise in the Awe, for the last time, a sport in which he excelled, and to find, at the same time, the means for making one social meal with his mother on something better than their ordinary cheer. He was as successful as usual, and soon killed a fine salmon. On his return homeward an incident befell him, which he afterwards related as ominous, though probably his heated imagination, joined to the universal turn of his countrymen for the marvellous, exaggerated 4oS THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. into superstitious importance some very ordinary and accidental circumstance. In the path wliich he pursued homeward, he was surprised to observe a person, who, like himself, was dressed and armed after the old Highland fashion. The first idea that struck him was, that the passenger belonged to his own corps, who, levied by govern- ment, and bearing arms under royal authority, were not amenable for breach of the statutes af;ainst the use of the Highland garb or weapons. But he was struck on perceiving, as he mended his pace to make up to his supposed comrade, meaning to request his com- pany for the next day's journey, that the stranger wore a white cockade, the fatal badge which was proscribed in the Highlands. The stature of the man was tall, and there was something shadowy in the outline, which added to his size ; and his mode of motion, which rather resembled gliding than walking, impressed Hamish with superstitious fears concerning the character of the being which thus passed before him in the twilight. He no longer strove to make up to the stranger, but contented himself with keeping him in view ; under the superstition, common to the Highlanders, that you ought neither to intrude yourself on such supernatural appari- tions as you may witness, nor avoid their presence, but leave it to themselves to withhold or extend their communication, as their power may permit, or the purpose of their commission require. ■Upon an elevated knoll by the side of the road, just where the pathway turned down to Elspat's hut, the stranger made a pause, and seemed to await Hamish's coming up. Hamish, on his part, seeing it was necessary he should pass the object of his suspicion, mustered up his courage, and approached the spot where the stranger had placed himself ; who first pointed to Elspat's hut, and made, with arm and head, a gesture prohibiting Hamish to approach it, then stretched his hand to the road which led to the southward, with a motion which seemed to enjoin his instant departure in that direction. In a moment afterwards the plaided form was gone — Hamish did not exactly say vanished, because there were rocks and stunted trees enough to have concealed him ; but it was his own opinion that he had seen the spirit of MacTavish Mhor, warn- ing him to commence his instant journey to Dunbarton, without waiting till morning, or again visiting his mother's hut. In fact, so many accidents might arise to delay his journey, espe- cially where there were many ferries, that it became his settled purpose, though he could not depart without bidding his mother adieu, that he neither could nor would abide longer than for that object ; and that the first glimpse of next day's sun should see him many miles advanced towards Dunbarton. He descended the path, therefore, and entering the cpttage, he communicated, in a THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 409 hasty and troubled voice, which indicated mental agitation, his determination to take his instant departure. Somewhat to his surprise, Elspat appeared not to combat his purpose, but she urged him to take some refreshment ere he left her for ever. He did so hastily, and in silence, thinking on the approaching separation, and scarce yet believing it would take place without a final struggle with his mother's fondness. To his surprise, she filled the quaigh with liquor for his parting cup. " Go," she said, " my son, since such is thy settled purpose ; but first stand once more on thy mother's hearth, the flame on which will be extinguished long ere thy foot shall again be placed there." "To your health, mother ! " said Hamish, " and may we meet again in happiness, in spite of your ominous words." "It were better not to part," said his mother, watching him as he quaffed the liquor, of which he would have held it ominous to have left a drop. " And now," she said, muttering the words to herself,"" " go-^if thou canst go." " Mother," said Hamish, as he replaced on the table the empty quaigh, " thy drink is pleasant to the taste, but it takes away the strength which it ought to give." " Such is its first effect, my son," replied Elspat ; " but lie down upon that soft heather couch, shut your eyes but for a moment, and, in the sleep of an hour, you shall have more refreshment than in the ordinary repose of three whole nights, could they be blended into one." " Mother," said Hamish, upon whose brain the potion was now taking rapid effect, " give me my bonnet — I must kiss you and begone — yet it seems as if my feet were nailed to the floor." " Indeed," said his mother, " you will be instantly well, if you will sit down for half an hour— but half an hour ; it is eight hours to dawn, and dawn were time enough for your father's son to begin such a journey." " I must obey you, mother— I feel I must," said Hamish, inarti- culately ; " but call me when the moon rises." He sat down on the bed — reclined back, and almost instantly was fast asleep. With the throbbing glee of one who has brought to an end a difficult and troublesome enterprise, Elspat proceeded tenderly to arrange the plaid of the unconscious slumberer, to whom her extravagant affection was doomed to be so fatal, expressing, while busied in her office, her delight, in tones of mingled tender- ness and triumph. " Yes," she said, " calf of my heart, the moon shall arise and set to thee, and so shall the sun ; but not to light thee from the land of thy fathers, or tempt thee to serve the foreign prince or the feudal enemy ! To no son of Dermid shall I 4to THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. be delivered, to be fed like a bondswoman ; but he who is my pleasure and my pride shall be my guard and my protector. They say the Highlands are changed ; but I see Ben Cruachan rear his crest as high as ever into the evening sky— no one hath yet herded his kine on the depth of Loch Awe — and yonder oak does not yet bend like a willow. The children of the mountains will be such as their fathers, until the mountains themselves shall be levelled with the strath. In these wild forests, which used to support thousands of the brave, there is still surely subsistence and refuge left for one aged woman, and one gallant youth, of the ancient race and the ancient manners." While the misjudging mother thus exulted in the success of her stratagem, we may mention to the reader, that it was founded on the acquaintance with drugs and simples, which Elspat, accom- plished in all things belonging to the wild life which she had led, possessed in an uncommon degree, and which she exercised for various purposes. With the herbs, which she knew how to select as well as how to distil, she could relieve more diseases than a regular medical person could easily believe. She applied some to dye the bright colours of the tartan — from others she compounded draughts of various powers, and unhappily possessed the secret of one which was strongly soporific. Upon the effects of this last concoction, as the reader doubtless has anticipated, she reckoned with security on delaying Hamish beyond the period for which his return was appointed ; and she trusted to his horror for the apprehended punishment to which he was thus rendered liable, to prevent him from returning at all. Sound and deep, beyond natural rest, was the sleep of Hamish MacTavish on that eventful evening, but not such the repose of his mother. Scarce did she close her eyes from time to time, but she awakened again with a start, in the terror that her son had arisen and departed ; and it was only on approaching his couch, and hearing his deep-drawn and regular breathing, that she reassured herself of the security of the repose in which he was plunged. Still, dawning, she feared, might awaken him, notwithstanding the unusual strength of the potion with which she had drugged his cup. If there remained a hope of mortal man accomplishing the journey, she was aware that Hamish would attempt it, though he were to die from fatigue upon the road. Animated by this new fear, she studied to exclude the light, by stopping all the crannies and crevices through which, rather than through any regular entrance, the morning beams might find access to her miserable dwelling ; and this in order to detain amid its wants and wretched- ness the being, on whom, if the world itself had been at her dis- posal, she would have joyfully conferred it. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 411 Her pains were bestowed unnecessarily. The sun rose high above the heavens, and not the fleetest stag in Breadalbane, were the hounds at his heels, could have sped, to save his life, so fast as would have been necessary to keep Hamish's appointment. Her purpose was fully attained— her son's return within the period assigned was impossible. She deemed it equally impossible, that he would ever dream of returning, standing, as he must now do, in the danger of an infamous punishment. By degrees, and at different times, she had gained from him a full acquaintance with the predicament in which he would be placed by failing to appear on the day appointed, and the very small hope he could entertain of being treated with lenity. It is well known, that the great and wise Earl of Chatham prided himself on the scheme, by which he drew together, for the defence of the colonies, those hardy Highlanders, who, until his time, had been the objects of doubt, fear, and suspicion, on the part of each successive administration. But some obstacles occurred, from the peculiar habits and temper of this people, to the execution of his patriotic project. By nature and habit, every Highlander was accustomed to the use of arms, but at the same time totally unac- customed to, and impatient of, the restraints imposed by discipline upon regular troops. They were a species of militia, who had no conception of a camp as their only home. If a battle was lost, they dispersed to save themselves, and look out for the safety of their families ; if won, they went back to their glens to hoard up their booty, and attend to their cattle and their farms. This privilege of going and coming at pleasure, they would not be deprived of even by their Chiefs, whose authority was in most other respects so despotic. It followed as a matter of course, that the new-levied Highland recruits could scarce be made to compre- hend the nature of a military engagement, which compelled a man to serve in the army longer than he pleased ; and perhaps, in many instances, sufficient care was not taken at enlisting to explain to them the permanency of the engagement which they came under, lest such a disclosure should induce them to change their mind. Desertions were therefore become numerous from the newly-raised regiment, and the veteran General who commanded at Dunbarton, saw no better way of checking them than by causing an unusually severe example to be made of a deserter from an English corps. The young Highland regiment was obliged to attend upon the punishment, which struck a people, peculiarly jealous of personal honour, with equal horror and disgust, and not unnaturally indis- posed some of them to the service. The old General, however, who had been regularly bred in the German wars, stuck to his own opinion, and gave out in orders that the first Highlander who might 412 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. either desert, or fail to appear at the expiry of his furlough, should be brought to the halberds and punished like the culprit whom they had seen in that condition. No man doubted that General would keep his word rigorously whenever severity was re- quired, and Elspat, therefore, knew that her son, when he perceived that due compliance with his orders was impossible, must at the same time consider the degrading punishment denounced against his defection as inevitable, should he place himself within the General's power.* When noon was well passed, new apprehensions came on the mind of the lonely woman. Her son still slept under the influence of the draught ; but what if, being stronger than she had ever known it administered, his health or his reason should be aifected by its potency ? For the first time, likewise, notwithstanding her high ideas on the subject of parental authority, she began to dread the resentment of her son, whom her heart told her she had wronged. Of late, she had observed that his temper was less docile, and his determinations, especially upon this late occasion of his enlistment, independently formed, and then boldly carried through. She remembered the stern wilfulness of his father when he accounted himself ill-used, and began to dread that Hamish, upon finding the deceit she had put upon him, might resent it even to the extent of casting her off, and pursuing his own course through the world alone. Such were the alarming and yet the reasonable apprehensions which began to crowd upon the unfortunate woman, after the apparent success of her ill-advised stratagem. It was near evening when Hamish first awoke, and then he was far from being in the full possession either of his mental or bodily powers. From his vague expressions and disordered pulse, Elspat at first experienced much apprehension ; but she used such expe- dients as her medical knowledge suggested ; and in the course of the night, she had the satisfaction to see him sink once more into a deep sleep, which probably carried off the greater part of the effects of the drug, for about sunrising she heard him arise, and call to her for his bonnet. This she had purposely removed, from a fear that he might awaken and depart in the night-time, without her knowledge. "My bonnet — my bonnet," cried Hamish, "it is time to take farewell. Mother, your drink was too strong — the sun is up — but with the next morning I will still see the double summit of the ancient Dun. My bonnet — my bonnet ! mother, I must be instant in my departure." These expressions niade it plain that poor Hamish was unconscious that two nights and a day had passed since he had drained the fatal quaigh, and Elspat had now to ven- THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 413 ture on what she felt as the almost perilous, as well as painful task, of explaining her machinations, " Forgive me, my son," she said, approaching Hamish, and taking him by the hand with an air of deferential awe, which per- haps she had not always used to his father, even when in his moody fits. " Forgive you, mother — for what ? " said Hamish, laughing ; " for givfng me a dram that was too strong, and which my head still feels this morning, or for hiding my bonnet to keep me an instant longer ? Nay, do you forgive me. Give me the bonnet, and let that be dorie which ow must be done. Give me my bonnet, or I go without it ; surely I am not to be delayed by so trifling a want as that — I, who have gone for years with only a strap of deer's hide to tie back my hair. Trifle not, but give it me, or I must go bareheaded, since to stay is impossible." " My son," said Elspat, keeping fast hold of his hand, " what is done cannot be recalled ; could you borrow the wings of yonder eagle, you would arrive at the Dun too late for what you purpose, — too soon for what awaits you there. You believe you see the sun rising for the first time since you have seen him set, but yesterday beheld him climb Ben Cruachan, though your eyes were closed to his light." Hamish cast upon his mother a wild glance of extreme terror, then instantly recovering himself, said—" I am no child to be cheated out of my purpose by such tricks as these — Farewell, mother, each moment is worth a lifetime." " Stay," she said, " my dear — my deceived son ! rush not on in- famy and ruin — Yonder I see the priest upon the high-road on his white horse — ask him the day of the month and week— let him decide between us." With the speed of an eagle, Hamish darted up the acclivity, and stood by the minister of Glenorquhy, who was pacing out thus early to administer consolation to a distressed family near Bunawe. The good man was somewhat startled to behold an armed Highlander, then so unusual a sight, and apparently much agitated, stop his horse by the bridle, and ask him with a faltering voice the day of the week and month. " Had you been where you should have been yesterday, young man," replied the clergyman, "you would have known that it was God's Sabbath ; and that this is Monday, the second day of the week, and twenty-first of the month." " And this is true ? " said Hamish. "As true," answered the surprised minister, "as that I yesterday preached the word of God to this parish.— What ails you, young man ?— ara you sick ?— are you in your right mind ? " 414 THE HIGHI,AND WIDOW. Hamish made no answer, only repeated to himself the first ex- pression of the clergyman — " Had you been where you should have been yesterday ; " and so saying, he let go the bridle, turned from the road, and descended the path towards the hut, with the look and pace of one who was going to execution. The minister looked after him with surprise ; but although he knew the inhabitant of the hovel, the character of Elspat had not invited him to open any com- munication with her, because she was generally reputed a Papist, or rather one indifferent to all religion, except some superstitious ob- servances which had been handed down from her parents. On Hamish the Reverend Mr. Tyrie had bestowed instructions when he was occasionally thrown in his way, and if the seed fell among the brambles and thorns of a wild and uncultivated disposition, it had not yet been entirely checked or destroyed. There was some- thing so ghastly in the present expression of the youth's features, that the good man was tempted to go down to the hovel, and enquire whether any distress had befallen the inhabitants, in which his presence might be consoling, and his ministry useful. Un- happily he did not persevere in this resolution, which might have saved a great misfortune, as he would have probably become a mediator for the unfortunate young man ; but a recollection of the wild moods of such Highlanders as had been educated after the old fashion of the country, prevented his interesting himself in the widow and son of the far-dreaded robber, MacTavish Mhor ; and he thus missed an opportunity, which he afterwards sorely repented, of doing much good. When Hamish MacTavish entered his mother's hut, it was only to throw himself on the bed he had left, and exclaiming, " Undone, undone ! " to give vent, in cries of grief and anger, to his deep sense of the deceit which had been practised on him, and of the cruel predicament to which he was reduced. Elspat was prepared for the first explosion of her son's passion, and said to herself, " It is but the mountain torrent, swelled by the thunder shower. Let us sit and rest us by the bank ; for all its pre- sent tumult, the time will soon come when we may pass it dryshod." She suffered his complaints and his reproaches, which were, even in the midst of his agony, respectful and affectionate, to die away without returning any answer ; and when, at length, having ex- hausted all the exclamations of sorrow which his language, copious in expressing the feelings of the heart, affords to the sufferer, he sunk into a gloomy silence, she suffered the interval to continue near an hour ere she appro iched her son's couch. "And now," she said at length, with a voice in which the authority of the mother was qualified by her tenderness, have you exhausted your idle sorrows, and are you able to place what you THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 415 have gained against what you have lost ? Is the false son of Der- mid your brother, or the father of your tribe, that you weep because you cannot bind yourself to his belt, and become one of those who must do his bidding ? Could you find in yonder distant country the lakes and the mountains that you leave behind you here ? Can you hunt the deer of Breadalbane in the forests of America, or will the ocean afford you the silver-scaled salmon of the Awe ? Consider, then, what is your loss, and, like a wise man, set it against what you have won." "I have lost all, mother," replied Hamish, "since I have broken my word, and lost my honour. I might tell my tale, but who, oh, who would believe me?" The unfortunate young man again clasped his hands together, and, pressing them to his forehead, hid his face upon the bed. Elspat was now really alarmed, and perhaps wished the fatal deceit had been left unattempted. She had no hope or refuge saving in the eloquence of persuasion, of which she possessed no small share, though her total ignorance of the world as it actually existed, rendered its energy unavailing. She urged her son, by every tender epithet which a parent could bestow, to take care for his own safety. " Leave me," she said, " to baffle your pursuers. I will save your life — I will save your honour — I will tell them that my fair- haired Hamish fell from the Corrie dhu (black precipice) into the gulf, of which human eye never beheld the bottom. I will tell them this, and I will fling your plaid on the thorns which grow on the brink of the precipice, that they may believe my words. They will believe, and they will return to the Dun of the double crest ; for though the Saxon drum can call the living to die, it cannot recall the dead to their slavish standard. Then will we travel together far northward to the salt lakes of Kintail, and place glens and mountains betwixt us and the sons of Dermid. We will visit the shores of the dark lake, and my kinsmen — (for was not my mother of the children of Kenneth, and will they not remember us with the old love?) — my kinsmen will receive us with the affection of the olden time, which lives in those distant glens, where the Gael still dwell in their nobleness, unmingled with the churl Saxons, or with the base brood that are their tools and their slaves." The energy of the language, somewhat allied to hyperbole, even in its most ordinary expressions, now seemed almost too weak to afford Elspat the means of bringing out the splendid picture which she presented to her son of the land in which she proposed to him to take refuge. Yet the colours were few with which she could paint her Highland paradise. " The hills," she said, "were higher and more magnificent than those of Breadalbane— Ben Cruachan 4i6 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. was but a dwarf to Skooroora. The lakes were broader and larger, and abounded not only with fish, but with the enchanted and amphibious animal which gives oil to the lamp.* The deer were larger and more numerous — the white-tusked boar, the chase of which the brave loved best, was yet to be roused in those western solitudes — the men were nobler, wiser, and stronger, than the degenerated brood who lived under the Saxon banner. The daughters of the land were beautiful, with blue eyes and fair hair, and bosoms of snow, and out of these she would choose a wife for Hamish, of blameless descent, spotless fame, fixed and true affection, who should be in their summer bothy as a beam of the sun, and in their winter abode as the warmth of the needful fire." Such were the topics with which Elspat strove to soothe the despair of her son, and to determine him, if possible, to leave the fatal spot, on which he seemed resolved to linger. The style of her rhetoric was poetical, but in other respects resembled that which, like other fond mothers, she had lavished on Hamish, while a child or a boy, in order to gain his consent to do something he had no mind to ; and she spoke louder, quicker, and more earnestly, in proportion as she began to despair of her words carrying conviction. On the mind of Hamish her eloquence made no impression. He knew far better than she did the actual situation of the country, and was sensible, that, though it might be possible to hide him- self as a fugitive among more distant mountains, there was now no corner in the Highlands in which his father's profession could be practised, even if he had not adopted, from the improved ideas of the time when he lived, the opinion, that the trade of the cateran was no longer the road to honour and distinction. Her words were therefore poured into regardless ears, and she exhausted herself in vain in the attempt to paint the regions of her mother's kinsmen in such terms as might tempt Hamish to accompany her thither. She spoke for hours, but she spoke in vain. She could extort no answer, save groans and sighs, and ejaculations, expressing the extremity of despair. At length, starting on her feet, and changing the monotonous tone in which she had chanted, as it were, the praises of the pro- vince of refuge, into the short, stern language of eager passion — " I am a fool," she said, "to spend my words upon an idle, poor- spirited, unintelligent boy, who crouches like a hound to the lash. Wait here, and receive your taskmasters, and abide your chastise- ment at their hands ; but do not think your mother's eyes will be- hold it. I could not see it and live. My eyes have looked often upon death, but never upon dishonour! Farewell, Hamish ! — We never meet again." THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 4,7 She dashed from the hut like a lapwing, and perhaps for the moment actually entertained the purpose which she expressed, of parting with her son for ever. A fearful sight she would have been that evening to any who might have met her wandering through the wilderness like a restless spirit, and speaking to herself in language which will endure no translation. She rambled for hours, seeking rather than shunning the most dangerous paths. The pre- carious track through the morass, the dizzy path along the edge of the precipice, or by the banks of the gulfing river, were the roads which, far from avoiding, she sought with eagerness, and traversed with reckless haste. But the courage arising from despair was the means of saving the life, which (though deliberate suicide was rarely practised in the Highlands) she was perhaps desirous of terminating. Her step on the verge of the precipice was firm as that of the wild goat. Her eye, in that state of excitation, was so keen as to discern, even amid darkness, the perils which noon would not have enabled a stranger to avoid. Elspat's course was not directly forward, else she had soon been far from the bothy in which she had left her son. It was circuitous, for that hut was the centre to which her heartstrings were chained, and though she wandered around it, she felt it impossible to leave the vicinity. With the first beams of morning, she returned to the hut. Awhile she paused at the wattled door, as if ashamed that lingering fondness should have brought her back to the spot which she had left with the purpose of never returning ; but there was yet more of fear and anxiety in her hesitation — of anxiety, lest her fair-haired son had suffered from the effects of her potion — of fear, lest his enemies had come upon him in the night. She opened the door of the hut gently, and entered with noiseless step. Exhausted with his sorrow and anxiety, and not entirely relieved perhaps from the influence of the powerful opiate, Hamish Bean again slept the stern sound sleep, by which the Indians are said to be overcome during the intei-val of their torments. His mother was scarcely sure that she actually discerned his form on the bed, scarce certain that her ear caught the sound of his breathing. With a throbbing heart, Elspat went to the fire-place in the centre of the hut, where slumbered, covered with a piece of turf, the glimmering embers of the fire, never extinguished on a Scottish hearth until the indwellers leave the mansion for ever. " Feeble greishogh,"* she said, as she lighted, by the help of a match, a splinter of bog pine which was to serve the place of a candle ; " weak greishogh, soon shalt thou be put out for ever, and may Heaven grant that the life of Elspat MacTavish have no longer duration than thine ! " While she spoke she raised the blazing light towards the bed, no E E 4i3 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. which still lay the prostrate limbs of her son, in a posture that left it doubtful whether he slept or swooned. As she advanced towards him, the light flashed'upon his eyes — he started up in an instant, made a stride forward with his naked dirk in his hand, like a man armed to meet a mortal enemy, and exclaimed, " Stand off ! — on thy life, standoff!" " It is the word and the action of my husband," answered Elspat ; " and I know by his speech and his step the son of MacTavish Mhor." " Mother," said Hamish, relapsing from his tone of desperate firmness into one of melancholy expostulation ; " oh, dearest mother, wherefore have you returned hither ?" " Ask why the hind comes back to the fawn," said Elspat ; " why the cat of the mountain returns to her lodge and her young. Know you, Hamish, that the heart of the mother only lives in the bosom of the child." " Then will it soon cease to throb," said Hamish, " unless it can beat within a bosom that lies beneath the turf. — Mother, do not blame me ; if I weep, it is not for myself but for you, for my suffer- ings will soon be over ; but yours O, who but Heaven shall set a boundary to them !" Elspat shuddered and stepped backward, but almost instantly resumed her firm and upright position, and her dauntless bearing. " I thought thou wert a man but even now," she said, " and thou art again a child. Hearken to me yet, and let 'us leave this place together. Have I done thee wrong or injury ? if so, yet do not avenge it so cruelly — See, Elspat MacTavish, who never kneeled before even to a priest, falls prostrate before her own son, and craves his forgiveness." And at once she threw herself on her knees before the young man, seized on his hand, and kissing it a hundred times, repeated as often, in heart-breaking accents, the most earnest entrea- ties for forgiveness. " Pardon," she exclaimed, " pardon, for the sake of your father's ashes — pardon, for the sake of the pain with which I bore thee, the care with which I nurtured thee ! — Hear it. Heaven, and behold it. Earth — the mother asks pardon of her child, and she is refused !" It was in vain that Hamish endeavoured to stem this tide of pas- sion, by assuring his mother, with the most solemn asseverations, that he forgave entirely the fatal deceit which she had practised upon him. " Empty words," she said ; " idle protestations, which are but used to hide the obduracy of your resentment. Would you have me believe you, then leave the hut this instant, and retire from a country which every hour renders more dangerous. — Do this, and I may think you have forgiven me— refuse it, and again I call on THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 419 moon and stars, heaven and earth, to witness the unrelenting resent- ment with which you prosecute your mother for a fault, which, if it be one, arose out of love to you." " Mother," said Hamish, " on this subject you move me not. I will fly before no man. If Barcaldine should send every Gael that is under his banner, here, and in this place, will I abide them ; and when you bid me fly, you may as well command yonder mountain to be loosened from its foundations. Had I been sure of the road by which they are coming hither, I had spared them the pains of seeking me ; but I might go by the mountain, while they perchance came by the lake. Here I will abide my fate ; nor is there in Scot- land a voice of power enough to bid me stir from hence, and be obeyed." " Here, then, I also stay," said Elspat, rising up and speaking with assumed composure. " I have seen my husband's death — my eyelids shall not grieve to look on the fall of my son. But Mac- Tavish Mhor died as became the brave, with his good sword in his right hand ; my son will perish like the bullock that is driven to the shambles by the Saxon owner, who has bought him for a price." " Mother," said the unhappy young man, " you have taken my life ; to that you have a right, for you gave it ; but touch not my honour ! It came to me from a brave train of ancestors, and should be sullied neither by man's deed nor woman's speech. What I shall do, perhaps I myself yet know not ; but tempt me no farther by reproachful words ; you have already made wounds more than you can ever heal." " It is weU, my son," said Elspat, in reply. " Expect neither farther complaint nor remonstrance from me ; but let us be silent, and wait the chance which Heaven shall send us." The sun arose on the next morning, and found the bothy silent as the grave. The mother and son had arisen, and were engaged each in their separate task — Hamish in preparing and cleaning his arms with the greatest accuracy, but with an air of deep dejection. Elspat, more restless in her agony of spirit, employed herself in making ready the food which the distress of yesterday had induced them both to dispense with for an unusual number of hours. She placed it on the board before her son so soon as it was prepared, with the words of a Gaelic poet, " Without daily food, the husband- man's ploughshare stands still in the furrow ; without daily food, the sword of the warrior is too heavy for his hand. Our bodies are our slaves, yet they must be fed if we would have their service. So spake, in ancient days, the Blind Bard to the warriors of Fion." The young man made no reply, but he fed on what was placed before him, as if to gather strength for the scene which he was to undergo. When his mother saw that he had eaten what sufficed 430 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. him, sh§ again filled the fatal quaigh, and proffered it as the con- clusion of the repast. But he started aside with a convulsive gesture, expressive at once of fear and abhorrence. "Nay, my son," she said, "this time surely, thou hast no cause of fear." " Urge me not, mother," answered Hamish ; " or put the leprous toad into a flagon, and I will drink ; but from that accursed cup, and of that mind-destroying potion, never will I taste more !" " At your pleasure, my son," said Elspat, haughtily ; and began, with much apparent assiduity, the various domestic tasks which had been interrupted during the preceding day. Whatever was at her heart, all anxiety seemed banished from her looks and demeanour. It was but from an over activity of bustling exertion that it might have been perceived, by a close observer, that her actions were spurred by some internal cause of painful excitement ; and such a spectator, too, might also have observed how often she broke off the snatches of songs or tunes which she hummed, apparently without knowing what she was doing, in order to cast a hasty glance from the door of the hut. Whatever might be in the mind of Hamish, his demeanour was directlythe reverse of that adopted byhis mother. Having finished the task of cleaning and preparing his arms, which he arranged within the hut, he sat himself down before the door of the bothy, and watched the opposite hill, like the fixed sentihel who expects the approach of an enemy. Noon found him in the same unchanged posture, and it was an hour after that period, when his mother, standing beside him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and said, in a tone indifferent, as if she had been talking of some friendly visit, " When dost thou expect them ?" " They cannot be here till the shadows fall long to the eastward," replied Hamish ; " that is, even supposing the nearest party, com- manded by Sergeant Allan Breack Cameron, has been commanded hither by express from Dunbarton, as it is most likely they will." " Then enter beneath your mother's roof once more ; partake the last time of the food which she has prepared ; after this, let them come, and thou shalt see if thy mother is a useless encumbrance in the day of strife. Thy hand, practised as it is, cannot fire these arms so fast as I can load them ; nay, if it is necessary, I do not myself fear the flash or the report, and my aim has been held fatal." " In the name of Heaven, mother, meddle not with this matter !" said Hamish. "Allan Breack is a wise man and a kind one, and comes of a good stem. It may be, he can promise for our officers, that they will touch me with no infamous punishment ; and if they offer me confinement in the dungeon, or death by the musket, to that I may not object." " Alas, and wilt thou trust to their word, my foolish child ? Re- THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 421 member the race of Dermid were ever fair and false, and no sooner sliall they have gyves on thy hands, than they will strip thy shoulders for the scourge." " Save your advice, mother," said Hamish, sternly ; " for me, my mind is made up." But though he spoke thus, to escape the almost persecuting urgency of his mother, Hamish would have found it, at that moment, impossible to say upon what course of conduct he had thus fixed. On one point alone he was determined, namely, to abide his destiny, be what it might, and not to add to the breach of his word, of which he had been involuntarily rendered guilty, by attempting to escape from punishment. This act of self-devotion he conceived to be due to his own honour, and that of his countrymen. Which of his com- rades would in future be trusted, if he should be considered as hav- ing broken his word, and betrayed the confidence of his officers ? and whom but Hamish Bean MacTavish would the Gael accuse, for having verified and confirmed the suspicions which the Saxon General was well known to entertain against the good faith of the Highlanders ? He was, therefore, bent firmly to abide his fate. But whether his intention was to yield himself peaceably into the hands of the party who should come to apprehend him, or whether he purposed, by a show of resistance, to provpke them to kill him on the spot, was a question which he could not himself haveanswered. His desire to see Barcaldine, and explain the cause of his absence at the appointed time, urged him to the one course ; his fear of the degrading punishment, and of his mother's bitter upbraidings, strongly instigated the latter and the more dangerous purpose. He left it to chance to decide when the crisis should arrive ;• nor did he tarry long in expectation of the catastrophe. Evening approached, the gigantic shadows of the mountains streamed in darkness towards the east, while their western peaks were still glowing with crimson and gold. The road which winds round Ben Cruachan was fully visible from the door of the bothy, when a party of five Highland soldiers, whose arms glanced in the sun, wheeled suddenly into sight from the most distant extremity, where the highway is hidden behind the mountain. One of the party walked a little before the other four, who marched regularly and in files, according to the rules of military discipline. There was no dispute, from the firelocks which they carried, and the plaids and bonnets which they wore, that they were a party of Hamish's regiment, imder a non-commissioned officer ; and there could be as little doubt of the purpose of their appearance on the banks of Loch Awe. " They come briskly forward " — said the widow of MacTavish Mhor, — " I wonder how fast or how slow some of them will return 422 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. again ! But they are five, and it is too much odds for a fair field. Step back within the hut, my son, and shoot from the loophole beside the door. Two you may bring down ere they quit the high-road for the footpath — there will remain but three ; and your father, with my aid, has often stood against that number." Hamish Bean took the gun which his mother offered, but did not stir from the door of the hut. He was soon visible to the party on the high-road, as was evident from their increasing their pace to a run ; the files, however, still keeping together, like coupled grey- hounds, and advancing with great rapidity. In far less time than would have been accomplished by men less accustomed to the mountains, they had left the high-road, traversed the narrow path, and approached within pistol-shot of the bothy, at the door of which stood Hamish, fixed like a statue of stone, with his firelock in his hand, while his mother, placed behind him, and almost driven to frenzy by the violence of her passions, reproached him in the strongest terms which despair could invent, for his want of resolution and faintness of heart. Her words increased the bitter gall which was arising in the young man's own spirit, as he observed the unfriendly speed with which his late comrades were eagerly making towards him, like hounds towards the stag when he is at bay. The untamed and angry passions which he inherited from father and mother, were awakened by the supposed hostility of those who pursued him ; and the restraint under which these passions had been hitherto held by his sober judgment, began gradually to give way. The sergeant now called to him, " Hamish Bean MacTavish, lay down your arms, and surrender." " Tioyott stand, Allan Breack Cameron, and command your men to stand, or it will be the worse for us all." " Halt, men ! " — said the sergeant, but continuing himself to advance. " Hamish, think what you do, and give up your gun ; you may spill blood, but you cannot escape punishment." " The scourge — the scourge ! — My son, beware the scourge ! " whispered his mother. "Take heed, Allan Breack," said Hamish. "I would not hurt you willingly, — but I will not be taken unless you can assure me against the Saxon lash." " Fool ! " answered Cameron, "you know I cannot ; yet I will do all I can. I will say I met you on your return, and the punishment will be light — But give up your musket. — Come on, men." Instantly he rushed forward, extending his arm as if to push aside the young man's levelled firelock. Elspat exclaimed, " Now, spare not your father's blood to defend your father's hearth ! " Hamish fired his piece, and Cameron dropped dead.— All these things happened, it might be said, in the same moment of time. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 423 The soldiers rushed forward and seized Hamish, who, seeming petrified with what he had done, offered not the least resistance. Not so his mother ; who, seeing the men about to put handcuffs on her son, threw herself on the soldiers with such fury, that it required two of them to hold her, while the rest secured the prisoner." " Are you not an accursed creature," said one of the men to Hamish, " to have slain your best friend, who was contriving, during the whole march, how he could find some way of getting you off without punishment for your desertion ? " " Do you hear that, mother ? " said Hamish, turning himself as much towards her as his bonds would permit — but the mother heard nothing, and saw nothing. She had fainted on the iloor of her hut. Without waiting for her recovery, the party almost immediately began their homeward march towards Dunbarton, leading along with- them their prisoner. They thought it necessary, however, to stay for a little space at the village of Dalmally, from which they dispatched a party of the inhabitants to bring away the body of their unfortunate leader, while they themselves repaired to a magistrate to state what had happened, and require his instructions as to the farther course to be pursued. The crime being of a military character, they were instructed to march the prisoner to Dunbarton without delay. The swoon of the mother of Hamish lasted for a length of time ; the longer perhaps that her constitution, strong as it was, must have been much exhausted by her previous agitation of three days' endurance. She was roused from her stupor at length by female voices, which cried the coronach, or lament for the dead, with clapping of hands and loud exclamations ; while the melancholy note of a lament, appropriate to the clan Cameron, played on the bagpipe, was heard from time to time. Elspat started up like one awakened from the dead, and without any accurate recollection of the scene which had passed before her eyes. There were females .in the hut who were swathing the corpse in its bloody plaid before carrying it from the fatal spot. " Women," she said, starting up and interrupting their chant at once and their labour — " Tell me, women, why sing you the dirge of MacDhonuil Dhu in the house of MacTavish Mhor ? " " She-wolf, be silent with thine ill-omened yell," answered one of the females, a relation of the deceased, " and let us do our duty to our beloved kinsman ! There shall never be coronach cried, or dirge played, for thee or thy bloody wolf-burd.* The ravens shall eat him from the gibbet, and the foxes and wild-cats shall tear thy corpse upon the hill. Cursed be he that would sain your bones, or add a stone to your cairn ! " " Daughter of a foolish mother," answered the widow of Mac- 424 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. Tavish Mhor, " know that the gibbet with which you threaten us, is no portion of our inheritance. For thirty years the Black Tree of the Law, whose apples are dead men's bodies, hungered after the beloved husband of my heart ; but he died like a brave man, with the sword in his hand, and defrauded it of its hopes and its fruit." " So shall it not be with thy child, bloody sorceress,'' replied the female mourner, whose passions were as violent as those of Elspat herself. " The ravens shall tear his fair hair to line their nests, before the sun sinks beneath the Treshornish islands." These words recalled to Elspat's mind the whole history of the last three dreadful days. At first, she stood fixed as if the extremity of distress had converted her into stone ; but in a minute, the pride and violence of her temper, outbraved as she thought herself on her own threshold, enabled her to reply — " Yes, insulting hag, my fair- haired boy may die, but it will not be with a white hand — it has been dyed in the blood of his enemy, in the best blood of a Cameron — remember that ; and when you lay your dead in his grave, let it be his best epitaph, that he was killed by Hamish Bean for essaying to lay hands on the son of MacTavish Mhor on his own threshold. Farewell— the shame of defeat, loss, and slaughter, remain with the clan that has endured it ! " The relative of the slaughtered Cameron raised her voice in reply ; but Elspat, disdaining to continue the objurgation, or perhaps feeling her grief likely to overmaster her power of expressing her resentment, had left the hut, and was walking forth in the bright moonshine. The females who were arranging the corpse of the slaughtered man, hurried from their melancholy labour to look after her tall figure as it glided away among the cliffs. " I am glad she is gone," said one of the younger persons who assisted. " I would as soon dress a corpse when the great Fiend himself — God sain us — stood visibly before us, as when Elspat of the Tree is amongst us. — Ay — ay, even overmuch intercourse hath she had with the Enemy in her day." " Silly woman," answered the female who had maintained the dialogue with the departed Elspat, " thinkest thou that there is a worse fiend on earth, or beneath it, than the pride and fury of an offended woman, like yonder bloody-minded hag? Know that blood has been as familiar to her as the dew to the mountain-daisy. Many and many a brave man has she caused to breathe their last for little wrong they had done to her or hers. But her hough- sinews are cut, now that her wolf-burd must, like a murderer as he is, make a murderer's end." Whilst the women thus discoursed together, as they watched the THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 425 corpse of Allan Breack Cameron, the unhappy cause of his death pursued her lonely way across the mountain. While she remained, within sight of the bothy, she put a strong constraint on herself, that by no alteration of pace or gesture, she might afford to her enemies the triumph of calculating the excess of her mental agitation, nay, despair. She stalked, therefore, with a slow rather than a swift step, and, holding herself upright, seemed at once to endure with firmness that woe which was passed, and bid defiance to that which was about to come. But when she was beyond the sight of those who remained in the hut, she could no longer suppress the extremity of her agitation. Drawing her mantle wildly round her, she stopped at the first knoll, and climbing to its summit, extended her arms up to the bright moon, as if accusing heaven and earth for her misfortunes, and uttered scream on scream, like those of an eagle whose nest has been plundered of her brood. Awhile she vented her grief in these inarticulate cries, then rushed on her way with a hasty and unequal step, in the vain hope of overtaking the party which was conveying her son a prisoner to Dunbarton. But her strength, superhuman as it seemed, failed her in the trial, nor was it possible for her, with her utmost efforts, to accomplish her purpose. Yet she pressed onward, with all the speed which her exhausted frame could exert. When food became indispensable, she entered the first cottage : " Give me to eat," she said ; " I am the widow of MacTavish Mhor— I am the mother of Hamish MacTavish Bean, — give me to eat, that I may once more see my fair-haired son." Her demand was never refused, though granted in many cases with a kind of struggle between compassion and aversion in some of those to whom she applied, which was in others qualified by fear. The share she had had in occasioning the death of Allan Breack Cameron, which must probably involve that of her own son, was not accurately known ; but, from a knowledge of her violent passions and former habits of life, no one doubted that in one way or other she had been the cause of the catastrophe ; and Hamish Bean was considered, in the slaughter which he had committed, rather as the instrument than as the accomplice of his mother. This general opinion of his countrymen was of little service to the unfortunate Hamish. As his captain, Green Colin, understood the manners and habits of his country, he had no difficulty in collecting from Hamish the particulars accompanying his supposed desertion, and the subsequent death of the non-commissioned officer. He felt the utmost compassion for a youth, who had thus fallen a victim to the extravagant and fatal fondness of a parent. But he had no excuse to plead which could rescue his unhappy recruit from the doom, which military discipline and the award of 426 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. a court-martial denounced against him for the crime he had committed. No time had been lost in their proceedings, and as little was interposed betwixt sentence and execution. General had determined to make a severe example of the first deserter who should fall into his power, and here was one who had defended himself by main force, and slain in the affray the officer sent to take him into custody. A fitter subject for punishment could not have occurred, and Hamish was sentenced to immediate execution. All which the interference of his captain in his favour could procure, was that he should die a soldier's death ; for there had been a purpose of executing him upon the gibbet. The worthy clergyman of Glenorquhy chanced to be at Dun- barton, in attendance upon some church courts, at the time of this catastrophe. He visited his unfortunate parishioner in his dungeon, found him ignorant indeed, but not obstinate, and the answers ■which he received from him, when conversing on religious topics, were such as induced him doubly to regret, that a mind naturally pure and noble should have remained unhappily so wild and uncultivated. When he ascertained the real character and disposition of the young man, the worthy pastor made deep and painful reflections on his own shyness and timidity, which, arising out of the evil fame that attached to the lineage of Hamish, had restrained him from charitably endeavouring to bring this stray sheep within the great fold. While the good minister blamed his cowardice in times past, which had deterred him from risking his person, to save, perhaps, an immortal soul, he resolved no longer to be governed by such timid counsels, but to endeavour, by applica- tion to his officers, to obtain a reprieve, at least, if not a pardon, for the criminal, in whom he felt so unusually interested, at once from his docility of temper and his generosity of disposition. Accordingly, the divine sought out Captain Campbell at the barracks within the garrison. There was a gloomy melancholy on the brow of Green Colin, which was not lessened, but in- creased, when the clergyman stated his name, quality, and errand. " You cannot tell me better of the young man than 1 am disposed to believe," answered the Highland officer ; " you cannot ask me to do more in his behalf than I am of myself inclined, and have already endeavoured to do. But it is all in vain. General is half a Lowlander, half an Englishman. He has no idea of the high and enthusiastic character which, in these mountains, often brings exalted virtues in contact with great crimes, which, however, are less offences of the heart than errors of the under- standing. I have gone so far as to tell him, that, in this young THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 427 man, he was putting to death the best and the bravest of my company, where all, or almost all, are good and brave. I ex- plained to him by what strange delusion the culprit's apparent desertion was occasioned, and how little his heart was accessory to tbe crime which his hand unhappily committed. His answer was, ' These are Highland visions, Captain Campbell, as unsatis- factory and vain as those of the second sight. An act of gross desertion may, in any case, be palliated under the plea of intoxi- cation ; the murder of an officer may be as easily coloured over with that of temporary insanity. The example must be made ; and if it has fallen on a man otherwise a good recruit, it will have the greater effect.'— Such being the General's unalterable purpose," continued Captain Campbell, with a sigh, " be it your care, reverend sir, that your penitent prepare, by break of day to-morrow, for that great change which we shall all one day be subjected to." "And -for which," said the clergyman, "may God prepare us all,' as I in my duty will not be wanting to this poor youth." Next morning, as the very earliest beams of sunrise saluted the grey towers which crown the summit of that singular and tremen- dous rock, the soldiers of the new Highland regiment appeared on the parade, within the Castle of Dunbarton, and having fallen into order, began to move downward by steep staircases and narrow passages towards the external barrier-gate, which is at the very bottom of the rock. The wild wailings of the pibroch were heard at times, interchanged with the drums and fifes, which beat the Dead March. The unhappy criminal's fate did not, at first, excite that general sympathy in the regiment which would probably have arisen had he been executed for desertion alone. The slaughter of the unfor- tunate Allan Breack had given a different colour to Hamish's offence ; for the deceased was much beloved, and besides belonged to a numerous and powerful clan, of whom there were many in the ranks. The unfortunate criminal, on the contrary, was little known to, and scarcely connected with, any of his regimental companions. His father had been, indeed, distinguished for his strength and manhood ; but he was of a broken clan, as those names were called who had no chief to lead them to battle. It would have been almost impossible in another case, to have turned out of the ranks of the regiment the party necessary for the execution of the sentence ; but the six individuals selected for that purpose, were friends of the deceased, descended, like him, from the race of MacDhonuil Dhu ; and while they prepared for the dismal task which their duty imposed, it was not without a stern feeling of gratified revenge. The leading company of the regiment 428 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. began now to defile from the barrier-gate, and was followed by the others, each successively moving and halting according to the orders of the Adjutant, so as to form three sides of an oblong square, with the ranks faced inwards. The fourth, or blank side of the square, was closed up by the huge and lofty precipice on which the Castle rises. About the centre of the procession, bare-headed, disarmed, and with his hands bound, came the unfortunate victim of military law. He was deadly pale, but his step was firm and his eye was bright as ever. The clergyman walked by his side — the coffin, which was to receive his mortal remains, was borne before him. The looks of his comrades were still, composed, and solemn. They felt for the youth, whose handsome form, and manly yet submissive deportment had, as soon as he was distinctly visible to them, softened the hearts of many, even of some who had been actuated by vindictive feelings. The coffin destined for the yet living body of Hamish Bean was placed at the bottom of the hollow square, about two yards distant from the foot of the precipice, which rises in that place as steep as a stone wall to the height of three or four hundred feet. Thither the prisoner was also led, the clergyman still continuing by his side, pouring forth exhortations of courage and consolation, to which the youth appeared to listen with respectful devotion. With slow, and, it seemed, almost unwilling steps, the firing party entered the square, and were drawn up facing the prisoner, about ten yards distant. The clergyman was now about to retire — " Think, my son," he said, " on what I have told you, and let your hope be rested on the anchor which I have given. You will then exchange a short and miserable existence here, for a life in which you will experience neither sorrow nor pain. — Is there aught else which you can intrust to me to execute for you ? " The youth looked at his sleeve buttons. They were of gold, booty perhaps which his father had taken from some English officer during the civil wars. The clergyman disengaged them from his sleeves. " My mother ! " he said with some effort, " give them to my poor mother ! — See her, good father, and teach her what she should think of all this. Tell her Hamish Bean is more glad to die than ever he was to rest after the longest day's hunting. Farewell, sir — Farewell ! " The good man could scarce retire from the fatal spot. An officer afforded him the support of his arm. At his last look towards Hamish, he beheld him alive and kneeling on the coffin ; the few that were around him had all withdrawn The fatal word was given, the rock rung sharp to the sound of the discharge, and Hamish, falling forward with a groan, died, it may be supposed without almost a sense of the passing agony. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 429 Ten or twelve of his own company then came forward, and laid with solemn reverence the remains of their comrade in the coffin, while the Dead March was again struck up, and the several com- panies, marching in single files, passed the coffin one by one, in order that all might receive from the awful spectacle the warning ^vhich it was peculiarly intended to afford. The regiment was then marched off the ground, and reascended the ancient cliff, their music, as usual on such occasions, striking lively strains, as if sorrow, or even deep thought, should as short a while as possible be the tenant of the soldier's bosom. At the same time the small party, which we before mentioned, bore the bier of the ill-fated Hamish to his humble grave, in a corner of the churchyard of Dunbarton, usually assigned to criminals. Here, among the dust of the guilty, lies a youth, whose name, had he survived the ruin of the fatal events by which he was hurried into crime, might have adorned the annals of the brave. The minister of Glenorquhy left Dunbarton, immediately after he had witnessed the last scene of this melancholy , catastrophe. His reason acquiesced in the justice of the sentence, which required blood for blood, and he acknowle,dged that the vindic- tive character of his countrymen required to be powerfully re- strained by the strong curb of social law. But still he mourned over the individual victim. Who may arraign the bolt of Heaven when it bursts among the sons of the forest ; yet who can refrain from mourning, when it selects for the object of its blighting aim the fair stem of a young oak, that promised to be the pride of the dell in which it flourished? Musing on these melancholy events, noon found him engaged in the mountain passes, by which he was to return to his still distant home. Confident in his knowledge of the country, the clergyman had left the main road, to seek one of those shorter paths, which are only used by pedestrians, or by men, like the minister, mounted on the small, but sure-footed, hardy, and sagacious horses of the country. The place which he now traversed, was in itself gloomy and desolate, and tradition had added to it the terror of super- stition, by affirming it was haunted by an evil spirit, termed Cloght-dearg, that is, Redmantle, who at all times, but especially at noon and at midnight, traversed the glen, in enmity both to man and the inferior creation, did such evil as her power was permitted to extend to, and afflicted with ghastly terrors those whom she had not hcense otherwise to hurt. The minister of Glenorquhy had set his face in opposition to many of these superstitions, which he justly thought were derived from the dark ages of Popery, perhaps even from those of Pagan- 430 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. ism, and unfit to be entertained or believed by the Christians of an enlightened age. Some of his more attached parishioners con- sidered him as too rash in opposing the ancient faith of their fathers ; and though they honoured the moral intrepidity of their pastor, they could not avoid entertaining and expressing fears, that he would one day fall a victim to his temerity, and be torn to pieces in the glen of the Cloght-dearg, or some of those other haunted wilds, which he appeared rather to have a pride and plea- sure in traversing alone, on the days and hours when the wicked spirits were supposed to have especial power over man and beast. These legends came across the mind of the clergyman ; and, solitary as he was, a melancholy smile shaded his cheek, as he thought of the inconsistency of human nature, and reflected how many brave men, whom the yell of the pibroch would have sent headlong against fixed bayonets, as the wild bull rushes on his enemy, might have yet feared to encounter those visionary terrors, which he himself, a man of peace, and in ordinary perils no way remarkable for the firmness of his nerves, was now risking with- out hesitation. As he looked around the scene of desolation, he could not but acknowledge, in his own mind, that it was not ill chosen for the haunt of those spirits, which are said to delight in solitude and desolation. The glen was so steep and narrow, that there was but just room for the meridian sun to dart a few scattered rays upon the gloomy and precarious stream which stole through its recesses, for the most part in silence, but occasionally murmuring sullenly against the rocks and large stones, which seemed deter- mined to bar its further progress. In winter, or in the rainy season, this small stream was a foaming torrent of the most formidable magnitude, and it was at such periods that it had torn open and laid bare the broad-faced and huge fragments of rock, which, at the season of which we speak, hid its course from the eye, and seemed disposed totally to interrupt its course. " Undoubtedly," thought the clergyman, " this mountain rivulet, suddenly swelled by a water-spout, or thunder-storm, has often been the cause of those accidents, which, happening in the glen called by her name, have been ascribed to the agency of the Cloght-dearg." Just as this idea crossed his mind, he heard a female voice exclaim, in a wild and thrilling accent, " Michael Tyrie — Michael Tyrie ! " He looked round in astonishment, and not without some fear. It seemed for an instant, as if the Evil Being, whose exist- ence he had disowned, was about to appear for the punishment of his incredulity. This alarm did not hold him more than an instant, nor did it prevent his replying in a firm voice, " Who calls — and where are you ? " THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 431 " One who journeys in wretchedness, between life and death," answered the voice ; and the speaker, a tall female, appeared from among the fragments of rocks which had concealed her from view. > As she approached more closely, her mantle of bright tartan, in which the red colour much predominated, her statui'e, the long stride with which she advanced, and the writhen features and wild eyes which were visible from under her curch, would have made her no inadequate representative of the spirit which gave name to the valley. But Mr. Tyrie instantly knew her as the Woman of the Tree, the widow of MacTavish Mhor, the now childless mother of Hamish Bean. I am not sure whether the minister would not have endured the visitation of the Cloght-dearg herself, rather than the shock of Elspat's presence, considering her crime and her misery. He drew up his horse instinctively, and stood endeavour- ing to collect his ideas, while a few paces brought her up to his horse's head. " Michael Tyrie," said she, " the foolish women of the Clachan * hold thee as a god — be one to me, and say that my son lives. Say this, and I too will be of thy worship — I will bend my knees on the seventh day in thy house of worship, and thy God shall be my God." "Unhappy woman," replied the clergyman, "man forms not pactions with his Maker as with a creature of clay like himself Thinkest thou to chaffer with Him, who formed the earth, and spread out the heavens, or that thou canst offer aught of homage or devotion that can be worth acceptance in his eyes ? He hath asked obedience, not sacrifice ; patience under the trials with which he afflicts us, instead of vain bribes, such as man offers to his changeful brother of clay, that he may be moved from his pur- pose." " Be silent, priest ! " answered the desperate woman ; " speak not to me the words of thy white book. Elspat's kindred were of those who crossed themselves and knelt when the sacring bell was rung ; and she knows that atonement can be made on the altar for deeds done in \he field. Elspat had once flocks and herds, goats upon the cliffs, and cattle in the strath. She wore gold around her neck and on her hair — thick twists as those worn by the heroes of old. All these would she have resigned to the priest — all these ; and if he wished for the ornaments of a gentle lady, or the sporran of a high chief, though they had been great as Macallanmore him- self, MacaTvish Mhor would have procured them if Elspat had promised them. Elspat is now poor and has nothing to give. But the Black Abbot of Inchaffray would have bidden her scourge her shoulders, and macerate her feet by pilgrimage, and he would have 432 THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. granted his pardon to her when he saw that her blood had flowed, and that her flesh had been torn. These were the priests who had indeed power even with the most powerful— they threatened the great men of the earth with the word of their mouth, the sentence of their book, the blaze of their torch, the sound of their sacring bell. The mighty bent to their will, and unloosed at the word of the priests those whom they had bound in their wrath, and set at liberty, unharmed, him whom they had sentenced to death, and for whose blood they had thirsted. These were a powerful race, and might well ask the poor to kneel, since their power could humble the proud. But you!— against whom are ye strong, but against women who have been guilty of folly, and men who never wore sword ? The priests of old were like the winter torrent which fills this hollow valley, and rolls these massive rocks against each other as easily as the boy plays with the ball which he casts before him — But you ! you do but resemble the summer-stricken stream, which is turned aside by the rushes, and stemmed by a bush of sedges — Woe worth you, for there is no help in you ! " The clergyman was at no loss to conceive that Elspat had lost the Roman Catholic faith without gaining any other, and that she still retained a vague and confused idea of the composition with the priesthood, by confession, alms, and penance, and of their extensive power, which, according to her notion, was adequate, if duly propitiated, even to effecting her son's safety. Compassionat- ing her situation, and allowing for her errors and ignorance, he answered her with mildness. "Alas, unhappy woman ! Would to God I could convince thee as easily where thou oughtest to seek, and art sure to find conso- lation, as I can assure you with a single word, that were Rome and all her priesthood once more in the plenitude of their power, they could not, for largesse or penance, afford to thy misery an atom of aid or comfort. — Elspat MacTavish, I grieve to tell you the news." " I know them without thy speech,'' said the unhappy woman — " My son is dooiiied to die." "Elspat," resumed the clergyman, "he was doomed, and the sentence has been executed." The hapless mother threw her eyes up to heaven, and uttered a shriek so unlike the voice of a human being, that the eagle which soared in middle air answered it as she would have done the call of her mate. " It is impossible ! " she exclaimed, " it is impossible ! Men do not condemn and kill on the same day ! Thou art deceiving me. — The people call thee holy — hast thou the heart to tell a mother she has murdered her only child ? " " God knows," says the priest, the tears falling fast from his eyes. THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 433 " that, were it in my power, I would gladly tell better tidings— but these which I bear are as certain as they are fatal — My own ears heard the death-shot, my own eyes beheld thy son's death— thy son's funeral. — My tongue bears witness to what my ears heard and my eyes saw." The wretched female clasped her hands close together, and held them up towards heaven like a sibyl announcing war and desola- tion ; while, in impotent yet frightful rage, she poured forth a tide of the deepest imprecations. — " Base Saxon churl ! " she exclaimed, " vile hypocritical juggler ! May the eyes that looked tamely on the death of my fair- haired boy-be melted in their sockets with ceaseless tears, shed for those that are nearest and most dear to thee ! May the ears that heard his death-knell be dead hereafter to all other sounds save the screech of the raven, and the hissing of the adder ! May the tongue that tells me of his death, and of my own crime, be withered in thy mouth — or, better, when thou wouldst pray with thy people, may the Evil One guide it, and give voice to blasphemies instead of blessings, until men shall fly in terror from thy presence, and the thunder of heaven be launched against thy head, and stop for ever thy cursing a.nd accursed voice ! — Begone, with this malison ! Elspat will never, never again bestow so many words upon living man." She kept her word. From that day the world was to her a wil- derness, in which she remained, without thought, care, or interest, absorbed in her own grief — indifferent to every thing else. With her mode of life, or rather of existence, the reader is already as far acquainted as I have the power of making him. Of her death, I can tell him nothing. It is supposed to have hap- pened several years after she had attracted the attention of my excellent friend Mrs. Bethune Baliol. Her benevolence, which was never satisfied with dropping a sentimental tear when there was room for the operation of effective charity, induced her to make various attempts to alleviate the condition of this most wretched woman. But all her exertions could only render Elspat's means of subsistence less precarious, a circumstance which, though gene- rally interesting even to the most wretched outcasts, seemed to her a matter of total indifference. Every attempt to place any person in her hut to take charge of her miscarried, through the extreme resentment with which she regarded all intrusion on her solitude, or by the timidity of those who had been pitched upon to be in- mates with the terrible Woman of the Tree. At length, when Elspat became totally unable (in appearance at least) to turn her- self on the wretched settle which served her for a couch, the humanity of Mr. Tyrie's successor sent two women to attend upon the last moments of the solitary, which could not, it was judged, be 434 THE HIGHLANti WIDOW. far distant, and to avert the possibility that she might perish for want of assistance or food, before she sunk under the effects of extreme age, or mortal malady. It was on a November evening, that the two women, appointed for this melancholy purpose, arrived at the miserable cottage which we have already described. Its wretched inmate lay stretched upon the bed, and seemed almost already a lifeless corpse, save for the wandering of the fierce dark eyes, which rolled in their sockets in a manner terrible to look upon, and seemed to watch, with sur- prise and indignation, the motions of the strangers, as persons whose presence was alike unexpected and unwelcome. They were frightened at her looks ; but, assured in each other's company, they kindled a fire, lighted a candle, prepared food, and made other arrangements for the discharge of the duty assigned them. The assistants agreed they should watch the bedside of the sick person by turns ; but, about midnight, overcome by fatigue, (for they had walked far that morning,) both of them fell fast asleep. — When they awoke, which was not till after the interval of some hours, the hut was empty, and the patient gone. They rose in terror, and went to the door of the cottage, which was latched as it had been at night. They looked out into the darkness, and called upon their charge by her name. The night-raven screamed from the old oak-tree ; the fox howled on the hill ; the hoarse waterfall replied with its echoes ; but there was no human answer. The ter- rified women did not dare to make further search till morning should appear ; for the sudden disappearance of a creature so frail as Elspat, together with the wild tenor of her history, intimidated them from stirring from the hut. They remained, therefore, in dreadful terror, sometimes thinking they heard her voice without, and at other times, that sounds of a different description were mingled with the mournful sigh of the night-breeze, or the dash of the cascade. Sometimes, too, the latch rattled, as if some frail and impotent hand were in vain attempting to lift it, and ever and anon they expected the entrance of their terrible patient, animated by supernatural strength, and in the company, perhaps, of some being more dreadful than herself. Morning came at length. They sought brake, rock, and thicket, in vain. Two hours after daylight the minister himself appeared ; and, on the report of the watchers, t;aused the country to be alarmed, and a general and exact search to be made through the whole neighbourhood of the cottage, and the oak-tree. But it was all in vain. Elspat MacTavish was never found, whether dead or alive ; nor could there ever be traced the slightest circumstance to indicate her fate. The neighbourhood was divided concerning the cause of )icr disappearance. The credulous thought that the evil spirit, under THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. 43S whose influence she seemed to have acted, had carried her away in the body ; and there are many who are still unwilling, at untimely hours, to pass the oak-tree, beneath which, as they allege, she may still be seen seated according to her wont. Others less superstitious supposed, that had it been possible to search the gulf of the Corrie Dhu, the profound depths of the lake, or the whelming eddies of the river, the remains of Elspat MacTavish might have been dis- covered ; as nothing was more natural, considering her state of body and mind, than that she should have fallen in by accident, or precipitated herself intentionally into one or other of those places of sure destruction. The clergyman entertained an opinion of bis own. He thought that, impatient of the watch which was placed over her, this unhappy woman's instinct had taught her, as it directs various domestic animals, to withdraw herself from the sight of her own race, that the death-struggle might take place in some secret den, where, in all probability, her mortal relics would never meet the eyes of mortals. This species of instinctive feel- ing seemed to him of a tenor with the whole course of her un- happy life, and most likely to influence her, when it drew to a conclusion. NOTES TO THE BETROTHED, CHRONICLES OF THE CANON- GATE, AND THE HIGHLAND WIDOW. * P. II. — A very elegant work, 2 vols. 1829. By T. Roby, M.R.S.I. * P. II. — Waverley, present edition, p. 42, and note. * P. 16 — A Romance, by tlie Aiithor of Waverley, having been expected about this time at the great commer- ciLil mart of literature, the Fair of Leipsic, an ingenious gentleman of Germany finding that none such ap- peared, was so kind as to supply its place with a work, in three volumes, called Walladmor, to which he pre- fixed the Christian and surname at full length. The character of this work is given with tolerable fairness in the text. * P. 16. — Scottish for cross-examine him. * P. 16. — The ale of the ancient British is called cno in their native language. * P. i5. — This was an opinion univer- sally entertained among the friends of the author. * P. 28.— It Is said in Highland tra- dition, that one of the Macdonalds of the Isles, who had suffered his broad- sword to remain sheathed for some months after his marriage with a beautiful woman, v^as stirred to a sudden and furious expedition against the mainland, by hearing conversa- tion to the above purpose among his body-guard. * P. 29. — The Welsh houses, like those of the cognate tribes in Ireland and in the Highlands of Scotland, were very imperfectly supplied with chimneys. Hence, in the History of the Gwydir Family, the striking expression of a Welsh chieftain, who, the house being assaulted and set on fire by his enemies, exhorted his friends to stand to their defence, saying he had seen as much smoke in the hall upon a Christ- mas even. * P. 30. — See Madoc for this literal foot 'pages ofl[ice and duties. Mr. Southey 's notes inform us : " The foot-bearer shall hold the feet of the King in his lap, from the time he reclines at the board till he goes to rest, and he shall chafe them with a towel ; and during all that time shall watch that no harm befalls the King. He shall eat of the same dish frorii which the King takes his food : he shall light the first candle before the King." Such are the instructions given for this part of royal ceremonial in the laws of Howell Dha. It may be added, that probably upon this Celtic custom was founded one of those absurd and incredible represen- tations which were propagated at the time of the French Revolution, to stir up the peasants against their feudal superiors. It was pretended that some feudal seigneurs asserted their right to kill and disembowel a pea- sant, in order to put their own feet within the expiring body, and so re- cover them from the chill. * P. 43. — The old lord is frantic. * P. 52. — Courage of the Welsh. — This is by no means exaggerated in the chapter we have just closed. A very honourable testimony was given to their valour by King Henry II., in a letter to the Greek Emperor, Emanuel Comnenus. This prince having desired that an account might be sent him of all that was remarkable in the Island of Great Britain, Henry, in answer to that re- quest, was pleased to take notice, among other particulars, of the extra- ordinary courage and fierceness of the Welsh, who were not afraid to fight unarmed with enemies armed at all points, valiantly shedding their blood in the cause of their country, and pur- chasing glory at the expense of their lives. * P. 54. — Naka — drum. * P. 57. — This is a somewhat contume- lious epithet, applied by the Welsh to the English. * P. 58.— Castle of the Craig. NOTES. 437 * P. 70. — Old Henry Jenkins, in his Recollections of the Abbacies before their dissolution, has preserved the fact, that roast-beef was delivered but to the guests, not by weight, but by mea- sure. * P. 78.— Archers of Wales. — ^The Welsh were e.xcellent bowmen ; but, under favour of Lord Lyttleton, they probably did not use the long bow, the formidable weapon of the Nor- mans, and afterwards of the English yeomen. That of the Welsh most likely rather resembled the bow of the cognate Celtic tribes of Ireland, and of the Highlands of Scotland. It was shorter than the Norman long bow, as being drawn to the breast, not to the ear, more loosely strung, and the arrow having a heavy iron head ; alto- gether, in short, a less effective wea- pon. It appears from the following anecdote, that there was a difference between the Welsh arrows and those of the English. In 1122, Henry the II., marching into Powys-Land to chastise Meredyth ap Blethyn and certain rebels, in passing a defile was struck by an arrow on the breast. Repelled by the excellence of his breastplate, the shaft fell to the ground. When the King felt the blow and saw the shaft, he swore his usual oath, by the death of our Lord, that the arrow came not from a Welsh, but an English bow ; and, in- fluenced by this belief, hastily put an end to the war. * P. 86. — Even the sharp and angry clang made by the iron scabbards of modem cavalry ringing against the steel-tipp'd saddles and stimip, be- trays their approach from a distance. The clash of the armour of knights, armed cap-d-pie, must have been much more easily discernible. * P. 92.— EUDORCHAWG, OR GOLD Chains of thf, Welsh.— These were the distinguished marks of rank and valour among the numerous tribes of Celtic extraction. Manlius, the Roman Champion, gained the name of Torquatus, or he of the chain, on account of an ornament of this kind, won, in single combat, from a gigantic Gaul. Aneurin, the Welsh bard, mentions, in his poem on the battle of Catterath, that no less than three hundred of the British, who fell there, had their necks wreathed with the Eudorchawg. This seems to infer that the chain was a badge of dis- tinction, and valour perhaps, but not of royalty ; otherwise there would scarce have been so many kings pre- sent in one battle. This chain has been found accordingly in Ireland and Wales, and sometimes, though more rarely, in Scotland. Doubtless it was of too precious materials not to be usually converted into money by the enemy into whose hands it fell.. * P. 98.— Cruelties of the Welsh. — The Welsh, a fierce and barbarous people, were often accused of mangling the bodies of their slain antagonists. Every one must re- member Shakspeare's account, how "the noble Mortimer, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight Against the irregular and wild Glen- dower — Was, by the rude hands of that Welshman, taken, And a thousand of his people butch- ered ; Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse. Such beastly, shameless transforma- tion, By these Welshwomen done, as may not be Without much shame, re-told, or spoken of." * P. 132. — Eahr-Gicist. — The idea of the Bahr-Geist was taken from a pas- sage in the Memoirs of Lady I'an- shaw, which have since been given to the public, and i-eceived with deserved approbation. The original runs as follows. Lady Fanshaw, shifting among her friends in Ireland, like other sound loyalists of the period, tells her story thus : — " From thence we went to the Lady Honor O'Brien's, a lady that went for a maid, but few believed it. She was the youngest daughter of the Earl of Thomond. There we staid three nights — the first of which I was sur- prised at being laid in a chamber, where, when about one o'clock, I heard a voice that awakened me. I drew the curtain, and in the casement of the window I saw, by the light of the moon, a woman leaning through the casement into the room, in white, with red hair and pale and ghastly complexion. She spoke loud, and in a tone T had never heard, thrice, ' ' A horse ; " and then, with a sigh more 4-38 NOTES. like the wind than breath, she vanished, and to me her body looked more like a thick cloud than sub- stance. I was so much frightened that my hair stood on end, and my night clothes fell off. 1 pulled and pinched your father, who never awoke during the disorder I was in, but at last was much surprised to see me in this fright, and more so when I related the story and showed him the window opened. Neither of us slept any more that night ; but he entertained me by telling me how much more these ap- paritions were common in this country than in England ; and we concluded the cause to be the great superstition of the Irish, and the want of that knowing faith which should defend them from the power of the devil, which he exercises among them very much. About five o'clock the lady of the house came to see us, saying she had not been in bed all night, because a cousin O'Brien of hers, whose ancestors had owned that house, had desired her to stay with him in his chamber, and that he died at two o'clock ; and she said, I wish you to have had no disturbance, for 'tis the custom of the place, that, when any of the family are dying, the shape of a woman appears every night in the window until they be dead. This woman waslmany ages ago got with child by the owner of this place, wlio murdered her in his garden, and flung her into the river under the window ; but truly I thought not of it when I lodged you here, it being the best room in the house ! We made little reply to her speech, but disposed our- selves to be gone suddenly." * P. 141. — Ephialtes, or Nightmare. * P. 169. — Self-importance, or assump- tion. * P. 213. — Cymbri, or Welsh. * P. 237. — The pennon of a knight was, in shape, a long streamer, and forked like a swallow's tail ; the ban- ner of a Banneret was square, and was formed into the other by cutting the ends from the pennon. It was thus the ceremony was performed on the pennon of John Chandos, by the Black Prince, before the Battle of Nejara. * P. 263. — Such an expression is said to have been used by Mandrin the celebrated smuggler, while in the act of being broken upon the wheel. This dreadful punishment consists in the executioner, with a bar of iron, break- ing the shoulder-bones, arms, thigh- bones, and legs of the criminal, taking his alternate sides. The punishment is concluded by a blow across the breast, called the coup de grace, be- cause it removes the sufferer from his agony. When Mandrin received the second blow over the left shoulder bone, he laughed. His confessor en- quired the reason of demeanour so unbecoming his situation. " I only laugh at my own folly, my father," answered Mandrin, "who could sup- pose that sensibility of pain should continue after the nervous system had been completely deranged by the first blow." * P. 296. — These manuscripts are at present (August, 1831) advertised for public sale, which is an addition, though a small one, to other annoy- ances. * P. 296. — Oneof the Supreme Judgesof Scotland, termed Lords of Council and Session. * P. 297. — See, for some further par- ticulars, the notes to Old Mortality, in the present collective edition. * P. 297.— The late Mrs. Goldie. * P. 298. — James Chalmers, Esq., soli- tor at law, London, who died during the publication of these Novels. (Aug. 1831.) * P. 300. — Lord Kinedder died in August, 1822. Eheu I (Aug. 1831.) * P. 301. — I would particularly intimate the Kaim of Uric, on the eastern coast of Scotland, as having suggested an idea for the tower called Wolf's-Crag, which the public more generally iden- tified with the ancient tower of Fast- Castle. * P. 302. — Not altogether impossible, when it is considered that I have been at the bar since 1792. (Aug. 1831.) * P. 304. — The Keiths of Craig, in Kin- cardineshire, descended from John Keith, fourth son of William, second Earl Marischal, who got from his father, about 1480, the lands of Craig, and part of Garvock, in that county. In Douglas's Baronage, 443 to 445, is a pedigree of that family. Colonel Robert Keith of Craig (the seventh in descent from John) by his wife, Agnes, daughter of Robert Murray of Murray- shall, of the family of Blackbarony, widow of ColonelStirling, of the family of Keir, had one son ; viz. Robert Keith of Craig, ambassador to the court of \'ienna, afterwards to St. NOTES. 439 Petersbnrgh, which latter situation he held at the accession of King George III., — who died at Edinburgh in 1774. He married Margaret, second daughter of Sir William Cunningham of Cap- rington, by Janet, only child and heiress of Sir James Dick of Prestonfield ; and, among other children of this marriage, were, the late well-known diplomatist. Sir Robert Murray Keith, K.B., a general in the army, and for some time ambassador at Vienna ; Sir Basil Keith, Knight, captain in the navy, who died governor of Jamaica ; and my excellent friend, Anne Murray Keith, who ultimately came into pos- session of the'family estates, and died not long before the date of this Intro- duction, (1831.) * P. 326. — HOLYROOD. — The reader may be gratified with Hector Boece's narrative of the original foundation of the famous abbey of Holyrood, or the Holy Cross, as given in Bellenden's translation : ' ' Eftir death of Alexander the first, his brothir David come out of Ingland, and wes crownit at Scone, the yeir of God Mcxxiv yeiris, and did gret jus tice, eftir his coronation, in all partis of his realme. He had na wens dur- ing the time of King Hary ; and wes so pietuous, that he sat dayUe in judge- ment, to caus his pure commonis to have justice ; and causit the actionis of his noblis to be decidit be his othir jugis. He gart ilk juge redres the skaithis that come to the party be his wrang sentence ; throw quhilk, he de- corit his realm with mony nobil actis, and ejeckit the vennomus custome of riotus cheir, quhilk wes inducit afore be Inglismen, quhen thay com with Quene Margaret ; for the samin wes noisum to al gud maneris, makand his pepil tender and effeminat. " In the fourt yeir of his regne,, this nobill prince come to visie the madin Castell of Edinburgh. At this time, all the boundis of Scotland were ful of woddis, lesouris, and medois ; for the countre wes more geven to store of bestiall, thanonyproductiounofcornis ; and about this castell was ane gret forest, full of haris, hindis, toddis, and sicklike maner of beistis. Now was the Rude Day cumin, called the Exalta- tion of the Croce ; and, becaus the samin was ane hie solempne day, the king past to his contemplation. Eftir the messis wer done with maist solempnitie and reverence, comperit afore him mony young and insolent baronis of Scotland, richt desirus to half sum plesur and solace, be chace of himdis in the said forest. At this time wes with the king ane man of singulare and devoit life, namit Alkwine, chan- non eftir the ordour of Sanct Augus- tine, quhilk wes lang time confessoure, afore, to King David in Ingland, the time that he wes Erie of Hunting- toun and Northumbirland. This re- ligious man dissuadit the king, be mony reasonis, to pas to this huntis ; and allegit the day wes so solempne, be reverence of the haly croce, that he suld gif him erar, for that day, to con- templation, than ony othir exersition. Nochtheles,hisdissuasionislitill avaht; for the king wes finallie so provokit, be. inoportune solicitatioun of his baronis, that he past, nochtwithstanding the solempnite of this day, to his hountis. At last, quhen hewes cumin throw the vail that lyis to the gret eist fra the said castell, quhare now lyis the Canon- gait, the staik past throw the wod with sic noyis and din of rachis and bugillis, that all the bestis were rasit fra thair dennis. Now wes the king cumin to the fute of the crag, and all his nobilis severit, heir and thair, fra him, at thair game and solace ; quhen suddenlie apperit to his sicht, the fairist hart that evir wes sene afore with levand creature. The noyis and din of this hart rinnand, as apperit, with awful and braid tindis, maid the kingis hors so effrayit, that na renzeis micht hald him ; bot ran, perforce, ouir mire and mossis, away with the king. Nochtheles, the hart followit so fast, that he dang baith the king and his hors to the ground. Than the king kest abak his handis betwix the tindis of this hart, to half savit him fra the strak thairof ; and the haly croce slaid, incontinent, in his handis. The hart fled away with gret violence, and evanist in the same place quhare now springis the Rude Well. The pepil richt affrayitly, returnit to him out of all partis of the wod, to comfort him efter his trubill ; and feU on kneis, devotly adoring the haly croce ; for it was not cumin but sum hevinly pro- vidence, as Weill apperis ; for thair is na man can schaw of quhat mater it is of, metal or tre. Sone eftir, the king returnit to his castell ; and in the nicht following, he was admonist, be ane vision in his sleip, to big ane abbay of channonis regular in the same place quhare he gat the croce, Als sone as 440 NOTES. he was awalkinnit, he schew his visione to Alkwine, his confessoure ; and he na thing suspended his gud mind, hot erar inflammit him with maist fervent devotion thairto. The king, incon- tinent, send his traist servandis in France and Flanderis, and brocht richt crafty masonis to big this abbay ; syne dedieat it in the honour of tliis haly croce. The croce remanit continewally in the said abbay, to the time of King David Bruce ; quhilk was unhappily tane with it at Durame, quhare it is haldinyit in gvet veneration." — BoECE, book 12, ch. i6. It is by no means clear what Scottish prince first built a palace, properly so called, in the precincts of this renowned scat of sanctity. The abbey, endowed by successive sovereigns and many powerful nobles with munificent gifts of lands and tithes, came, in process of time, to be one of the most important of the ecclesiastical corporations of Scotland ; and as early as the days of Robert Bruce, parUaments were held occasionally within its buildings. We have evidence that James IV. had a royal lodging adjoining to the cloister ; but it is generally agreed that the first considerable edifice for the accommo- dation of the royal family erected here was that of James V., anno 1525, great part of which still remains, and forms the north-western side of the existing palace. The more modern buildings which complete the quadrangle were erectedby King CharlesII. Thename of the old conventual church was used as the parish church of the Canongate from the period of the Reformation, until James II. claimed it for his chapel royal, and had it fitted up accordingly in a style of splendour which grievously outraged the feehngs of his Presby- terian subjects. The roof of this frag- ment of a once magnificent church fell in in the year 1768, and it has remained ever since in a state of desolation. — For fuller particulars, see the -P/'£W??z«(2/ Antiquities of Scotland, or the History ofHolyrood, Aj/Mk. Charles Mackie. The greater part of this ancient palace was again occupied by his Majesty Charles the Tenth of France, and the rest of that illustrious fatnily, which, in former ages so closely con- nected by marriage and alliance with the house of Stewart, seems to have been destined to run a similar career of misfortune. Rcquiescant in pace! * P. 336.— This Club, of which the Author of Waverley has the honour to be President, was instituted in Feb- ruaiy, 1823, for the purpose of printing and publishing works illustrative of the history, literature, and antiquities of Scotland. It continues to prosper, and has already rescued from oblivion many curious materials of Scottish History. *■ P. 336. — The ancient Norman family of the Sommervilles came mto this island with William the Conqueror, and estabhshed one branch in Glouces- tershire, another in Scotland. After the lapse of 700 years, the remaining possessions of these two branches were united in the person of the late Lord Sommerville, on the death of his English kinsman, the well-known author of "The Chase." * P. 342. — See the opening scene of the first part of Shakspeare's Henry IV. * P. 346.— Horace, Sat. 11. Lib. 2. The meaning will be best conveyed to the English reader in Pope's imita- tion : — What's property, dear Swift ? you see it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter ; Or in a mortgage prove a lawyer's share; Or in a jointure vanish from the heir. » * * * Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford, Become the portion of a booby lord ; And Helmsley, once proud Bucking- ham's delight, Slides to a scrivener and city knight. Let lands and houses have what lords they will, Let us be fix'd, and our owji masters still. * P. 348. — Steele, a Covenanter, SHOT BY Captain Creichton. — The following extract from Swift's Life of Creichton gives the particulars of the bloody scene alluded to in the fbxt : — ' ' Having drank hard one night, I (Creichton) dreamed that I had found Captain David Steele, a notorious rebel, in one of the five farmers' houses on a mountain in the shire of Clydes- dale, and parish of Lismahago, within eight miles of Hamilton, a place that I was well acquainted with. This man was head of the rebels, since .the affair of Airs-Moss ; having succeeded to Hackston, who had been there taken. NOTES. 441 and afterward hanged, as the reader has already heard ; for, as to Robert Hamilton, who was then Commander- in-Chief at Bothwell Bridge, he ap- peared no more among them, but fled, ' as it was believed, to Holland. ' ' Steele, and his father before him, held a farm in the estate of Hamilton, within two or three miles of that town. When he betook himself to arms, the farm lay waste, and the Duke could find no other person who would ven- ture to take it ; whereupon his Graee sent several messages to Steele, to know the reason why he kept the farm waste. The Duke received no other answer, than that he would keep it waste, in spite of him and the king too ; where- upon his Grace, at whose table I had always the honour to be a welcome guest, desired I would use my endea- vours to destroy that rogue, and I would oblige him for ever. * * * * " I return to my story. When I awaked out of my dream, as I had done before in the affair of Wilson, (and I desire the same apology I made in the introduction to these Memoirs may serve for both, ) I presently rose, and ordered thirty-six dragoons to be at the place appointed by break of day. When we arrived thither, I sent a party to each of the five farmers' houses. This villain Steele had murdered above forty of the king's subjects in cold blood ; and, as I was informed, had often laid snares to entrap me ; but it happened, that although he usually kept a gang to attend him, yet at this time he had none, when he stood in the greatest need. One of the party found him in one of the farmers' houses, just as I happened to dream. The dragoons first searched all the rooms below without success, till two of them hearing somebody stirring over their heads, went up a pair of turnpike stairs. Steele had put on his clothes, while the search was making below ; the cham- ber where he lay was called the Cham- ber of Deese,* which is the name given to a room where the laird lies, when he * Or chamber of state ; so called from the dais, or canopy and eleva- tion of floor, ^yhich distinguished the part of old halls which was occupied by those of high rank. Hence the phrase was obliquely vised to signify state in general. ■comes to a tenant's house. Steele suddenly opening the door, fired a blunderbuss down at the two dragoons, as they were coming up the stairs ; biit the bullets grazing against the side of the turnpike, only wounded, and did' not kill them. "Then Steele violently threw himself down the stairs among them, and made towards the door to save his life, but lost it upon the spot ; for the dragoons who guarded the house dispatched him with their broad- swords. I was not with the party when he was killed, being at that time employed in searching at one of the other houses, but I soon found what had happened, by hearing the noise of the shot made with the blunderbuss ; from whence I returned straight to Lanark, and immediately sent one of the dragoons express to General Dram- mondat Edinburgh." — Swift's Works, Vol. XII. [Memoirs of Captain John Creichton, ) pages 57 — 59, Edit. Edinb. 1824. Wodrow gives a different account of this exploit — " In December this year, {1686), David Steil, in the parish of Lismahagow, was surprised in the fields by Lieutenant Creichton, and after his surrender of himself on quar- ters, he was in a very Uttle time most barbarously shot, and lies buried in the churchyard there." * P. 352.— " Reading made Easy," usually so pronounced in Scotland. * P. ^70.— Iron Rasp. — The ingenious Mr.' R. Chambers's Traditions of Edinburgh give the following account of the forgotten rasp or risp : " This house had a fin or risp at the door, instead of the more modern convenience, a knocker. The pin, rendered interesting by the figure which it makes in Scottish song, was formed of a small rod of iron, twisted or notched, which was placed perpen- dicularly, starting out a little from the door, and bore a small ring of the same metal, which an apphcant for admittance drew rapidly up and down the nicks, so as to produce a grating sound. Sometimes the rod was simply stretched across the vizzying hole, a convenient aperture through which the porter could take cognizance of the person applying ; in which case it acted also as a stanchion. These were almost all disused about sixty years ago, when knockers were generally substituted as more genteel. But knockers at that time did not long re- 442 NOTES. main in repute, though they have never been altogether superseded, even by bells, in the Old Town. The comparative merit of knockers and pins was for a long time a subject of doubt, and many knockers got their heads twisted off in the course of the dispute.' ' Chambers's Traditions of Edin- burgh. * P. 371. — The Rev. Mr. Bowles derives the name of these crags, as of the Episcopal city in the west of England, from the same root ; both, in his opi- nion, which he very ably defends and illustrates, having been the sites of druidical temples. * P. 371. — Tlie well-known original designation of the gallant 42nd Regi- ment. Being the first corps raised for the royal service in the Highlands, and allowed to retain their national garb, they were thus named from the contrast which their dark tartans fur- nished to the scarlet and white of the other regiments. * P. 372. — Shakspeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, Act IV. Sc. i. * P- 375- — Countess of Eglinton. — Susannah Kennedy, daughter of Sir Archibald Kennedy of Cullean, Bart., by EUzabeth Lesly, daughter of David Lord Newark, third wife of Alexander 9th Earl of Eglinton, and mother of the loth and nth Earls. She sur- vived her husband, who died 1729, no less than fifty-seven years, and died March 1780, in her 91st year. Allan Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd, published 1726, is dedicated to her, in verse, by Hamilton of Bangour. The following account of this dis- tinguished lady is taken from Boswell's Life of Johnson by Mr. Croker : — '' L^dy Margaret Dalrymple, only daughter of John Earl of Stair, mar- ried in 1700, to Hugh, third Earl of I.oudoun. She died in 1777, aged one hundred. Of this venerable lady, and of the Countess of Eglintoune, whom Johnson visited next day, he thus speaks in his yoijr7?ey.~' Length of life is distributed impartially to very different modes of life, in very different climates ; and the mountains have no greater examples of age than the Low- lands, where I was introduced to two ladies of high quality, one of whom (Lady Loudoun) in her ninety-fourth year, presided at her table with the full exercise of all her powers ; and * the other (Lady Eglintoune,) had at- tained her eighty-fourth year, without any diminution of her vivacity, and little reason to accuse time of depre- dations on her beauty ' " *■ * « * ' ' Lady Eglintoune, though she was now in her eighty-fifth year, and had lived in the retirement of the country for almost half a century, was still a very agreeable woman. She was of the noble house of Kennedy, and had all the elevation which the conscious- ness of such birth inspires. Her figure was majestic, her manners high-bred, her reading extensive, and her conver- sation elegant. She had been the ad- miration of the gay circles of life, and the patroness of poets. Dr. Johnson was delighted with his reception here. Her principles in church and state were congenial with his. She knew all his merit, and had heard much of him from her son, Earl Alexander, who loved to cultivate the acquaint- ance of men of talents in every depart- ment," "ik ^ ^ * " In the course of our conversation this day, it came out that Lady Eglin- toune was married the year before Dr. Johnson was born ; upon which she graciously said to him, that she might have been his mother, and that she now adopted him ; and when we were going away, she embraced him, say- ing, ' My dear son, farewell ! ' My friend was much pleased with this day's entertainment, and owned that I had done well to force him out." * * * * "At Sir Alexander Dick's, from that absence of mind to which every man is at times subject, I told, in a blundering manner, Lady Eglintoune's complimentary adoption of Dr. John- son as her son ; for I unfortunately stated that her ladyship adopted him as her son, in consequence of her having been married the year after he was born. Dr. Johnson instantly cor- rected me. ' Sir, don't you perceive that you are defaming the Countess? For, supposing me to be her son, and that she was not married till the year after my birth, I must have been her natural son.' A young lady of qua- lity who was present, very handsomely said, 'Might not the son haTe justi- fied the fault ? ' My friend was much flattered by this compliment, which he never forgot. When in more than ordinary spirits, and talking of his NOTES. 443 journey in Scotland, he has called to me, ' Boswell, what was it that the young lady of quality said of me at Sir Alexander Dick's ? ' Nobody will doubt that I was happy in repeating it." • P- 377.— The Duke of York, after- wards James II., frequently resided in Holyrood-house, when his religion rendered him an object of suspicion to the English Parliament. * P. 378.— Earl of Winton.— The incident here alluded to is thus nar- rated in Nichols' Progresses of James I., \'ol. III. p. 306. "The family" (of Winton) " owed its first elevation to the union of Sir Christopher Seton with a sister of King Robert Bruce. With King James VI, they acquired great favour, who, hav- ing created his brother Earl of Dun- fermline in 1599, made Robert, seventh Lord Seton, Earl of Winton in 1600. Before the King's accession to the English throne, his Majesty and the Queen were frequently at Seton, where the Earl kept a very hospitable table, at which all foreigners of quaUty were entertained on their visits to Scotland. His Lordship died in 1603, and was buried on the sth of April, on the very day the King left Edinburgh for Eng- land. His Majesty, we are told, was pleased to rest himself at the south- west round of the orchard of Seton, on the highway, till the funeral was over, that he might not withdraw the noble company ; and he said that he had lost a good, faithful, and loyal subject." Nichols' Progresses of K. James I. Vol. III. p. 306. » p. 379. — Extract of Journal to Stella. — "I dined to-day {12th March, 17 12) with Lord Treasurer and two gentlemen of the Highlands of Scotland, yet very poUte men." — Swift's Works, Vol. III. f. 7, Edin. 1824. * P. 379. — MacGregor of Glen- STKAE.— The 2 of Octr: (1603) AUaster MacGregor of Glenstrae tane be the laird Arkynles, bot escapit againe ; bot after taken be the Earle of Argyll the 4 of Januarii, and brought to Edr: the 9 of Januar: 1604, wt: 18 mae of hes friendes MacGregors. He wes con- voyit to Berwick be the gaird, conform to the Earle's promes ; for he pro- mesit to put him out of Scottis grund : Sua he keipit an Hielandman's promes, in respect he sent the gaird to convoy him out of Scottis grimd ; bot yai war not directit to pairt wt: him, bot to fetche him bak againe. The 18 of Januar, he came at evin againe to Edinburghe ; and upone the 20 day, he was hangit at the crosse, and ij of his freindes and name, upon ane gal- lows : himself being chieff, he was hangit his awin hight above the rest of hes freindis. — BiRRELL's Diary, ( in Dalzell's Fragments 0/ Scottish His- tory, J p. 60-1. * P. 382. — This is, or was at least, a necessary accomplishment. In one of the most beautiful districts of the Highlands was, not many years since, a bridge bearing this startling caution, ' ' Keep to the right side, the left being dangerous." * P. 384. — This venerable and hospi- table gentleman's name was Mac- Intyre. * P. 384. — Loch Awe. — Loch Awe, upon the banks of which the scene of action took place, is thirty-four miles in length. The north side is bounded by wide muirs and inconsiderable hills, which occupy an extent of country from twelve to twenty miles in breadth, and the whole of this space is enclosed as by circumvallation. Upon the north it is barred by Loch Eitive, on the south by Loch Awe, and on the east by the dreadful pass of Brandu", through which an arm of the latter lake opens, at about four miles from its eastern extremity, and discharges the River Awe into the former. The pass is about three miles in length ; its east side is bounded by the almost in- accessible steeps which form the base of the vast and rugged mountain of Cruachan. The crags rise in some places almost perpendicularly from the water, and for their chief extent show no space nor level at their feet, but a rough and narrow edge of stony beach. Upon the whole of these cliffs grows a thick and intenvoven wood of all kinds of trees, both timber, dwarf, and coppice ; no track existed through the wilderness, but a winding path, which sometimes crept along the pre- cipitous height, and sometimes de- scended in a straight pass along the margin of the water. Near the ex- tremity of the defile, a narrow level opened between the water and the crag ; but a great part of this, as well as of the preceding steeps, was for- merly enveloped in a thicket, which showed little facilitv to the feet of any 444 NOTES. but the martins and wild cats. Along the west side of the pass lies a wall of sheer and barren crags. From behind they rise in rough, uneven, and heathy declivities, out of the wide muir be- fore mentioned, between Loch Eitive and Loch Awe ; but in front they ter- minate abruptly in the most frightful precipices, which form the whole side of the pass, and descend at one fall into the water which fills its trough. At the north end of the barrier, and at the termination of the pass, lies that part of the cliff which is called Craiga- nuni ; at its foot the arm of the lake gradually contracts its water to a very narrow space, and at length terminates at two rocks (called the Rocks of Brandir,) which form a strait channel, something resembling the lock of a canal. From this outlet there is a con- tinual descent towards Loch Eitive, and from hence the river Awe pours out its current in a furious stream, foaming over a bed broken with holes, and cumbered with masses of granite and whinstone. "If ever there was a bridge near Craiganuni in ancient times, it must have been at the Rocks of ;Brandir. From the days of Wallace to those of General Wade, there were never pas- sages of this kind but in places of great necessity, too narrow for a boat, and too wide for a leap ; even then they were but an unsafe footway formed of the trunks of trees placed transversely from rock to rock, un- stripped of their bark, and destitute of either plank or rail. For such a struc- ture, there is no place in the neigh- bourhood of Craiganuni, but at the rocks above mentioned. In the lake and on the river, the water is far too wide ; but at the strait, the space is not greater than might be crossed by a tall mountain pine, and the rocks on either side are formed by nature like a pier. That this point was always a place of passage, is rendered probable by its facility, and the use of recent times. It is not long since it was the common gate of the country on either side the river and the pass : the mode of crossing is yet in the memory of people living, and was performed by a little currach moored on either side of the water, anda stout cable fixed across the stream from bank to bank, by which the passengers drew themselves across m the manner still practised in places of the same nature. It is no argument against the existence of a bridge in former times, that the above method only existed in ours, rather than a passage of that kind, which would seem the more improved expe- dient. The contradiction is sufficiently accounted for by the decay of timber in the neighbourhood. Of old, both oaks and firs of an immense size abounded within a very inconsiderable distance ; but it is now many years since the destruction of the forests of Glen Eitive and Glen Urcha has de- prived the country of all the trees of sufficient size to cross the strait of Brandir ; and it is probable, that the currach was not introduced till the want of timber had disenabled the in- habitants of the country from main- taining a bridge. It only further remains to be noticed, that at some distance below the Rocks of Brandir, there was formerly a ford, which was used for cattle in the memory of people living ; from the narrowness of the passage, the force of the strqam, and the broken bed of the river, it was, however, a dangerous pass, and could only be attempted with safety at leisure and by experience." — Notes to ike Bridal of Caolchairn, * P. 384. — Battle betwixt the Armies of the Bruce and Mac- DouGAL OF Lorn. — " But the King, whose dear-bought experience in war had taught him extreme caution, re- mained in the Braes of Balquhidder till he had acquired by his spies and outskirries a perfect knowledge of the disposition of the army of Lorn, and the intention of its leader. He then divided his force into two columns, intrusting the command of the first, in which he placed his archers and lightest armed troops, to Sir James Douglas, whilst he himself took the leading of the other, which consisted principally of his knights and barons. On approaching the defile, Bruce de- spatched Sir James Douglas by a path- way which the enemy had neglected to occupy, with directions to advance silently, and gain the heights above and in front of the hilly ground where the men of Lorn were concealed ; and, having ascertained that this movement had been executed with success, he put himself at the head of his own division, and fearlessly led his men into the defile.' Here, prepared as he was for what was to take place, it was difficult to prevent a temporary panic, NOTES. 44S when the yell which, to this day, in- 1 variably precedes the assault of the mountaineer, burst from the rugged bosom of Ben Cntachan ; and the woods which, the moment before, had waved in silence and soUtude, gave forth their birth of steel-clad warriors, and, in an instant, became instinct with the dreadful vitality of war. But although appalled and checked for a brief space by the suddenness of the assault, and the masses of rocE which the enemy rolled down from the pre- cipices, Bruce, at the head of his division, pressed up the side of the mountain. Whilst this party assaulted the men of Lorn with the utmost fury. Sir James Douglas and his party shouted suddenly upon the heights in their front, showering down their ar- rows upon them ; and, when these missiles were exhausted, attacking them with their swords and battle- axes. The consequence of such an attack, both in front and rear, was the total discomfiture of the army of Lorn ; and the circumstances to which this chief had so confidently looked for- ward, as rendering the destruction of Bruce almost inevitable, were now turned with fatal effect against himself. His great superiority of numbers cum- bered and impeded his movements. Thrust, by the double assault, and by the peculiar nature of the ground, into such narrow room as the pass afforded, and driven to fury by finding them selves cut to pieces in detail, without power of resistance, the men of Lorn fled towards Loch Eitive, where a bridge thrown over the Awe, and sup- ported upon two immense rocks, known by the name of the Rocks of Brandir, formed the solitary commu- nication between the side of the river where the battle took place, and the country of Lorn. Their object was to gain the bridge, which was composed entirely of wood, and, having availed themselves of it in their retreat, to destroy it, and thus throw the impas- able torrent of the Awe between them and their enemies. But their intention was instantly detected by Douglas, who, rushing down from the high grounds at the head of his archers and light-armed foresters, attacked the body of the mountaineers, which had occupied the bridge, and drove them from it with great slaughter, so that Bruce and his division, on coming up, passed it without molestation ; and, this last resource being taken from them, the army of Lorn were, in a few hours, literally cut to pieces, whilst their chief, who occupied Loch Eitive with his fleet, saw, from his ships, the discomfiture of his men, and found it impossible to give them the least assistance. " — Tytlee's Life of Bruce. * P. 384. — This is a line from a very pathetic ballad which I heard sung by one of the young ladies of Edgeworths- town in 1825. I do not know that it has been printed. * P. 391.— The Red, Soldier. * P. 399- — The goat-skin pouch, worn by the Highlanders round their waist. * P. 401. — That which is variegated, i.e., the tartan. * P. 402.— Caberfae— ^K^Z/rf, theStag's head, the Celtic designation for the arms ofthefamilyofthehighChiefofSeaforth. * P. 403. — Massacre OF Glencoe. — The following succinct account of this too celebrated event, may be sufficient for this place : — "In the beginning of the year 1692, an action of unexampled barbarity dis- graced the government of King William III. in Scotland. In the August pre- ceding, a proclamation had been issued, offering an indemnity to such insur- gents as should take the oaths to the King and Queen, on or before the last day of December ; and the chiefs of such tribes, as had been in arms for James, soon after took advantage of the proclamation. But Macdonald of Glencoe was prevented by accident, rather than design, from tendering his submission within the limited time. In the end of December he went to Colonel Hill, who commanded the garrison in Fort William, to take the oaths of allegiance to the government ; and the latter having furnished him with a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, Sheriff of the county of Argyll, directed him to repair immediately to Inverary, to make his submission in a legal man- ner before that magistrate. But the way to Inverary -lay through almost impassable mountains, the season was extremely rigorous, and the whole country was covered with a deep snow. So eager, however, was Macdonald to take the oaths before the hmited time should expire, that, though the road lay within half a mile of his own house, he stopped not to visit bis family, and, after various obstructions, arrived at Inverary. The time had elapsed, and the sheriff hesitated to receive his sub- 446 NOTES. mission ; but Macdonald prevailed by his importunities, and even tears, in inducing that functionary to administer to him the oath of allegiance, and to certify the cause of his delay. At this time Sir John Dalrymple, afterwards Earl of Stair, being in attendance upon William as Secretary of State for Scot- land, took advantage of Macdonald's neglecting to take the oath within the time prescribed, and procured from the King a warrant of military execution against that chief and his whole clan. This was done at the instigation of the Earl of Breadalbane, whose lands the Glencoe men had plundered, and whose treachery to government, in negotiating with the Highland clans, Macdonald himself had exposed. The King was accordingly persuaded, that Glencoe was the main obstacle to the pacification of the Highlands : and the fact of the unfortunate chief's submis- sion having been concealed, the sangui- nary orders for proceeding to military execution against his clan were in con- sequence obtained. The warrant was both signed and countersigned by the King's own hand, and the Secretary urged the officers who commanded in the Highlands to execute their orders with the utmost rigour. Campbell of Glenlyon, a captain in Argyll's regi- ment, and two subalterns, were ordered to repair to Glencoe on the first of February with a hundred and twenty men. Campbell, being tmcle to young ' Macdonald's wife, was received by the father with all manner of friendship and hospitality. The men were lodged at free quarters in the houses of his tenants, and received the kindest en- tertainment. Till the 13th of the month the troops lived in the utmost har- mony and familiarity with the people ; and on the very night of the massacre, the officers passed the evening at cards in Macdonald's house. In the night Lieutenant Lindsay, with a party of soldiers, called in a friendly manner at his door, and was instantly admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of rising to receive his guest, was shot dead through the back with two bullets. His wife had already dressed ; but she was stripped naked by the soldiers, who tore the rings off her fingers with their teeth. The slaughter now be- came general, and neither age nor in- firmity was spared. Some women, in defending their children, were killed ; — boys, imploring mercy, were shot dead by officers, on whose knees they hung. In one place nine persons, as they sat enjoying themselves at table, were butchered by the soldiers. In Inver- riggon, Campbell's own quarters, nine men were first bound by the soldiers, and then shot at intervals, one by one. Nearly forty persons were massacred by the troops ; and several, who fled to the mountains, perished- by famine and the inclemency of the season. Those who escaped owed their lives to a tempestuous night. Lieutenant- Colonel Hamilton, who had received the charge of the execution from Dal- rymple, was on his march with four hundred men, to guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe ; but he was obliged to stop by the severity of the weather, which proved the safety of the unfortunate clan. Next day he entered the valley, laid the houses in ashes, and carried away the cattle and spoil, which were divided among the oSicers and soldiers." — Article "Britain;" Encyc, Brltannlca — New Edition. * P. 412. — Fidelity of the High- landers. — Of the strong, undeviat- ing attachment of the Highlanders to the person, and their deference to the will or commands of their chiefs and superiors — their rigid adherence to duty and principle — and their chival- rous acts of self-devotion to these in the face of danger and death — there are many instances recorded in Gene- ral Stewart of Garth's interesting Sketches of the Highlanders and Highland Regiments, which might not inaptly supply parallels to the deeds of the Romans themselves, at the era when Rome was in her glory. The following instances of such are worthy of being here quoted : — "In the year 1795, a serious dis- turbance broke out in Glasgow, among the Breadalbane Fencibles. Several men having been confined, and threatened with corporal punish- ment, considerable discontent and irritation were excited among their comrades, which increased to such violence, that, when some men were confined in the guard-house, a great proportion of the regiment rushed out, and forcibly released the prisoners. This violation of military discipline was not to be passed over ; and, ac- cordingly, measures were immediately taken to secure the ringleaders. But so many were equally concerned, that NOTES. 4+7 it was difficult, if not impossible, to fix the crime on any, as being more prominently guilty. And here was shown a trait of character worthy of a better cause, and which originated from a feeling alive to the disgrace of a degrading punishment. The sol- diers being made sensible of the nature of their misconduct, and the conse- quent necessity of public example, several men voluntarily offered them- selves to stand trial, and suffer the sentence of the law, as an atonement for the whole. These men were ac- cordingly marched to Edinburgh Castle, tried, and four condemned to be shot. Three of them were after- wards reprieved, and the fourth, Alexander Sutherland, was shot on Musselburgh Sands. "The following demi-official ac count of this unfortunate misun- derstanding was published at the time : — ' ' ' During the afternoon of Mon- day, when a private of the light com- pany of the Breadalbane Fencibles, who had been confined for a military offence, was released by that com- pany, and some other companies who had assembled in a tumultuous man- ner before the guard-house, no person whatever was hurt, and no violence offered ; and however unjustifiable the proceedings, it originated not from any disrespect or ill-will to their officers, but from a mistaken point of honour, in a particular set of men in thfe battalion, who thought themselves disgraced by the impending punish- ment of one of their number. The men have, in every respect, since that period conducted themselves with the greatest regularity, and strict subordi- nation. The whole of the battaUon seemed extremely sensible of the im- proper conduct of such as were con- cerned, whatever regret they might feel for the fate of the few individuals who had so readily given themselves up as prisoners, to be tried for their own and others' misconduct. ' " On the march to Edinburgh, a circumstance occurred, the more worthy of notice, as it shows a strong principle of honour and fidehty, to his word and to his officer, in a common Highland soldier. One of the men stated to the officer commanding the party, that he knew what his fate would be, but that he had left busi- ness, of the utmost importance to a friend in Glasgow, which he wished to transact before his death ; that, as to himself, he was fully prepared to meet his fate ; but with regard to his friend, he could not die in peace unless the business was settled ; and that if the officer would suffer him to return to Glasgow, a few hours there would be sufficient, and he would join him before he reached Edinburgh, and march as a prisoner with the party. The soldier added, ' You have known me since I was a child ; you know my country and kindred ; and you may beheve I shall never bring you to any blame by a breach of the promise I now make, to be with you in full time to be delivered up in the Castle.' This was a startling proposal to the officer, who was a judicious, humane man, and knew perfectly his risk and responsibility in yielding. to such an extraordinary application. However, his confidence was such, that he com- plied with the request of the prisoner, who returned to Glasgow at night, settled his business, and left the town before daylight to redeem his pledge. He took a long circuit to avoid being seen, apprehended as a deserter, and sent back to Glasgow, as probably his account of his officer's indulgence would not have been credited. In consequence of this caution, and the lengthened march through woods and over hills by an unfrequented route, there was no appearance of him at the hour appointed. The perplexity of the officer when he reached the neigh- bourhood of Edinburgh may be easily imagined. He moved forward slowly indeed, but no soldier appeared ; and unable to delay any longer, he marched up to the Castle, and as he was delivering over the prisoners, but before any report was given in, Mac- martin, the absent soldier, rushed in among his fellow-prisoners, all pale with anxiety and fatigue, and breath- less with apprehension of the conse- quences in which his delay might have involved his benefactor. " In whatever light the conduct of the officer (my respectable friend, Major Cohn Campbell) may be con- sidered, either by military men or others, in this memorable exemplifica- tion of the characteristic principle of his countrymen, fidelity to their word, it cannot but be wished that the sol- dier's magnanimous self-devotion had been taken as an atonement for his 448 NOTES. own misconduct and that of the whole, who also had made a high sacrifice, in the voluntary offer of their lives for the conduct of their brother soldiers. Are these a people to be treated as malefactors, without regard to their feelings and prin- ciples? and might not a discipline, somewhat different from the usual mode, be, with advantage, applied to them?" — Vol. II. p. 413 — 15. 3d Edit. ' ■ A soldier of this regiment, (The Argyllshire Highlanders,) deserted, and emigrated to America, where he settled. Several years after his de- sertion, a letter was received from him, with a sum of money, for the purpose of procuring one or two men to supply his place in the regiment, as the only recompense he could make for 'breaking his oath to his God and his allegiance to his King, which preyed on his conscience in such a manner, that he had no rest night nor day.' ' ' This man had had good principles early instilled into his mind, and the disgrace which he had been originally taught to believe would attach to a breach of faith now operated with full effect. The soldier who deserted from the 42nd Regiment at Gibraltar, in 1797, exhibited the same remorse of conscience after he had violated his allegiance. In countries where such principles prevail, and regulate the character of a people, the mass of the population may, on occasions of trial, be reckoned on as sound and trust- worthy."— Vol. II. p. 218., 3d Edit. ' ' The late James Menzies of Cul- dares, having engaged in the rebellion of 1715, and been taken at Preston, in Lancashire, was carried to London, where he was tried and condemned, but afterwards reprieved. Grateful for this clemency, he remained at home in 1745, but, retaining a predilection for the old cause, he sent a handsome charger as a present to Prince Charles, when advancing through England. The servant who led and delivered the horse was taken prisoner, and carried to Carlisle, where he was tried and condemned. To extort a dis- covery of the person who sent the horse, threats of immediate execution in case of refusal, and offers of pardon on his giving information, were held out ineffectually to the faithful mes- senger. He knew, he said, what the consequence of a disclosure would be to his master, and his own life was nothing in the comparison ; when brought out for e.tecution, he was again pressed to inform on his mas- ter. He asked if they were serious in supposing him such a villain. If he did what they desired, and forgot his master and his trust, he could not return to his native country, for Glen- lyon would be no home or country for him, as he would be despised and hunted out of the Glen. Accordingly he kept steady to his trust, and was executed. This trusty servant's name was John Macnaughton, from Glen- lyon, in Perthshire ; he deserves to be mentioned, both on account of his incorruptible fidelity, and of his testi- mony to the honourable principles of the people, and to their detestation of a breach of trust to a kind and honourable master, however great might be the risk, or however fatal the consequences, to the individual himself." — Vol. I. pp. 52, 53. 3d Edit. * P. 416. — The seals are considered by the Highlanders as enchanted princes. * P. 417. — Greishogh, a glowing em- ber. * P. 423. — Wolf-brood, i. e. wolf-cub. * P. 431. — i. e. The village, literally the stones. THE END. BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRI.VKS.