EMORY UNIVERSITY
IAN ROY.
IAN EOY.
BY
URQUHART FORBES,
Author of " Ottcrstonr Hall."
LONDON
LONDON:
LITE EARY
376, STRAND, W.C.
SOCIETY,
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
i. The Count and Countess De Vougny . . l
ii. In which the Countess Prefers to Remain
at Home 13
hi. A Midnight Adventure 20
it. An Affair of Honour 32
v. A Friend at Court 47
vi. Bon Voyage 58
vi*. Elspeth Drummond 67
vii. Amantium Ir^e est Redintegratio Amoris . 86
viii. The Cummer's Feast 100
ix. " Christin ! Is She Safe ?" . . . . 108
x. Captain Manuel Gonqalvo . . . .117
xi. A Brush with the Enemy . . . .132
xii. "All's Well that Ends Well" . . . 144
xiii. At Villa Teira 153
xiv. In which Hannibal leaves Capua . . 163
xv. The Battle of Villa Velha . . . 179
xvi. The Irony of Fate 191
xvii. After War's Alarms 203
Appendix 221
IAN EOT.
CHAPTER I.
the count and countess de vougny.
In the year 1762 there stood, in the neighbourhood of
Versailles, an old house, which, under its former name
of "La Maison Noir," had undergone many sieges in the
old wars, but which, in the reign of Louis XIV. had been
considerably added to, embellished by beautiful gardens,
laid out in the fashion of the time, and re-christened by its
owner the "Chateau de Vougny."
It was towards the close of the Seven Tears' War, and
France, by means of the celebrated Family Compact with
Spain, had just succeeded in placing Great Britain in an
extremely perilous position by forcing her to engage in a
war with the whole House of Bourbon, at a time when she
had also to support the declining cause of her ally,
the King of Prussia, against Austria, the Empress of
Russia, and the Germanic Body. In addition to this, as
b
2
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both France and Spain had been compelled to acknowledge
that her victorious navy was undeniably superior to their
own combined fleets, they ikd determined to exhaust her
resources, and divert her attention from naval enterprises,
by attacking the neutral kingdom of Portugal, which—
though its intercourse with France had been considerably
increased by the success of its Indian and Brazilian enter-
prises—was in a measure indebted to England for its
independence, an event that had resulted in a close friend-
ship between them, very advantageous to both nations.
Prance, the throne of which Louis XV. had now occupied
for nearly fifty years, had been defeated at all points by her
hereditary enemy, and the conquest of Portugal, almost
defenceless and brought to the verge of anarchy and national
bankruptcy by a long period of misgovernment, seemed to
offer her an easy means of successfully retaliating on
Great Britain.
Mons. Capefigne, in one of his descriptions of the state of
French society at this period, aptly applies to it the simile of
Belshazzar's feast. Louis XV., at the head of the most
brilliant court in Europe, had abandoned himself solely to
pleasure, and the country was virtually governed by his mis-
tresses, and such ministers as their favour promoted to power.
The doctrines of what is known as the " school of the
eighteenth century," of which Rosseau and Voltaire were the
leading representatives, were permeating the whole nation,
and preparing the way for the terrible Revolution that was
before long to overwhelm France, and fill all Europe with
horror and consternation. Courtiers, attired in the garb of
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Brutus, recited republican verses; abbes strove to make
their sermons piquant by the embellishment of polite
blasphemies; and the praises* of Freedom, and of Atheism,
were continually on the lips of the most aristocratic and
courtly society in Christendom, the members of which
were soon to be butchered in hecatombs in the cause of
the Goddess of Liberty and Season. Art, learning, wit,
refinement, luxury, and magnificence, that have never
been surpassed, adorned the age with a brilliancy made all
the more striking by the horrors with which it was destined
to close. Never has the "banquet of life" been set forth
with more tempting splendour than when Louis the XV.
presided at it as the absolute ruler of France ; never were
revellers gayer than the courtly circle whom he had
gath'ered round him to partake of it; while, all unheeded,
their fierce and hungry enemies, goaded to fury by the
tyranny and selfishness of class rule, were slowly gathering at
the palace gates to fall upon and destroy them. No seer arose,
as in the sacred story of old, to interpret the dread
inscription on the walls of the banquet-hall; and, in happy
unconsciousness that " their kingdom was numbered and
finished," the doomed feasters were draining the cup of
pleasure to the very dregs, and recording an era of splendour
and profligacy, of intellectual culture and heartless levity,
which can never fail to attract the wonder and pity of
succeeding generations.
Every rule, however, has its exceptions, and, at the time we
are writing of, the Chateau de Vougny was inhabited by a
Breton gentleman, who, though equal to any of them in
4
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lineage and breeding, formed a marked contrast in
character and tastes to the majority'of the aristocracy of
his day.
Raymond, Count de Vougny, had been born and brought
up in Brittany, and though he had served frequently, and
always with distinction, in the Royal armies, had seen
plenty of the world, and, if he chose, had the entree to
the best society in France, he still at forty-three preferred
the sports and pleasures of country life to those of the
Court and Capital. Without being at all straight-laced he
had a contempt for the luxurious sensuality which dis-
tinguished the majority of his class, and being a devout
Catholic regarded the wordly ecclesiastics, who trifled with
infidelity because it was the fashion, with the same horror
that he felt for the uncompromising Freethinkers who
attacked religion. A thoughtful and practical man, and a
sincere lover of his country, he foresaw many of the evils to
which the spirit of the age was leading the nation, and
therefore regarded its apostles with distrust and dislike.
Being awakened to the bad effects which the tyranny and
absenteeism of the seigneurs were having on the farmers
and peasantry, he steadily fulfilled his duty of residing
periodically among his tenantry, and, though imbued with
much of the pride of his class, endeavoured to treat them
with generosity and humanity. In short, he was one of
those unfortunate beings, who, being conservative by birth-
right and training, are liberal by force of reason and
natural temperament, and are therefore both behind and
in advance of their age. Had he continued to lead the
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healthy, useful life, ou his ancestral estate, in which he had
passed most of the first forty years of his existence, he
might have done good service to his generation, and ended
his days in peace and honour in his old home. Destiny,
however, in the shape of the Countess de Vougny, crossed
his path on his forty-first birthday, and straightway shaped
for him a career of a totally different and far less pleasant
character.
Both the Count's parents were dead, he had no brothers
or sisters, and his sole surviving relative was a sister of his
mother's, the Baroness de Bolbec, a good-natured, pleasure-
loving woman of the world, who lived chiefly in Paris.
The aunt and nephew were very fond of each other, and
the latter, as methodical in this as in everything else, was
in the habit of paying periodical visits to the Baroness,
who never failed on such occasions to rally him on the sab-
ject of his country tastes, his sober life, and his " indifference
to the fair sex," faults which, she was fond of telling her
friends, she would have regarded as unpardonable in any
other man, but forgave in Baymond de Vougny, partly
because he was her sister's son, and partly because she
could not help loving him for his many excellent qualities
of heart and head. She compensated herself for this
toleration by teasing him into seeing as much gaiety as she
could put in his way while he was with her; and during
one of these visits she persuaded him by dint of mingled
rajilery and entreaties to accompany her to a reception
given by one of her numerous friends in Paris. It so
happened that the entertaiument took place on the Count's
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birthday, and when he awoke in the morning, and almost
simultaneously recalled the facts, first that he was now
forty-one, and secondly that he had before him, what was
to him, the prospect of a most wearisome evening, he came
very swiftly to the conclusion that he had now reached
an age when it was unfair, even "for the best of aunts, to
ask him to submit to be bored in this way, and he mentally
registered an oath that he would yield to her blandishments
no more. Alas ! for the weakness of human resolutions !
"When he returned home that night, he was in the best of
numours. He spoke in the highest terms of his hostess
and her guests, told the Baroness that he felt that a little
gaiety did him great good now and then, and ended by
expressing a warm desire to escort her to a certain fete at
Versailles,' which he had the day before begged to be
excused from attending on the plea that it was absolutely
necessary for him to return to his estate in Brittany. The
old lady replied with great gravity, that she would be
delighted to have him for a companion as long as he chose
to stay with her. When he had made his adieu, however,
she laughed heartily to herself, for she knew that his
sudden change of plan was owing to the impression
evidently made upon him by two Portuguese young ladies—
the Donna Inez and the Donna Isabel, daughters of the
Marquis Lafoens de Melho—to whom he had been introduced
that evening; and she immediately set to work to consider
which of the two had attracted him the most.
The Marquis Lafoens de Melho had been banished from
Portugal some four years before the commencement of this
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story, on account of the supposed complicity of his kius-
man, the Duke of Aveiro, in what is known in history as
the " Conspiracy of the Tavoras." The reader will
remember how, on the failure of that attempt to assassinate
the King of Portugal on his return one night from visiting
one of his mistresses, the minister Pombal discovered that
the plot had been originated, at the instigation of the
Jesuits, by the heads of the great families of Aveiro and
Tavora, who were incensed at their sovereign, because the
wife of the younger Marquis of Tavora, was popularly
supposed to eDjoy the dishonourable distinction of being
the royal favourite. It is said by some that it was the
king's valet—who was also the pander of his pleasures—
who had grossly insulted him, and who was seated in the
carriage at the time of the attempt, and not his royal
master, who was the object of the Duke of Aveiro's ven-
geance. It is also asserted that enmity of the Jesuits and
of the great nobility was the mainspring of Pombal's con-
duct in this affair, and that his victims suffered unjustly.
Be this, however, as it may, the vengeance of the great
minister was complete and unsparing, and while the Order
of Jesus was expelled from Portugal, the Duke of Aveiro,
the Marquis and Marchioness of Tavora, with their son,
their son-in-law, and other members of their family, were
cruelly executed, and many of their relatives, amongst
whom was the Marquis Lafoens de Melho, were sent into
exile. The close and frequent intercourse between Prance
and Portugal, which was increased by the fact that the
king of the latter country prided himself on copying all the
8
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vices, as well as the pomp and luxury of Louis XV., made
Paris the natural refuge of the banished; and the Marquis,
who was of a very easy-going disposition, and whose rank
and breeding at once secured him an entree into the best
French society, had been quite content to settle himself
there with his family.
His two daughters, whose charms had so strongly affected
the Count de Vougny, were both very handsome, with
the broad, low forehead and level eyebrows—said to be
inherited from the Moors—so common in Spain and
Portugal, and both therefore soon had plenty of admirers.
They were, however, so different, both in appearance and
character, that the Baroness might well feel doubtful as to
which of them her nephew preferred. Inez, the elder, who
was calm and self-possessed in manner, and whose face had a
slight expression of melancholy that made her rare smiles
peculiarly attractive, was undoubtedly the handsomer of
the two. Her aquiline features were beautifully regular,
her complexion of creamy whiteness, and her wistful black
eyes, which very seldom reflected her inward feelings, were
in brilliant contrast to her wavy, silken hair, which was of
the colour which the French term chataine. Isabel's hair,
on the contrary, was almost black, and her dark hazel eyes
were constantly lighting up and changing with her ever-
varying moods; her cheeks were rosy with health, while
her transparent complexion was somewhat bronzed with
exposure from the open-air life she delighted to lead, and
her mouth was perhaps a trifle too large, and her nose a
little too short to satisfy the strictest cannons of beauty.
IAN ROY.
9
She was full of animation, was constantly laughing and
displaying her beautifully white, regular teeth, and while
she was taller and more strongly built, had larger hands
and feet than her sister, whose slight figure was perfectly
formed. She was honesty itself, spoke what she thought,
with a sometimes alarming boldness, and possessed a reso-
lution and courage which Inez altogether wanted; but, on
the other hand, Inez was decidedly the cleverer, and more
accomplished of the two, and had a tact and penetration,
which, in the opinion of the shrewd old Baroness, were a
great deal more valuable than honesty. On the whole
she would, she thought, make much the more desirable
Countess de Vougny ; but then there was every reason to
fear that her nephew, with his remarkable opinions,
and with the perversity natural to his sex, would
think just the reverse. "Whatever he thought, however,
he was sure, as she said to herself with a sigh, to do
exactly as he pleased, and so she gave up her speculations
and calmly awaited the issue of events, feeling that she
could acquiesce in his choice, whatever it was, so long as it
ended in matrimony.
The result was an agreeable surprise to her. The Count
had fallen deeply in love with Inez, and set himself to win
her with all the determination of his solid, affectionate
nature. His devotion, handsome person, and sterling
character commended him to the lady, his high birth
and rich patrimony to her father the Marquis. After a
short courtship the pair were married, and Raymond de
Vougny, thoroughly happy, carried off his wife to Brittany,
10
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while the wits began to speculate as to how long it would
be before the Countess had a lover, and the Count, tired of
matrimonial bliss, would return to Paris and live like other*
people.
It must be owned with regret that, although the Countess
sincerely returned her husband's affection, and did her best
to enter into his tastes, these ill-omened predictions were in
part verified. She was naturally formed for society, and,
in spite of all her gallant efforts to resist it, the simple life
of a great seigneur, ruling patriarchally over his tenants,
which was the Count's beau id'eal of existence, filled her
with ennui. In vain did she try to imbue herself with
the spirit o£ her sister Isabel,who, on the contrary, thoroughly
enjoyed it, and who, being her dearest and indeed only
female friend, lived almost entirely with her. Do what she
would, the talk, and pursuits, and amusemeuts of the
country gentry, her neighbours, bored her unspeakably.
She pined in secret for the brilliant life of Paris and
Versailles, and was only stirred into gaiety when she was
talking or hearing about its details. If she turned for
relief to books to music, or to painting, she only ended by
yawning over her pursuits. Her husband cared nothing
at all for art, and only for very solid reading, and her
sister, who fully shared his love for open-air sports, cared
for neither. Poor Inez had not a soul to sympathise with
her tastes, and had no real home interests; and her position,
which might otherwise have been more endurable, was
rendered harder to bear by the fact that she had no children
to devote herself to. Nevertheless she might have con-
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11
tinued to bear her lot uncomplainingly had not the love of
her husband led him at last to sacrifice his own tastes to
hers. His affection for her was so deep and unselfish that
to see her suffering from weariness and despondency was
unendurable to him. Unknown to her, he had watched all
her thoughts, and studied all her wishes, with the keenest
anxiety, and had made it the first object of his life to see
that nothing should be wanting to make her happy. "For
two and a half years he observed, with silent pain, her vain
struggles to interest herself in the thoughts and pursuits
that he loved, hoping against hope, that in time she might
grow to love them as he did, and find her happiness in
them. Then at last he owned to himself sorrowfully that
it could never be. The only time when his wife really
brightened up and took pleasure in life was when they
were away from home. He could not blame her, he knew
that she did her utmost to conquer her natural tastes for
his sake, and loved her all the more for it, but he
felt now that she could never succeed. Heaven had
formed her for one life and him for another. She should
no longer suffer on his account, and he would try and find
his pleasure in suffering for her. He hated the life of the
town, and he felt that his intense love for his beautiful wife
made him horribly jealous regarding her, and that he
should have to undergo a perfect purgatory in seeing her
mix in the fascinating, profligate society of the Court. But
he proudly said to himself that he could always trust her,
of that he was sure, and that his absurd jealousy should be
no bar to her happiness. Perhaps in time she might get
12
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tired of this gay life, and return more eagerly to the more
sober one he longed for her to prefer. His marriage had
hitherto been blest by no offspring, but should that blessing
be granted him he might hope that the old home in Brittany,
so dear to him, might then become dear to her too. So, to
the intense joy and surprise of his wife, he one day told her
that he had come to the conclusion that it was his duty, as
a noble, to attend the Court of his Sovereign more fre-
quently; that it would give him pleasure to see her take the
place in society for which he felt nature had fitted her;
and that, with this object, he had caused the old Chateau
at Versailles to be prepared for their reception, and had,
through his aunt, the Baroness, secured her a small post of
honour about the Queen.
The Countess thanked him for his though tfulness with
her usual quiet grace, and then suddenly gave way to an
irrepressible burst of tears, more eloquent, and more grati-
fying to her husband than any words. He felt that he at
once realised the conflict of feelings that had caused them,
and knew even before she told him—as she did when she
was calmer—that, though in part due to a sense of relief
from the tension of a struggle which she felt to be hopeless,
they were chiefly the result of happiness and gratitude at
this token of his love for her, mingled with bitter grief for
the failure of her efforts to share his tastes, and for the
sacrifice she felt he was making for her sake. Never,
probably, either before or after during their lives, did the
pair feel for each other such sincere love and esteem as in
these few brief moments, the recollection of which, in
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13
spite of all subsequent trials and sorrows, remained for
ever indelibly impressed on the miuds of both.
The Countess felt constrained for very shame, to make a
feeble effort to dissuade her husband from his purpose, but
he smilingly over-ruled all her half-hearted opposition. In
two months from this time they had bidden adieu to the
rugged scenery of Brittany, and, when this story commences,
had been living for more than a year in the Chateau de
Yougny at Versailles, where, as in the country, Donaa
Isabel de Melho, as a matter of course, formed one of the
family party.
CHAPTER II.
in" which the countess prefers to remain at home.
One fine evening in April the Countess de Vougny and her
sister were seated together in the boudoir of the former.
The room looked on to the garden, and from the windows
they could see the Count in the distance, pacing up and
down a broad walk, shaded by a row of elm-trees on the
side nearest the house, and skirting a piece of ornamental
water at the far end of the grounds.
"Really, Inez, you should not yield to his absurd jealousy
like this? " said Donna Isabel. " You only encourage it by
this perpetual submission. Once more, do come."
"Once for all, my dear child, no," replied the Countess,
rather impatiently, " I tell you that I prefer to remain at
14
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home quietly this evening. The Baroness de Bolbec will
take you to the masked ball, and Raymond and I will have
a quiet tete-a-tete. You will enjoy it quite as much with-
out me."
" I shall do no such thing, Inez ! "
"Nonsense! You know you will. You will have all
your admirers, with Mons. de la Faye at their head, to
console you. Your Scotch friend, Mons. Gordon—whom I
am so curious to see, and seem fated never to meet—will no
doubt be there, and make himself very agreeable, and also
make Mons. de la Faye very jealous. What more do you
want ? Please leave me in peace, and let us talk of some-
thing else."
" I have no patience with Raymond," cried her sister,
rising, and looking out of the window. " There he is still
tramping up and down! He only encourages this mania of
jealousy by brooding over it. Why can't he go to the
opera, or lose his money at play, or behave like other
people !"
" Isabel, you talk like a child! Raymond at the opera
indeed ! You know he cares as little about music as you
do yourself."
" He is brooding over it now," continued her sister,
quite disregarding this sarcasm. " I tell you it is very bad
for him. Really of late he has taken to glaring at you
sometimes in a way that makes me wonder if he is quite
in his senses, and almost frightens me."
" How you exaggerate, Isabel! Glared at me ! Raymond
has been out of sorts the last few weeks, that is all. You
IAN EOT.
15
know Paris never suits him. And if I am not frightened,
I am sure you need not be," and the Countess laughed
rather unnaturally.
" I know that he has been as sulky as a bear the last few
days," replied Isabel. " And he has been marching up and
down that walk for the last three hours and more. I say
you should not encourage him, that is all. You are both
fond of each other, and you make each other miserable."
Her sister sighed, and then blushed. " Of course I am
fond of Eaymond !" said she, rather inconsequently. " My
dear Isabel, do give me credit for as much observation as
yourself. Do you suppose I don't notice all these things,
as much as you do ? "
"I dare say you do. I only say you encourage his
jealousy by yielding to it."
"And I say that I don't do any such thing. Do be just
to him, Isabel. Remember how he hates the life of the
Court, and that he goes through it solely to please me.
Poor fellow! He feels it all so, that I often long to give
up everything and go home again to Brittany. And, please
God, I will make him return there before very long if
only " and the Countess, who had been speaking very
earnestly, here suddenly checked herself with a start.
" If you can only make up your own mind to give it up,
my dear !" cried the other, with a laugh. " I know you too
well! It is impossible. You could never do it."
"What do you mean, Isabel 1" cried the Countess, angrily.
"Never do it?"
" Come, come, don't let us quarrel," said Isabel, still
16
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laughing, and kissing her. " Believe me, I give Raymond
every credit, for his numerous good qualities, and you know
I am really fond of him. But I know also only too well
how much you endured in the way of ennui for his sake.
I think it is very good of you to give up the ball, and, as
you are really determined on it, I won't say any more. It
is getting dusk, and time for me to think of getting ready.
Come, and help me to dress."
" Poor Raymond ! " said the Countess rising, with a sigh.
" Well, it will certainly be more interesting to see you
adorn yourself than to squabble with you, so come along; "
and the two went together to Donna Isabel's apartments.
Meanwhile the Count was continuing his solitary
promenade, and, judging from the stern, sad expression on
his usually good-humoured face, his mind was full of very
serious and painful thoughts.
" So it has come to this at last! " he cried aloud, stopping
suddenly in his walk. "All my evil presentiments are
fulfilled. Fool that I was to drag her into such an
atmosphere of temptation ! Thrice accursed fool! Oh, to
be at home again once more ! "
He stood with folded arms gazing absently at the water,
in which the foliage of the elms, the blue sky and the
towers of the chateau were reflected; and a shoal of carp
sunning themselves in a corner on which the last rays of
the sunset fell, swam up to him in anticipation of their
customary feast. But the Count saw neither his pets nor
the picture in the water. His thoughts had travelled far
away, to a rough moorland country, brightened with gorse
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17
and heather, stretching away to a wild rocky coast, washed
by the tossing Atlantic ; to a low battlemented grey house :
and to a small room in it, with deep-embrasured windows,
looking out across the heath towards the sea, in which he
had first told his wife of his resolution to come and live at
Versailles.
" I will never believe it! " he cried at last. " No, no ! It
cannot be ! It must be false. Oh, may G-od grant it! Ha !—"
He paused, startled by what sounded to him at first like
the notes of a bird in the ivy on the wall that enclosed the
gardens of the chateau. They were peculiarly rich and
sweet, but strangely unfamiliar to the Count, whose country
life had given him a large experience in such matters. He
listened intently, and in a few moments he felt convinced
that they proceeded from no bird, but were a very clever,
whistling imitation of a bird's, song.—They suddenly
ceased, and then, after a brief pause, there came from the
corner of a yew hedge, some twenty paces from him, three
or four single notes, slightly resembling the former ones, as
if in answer to their call. The hedge was a long double
one, skirting on each side a path, leading from one corner
of the piece of water to the servants' offices. With a muttered
oath, the Count drew back farther into the shadow of the
elm beneath which he was standing, and watched eagerly
for what would follow.
Presently the notes in the ivy began to sound again.
This time, however, after a minute, they became softer, and
then distinctly took the form of two bars of an air then
popular in Paris, after which they ceased abruptly as before,
o
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There was the same pause, then came the same answering
notes from the yew hedge, and presently the Count saw a
woman, whom he at once recognised as his wife's maid,
issue from the walk, pass round one side of the water, and go
straight to the spot in the wall from which the whistling had
seemed to proceed. She looked stealthily around, and
then, raising a loose stone in the wall, took something from
under it, and hurried back to the house by the same way she
had come.
The Count watched her in silence till she had disappeared.
Then, with an expression of fierce anger, he stepped a pace
forward as if about to follow her. But his limbs suddenly
seemed to fail him ; he staggered like a drunken man, and,
falling back against the tree, he covered his face, contorted
with mingled grief and rage, with his hands, and fairly
sobbed with emotion.
"It was true! True, then, after all!" he cried at last.
" 0 Inez ! Inez ! My G-od, it was true !"
With a groan he sank to the ground, and lay there silent
and motionless. The twilight changed to darkness, the stars
appeared one by one, and the silence and chill of night fell
over the scene, but still Raymond de Vougny remained prone
on the turf, like one stunned. At length the carriage, taking
Donna Isabel and the Baroness de Bolbec to the masked
ball, was heard driving rapidly away from the chateau, and
passing the wall from which he had seen the note taken
that had caused him so much emotion. The sound seemed
to bring him to himself. He rose, walked slowly to the house,
and going to his private sitting-room summoned his valet.
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19
"Has the mason, Gaspare!, come yet ? " he asked.
The man answered that Gaspard had arrived two hours
ago, and was now awaiting the Count's pleasure.
" It is well," said his master. " Donna Isabel has gone
to the ball, I suppose ? " continued he.
"Yes, sir."
" And the Countess, has she gone with her, or remained
at home ?"
" The Countess is in her boudoir, sir."
" Good. Send Gaspard to me, and then you may amuse
yourself as you please for the rest of the evening. You
understand me ?"
The valet bowed and retired, and presently ushered in a
rough-looking man in a mason's dress, and immediately
withdrew.
Left alone with the new-comer, the Count locked
the door and drew a thick curtain across it, so as
effectually to prevent any sound being heard without.
Then he sat down in an easy-chair, and looked for a few
moments intently at the mason, who was standing awk-
wardly by the table in front of him.
" I find you have spoken the truth, fellow," said De
Vougny at last; " here is your reward ! "
The man took the money he gave him with a grin,
and an awkward scrape intended for a bow.
" And now I have some work for you to do, friend Gas-
pard," went on the other, in stern, harsh tones. " Come
nearer and listen attentively."
Gaspard, with an expression of mingled cunning,
20
IAN ROY.
curiosity, and dread on his coarse face, obeyed me-
chanically.
They had been closeted together for more than an hour
when the Count unlocked the door, and ordered his com-
pan ion to follow him.
CHAPTER III
A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE,
" So, Monsieur Gordon, you would not hesitate to punish
this poor Monsieur Weelkes, or Yeelkes—what wonderful
names yon English have !—if you ever met him ? "
" If he did not satisfy me with his apology, and ventured
to fight me—though I believe the fellow to be an arrant
coward—I should certainly consider myself fortunate in
doing so."
" How terribly blood-thirsty ! But no! I suppose I
ought rather to say, how patriotic ! "
" If you were a man, Donna Isabel, would you not punish
anyone who should thus insult Portugal ? "
" If I were a man! Ah ! perhaps, if I were a man, I might
be tempted to be equally chivalrous. But I fear there is
but little of such feeling among us now, shame be it said! "
and a fire came into the lady's dark eyes which showed that,
IAN ROY,;
21
in spite of her raillery at her companion's patriotism, she
secretly admired its spirit.
It was near midnight, when the above conversa-
tion took place, at a masked ball given in the palace of
Versailles.
The speakers—Donna Isabel Lafoens de Melho, and
Captain John Gordon, who until recently had held a com-
mission in the now disbanded regiment of Lord Ogilvie—
were seated in the embrasure of a window in the great
gallery commanding a view of the salon where Louis XV.
and his Queen, seated on a magnificent throne, watched
the galaxy of beauty before them. The grand staircase
leading from the eour d'honneur below the gallery, and the
salon, were all ablaze with light. Ladies, for the most part
unmasked, with thickly powdered coiffures dressed en
papillon, en equivoque, en desespoir, and in the numberless-
ways which the fashion required, radiant in jewels, and
clothed in all the magnificence for which the age was
famous, passed and repassed them with cavaliers, whose
black masks contrasted oddly with their snowy perukes,
and whose gorgeous costumes of gold and silver stuffs, or
embroidered velvet, rivalled those of their fair companions.
The strains of sweet music resounded above the low
murmur of a thousand voices, and the graceful forms of
the dancers, the brilliant toilets, the mysterious air
imparted by the masks, and all the varied humours of
the crowd, presented a scene, the picturesque beauty of
which it is hard in this more prosaic age to imagine. The
pair in question, however, were too familiar with such
22
IAN ROY.
surroundings, and were moreover too interested in each
other, to pay much attention to them.
" And when you have vanquished this poor man, you will
return in triumph to Scotland to marry the beautiful
fiancee ? " resumed Donna Isabel, after a pause, watching
Gordon the while with a half-amused look behind her fan.
"I may never have the opportunity of vanquishing
him," answered he with a laugh, " but I shall certainly
return to Scotland at the end of the month, and, as you
say, marry my fiancee "
" And then you will settle down to the family life which
you English so much adore, like that charming pair, the
Prince and Princess de Craon, who are such a model of
conjugal happiness that it makes one almost long to be
married," and she stifled a little yawn.
" And who are also blessed with twenty-two children !
Tou are too satirical, Donna Isabel! "
" Tell me now," said the lady, " what is she like, this
beautiful finacee ? Is she at all like me, for example ? "
"Not at all, Donna Isabel, save perhaps that she is about
your height. But she is slighter, and, of course, she is not
nearly so beautiful," added he, with a courtly bow.
" Cela va sans dire!" laughed the lady. "Go on,
Monsieur Gordon. My hair, you know, without this
powder, is almost black. Hers, of course, is very fair—
golden perhaps ? "
" Yes, her hair is much fairer than yours, and her eyes
are blue, whereas, yours," and he lowered his voice, and bent
over her in a tender way, which, had she seen it, would
IAN ROY.
23
perhaps have irritated the absent lady they were discussing,
"Yours are the most lovely — good heavens! — Donna
Isabel ! What has happened 1 Are yon ill 1"
Gordon seized the lady's hand, and gazed at her in alarm,
for her dark eyes were fixed and dilated as though she were
intently watching some unseen object. Her face was pale
as marble, her parted lips were almost bloodless, and the
hand he held had suddenly become cold as a stone.
"Isabel! what is it? " he cried, and he was about to go
for assistance, when suddenly, as suddenly as the change
had come over her, the colour came back to the lady's
cheeks, the warmth to her hand, and her eyes lost their
painful fixed expression.
With a deep sigh, that sounded half like a sob, two big
tears formed themselves in her eyes, and then, with a
sudden start, she seemed to awake, as if from a trance, and
to be at once herself again.
"It is nothing," said she, disengaging her hand. "I
frightened you, did I not? But ii has passed away now."
" I thought you—you had fainted," answered Gordon,
almost as startled by the suddenness of her recovery as he
had been by her apparent illness.
" No. It is nothing, I assure you. Tell me, do I look
ill now 1"
" No, you certainly do not."
" That is good, for I could not afford to be. Monsieur
Gordon, we have known each other for some time now, and
I have never yet asked you a favour. Will you do some-
thing for me ? "
24
IAN RO Y.
"I would do anything to serve you, Donna Isabel,"
replied he, eagerly.
" That's very devoted !" said she, smiling. " Well, then,
come with me at once to my sister's."
" At once 1 To the Chateau de Yougny ? "
" Yes. There is not a moment to lose. Come, and I
will explain why, as we go.''
For a moment Gordon half-wondered whether his fair
companion had not temporarily taken leave of her senses.
He was, however, too chivalrous, and too fond of adventure
to hesitate, and in a moment the pair, having adjusted their
masks, found themselves seated in a coach, and driving
rapidly towards a villa some two miles from Versailles.
It was a lovely, mild spring night when they started on
their strange expedition, and the quiet and beauty of the
scene combined to exercise a strong influence on Gordon,
who already felt a deep interest in Donna Isabel, which was
increased by the confidence she had just reposed in him.
Any tenderer feelings, however, which he may have felt
were speedily turned into another channel by the strange
disclosure which she now made to him.
" I believe you have never yet met my sister and her
husband," began the lady.
" No. I have not yet had the honour."
"Hut you have heard no doubt that the Count de
Vougny is madly jealous of her."
" I have heard it said so," answered Gordon.
"It is true, and it is also true that he has no excuse what-
ever. He is a cruel tyrant! I hate him ! "
IAN ROY.
25
Gordon looked in some surprise at the anger which blazed
in his companion's face, but he merely bowed assent.
"Well, I must tell you that he is especially jealous of
Monsieur de Richelieu, and that it was solely to humour
him on this point that Inez did not come with me to-night,
and that I was therefore placed under the protection of her
husband's aunt, that poor kind Baroness de Bolbec, who, I
fear, will be terribly anxious when she finds that we have so
cleverly evaded her."
" Has your sister been long married to Monsieur de
Yougny ? " asked Gordon.
" Some three years. She is quite perfect, poor darling !
and her devotion to him is admirable; while he, as I said,
he is a heartless tyrant! But enough of that! You must
know that Inez and I are twin sisters, and that there is a
most wonderful sympathy between us, so that what one feels
the other always feels also. You smile "
" Pardon me," began Gordon.,
" Yes. You need not deny it, for it is perhaps natural
that you should find it hard to believe. Nevertheless, I
assure you that it is a fact, that there is this strange
sympathy between us ; and now I shall tell you why I am
bringing you on what must be to you a most extraordinary
expedition." Her face assumed a very grave expression,
and she paused as if to collect herself.
"I am all attention, Donna Isabel," said Gordon, think-
ing,how handsome she looked in her black mantilla, with
the moonlight falling on her face, and wondering how this
curious adventure would end.
26
IAN RO Y.
" When we were in the palace just now," resumed his
companion, " and you were describing to me the charms of
the young lady you are so attached to, I suddenly became
conscious of a most terrible feeling of suffocation. Then,
to my horror, I saw that my sister, dressed in a white dress
trimmed with bows of cerise, a colour she is very fond of,
was standing before me with a look of awful terror in her
eyes that seemed to freeze my blood. She raised her arm
and beckoned to me, and then, as I tried to rise and follow
her, she suddenly vanished from my sight, and for a moment
all became total darkness, till I recovered and found you
holding my hand.''
" Good heavens ! how terrible ! " said Gordon, startled
in spite of himself, by this strange story.
"Monsieur Gordon," she continued, eagerly, "I know
that my dear Inez is in distress, perhaps in danger ! I feel
as sure of it as I am that I am sitting by you ! And that is
why I am going to her now ! Oh, how slowly we are mov-
ing ! Tell him to drive quicker, quicker!" and she clasped
her hands in uncontrollable agitation.
" Think, dear lady, it is but a dream after all! " said
Gordon, after he had done as she asked. " It is a terrible
one, but still only a dream."
" No, no! I tell you it is no dream! It is a solemn warning !
I am positive of it! Heaven grant that we may not be too
late ! Stay ! tell the driver to go to the garden entrance."
Gordon gave the necessary directions, and after a few
attempts on his part to reassure his companion, to which
she paid little attention, the pair relapsed into silence till
IAN ROY.
27
the carriage, after passing down an avenue, suddenly stopped
at a small postern-gate in a high walk Donna Isabel sprang
quickly from the carriage, and, ordering the coachman
to wait, opened the door with a key which she drew from
her dress. Then, taking a lantern, which had been brought
by the driver of the coach, she led Gordon quickly across
a lawn, in the centre of which rose a fountain, its spray
gleaming like silver in the moonlight, to a flower garden
below the broad terrace, ornamented with urns and statues,
which boarded the front of the chateau. Turning down a
narrow path, skirted by a thick yew hedge, they entered a
shrubbery, and soon found themselves approaching a door
at the back of the house.
" It is open! " cried Donna Isabel, running forward.
" Stay !" said Gordon, holding her back. " Look ! what
is that P " and he pointed to a dark object lying beside the
path, a few paces in front of them.
His companion gave a little cry as they came on the
body of a man in a mason's dress, covered with blood,
which was still slowly oozing from a deep wound in his
chest, and grasping a trowel in his right hand.
" He has been murdered ! May heaven help us ! He is
dead! " cried Donna Isabel, horror-struck.
Gordon bent over him, and as he did so the wounded
man opened his eyes with a faint groan. At the sight of
Donna Isabel and the young soldier, he seemed suddenly
to revive.
" He has killed me," he murmured. " The Count!—he
has—water! water! "
28
IAN ROY.
Gordon ran to the fountain, and quickly returning with
some water, gave it to the dying man, while Donna Isabel
knelt beside him and supported his head. He drank it
eagerly, and, raising himself on his elbow with a great
effort, he pointed to the house.
" Madame the Countess! " he gasped. " Save her—
She is—the boudoir—she is buri— "
"With a convulsive effort he pointed to his trowel, and
then with a shudder fell back dead.
" Inez ! my sister ! Oh ! For mercy's sake save her !
Save her ! " cried Donna Isabel, springing to her feet, ,and
hurrying into the house.
Seizing the lantern, and drawing his sword, Gordon
followed her up a narrow winding stair that brought them
to a door at the end of a long passage, which seemed
quite detached from the rest of the house.
" That is the room!" whispered Donna Isabel, trembling
violently.
The door was locked. With a great effort Gordon dashed
it open, and they entered.
The room, which was evidently the Countess's boudoir,
was empty. A table and a couple of chairs were over-
turned as if during a struggle, and a pair of torn # lace
ruffles lay near an open door leading into a smaller apart-
ment. Complete silence reigned through the house, and
almost unnerved by the horror of the situation, and the
look of terrified anxiety on his companion's pale face,
Gordon stood for a moment bewildered and irresolute.
" Great heavens, man ! why do you hesitate ] Quick !
IAN ROY.
29
quick! " cried Donna Isabel, seizing his arm and hurrying
him into the adjoining room.
It was empty like the other, and they stood for a
moment in helpless, silent despair. Suddenly Gordon's
eye fell on a corner of the wall which seemed in strange
contrast to the rest, and which, from the remains of
mortar on the floor, looked as if it had been newly
built up.
" Look ! look ! " cried Donna Isabel, springing forward.
" Do you not see ? There ! that ribbon ! Did I not tell
you it was her favourite colour," and she pointed to a knot
of cerise ribbon which was half embedded in the newly
built masonry.
A terrible thought flashed across Gordon's mind as he
saw it. The dying man, the trowel in his hand, the
mortar on the floor—could it be possible ! He had heard
of nuns being immured alive—and the ribbon—great
heavens ! it must be so !
With terrible forebodings he seized his sword and, having
made a fissure in the mortar, endeavoured to tear down the
wall with his hands. For a few moments, which seemed
interminable, the mason's work resisted all his efforts, but
at last a large piece suddenly gave way and fell with a crash,
revealing through the aperture the skirt of a woman's white
dress.
" Oh, God ! It is true ! it is true !" moaned poor Donna
Isabel, sinking on the floor and covering her face with her
hands. "Work! work! for God's sake save her! save
her! "
30
IAN ROY
Gordon redoubled his efforts, and little by little the wall
fell, till at last a niche was laid bare in which stood a
woman, whose beautiful face was pale as marble, and whose
tightly bound figure was apparently quite devoid of life.
Taking her in his arms, Gordon laid the unfortunate lady
on the couch in the boudoir, while her poor sister, half
frantic with grief, threw herself beside her and covered her
with kisses.
As Gordon looked on the sad sight and realised all the
fiendish cruelty and wickedness of the husband who had
designed for his wife this awful death, all the pity, and
chivalry, and passion of his nature burst forth in a fierce
blaze of anger.
" I swear by Him who made me ! " he cried, raising his
sword on high, " that wherever and whenever I meet the
murderer who has done this accursed deed, I will kill him
like a dog, and I pray that heaven may deliver him into
my hands! "
One of the many bows of cerise ribbon which covered
the white dress of theHountess had fallen to the ground.
Gordon took it and raised it to his lips.
" Isabel de Melho ! " he cried, " I call you to witness my
oath 1 I will keep this token till I meet him, for life or
death, so help me God ! " and he placed it in his breast.
" Hush ! " cried his companion. " See ! she is still
warm ! Her heart beats ! She will live ! Eouse the
servants ! Run quickly for help ! " So intense had been
their anxiety, that it had never occurred to either of them
before to get aid from others.
IAN ROY.
.31
Gordon hurried down the long dark passage, which he
found closed by a heavy oak door opening on to a broad
staircase. All was silence and darkness, and, getting no
answer to his repeated shouts, he descended and made his
way to the servants' apartments. These seemed equally
deserted, and it was not till he had tried three or four rooms
without success that he at last managed to rouse the old
housekeeper, who was for a time so startled by this armed
apparition, that she could give no other answer to his
entreaties and imprecations than a pitiful petition for
mercy. At length, however, she recovered her faculties
sufficiently to take in something of the situation, and
told him that the Count, on the pretext of removing to
his chateau in Brittany, had that morning, unknown
to his wife, sent on most of his household in advance,
saying that he and the Countess would follow the next
day.
Having awakened the serving maid, they at once re-
paired, with such restoratives as they could collect, to the
room in which Gordon had left Donna Isabel and her
sister. They found that, thanks to an aperture in the outer
wall—which Gordon discovered on examining the niche,
and which must have escaped her would-be murderer's
notice—the Countess had not been injured past hope of
recovery, and after a brief interval of anxiety she regained
consciousness. Gordon had meantime despatched the
driver of the coach to Versailles for a physician, and
the gardener of the chateau with messages to the police
and to Donna Isabel's friends, and at an early hour of the
32
IAN ROY.
morning he was able to return to Paris, feeling perfectly
satisfied as to the safety of the woman he had helped to
rescue from being buried alive. *
CHAPTEE IY.
an affair of honour.
Gordon's earliest thoughts the next morning recurred to
his strange adventure of the night before, the events of
which were indelibly impressed on his memory.
The sudden illness of Donna Isabel, her strange vision,
the drive to the chateau, and all the circumstances attend-
ing the rescue of the beautiful sister of his friend from
her living tomb, all rose vividly before him, and he
again mentally renewed his vow of vengeance against her
husband, and determined he would leave no stone unturned
to find him before he returned to Scotland.
Standing somewhat over six feet in height, with a ruddy
complexion and crisp, curly auburn hair—which had gained
for him at home the soubriquet of Ian Eoy—and with
resolute blue eyes and decided features of the best Scotch
type, Gordon was as handsome a representative of his
nation as could well be met with. He had a large share of
the romantic courage which characterised his countrymen,
and being of a combative, impetuous, and energetic tempera-
ment, he had found himself engaged in more than one
affair of honour. Hence the prospect of this new adveu-
* See Appendix, Note 1.
IAN ROT.
33
ture was decidedly pleasing to him, and as he leisurely
drank his chocolate previous to going to the prefecture de
police, to inquire for news of the Count de Vougny he felt
somewhat put out by the thought that his return to Scot-
land might materially interfere with his plans.
It was absolutely necessary for many reasons that he
should return home with as little delay as possible. Lord
Ogilvie's regiment had, as has been said, been recently dis-
banded, and as, like many other Jacobites, he secretly
resented the conduct of Louis XV. to Prince Charles
Edward, Gordon had resolved to take service in Prussia.
His father, Alexander Gordon, an ardent Jacobite, had been
out in both the '15 and the '45, and was therefore compelled,
like so many of his fellow-exiles, to enter the Erench service,
in which he had died a colonel, some years before this history
commences. He had left his son in the care of his elder
brother George, who resided on the ancestral property of
Colquliarry in Aberdeenshire, and who had brought him up
with his own boy Christin, between whom and Ian there
was one of those strong friendships which so often spring
up between people of diametrically opposite characters.
Christin, who was some five or six years the elder of the two,
had very good abilities, was of a decidedly serious and
studious turn of mind, and had gained considerable dis-
tinction at the University of Aberdeen. John, or Ian Eoy,
as he was more commonly called, on the contrary, early
gave decided evidence of being utterly unsuited for any-
thing but an active life, and after a good many battles with
his uncle, who was nevertheless extremely fond of him, his
D
34
IAN ROY.
father had thought it wiser to procure for him, just before
his death, a commission in Lord Ogilvie's regiment. Before
leaving Scotland Ian had managed to fall in love with Miss
Elspeth Drummond, the daughter of a neighbouring laird,
and the fact that the attachment was at first opposed by the
relatives of both, having given the additional incentive of
opposition to his passion, he ended by engaging himself to
her, and vowed to return and marry her at the earliest
opportunity. The parents of the young lady, wearied at
length of attempting to reason with the self-willed pair,
came to the conclusion that their wisest course was to
acquiesce in the engagement, and contented themselves
with hoping that .time, a soldier's life, and a residence
abroad, would make Gordon tire of his boyish passion, or
that their daughter might be induced to forget him during
his absence in favour of some more eligible suitor. To a
certain extent their expectations had been realised. Through
his father, who had served in the famous Gardes Ecossais,
Ian had obtained a good many useful introductions, and
his courtesy, good temper, and a certain freshness of thought
and feeling, had made him generally popular. His experi-
ence, therefore, of some of the best society in the French
capital could not but have the effect of opening his eyes to
many of the imperfections of his fiancee which he might
never have noticed had not he had the opportunity of com-
paring the absent country girl with various French ladies
of his acquaintance who were equally beautiful and far
better bred. In spite, however, of all the damaging influ-
ences of Court life under Louis XV., he still retained a
IAN ROY.
35
strong affection for Miss Drummond, and even had he not
done so he would have felt bound in honour to keep his
promise to her. To return and take her with him as his
wife to Germany was therefore the primary object of his
journey to Scotland, but he had also a very strong desire to
revisit his old home at Colquharry. He was only six-and-
twenty, full of health and energy, and had fully resolved to
follow the career of a soldier of fortune as his father had
done, and before beginning a new period of exile, which he
felt would probably last for life, he longed to see his uncle
,and his cousin Christin once more. On leaving Scotland
he had in a manner confided Miss Drummond to the latter's
care. He had an immense admiration for his learning,
accomplishments, unselfishness, and sound judgment, and
often did he rejoice that Christin was watching over her
during his absence, and writing him so constantly about her ;
for Elspeth, like most young ladies in that age, was an
indifferent scribe, and he himself was, to tell the truth, not
much better. While therefore his inclinations led him to
prolong his stay in Paris, duty and affection called on him
to shorten it as much as possible, and the former influence
was so strong that it was only after a great deal of hesita-
tion and a careful perusal of Christin's last letter that he
decided to start for Scotland, as he had originally intended,
at the commencement of the following week. This Avould
allow him only five days in which to gain news as to the
Count de Yougny, and in order to make the most of his
time, he resolved to go and see the lieutenant de police on
the subject as soon as possible.
36
IAN ROY.
It was about noon when he left his lodging. All Paris
seemed to have turned out to enjoy the sunshine of the
beautiful spring day, and the streets were thronged with
carriages and chairs as well as foot passengers. Captain
Gordon, who was well known in society, had many recogni-
tions from the fair occupants of the former, and now and
then found an acquaintance among the latter; hut this did
not improve the unamiable frame of mind in which his
resolution to return to Scotland had left him, and the
thought that the Count de Yougny would probably escape
him, at all events for some time to come, made him feel
rather more combative than usual. As he strolled down the
Rue de Comedie in this frame of mind, the sight of a gentle-
man who was walking towards him made him suddenly
stop and involuntarily lay his hand on his sword-hilt.
Though he had never before met the singularly ugly and
repulsive-looking, but exceedingly smartly dressed person-
age who thus attracted his attention, he felt sure at once
from a picture he had seen of him that this must be no
other than the celebrated John Wilkes. It is hardly neces-
sary to remind the reader how obnoxious this unscrupulous
and profligate apostle of freedom had made himself to
Scotchmen. The partiality of the Court for them was the
favourite topic of his journal, the North Briton, which
delighted to record every obsolete anecdote and illiberal
invective regarding the nation in the strongest and most
unpleasant terms. One of the first subjects chosen by the
North Briton for its satire was the intimacy of the Queen
with Lord Bute, and the fact that Gordon's family was dis-
IAN ROY.
37
tantly connected with that of the Earl served to increase
the hatred of Wilkes, which his strong feelings of patriotism
and his contempt for the man's character had aroused in
him. He had often declared publicly that he would chastise
"Wilkes whenever he met him, and his anger whenever the
subject was discussed had often amused some of his French
friends, who, with their keen sense of humour, found the
diatribes of the North Briton rather amusing. Fate, which
seemed about to deprive him of the pleasure of punishing
the villainy of the Count de Yougny, had at last given him
the opportunity of chastising the insulter of his country,
and he approached his intended and quite unconscious
victim with mingled wrath and exultation.
" Pardon me, monsieur," said he, raising his hat with
punctilious politeness. "Am I mistaken in supposing
that I am addressing Mr. Wilkes ? "
" That is my name, sir," replied the other, with a little
surprise, but eyeing Captain Gordon with a good deal of
cool insolence. " What, may I ask, is yours ? "
" Will you give me the pleasure of a few moments' con-
versation apart, Mr. Wilkes ? " said Gordon, sternly.
" I have no objection, sir," answered the other, haughtily,
and he turned and said a few words to a gentleman with
him, who seemed from his dress in some way connected with
the Church, and who therefore walked off.
" Now, sir, what is this, and pray, who are you ?"
Gordon led him a little aside into a bye street, which was
quieter than the one they were in.
" My name is Captain Gordon, Mr.Wilkes, at your service.
38
IAN ROY.
I have lately held a commission in one of His Majesty's
regiments of Scotch guards.
" Indeed, sir," said Wilkes, with a sneer, much irritated
by the other's manner. " Your intelligence is interesting,
but I confess that I have never had the honour of hearing
of you before, though we have plenty of your distinguished
countrymen in London, for I presume from your name that
you are Scotch."
" I have the honour to belong to the nation which Mr.
Wilkes has thought fit to make the subject of his vile
insults in his most scurrilous newspaper, and I am glad to
take this opportunity of informing him that I consider him
an infamous rascal and scoundrel! "
"You wish me to chastise you, sir?" cried Wilkes,
furiously, but with a furtive glance round to see if they
were observed, and in vain trying to conceal his evident
alarm at the demeanour of his formidable looking an-
tagonist.
"Nothing will give me greater pleasure than to give you
the satisfaction which you are entitled to demand," answered
Gordon, growing cooler as the other lost his temper. " I
am determined to fight you, Mr. Wilkes, and am ready to
do so at once."
" But—my good sir—you are a total stranger to me, and
—and I cannot—I cannot, at all events, fight you now.
This is most scandalous conduct! I tell you, I cannot
fight you now ! I have business of importance ! But," he
resumed, recovering his composure, with an efiort, " if yon
will call this afternoon, at my lodging, at the Hotel de Saxe,
IAN ROY.
39
in the Rue de Colombier, I will arrange to give you the
punishment you so richly deserve."
" Enough, sir," replied Gordon. " Be assured, I shall
not keep you waiting," and, with a bow, he left Mr. Wilkes
to continue his way, and turned into a cafe close by.
It is to be feared that many readers in this more enlight-
ened age will be inclined to take a very severe view of
Captain Gordon's conduct, but it must be remembered that
the sword was in those days universally regarded by gentle-
men as the sole means of chastising those offences against
the honour and reputation of private individuals which we
now prefer to punish by means of actions for libel, and the
infliction of damages. Patriotism, too, was then an intensely
bigoted and narrow-minded, but consequently much keener
feeling than it has become in these more humane and cosmo-
politan days, and probably few Scotchmen in the middle of
the last century would not have shared Gordon's feelings of
elation at this opportunity of avenging the insults put upon
their country. Whatever maybe the verdict passed on him,
however, it must be confessed that it was with a proud
anticipation of winning the applause of his countrymen
that Gordon, having secured his friend Mr. Alexander
Murray—a Scotch exile who lived in Paris under the title
of Count Murray—as second, repaired to the Hotel de Saxe.
His feelings may therefore be imagined when he was informed
by the servant that Mr. Wilkes had gone to Compeigne for
the day, and would not return till the evening.
" The cowardly scoundrel! " cried he, and would perhaps
have given further vent to his anger and disappointment
40
IAN ROY.
had not his friend cautioned him to be more prudent before
the servant, and pointed out the uselessness of attempting
anything further at present.
" He shall not escape me a second time! " said G-ordon.
"I felt sure the fellow was a coward before I saw him, but
his cowardice shall not save him! "
His excitement had made him quite forget his intention
of visiting the prefecture de police. A sudden fear came
over him that his antagonist meant to try and evade him
altogether, and, his friend Murray having other engage-
ments, he dined alone, and then going again to the hotel,
inquired whether Wilkes had yet returned from Compeigne.
" Yes," answered the servant, " Monsieur has returned,
and, after dining here, he went with some friends to the
theatre."
" To which theatre, fellow ?'' cried Gordon.
"Ma foi, Monsieur, I cannot tell you!" answered the
man, shrugging his shoulders. " There are many theatres
in Paris ! "
Gordon swore savagely.
"Harkee," said he, "tell your master that Captain
Gordon, whom he was so anxious to see this morning,
has called twice on him to-day, and that if he is a wise
man he will keep at home till he calls again."
" Yes, Monsieur/' answered the man, cowed by his savage
looks.
" I will not be baulked! " said Gordon fiercely to himself.
" I will go to him early to-morrow. If he will not fight
me, I shall chastise him publicly! "
IAN ROT.
41
He rose early next morning, and at six o'clock made his
way to the Rue de Colombier. The servant, who seemed
only half awake himself, and was fairly terrified by the
apparition of this fierce young soldier, told him tremblingly
that his master, Mr. "Wilkes, had been up late the night
before, and was still in bed.
"I will wait till he is dressed," said Gordon. "Take
me to his sitting-room, and tell him at once that I am
here."
The servant, too frightened to remonstrate, did as he was
ordered, and hurried off to inform Mr. Wilkes of his un-
pleasant visitor. The room into which he was ushered bore
evident marks of having been the scene of a midnight
carouse. The table was still covered with bottles, and
glasses, and dishes, some of the chairs were overturned,
and a pack of cards, and what looked suspiciously like a
lady's cloak lay on the floor, while any doubts on the
subject were completely removed by the loud snores of a
tall, big man, of perhaps two-and-thirty, who, still grasping
a glass in one hand, was sleeping off the effects of his pota-
tions in his chair. Gordon's entrance, though it did not
immediately awake him, disturbed his slumbers, and in a
few minutes, after some uneasy grunts and contortions of
face, he opened his eyes, and stared in some surprise at the
intruder. His dress, which was an odd combination of
that of the churchman and layman, was terribly untidy and
stained with wine, but his face, despite the evident traces of
dissipation and a somewhat soured expression, was a fine,
intellectual, and by no means ill-tempered one, and Gordon
42
IAN ROT.
at once recognised him as the friend he had seen with Mr.
Wilkes on the previous day.
" You are up early, young sir! " said he in a deep and
rather pleasant voice.
" And you, sir, have apparently been up late," answered
Gordon curtly.
" Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the other, " so I was, so I
was ! Listen :—
' If Rupert after ten is out of bed,
The fool next morning can't hold up bis head.
What reason this which me to bed must call,
Whose head, thank Heaven ! never aches at all ? '
Ha! ha! ha! What d'ye think of these lines, eh ? " and
he filled his glass from a half-empty wine flagon, and took
a deep draught.
" I cannot say I think them much credit to the poet,"
said Gordon rudely, biting his lips, and amused in spite of
himself.
" Thank you for the compliment, sir," retorted the other,
not at all discomposed. " The lines are from my poem of
'Night.' I am the poet, sir; Charles Churchill, at your'
service."
" Churchill ! " said Gordon, thinking the name sounded
familiar, " Churchill! "
" Yes, sir! Charles Churchill, sometime clerk in holy
orders, now poet and journalist, much at your service,
though I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name.
Will you join me, eh ? Will you ? or is it too early ?"
IAN ROY.
43
and he pushed the bottle towards him with so much jovial
good nature that Gordon could not help smiling.
"I am Captain John Gordon, sir," answered he as
gravely as he could, "late of Lord Ogilvie's regiment of
Gardes Ecossais."
"A Scotchman, eh? Ha! ha!" laughed this jovial
bacchanal. " I say, have you read my ' Prophecy of
Famine,' eh?"
" Sir! " thundered Gordon, springing to his feet. " The
Prophecy of Famine ! " that bitter satire against Scotland!
He saw it all now! This was Churchill, the drunken,
profligate parson, who had become famous as the author of
' The Bosciad,' and was now "Wilkes' associate in the North
Briton, and his coadjutor in his war against the Scots !
" So you are the auchor of ' The Prophecy of Famine !'
Were it not for your cloth, sir, I should have much pleasure
in serving you as I intend to serve your friend, that infamous
scoundrel, John Wilkes !"
" Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed Churchill, with provoking good
humour; he was a man of known courage and celebrated
as a boxer. " So you are the young blood, who wants to
murder poor Jack Wilkes ! " and he emptied his glass, and,
leaning back in his chair, continued laughing boisterously.
Though he saw the man was still half drunk, this was
moje than Gordon could stand, and he was approaching him
with anything but benevolent intentions, when the door
opened and Wilkes himself entered the room. He looked
pale, and was manifestly ill at ease, but saluted Gordon with
a certain dignity.
44
IAN ROT.
" I was unable to keep my appointment with you, yester-
day, (Japtain Gordon," said he.
" You will, however, be unable to avoid doing so now,"
replied Gordon, sternly. " Harkee, Mr. Wilkes, I insist
on your giving me satisfaction for your insults to Scotland,
which I regard as insults to myself."
" Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed Churchill, pouring himself out
another glass. " Well said ! well said! You can't get out
of that, Jack."
" Be silent, Churchill! " cried Wilkes, angrily. " I pray
you consider, Captain Gordon, that we are total strangers
to each other, and that I have never done you an injury.
To fight you would be wanton and unchristian folly."
• "Unchristian folly! That's good from Jack Wilkes!
ver' good !" cried Churchill, with a drunken hiccough.
" Unchristian ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! "
" Mr. Wilkes," said Gordon, " these subterfuges move
me as little as the mirth of your drunken friend. Fight
me you must, either now and at once, or at any time you
like to fix. My friend Count Murray will wait on you."
Wilkes drew back a step in alarm as he heard of this
proposal.
" I cannot do this, man ! " cried he. "I positively de-
cline to fight you! I will not imperil my life—a life on
which others are dependent—or shed innocent blood, for
such a mad whim ! "
" Jack decl'insh shed insh'int blood ! " murmured
Churchill, who, overcome by wine, had again closed his
eyes.
IAN ROY.
45
" Is that your final answer, Mr. Wilkes 1" asked Gordon,
sternly.
" It is. I refuse to fight you," said Wilkes, huskily.
Gordon looked at him with ineffable contempt.
" Then I give you fair warning," he said fiercely, " that
whenever I meet you in public, I shall cane you, since you
no more deserve to be treated as a gentleman, but as an
eternal rascal and scoundrel! " and without waiting for a
reply he left the room.
As he passed out he asked the hotel porter whether he
knew Wilkes by sight.
The man answered that he did.
" This is my address. Let me know by six o'clock to-
night if he goes to any public entertainment," and he
slipped a gold coin into his hand.
" Monsieur may rely on me," said the fellow, and Gordon
returned to his lodging well satisfied with the result of his
visit.
" Such a creature is not worth crossing swords with,"
said he to himself. " It will be sufficient for the honour of
Scotland if I chastise him publicly."
On reaching his lodgings he found a letter from Donna
Isabel de Melho, saying that her sister, though still very
much shaken, had made wonderful progress in her recovery,
and would be glad to see him on the following day, and
thank him for the service he had rendered her. She also
told him that the Count had escaped in disguise across the
Spanish frontier, but that all attempts to trace him further
had failed. This was a great disappointment to Gordon,
46
IAN ROY.
but though it made his plans of vengeance now seem almost
impossible, he determined that should Fate ever give him
the chance, he would not fail to keep his oath. He sent a
note to Donna Isabel, saying that he would call on her at
the time she requested, and then, after having made some
preparations for his approaching journey, he went to Count
Murray, and told him all that had happened between him
and Wilkes. The latter applauded his friend's conduct, and
his resolution to administer a public caning to Wilkes, and
the pair were sitting down to dinner in his house, when
a messenger arrived with the news that Wilkes was to
visit the opera that evening. This naturally raised their
spirits, and, having drunk success to the enterprise, they
were just thinking of setting out to meet the editor of the
North Briton, as he was leaving the theatre, when a servant
entered with a face so scared that his master immediately
asked him what was the matter.
" The sergeant de police is here, sir, with two of his
officers," answered the man, " and demands to see Captain
Gordon."
" What does this mean 1" cried Murray, alarmed. "What
can he have to say to you 1"
"I cannot tell," replied his friend, a good deal startled.
" It might be some news of the Count de Yougny ! but no !
that's hardly possible! I do not understand, unless "
All further conjectures were, however, stopped by the
entrance of Monsieur Cartouche, the officer in question, who
had followed the servant into the room.
" I have orders from the Marshals of France to place you
IAN ROY.
47
under arrest, Captain G-ordon," said he. " You are accused
of threatening the life of Monsieur Wilkes, a distinguished
Englishman, now visitiDg Paris ! "
" The villain!" ejaculated Gordon and Murray in a
breath.
" I am very sorry, gentlemen,'' said the other, with a
shrug. "No doubt there has been some mistake, but I
must obey my orders," and in a short time poor Gordon,
instead of winning the applause of his countrymen by
publicly punishing their virulent enemy, found himself
marched off to the Bastille under a guard of soldiers.*
CHAPTEE Y.
A friend at court.
" I have some news for you, Isabel," said the Countess
de Vougny to her sister, when the latter entered her boudoir
one evening, some ten days after the events described in
the previous chapter. " I have some interesting news for
you, my dear."
"Well, what is it, Inez ? You look tired and anxious,
dearest. " Have you been fretting about anything ? "
There were evident traces of weary anxiety on the
Countess's beautiful face, which seemed clearly to justify
her sister's remark, and which she vainly tried to conceal by
a smile, as she answered—
* See Appendix, Note 2.
48
IAN ROY.
"No Isabel, not fretting, only thinking; I am still so
weak that I suppose thinking makes me look stupid and
ugly. Monsieur de la Faye has been here, my dear."
" Monsieur de la Faye !" said her sister, with some
displeasure.
" Yes; upon my word, dear, I think you cannot do better
than marry him. He is really quite devoted to you."
" Rubbish, Inez ! you know how I dislike the man."
" You would have to wait long before finding such a
good match, Isabel, and, as to your disliking him, no one
nowadays considers it necessary that a girl should love her
husband before marriage, love will come after, no doubt."
" As it did in your case, I suppose ! " retorted Donna
Isabel, with an angry flush. "No, darling! Pardon
me! I did not mean that," cried she as a look of
deep pain passed over the pale face of the Countess.
" Forgive me, Inez ! But you provoke me when you
talk like that! You know I do not agree with yoa, and
that I detest Monsieur de la Faye," and she bent over
her sister and kissed her.
" Your retort is natural, Isabel," said the other, with a
sigh. "But nevertheless it is well that you should think
seriously of this, and put away romance. As I have settled
to return to Portugal, I should like to see my little sister
married before I go. And I ask you again, can you hope
to find a better parti than Monsieur de la Faye ?''
" You think that I will leave you to go back to Portugal
without me, Inez ? It is not kind of you ! Do you think I
could ever be happy without you ? "
IAN ROY;
49
" Our father and mother are here, Isabel; why should
you desert them ? "
" Desert them ! You know that they are perfectly happy
here with Enriquez and Juanita. I will listen to no more
of such nonsense ! "We return together to Villa Teira, you
and I—to the dear old home we have so often abused
together! " cried she, with a forced laugh. " You know I
hate France. And what would the grandest match in the
world be to me compared with my darling, silly old sister,
who knows that she cannot get on without me ? " And as
Donna Isabel, kneeling beside the Countess, caressed her
with that empressement of feminine tenderness—so absurd
to the stronger sex when they do not happen to be its object,
and so admirable and soothing when they do—the two
indulged in a refreshing burst of tears that quite dispelled
the little cloud of temper which had arisen between them.
"Dear Isabel! always the same to me ! " murmured her
sister, taking her hand affectionately.
" Tell me, was that your only news, Inez ? " said Donna
Isabel, after a pause.
" No ! of course not! How stupid of me ! I am sorry to
say that Monsieur de la Faye tells me that your friend
Captain Gordon has been arrested for his cod duct to a
Monsieur Wilkes, a compatriot."
" Monsieur Gordon arrested ! " cried the other, starting
to her feet. " How scandalous! So that is why he never
came ! How cruel! I am sure Monsieur de la Faye is at the
bottom of this ! "
" Why ? " asked her sister, smiling at her vehemence.
e
50
JAN ROY.
" Why ? Because I know he hates him. Monsieur
Gordon affronted him by some imaginary slight!—and—
and I believe he is jealous of him! In fact I know he is !"
added she, with a slight blush. " Tell me how it happened ? "
Her sister recounted to her the story of Gordon's affair
with Wilkes, the news of which, as they had been living
very quietly at Versailles, had not reached them before, and
which, though it had made some little stir in Paris for a
day or two, had soon been forgotten in the excitement
caused by a duel between a Marshal of France and an
illustrious courtier regarding an actress who was much
admired by both of them.
" I knew you would be distressed for him, poor fellow !"
said the Countess when she had finished her story. "I
can't tell yon how sorry I am ! How I wish we could help
him !"
" Help him ! Of course we must help him ! After all
he has done for you !" cried Donna Isabel, beginning to
walk up and down the room, as her custom was when
excited. " Poor fellow ! poor fellow ! And he was just
going back to be married to some silly little girl in his own
country ! This is Monsieur de la Faye's revenge ! I am
certain of it! And when people once find themselves in
the Bastille, they take a long time getting out of it! I
shall go to the Queen to-morrow morning !"
" To the Queen !"
"Yes, of course. You know how good she is—the best
woman in France ! Yes, she is! And I know she likes
me! And as vou are resolved to give up your post and
IAN ROT.
51
return to Portugal, it will be a good excuse. I shall go
to-morrow."
" What an energetic girl you are!" said her sister,
laughing. " You never change, Isabel. Well, I hope with
all my heart you may do your friend some good, and I wish
I could help you. I so long to see the poor fellow, and
thank him."
She sighed wearily, and the tears again filled her eyes as
the consciousness of her weakness and sad position came
over her.
"I am a fool! I am tiring you !" cried Isabel, always
keenly alive to every change in her sister's face. " Shut
your eyes now while I read you to sleep." And though the
work she read was the celebrated " Nouvelle Heloise " of
Pousseau, the Countess, still very weak, in a short time
succumbed to the influence of her sister's clear, musical
voice, and passed into a happy state of oblivion.
The next morning found Donna Isabel on her way to the
royal palace at Versailles, for she was, as the reader will
have already perceived, of an energetic dnd daring character,
and when she had resolved on any course of action, was wont
at once to carry it out without troubling herself to consult
her family, or indeed anyone else.
• The Countess had been so shaken and upset by all she
had undergone at the Chateau de Vougny, that she had
taken a great dislike to France, and all connected with it,
and had decided to return to her native country. A widowed
sister of her father's had married an Almeida,connection
of the then all-powerful Pombal, and on this account had
52
IAN ROY.
escaped the general sentence of exile which had fallen on
her family, and still resided at her house in the old city of
Villa Teira, which lay on the borders of the two provinces
of Minho and Traz oz Montes. To her, therefore, the
Countess de Vougny had decided to go, and the necessity
of informing the Queen of her sister's intentions, and the
fact that she had herself received very kindly notice from
that amiable sovereign, were, in Donna Isabel's opinion,
quite sufficient reasons for justifying her in seeking the
audience she was on her way to demand. It was, there-
fore, with perfect confidence, and good hopes of success,
that, after her due share of waiting in the ante-room, she
was ushered into the royal presence.
There are few characters in French history more attractive
to an Englishman than that of Marie Leczinska, who, as
the Queen of one of the most heartless and profligate of
French sovereigns, and in an age unsurpassed for its levity,
impiety, luxury, and sensuality, preserved unstained all
the goodness, tenderness, and noble simplicity which dis-
tinguished, before her marriage, the young daughter of
Stanislaus, King of Poland. At the time of which we are
writing, Madame de Pompadour still governed France, the
iniquitous Pare aux cerfs was at the zenith of its evil fame,
and the Queen had borne for years with sorrowful resigna-
tion her husband's gross infidelity and neglect, and the
ignominy of receiving at her court, or sometimes even as
her personal attendants, the various favourites whom " he
delighted to honour." Loving him still, in spite of every-
thing, and devoted to her children, she found her comfort
IAN ROY.
53
in a religion which, if its faith were tinctured with super-
stition, bore fruit in a life to which none can refuse
admiration. The consoler of her children in sickness and
sorrow, and yet feeling national troubles almost as if they
were her own, she gave up the whole of the leisure which
the duties of her position allowed her to good works, and
spent less time at her toilet than any lady of her court,
while she often finished her meals without knowing what
had been served to her. So clever with her needle that she
could have supported herself perhaps better than any of her
female subjects, had she had to work for her bread, she
made most of the garments with which she every year
clothed numbers of poor people, and many of which she
herself distributed. She constantly visited the hospitals,
and despite the efforts of the Sisters to conceal them from
her, always insisted on seeing and administering consolation
to the greatest sufferers, and the sorrowful and unfortunate
rarely appealed to her aid in vain, besides incessantly
working for churches, she had completely furnished her own
study with chairs and furniture worked by herself, which
she was wont to show to young girls when she wished to
encourage them in industry. Her reputation caused her
to be visited by foreigners from all parts, and, as she never
refused to give an audience except when absolutely neces-
sary, her day, which always commenced with attendance at
mass, was throughout filled with unceasing and noble
occupations.
Such was the princess whom Donna Isabel had enthusi-
astically described to her sister as the best woman in France,
54
IAN ROY.
and who now received her with a natural kindness, which
was increased by the fact that she had perceived the good
points of her character, and been drawn to her by observing
religious feelings in her that were rare enough in the
majority of her subjects.
Though small in stature, and never a beautiful woman,
the easy dignity and unaffectedness of the Queen's manner
never failed to inspire respect, and the goodness and
amiability of her nature were reflected in her face,, and
gave it a charm which attracted all who conversed with
her. Her gracious reception of her soon put Isabel at her
ease, and she listened with kind interest to the request she
made on behalf of her sister, some of the details of whose
troubles had already reached her.
*' We are grieved to hear of the Countess de Vougny's
misfortunes," said she, " and shall certainly endeavour to
help her in her wish to return to her own country. And
you really intend to accompany your sister, and to leave all
the pleasures and gaieties of Paris and Versailles for a dull
Portuguese country town 1"
" Yes, may it please your Majesty ! Inez is very dear to
me, and, if God and the Blessed Virgin permit it, I will
never willingly leave her."
" Your purpose does you credit, Donna de Melho. May
your affection for your sister remain ever unchanged, and
help her to bear the trial which God has, in His mercy,
permitted to be laid upon her. You may inform, her that
we accede to her request to be permitted to resign our
service, and convey to her the expression of our earnest
IAN ROY;
55
sympathy. When her strength permits it, we will grant
her a farewell audience !" and the Queen, who was as usual
very busy, made a sign to indicate that the interview was at
an end.
Donna Isabel felt a sudden embarrassment come over her.
She was determined not to leave without bringing the case
of Gordon before the Queen's notice, but it now suddenly
flashed upon her that it was one with which it was by no
means certain that she would sympathise, and that she
might even be displeased with her advocacy on his behalf
as being unmaidenly and presumptuous.
" Pardon, Madame," she began, "your Majesty is most
gracious, but " and she paused and coloured deeply.
" There is something else that you would tell us," said
the Queen kindly, but with a look of impatience.
" Madame, I would implore your pity on behalf of a poor
captive in the Bastille," said Donna Isabel taking courage.
" In the Bastille ! What crime has he committed ? "
"Madame, the poor man has committed no crime ! It is
Captain John Gordon, a Scottish gentleman of the regi-
ment of Gardes Ecossais, who has been unjustly imprisoned
on account of the refusal of Monsieur Wilkes, a compatriot,
to give him satisfaction for an insult rendered to him."
"Captain Gordon ! " said the Queen, with some surprise
and displeasure, " we have heard of his conduct, and con-
sider his punishment was well merited. We cannot listen
to petitions on behalf of men who seek to slay their fellows
from idle vanity, and love of quarrelling, and we are grieved
that such a request should have come from you, Donna de
56
IAN ROT.
Melho, in whom we had hoped for more Christian
feelings.''
" Oh, Madame, hear me ! " cried Donna Isabel, growing
desperate. " It was through Captain Gordon that I was
enabled to save my dear sister's life, and we, therefore, owe
him a great debt of gratitude. Monsieur Wilkes insulted
his kinsman, Lord Bute, and his native country in such a
manner that he was bound in honour to demand an apology,
which was refused."
" Honour, girl! " cried the Queen, sternly. " We will hear
no more talk of such honour, the false honour that cometh
from men who should seek that which cometh from God
only. But do not fear, child," she added kindly, noticing
poor Donna Isabel's dismay and confusion, "we do not
blame you for this; since your sister is indebted for her life
to this misguided young man it is right and natural that
you should be grateful to him. And the quarrel was forced
on him, you say ? "
" The meeting was accidental, Madame! " cried Isabel,
eagerly; " this poor Captain Gordon was about to return to
Scotland to marry a young lady to whom he is affianced ! "
" Such devotion would be remarkable in France ! " said
the Queen smiling, " and Captain Gordon is fortunate in
finding such a good advocate! So he is affianced to a
young lady in Scotland, Donna de Melho?" added she,
scrutinising her rather closely.
" So he has informed me, Madame!" replied Isabel,
colouring under the scrutiny.
" Oh ! so he did not neglect to inform you of that!''
IAN ROY.
57
said the Queen smiling. " Well, Donna de Melho, we will
inquire into this matter, and out of consideration for his
services to your sister we will try and obtain your friend's
release, though, be it understood, we have, no sympathy
whatever with his false notions of honour, and consider he
has deserved punishment."
" Oh, Madame ! how can I express my gratitude to your
Majesty! "
"But you must not be too sure of success yet,'' added
the Queen, playfully. " For as you know, Monsieur Fleury
is all-powerful in such matters ; and as the world says he is
. governed by his valet, Barjac, we are not sure that you
would not have been wiser to make your suit to Barjac!
But do not fear, my child ! " added she kindly. " As he is
not a state prisoner, or a dangerous conspirator, the Queen
may, perhaps, be able to interfere in his behalf. And now
you may retire, and we desire you to keep this in remem-
brance of our interview. May you always find friends as
staunch to you as you have shown yourself to them this
morning! " She detached a small rosary of pearls which
hung at her waist, and placed it round Donna Isabel's neck,
and the latter, with moist eyes and many murmured ex-
pressions of gratitude, made her obeisance and went well
pleased to her carriage.
" The Queen will keep her word, and he will be free !
And now he will return and marry that little Scotch girl! "
said she to herself as she drove homewards. " But, after
all, what does it matter to me ? "
But in spite of her affected indifference Donna Isabel
58
IAN ROY.
sighed rather wearily, and when she reached home her
sister observed that she did not seem in such good spirits
as might have been expected from the success of her
mission.
CHAPTEE VI.
bon voyage !
The room in the Bastille in which John Gordon was con-
fined was on the second of the three stories of long galleries,
each divided into numerous cells, which rose above the foul
dungeons forming the basement of the famous prison, and
which were approached by narrow stone staircases, closed by
double doors similar to those which secured each apartment.
Two worm-eaten mattresses, a cane-bottom chair, a rickety
table, a water jug and two pots, one of which was for drinking
out of, formed the furniture provided for the prisoners, who
were also supplied with a flint and steel, a candle a day, a
broom once a week, and sheets once a fortnight. For their
meals they were for the most part at the mercy of their
jailers, while for recreation they were almost entirely de-
pendent on the small library, founded by a foreign prisoner
who had died in the Bastille at the beginning of the century,
which every now and then received additions from succeed-
ing captives. Gordon, who had encountered a fair share of
the hardships and privations to which soldiers are subject
on active service, was able to bear all these discomforts with
tolerable fortitude, though the painful feeling of restraint,
and the enforced idleness, were peculiarly galling to one of
IAN ROY.
59
his energetic temperament and active habits. The ills of
his captivity were, however, aggravated by a terrible sense
of uncertainly as to the length of his imprisonment, and of
doubt as to whether more serious punishment might not be
in store for him. The fact that the Bastille had been chosen
in preference to any other prison for an offence—even if it
could be so called—so light as his, had at once awakened
his suspicions, and, like Donna Isabel, he had rightly come
to the conclusion Hiat he owed his sentence to the animosity
of her suitor, Monsieur de la Faye. He had had the mis-
fortune to rouse the enmity of the latter, who was already
incensed by his attentions to the young lady, both by
winning his money at play, and also by some disparaging
remarks about him which had been maliciously reported to
the Frenchman. When the latter had learned the share
that Gordon had taken in saving the Countess de Yougny
from the murderous designs of her husband, De la Faye
determined to get rid of so dangerous a rival, and being
possessed of great influence at Court, he had seized the
occasion offered by Wilkes' application for protection
against him to obtain the young Scotchman's commit-
ment to the Bastille. Though Gordon had no intention of
aspiring to be De la Faye's rival, he was fain to acknow-
ledge that he had given a fair handle to his jealousy, and
he knew his character sufficiently well to feel that he had
good reason to dread its effects. As he began to realise
the dangers of his position, his high spirits i and courage
began little by little to give way to despair, and his health
to fail. His friends in France were little likely to trouble
60
IAN ROY.
themselves about him, and would be only too likely to con-
elude that he had left the country, while his relatives in
Scotland, who, from their knowledge of the uncertainty of
his movements, and his dislike to all save the most necessary
correspondence, would probably be content to wait long
before they did so, could be expected to meet with but little
success when they should begin to inquire for him. Prison
fare, confinement, and anxiety, therefore, soon began to tell
on him, and as he listened anxiously one morning to the
sound of measured steps which seemed to be approaching
his room, his friends would have been rather startled by the
change which nearly a month's imprisonment had wrought
in the smart young officer of Gardes Ecossais. The pro-
longed silence and solitude of prison life had made him
very keenly alive to all sounds, and on this occasion the
fact that his jailer had already paid him his first daily
visit, and that he could not therefore expect another for
some considerable time, made him throw down the book he
had listlessly been trying to read, and wonder what object
his visitor, if the visit were really for him, could have. The
footsteps came gradually nearer and nearer, till they reached
his door, and then the ponderous locks were slowly opened,
and the Governor of the Bastille, accompanied by the lieu-
tenant de police, and a subordinate, entered the room.
" Good morning, Monsieur Gordon," said the Governor,
saluting him, and scanning his face with a keen, cool
scrutiny.
Gordon responded to his greeting, and waited with some
anxiety for what might possibly follow.
IAN ROY;
61
" You find yourself comfortable, eh 1" said the other,
"and manage to amuse yourself with literature? The
mind triumphs over its surroundings ? parbleu ! is it not
so ? " and he glanced somewhat sarcastically at the book
which Gordon had thrown on the rickety table, and then
around the miserably-furnished room.
"'I make the best of things, Monsieur," answered Gordon,
with a shrug of the shoulders.
" Ha! my friend! " said the other, " I see you are a
philosopher ! Permit me ! " and he tapped his snuff-box
and politely offered him a pinch.
Gordon thanked him, and accepted the compliment,
trying to conceal his surprise with a low bow.
" I bring an order from the Queen for your release,"
went on the Governor, quietly, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world.
" Thank Heaven ! " cried Gordon.
" Her Most Gracious Majesty has had the condescension
to take into consideration your ignorance, as a foreigner, of
the laws of Prance, and the fact that you have had the
honour to serve with some little merit in the armies of His
Most Sacred Majesty the King, whom Heaven preserve ! "
Gordon murmured his gratitude, inwardly wondering
what on earth Her Most Gracious Majesty had ever
heard about him.
" You are, therefore," continued the Governor, " to be
released under the following conditions."
Gordon bowed assent.
" You will leave Paris before midnight."
62
IAN ROY.
" With pleasure—I mean most assuredly, Monsieur."
" And you will sign this parole d'honneur—already
signed on your behalf by your friend, Count Murray, and
also by Monsieur John Wilkes, the illustrious Englishman,
whom you have so outrageously insulted—which binds you to
declare that there shall be no voie de fait directe ou indirecte
between you so long as you remain on French territory."
To hear Wilkes described as an illustrious Englishman,
and to be told that he had outrageously assaulted him,
roused an anger in Gordon which it took all his self-control
to repress, and something in the tone of the Governor made
him glance at him to see whether he used the terms
ironically. His impassive face, however, remained as
inscrutable as ever as he produced the parchment in ques-
tion, and signed to his attendant, who came forward with a
pen and inkhorn.
" I am most grateful to Her Most Gracious Majesty for
her clemency," said Gordon, unable to restrain a gesture of
impatient anger, and he obediently signed the parole
d'honneur, inwardly vowing that, if heaven should ever
give him the opportunity, he would make the "illustrious
Monsieur John Wilkes " regret his conduct.
" Good," said the Governor when he had finished. " And
now," added he with a grin, " it only remains for me to tell
you that Her Majesty most expressly desired you should be
informed that you owe your release solely to the benevolence
of a young Portuguese lady, Donna Lafoens de Melho, in
whom she has graciously condescended to be interested,
and who, in consequence of some slight service you were
IAN ROY.
63
so fortunate as to render her, was good enough to bring your
case to Her Majesty's notice."
Donna de Melho !" cried Gordon with surprise, and
colouring perceptibly.
" Enough, Monsieur. You have now only to make your
preparations for departure as soon as possible, and you will
remember that it will be the duty of the lieutenant de
'police to see that you quit Paris before midnight," and,
with a frigid bow, he signed to the lieutenant and his
attendant, and they left the room.
They seemed, however, hardly to have quitted it when,
as Gordon was trying to realise the situation, and wonder-
ing how he could possibly thank Donna de Melho for her
kindness, the double doors were again unlocked and the
lieutenant de police entered alone.
"Monsieur Gordon," said he in a low tone, with a
humorous twinkle in his eye, " I have thought it might
interest you to hear that—entre nous, you understand—
your friend Monsieur Wilkes quitted Paris yesterday on
his way to London, where perhaps, if you are anxious to do
so, you will be able to find him on your arrival."
" Ah, Monsieur Lieutenant! Thank you a thousand
times !" cried Gordon.
"Enough, Monsieur !" said the other smiling, but in his
stern official voice and loud enough to be heard outside, and
with a friendly nod he took his departure, this time finally.
" Come what may, I must see Donna Isabel and thank
her before I go !" was Gordon's first thought when he
found himself once more a free man.
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IAN ROY.
It is hardly necessary to say that he set about his
preparations for departure with as little delay as possible,
but despite all his efforts he had so many things to arrange
that, after saying farewell to his friend Count Murray,
he found he had but little time to spare for accomplishing
his visit to Versailles. He determined, however, to attempt
it at all hazards, and borrowing a horse from Murray he
started for the Countess de Vougny's chateau.
The sun was setting as he reached the entrance of the
avenue leading to the house, which stood at a corner of
the road. A carriage was driving out of the gates, and
one of the two ladies in it, on seeing him, rather hurriedly
bade the coachman stop.
" Monsieur Gordon! You are just in time !" cried Donna
de Mel ho.
Gordon sprang to the ground and, with his horse's bridle
on his arm, went to the window of the carriage.
" Ah, Donna Isabel!" he cried. " How can I ever
sufficiently thank you for my release 1"
" Nonsense ! It is nothing! " answered the young lady
carelessly, but colouring a little. " Come, let me present
you to my sister. We are on our way to the palace and,
like yourself, have little time to spare. Inez, this is
Monsieur Gordon."
" I am fortunate to have this opportunity of thanking
you for the service you did me, Monsieur Gordon," said
the Countess, whose striking beauty was enhanced by her
brilliant court dress. " Believe me, I shall never cease to
be grateful to you as long as I live ! " •
IAN ROT.
65
Gordon thought he had never before seen so beautiful a
woman, and his admiration showed itself in his eyes, as
he said fervently ;
"Ah, Madame! would that I had the opportunity of
rendering you a thousand such ! I am happy indeed to
have had the good fortune of rescuing you."
A slight shade passed over the Countess's face as she
heard him, " I hope for my part most sincerely that you
will never be called on to do anything of the kind again !"
said she.
" Yes ! your compliment is more ingenuous than happy ! "
cried Donna Isabel, with a rather forced laugh. " But I
must remind you that we have no time to lose, and also that
you must quit Paris before midnight. Our roads lie in
different directions. Bon voyage, Monsieur Gordon ! I hope
you will find all well when you arrive in Scotland."
" Adieu, Monsieur Gordon," said the Countess.
Gordon felt inwardly hurt and disappointed by Donna
Isabel's manner, but he speedily mastered his feelings.
He bowed his adieux with many expressions of regret and
renewed thanks, and at a sign from his mistress the coach-
man cracked his whip, and the carriage drove off. It had
gone but a few paces when Donna Isabel, looking back out
of the window, waved her hand to him. He doffed his hat
in reply, and stood watching till the vehicle disappeared in
a cloud of dust, and then, mounting his horse, galloped off
at full speed towards Paris.
During the hurried ride, and throughout the long night
journey towards the coast, Gordon's thoughts kept con-
66
IAN ROY.
stantly recurring to Donna Isabel and her sister, but more
especially to the former. He recalled their first meeting,
how handsome she had looked in her court dress, how their
acquaintance had gradually ripened into a friendship
rendered still more intimate by their strange midnight
adventure at Versailles, and now more strongly confirmed
than ever by her obtaining his release from the Bastille.
He felt he could never cease to feel grateful to her, never
forget her. But now it was all over. They had probably
parted for ever,—and she could scarcely spare a moment to
wish him a cold " bon voyage." Poor G-ordon! he was
but little versed in the ways of women. Had he only known
it, she had never liked him better than at that moment.
Two evenings later, he was watching the fast fading
coast of Prance; and thoughts of his native country, of
home, and it must be added, of triumph over "the illus-
trious John Wilkes," drove all such reminiscences of his
Portuguese friends from his mind. At last he was really
" homeward bound," and when he recalled his latest experi-
ence of the country any regrets at leaving Prance were
speedily lost in the happy expectation of soon finding
himself once more in Scotland.
IAN ROT.
67
CHAPTER VI
elspeth drumm0nd.
The estate of Colquharry, which lay in the district of
Strathdon, some thirty miles from Aberdeen, had belonged
to John- Gordon's family for many generations, and
originally been of considerable extent, though at the time
when his uncle George inherited it, it had been much
reduced by the extravagance of some of his predecessors
and the unfortunate loyalty of others, for the Gordons had
always been devoted adherents of the House of Stuart.
The house itself stood half-way up a narrow glen, opening
out of the Nochtie, one of the tributaries of the River Don,
and was more remarkable for the solidity than the beauty
of its architecture, though the loopholed turrets of a portion,
evidently built with a view to defensive purposes, and the
masses of ivy which covered much of the walls, made it a
somewhat picturesque object when viewed in combination
with its surroundings.
The venerable appearance of the building, the thickness
of the walls, and the spacious hall and broad staircase,
seemed in strange contrast with the smallness and darkness
of the rooms. This was especially the case with the sleep-
ing apartments, in one of which Christin Gordon, Ian's
cousin, was seated one morning towards the end of May.
Such furniture as there was in the room was of the massive
though handsome pattern common in those days, and a
large double-bedstead of carved oak, bearing on the canopy
6«
IAN ROY.
the inscription " Salvum per Christum," and a long, low
bookcase, containing what was for those days an extra-
ordinary number of volumes, occupied the greater part
of it.
Christin, who was seated at a small table covered with
books and papers, which stood in the window so as to get
the best light, was a squarely built, rather spare man, of
about three or four and thirty. His fair hair and com-
plexion gave him a certain general likeness to his cousin,
but his features were smaller and less regular, though more
refined, and his dark hazel eyes with their strongly marked
eyebrows had a melancholy and somewhat stern expression,
while his figure, which was a little over the middle height,
had a slight stoop, contracted during his studious life.
The open books and freshly-written manuscript before
him showed that he was occupied in his favourite pursuits,
but at present he was leaning back in his chair and gazing
abstractedly at the picture framed by the deep embrasure
of his window,—a hill-side, crowned by a copse of Scotch
firs which stood out in dark relief against the blue sky,
while the belt of irregular shadow which it cast swept like
a black wave up and down the green slope, as the trees bent
and twisted in the breeze. It was a pretty enough prospect,
but in no way striking, and as familiar to him as the
furniture of his room. He was evidently quite unconscious
of it, and there was an expression of pain and anxiety on
his face which could hardly have been called forth by the
consideration of any problem, however abstruse, of logic,
mathematics, or theology, of all of which sciences, and
IAN ROT.
69
especially of the latter, (Jhristin was a keen student. The
subject which was occupying his thoughts was by no means
profound, though it would probably be more interesting to
the reader than any of these, and was one which concerned
the heart more than the head.
" It is useless," he cried, at last, flinging down his pen
and rising from his chair; "I cannot write, I cannot think,
till I have decided on my course in this matter ! Oh !
Elspeth! Elspeth! why have you brought this trouble
upon me ! Why have you tempted me to be false to my
best and dearest friend! " and he began pacing the room
in great agitation. " But I must act ere it is too late!
Her happiness as much as mine demands that I should speak
to her without delay! To-morrow I will speak to her!
Yes, to-morrow !"
The reader will perceive from the soliloquy of his cousin
that there were some circumstances relating to his fiancee
of which Ian Roy had been kept in blissful ignorance during
his pleasant residence in Trance. How could he tell that
Christin, whom he rejoiced to think of as Elspeth's guardian
during his absence, and who wrote so fully about her, and
so frequently urged him not to delay his return, how could
he tell that this trusted friend had little by little uncon-
sciously, and against his better feelings, become her ardent
lover? How could he tell that the affection of Elspeth,
who wrote so little to him, had begun to change into
indifference, and that that indifference threatened to develop
into injured anger against a wooer who was so slow in
demanding the fulfilment of her engagement to him 1 He
70
IAN ROY.
naturally enough, perhaps, thought it impossible that the
studious, grave, religious Christin, who seemed so free from
passion, could ever be in danger of falling in love with one
towards whom he was in honour bound to cherish no senti-
ment warmer than that of brotherly interest. There is an
old proverb, however, about stolen kisses which Ian would
have done well to remember. When a man is thrown into
constant and intimate intercourse for some three years with
a beautiful and clever girl, takes long rides and walks with
her, plays her accompaniments on the harpsichord,—for
Christin was an accomplished musician for those days, and
Elspeth had a beautiful voice,—when he becomes her
constant adviser and sometimes even lectures her as Christin
did,—of course solely from a sense of duty,—it seems not
altogether unreasonable to suspect that platonic affection
may possibly run a great chance of developing into a
warmer feeliug. Such, at all events, had been Christin's
case, and as he believed that Miss .Drummond secretly
returned his passioD, and as Ian was expected to return
home almost immediately, he had resolved, as the reader
has heard, to tell her his secret and learn his fate from her
own lips. To-morrow would be Sunday, a day on which he
had been in the habit for the last two years of walking
home with the Drummond family after afternoon church
and joining them at their five o'clock dinner, and he
therefore decided to make use of the opportunity
which this customary visit would probably give him. He
was an extremely conscientious man, and though his
intellectual powers had been developed and his views
IAN ROT.
71
widened by University training and travel on the Continent,
the studious and somewhat lonely life which his inclinations
led him to follow had created in him habits of excessive
introspection and self-concentration. The struggle between
his sense of loyalty to his absent friend and his love for
Elspeth had therefore caused him a good deal of pain, and
it was only when the return of the former became imminent
that he had been able to decide on the step he was about to
take. Decided he had, however, at last, and as he and his
father sat together in the dining-room on Sunday before
going down to afternoon service he was mentally rehearsing
his coming interview with Miss Drummond.
" I suppose you're going up as usual to Lessendrum after
kirk, Christin," said his father.
George Gordon, who, like his friend Drummond of
Lessendrum, was a strict Puritan of the old school, was a
tall, portly man of sixty-two, who still retained the dress
and manners of the first part of the century, and was treated
by all about him with the ceremonious respect always shown
to the head of the house during the same period, but which
was becoming rare in Scotland at the time treated of in this
story. Despite a certain sternness of manner, he was much
beloved by his tenantry for kindly generosity and invariable
fair dealing; and though the laird and the chief,—formerly
regarded by their tenantry in the light of a father,—were,
through the spread of industrial habits among the people,
now beginning to be only too often looked upon as merely
rapacious landlords, this radical change had not yet affected
his positionas owner of Colquharry.
72
IAN ROT.
" Yes, sir, I was thinking of doing so," answered Christin,
" and I should like, with your permission, to show Mr.
Drummond and Elspeth Ian's letter to you, giving an
account of his affair with Wilkes."
" I'm thinking you're right, Christin. You may just
show them the letter. 'Tis only right they should see it,"
and he handed him a letter from Ian, which he had already
read several times with a good deal of secret pride, hut
which he affected carefully to examine once more. " There
it is, lad ! I see there's nothing in it but what they might
read," said he.
"Thank you, sir," answered Christin, putting it in his
pocket. It was written in the old formal style, and began—
" Sir, I received yours last night, desiring an exact account
of what happened betwixt me and that fellow Wilkes, which
I shall tell just as it happened;" after which it went on
to relate all that the reader has already been told of the
occurrence.
" Yes! 'tis right Elspeth should see it," went on the
laird. " Ian's a lad of spirit, though 'tis a pity he's so
harebrained. I'm of opinion he'll be wanting to
marry now he's free of the French service, and I'm
thinking that your friend, Sir Dick Farrington, the young
Englishman, who comes so much to Corgarf, and has, they
tell me, some influence at St. James's, might perhaps get
him a place somewhere."
" I fear, sir, Ian would never submit to a life of that
kind," said Christin, rather abruptly. " I believe he talks
of entering the Prussian service. And besides, I hardly
IAN ROT.
73
know Sir Dick Farrington well enough to ask such a
favour."
" Humph ! " said his father, looking at him rather keenly
under his shaggy eyebrows. " Soldiering's a bad trade
if a man has a wife and bairns ! And I doubt not
Farrington, who's but a puir English baronet of yesterday,
'11 be glad enough to serve so old a Scotch house as the
Gordons of Colquharry." George Gordon had a very high
opinion of his family, which a long life spent almost
entirely in the country, where he always received so much
respect, had gradually led him to think must be universal.
"However, ye know him better than I do, lad," he
continued. " He comes verra regularly to kirk now, I'm
pleased to see. He's a douce, well-bred youngster,—
though he's English."
" I should doubt his having much influence at court,
sir," answered Christin, " for after all, he's quite a young
man, but he is certainly a serious-minded, well-mannered
young fellow, as far as I have seen of him,—which indeed
is only when he comes in the summer to his mother's
kinsman, Capt-ain Erskine, at Corgarf. He is full of
sport, and hunting, and the like, as all these Englishmen
are. But still, what you say is worth considering."
Inwardly Christin thought his father's proposition ex-
tremely ill-timed.
"I give ye leave to use your discretion in the matter,
Christin," said his father, wno had great confidence in his
son's judgment, and was proud of nis abilities. " And I've
no doubt you'll do, as always, the best for your puir cousin,
74
IAN ROY.
who's been all his life so much beholden to your sound
head-piece."
" Thank you, sir, for your confidence. You may be
assured that I shall do my best for Ian's interests," replied
his son, with an inward qualm of conscience as to whether
he really meant what he said; and the pair went down to
kirk together.
In those days churchgoing was universal in Scotland,
and Drummond of Lessendrum, Captain Erskine, the
Barrack-master of Corgarf, with Sir Dick Farrington, and
all the lairds of consequence in the neighbourhood, attended
the service in the kirk of Strathdon on this particular
afternoon. The pew of the Drummond family occupied
a very prominent position in the church, and Miss
Elspeth, as she sat among numerous little brothers and
sisters, always attracted a considerable amount of notice
as the prettiest and best dressed young lady in the neigh-
bourhood. To quote the words of the poet,
' Many a youth as he knelt in the church and opened his missal,
Fixed his eyes on her, as the saint of his deepest devotion.'
But though her wavy golden hair, beautiful complexion,
hnd regular features certainly recalled certain pictures of
madonnas when her eyes were devoutly fixed on her prayer
book, there was a certain wicked fire in those grey orbs
when they looked the observer full in the face, which some-
how at once destroyed the illusion. Besides this, she was,
though beautifully proportioned, decidedly small, and want-
ing in the dignity associated with the usual conceptions of
IAN ROY.
75
madonnas, and there was an indescribable something about
her which made the epithet of " elfish " bestowed on her by
George Gordon,—who could never be brought really to
like her,—more appropriate as descriptive of her charms
than "saintly." Be this as it may, however, the force of
her charms seemed to be undeniably admitted by all the
young men, including poor Christin, who now and then
ventured to glance at her when his conscience excused it,
and Sir Eichard Harrington, who gazed at her all the
service.
When this was over both young men went up to pay
their respects to Miss Drummond, whose father, as was
his custom, immediately asked Christin to return with
them and join their five o'clock dinner. He was a cheery,
bright-eyed little man, the exact reverse of his friend
George Gordon, and had a good deal of shrewd humour
and a keen appreciation of the good things of this life. He
had been twice married, Elspeth being the only child of his
first wife, while the second Mrs. Drummond had presented
him with a numerous family, which had only lately received
a fresh addition. George Gordon and he had been boys
together, and he had a great esteem and affection for all
the family, and, though opposed at first to the match
between his daughter and Ian, he had now resigned himself
to making the best of an inevitable evil. Being an ardent
Scotchman, he was therefore almost as well pleased as his
friend Colquharry with his future son-in-law's conduct
with regard to Wilkes, of which he had of course
heard already, and when Christin showed him Ian's letter
76
IAN ROT.
the latter he insisted on reading it to Erskine, Farrington,
and one or two other gentlemen who had accompanied the
party for a little distance on their way homewards.
A murmur of applause, mingled with disparaging epithets
regarding Wilkes, greeted its conclusion.
" And the lad's got out of that confounded Bastille they
had the impudence to clap him into ! and he'll be home in
two days, ye say!" cried Captain Erskine. " That's
news, indeed! Why, ye ought to be proud of him, Miss
Elspeth!"
" Ian's a brave man, there's no doubt of that, Captain
Erskine," said Elspeth, who had alone remained silent during
the general applause, " but I'm grieved that he should be
so keen to take the fellow's life. And I'm thinking that,
at all events, we should not be talking of such subjects to-
day," added she demurely.
The rebuke was of course unanswerable by a strict
Sabbatarian, and though Erskine heard it with evident
disapproval, and looked rather curiously at Miss Drummond,
both Christin and Sir Eiehard Farrington thought it
sounded charming from her lips.
" My daughter is right, gentlemen !" said the laird of
Lessendrum, who was an elder of the kirk, with some little
confusion. " And 'tis doubtless time that we should return
home and give ourselves to holier matters, and leave such
worldly things for week days." And he tried to assume a
look of pious gravity, which sat very ■comically on his jolly
countenance. " Come, children ! come, Christin ! I bid ye
good day, gentlemen ! " and, having saluted^ their friends,
IAN RO K
77
he and his family continued their way to Lessendrum,
accompanied by Christin.
" Will you give me a few minutes' conversation alone,
Elspeth, this evening?" asked the latter with an unusual
hesitation and a strange beating of his heart.
" Aye, Christin, certainly ! " replied she, a little surprised
at his manner, for such requests were common enough on
his part. " If you leave directly after dinner you can wait
for me in the garden by the bridge. I have a sad headache,
and shall not be able to attend prayers this evening, I
fear."
" Very good," said Christin, with a pleasure he had some
difficulty in concealing; "Iwill wait for you there."
It was a remarkable fact that Miss Drummond very
frequently suffered from headaches on Sunday evenings,
which always prevented her attending the concluding
service of the day, consisting of prayers, reading, and the
singing of hymns, conducted by the master of the house in
person. In the last century, as it is hardly necessary to
remind the reader, such services were universally held in
almost every Presbyterian household, both morning and
evening on Sundays, and Mr. Drummond, who, as has been
said, was an elder of the kirk, was very particular on such
points. Elspeth, however, in spite of her pious remark
about the unadvisability of discussing duels on the Sabbath,
had, to tell the truth, considerable secret aversion to the
mode in which that day was observed at Lessendrum. Being
her father's favourite child, she had very much more of her
own way than most young ladies, for her step-mother, a
78
IAN ROY.
good-natured woman, who was chiefly occupied in looking
after her numerous and increasing family, was too young
and too easy-going to attempt to exercise any authority
over her. In those days young ladies were allowed to run
about and amuse themselves as they pleased, and were not
required to acquire a sound knowledge even of their own
language, and much less of French, German, or Italian, or
of music. The learning of catechisms and psalms formed
their chief study till they reached womanhood, when they
generally spent two or three winters in Edinburgh, for the
sake of learning how to dance and dress, and of seeing a
little of the world. In the country, their chief occupation
consisted in working coloured imitations of fruit and flowers
on beds and tapestries, varied by the reading of books of
devotion, and long romances. Elspeth early showed a
marked preference for the latter over the former, and being
a wilful, high-spirited girl, who displayed more aptitude for
riding her pony barebacked than embroidering quilts, she
would have grown up with less education than most girls
had it not been for Christin. The latter, fresh from college,
devoted to study, and fond of imparting his knowledge, was
flattered and pleased by her father's proposal that he should
teach his motherless little girl. As time went on he began
to hope that his pupil, who mastered all subjects with a
facility which delighted him, was as eager to learn as he
was to teach. He found ere long, however, that each study
was abandoned in disgust for a fresh one directly it had lost
the charm of novelty, and he was still further disappointed
when Miss Drummond, after her first winter in Edinburgh,
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79
began to show a decided distaste for study in general, and,
after a few brief fits of desultory work, abandoned it
altogether in favour of light literature. The intercourse
thus carried on, however, had made a very strong bond
between them, and as Elspeth grew up, and his affection
for her unconsciously increased, Christin grew more and
more in the habit of shutting his eyes to all her faults.
No wonder the poor girl, so high-spirited and thoughtless,
disliked the tediousness of the strict Presbyterian rule, which
his own liberal training had led him in many points secretly
to condemn ! It was only right and natural that she should
love admiration, and singing, and dancing at her age !
Then, too, her position with regard to her absent lover was
so trying as to excuse a great deal in her that might perhaps
have been otherwise inexcusable ; and, in short, to Christin
his quondam pupil was as near perfection as a woman could
be. Now that she was about to be taken away from him,
he had been obliged to own to himself that it was love which
had created in him this extraordinarily favourable opinion of
her. At first he had struggled and fought sternly against
his passion, but the idea that he had detected in her signs
of indifference to his cousin and affection for himself had
been too strong for him; and as he waited for her in
the cool of the summer evening by a little rustic bridge
which crossed a burn at the bottom of the garden, he
determined that, come what might, he would win her for
himself.
Though, however, she had seemed an intolerable time in
coming, it was with many qualms and misgivings that
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this grave, studious lover at last saw her slight figure
approaching him down the long broad walk.
All traces of her headache seemed to have completely
disappeared. She was singing in the sweet, rich voice which
always thrilled Christin,—singing, but not a hymn, as the
good folk were doing up at the house yonder, but a frivolous
Trench chanson—he had taught her to speak French pretty
fairly—in which ' roses' was made to rhyme with " repose
and " bonjour " with " amour." She had a flower in her
breast, her eyes were bright with health and merriment, the
hood she had put on to guard her from the evening air was
particularly becoming and coquettish,—and she was engaged
to Christin's best friend ! Was not this godless folly and
treachery on his part, he thought to himself with half a
groan.
He felt thankful that the song suggested a subject for
conversation, for he felt, almost for the first time in his life,
rather awkward.
" Surely it is not fitting to sing such trash on the Sabbath,
Elspeth," said he gravely.
" Pooh ! " answered she with a toss of the head and a merry
laugh. " 'Tis a little French song I heard in Edinburgh last
winter. You would have laughed to hear how the girl
pronounced the words. The refrain is very pretty, though
it is so silly :—
' Araour, pour toujours!
Tra la la !
Pour toujours ! Pour toujours !' "
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81
" Hush, Elspeth ! though I own it does certainly sound
very melodious. You know I think it quite right and
proper that a young girl should cultivate all her natural
gifts,—especially when she has such a voice as yours,
Elspeth! But—but there are times and seasons for all
things."
"Nonsense !" cried Elspeth, irreverently. " 'Tis right to
sing when you feel happy ; but I did not come here to listen
to sermons, most exemplary Christin. What is it you want
to tell me ? "
What was it indeed ? thought poor Christin to himself
a little staggered by this home question. He speedily,
however, recovered his habitual composure.
"You know that Ian will probably return to-morrow
night, Elspeth ? " said he.
" I thought it would not be till the day after, or
even later. Never mind. He will be just in time for
the Cummer's feast. And is that all you wanted to tell
me?" added she, a little mischievously.
" It will probably be to-morrow, but never mind the exact
day. What I wanted to remind you of,—and what my father
has been speaking to me of,—" feaid Christin, clearing his
throat and speaking deliberately to gain time, " is—is in
short this, that Ian will probably be wanting to have your
wedding soon." -
" You take a long time to come to the point, Christin! "
said Elspeth, laughing. " And if that is all your news, I
may just remind you that it's not impossible that I may
have thought the same myself."
G
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" It is not that, Elspeth ! " answered he, beginning to
feel a little angry with himself. " It is not that, but
Tou know how fond I am of you, Elspeth,—and, and also
of Ian ? "
"Indeed you have been like mother and brother in one to
me, Christin!" cried Elspeth, eagerly. "'Tisyou who've
taught me all I know! And if you had been Ian's own
sister you could not have looked after me more tenderly for
him. Of course I know that—" and she paused, for there
was a something unusual in his look and manner which
rather puzzled her.
" Elspeth, it is just that that makes me speak to you now,
before you take this solemn step. Lately, often, you have
said very hard things of Ian to me."
" 'Tis true that I have, and he has given me cause ! It is
three years now since he left me to go and enjoy himself in
Paris! "
"Elspeth! you know he has been distinguished as a
soldier, and "
" A soldier, pooh ! I tell you that if he cared for me,—
though perhaps he does think he cares for me still in a
way,—if he had cared for me as he ought, he would have
returned long ago !"
Christin murmured something about a soldier's duties
and the hardships of war, but he was too pleased by what
she said to speak forcibly, and she did not heed him.
"You know well enough that he might have come home
more than once, Christin!" she went on, angrily. "And then,
what excuse has he had for dallying on in France so long
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83
after Lord Ogilvie's regiment was disbanded ? Answer me
that? Tis solely to amuse himself! And I, forsooth, am
to wear the willow for this gay gallant! It is insufferable.
And I might have married many a better man than Ian, let
me tell you! You know it is so !" and she stepped forward on
to the bridge and stood facing him with heightened colour.
" Elspeth, it is just these feelings of yours that make me
warn you to think well before—before you take this step.
Think what a solemn thing this state of marriage is ! How
holy and happy if two souls agree in one ! How wretched,
aye and wicked, if they are for ever at variance! Elspeth,
think twice before you marry John Gordon ! "
" Christin! why do you speak thus ? " cried she, in some
anxiety. " Why do you now begin to talk just as my father
and your father used to when Ian and I were first engaged ?
You, who did all you could to encourage the match ? What
do you mean by all this ?"
Christin turned very pale.
"Elspeth, it is because I am so fond of you both—but
especially of you. Ho ! Why should I dissemble thus ? I
hate it! It is because I love you, Elspeth!" cried he, hoarsely,
as he tried to take her hand.
"Christin !" and as Elspeth stepped back, with alarm and
anger in her eyes, she would have fallen into the water, had
he not caught her in his arms.
As he held her thus, all thoughts of restraint left him,
and he kissed her passionately on the lips.
" Elspeth !" he cried, " tell me you love me !"
She disengaged herself from his embrace as quick as
lightning.
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"Yon treacherous coward! " she cried, crimson with anger.
" I hate you ! Shame on you, Christin Gordon ! How dare
you insult me thus? " and she burst into a passion of tears
that fairly alarmed her rash suitor, who stood watching her
for a moment in silence.
" Forgive me, Elspeth !" he cried at last. " Forgive me !
You do not know how I have been tried ! But you speak
truly—too truly! I am treacherous! I have acted like a
coward! I have sinned ! May God forgive me! " and quite
unmanned, he covered his face with his hands in utter
misery.
His sorrow was so genuine that it touched Elspeth, now
recovering from the shock he had given her. She dried
her eyes and began to look at him with a good deal of pity,
and, as the ludicrous aspect of the situation began to dawn
on her, with a little secret amusement. As Pope says, u Ho
woman hates a man for being in love with her ; but many a
woman hates a man for being a friend to her." To tell the
truth, she was by no means coy, and in spite of her en-
gagement had had more than one such little love passage of
which her friends knew nothing. Like many other people,
however, who think it absurd to live up to a high standard,
she liked to believe in the existence of it in others, and
Christin more than any other man she knew embodied her
ideal of what was pure and noble. Though, therefore, such
conduct in other wooers would not have shocked her at all, she
at first felt deeply angered and outraged at it in him. The
idea of love in connection with Christin was, however, so
utterly new and unexpected, that when she had recovered her
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85
self it seemed quite absurd, and though his conduct was
violent, it was, after all, complimentary to her.
" Poor fellow !" she said at length. " Poor Christin ! I
spoke hastily, but you provoked it. You were so—you
behaved outrageously! But—but I forgive you. Let us
be friends again. You are the best friend I have Christin,"
and she offered him her hand.
Christin took it with an expression of pain that touched
her to the heart. " You are right, Elspeth," said he in an
unsteady voice. " You are right; and I am ashamed of my
conduct, and of my treachery to Ian. May God forgive me !
You can never know how I have loved you, and how I shall
always suffer for having loved. But I will never make you
suffer again. Good-bye."
" Christin, you have always been my best and dearest
friend," cried Elspeth, eagerly. " And my friend you shall
always be!"
" It is enough, my dear," answered he kindly, but with a
certain sad dignity, and in a few minutes he was lost to
view.
"Poor Christin ! Poor Christin ! " repeated Elspeth as she
watched his retreating figure. " And I wa3 always so fond
of him. Why could he not have the sense to remain as he
always was. It is just like the stupidity of men! They
never can remain contented. Poor Christin! No! I cer-
tainly would never have loved Christin," and as the
ludicrous aspect of the picture rose before her she burst out
laughing. " The grave, religious Christin ! -Oh dear ! Oh
dear-! It is too absurd ! What would the ferocious Ian have
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said ? " and she began laughing again. Certainly Christin
had never before placed himself in such a ridiculous posi-
tion.
" It is time I was getting on though," said she at length,
and, after casting a hurried glance around to see if she were
observed, she crossed the bridge, and opening a gate that
led into the wood beyond, ran quickly down a narrow path
that led in just the opposite direction to the one Christin
had taken.
It was quite dark when in an hour's time she returned
again the same way and re-entered the house. Where
could Miss Drummond have been to alone at that
late hour ? She,—but the reader shall be told in a later
chapter.
CHAPTER VII.
AMANTIUM IR.33 EST BEDINTEGKATIO AMOEIS.
Thebe are few things which more pleasantly tickle a man's
vanity than the narration of his exploits to a thoroughly
affectionate and sympathetic audience, and Captain John
Gordon was therefore in an extremely amiable and agreeable
frame of mind as he related his adventures during his three
years' absence to his uncle, Christin, Mr. Drummond, and
Elspeth, on the evening after his arrival at Colquharry.
With the greater part of the history to which his friends
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87
listened with so much interest the reader is already
acquainted, and it will be necessary that he should now hear
Ian's account of an incident which happened after his
arrival in England, and which proved to have rather
important consequences for him.
" When I reached London," said he, " I made it my
first business, as you will imagine, to try and seek out
Wilkes."
"Indeed it seems to have been the only business you have
thought about since you met the man!" saidElspeth, pouting.
The meeting between the lovers had apparently been a
very happy one, and they seemed on the best of terms.
" Nay, nay, Elspeth ! ye are too hard on the lad! " cried
her father, laughing.
" Elspeth knows better than that, for all she chooses to
say, Mr. Drummond," said Ian. " Well, as I said, I left no
stone unturned to try and unearth the fellow. I went to
most of the coffee-houses near the Royal Exchange, and to
the taverns which I was told he frequented. I went on
'Change too, and I assure you, when a rumour got about
who I was, I had a considerable crowd about me."
" Doubtless the ladies all crowded to see such a big fellow
so finely dressed! " said Elspeth, who was fond of ironical
criticism.
" 'Twas as great, a gentleman told me," went on Ian,
ignoring the interruption," as that which got round Wilkes
himself when he was discharged at Westminster Hall."
"Aye, aye!" said his uncle," 'twas well done, Ian! I'll
warrant ye did your best!"
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" I did indeed, sir, but all to no purpose; and when I
returned to my lodging late in the evening, what should I
find, think you ? "
" "What ? " inquired Christin, who had been sitting very
silent, and whose grave face looked paler, sadder,, and
sterner than usual.
" I found a message from the Government bidding me
leave London immediately."
" Shame on these Englishmen ! " cried Mr. Drummond,
and there was a general chorus of disapprobation from all
except Elspeth, who said she was glad the Government had
" interfered to protect the poor wretch."
" The ministry had somehow got wind of my errand, I was
told, and were determined to prevent a breach of the peace;
so there was an end of the matter. But I did my best for
auld Scotland, I think !" and the young soldier looked round
with considerable satisfaction at his audience, who, of course,
were warm in their praises of his conduct.
" So that is the end of the tale, Ian ? " said Elspeth, " and
you've no more thrilling adventures to tell us ? "
" Well, no," answered Ian with a little hesitation;
"it's not the end quite, for a rather important thing
happened to me that morning,—though I am afraid it is
not very thrilling, Elspeth ! " added he a little touchilv, for
he did not quite like his fiancee's raillery.
" Let us have it, man !'' cried the jovial laird of Lessen-
drum. " Tell your news, and never mind what the saucy
lassie says!"
"Well," answered Ian, "'tis just this. While I was on
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'Change, as I told you just now, on the look-out for Wilkes,
I met a friend of mine,—a captain of the 67th regiment,
who had served with Wolfe in Canada,—who took me into
one of the coffee houses. When we entered I was much
struck by the appearance of a tall man seated at one of the
tables, who had a fine presence, and who, one could at once
see was a soldier. His dress was very fine but extremely
fantastic, and looked especially strange among the young
bloods of the town, some of whom have now taken to the
fashion of dressing like grooms and coachmen, with their
1 wrap-rascal' coats, boots, and spurs, and gold-laced hats,
and carry whips or large oak sticks with ugly heads carved
at* the end instead of swords. It seemed so out of the
common that I could not help asking my friend who the
gentleman was.
" ' It is the Couut La Lippe,' said he, ' who is going to
command the Portuguese and the English troops they are
sending out to aid them to fight the Spaniards. The wits
have nick-named him " Charles XII.," because he copies the
famous King of Sweden as much as possible in his dress
and manners; though with far more politeness indeed, for
'tis said the other was a great bear ! "
" I was much interested, for I had heard of this intended
campaign, though not of the Count, and then my friend
went on to tell me that he is the hereditary prince of Lippe-
Buckeburg, a small German state between Hanover and
Westphalia; that his mother was a daughter of George I.
by the Duchess of Kendal; that he had been brought up in
England, had entered the guards, and fought at Dettingen ;
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and that later on he had joined the Confederates with his
small contingent at the beginning of the war with France,
during which he had gained great distinction, and is now
said to be one of the best engineer officers in Europe.
' I have the honour to be slightly acquainted with the
Count,' he concluded, 4 and hope to serve under him in
Portugal!'
" As my friend said this, the gentleman rose, and, coming
to our table, saluted him, on which he begged to be allowed
to present me, telling him I was the man who had
challenged Wilkes; for insulting Scotland. The Count
received me very graciously, and was kind enough to make
some flattering remarks about my conduct. He then put
a few questions about the French service, which I told
him I had given up, and after that he left us."
"It was a noteworthy meeting," said George Gordon,
" though I own I have never heard of the Count before."
"Nor I," said Drummond ; "but he seems a man whose
acquaintance ye may be proud to have made, Master
Ian !"
"I have not quite finished yet," said Ian. "That
evening as I was sitting moodily over a bottle of wine, in
one of the taverns at the west-end of the town, and feeling
very angry and disappointed at the message which I had
received, ordering me to leave England, who should enter
but Count La Lippe."
" Ye met him again ! That's an odd chance now," said
his uncle.
"Yes. He recognised me at once, and I told him the
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bad news I had just heard. He smiled a little, I thought,
at my expressions of regret, but said that he could quite
understand my feelings. This led us to talk of affairs of
honour, as to which he said some things that rather put me
out of countenance at the time, though I have since thought
there was much truth in them. He said he thought that
the practice of duelling was often grossly abused, and told
me how in Germany he had found it so much so that he
had been obliged to punish his officers for accepting a
challenge. Then—" and here Ian paused for a moment as
if struck by an after thought.
"Well, what then, Ian? " askedElspeth.
"Then," proceeded Ian, speaking with more hesitation,
" he began to talk about this expedition to Portugal. ' If
I remember rightly, you said you had left the French
service,' said he. I answered that I had, and he went on
to tell me that the Portuguese army was in a deplorable
state,"—and again Ian paused.
"Well ? " asked Elspeth with great interest.
" Just this, Elspeth," replied Ian, colouring a little, and
speaking with evident reluctance. "He asked me if I
intended to retire altogether from military service ; to which
I answered that my affairs prevented me for the present
from taking service, though I had had thoughts of entering
that of the Prussians at some future time."
"The Prussian service, Ian! " said Christin, who was
now listening with as keen an interest as Elspeth, whose
face showed signs of evident displeasure.
" Yes. The Prussian service is one of the best in Europe,"
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answered Ian, carelessly. "But, as I was about to tell
you, on my saying this the Count was pleased to reply that
he thought it a great pity such a promising officer should
so soon give up his profession. ' Come now,' he added,
' I am in great want of officers such as you, and if you will
accept it and join the expedition, I will give you at once a
captain's commission in the Portuguese army, and I promise
you that the want of military men in that country will
ensure such chances of rapid promotion as you will get in
no other.' "
" 'Tis a pity ye had to decline such a good offer !" said
the laird of Lessendrum.
" To tell the truth, sir, I did not altogether decline
it," answered Ian, glancing uneasily at Elspeth, and
looking very uncomfortable. " I told the Count how I
was situated,—and I said that if he would allow me a
week to consider the matter, I should—I should, I
thought, be happy to take it. And to this he kindly
consented."
A dead silence fell on the whole party, which lasted several
minutes. At last it was broken by Elspeth, whose flushed
face and tearful eyes showed her mingled anger, surprise,
and pain, at this announcement of her lover's.
"Ian, this is most cruel of you! You shall not go! "
cried she.
"Indeed, Ian, Elspeth is right! You must decline this
offer!" and Christin, in his eagerness, started to his feet,
and went and laid his hand on his cousin's shoulder.
Ian shook it off impatiently.
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93
" Must not! Shall not! What does this mean ?" said
he, angrily.
Mr. Drummond, with a wrathful look of resentment,
which completely changed his good-natured face, muttered
something between his teeth about " unmannerly selfishness,''
while George Gordon, with an ominous frown on his face,
rose in slow dignity from his chair, and looking his nephew
full in the face, said sternly :
"John Gordon, ye make me bitterly ashamed to hear ye !
I never thought to find such conduct in a nephew of mine ! "
Ian was quite taken aback by the general storm of dis-
approval, and this final, solemn rebuke from one whose
authority he had been taught to reverence almost from
infancy, completed his discomfiture.
"But, sir,"—he began.
" Silence, sir," said his stern old uncle. " Lessendrum,
we've sat here long enough. Ye'd best come with me into
the garden for a while," and he marched solemnly out of
the room, followed by his friend.
Christin, evidently much distressed, after lingering for a
moment on the threshold, reluctantly followed them, and Ian
an$ Elspeth were left alone in the old dining-room, now
gradually darkening in the fast fading summer twilight.
With that startling inconsistency which we must be pre-
pared to expect in the best, the whole family, after having
vehemently opposed this match when it was first arranged,
had, during the long engagement, somehow grown uncon-
sciously to like it, and all now felt violently aggrieved at the
idea that Elspeth's marriage should be indefinitely postponed.
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"Elspeth, hear me a moment," began Ian. " You all of
you do me a great injustice."
Elspeth did not condescend to answer. She had retreated
to one of the deep-embrasured windows, which looked
out on the garden, and stood there silent, and apparently
regardless of his presence.
He approached her and tried to take her hand, but she
snatched it angrily away.
" Elspeth, darling, forgive me! " said he after a long
pause, during which she continued persistently to ignore
him. " Forgive me ! your anger is natural. But hear me
for a moment! G-ive me at least a chance of clearing
myself!"
"No, Ian !" cried she, angrily; " I do not care to hear you,
for nothing that you can say can possibly justify your
selfishness."
"Selfishness!" began Ian.
" Yes, selfishness ! " retorted she, turning and facing him.
" Listen to me, John Gordon ! For three long years I have
beeD true to you ! Three years ! during which I have scarce
had more than a dozen letters from you, and "
"You know 'twas not from want of will, Elspeth!" answered
Gordon, reddening. " You know I am no penman or scholar
like Christin, and that soldiers have their hands always full
of very different work ! " The fiery young soldier, who had
been so eager to chastise Wilkes and the Count De Vougny,
was quite cowed and humbled by her impetuous indignation.
" Christin, indeed! Eubbish ! I care not for such subter-
fuges ! Had you loved me as you swore you did, you would
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95
have found plenty of time! But if you are content with such
an excuse, pray remain so ! It will not excuse your delay in
returning. You cannot deny that you have several times
had opportunities of coming home, which you have been
content to pass by, and had your regiment not been dis-
banded I believe you would still be in your beloved France."
" Elspeth, it is untrue ! " cried Ian, indignantly. " I swear
to you that I have never ceased to love you or dreamed of
being false to my word ! Could I not have stayed on now
in my beloved France, as you choose to call it, if I pleased,
or could I not have taken service in Prussia without return-
ing here at all ? Elspeth, you are unfair and unkind! I
cannot believe you mean what you say ! "
His fervour seemed so genuine that Elspeth could not
help allowing him to take her hand, though she half turned
from him as if loth to do so.
" Then why do you want to leave me again immediately? "
said she in a milder tone, but looking suspiciously at him
over her shoulder.
" Only because I cannot throw away this chance of earning
a livelihood. Listen, Elspeth ! I can only live by my sword.
As you know, I am a poor man, and I know no other trade
but that of a soldier. I will not, nay, I could not win my
bread by other means !"
"There are plenty of other means, as you know well
enough, if you choose to take them! " said Elspeth, frowning
and snatching away her hand. " If you really loved me you
would at least try them."
" You know well that I cannot! " cried Ian, losing his
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temper. " And if you cared for me you would be content
to share my fortune! Elspeth ! will you marry me at once
and come with me ? "
Elspeth started violently.
" At once ! " said she, in evident agitation.
" At once, darling! " and he eagerly took both her hands
in his.
Elspeth paused a moment, as if in painful hesitation.
"No!" said she at last decidedly, turning away from
him. " If you prefer glory and your soldier's life to me,
take them without me! If you love me you must sacrifice
them for me ! "
"Elspeth! you are very hard ! " cried Ian. " Think of
what you ask! It is impossible ! No ! no ! I cannot live if
I must cease to be a soldier ! "
" Then, John Gordon, 'tis best we part for ever ! " said
she angrily. " I will be your sport and toy no longer!"
and she turned abruptly and left the room.
" Stay, Elspeth ! " he cried, but there was no reply, and
he sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands ; and
soon after a clattering of horses' hoofs outside told him that
Miss Drummond and her father had ridden off to Lessen-
drum.
He hardly knew how long he had sat there alone in the
dusk when he was aroused by the touch of a hand on his
shoulder.
"Ian, come and have a talk with me," said Christin, and
he led him out into the garden.
The lawn was covered with a heavy dew which glittered
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97
in the bright moonlight, the silvery brilliance of which was
increased by the black shadows cast by the sun-dial in the
centre and by the surrounding trees.
"Ian, we have all been too hasty with you," said his
cousin, as they paced up and down the terrace in front of
the house ; "and my father bids me tell you that he owns it."
"You have, indeed!" cried Ian, angrily. "You have
judged solely because you saw Elspeth get into a passion,
and not by right reason at all! "
" But you must confess that you gave her just cause for
anger; and 'twas but natural we should take her part."
" Natural! On my honour, I am so put about I scarce
can judge what is natural or not! You know what has
happened, Christin ?"
"I fear I can guess."
" 'Tis so ! She has broken with me altogether," said Ian,
hoarsely. "It is all over. Christin, I never thought it of her! "
"No, no, Ian! This shall not be," cried his cousin.
"Surely you will yield to Elspeth in this, and if you are
content to do so, though I know how hard it must be to
you, I am sure she will at once forgive you."
" Forgive me, forsooth ! Have I nothing to forgive ?
Christin, you do not understand what this yielding means
which you talk of so glibly. None know me better than you,
and you know full well that I never can be aught but a
soldier. If the girl loved me, she would share my fortune,
whatever it is."
" Cousin, none save me could love you better than she
does. Have I not watched her these three years ? Have I
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not seen how good and true she has been to you ? Think
how hard it has been for her this long, sorrowful, anxious
waiting, and do justice to her constancy. Ah ! where will
you find a woman so lovely, so gifted, so good P "
" Faith, Christin ! Whatever she is, she has found a good
man to speak for her ! On my honour, I believe you are in
love with the girl yourself!" and Ian suddenly stopped, and,
taking his cousin by the shoulders, looked him full in the face.
It was such an honest, kindly, and withal, terribly sad face,
as the moonlight fell full upon it, that Ian grew full of pity
and sorrow as he looked at it, and felt with a pang that,
though he had spoken half in jest, he had said but the truth.
" I do love her, Ian, I own it," answered Christin, quietly.
" I love her, but not as you do, though none could love her
better. I have trained and watched over her from a child,
and she and you are, next to my father, the dearest to me
on earth. Listen, Ian. I shall never marry, and when I die
this house and all this estate of Colquharry will be yours,
and your children's after you."
"Nonsense, cousin," said Ian, vainly trying to conceal his
emotion with a forced laugh. "Nonsense, Christin. You
are as hale a man as I am, despite your dreary book-worm
life. I shall yet live to see your children playing in these
gardens, when I return, a maimed old veteran, to end my
days at the old home."
"Nay, Ian, that will never be!" replied the other deci-
dedly, and with a sadness he did not strive to hide. " Such
things are not for me ! I shall never know the joys that wife
and child can give, nor feel the sorrows that they bring with
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them! My purpose is unalterably fixed, and it is my pleasure
to hold to it. I am even now a rich man, for this is one of
the fairest estates in Donside, and I have more than I know
what to do with. Half of what I have shall be yours from
henceforth. Nay ! do not seek to alter me ! Are you not in
truth as my brother to me ? That you should share equally
with me will be to me the greatest happiness. Do this then
and relinquish your profession, at least for a year or two.
If you choose to take it, it will be easy to get some post in
Edinburgh through our interest. Be reconciled to poor
Elspeth, and keep your promise to her. Ian, no man loves
you better than I do. For my sake, I implore you, do as
I ask!"
His tones, looks, and gestures all bore witness to his sin-
cerity, and the earnestness with which he made his generous
offer touched Ian to the heart.
" Christin," said he at last, " I believe there is no man
in the world so good and true as you are ! "
" Nay ! nay ! Do not say that !" cried his cousin, with
inward pain and shame, as he thought of his interview with
Elspeth only two days before.
" Aye! but I'll swear there is none like you ! " said Ian,
enthusiastically. " You have persuaded me to do what no
one else could. I will not take your generous offer, though
I know it came from your heart, and I shall never forget
it. Bat I will yield to you. It shall be as Elspeth wishes.
I will decline Count La Lippe's offer and try and get some
post at home."
"Ian! G-od bless you! You have given me a greater
happiness than I ever thought to feel.''
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"Nay man. You need not commend me so much for
doing my duty," answered Ian with a laugh that had a
suspicious break in it. " I will see Elspeth to-morrow
morning."
" I knew you would always do right in the end, Ian ! "
murmured Christin, grasping his hand; and the pair soon
after parted for the night, feeling that their affection and
esteem for each other was stronger than it had ever been
before.
CHAPTEB VIII.
the cummer's feast.
When Ian rose next morning, full of his resolution ol
effecting a reconciliation with Elspeth, he found that a
change had taken place in the weather during the night.
The wind had risen, the clouds were gathering, and every
now and then a squall of misty rain swept down the glen.
The day was in short not at all one to tempt any but an
ardent lover, or a man whose business admitted of no delay,
to set out on a long ride over the mountains. Ian, how-
ever, was in a frame of mind which despises such trifling
inconveniences, and he was encouraged in his resolution to
go to Lessendrum at once by the cordial greeting and
warm commendation of his uncle, who had heard from
Christin what had passed between him and his cousin.
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101
He was neverthless doomed to be disappointed in his
first attempt to see Miss Drummond. An accident to his
horse just after starting necessitated his return to the
house, and it was only after some considerable delay that
he was able to set out again. When he reached Lessen-
drum, Mr. Drummond, whose coldness on first seeing him
was speedily changed to hearty delight when he learned the
purpose of his errand, told him that Elspeth, after having
lingered on in the house all the morning, in the hope of
seeing him, had at last gone off to pay a visit to a friend
at some distance.
" So ye canna well see her till this evening, Ian," said he.
" 'Tis a pity, tor ye know its the ' Cummer's Least,' and we
shall have a crowd of folk here. But I warrant ye'll manage
to get a word with her somehow my lad, eh ? "
"You may trust me for that, Mr. Drummond,"
answered Ian, whose spirits were raised by his kind
reception. " And after all it would be hard to find a fitter
time for making up a quarrel," and he mounted his horse
and set off on his return home.
It has been already stated that Mrs. Drummond had,
shortly before Ian's arrival, presented her husband with
another son, and in those days it was the custom in Scot-
land that some three weeks after the birth of her child, the
mother should give a reception in her bedroom to her
friends, who paid their respects to her as she sat in full
dress, either on her bed, or on a low stool at the foot of it,
and, after partaking of cake, and wine, retired to make
room for others. At the end of the same week a great
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supper known as the Cummer's or godmother's feast—
for the term is a corruption of the French commere—was
given, to which all the friends of the family were invited,
and it was to one of these entertainments that George
Gordon, his son, and nephew, sat down on this particular
evening. In the eighteenth century, christenings, mar-
riages, and funerals were almost the only opportunities for
large social gatherings in the country, and there was,
therefore, a large assemblage of guests on this occasion at
Lessendrum, which had already been the scene of eight
"Cummer's feasts" since Mr. Drummond's marriage, and
which was also noted for its hospitality.
At the head of the long table in front of the host, whose
jovial face beamed with smiles, was an enormous ham, while
at the foot, where George Gordon presided, was a huge
pyramid, consisting of ducks, fowls, teal, and partridges.
In the centre was a dish of considerable dimensions, con-
taining what was known as an " eating posset," which was
surrounded by piles of dried fruits and sweetmeats, while
jugs of ale and stoups of claret—for in those days there
were no bottles—were provided in abundance to quench the
thirst of some thirty ladies and gentlemen, all dressed in their
smartest clothes, and all in the best of humour.
Ian, who had hitherto failed to get any opportunity of
speaking alone to Elspeth, was, much to his disgust, placed
in the seat of honour on Mr. Drummond's right hand, while
his fiancee had been led into the room by Sir Bichard Far-
rington. The latter had been presented to him by ChristiD,
on his arrival, as an English kinsman of Captain Erskine,
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the Barrackmaster of Corgarf, with whom Elspeth had made
acquaintance some two years before in Edinburgh.
His cousin, however, did not seem to take kindly to the
young Englishman, and when he saw him seated by Elspeth.
to whom he evidently contrived to make himself very agree-
able, he began to conceive a strong dislike to him. Elspeth
looked rather pale and anxious, he thought, and though
she had received him kindly, and had, he knew, been told
of the object of his visit during her absence, he felt some-
how aggrieved and pained at her manner to him. He had
not much time for jealousy, however, for conversation soon
became general, and, as the lion of the evening, he had to
answer endless enquiries regarding his service abroad, and
his affair with Wilkes, topics which naturally served to
put him in a better humour.
As the meal progressed, the buzz of talk grew louder
and louder, all the news of the country side was discussed,
and each man in turn trotted out his particular hobby.
The older members of the party talked over the remi-
niscences of their youth, told stories of the stirring days of
the '15 and the '45, and deplored the luxury and the extra-
vagance of the present age, which had indeed witnessed
great changes in the social as well as the political con-
dition and commercial prosperity of Scotland. The younger
portion of the guests, or those who still aspired to be
thought so, on the contrary naturally took a much more
favourable view of the times, and preferred lighter topics,
such as the ball lately given by the young gentlemen
burghers of Aberdeen, where all the company were
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dressed only in stuffs manufactured in Scotland, the per-
formance by several young gentlemen of Montrose, only
the previous week, of Mr. Allan Uamsay's celebrated
"Pastoral Comedy," the latest news from London and
Edinburgh, the most recent births, deaths, and marriages,
and all the local gossip of the district. So all went
on merrily and pleasantly enough, and Captain Erskine
had just done relating to the host a remarkable story,
about a certain Elizabeth Fairy,—" She was proclaimed to
marriage on Sunday, married on Monday, bore a child on
Tuesday; her husband stole a horse on Wednesday, foi
which he was banished on Thursday, and her child died od
Friday, and was buried on Saturday; all in one week Les-
sendrum, as ye'll see in the Mercury,"*—when, the meat
having been removed, Mr. Drummond rose from the table.
At this signal, all the company followed his example, and,
according to custom, began to scramble for the sweetmeats.
On such occasions even the stiffest people, in spite of,
or perhaps on account of, the sombreness of old Scottish
life, used to break out in the most childish frolics, and in
this struggle to pocket dried fruits and comfits, chairs
were overturned, everything on the table was upset, peopk
wrestled and pulled at one another with the utmost noise,
and the whole was a scene of the wildest confusion, which
was considerably increased when the upsetting of one ol
the lamps left the room for a few minutes in partial dark-
ness. At last, however, the exuberant spirits of the party
having to a certain extent been exhausted, order was
* See Appendix, Note 3.
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105
restored, the host rose and bade all fill their glasses, and
the final stage of the evening's proceedings commenced.
It was now that Ian noticed for the first time that both
Sir Richard Farrington and Elspeth were missing, and
when, as time went on, they did not return to their
places, his anger and jealousy were so strongly roused
that he could not help pointing out the fact to Mr.
Drummond.
The worthy laird, however, was now beginning to show
the effects of the numerous toasts which, as host, it had
been his duty to give. He chuckled rather inanely, mut-
tered something about " youm£ folk being kittle cattle,"
and, resuming the story he was telling Captain Erskine,
could not be got to take any more interest in the matter.
Ian in great wrath went over and took a seat near
Christin, which his neighbour, sad to relate, had vacated
by falling under the table.
" I shall make this young English baronet answer for
his conduct to-morrow," said he, angrily. " This comes of
taking your counsel about Elspeth, Christin."
"She was looking very ill," said Christin, trying to
soothe him. " I doubt not she has stolen away to rest.
As for Farrington, I daresay he is not accustomed to our
rough Scotch horse-play, and has gone home. .'Tis a pity
we keep up these silly old customs ! " and he implored his
cousin to make no disturbance, and to wait till he could
speak to Elspeth herself.
,<Ian, who felt that his duty to his host compelled him to
gee the feast out to the end, was obliged reluctantly to
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take his advice, and, though inwardly chafing, tried to
make the best of the situation.
Meanwhile the stoups of wine were having their natural
effect, and a good many of the male guests were hors de
combat. Those who were able to do so began to take
their departure, those who were not were left to rest in
their chairs or on the floor, while, as the night had turned
out a stormy one, some few of the visitors found sleeping
accommodation in the house. Among the latter were
George Gordon and his son and nephew, for, in addition
to the fact that they were some distance from home, both
Christin and Ian were naturally anxious to see Elspeth
without delay.
Next morning, however, when, at a far earlier hour than
could have been expected after the potations of the pre-
vious night, the whole household assembled at breakfast,
it was observed that Elspeth was not present. The meal
went on, and still she did not appear, and at last her
father, in some dudgeon, sent up one of the younger girls
to her room.
"I fear she is unwell," said he, apologetically. "She
was a bit upset t'other night, and has not yet got over it,"
and be could not help glancing reproachfully at Ian.
The latter's feelings were, as may be imagined, not
pleasant, but he said nothing.
Presently little Maggie returned with rather a scared
face. Her sister was not in her room, she said. She had
knocked two or three times, and, getting no answer, she
had entered, but had found no Elspeth.
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IO7
"The room was in a sad mess, with all the things
thrown about," added the child; " but her bed looked as
if she hadn't slept in it, father ! "
"Sir Eichard Farrington is missing too!" cried Ian,
no longer able to restrain his impatience. "Captain
Erskine, where is your kinsman ? "
"Faith I can't tell ye! " answered the Captain, coolly.
" He was not under the table when I woke up this morn-
ing. He's big enough to take care of himself!"
" 'Tis lucky that he is! " cried Ian, fiercely, still more
irritated by the laughter provoked by Erskine's sally. "'Tis
lucky that he is, for he will have to answer to me for his
conduct to Miss Drummond ! "
" What do you mean, sir ? " said Erskine, angrily.
" Be silent, Ian, for heaven's sake! " cried Christin.
" Shame on you, Ian ! Be quiet! I'll allow no brawling
under my roof! " said Mr. Drummond, laying his hand on
Captain Erskine's shoulder, as the latter half rose from his
seat. " Don't be silly, lad. Erskine, ye must be patient
with him. He's put out by a quarrel he and Elspeth had
the other day. Children, run and find your sister some
of ye ! "
Ian sat down, inwardly fuming. Erskine, who was
easily pacified, resumed his place and his good humour,
and the rest of the company finished their meal in silence,
while the children scoured hither and thither, making the
house resound with shouts of " Elspeth ! Elspeth ! "
All their efforts, however, proved fruitless, and though
the whole party after a time gradually joined in the
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search, no trace of her could be found, till at last Mr.
Drummond discovered in her room a letter from his
daughter to himself, informing him, with many requests
for forgiveness, that she had eloped with Sir Richard
Farrington, who was going to take her with him to
England. Then it somehow transpired that the pair had
been seen on the previous night driving in a post-chaise
on the road to Aberdeen, and in a short time after the dis-
covery Mr. Drummond, Ian, and Christin, were galloping
in pursuit of them.
CHAPTER IX.
" christin ! is she safe ? "
It was between two and three on the same afternoon when
Mr, Drummond and his two companions reined up their
horses before what was then the best inn in Aberdeen, and
questioned the ostler as to whether a lady and gentleman
had arrived there in a post-chaise on the previous night.
The man, a stout, sullen-looking fellow, with a shock of
black hair, seemed at first scarcely to understand them,
and when he had grasped their meaning, only answered
surlily that he had seen no one answering to their descrip-
tion. Irritated by this unexpected failure to obtain
information, and tired and wet through after their five
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109
hours' ride, against a strong south-east wind, charged with
a thick rainy mist which obscured all but the nearest
objects, they entered the house, and were conducted into a
room where some twenty drovers were regaling themselves
with whiskey and potatoes. Having ordered the bare-
footed serving girl, whose single petticoat reached just half
way to her ankles, to bring them some oat cakes and a
stoup of wine, they sat down to wait for it, and began to
try and consider what course to pursue.
By dint of cross-examining the servants, they had come
to the conclusion before leaving home that the elopement
must have been contemplated for some time. The pair had
first met in Edinburgh, where Sir Richard had paid Elspeth
marked attentions, and she was, it appeared, the real
attraction which had brought him so regularly to Corgarf.
There had been a constant correspondence between them,
and they had had frequent clandestine interviews, one of the
last of which had taken place on the very Sunday evening
when Christin had made his avowal of love to Elspeth.
The latter, wearying of what she considered to be Ian's
indifference, had listened more and more to Earrington's
addresses, and, though she seemed to have always retained
a certain affection for her betrothed, had at length deter-
mined, on hearing his declaration of his intention of joining
the expedition to Portugal, to forsake him for her English
lover.
These discoveries, as might be expected, had very
different effects on the three men who were now pursuing
the fugitives. Her father, though deeply incensed at the
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conduct of the daughter he had trusted so implicitly, and
tormented by thoughts of her possible dishonour, had so
strong an affection for her that he felt he could forgive her
everything if he could only see her again. In Ian, on the
contrary, the wrath which Elspeth's deceit to him had
aroused was almost lost in his desire for vengeance on the
man who had taken her from him just after he had decided
to sacrifice his dearest hopes of military renown for her
sake. His love for her had died with her treachery, and
his hatred for the man for whom he had been sacrificed
had taken its place. To Chris tin alone of the three did
Miss Drummond still seem perfectly free from blame, and
an object of the purest and tenderest pity. He could not
bring himself to think of his idol in any other light than
the victim on the one hand of his cousin's selfish neglect,
and on the other of Farrington's artful intrigues, and
though his naturally pacific disposition was stirred into the
keenest animosity against the latter, the predominant
feeling in his heart was to save her from any ill con-
sequences of her folly, and at the same time, if he found
that the Englishman had really married her, to save him
for her sake from Ian's anger.
" It seems a hopeless business, my lads," said poor
Drummond. " I shall never see my puir lassie again."
" No, no ! I cannot think it! " said Christin, eagerly.
This is the only place they could have come to, and I am
certain they came to Aberdeen with the view of taking
ship for England or the continent. And her letter said she
was going to England, Lessendrum."
IAN ROT.
Ill
"I believe you're right, Christiu," said Ian, "and I'm
almost as sure that that rascally ostler was lying to us. But
we'll soon see. Harkee, my lassie," said he, when the girl
entered with their cakes and liquor. " Harkee, did not a lady
and gentleman come here late last night in a post-chaise ? "
and he slipped a piece of money into her hand.
The girl glanced at it, and flushed as she saw its value.
Then she placed it in her pocket, folded her arms, and
smiled, knowingly.
"'Tis a bonnie fair-haired leddy that the gentleman
means, and the callant wi' her was stout and black-haired,
and looked like a soldier.''
" Yes, yes ! " cried Christin, eagerly.
" Oh, aye! They cam' the night, and gaed awa' early
in the morning, and the gentleman ca'ed the leddy his
wife."
"Thank God! Thank God! Then she's married, at
least!" cried Elspeth's father. " Here, my lassie, take that
and my blessing for your good news," and he gave the girl
a gold piece, the sight of which, coming just after Ian's
present, fairly bewildered her, and doubtless made her wish
that elojoments took place more frequently.
Ian rose with an oath.
"Married! Ah! Doubtless it is natural you should
thank God for that, Lessendrum, but I cannot," he said,
bitterly. " But I knew that knave of a stable-boy was
lying," added he. " Did I not tell you so ? " And he strode
from the room, and, entering the stable-yard, collared the
unfortunate ostler.
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"Now, you villain ! " said he, " tell meat once where that
pair in the post-chaise went, on leaving this morning, or
I'll break every bone in your body."
" I dinna ken, your honour," stammered the fellow.
" You lie, you rascal! That serving wench has told me
everything, and if you don't speak the truth at once I'll
throttle you !"
" Well, well, your honour," whimpered the man," ye dinna •
need to be so rough wi' a puir body. They've just gtfne on
to Stonehaven to tak the ship, and I dinna doot but they're
awa on the seas by this."
" Bring out the horses at once, sirrah ! " thundered Ian.
He hurried back to his companions, and in a quarter of
an hour the trio were again in the saddle, galloping towards
Stonehaven.
After they had ridden some seven miles on their road,
which lay for the most part along the coast, the mist began
to clear away and reveal on the one side black sterile
hilltops, rising amid swampy moorlands, and on the other
a line of bold precipitous cliffs broken by numerous rocky
bays. The fury of the wind was still unabated, and when,
towards six in the evening, with their horses thoroughly
tired out, they found themselves on the summit of the cliffs
above Stonehaven, the sea right out to the horizon was one
mass of huge black billows and dancing white crests. Some
two miles to the south of the town, on an isolated precipi-
tous rock, washed on three sides by the sea, the majestic
ruins of Dunnottar Castle, once the stronghold of the Keith
family, stood out in black relief against the grey sky, and in
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113
the bay below was a ship, evidently in some distress, which
seemed to be making for the little port.
"Heaven help the ship that has to live through such a
sea as that! " cried Drummond, filled with a new anxiety.
" G-od .grant that the storm may have stopped their
embarking," said Christin, but as he glanced at Ian's stern
pitiless face, he half-wondered whether Elspeth and her
husband would not after all, be safer at sea than ashore.
" They have been obliged to put back," said Ian, as if in
confirmation of his thoughts. "We shall get them yet if
they are on board that ship."
. " God grant we may ! " cried the poor father, but in a
very different spirit, and they hurried down to the town.
On arriving at the little inn they learnt that their surmises
were correct. The runaway couple had stopped there to get
a hurried meal, and had then embarked on board a ship
bound for London. The master had been very reluctant to
put to sea, but had been persuaded at last to do so by the
liberal offers of Sir Richard Farrington. The storm, how-
ever, had increased so much in violence since the early
morning, that they had evidently been driven against their
will to try and put back again to port.
" Oh, aye ! yon's the ship !" said a fisherman whom they
interrogated. " She's lost ane of her masts as ye may see,
but I hae nae doubt she'll soon win back agen in a wind like
this. But that's only failin she daes'na break up athegither,"
added he calmly. e< I'm thinking she'll no weather yon rocks
at the point there."
His questioners did not wait to hear more, but hastened
I
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to a part of the beach where a large crowd were anxiously
watching the progress of the vessel.
They were not long kept in suspense. The wind was
blowing almost full on the shore, and the ship came on
rapidly, and was soon nearly abreast of the rocky headland,
at the entrance of the bay, indicated by the fisherman. They
could almost distinguish those on board, and standing on
the poop were three figures, one of whom was evidently the
captain of the ship, while the other two must, Mr. Drum-
mond and his companions at once felt, be Elspeth and her
husband. As she drew nearer and nearer, the wind bore to
the shore a Babel of confused sounds from the ship, and now,
suddenly, the sun shone out from behind a bank of black
clouds and enabled them distinctly to see the movements of
the sailors hurrying to and fro in obedience to orders. The
returning sunlight seemed a good omen, and drew a cheer
from the crowd on shore, which was answered by the crew of
the ship. The fatal point was reached and cleared, and a
second cheer rang through the air, but it had hardly passed
the lips of the spectators when they saw the ship suddenly
stop in her course and heel over. She had struck on a sunken
rock, and the waves, sweeping over the decks, instantly
washed one of the boats and more than half the crew into
the sea. The trio on the poop, and two men who had
scrambled on to it, were seen clinging together for a moment
as if paralysed by the shock, but there were no life-boats
then, no fisherman's boat could have been launched in such
a sea, and those who watched the ill-fated survivors were
powerless to help them.
IAN ROY.
115
After a time they saw Farrington lash Elspeth to a big
piece of broken mast, and attach himself to it by a rope
fastened round his waist. Hardly had he done so, however,
when, to the horror of the spectators, as the captain and the
surviving men were cutting the lashings of the remaining
boat, a tremendous sea broke over the ship, and, with a
crash that could be distinctly heard above the roaring of the
storm, she suddenly went to pieces, and all on board her
disappeared.
There was a moment of awful suspense, which was broken
by a great shout of joy as the piece of mast to which Elspeth
and Farrington were lashed rose to the surface.
They were tossed like a cork from wave to wave, but both
wind and tide were in their favour, and a shout of exultation
rose as they drove rapidly towards the shore, while a number
of fishermen ran forward with ropes and spars, ready to lend
their aid when they should reach it. At the base of the
shelving shingle beach, on which the great waves were throw-
ing up masses of seaweed and showers of pebbles, was a
broad belt of sand, studded with rocks, all of which was now
covered by a dangerous surf.
" They are saved! they are saved! " cried the crowd, as
Farrington was seen manfully swimming to the shore, now
rising, now disappearing in the water. They had nearly
reached the foot of the pebble beach, and a score of strong
arms were extended to grasp them, when the irresistible
drawback of the water swept them away, and in a instant
the fierce waves beat on them with resistless strength, and
again hid them from view. But it was only for a moment,
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the next they rose once more to the surface, and were borne
on the crest of a huge wave to the very feet of the spectators.
Christin sprang forward and, with the help of some of the
fishermen, dragged them out of the reach of the waves.
"Christin! Christin! Is she safe? Is Elspeth safe?"
cried her father, in agony, as he and Ian ran up to them.
But Christin, who was kneeling by the bodies, returned
no answer, but fell heavily forward.
" He has fainted ! " said Ian, bending over them, "and—
and they, oh God ! they are both dead ! "
Drummond gave a cry of agony, and threw himself on
his daughter's body, but hardly had he done so when he
suddenly sprang to his feet again.
"She lives! she lives!" he cried. "God be praised!
Her heart beats."
He was right and Ian was wrong, Elspeth and her
husband were still alive, and in a short time were restored
to consciousness, but poor Christin never spoke again.
He had died of heart disease, and as he lay there rigid
and motionless, Ian, kneeling beside him and looking on
his calm, pale face, recalled how he had read his secret in it,
in the old garden at home only two short days ago, and all
that had passed between him and the dead man on that
eventful evening. He took the cold hand, wet with salt
spray, in his, and his hot tears fell upon it as he raised it
reverently to his lips.
" Christin 1 my more than brother ! " he cried, in
broken accents. " There never lived a better, truer man than
you ! Where shall I ever find a friend like you again ? "
IAN ROY.
117
CHAPTER X.
captain manuel gongalvo.
One morning towards the end of August, some three
months after the events which have just been related,
Captain Manuel Gon^alvo, a Portuguese officer in the 11th
Eegiment of Infantry, might have been seen walking
rapidly homewards through the streets of Oporto.
It was Tuesday, which was a market day, and the city
had been filled since sunrise with crowds of peasants from
the neighbouring country—stalwart, good-looking men,
and fine deep-chested women, with magnificent dark eyes,
straight, level eyebrows, and thick hair growing low down
on the brow—all dressed in the picturesque costumes of
their various localities. The quays, as he passed along
them, were thronged with seamen and workmen from ware-
houses, loading and unloading the cargoes of the crowd of
ships moored beside them, and the broad breast of the
Douro was alive with boats of all shapes and sizes, from the
broad-beamed sea-going fishing boats, with " Deus nos
gicarde " painted on their sides, to the " canoas," or " dug-
outs," made from a single tree, and the " tolde " boats,
clumsy imitations of the Yenetian gondolas.
Though, however, the city was apparently full of the
bustling animation which speaks of wealth and prosperity,
not only the population of Oporto, but the whole Por-
tuguese nation, was at this time in a state of constant
alarm and anxiety. In compliance with " The Family
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Compact" between the Bourbons of France and Spain, the
Spanish forces had invaded Portugal at three different
points, and while two of their army corps had already
occupied the most important towns in the provinces of
Traz-oz-Montes and Beira, and were thus threatening the
safety of Oporto, a third was preparing to enter the
province of Alemtejo, with the view of penetrating to
Lisbon. The declared object of the campaign was to
prevent Great Britain from using the Portuguese harbours
for commercial or military purposes, and the Spaniards
therefore aimed at the capture of the great ports of Lisbon
and Oporto,which would probably conclude it in their favour.
To oppose her enemies, Portugal had an army insignifi-
cant in point of numbers, miserably provided with weapons,
disgracefully ill-disciplined, and totally UDprovided with
experienced officers. The long peace which succeeded the
recovery of her liberty in 1640, though it had largely
increased her revenue, had been a period of shameful mis-
government, and while the apparently inexhaustible
treasures of Brazil were recklessly squandered on his
pleasures and fancies by her profligate sovereign, till the
exchequer became so impoverished that some of the
members of the royal family had to receive their allowance
in copper, nearly all the fortifications of the kingdom had
been suffered to fall into ruin, and were defended by guns
honeycombed with age, which fell from their rotting
carriages. The ignorant and turbulent nobility, which
should have supplied leaders to the nation, and on whom
the greatest commanderies and the richest crown domains
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119
had been lavishly bestowed, occupied themselves with
re-enacting the feuds of the Montagues and Capulets in the
streets of Lisbon, and emulating the excesses of the French
noblesse and the London mohocks. The fatal earthquake
which overthrew Lisbon in 1756 had come as a crowning
misfortune to complete the discomfiture of a nation, every
department of whose government was in utter disorder, and
whose manufactures had almost ceased to exist. Bat for
the wonderful energy and resources of the great Marquis of
Pombal, the country must have lapsed into a state of
hopeless anarchy, and even his courage and ability seemed
to be unavailing in the present crisis. The fleet had been
reduced to six or seven ships of the line, and a few frigates,
and the safety of the kingdom seemed entirely dependent on
a force of 5,000 foot and 600 horse, which had just arrived
from England, under the command of Colonel Burgoyne,
and on the valour of the peasantry, who, favoured by the
mountainous nature, and the barrenness and poverty of the
country, were maintaining a guerilla warfare with their
enemies that served in some measure to check their
advance. The whole nation, from the highest to the
lowest, was filled with the deepest hatred of the Spaniards,
and the dread of falling again under their yoke had there-
fore spread a feeling of consternation throughout Oporto,
the security of which had a short time since seemed so
seriously threatened that the Admiralty of England had
made arrangements for carrying off the effects of the
British factory. During the last ten days, however, the
hopes of the Portuguese had been again somewhat raised by
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the appointment of Count la Lippe* to the command of the
united Portuguese and English forces. His great military
reputation in itself inspired confidence, while he was also
an entire stranger to the subjects of debate that had
hitherto existed between the British General and the
Court of Lisbon ; and the measures which, with the aid of
Pombal, he at once took for the defence of the country, had
the effect of infusing new courage into the almost
despairing nation.
In spite, however, of all Count La Lippe's exertions, the
allies had hitherto been unable to muster a force fit to
oppose the Spaniards in a pitched battle, and Captain
Manuel Gongalvo was himself a fair example of some of
the difficulties with which that general had to contend.
His uniform, which was sadly tarnished, and his long
sword, clearly showed that he was an officer, and the keen
and somewhat ferocious expression in his eyes, which was
rendered more striking by his cadaverous high-cheeked face
and set lips, at once impressed the observer with the idea
that he must also be a brave and energetic one. His
martial stride and somewhat defiant nprightness of car-
riage were all that the most zealous martinet could have
desired, but alas ! the effect of all these excellent qualifica-
tions for a soldier was hopelessly destroyed by the fact
that he bore on his head a large clothes basket! The
horror with which this sight would have filled a military
man of any other nationality would have been increased
had he known that it was by no means an uncommon one.
* See Appendix, Note 4.
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On the contrary, to such a state was the Portuguese army
reduced that, through want of food and pay, the wives of
several officers were obliged, like Donna Gontjalvo, to
take in washing, while the husbands of others were
glad to gain a livelihood by such humble employments
as working as journeyman tailors, and even waiting at
the tables of great nobles. Count La Lippe had issued
strict orders to stop his officers from following such
ignoble employments, but necessity caused them to be
systematically evaded whenever it was possible, and Gon-
<jalvo had taken advantage of the early hour to do this
service for his wife, on whose exertions his household had
long been chiefly dependent for subsistence. He therefore
strode along jauntily enough, thinking nothing of his
degrading burden, till, as he passed a big house, the
owner of which held an important post in the military
council which Count La Lippe had established on his
arrival, he suddenly started and came to a full stop.
The'sentry who was pacing up and down the terrace in
front of the house had just halted in his walk, and was
humbly begging alms of a tall auburn-haired young man in
uniform who had just issued from the door. To Gon9alvo,
who knew that sentries before the royal palace in Lisbon
did the same, the act, though Count La Lippe was trying
to stop such conduct, appeared no more surprising than
his own, humble occupation. Had he been himself
accosted in such a manner he would at once have given
the man money if he had auy, and if, as was almost
invariably the case, he had none to spare, he would have
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answered with the courtesy common to all Portuguese:
"Nao pode ser-f" (It cannbt be!), or "Va comDeus-'"
(Pray be off!). He was therefore much surprised when the
officer he was watching, after gazing for a moment with
angry astonishment at the unfortunate sentinel, con-
temptuously flung him a small coin, and at the same time
uttered some forcible expressions in a foreign language.
Goncalvo's countenance underwent a marked change as he
heard the voice.
" iSapristi! It is Captain Gordon ! " muttered he to
himself, and, hastily placing his basket on the ground, he
stepped forward and executed a most elaborate salute as
lan, who, as the reader will have guessed, was the officer
in question, descended the steps.
" Gon5alvo!" said the latter, " this is lucky ! you are
just the man I wauted to see. I have just received notice
that we are both of us under orders to start to-morrow at
daybreak with a detachment which Count La Lippe is
despatching to occupy a pass in the neighbourhood of S.
Joao do Pesqueira."
" Daybreak to-morrow, most noble captain ! " stammered
Gongalvo, with such a ludicrous expression of dismay on
his face that Ian could not help smiling.
" Yes. It is short notice certainly," said he. " But it
will give us the chance we are all so much longing for of a
brush with the enemy, and you have been selected for this
honourable service, both because you have shewn yourself
the most efficient officer in the regiment, and also because
I have heard you say you know something of the country."
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The compliment could not but be pleasing to Captain
Gon^alvo, whose vanity was his weakest point, but it was
nevertheless with obvious difficulty that he managed to
assume a rather ghastly smile of pleasure.
" To die for Portugal against the accursed Spaniards!
Ah ha ! this is glorious news indeed ! At last, then, we
shall meet them ! Ah ha ! " and he fingered his sword and
threw himself into his most martial attitude.
" Yes, I thought you would be pleased with the news."
" Pleased ! Praise be to Saint Manuel and the blessed
Saint Senhorina. I am transported !—Still, Captain Gor-
don, you know that I am a family man, and—the thought
of my Maria and the little Manuel naturally rises in my
heart at such a time," and the worthy captain's voice
faltered a little. "But come home with me, my most
noble friend and see them," added he more cheerfully.
" You are always so kind to Manuel that the little fellow
is always longing for your visits, and perhaps you will do
me the honour of partaking of a slight meal in my house."
As he gave this invitation he glanced askance at his
clothes basket. Ian noticed the glance, and sympathising
with Goncalvo's feelings, and knowing the painful circum-
stances which compelled him to undertake such a task,
decided to ignore the breach of discipline for which it
was his duty, as his superior officer, to reprimand him.
He, therefore, answered that he should be delighted to
accept his offer and talk over the forthcoming expedition
with him, and Goncalvo, after remarking ruefully that it
was " base and degrading work for an officer and gentle-
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man," hoisted his load once more, and led the way to his
house.
The melancholy consequences of the wreck at Stone-
haven, described in the last chapter, had of necessity
for a time upset all Ian's plans for the future. The
death of Ohristin, combined with the wonderful escape of
Elspeth and her husband, naturally put an end to all his
thoughts of vengeance against the latter, and his anger
at the treacherous conduct of Miss Drummond towards
him. The laird of Lessendrum was, as may be supposed,
only too glad to forgive the pair, and accept Sir
Richard Farrington as his son-in-law, and Ian, softened
and humbled by his sorrow for his dead cousin, and the
recollection of the latter's unhappy affection for Elspeth
and unselfish love for himself, lost no time in being
reconciled to them also. The event, however, which
restored his daughter to Mr. Drummond, proved fatal
to his friend, George Gordon. He was just sitting down
to dinner when his old servant, who was so scared that
he, for the moment, quite lost his head, burst into the
room, and, without any preparation, blurted out the news
of Christin's death. The shock proved too great for the
poor father, and he fell from his chair in a fit, from the
effects of which he never recovered.
Within little more than a week of each other, he and
Christin were laid in the same grave, and Ian found
himself Master of Colquharry. The double loss could
not but have a great effect even on a man of his some-
what hard temperament and buoyant spirits. He fell
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into a deep melancholy, which made the place and all its
associations seem hateful to him, and, unable to shake it
off, he determined once more to resume the military life
which had such strong attractions for him. Placing his
newly-acquired property in the hands of an agent, over
whom Mr. Drummond promised to exercise a friendly
supervision, he applied to Count La Lippe for employ-
ment in his service, and, without waiting for answer to
the letter containing his request, embarked for Portugal.
His reception by the Count was all that he could have
wished, and he was at once appointed to the 11th regi-
ment of Portuguese infantry, and, in company with a
Frenchman named De Noailles, assigned the task of
rendering it to some extent fit for service. De Noailles
proved an able coadjutor and pleasant comrade, and the
two, who became very good friends, had succeeded so
well in their task that Count La Lippe had decided to
send them in command of a detachment of their regiment,
to act under Colonel Lee, whom he was despatching,
with two companies of English foot and some guns, to
co-operate with a body of the armed peasantry of the
province of Beira, in defending some of the passes com-
manding the passage of the Douro.
Ian had only received his orders late the previous
evening, and as it was necessary for him to communicate
at once with Gonialvo, he was glad to take the oppor-
tunity of doing so offered by this unexpected meeting.
His intimacy with the latter had, in the first instance,
arisen from the resolution which both he and De Noailles
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had made, of cultivating the acquaintance of their Portu-
guese brother officers, with the view of better obtaining
their co-operation in making the regiment efficient. Ian,
who was naturally frank and sociable, and whose hastiness
and pride had been a good deal chastened by the trials
he had gone through in Scotland, took to this self-
appointed task very kindly. He enjoyed seeing all the
different varieties of Portuguese life, fraternised with all
sorts of people, and made himself at home in many humble
houses, which he would have hardly condescended to enter
when an officer of the Gardes Ecossais. Goncalvo's was
one of these. He was attracted to his only child, Manuel,
a quiet and preternaturally sensible little fellow, by a
likeness—perhaps, as often happens in cases, purely
imaginary—to Christin, his affection for whose memory
was very strong and tender, and his numerous presents
of bon-bons on the one side, and the boy's shrewd queer
sayings on the other, had led to a great friendship
between them. This gradually led him, as he saw more
of them, to take a great liking to the captain, and his wife.
He pitied their poverty, and endeavoured when he could
to aid them, and while some of their peculiarities amused
him, he esteemed their simplicity, their affection for each
other, and their self-sacrifice. As he knew, therefore, that
Gon9alvo concealed a very kind heart and a natural
timidity of disposition under a great deal of pomposity and
ferocious swagger, and was also aware that, in spite of his
brave assertions of being " transported " at the idea of
fighting the " accursed Spaniards," he was really very
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127
much pained and alarmed at having to leave home for the
first time on active service, he was glad to be able to
accompany his friend and help him to break the bad news
to his wife.
Gongalvo's house was, as the reader will have already
concluded, a very humble dwelling, situated in a poor part
of the town. As they entered the sitting-room—which
partook of the nature of a hall, since the front door opened
immediately on to it, and was altogether as comfortless and
poverty-stricken an apartment as can well be imagined—a
neat, bright-eyed, pretty, little woman, whose bare arms had
evidently not long since been immersed in the wash-tub,
ran forward, and, embracing Gongalvo, asked him if he had
heard the terrible news. The gallant captain, whose
clothes basket prevented his resisting the endearment, gave
her a look of grave rebuke, and, disengaging himself from
her arms with as much dignity as he could, answered that
he had already learned it from Captain Gordon.
Donna Gongalvo was the daughter of a Frenchman, who
had settled in Portugal at the time when the rich harvest
of gold that was flowing into the country from Brazil had
attracted to it crowds of actors, coiffeurs, and modistes
from Paris, and the knowledge of her language which her
husband had gained from her had made him very useful to
Gordon and De Noailles, neither of whom were very good
Portuguese scholars. She was at first naturally a little
confused at perceiving Ian, but speedily recovering herself,
greeted him with friendly courtesy, and then proceeded
to tell them that Captain De Noailles had already
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sent a messenger to inform her husband of the intended
expedition.
"It is enough, my child! A soldier is ever at the service
of his country ! " said Goncalvo, unable to repress a deep
sigh, and taking his wife's hand affectionately in his.
" But, come ! Captain Gordon is hungry, and I myself
am much exhausted," and, preceded by Donna Goncalvo, he
led his guest into the kitchen.
It was a room with a mud floor, one foot higher than the
stable which opened on to it, and which, as the captain was
of course far too poor to keep a horse, was devoted to the
use of a couple of pigs and some chickens, one of which the
mistress of the house had been engaged in plucking when
they arrived. In the centre of the room v as a flat stone,
which served as a fire-place, with an immense extinguisher-
shaped wooden chimney suspended from the roof above it,
and a capacious covered earthenware pot was standing
among the red-hot embers. Through an open door at the
end of the room Ian could see a small plot of cabbages,
that recalled the hale-yard of his native country, and in
this were two little boys whose angry voices showed that
they were quarrelling, though they reproached each other
in the courteous terms peculiar to the Portuguese, but
which sound rather comical to an Englishman.
" Tour worship is cheating !" cried one.
" Not so! Your worship has stolen my marble,"
retorted the other.
" Your worship tells a lie."
The little " worship" thus addressed replied with a slap,
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129
and Donna Gon9alvo, crying "Manuel! Manuel! " darted
out and separated the combatants, and led them, both
looking very flushed and angry, into the house.
"You naughty boy! How dare you slap him!" said
she to her son while she soothed the other little fellow
who was just beginning to cry j but Manuel, directly he
caught sight of Ian, left his mother and ran up to him.
" I am so glad you are come," said he. " You haven't
been for such a long time."
" Ha Manuel! what hast thou been doing my boy," said
his father, reprovingly. Come ! make friends with Miguel,
or Captain Cordon won't talk to you."
The boy looked enquiringly at Ian, and on being told by
the latter that he should come and sit on his knee when he had
done as his father told him, went and made peace with his
little friend; and the party then sat down to an excellent
' stew, composed of a chicken, rice, beans, bread and a little
water, which they washed down with draughts of the rough,
wholesome, country wine.
" Captain De Noailles was here yesterday evening," said
Donna Gongalvo. " He has a handsome face, do you not
think so Captain Gordon, though at times he looks very
melancholy ? "
"I do not agree with you, my dear," cried her husband,
who, though very affectionate, was very jealous, and could
not bear to hear his wife admire anybody. " I do not
consider him handsome at all. At times his face has an
almost forbidding expression. He is a strange man. One
day he is all gaiety and good humour, the next he is as
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morose as a bear. It is my belief he has some secret—
some strange secret! "
" Nonsense, Manuel, everybody varies. You do yourself,"
said his wife. " And remember, he is a great friend of Cap-
tain Gordon's."
" I own I like him very much, Donna Gomjalvo," said Ian,
laughingly. " And I can't think why your husband does
not. He will in time. He is such a good fellow ! "
Goncalvo shook his head, and filled his glass. " Humph,
I think not," said he.
" Captain De Noaiiles is a funny man," remarked little
Manuel, gravely.
He had now taken his favourite position on Ian's knee,
and was examining his curly fair hair very attentively.
"Why, ManuelP" asked Ian, smiling.
" Because he has got a quite yellow skin, like other hair,
under his black hair."
" Manuel, by accident, pulled off Captain De Noaiiles'
peruke last night," said his father, as they all laughed at
this description. " I must say it struck me as rather odd
that he should have fair hair, for he tells me he is a native
of Gascony, and my wife says the only fair-haired people in
Trance come from Brittany."
" Captain De Noaiiles didn't like me for that," observed
Manuel, reflectively.
"No. He gave you a box on the ear, which you richly
deserved," said his mother, smiling in spite of herself.
" Captain Ian, I'll tell you another thing why Captain De
Noaiiles is a funny man," continued the boy, stroking his
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friend's face. Gordon had taught him to call him by that
name, on account of its pleasant associations with his native
Scotland.
*" Well, what is it, my boy ? " said he.
" He hates mother's ribbons. They make him look yellow
and fierce," answered Manuel, pointing to a cherry-coloured
ribbon round his mother's neck, from which a cross was
suspended.
" Nonsense, Manuel! I won't have you speak like that of
Captain De Noailles," said Donna Gon^alvo, sharply.
" It is true though, Captain Gordon, that he did say he
disliked the colour," added she. "Many people have such
fancies, but I myself—listen ! there is some one knocking.
I must see who it is," and she rose and went to the door.
"Who can that be, I wonder," said her husband, and his
question was soon answered by the return of Donna Gon-
9alvo, accompanied by a strongly-built, rather thickset man,
a little over the middle height, with a remarkably handsome
and attractive face, though his large grey eyes had a some-
what melancholy expression, which was increased by the
contrast of his black peruke.
" Captain De Noailles has come to look for you, Captain
Gordon," said the lady, with a rather heightened colour and
a side glance of amusement-at Ian, while her husband re-
turned the cordial greeting of the new comer with a stiff bow.
"I've been telling Captain Ian what a funny—"began
the irrepressible Manuel, when his mother, hurriedly taking
him off Ian's knee, whispered to him to be quiet directly, and
go and play in the garden with Miguel.
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" He has bored you long enough, Captain Gordon," said
she, apologetically.
" Ha, my little friend, I have brought thee a peace-offer-
ing !" said De Noailles, kindly patting him on-the head and
giving him a packet of bon-bons, which the boy took with
much gratitude. " But, remember, do not pull gentlemen's
perukes about again. They don't like it."
Yes; I saw you didn't like me for that!" said Manuel,
nodding his head sagaciously.
"Hush, child! It's very kind of you, Captain De Noailles,"
said Donna Go^alvo.
"Not at all, Madame! It was unkind of me to be sharp
with the little fellow," answered De Noailles with a low bow.
" But I must not forget my errand, which I am sorry to say
is not a pleasant one," added he. " I come to tell you, Cap-
tain Gomjalvo, and you also Gordon, that Count La Lippe
has issued orders that we are to start an hour before mid-
night instead of early to-morrow morning."
CHAPTER XI.
a bkush with the enemy.
Fbom time immemorial the inhabitants of the Province
of Beira, a mountainous, barren country, chiefly devoted to
pasture land, but also yielding iron, coal, and marble, have
been famous for their courage and endurance. History tells
us how these shepherds, under the leadership of Viriathus,
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133
for fourteen years successfully resisted the Romans, and
defeated even the great Pompey himself; and it was in Beira
that the Portuguese regiments, whose soldierly qualities won
the praises of Wellington during the Peninsula War, were
raised, and in which the best Portuguese regiments are now
recruited. It was also chiefly through the valour of this
hardy race of bare-legged peasants, whose sole head-dress is
their unkempt hair, and whose only garment, for both sexes,
is their hooded gaberdine of brown cloth, that the Spaniards
experienced their first defeat in their, till then, successful
invasion of Portugal in 1762.
A body of some 2,000 of these peasant soldiers, armed
with every conceivable weapon, from matchlocks and
swords to clubs and the quarterstaffs, which, even lately,
were as much used by the Portuguese as by our own
English ancestors, had assembled in the neighbourhood of
S. Joao do Pesqueira, some forty-five miles distant from
Oporto, on the southern bank of the Douro river. Their
position commanded a point at which it had been ascer-
tained that the Spaniards, who, as has been said, had
already made themselves masters of a considerable portion
of the province of Traz-oz-Montes, on the north bank,
intended crossing' the river, and the force commanded by
Colonel Lee had been dispatched by Count La Lippe to aid
in preventing this. Should the enemy succeed in their
object, they would be enabled to effect a junction with the
second Spanish army, which had taken the important
fortress of Almeida, and occupied the lower portion of
Beira, known as Castel Branco, and then bear down in
force on Oporto.
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The narrow, craggy valleys through which the Douro
flows, were well adapted to the task assigned to the English
commander. The Spaniards, with their artillery and well
disciplined troops, were far too formidable an enemy to be
faced in the open by his raw, untrained levies, and he
therefore decided not to attempt to hinder their passage,
but to allow them to enter the pass leading to San Joao do
Pesqueira, and attack them when they were entangled in
its defiles. Two small guns had been placed so as to
command the pass, which he had lined with sharpshooters
and peasants, who, well accustomed to this kind of warfare,
could hurl down crags and other such missiles on the
enemy. A picked body of the mountaineers, who, like the
highlanders of Scotland, were most formidable when fight-
ing at close quarters, and the English infantry were reserved
for a final charge, when the unexpected attack should have
thrown the enemy into confusion. The Portuguese regulars
were not considered sufficiently trustworthy to be used in
this assault, and were, therefore, merely assigned the
duties of riflemen. The nature of the ground rendered the
use of cavalry almost impracticable, and it was justly
concluded, that, should the Spaniards bring any into
action, they would prove a hindrance rather than a help to
them in the pass.
The bright August day was drawing to a close when
Colonel Lee, haviug reconnoitred the ground, was explain-
iug his plans to his two English subalterns, and De Noailles
and Gordon. The point at which his spies had told him the
Spaniards might be expected to cross the river was about
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135
half a mile above its junction with its tributary, the Tuela,
where the stream flowed in a deep broad basin, terminating
at each end in a narrow precipitous defile. On the south
side, occupied by Colonel Lee's force, the landing place was
not much broader than the mouth of the pass itself, which
was some 300 yards in width. On the north bank,
however, the hills terminated on both sides in a level
green valley, at the entrance of which was a small village,
and a flat pebble beach offered great facilities for em-
barkation. The Colonel's preparations seemed to promise
every success, and the party were turning to leave the
height on which they were standing, when an idea of render-
ing their attack more decisive suddenly struck Ian.
" If a force were placed in concealment in those woods
above the valley on the opposite bank it might make a very
effective flank attack on the enemy if we had once thrown
him into confusion, Colonel Lee," said he.
"If!" answered the Colonel, smiling. "We must not
holloa before we are out of the wood."
" It would be surely unwise to split up our small force,"
observed one of his subalterns.
" Pardon me, Colonel," said De Noailles. " But I think
Captain Gordon's suggestion an excellent one. I think
there is little probability that the Spaniards will persist in
trying to proceed up the pass when they find we are occupy-
ing it with such advantages of position, and an attack made
on their flank while they are in disorder might deal them
a crushing blow."
" And how are we to cross ? " asked the Colonel.
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" By the ford," replied De Noailles.
" True. I had forgotten that. You mean the one beyond
the point below which the peasantry told us about. I
wonder it escaped the notice of the Spaniards."
" It is plain that it has done so," said one of the English
officers, " or they would not have got all those boats to cross
with.''
"Yes; I think we may feel pretty sure of that," said
Colonel Lee.
" Well, I think your plan is a good one, Captain Gordon,
and another advantage of it would be that, as you would
command a view of the whole valley from your position, you
could communicate with us by signal on the approach of the
enemy. I will let you have one of the Portuguese com-
panics and 300 of the peasantry. More I could not spare."
"Very well, Colonel," answered Ian. "Then I suppose
we had better start to take up our position without loss of
time."
" Certainly," answered the Colonel, and the party re-
turned at once to the camp. The necessary troops having
been selected, Ian marched them by a circuitous path
over the mountains, and crossing by a ford not much below
the mouth of the Tuela, to which they were guided by one
of the peasants, climbed the hills on the opposite side, and
disposed his men in skirmishing order among the cork
woods which clothed their summit and sides. He then, in
company with Gongalvo and one of the peasant leaders,
took his post at a point where they could see the whole of
the valley.
JAN ROY.
137
It was about an hour after sunrise and he was beginning
to feel somewhat drowsy when, with a sudden exclamation,
the peasant laid his hand on his arm and pointed down the
valley. Ian gazed long and fixedly but could see nothing
save that the mist which still shrouded everything seemed
remarkably thick at a certain point.
" I see nothing," he said, but almost as he spoke a bright
flash of light gleamed right across the mass of grey at the
head of the valley, and as suddenly disappeared.
"You are right," said Ian, "it is the enemy. Did you
not see that sudden light, Gongalvo ? It was the sun
striking the bayonets."
" The enemy," cried the worthy captain, who had never
been, or indeed ever contemplated being, in action before.
" Now may Saint Senhorina and the blessed Saint Manuel
preserve us !—I mean may all the Blessed Saints be praised,"
and though he did his best to assume a ferocious and
martial air, his face became visibly paler.
" Ah, Captain Gordon," continued he presently, in
rather a faltering voice. " At times like these thoughts of my
Maria and the little Manuel cannot but rise in my heart."
"No doubt," answered Ian, smothering an uncom-
plimentary expression regarding poor Gongalvo's Maria
and little Manuel, which was prompted by the fact that
the Portuguese had mentioned this interesting fact at least
a dozen times before. "But a soldier must think of
nothing but his orders. Go quickly to the point yonder
and wave this red scarf, till you see another waved from
Colonel Lee's camp in reply."
138
IAN ROT.
Captain Go^alvo went off somewhat reluctantly to give
this signal of the enemy's approach, and Ian and the chief
proceeded to inspect their men, after which they all three
returned to their post of observation.
As the sun rose higher and higher, the approaching
force became as clearly visible to those on the opposite
side as to Ian and his companions, and presently half-a-
dozen big boats suddenly came round the point above.
Each had three soldiers on board and was worked by four
boatmen, and each in turn was moored beside the pebbly
beach in front of the little hamlet.
Some of the villagers were beginning to drive their
sheep and cattle out to pasture, and a few women were
standing at the doors of their cottages enjoying the sun-
shine, and idly watching a little knot of children at play
on a broad stretch of grass in front of the houses, in the
middle of which stood a big wooden cross. The centre of
the river—which for the whole of its course through Por-
tugal is famed for its clearness and purity—glittered like
silver between the two broad wavering belts of shadow on
either side, and the peaks and sides of the rocky precipitous
hills, still half-hidden in mist, on which the Portuguese
main force lay in ambush, were gilded by the bright
morning light. A faint murmur from the village below,
and the pleasant voices of the birds in the woods, were
the only sounds which broke the silence around till, as
they came gradually nearer, the measured tramp of the
Spanish troops and the orders of their officers were borne
distinctly to Ian and his companions.
IAN ROT.
139
"Holy Virgin!" cried Captain Gon^alyo, in alarm.
" They have artillery, and cavalry also! We are lost;
we are. lost! The saints preserve us!" and he crossed
himself piously.
The peasant chief turned and looked at him with a grin
of contempt.
" Goncalvo, you are no better than a woman ! " growled
Tan. "The guns will be ours before noon; and if you
bear yourself like a man you will ride home on one of
those horses when we have left their riders to the kites
and crows. Remember that you are a Portuguese officer,
and fighting for your country ! "
"A Portuguese officer truly, my Captain!" said poor
Gon9alvo. "A most unhappy—I mean, a most glorious
privilege ! But recollect also that I am a family man, and
that thoughts of Maria and "
"Por Heaven's sake, have done with your thoughts,
man !" cried Ian, losing patience. " See they are
beginning to cross the river !"
The Spanish force, which consisted of about 5,000 in-
fantry, six guns, and a squadron of dragoons, had now
halted, and was being embarked by detachments in the
boats. Hot a sign of any living thing was visible on the
opposite bank, and the few peasants remaining in the
village lounged down to the river and watched the pro-
ceedings of their hereditary enemies with careless apathy.
Hone, looking at their half-stupid, half-wondering faces,
could have guessed that each carried weapons under his
blouse which he was patiently waiting for the opportunity
of using.
140
IAN ROY.
About half the infantry had been carried over the river
and formed up into line. Four of the guns had been safely
taken over, and a troop of horse and another detachment of
infantry had followed them. The officer riding at the head
of the force had given the word to advance, and. the troops
had moved some little distance np the pass, when, just as
those left on the opposite bank were preparing to embark,
the report of a single musket rang through the clear air,
and was echoed again and again from the rocks. The
officer, with his outstretched arm grasping his sword, fell
back dead; his horse reared up wildly, and then galloped
riderless down the ravine; and before the wondering
Spaniards, looking around on every side, could tell whence
the shot came, the fire of two guns, a terrific volley of
musketry, and a perfect hailstorm of rocks and stones poured
upon them from all sides.
The attack was so sudden and unexpected, that for a
moment the whole force was thrown into confusion. Then
after a time, the officers were seen trying to restore order;
the cavalry were rapidly re-embarked, and began re-crossing
the river amidst a shower of bullets ; the guns unlimbered,
and the infantry began to return the fire of their unseen
assailants. They had hardly fired a couple of rounds, how-
ever, when, with a terrific yell, that seemed to come from
the bosom of the rocks, a dense mass of Beira peasants
poured down from both sides of the pass, and fell upon the
Spanish troops. Animated by deadly hatred of their
hereditary enemies, perfect strangers to fear, and fired with
the love of battle which is inherent in their race, their fierce
IAN ROT.
141
assault was irresistible. The Spaniards were driven with
tremendous slaughter pell-mell to their boats, leaving their
guns behind them, and their confusion was rendered greater
when the English infantry were seen coming down the pass
at the double.
The enemy, however, had managed to get half their
cavalry and a strong body of infantry in safety to the other
side, and with their two remaining guns were beginning to
fire upon the disordered mass of the peasantry with terrible
effect. As the ammunition of the latter was almost
exhausted, they might still, owing to their superior
numbers, have effected an orderly retreat, or perhaps
even have turned the fortune of the day, had not
Ian wisely chosen this opportunity for bringing his
force into action. Advancing his men through the
woods, he began opening fire on the enemy. Though,
however, this had the effect of alarming them and diverting
their attention, he was mortified to find that his men were
at too great a distance to do much execution. He saw
that Colonel Lee had, meantime, despatched a detachment
to cross by the ford he had made use of on the previous
evening, and was also bringing the guns captured from
them to bear upon the Spaniards, and, under cover of
their fire, embarking the rest of the troops in the three
boats, left by the enemy in his possession. The reinforce-
ments crossing by the ford must soon reach him, while his
attack would facilitate the movements of his friends on the
other side of the river, and he therefore determined to
advance with the whole of his little force.
142
IAN ROT.
" We must advance, and charge them, Gongalvo," said
he. " The uniforms of our regiment will perhaps give the
idea that we have more regular troops behind us. Lead
on your men on the right, and let the chief with his
peasants take the left."
"Holy Saint Manuel," cried the Portuguese Captain,
trembling violently, and wildly clutching his sword; " this,
is madness; see, the enemy waver already ! Let us not
sacrifice innocent blood uselessly. . I and my men will
remain as a reserve and join in the pursuit when the foe
are completely routed."
" Great Heavens! Do you dare to disobey my orders,
man ? " thundered Ian. " Forward instantly !"
" Be pitiful, most gracious Captain," quavered the
unfortunate Gongalvo. " Remember that I have a family
dependent on me, and that thoughts of my Maria—"
" The devil take her and you too/' cried Ian almost
beside himself. " Coward ! If you do not go I will make
you;" and he threateningly drew his pistol. " Cannot you
fight for your country, you miserable poltroon ? Shame on
you ! Look at these bare-legged peasants who are dying
to fall on the enemies of Portagal."
Either the taunt or the threat, or perhaps both combined,
had the desired effect.
"I will go, Captain," said the poor fellow, turning
ashy pale. "Remember my Maria and the little Manuel
who is so fond of you, if I fall; I commend them and myself,
to God and the blessed saints ! Forward ! for Portugal! "
he cried, placing himself at the head of his men ; and, led
IAN ROY.
143
by Ian, the whole force left their cover and charged full
upon the flank of the enemy.
Having once made up his mind to face the foe, Gonialvo,
though half beside himself with fear, drew his sword, and
with a shout that was almost a shriek, rushed forward in a
way that astonished, but could not fail to encourage, his
half-hearted soldiers, who were also infected by the spirit
of the courageous Beira peasantry. The Spanish com-
mander seeing this new force bearing down upon him,
gave up the day as lost, and as the English troops and
peasantry were now crossing the river, under cover of the
guns which Colonel Lee had brought into action, he gave
the signal for retreat. The level ground was favourable for
his cavalry, and by means of their repeated charges he was
enabled to draw off his shattered force in some degree of
order, and to check for a few moments the advance of the
British troops alongside of whom, on their crossing, Ian
had formed up his force after driving back the Spaniards.
Soon, however, the whole of their captured guns began
to open fire upon them, and as fresh masses of peasantry,
who had crossed the ford, began to issue from the woods
on their right, Colonel Lee gave the signal for the whole line
to advance. The dragoons now gallantly dashed forward
in a final desperate charge, which threw the Portuguese
infantry for a few minutes somewhat into disorder. Ian,
stepping forward to rally his men, found himself suddenly
surrounded, and, just as he was parrying the sabre cut of
a trooper, he received a blow from behind, which stretched
him senseless. When he came to himself he found that he had
144
IAN ROT.
received a wound in the shoulder, and was being borne along
as a prisoner in the hands of the enemy. The attack of
the combined Portuguese and British force had, in
the meantime, proved irresistible, the former falling on
their ancient foes with terrible ferocity, giving them no
quarter, and, in some cases, committing horrible atrocities
upon the fallen. The retreat had degenerated into a flight,
and the routed Spanish army, after having lost almost two
thirds of its numbers, was hurrying up the valley towards
the town of Torre de Moncorvo, from which it had marched
out in the morning, with probably scarcely any anticipa-
tion of meeting with resistance, and at all events perfectly
confident of success.*
CHAPTEE XII.
"all's well that ends well."
The troop of dragoons, in the centre of which Ian rode as
a prisoner, had been galloping for some two miles in the rear
of the retreating army, which it had been ordered to cover,
when an aide-de-camp, with a message from the Spanish
general, suddenly rode up to the oificer commanding
it. On receiving it the latter immediately ordered his men
to wheel to the left, and, leaving the main body, they
turned up a wooded, narrow road leading across the hills to
the town of Braganza, which had been now for some time in
* See Appendix, Note 5.
IAN ROY.
145
possession of the Spaniards. After they had followed it for
a couple of hours the forest grew gradually less dense, till
at length they emerged into a valley traversed by a small
stream, bordered with pollarded oaks and chestnuts, on
which vines were trained. On each side were orchards
and fields of wheat and rye, and a square solid-looking
farm house stood half-way up the hill. It was now rapidly
growing dark, and the officer ordered his men to halt and
bivouac by the water. A fire was lighted, the horses were
unsaddled and tethered, and the officer and a couple of
troopers rode up to the farm house, and presently returned
followed by a labourer carrying wine skins, bread, and other
provisions.
The man, who evidently did his task unwillingly, and
was treated to a good many oaths by the Spaniards, looked
very fixedly at Ian with an expression which the latter
could not understand; and just as he was going he
managed to stumble against him, and whispered, in a tone
so low as to be heard by him alone, the single word
"courage." A fresh storm of abuse was poured upon him
for his clumsiness, accompanied by a cuff from one of the
troopers, and he retired sullenly up the hill, muttering and
grumbling to himself. He had, however, inspired Ian with
new hope, and he determined to watch through the night
for any chance of escape that might present itself.
After a hearty meal, during which they all did ample
justice to the wine skins, Ian being given a hunch of
black bread and a draught of the rough vinho verde, which,
though sharp and strong enough to take a man's breath
L
146
IAN ROY.
away, is wonderfully invigorating,—the men re-saddled
their horses in readiness for a start, and lay down to sleep
round the fire. Ian was placed between two troopers, who
laid their drawn swords beside them, and indicated to him
by very significant gestures the fate he might expect if he
ventured to move. Their potations, combined with the
fatigues of the day, had the effect that might be expected,
and in a short time all save Ian and the solitary trooper
who kept watch, were sound asleep. As the night wore
on, a thick chilly mist rose from the stream, and after a
time the sentinel, having glanced around to see that all
was safe, stept softly over the slumbering forms of his com-
rades, and sat down to warm himself by the smouldering
embers.
Ian lay watching him, and turning over in his mind
every possible means of eluding the vigilance of his captors.
He had, however, been very securely bound, his shoulder
had begun to feel very painful, and the cold night air
cramped his limbs. He was feeling extremely miserable,
and had just begun to give up all hopes of freeing himself,
when he became suddenly aware of a long dark object
looming through the mist, and creeping noiselessly towards
the sentinel, who was now beginning to nod over the fire.
It seemed to be some creature rather larger than a dog,
and he concluded it must be a wolf, those animals being
then very common in mountainous districts of Portugal.
He was half hesitating whether he should not warn the
man of its approach, when a heavy hand was placed over
his mouth, and the bands round his wrists and feet were
IAN ROT.
147
cut by a long knife. The suddenness of the act so startled
him that he remained motionless, till the Portuguese
herdsman, who had been kneeling over him, had finished
his task, and, as he lay there holding his breath, he could
see that the creeping figure he had been watching had
reached the sentinel, who was now sitting with his arms
folded and his head on his breast. Then, suddenly, a long
shining blade gleamed in the firelight, and the dragoon,
with a heavy groan that startled all his comrades from their
sleep, fell forward, stabbed through the heart.
"Escape! senhor! Escape! Be quick!" cried his
deliverer, pointing to the wooded hill.
Ian jumped to his feet, and snatching up the sword of one
of his guards, who sprang at him with an oath, dealt him a
blow that laid him on the ground. As he did so a loud
shout, that seemed in the darkness to come from all sides at
once, broke the silence of the night, and some score of
peasants, armed with knives and quarterstaffs, rushed in
upon the bewildered Spaniards.
Running to the horse nearest to him, Ian sprang into the
saddle, and set off at a gallop up a grass road branching out
of the one they had been following, which seemed to lead
somewhat in the direction of the Portuguese camp. As he
breasted the hill a couple of shots came whizzing past him,
one of which grazed his leg, and a turn of the road saved
him from a third, which passed harmlessly among the
branches above. When he reached the summit and got
out of the mist it became lighter, and he found that the
road divided into two, one of which went straight down
148
IAN ROT.
the hill and was so thickly over-arched by the boughs of
trees as to be almost pitch dark, while the other, a broader
one, was quite open and seemed to lead round the hillside.
He could still hear shots and cries which told that the
conflict below was not yet oyer, and the darkness of the
former seemed to offer the best chance of escape in spite of
its steepness, so he galloped down it at breakneck speed.
Though he had been accustomed to the saddle from
boyhood, and had ridden oyer many rough places in his
native country, he would probably have hesitated before
taking this road had he seen it, for it was almost
perpendicular, and, being merely a track made by the wood-
cutters for the purposes of their calling, was covered with
snags and pieces of fallen timber. Somehow or other,
however, he managed to reach the bottom in safety, and
turned into a road leading for some miles along a valley,
till, just as dawn was breaking, he found himself on the
bank of a river, which, though he did not know it, was
the Tuela. A fairly broad road led up through some
meadows on the opposite bank, and that which he was
following seemed to trend too much in the direction he had
left to be safe. The water seemed tolerably shallow, and
the place looked somewhat as if it had been at some-
time used for a ford, and as he was now much exhausted, and
his wounds were becoming very painful, he determined to
try and put the riyer between him and all chance of pursuit.
Though an unexpected hole, into which he plunged when he
was about two-thirds of the way over, carried his horse off
its feet, he succeeded in gaining the opposite shore, and
IAN ROY.
149
after passing through the meadows found himself in a large
pine forest. His horse now began to stumble and show
other unmistakable signs of being " done to a turn," and
he was feeling quite faint from cold, fatigue, and loss of
blood. He seemed quite safe, at all events for the present,
and after riding for a mile or so through the forest he
dismounted, and having secured his horse, lay down to rest
beneath the trees.
The sun had now fully risen, and streaming through the
sombre foliage, made irregular pathways of gold through
the dark avenues. The fresh morning air was fragrant
with the scent of the pine needles, and the varied notes of
blackbirds, jays, and magpies, and the mysterious tapping
of a woodpecker in the tree above him began to break the
hitherto monotonous silence of the forest. As he lay
basking in the pleasant warmth an irresistible feeling of
drowsiness came over him, and in a few moments he was
sound asleep.
" Louvado seja Mosso Senhor Jesus Ghristo."
Ian opened his eyes and found himself sitting up, and
staring at a burly, rough, but kindly-looking man standing
in front of him, whose blackened face, wood axe, and dress,
showed that he was a charcoal burner. Four other men.
who evidently followed the same occupation, were standing
a little behind him and looking at Ian with mingled com-
passion and wonder. At all events he had fallen among
friends.
" Louvado seja Mosso Senhor Jesus Christo ! " (praised
150
IAN ROY.
be Jesus Christ our Lord!) repeated the man kindly in a
deep, gruff, bass voice.
" Amen!" answered Ian, to whom this pious greeting
sounded strange enough, though it is still pretty common
in the remoter parts of Portugal, and is replied to by the
words, " E para sempre seja louvado !" (" and praised for
ever and ever !")
" Amen !" said he again for want of a better answer, and
feeling strangely dazed and weak. Then he tried to rise to
his feet, but as he did so a sharp spasm of pain passed
through his shoulder, and he fell back insensible.
When he came to himself, he was being carried by the
charcoal-burners through the forest. His shoulder and leg
were both very painful, and he felt quite unable to move.
A wood owl suddenly darted from an ivy-covered tree close
by, and brushed past close to his face, causing him to start
and to give vent to an exclamation of surprise, which made
his bearers laugh. Then a sudden darkness seemed to
come over everything, and when he opened his eyes again
he was lying on a low pallet in a room not unlike those in
the better class of farms in his own country, and a priest
and two ladies were standing by him.
" I must be dreaming !" said he as he gazed at them in
astonishment.
One of the ladies nodded to him with a laugh.
" You must not talk, Monsieur Gordon," said she.
" It is Donna Isabel!'' cried Ian, raising himself on his
arm, but the effort gave him so much pain that he fell
back with a groan and closed his eyes.
IAN ROY.
151
When he awoke the twilight was beginning to fall, and he
could just see through the window opposite his bed that the
sky was still stained with the faint hues of a brilliant
sunset. The ladies had gone, but the priest was still by bis
side. He felt a great deal stronger and clearer in his
head, and it no longer seemed an effort to speak or move,
though he was still conscious of the pain of his wounds.
" Where am I, Senhor Padre? " he asked.
" You are in my house, Senhor. I am the priest of this
parish. You were brought here yesterday afternoon by
some charcoal-burners, who found you lying in the forest.
You are evidently getting better now. Drink this," and he
gave him a cup containing some cordial, which Ian drank
with a good deal of satisfaction.
" And the two ladies I saw just now ?'' he asked. "Was
that Donna Isabel de Melho whom I spoke to ? "
"Yes. She and her sister, the Countess De Yougny,
who came here this morning, on their way to Villa Teira,
are good enough sometimes to make a resting-place of my
poor house. On hearing you were a Portuguese officer,
and also evidently a foreigner, they were curious to see
you, and at once recognised you, apparently as an old
acquaintance. You are English ? "
" I am Scotch, which is perhaps much the same thing.
Did you say they were going to Villa Teira ? "
"Yes. They have lived there since they returned from
Prance in the early part of the year. They propose to
take you there to-morrow.''
" To take me to Villa Teira ? "
152
IAN ROY.
"Yes. If you are fit to move, of course."
Ian lay silent for a while thinking over this strange
meeting. Then he asked the priest if he had heard any
news of the battle. He replied that it was reported to
have been a great victory, and that the Spaniards had
evidently experienced a decided check in their progress;
and Ian then proceeded to tell him his adventures till the
padre at last bade him leave off talking, and giving him
some more cordial, left him to go to sleep.
Next morning the priest entered his room with the two
ladies, and Ian was enabled to express his gratitude to
the trio.
"You owe your best thanks to the good charcoal-burners,
and not to us, Monsieur Gordon," said Donna Isabel.
"It is true," answered he. "Will you kindly give them
whatever money you may find in the leather bag I wear
round my neck, Senhor Padre ? " said he.
"Iam sorry to say the Spaniards have already eased you
of that," replied the priest, smiling.
" Do not trouble yourself about that, Monsieur Gordon,"
said the Countess. " We have seen to that. You think,
then, that he is fit to start, Senhor Padre? "
" Certainly I think so," answered the worthy priest; and
in a short time, after having bidden him adieu with
renewed thanks, Ian was placed in a mule litter. The
two ladies entered another, and, their attendants having
mounted their horses, the party set out on their journey.
Towards evening the travellers descended into a broad
fertile valley, watered by a rapid shallow river which
IAN ROY.
153
flowed, in a series of small waterfalls, over a pebbly bed
full of huge boulders, and terminating in a lofty precipitous
mountain, on the crest of which the battlemented walls and
towers of a town stood out in strong relief against the clear
bright sky.
" What is the name of that place, Donna Isabel ? " asked
Ian, struck by its imposing appearance.
" That," answered she, with a smile, " is Villa Teira,
where you are going to stay till you are well and strong
enough to fight again for Portugal."
CHAPTEE XIII.
at villa teira.*
The house of Donna Lafoens D'Almeida, the aunt with
whom the Countess De Vougny and her sister were living,
occupied nearly the whole of one side of the chief praca,
or square of Villa Teira, which stands on a range of hills
overlooking on one side the fertile province of South
Minho, on the confines of which it is situated, and on the
other the more barren and mountainous one of Traz-oz
Montes. The town was entirely surrounded by ,broad
ramparts, planted with trees which made them a lounge in
summer, and all who entered or left it, had to pass through
one of the two massive gateways at its eastern and
western extremities, in front of which sentries were always
* See Appendix. Note 6.
154
IAN ROT
nominally at least, on duty. One of its two churches, a
long, broad, low-roofed building, with a lofty tower, and,
according to tradition, once a cathedral, as well as many of
its granite-walled houses, were undoubtedly built towards
the end of the thirteenth century ; but despite its antiquity,
and its natural and artificial defensive strength, Villa
Teira had never been a place of any importance, though
at the time we are writing of it was the chosen residence of
two or three other families of the same rank as the
Almeidas.
The houses of all these had been built during that period
of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when the riches
of India and Brazil poured into Portugal in an apparently
inexhaustible flood. Though to a certain extent lovers of
sport and fine scenery, the Portuguese have never shared
our English liking for the solitude of a country life, and
the numerous captains and adventurers who then returned
to their native land, after years of absence, with enormous
fortunes, frequently spent them in building residences, that
were often almost palaces in size, in remote country towns.
Hence it came about that the grandfather of the widowed
Donna Almeida's husband, who was not an obscure citizen,
like many of his contemporary adventurers, but the cadet of
an ancient though impoverished family of the untitled
noblesse, known in Portugal as "fidalgos de provincial had
laid out a great part of the wealth he had amassed in India
on the large handsome building and beautiful gardens of
which she now enjoyed the use. His son, her husband, had
prospered still further, and become the owner of a fine
IAN ROT.
155
house in Oporto, in which she had lived with him till,
disappointed in his hopes of obtaining some office from
his great kinsman the Marquis of Pombal, he had
retired in disgust to Villa Teira. She was a timid,
romantic, good-natured lady, proud of the remains
of a beauty said to have been formerly considerable,
sociable, and fond of gossip. After her husband's death
she had found life in her big, lonely house very sad and
wearisome, for her only daughter was married, and lived
in Lisbon. She was, therefore, delighted when her two
nieces, of whom she had always been fond, elected to leave
France to come and live with her, and she devoted herself
almost entirely to looking after them with an affection that
was perhaps sometimes a little irksome, and doing her best
to amuse them.
Ian found her kindness itself, and her house the
pleasantest of quarters. He was looked upon by the house-
hold as a wounded hero suffering in the cause of Portugal
against the hated Spaniards, and received from his fair
hostesses an amount of tender care highly flattering to his
feelings. Villa Teira was far removed from all fear of
attack, the military duties of the few soldiers in the town
were of the easiest possible description, and when the
eight o'clock morning mass was over, all the civilians
seemed to relapse into a state of dreamy apathy till the
following day. After their walk to church, the women
were seldom seen in the streets, and devoted themselves
chiefly to gossip, needlework, and looking out of
window, while the chief occupation of a large portion
156
IAN ROY.
of the men seemed to consist in standing in groups at
the street corners, and discussing trifles in the sunshine
with umbrellas over their heads. The lazy, contented
atmosphere of the place seemed delightfully soothing to
Ian when he reached it as a. helpless invalid, nor could
he shake off its influence as he got stronger. A charming
middle-aged lady, and two lovely young ones, were always
ready to minister to his wants, or to make an attentive
audience whenever he felt inclined to talk, and all their
friends and dependents seemed equally disposed to make
much of him. There was no tiresome bugle to disturb
him in the morning, no tedious duty to perform, no dis-
agreeable male creature to irritate him by criticism or
contradiction. If he was lazy, he could lounge or sit in the
sunshine in pleasant gardens where fountains played all day
long, and the camellia, and poinsettia, and white datura grew
as large as apple trees, and groves of oranges, and lemons,
and mulberries took the place of the stunted, weather-beaten
orchards of his native land. If he felt more actively
inclined, he could wander among the fertile valleys of the
Minho province, full of clear streams, and rich in vineyards,
waving fields of maize, and woods alive with birds ; where
the shepherds and milkmaids, and the girls and young men
who laboured in the fields, sang to each other over their
work in the sunshine all day long, and where in the
long summer evenings the inhabitants in every village
assembled to dance the bolero, or witness a musical contest
with some rival hamlet, or listen to the music of the
guitars. This bright, joyous, careless life seemed to Ian in
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157
his present lazy mood the perfection of happiness, and he
began to look on duty, ambition, and military glory as he
did on the bold, wild scenery of the neighbouring province
of Traz-oz-Montes, where the rocky crags of the precipitous
mountains were covered with a wealth of lichen growth,
the variety and colour of which it is almost impossible to
describe, a country equally near to Villa Teira, but to reach
which he had to descend steep incliues and climb lofty
summits, a country which was also somewhat lonely, and
the inhabitants of which, like most mountaineers, though
honest, kindly, and courageous, were somewhat rough and
unceremonious. " You must stay at Villa Teira till you
are strong and well enough to fight again for Portugal! "
Donna Isabel had said to him ; but though he was now
quite fit for service, and would probably have been very
angry with anyone who ventured to doubt his readiness to
resume it, Villa Teira was so pleasant to him that he
could not make up his mind that he was yet sufficiently
strong and well for the purpose. Since our first parents,
however, were driven from the Garden of Eden, serpents in
some form or other have always managed to find their
way into all earthly paradises, and as it has been mentioned
above that the Countess De Vougny and her sister were
both of them doing their best to spoil "the wounded hero,
who had fought for Portugal," the reader will at once guess
what form the serpent took in this particular case.
The melancholy ending of his engagement to Miss
Drummond, and the sad events which had made him an
owner of property in Scotland, naturally gave him an
158
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increased interest in the eyes of his fair companions: and,
on the other hand, though Ian was fond of assuring him-
self that after his experience of Elspeth he would never
again believe in any of her sex, it was almost impossible
for him to be thrown so much into the society of two
women like the Countess and her sister without feeling, as
time wore on, that gratitude, like pity, may sometimes be
dangerously akin to love.
His acquaintance with Donna Isabel was of much longer
standing than with her sister, while the share she had had
in procuring his liberation from the Bastile naturally called
forth very strong feelings of gratitude on his part. On
the other hand, the Countess, of whom he had seen
next to nothing till now, was in a great measure
indebted to him for her life. It has been truly said that
" he who receives a good turn should never forget it; he
who does one should never remember it;" but it is also
equally true that to many natures giving is so much
more pleasant than receiving that they cannot help feeling
far more kindly disposed to those they have benefited than
to those who have benefited them. So far as his feelings
were concerned, Ian was secretly, perhaps, rather more
drawn towards the elder; but feelings founded on past
events are apt to be very strongly modified, and even to
disappear altogether, under present influences, and the
contrast between the two, both in appearance and character,
made it extremely difficult for him to decide which he really
preferred. As has been said, both were very handsome,
and as men's tastes as to beauty and companionship are
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159
subject to change, and are apt to be dependent on their
temper, their state of health, and a variety of other subtle
causes,—among which some cynics are base enough to
include their dinners—it will be seen that Ian's position
was somewhat dangerous and embarrassing, for it so hap-
pened that both his fair nurses had begun to take a more
tender interest than they were aware of in their good-
looking and interesting patient.
" Donna Isabel," said Ian, one morning, "will you mind
coming here ? "
He was standing at a window looking on to the square,
while his companion, who happened to be the only other
person in the sitting-room, was ostensibly engaged on a
piece of needlework.
" What is it ? " asked she, rising.
" Will you tell me what that extraordinary young man is
doing ? He has been standing there for the last quarter of
an hour, in exactly the same position, for I have watched
him. Is he insane do you think ? "
" Oh ! I see," said she, with a little laugh. " No ! of
course he is not! Do you not see what he is doing ? Don't
you see that lady looking at him from the upper window?"
" Yes, I see the lady certainly, but that does not make
the thing any clearer to me. She evidently agrees with
me that he is out of his mind. See, she is smiling at him."
" But don't you see that he is smiling too ? "
"So he is, upon my word. Good heavens! what a
vacuous smile! He must be half-witted, Donna Isabel,"
and Ian burst out laughing.
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The unconscious object of his amusement was standing
with folded arms, and with his broad-brimmed hat cocked
very much on one side, opposite one of the smaller houses
on the farther side of the road, and gazing intently at one
of the upper windows, from which the lady pointed out by
Donna Isabel was looking down on him.
" He is not at all half-witted I tell you," answered
Donna Isabel, rather indignantly, though she could not
help joining in his laughter. " He is, on the contrary, a
very worthy and sensible young fellow, whom I know very
well. See, she is smiling again. You are really very stupid!
Surely you cau guess what he is doing ? "
"I can't upon my honour."
" He is paying his addresses to that lady."
" What! "
" Paying his addresses to that lady," repeated Donna
Isabel with a laugh, and a blush.
"Paying his addresses," cried Ian in astonishment.
" What an extraordinary mode of doing things. Does he
expect her to throw him down a billet doux ? "
" Certainly not. In broad daylight! That would be
most improper. And she is the last girl to do anything in
bad taste."
" But they can't shout to each other at that distance."
" Of course not. How ridiculous! that would he too
absurd!" said Donna Isabel, biting her lips and trying
hard to look scornful.
"But do they say nothing—do nothing ? "
" Nothing."
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161
" How long will he stand there? "
" I daresay-, for an hour or more. I have known men
stand thus for three hours. It is the custom in Portugal.
That young gentleman has taken up his position opposite
that window now almost every day for the last five months,
and I've no doubt it will soon end in a formal engagement,
for I know she likes him, and the parents approve too.
Tou need not look so incredulous, Captain Gordon ! Some
courtships last for two or three years like this."
" Well, I must say this is the most extraordinary love-
making I ever heard of! " cried Ian, unable to contain his
laughter. " It is too absurd ! "
"No doubt we Portuguese are very stupid people,
Captain Gordon ! " cried his companion, rather piqued at
his merriment, for, with the intolerance which generally
characterizes the true Briton, he was apt to be often a
good deal amused at many foreign customs. "No doubt
we are an extraordinary race ! And of course you are much
wiser in Scotland, and do everything very much better ! "
They were standing together in the embrasure of the
window, and Donna Isabel looked remarkably handsome
as her colour rose and her expressive eyes flashed, half
in anger, at Tan's ridicule of her country. Man is an
imitative animal, and the example of the two absurd
Portuguese lovers in the square, combined probably with
a laudable desire to show how much spperior his own
countrymen were in such matters, doubtless influenced
Ian, as, bending towards her, he took her hand.
" In Scotland we prefer to make our suit at close
quarters, Isabel," said he, tenderly.
M
162
IAN ROY,;
" Thank you, I have no wish to learn how you act in
Scotland, Captain Gordon! " cried she, snatching her hand
away, and flushing scarlet.
"Pardon me, Donna Isabel," began Ian, but at that
moment the Countess De Yougny entered the room, and
put an end to his explanations, and, as soon as he could
decently do so, he beat a retreat.
"Were you quarrelling about anything?" enquired the
Countess.
" Oh, no," answered her sister, with rather a forced
laugh. " He was—he was only abusing Portugal, as he
is so fond of doing; and he made me rather angry, that
is all! "
"You like him, don't you, dear ? "
" Oh, I don't know! I think he is rather selfish, and
extremely conceited, like the rest of his sex ! "
" You are severe on him, Isabel. For my part, I think
he is very honest and very chivalrous. And he is wonder-
fully handsome," said the Countess, with a little sigh.
"No doubt he reciprocates your admiration, my dear!"
replied her sister, rather petulantly, rising to leave the
room.
As she passed the window she could not help glancing
out at the square. The two lovers were still there in
exactly the same position.
" It is certainly a most ridiculous custom ! " said she,
aloud, as she opened the door, and her sister wondered
what she could possibly mean.*
* See Appendix, Note 7.
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163
CHAPTER XIV.
in which hannibal leaves capua.
The little episode above recorded seemed to make a
marked difference in Ian's intercourse with Donna Isabel.
Though he frequently tried to see her by herself in order
to make his peace with her, he noticed that she now con-
trived never to be left alone with him, and, though to all
appearance she had completely forgotten the matter, he
was inwardly aware of a certain constraint in her manner
to him. He observed, too, that she now began to manifest
a great deal of interest, in the prospects of the war, of
which news was regularly sent to the family by their
friends in Oporto, and also suddenly to develop a remark-
ably strong spirit of patriotism.
" Oh that I were a man to fight for Portugal!" she
would exclaim.
" I have no doubt the Spaniards are thankful you are
not, Isabel! " said the Countess, with a smile.
" I would give them plenty of cause to regret it if I were,''
cried her sister, knitting her brow and looking as fierce as
she could. "I would never rest from fighting them while
I had life in my body! "
"Not even if you were wounded, my dear, I suppose? "
"No! Not even if I were wounded, Inez! I would
sooner die on the field of the battle ; yes, indeed I would! "
164
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" Of course; I can quite believe it of you," said the
Countess. "Isn't she a terrible virago, Captain Gordon?"
But Ian, who felt that these little speeches were made
for his benefit, did not seem fully to appreciate their
humour, and as they became more and more frequent he
began to feel very piqued with his fair tormentor.
" She plainly wants to get rid of me, the little
vixen," said he to himself. " Does she think I would not
go at once if I were fit for it? " She is always tormenting
me about something, and fond as I was beginning to be
of her, I shall begin to hate her if she goes on much
longer like this. It's cruel in my invalid state—cruel."
Though in his heart of hearts he knew that Donna
Isabel was right, and that he was now no longer in an
invalid state but, on the contrary, quite strong enough for
active service, it not unnaturally irritated him a good deal
to have the fact so frequently pointed out to him. He
therefore began to retaliate by treating the young lady
with a coolness which proved, though she tried not to
show it, equally galling to her, and at the. same time to
seek consolation more and more in the society of her
sister.
The Countess was a woman who naturally attracted
respectful homage. Men found themselves placed at once
on their best behaviour with her, and delighting in paying
her little attentions, and obeying her orders. Intercourse
with Donna Isabel was very frank and unceremonious,
and meant the interchange of plenty of banter and fun, in
which her companion was allowed, and indeed expected, to
IAN ROT.
165
give as good as he received. People felt at home with her
almost immediately, and soon came to the conclusion that
she was very charming and good-tempered, but probably
had not nearly " so much in her" as they had themselves.
Her sister, on the contrary, talked very little, but what-
ever she said was generally felt to be worth listening to,
and was, moreover, stated in a way that made it seem
more so than it really was. Hence all who knew her—all
men that is, for she was for some reason not very popu-
lar with her own sex—became after a time respectfully
anxious to hear the opinions of this calm, sensible,
beautiful woman, and to place their own in the best
possible light before her. Ian was no exception to the
rule ; Inez De Yougny seemed to him by far the most
beautiful and accomplished woman he had ever met, and
as day after day he spent more and more time in her
society, amidst the pleasant surroundings of Villa Teira,
he found himself yielding more and more to the influence
of her fascinations. And yet for all this there was a some-
thing in the Countess that always seemed to inspire a
secret distrust, and made him constantly mentally compare
her with her sister, who was as open as the day, and whom
it never occurred to anyone to doubt. The result was an
amusing one to the cynical student of human nature, for
while he was constantly refraining from confiding any-
thing to Isabel, lest she should thoughtlessly blurt out
his confidence, he found himself perpetually talking over
some of his most important private affairs with Inez, and
as invariably blaming himself afterwards for his weakness
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in reposing such trust in her. As, however, their intimacy
grew stronger, he could not help seeing that the Countess'
manner to him grew decidedly softer and more tender, while
her sister's became proportionately colder, and then he not
unnaturally began gradually to think that his inward feel-
ing of distrust was baseless, and that he much preferred the
former to the latter.
One afternoon at the beginning of September, as he was
passing through the hall on his way to the garden, he met
Donna Isabel coming out of her aunt's sitting-room on the
ground floor with a packet in her hand, which he knew by
experience contained a budget of news from Oporto. He
had begun to regard these despatches as a kind of storm-
warning, which was" extremely disagreeable to him, and the
sight of this one, therefore, immediately put him on his
mettle towards the young lady who, as he considered, made
such an ill-natured use of their contents. He was about to
show his displeasure by passing on with a cold bow, when
he noticed a certain wistful look in Isabel's eyes, as she
began to ascend the stairs, which made him suddenly
change his mind.
" You have got your favourite packet of news from
Oporto, Donna Isabel," said he, smiling, but inwardly pre-
pared to stand on the defensive,
" Yes ! " answered she. " But I have not yet opened it.
And I shall not tell you its contents, as no doubt it would
make you regret your absence from the army."
Though this perhaps contained the germs of a veiled
reproach, it was said in such a conciliatory tone that Ian
IAN ROY.
167
could not but be mollified by it. It seemed to him a sort
of overture for peace.
4'Confess, Donna Isabel, that you have been getting
heartily tired of me," said he.
" You know that is not true, Captain Gordon."
" At all events you consider that I am quite well enough
now to go and get knocked on the head for the honour and
glory of Portugal, and you want me to go and meet my
fate without delay."
" You know very well that I don't want any such thing,
and it is very unkind of you to say so," said Donna Isabel,
with a suspicion of tears in her voice. " It is hard to be
so misunderstood; but it is not my fault if you wilfully
misunderstand me," continued she, firing up.
" Kay! nay ! Porgive me. I own the fault is quite as
much on my side," cried Ian eagerly. "We have been
too long secretly at war, and if I don't take care you will
be getting to have the same feeling towards me that you
have towards the Spaniards. Let us make peace, Donna
Isabel," and he held out his hand.
The young lady smiled, blushed, hesitated a moment, and
then frowned and put both her own, holding the obnoxious
packet behind her back.
" I don't quite know about peace," said she, roguishly,
looking down on him with an amused consciousness of the
superior position which a person half-way up a flight of
stairs occupies over one at the foot of them. " Will you
come and hear my war news first; and then perhaps we
will talk of peace afterwards ?'
168
IAN ROY.
" I am very sorry I cannot come just now," answered
Ian, reluctantly, and colouring a little. "The fact is I
promised to join your sister in the garden, and I am afraid
she will he waiting for me."
He really felt quite sorry thathehad to keep the appoint-
ment, but he felt bound to do so now.
Donna Isabel very perceptibly changed colour, and bit
her lip.
" Oh, my sister ! Of course. I forgot that it was time
for your evening stroll! Well, no doubt Inez is much
better medicine for an invalid soldier than my war news,"
and without waiting for a reply, she turned abruptly and
ran upstairs to her room.
"What a touchy little lady it is," said Ian to himself, as
he turned away and went into the garden. "There is
really no getting on with her. And how pretty she looked
standing there ! Just as she used to look in Paris when
she was bantering me about Elspeth. But she is like the
rest of her sex, and not worth the snap of a finger. Now,
Inez is very different," and he made his way to a part of
the grounds where he and the Countess had somehow found
themselves meeting pretty often of late.
It was the end of a long, sloping, grassy avenue of cork
trees, that terminated in a plateau looking down on a deep
winding valley, shut in on both sides by precipitous cliffs,
beyond which lay the wild mountainous country of
Traz oz-montes. The trees here formed a circle, and in
the centre of the green turf was a small fountain, orna-
mented with urns and statues, beside which were seats com-
manding a view of the surrounding landscape.
IAN ROT.
169
As he approached her, he saw that the Countess, who
was seated in one of these, was apparently absorbed in
contemplation of the splendid hues with which the setting
sun had painted the distant horizon beyond the mountains.
Her thoughts seemed so far away, her attitude and expres-
sion so fully in harmony with the scene, and the whole
made such a lovely picture, that for a moment Ian hesitated
to disturb her, and he was startled when, without turning,
she said—
"I thought Captain Gordon prided himself on never
keeping ladies waiting.''
"Ton heard me coming then? Even over this soft
turf?"
" Oh yes, I knew quite well you were coming ; I suppose
my sense of hearing is really wonderfully acute. But what
has kept you ? "
" I met your sister just as I was leaving the house."
" Oh ! my sister!" said the Countess, with just the
slightest possible touch of pique.
"Yes. Donna Isabel was brimful of the last news from
Oporto, and I tried to make my peace with her; but of
course, as usual, without success."
" Poor Isabel! she is terribly patriotic certainly, and
terribly straightforward. But I don't understand why you
should talk of making peace."
" Oh, I was only joking of course," said he, seating
himself beside her. "But tell me, my dear Countess,
seriously now, are you not getting very weary of my
charming society ? "
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"Weary! But of course you want me to flatter your
vanity, my dear friend, which I have no intention of doing,
by saying something about what a pleasure it is to us all to
have you here. Well, then, I am weary, if you will have
it so."
" No, I am most serious, I assure you; and I really feel
certain that whatever you may kindly say on the contrary,
Donna Isabel, at all events, thinks it is time I took my
departure.''
" Nonsense ! Tou must not mind Isabel ; she is always
teazing some one. And besides, have you already forgotten
what you told me only last evening? But of course men
are all alike ! "
" You know I would never leave you, Inez, if I had my
will," cried Ian impetuously, bending over her.
"Hush," said she, drawing slightly away from ,him
with rather a wicked smile, " I was only joking. And
remember, please, that I never gave you leave to call me
Inez."
Ian murmured something rather incoherently about being
carried away by his devotion.
" Show me that silly bit of ribbon again to which you
attach so much importance," said the Countess rather
imperiously, and taking no notice of his remark.
" You also condescend to be interested in it then," said
Ian, and he obediently drew from his breast the bow'of
cherry-coloured ribbon over which he had sworn so fiercely
to avenge his companion on the night when they were both
first introduced to the reader.
IAN ROY.
171
" And you have really kept it all this time," said the
lady. " That certainly shows great devotion on your part.''
" I shall keep it till I keep my vow," cried he.
" But will you ever find him 1"
" I will find him before I die, and dip this ribbon in his
blood."
" How terrible," said she, covering her face with her
small white hands. It is probable that a disinterested
observer would have read more of amusement than horror
in her dark eyes could he have seen them. "How terrible!
And then ? "
" And then may not the knight claim the reward of his
valour, after he has waited so patiently for it ? " cried Ian
eagerly, drawing closer to her.
" The reward ! And you will have the patience to wait
for it till then," and she let her hands fall in her lap, and
turned her beautiful face towards him with a look he could
not mistake.
"Inez," he cried, folding her in his arms, when a horrible
wild cry from the wood on their right, made them both start
to their feet.
""Who was that," cried Ian, and, as if in answer to his
question, the uncanny form of a shriek owl flew over their
heads across the avenue.
" That hideous bird! It quite frightened me," said the
Countess, trying rather unsuccessfully to laugh. "But
see," added she with a start, "there is Isabel coming
towards us in a tremendous hurry ! What can she want?"
And presently her sister, who had taken a short cut through
172
IAN ROY.;
the woods, stood beside them, quite out of breath with the
speed at which she had come.
" I am sorry to disturb such a pleasant tete-a-tete," said
she, with a slight suspicion of malice in her voice," but
there is such glorious news that I could not resist comiDg
to tell it you. And there is also a letter for you, Captain
Gordon, which I forgot to give you."
Ian coloured deeply as he took it from her. Though he
knew that she could not have witnessed the tender passage
she had interrupted, he somehow fell ashamed of himself
as he looked at her honest face, and as the sisters stood
there together all his distrust of the Countess suddenly
revived in him.
" And what is the glorious news that has so excited you,
Isabel 1" asked the latter rather sarcastically.
" It is that we have gained a glorious victory at Valencia
de Alcantara,'' answered her sister.
"Bravo! that is good news," cried both the hearers
together.
" Yes ; General Burgoyne made a forced march of five
days, and, in spite of all sorts of disappointments and
obstacles, took the town by surprise, capturing the general
who was to have commanded the army intended to invade
Alemtejo, besides some twenty other officers, and entirely
destroying one of the best regiments in the Spanish service."
" Peste ! And I was not there ! " cried Ian savagely.
" Donna Isabel, you ought to have been a soldier," and he
looked with a very unmistakable admiration at her flushed
face aDd sparkling eyes.
IAN ROY.
173
"But for this victory the Spaniards would probably
have been now on their way to Lisbon," continued
the enthusiastic young lady.
" And I was not there, malediction ! I was not there,"
repeated Ian, with an angry gesture, " But it was my own
fault. Yes; it serves me right. Pardon me, ladies; I
must read this letter at once," and he tore it open and
began to peruse it eagerly, while his companions stood
watching his face with a good deal of interest.
" This settles the question," said he at length, "Donna
Isabel, you will be relieved to hear that I must rejoin the
army at once, and shall leave this to-morrow morning."
" To-morrow ! " exclaimed both ladies together.
"Yes, to-morrow; and as early as possible. I feel I
have trespassed on your kind hospitality too long."
" No no," cried Donna Isabel, eagerly, "you must not go
so soon! You surely are not fit for it."
" It is terribly short notice ! Must you really go 1" said
the Countess.
" I must indeed. There is no question about it. I have
already stayed much longer than I ought to have done, and
but for. this letter from my friend, De Noailles, which tells
me that Count La Lippe has somehow heard of my
adventures and present whereabouts, who can tell how
much more time I might have been tempted to idle away ?
You will pardon me, therefore, if I leave you now to make
the necessary preparations," and with a bow to both ladies,
he turned and walked rapidly to the house.
For a few moments the only sound that broke the silence
174
IAN ROY.
was the monotonous music of the so-called singing frogs in
the woods, where the birds had long since gone to roost.
" Well, I think on the whole that it is quite time he
went, dear," said the Countess at last.
" It is very sudden," answered Donna Isabel, in a rather
unsteady voice.
" Yes. But it is none the worse for that, dear, after all,
is it ? "
Her sister made no reply.
" I say I think it is none the worse for that, dear,"
repeated the other. " Don't you think so; what is the
matter, Isabel ? Why, you are actually—yes, you are."
Donna Isabel appeared to be gazing steadily at the dim
grey outline of a long mountain ridge on the far horizon,
a;bove which a single streak of crimson gleamed in the
darkening sky, but her eyes were so full of tears that in
reality she could see nothing.
" No, I wasn't! " answered she, inconsequently, clearing
her throat, and speaking with an evident effort. " That is
—I cannot help thinking of those poor brave fellows who
died for their country at Valencia, de Alcantara !"
' That is very nice of you, dear," said her sister, with
a slight touch of sarcasm in her voice, and there was another
pause.
"To-morrow! It seems very hard!" repeated Donna
Isabel at last, in a tone so melancholy that the Countess
was unable to restrain a smile.
"Why to-morrow, dear? Surely it is now some days
since the poor fellows died so gloriously for Portugal!"
said she, innocently.
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175
" And lie will believe that it is from mere vanity and
anger that I have driven him to go away! to go perhaps
to his death!" faltered poor Isabel, quite heedless of her
sister's irony. " It is wicked of me! yes wicked," and she
covered her face with her hands, and burst out crying.
The Countess stood looking at her for a moment in
silence, and as she did so the expression of her face, which
at first betrayed a suppressed scorn and anger, changed
to one of affectionate compassion.
•'Poor child," said she to herself, "I feared it must come
to this sooner or later ! my poor, good little sister, you
shall never know how fond I was getting to be of this
big, handsome, stupid Scotch captain of yours."
" Kever mind, Isabel, darling," said she, aloud, "it will do
him a great deal of good to have something to do instead
of idling here all day long. Come! dry your eyes. After
all, he is only a handsome, and not very lively, sort of
automaton, with less brains than you have in the end of
your little finger, and is certainly not in the least worth
crying about!"
" He is not that at all! How dare you call him £ a sort
of automaton,' Inez?"
" Dear me ! What an enthusiastic champion ! I humbly
beg his pardon. I will call him an angelic hero, if you like,
child," said the Countess, kissing her affectionately. " But
come, it is really time to go in, if merely to look after our
angelic hero's comfort. Come, dear ! " and yielding to her
affectionate entreaty, Isabel rose with a sigh, and, drying her
eyes, accompanied her sister to the house.
176
IAN ROY.
When Ian entered the salon after making his prepara-
tions, neither the Countess nor Donna Isabel's face showed
the slightest trace of the interview which had taken place an
hour before, and the evening passed pleasantly in discussing
the improved prospects of the Portuguese, and eulogising
the good qualities of Count La Lippe. When, however, the
ladies were retiring for the night, the Countess dropped her
fan close to Ian, and as he returned it to her he felt a tiny
note slipped into his hand.
The moment he found himself alone in his room he
eagerly tore it open.
" Dear friend," it ran, "I implore you for my sake to forget
all that has passed between us here. I esteem you much,
and indeed I shall regret your departure more than I can
say. I pray that the Blessed Saints may ever preserve you,
and that we may meet again in happier days as friends.
Shall it not be so 1 Above all do I entreat you to forego
forever your foolish vow to avenge me, the fulfilment of
which would pain me deeply.
" Your ever grateful friend,
«I."
Ian read this note over twice with mingled surprise and
anger, and then he tore it into bits. The action restored
him to a better humour, and after a time he indulged in
rather a bitter laugh at his own expense. " They are all
the same," said he. " With my experience I ought to
have known better. And, of course, she is right, and I
ought to be grateful to her. What a weak fool I am! I
IAN ROT
177
am ashamed of myself. What would Christiu have thought
of me ! Yes, Isabel is worth a thousand of her ! and I have
lost her through my foolish vanity. Bah! what does it
matter now! ... . ."
In spite of the early hour at which he had to start next
morning, all the three ladies had risen to wish him good-
bye. He could not help feeling sad at leaving the place
where he had been so happy, and he inwardly felt a little
hurt to see that, though Donna Isabel was certainly rather
silent, she did not seem otherwise than cheerful, while the
Countess was undoubtedly much more lively and talkative
than usual. Though at first, he felt in a great rage with
the latter, his bad temper speedily yielded to the charm of
her manner. He found himself vaguely wondering whether
he had ever received any note from her at all, and until the
moment for making his adieux came, he felt quite infected
by her unwonted gaiety.
Parting, however, is a process over which it is always
rather hard to appear cheerful, and it was with a good deal
of inward emotion that Ian said farewell to the friends
whom he had met under such unusual circumstances, and
who had shown him so much unexpected kindness and
hospitality.
They had accompanied him to the stately portico, where
his horse was awaiting him, and before mounting it, he
turned and shook hands with each in turn, a British custom,
which, though they had often rallied him about it, they did
not on this occasion object to.
The Countess bade him good-bye with a smile and a
N
178
IAN ROT.
pleasant " bon voyage." Her aunt did so in a rather tremulous
voice, and with a kind hope that he would re-visit Yilla Teira
again when the war was over. Donna Isabel stood a little
apart from the others, with a large bunch of roses in her
hand into which she kept nervously dipping her pretty face
while the process of leave-taking was going on. "When Ian
turned to her, and held out his hand she suddenly grew
very white.
" Adieu, Captain G-ordon," said she, in a low tone, and, in
spite of her efforts, the tears rose in her eyes.
Ian's heart smote him.
" I cannot shake hands with a bunch of roses," said he,
with a break in his voice, and a very unsuccessful attempt
at a smile. " May I take one ?"
" Take the best!'' answered she, turning away her head.
Ian drew out one and placed it in his breast.
"I shall keep it in memory of you and of Yilla Teira,"
said he, in a low voice, as he returned the bouquet, and
after again saluting the other ladies, he mounted his horse.
" Look, Monsieur Gordon!" cried Donna Isabel, suddenly
pointing to the opposite side of the square where a young
man, now quite familiar to Ian, had taken up his position
under the usual window.
"It is different in Scotland ! " said he, and as the pair
simultaneously broke into a laugh, he set spurs to his horse
and trotted off.
The three ladies stood watching his retreating figure till
it disappeared in a cloud of dust against the bright
Seotember sky.
IAN ROY.
179
" Why, Inez," said Donna Isabel, whose spirits seemed to
have revived in spite of her parting. " You are actually—
yes ! you are ! "
" I don't know why you should have a monopoly in that
respect, my dear," answered the Countess, with a little sob,
passing her hand over her eyes. " But perhaps I have had
so much more sorrow than you that I ought to have got
over the bad habit by this time."
" Dear Inez, forgive me ! " murmured her sister, taking
her hand, and they re-entered the house in silence.
CHAPTER XV.
the battle op villa velha.*
While Ian had been regaining his strength, and wasting
his time so pleasantly at Villa Teira, the condition of the
Portuguese army had been daily improving, and the
Spanish invasion had received a decided check. Both
these results were chiefly due to the great adminis-
trative abilities and good generalship of Count La
Lippe, under whose directions the peasantry continued
successfully to defend the mountain passes, while
the combined English and Portuguese force under General
Burgoyne, executed a number of dashing attacks and small
surprises. These, though inconsiderable in themselves,
served effectually to hamper the movements of the enemy,
* See Appendix, Note 5.
180
IAN ROT.
whose chief object was now to gain a footing in the
province of the Alemtejo, a fertile, open country, in which
their cavalry would be able to act with decisive effect. As
they still retained possession of a great portion of that
part of the neighbouring province of Beira known as Castel
Branco, the successful passage of the Tagus would enable
them to march through Alemtejo on Lisbon, and General
Burgoyne was, therefore, now encamped near the river with
the view of preventing such a contingency.
Count La Lippe possessed in a marked degree the gift
of inspiring enthusiasm in all around him, and his courage,
military skill, and goodness of character, speedily won for
him the affections both of the king and of the whole
Portuguese nation. Like his able English subordinate,
General Burgoyne,—a politician and courtier, the author
of. "that excellent comedy the 'Heiress,'" as Walpole
styles it, and subsequently the commander of the un-
fortunate English force which surrendered to the American
army at Saratoga,—he had great literary taste, and in
spite of the profession to which he chose to devote
himself, found time to follow both artistic and scientific
pursuits. The eccentricity that showed itself both in his
dress and manner—in which, as has been stated, he copied
Charles XII. of Sweden—and which also characterised both
his bravery and his opinions, served rather to increase his
popularity. He made it a rule always to fare as a common
soldier during his campaigns, and when engaged in a siege
never took off his clothes, allowed his hair and. beard to
grow, and passed each night in the trenches sleeping on
IAN ROY.
181
the bare ground. As one of the proofs of his coolness and
of his confidence in the practise of his gunners, it is related
that on one occasion he gave a great dinner to his officers
in celebration of the birthday of Frederic the Great, in a tent,
upon the top of which was placed a flag to serve as a mark
for the practice of the cannon whilst they were at table.
Even the Spanish officers, who used to ridicule his reforms,
and when they first saw him in the field with his large hat
and little sword, contemptuously asked if the Portuguese
were commanded by Don Quixote, eventually shared the
general admiration felt for his generosity, his extreme
disinterestedness, his abilities, and his valour. Under his
wise rule the hitherto disorganised and spiritless soldiery of
Portugal was gradually converted into a well disciplined and
serviceable army, and when Tan rejoined the 11th Portuguese
infantry, he was most agreeably surprised by the general
improvement manifest in that regiment, which he found
doing duty with General Burgoyne's force.
The credit of this was in a great measure due to the
exertions of De Noailles, who welcomed his return very
cordially, and rallied him on his adventures, a garbled
account of which had already reached headquarters.
" Then you are not married after all, Gordon ? " said
the Frenchman when he had heard Ian's story.
" Not that I am aware of," answered the latter, smiling.
It was a still and rather misty morning in the beginning
of October, and the pair were seated at the entrance of
Ian's tent, from which they could just see in the far distance
a faint wreath of smoke rising from the enemy's camp at
the village of Villa Yelha, on the other side of the Tagus.
182
IAN ROY.
" So muck the better, my friend. Then I can really
congratulate you, which of course, I should not have been
able to do had the general report proved true."
" Ah ! that is just like you, De Noailles," said Ian. " 1
think you are the most bitter misogamist I ever knew.
Confess now, is it not some personal experience which
makes you rail so persistently against matrimony ? "
" It is possible," replied the other coolly. " And it is also
possible that the experience is only one gained by long and
close observation, for you must remember, Gordon, that I
am some twelve years your senior. But no matter as to that.
Our friendship at all events makes me glad, as I said, that
the general report has proved untrue."
" The general report ? "
" Of course. I assure you that the marriage has been
universally accepted as a fact."
" How preposterous," cried Ian.
" The only points in the matter left doubtful," continued
his friend, "were the rank and age of the lady. Some
maintain that she is a Princess of the blood royal, while
others declare that she is only a Marchioness."
" You are joking, De Noailles."
" Indeed, I am not, I assure you ! Both theories have
been freely discussed, as has also the important question as
to whether the Princess—or ought I to say the Marchioness
—is a beautiful minor of sweet seventeen, or has only lately
completed her seventy-first year and is hideously ugly."
Ian burst out laughing.
"It is astonishing what powers of imagination people
JAiY EOT.
183
display on these sort of occasions," said he. "It seems
almost unkind to correct them, as I must ask you to help
me to do. By the way, I did not tell you that I had formerly
met the two ladies who were so kind to me in your beloved
Paris, and that one of them was, or rather is still, for all
I know, married to a fellow countryman of yours, the
Count De Vougny."
" De Vougny ! " cried De JNoailles, with a start.
" Did you know him F " asked Ian, eagerly.
"De Vougny, surely the name is very familiar to me,"
repeated the other musingly. " Ah yes ! of course ! that
was it. Tell me, did he not try to murder his wife in some
horrible manner ? "
" He did !" answered Ian. " He buried her alive, and I
was so fortunate as to be the means of rescuing her."
" Villain !" cried De Noailles.
He said the word in so strange a tone, that Ian for a
moment felt quite doubtful whether he was applying the
term to him or to the Count.
" What do you mean, De Noailles ?" said he, rather
angrily.
"I mean that the man who could commit such a crime
was a base villain!" answered the other with muck
agitation.
" Your feelings do you credit, my friend! " said Ian,
mollified. " You can imagine what mine were when I
found her! "
" And so you rescued the poor young thing. That was
very heroic of you, G-ordon. And she is still alive, you say P "
184
IAN ROY.
" Yes, she is apparently as well as ever, and even more
beautiful than she was if possible."
" Oh ! she is very beautiful is she ? " said the other, with
a rather sarcastic laugh. " Then there was, perhaps, after
all a little foundation for the rumour of your marriage, my
friend, eh ?" and he looked at him rather keenly.
"Bubbish, De Noailles!" answered Ian, smiling rather
self-consciously. " No ! I can assure you I have not the
slightest feeling of that kind for her."
" Oh, I am glad of that," said De Noailles. " Still it is a
pity you cannot find out whether the villain of a husband
is alive or not."
"If I do find him, either he or I will soon cease to
be alive, De Noailles!" replied G-ordon, with a kindling
eye.
" Oh, it's that, is it,'' answered the other, with a
rather bitter laugh. " But still your sentiment is natural
enough, and does you credit. The more I think of it, the
more I feel sure that it is the sameDe Vougny whom I used
to know so well in Paris years ago, when we were both young
men. He came from Brittany, I from Gascony. I remember
thinking it must be my old friend when I heard the story
about his rev— his crime, while at Lisbon in the spring.
Poor fellow ! He was otherwise a worthy, amiable man. I
suppose it was all through jealousy. Parbleu, my friend !
Have I not a right to be a misogamist ? " said De Noailles
with a laugh. His laugh was peculiarly pleasant and
catching.
"That is hardly a fair example to choose," answered
IAN ROY.
185
Ian, smiling. " But I know by experience that it is utterly
useless to argue with you. See, there is Gongalvo coming
towards us. I wonder what he wants ? "
. " Gongalvo ! Ah, there is another example," said De
Noailles. "Have you observed his absurdly stiff and
pompous manner towards me?"
" I have,'' replied Ian. " But you must not be too hard
on him. He is a worthy, good-hearted fellow at bottom,
though I own he is rather conceited and foolish."
"Do you know the reason of his behaviour to me? He
does me the honour to suspect me of making love to that
nice, pretty, hard-working little wife of his at Oporto."
" Nonsense!"
"I assure you it is a fact, and it annoys me considerably,
for, as I need hardly tell you, no such idea ever entered my
brain, but "
The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance
of Gongalvo, who saluted De Noailles with a stiff bow,
which, coming just after what they had been saying, made
Ian smile.
" Captam Gordon, I have good news for you. It is said
that General Burgoyne is going to make an attack on the
enemy's camp at Villa Velha," said he.
" Hurrah ! We are in luck ! " cried Ian.
"Are you sure of this, Captain Gongalvo?" asked De
Noailles.
"Yes; I may say that I am certain of it, Captain De
Noailles," answered the other, with studied politeness, "for
I heard it from an officer now acting as aide-de-camp to
186
IAN ROY.
Colonel Lee, who they say is to command one of the
divisions."
" Then there can of course be no doubt on the matter,
Captain Goncalvo," answered De Noailles, gravely, but
with a comical side glance at Ian. " And as I have some-
thing to do I must take my departure," and with a nod to
him, and a formal salutation to Goncalvo, he left the
tent.
" De Noailles is an excellent officer, and a very good
fellow to boot," remarked Ian, with a vague idea of making
peace between the pair.
" I presume there is no doubt that he is a good officer,"
answered Gongalvo, stiffly, " but 1 think him a peculiar
man. His temper is so fickle. One day he is all merri-
ment, the next all despair. It is my belief he ever conceals
some strange secret."
It was a peculiarity of the worthy Portuguese that he
rarely if ever changed an opinion after he had once formed
it, and those who knew him well knew almost exactly what
reply he would make as to any subject which they had
already discussed with him. Ian, for the moment, forgot
this, or he would have saved himself the trouble of drawing
from Goncalvo this remark about De Noailles, which he
had heard at least twenty times before. Though, however,
he had heard it so often, and it was a fact that nobody
ever thought of denying, it had never before struck him so
forcibly that De Noailles was certainly subject to very
remarkable fits of depression at times. He put them down
to some secret sorrow, into which he did not feel justified
IAN BOY.
187
in prying, and as he had grown to have a very sincere
liking and esteem for his friend, did his best to cheer him
when he saw him suffering from them. Now, however,
this oft-repeated phrase of Gongalvo's suddenly roused his
curiosity, and for the first time he found himself wondering
what the secret sorrow could be. But he quickly put
the thought from him. " Bah! no doubt it is some
woman. Are they not the cause of most of our sorrows ?"
said he to himself, with the usual gratitude of a man who
had as a rule been especially kindly treated by the sex, and
then he changed the subject by asking Gongalvo if he had
had good news from home lately.
'' I had a letter from my wife this morning, Captain
Gordon," answered he, " and she and the little Manuel
desire me to give you their best remembrances. The little
fellow, she tells me, is always asking for news of Captain Ian."
" She is very kind," answered Ian ; " I hope you will send
her the same message from me, and bid her tell my little
friend that I often think of him. I suppose you often hear
from Donna Goncalvo ? "
" Not so frequently as I used to, Captain Gordon, No.
Not quite so frequently, that is," said the other, tugging
fiercely at his moustache, and looking rather lugubrious,
" I sometimes wonder—but no, of course it is only natural.
Donna Gongalvo, as you know, is always busy over some-
thing ; my dear wife is always busy. Ah! on occasions
like these, before going into action, as we are about to,
thoughts of her and the little Manuel will almost invariably
rise in my heart," and the poor fellow sighed deeply.
" It is only natural, my dear Gon§alvo," said Ian, unable
188
IAN ROY.
to refrain from smiling at the well-known formula. " Well,
it is the fate of soldiers, and I suppose, by the way, we have
not much time to lose."
"True, very true!" replied Gongalvo. "Our life is
indeed a sad and stormy, though a glorious one. The
soldier is the slave of duty. But enough, I will detain you
no more, Captain Gordon," and with his usual grave saluta-
tion he left the tent.
"He is evidently very jealous of De Noailles, poor
devil!" said Ian to himself, as he set about making the
necessary preparations for the evening's expedition. "And
yet I am sure he has not the slightest cause. But it is
true 'that Be Noailles is-rather an odd fellow. How
strange it is that he should have known De Yougny. And
yet, after all, what is there strange in the fact that two
French gentlemen have known each other as young men in
Paris. Ah ! if I could only find De Yougny !"
It was about twelve o'clock at night when the English
and Portuguese troops, under the command of Colonel
Lee,—the same officer who, as the reader will remember,
had defeated the Spaniards in their attempts to cross the
Douro, and who subsequently became a "General of the
Provincials " during the American War of Independence—
crossed the Tagus, partly by boats, and partly by a ford to
which they were guided by the peasantry. Their object
was to reach the rear of one of the Spanish camps by a
circuitous march of some six miles, and attack it while
General Burgoyne simultaneously made a feint in another
quarter, in order to prevent the enemy from being relieved
from any of the adjacent posts.
IAN ROY.
189
A light breeze was blowing, and the moon, which was
about half full, was frequently obscured by clouds, which
occasionally descended in showers of thin, misty rain. In
those days the plain of the 'Tagus possessed a fertility
which it has since lost, and the road lay through broad
tracts of land devoted to the cultivation of corn and rice,
broken here, and there by stretches of heath and cistus, and
varied by occasional copses of stunted pine trees, which
offered a useful cover to the advancing force. The country
was almost perfectly flat, and quite devoid of hedges, and
when the moon now and then peeped from behind the clouds,
the uncertain light revealed the mountains of Beira, looming
dimly on the far horizon, and scattered villages, standing out
—dark, isolated, shapeless masses—above the level grey
around them.
As they neared one of these the word was suddenly given
to halt, for it was Yilla Yelha, beyond which lay the Spanish
camp. They had marched in a complete semi-circle, and in
the distance could now again see the river with its low banks,
fringed with great belts of reeds, nearly opposite to them.
The 11th Portuguese Infantry, and one of the English
regiments, were ordered by Colonel Lee to advance through a
straggling belt of pines on the rear of the village to a point
where the enemy's magazines were known to be situated,
while he himself entered it in front with the main force.
The Portuguese regiment, which was commanded by De
Noailles as senior officer, made its way stealthily through
the wood till it emerged on some broken sandy ground at
the back of the principal street of the village. A small
190
IAN ROT.
mound covered with coarse grass terminated one end of the
line of sand pits and hummocks they had traversed, and
De Noailles, scrambling to the top of it, summoned Ian to
him for a moment, and pointing out the position of the
principal magazine, in front of which two sentries were
pacing, directed him to take a body of men down a small
by-lane that would bring them out close to one side of it.
He had just done whispering his directions when the moon,
suddenly emerging from a cloud, threw its light full upon
the buildings in front of them.
De Noailles suddenly clutched Ian's arm, and uttered a
low cry, and the latter, turning to look at him, saw that
his face was very pale, his eyes dilated, and his figure,
rigid. " Look ! look !'' whispered he, " do you not see it ?
What is that figure ? Good Heavens ! Is it a woman ?
Tell me ! " and he pointed to a low, dark, narrow archway,
in which a white, motionless figure was standing.
As Ian gazed at it, the recollection of another white figure,
rigid and lifeless as this seemed to be, suddenly flashed
across him, and the whole scene of his rescue of the
Countess de Yougny rose so vividly before him, that,
moved by an uncontrollable impulse, he turned sternly on
De Noailles, and looking him full in the face, said, "What
does it remind you of ? "
De Noailles seemed scarcely to hear him.
" It is a woman," said he, with a deep sigh, as if of
relief. " Quick ! she has seen us."
Hardly had the words passed his lips, when a piercing
shriek rang through the air, and the figure turned and fled
IAN ROY,;
191
into the darkness behind it. The next moment the loud
challenge of the Spanish sentry was heard, and as De
Noailles pushed Ian over on one side of the mound, and
sprang after him, a couple of musket balls passed over the
place where they had been standing.
" That was a close thing," said the Frenchman, who had
quite recovered all his wonted coolness, and before Ian had
time to thank him for having probably saved his life, he had
placed himself at the head of his men and given the order
to advance.
The Spaniards, taken completely by surprise, made
but a feeble resistance to their opponents, who now
poured on the village from all sides, and after one un-
successful attempt to rally, fied in all directions. The action
was of the " short, sharp, and decisive order,'' and before
dawn Colonel Lee's force had regained their camp, with
scarcely any loss, after having completely dispersed the
Spanish troops with considerable slaughter, and entirely
destroyed their magazines.
CHAPTER XVI.
the irony of fate.
On the night following the victory of Villa Velha, General
Burgoyne's camp was the scene of a good deal of festivity
and carousing. It was evident that the Spaniards had
sustained a blow which would prevent their attempting any
further operations for some time, and as winter was
192
IAN ROY.
approaching, it seemed reasonable to hope that they would
give up the idea of prosecuting the campaign further till
the following year. In addition to this, while the casualties
of the Portuguese force had, as has been said, been almost
nominal, the booty gained had been considerable, and as the
men were now recovered from the fatigues of the action,
there was a general feeling of elation throughout the camp
which led almost everyone to prefer jollity and conversation
to repose.
Gordon had accepted an invitation from De Noailles to
join him and some brother officers in drinking a bottle of
wine in his tent, but the other guests,—who, though flattered
by the notice of their two foreign comrades, naturally
preferred the society of their own countrymen—had
gradually gone drink other bottles of wine elsewhere,
and after a time tlie-<wo- friends were left alone. The
Frenchman had been more than usually kindly and pleasant,
and theylnSM^^miiiBm^Jting their experiences and talking
of the vicissitudes and pleasures, 'IffitFthe-steaQfrn meetings
and partings which were incidental to their profession, and
more especially to soldiers of fortune.
" But for you, DelSToailles, I-*ShjQuld not have been'kifcting
here now most probably," said. Ian, as~FKey were recalling
the various wonderful escaped which had come under their
notice.
If that mysterious woman had not shrieked," answered
De Kpailles, " we should both of us probably be lying on
that sankdVlheap at this moment. It was lucky for us that
she chose to Vender about so late.''
IAN ROY.
193
His remark suddenly recalled to Ian his host's strange
emotion at"the sight of the woman, and the remarkably
vivid manner in which he had himself been reminded by it
of his adventure at Versailles. Throughout the day it had
been constantly recurring to him, and always together with
it, the odd coincidence that De Noailles should have been a
friend of De Vougny's. He felt sure the former knew
something more of the Count than he chose to tell, and
this would be an opportunity of trying to find out what he
did know.
" Yes, it was certainly fortunate for both of us, as you
say," said he, " though I still feel that but for you we
should not have escaped. By the way, do you know her
figure standing there in the archway, reminded me in a
most extraordinary manner of the way in which I found
the poor Countess De Vougny."
" De Vougny ! Ah yes!" replied the other, and Ian
thought he winced a little at the name, though it might
have been only the flicker of the lamp light. " Ah yes !
The position was the same, I suppose. Poor Baymond De
Vougny !"
" Raymond ! Was that his name ? "
" Raymond ! Yes, I think so. Or was it Jean ? Upon
my word I forget," said De Noailles, with a carelessness
that seemed to Ian rather too studied to be genuine.
" I have long wanted to ask you more about this
villainous Count," said he. " What sort of looking man
was he, De Noailles? "
" Villainous! Villainous is a hard term to use,
o
194
IAN ROT
Gordon," replied the other angrily, and visibly changing
colour. " Bemember that I told you he was once my
friend."
" Pardon me. I forgot that," said Ian, " But you
must recollect that you yourself called him a villain, De
Noailles."
" And if I did, it does not follow that I should allow
other people to do so," cried the Frenchman imperiously,
and in a tone which showed he was beginning to lose his
temper.
Ian felt so irritated by it that he was about to make
an equally angry reply, when Gongalvo, looking very
pale and agitated, and Avearing his arm in a sling, owing
to a wound received in the action, entered the tent with
another officer.
" Captain I)e JSToailles," said he, after saluting the pair
with, if possible, more than his usual ceremoniousness, "I
have much pleasure in restoring you this letter of yours,
which you dropped in passing through the pine wood,
before Ave assaulted Villa Velha, and Avhich was picked
up and given to me only this evening by one of the men."
"I am extremely obliged to you, Captain Gon^alvo,"
answered he, glancing at it and placing it in his breast.
" It is of no great importance I see, but I am glad not to
have lost it. Thank you for your trouble."
The sight of the Portuguese did not improve his temper,
and, though he constrained himself to answer politely, his
manner was not altogether cordial.
Gon^alvo bowed extremely low, and then coughed
IAN MOT,
195
nervously, and began to hem and haw as if about to say
something*
"You have something else to tell me, Captain
Gonialvo ? " said De Noailles rather testily. " Pray sit
down and don't stand on such ceremony. Perhaps you
and your friend will do us the honour to join us over
our wine ? "
"No, Captain De Noailles, I thank you!" answered
Gomjalvo, drawing himself up with ludicrous dignity.
"No! I cannot consent to—to partake of any hospitality
from you. Perhaps—In fact—That is—In short, Captain
De Noailles, I feel it my duty to—to tell you that the
handwriting on that envelope is, in point of fact, well
known to me 1 "
" Diahle / What do you mean, sir ? " cried the French-
man, rising from his seat, and looking so ferocious, that
poor Goncalvo turned paler than ever, and drew a step
nearer the door.
"I mean—I mean, Captain De Noailles," stammered
he, trying to be firm. " I mean that—in short, that that
writing—pardon me if I'm mistaken—is my wife's writing,
Captain De Noailles! My wife's writing /" and his jealous
anger so far overcame his prudence that he advanced a step
nearer and laid his hand on his sword.
De Noailles' face assumed a very ugly expression.
"Well, sir! And what then? Supposing it is your
wife's handwriting ? "
ITis looks boded so much ill to poor Goncalvo that Ian's
pity was aroused.
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IAN ROY.
"Spare him, De Noailles," said he, in a low tone, laying
his hand on his friend's arm. " Spare him ! see, he is
wounded, and he has quite lost his head ! "
" Be silent, Gordon ! " retorted the other, rather rudely.
" This man is really insufferable ! I must teach him a
lesson !"
" Supposing it is your wife's handwriting, what then,
Captain G-on<pilvo ? " repeated he, tauntingly, and he
fixed his gaze pitilessly on the Portuguese, whose working
face and quivering limbs told plainly of the painful
struggle between fear and anger that was going on in his
breast.
" Supposing I am right in my suspicions, sir!" answered
he, at last, in tremulous tones. " Supposing that I am
right, it is my duty to tell you—that you are acting"—
and he paused, trembling like an aspen, and quite unable
to proceed.
"Well!" said De Noailles, with insolent coolness,
" speak out! "
" That you—that, in short, my wife has no business to
ivrite to you, Captain De Noailles cried the other,
stamping his foot, while tears of vexation and impotent
rage rose in his eyes.
De Noailles smiled scornfully at this ludicrously feeble
defiance, but it was evident, from the expression in his
eyes, that so far from pitying him, he was determined to
inflict a much more serious punishment than mere humilia-
tion on the unfortunate Goncalvo.
" You have heard these words, gentlemen!" said he,
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197
turning to his audience, which had now been increased by three
or four other officers, who, hearing the loud tones within,
had gathered in the entrance of the tent in the expectation
of witnessing a quarrel. " You have heard the imputation
which Captain Gongalvo has chosen to lay on me, and on
an honourable lady ? My regard and respect for her—
which he hardly seems to share—compel me to mention
that this letter, which has so excited him, is from my
sister, who also lives in Oporto. I say you are witnesses of
what has passed between us, and that, I am, therefore,
compelled "
" Pardon me, De Noailles !" cried Ian, springing for-
ward, " I think you are not acting fairly to my friend ! "
" What do you mean, sir ? " cried De Noailles, sternly.
Ian had been listening with ever increasing impatience
to the Frenchman, and had now determined to foil him in
his purpose. The Portuguese officers had been found to
be lamentably deficient in courage, and Count La Lippe,
reversing the practice which, as related in a former chapter,
he had followed in Germany, had therefore issued an order
that any of them who refused a challenge should be
severely punished. He knew that it was most probable
that Goncalvo was about to subject himself to this rule
and thus be irretrievably disgraced, or that if, as was
hardly likely, he accepted De Noailles' challenge he would
almost certainly be killed. His pity and liking for the
poor fellow and his family kept prompting him to interfere
to prevent this, and while he was watching Goncalvo's
unhappy face all that the latter had told him in Oporto
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IAN ROT.
about the Frenchman suddenly recurred to him. De
Noailles had said he came from Gascony, but the fair hair
which he concealed under his black peruke seemed to make
it a pretty safe assumption that he must be a Breton like
the Count De Yougny, whom he owned to having known
intimately. If he was, his strange dislike to a colour
which De Yougny had good reason to hate, and his emotion
at seeing a woman in a position so similar to that in
which the Countess had been placed by her husband,
seemed coincidences too remarkable to be passed over. All
lan's vague suspicions and distrust of him appeared suddenly
to gather overwhelming force, and when he saw that De
Noailles was about to challenge the unfortunate Portuguese
he no longer hesitated at once to set them at rest, and at
the same time save his friend.
" I mean what I say, Captain De Noailles," said he. " I
mean that you do not make fair allowance for Captain
Goncalvo's feelings. Handwritings are wonderfully alike,
as we all know, especially ladies' handwritings. My friend
Goncalvo is perhaps over sensitive, but we all have our
weaknesses, and even you, I have heard, are not without
them."
" Explain yourself instantly, Captain Gordon, or you
will have to answer for this interference!" cried De
Noailles, and he looked so threatening that Goncalvo almost
forgot his own fears in his anxiety for the friend who had
so unexpectedly come forward in his behalf.
"Iam perfectly ready to do so," replied Ian, coolly, " and
I will also explain myself. When I said that I have heard
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199
you are not exempt altogether from weaknesses, I was
thinking of a story I had been told of the dislike that
Captain De Hoailles—or should I say Monsieur le Comte
De Vougny ?—has to a ribbon of this colour," and.he drew
from his breast the bow of cerise ribbon which he had kept
there so long.
De ISToailles started back and turned as pale as death.
Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he seized one
of the military gauntlets that lay on the table and flung it
in Ian's face.
" Fool of a meddler !" cried he hoarsely, in a tone so
low as to be heard by Ian alone. "Fool of a meddler! You
shall have your wish ! I am Baymond De Yougny ! "
Then, turning to the others, he said: " G-entlemen,
you see how lightly I esteem Captain Gordon's benevolent
impertinence."
"And you shall also see, gentlemen, how I will punish
Captain De Xoailles' intolerable insolence ! " answered Ian.
" In an hour's time it will be sunrise," said the French-
man, "and you will find me at the usual place by the
river."
" Good ! I will not keep you waiting," replied Ian ; and
amid a low murmur, half of applause and half of dis-
approbation, he left the tent followed by Gonpalvo.
The sun had just risen above the dark grey mountains
of Beira, and the broad, tranquil stream of the Tagus
gleamed like an opal in the flood of golden light which
crept from point to point over the thick sedges and reed
200
IAN ROY.
beds. Save for the cries of the water fowl, the level plain
on the opposite side of the river lay all silent, and was still
half hidden in mist; but from the camp of the allies about
a quarter of a mile distant a few thin wreaths of smoke
were beginning to ascend into the deep blue sky above, and
a distant murmur of sound told that there the day's work
had already begun. All things were awaking, and drinking
in the glory, and beauty, and sweetness of God's earth,
and the two friends, who had shared many a pleasure, and
braved many a peril together, stood facing one another
with drawn rapiers, each determined, if possible, to kill
the other.
The place of rendezvous was near a solitary, half-decayed
old cork tree, the firm and level ground near whichhad already
made it the scene of more than one encounter of the kind.
Before the affair commenced, poor Goncalvo, who acted as
Ian's second, had, contrary to all etiquette, and much to
the surprise of the Portuguese officer who performed a
similar duty for De Noailles, endeavoured to make peace by
apologizing to the latter for his hastiness on the previous
evening, and urging that it was "a great pity, aye and
a great sin, if you will pardon me, that two such
distinguished cabalheiros and friends should spill blood
for such a trifling cause." The Frenchman, however, had
treated his proposal with good-humoured contempt, and
the two combatants, both equally cool and determined, had
at once taken up their positions.
They were very equally matched both in strength and
skill, and for some moments they fought with but little
IAN ROY.
201
advantage on either side, while the two seconds stood
watching with keen interest as their principals feinted,
lunged, and parried, and in turn advanced and retreated.
After a time, however, Ian's youth and superior condition
began to tell, and De Noailles' breath came fast and thick
and the beads of moisture stood on his brow as his
antagonist, noticing his evident distress, began to press on
him fiercely. Summoning all his energy he made a
desperate rally to recover his lost ground, but, though he
succeeded in slightly wounding Gordon in the shoulder,
the effort proved fruitless, and left him still more exhausted.
There was a rapid disengagement and a dangerous thrust in
carte from the Frenchman, a quick parry, a one, two, and
a lunge home from Ian, and Raymond De Yougny fell to
the ground mortally wounded.
His second hurried forward and raised him in his arms,
and Goncalvo ran to the river to procure water, while Ian,
full of a pity which he had hardly expected to feel, bent over
the dying man. The water which Goncalvo speedily brought
seemed to revive him, and at length he opened his eyes and
feebly extended his hand to Gordon.
"We have been good comrades till now," he murmured.
"Let us part friends."
Ian eagerly grasped the hand he offered to him.
" Forgive me, De Noailles !" he cried, using the familiar
name. " Forgive me! it was forced upon me."
" Yes. I pardon you," said the other in feeble accents.
" Heaven is just! I have deserved my fate, and fortune
has been on your side ; but listen "
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IAN ROY.
He paused a moment to recover his breath and then
continued :
" Listen ; I am not all so bad as you think. She was
false to me; false as hell! If she would have owned her
fault I—I should have pardoned her, and not—and not—"
his breath failed him, and he broke off abruptly.
" Forgive me, old comrade, if I have misjudged you,"
cried Ian, with a feeling of bitter remorse coming over
him.
" Look at this! " said the Count eagerly, and with a
great effort he tore open his shirt and drew from a small
leather bag fastened round his neck by a thin steel chain,
on which a silver medallion of the Virgin also hung, two
faded letters half-stained with his blood.
" They are the same colour as your ribbon now," said he,
smiling feebly. "Head them! If she had not denied them
I should never—never have yielded to my anger. Bead
them—read them—and tell her I forgive her! And ask
her to—to pardon me ! I "
A torrent of blood poured from his mouth and choked
his utterance, and he fell back dead.
For a moment Ian, overcome by conflicting emotions,
stood by in silence with the blood-stained letters in his
hand; then, yielding to an irresistible impulse, he tore
them open.
One, in an unfamiliar hand, signed R., was a long and
impassioned love letter from Richelieu, imploring his
" beloved Inez to grant him one more interview at the old
meeting place." The handwriting of the other he recognised
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203
at once, and it did not need the signature of I., to tell him
that it was that of the Countess De Yougny. It contained
but a single line :—
" I will meet you at the same time as before."
"Then she was false after all! false!" he cried. "Poor,
poor De EToailles ! May God have mercy on his soul, and
forgive me !" and, full of pity and remorse, he returned
slowly to the camp.
CHAPTEE XVII.
after war's alarms.
Early one bright, fresh morning towards the end of
October, some three weeks after the events described in
the last chapter, the Countess De Yougny was seated by
the open window of her boudoir.
The trees were bright with brown, orange and scarlet,
and all the varied hues of autumn, and the garden
walks, and the basin of the fountain in the centre of the
lawn were already covered with a many coloured carpet of
fallen leaves. The grass was white with a heavy rime
which glittered in the sunlight, and a thin haze shrouded
the distance and mingled with the pale blue sky above.
The melancholy monotonous bells of the churches, sum-
moning the inhabitants of Yilla Teira to the early Mass,
were pealing through the air, and blending with the voices
of the birds and the plashing of the fountain. The scene
204
TAN ROY.
was full of calm aDd soothing beauty, but the eyes of the
Countess were full of tears as she gazed upon it, and the
wistful far-off look in them told that she was but half
conscious of its charm. Her black dress, which deepened
the look of sadness and suffering on her handsome face,
and the mantilla which lay beside her, told that she had
prepared as usual to go to church, but though it was
already full time for starting she still remained motion-
less in her chair, with her head resting on one hand, while
the other, in which was a packet, lay listlessly in her lap.
Presently, however, a sharp knock at the door made her
start, and the next moment her sister entered the room.
"Are you not coming, Inez?" said the latter. "It is
very late."
Those who knew her well would have detected a slight
tinge of asperity in Donna Isabel's tone, and also have
noticed that her manner was not quite so affectionate as
usual. To tell the truth the two had, almost for the first
time in their lives, had a slight quarrel on the previous
evening about the packet which the Countess held in her
hand.
" I shall come later, dear," answered the latter.
Something in her tone made Donna Isabel, who had
hitherto kept her gaze fixed steadily on the fountain in the
centre of the lawn, suddenly turn and look closely at her
sister.
" Inez, darling ! What is it ? " cried she. " You are
crying! You are unhappy! What a brute I am ! It is
all this miserable packet! Forgive me, dear, for my
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205
foolish anger last night! I was jealous, like a silly little
fool ! Forgive me, and tell me what it is ? " and she bent
down and kissed her tenderly.
" It is you who have to forgive, dear!" answered the
other, warmly returning her embrace. "I had no business
to lose my temper! " and the two mingled their tears
together.
" Tell me, at least, what it is that makes you so
unhappy, Inez ? I will not ask to see the letter," said her
sister, and as she had her share of that curiosity which is
said to characterise the sex, and would, in reality, have
liked very much to know what the mysterious packet
contained, her affectionate request showed a good deal of
self-denial on her part.
" No ! not now, dear ! " answered the Countess, rather
hurriedly. " Not now ! Go on to church, now, and later
on I will tell you. I do not feel very well this morning,
and I am not quite sure whether I shall go at all. Believe
me, dear little sister, you have nothing to be jealous of! "
added she, with a melancholy smile. " He will be coming
here to-morrow, or perhaps to-day, but it will not be for
me ! Go now, and leave me alone for a little, Isabel! "
" To-day ! I am sure I never want to see him again !
Never! " cried Isabel, flushing, and trying very hard not
to look pleased. " I almost begin to hate him for having
made you so miserable ! But I will go now, as you wish
it," and, again kissing her, she went off to mass.
When she found herself once more alone the Countess
took up the packet, and again examined its contents. It
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IAN' ROY
consisted of a letter from Ian, together with the two letters
and the medallion of the Virgin which the Connt De
Vougny had given him just before his death.
Ian's letter was as follows ;—
" Madame,—I have redeemed my vow. Your husband,
the Count De Vougny, fell by my hand this morning. He
had been passing under the name of De Noailles, and was
serving as a captain in my regiment, and, till I discovered
his identity, had been also my intimate friend. He died
as became a brave man and a true gentleman, and I
shall ever deplore the share I had in his fate. With
almost his last words, he begged me to place in your hands
certain letters, which I enclose. He bade me tell you that
he freely forgave you, and implored your forgiveness for the
past, and he prayed that you would keep the silver
medallion, which I send you, in memory of him.
"The war being now ended, I have applied for leave of
absence, and, if I am able to obtain it, I hope to avail
myself of the kind invitation given me by Donna Almeida,
and to present myself at Villa Teira shortly after you
receive this. I have thought, however, that you would
prefer to be informed of this news before my arrival.
" With assurances of my respect to Donna Almeida and
your sister,
" I have the honour to be,
"Madame,
" Your devoted servant,
"John Gordon."
The Countess read this letter twice, very carefully.
IAN ROY.
207
" It is cold, though it is polite," she said at length. " Can
he have read them ? Oh ! what would I not give to know !
But he must have read them ! The tone of his letter shows
it. They are quite open, and Raymond probably told him
to read them in justification of himself. Poor Raymond !
Poor, dear Raymond !" and her tears flowed afresh.
"Yes. He has read them. He has read them, but he
is too true a gentleman to show it. And now he despises
me ! Oh, how he must loathe me, who have led him to
kill his friend and comrade for such as I ! He despises
me, and I loved him! I love him still! My God
it is hard to bear ! hard to bear ! But it is just, it is just,"
and she sank on her knees by the open window and buried
her face in her hands in an agony of weeping.
After a few moments she rose, and dried her eyes, and
took the other two letters, stained with her husband's blood,
from the packet.
"At all events if he knows, none other shall," cried she.
" Isabel above all, my darling sister, you at least shall still
believe in me!" and she tore the letters into shreds and
threw them on to a small brazier of coals that was burning
in a corner of the room.
" The last traces of shame are destroyed," said she, as
she watched the flames consume them to ashes. "They
are hidden for ever now. After all, wicked as I was, I
was not as guilty as he thought! Ah ! If repentance can
atone for the past it shall be atoned for from this day."
A bright smile lighted up her face, and she turned to
leave the room. As she did so she caught sight of
208
IAN ROY.
herself in one of the mirrors with which the walls were
ornamented, and lier expression changed to one of pride
and triumph.
" Perhaps after all he has not read them," said she.
" And then, and then—But no ! Poor Isabel! I must
never think of him," and she put on her mantilla and
went out.
Meanwhile Donna Isabel, who was attending mass in the
cathedral, was finding it very hard to concentrate her
thoughts on the service. Her sister's sorrow, the mystery
that hung over it, the fact that John Gordon might arrive
at Villa Teira that very day, and the various reasons for his
coming which in turn suggested themselves to her, kept fill-
ing her mind with very conflicting feelings.
The dim light of the cathedral, the sweet solemn music,
the incense, and the kneeling crowd of worshippers were
usually wont to calm and elevate her thoughts, but on this
occasion they had the opposite effect. One of the windows
not far from where she was sitting was a representation
of the well-known legend of St. Martin on horseback
dividing his cloak with a beggar. It was a favourite of
hers as a rule, but now as she glanced at it the sunlight,
streaming through it, suddenly seemed to give the saint's
countenance a strange and entirely imaginary likeness to a
certain Scotch cavalier whom she had watched riding away
from Villa Teira some two months ago, and who might
even now be riding through the valley below on his way
back to it. She turned from it impatiently, and her eyes
chanced to fall on a man kneeling some three paces in front
IAN ROY.
209
of her. It "was the young suitor who was so constant in
standing under the window of his lady-love in the square
opposite their own house, and whom she could never see
now without recalling a certain scene in the salon. It
was absurd ! It was annoying ! It was wicked ! . . .
and she covered her face with her hands, and tried to shut
out the whole world from her thoughts.
When the service was finished, she still remained seated
for some time until the quiet gradually restored her
thoughts to a calmer channel, and then, after kneeling for
a few moments in private devotion, she rose and walked
down one of the side aisles of the cathedral. Two or three
small chapels opened out of it, and as she passed one
dedicated to " Our Lady of Sorrows," she was attracted by
the sight of a woman kneeling before the altar, whose
bowed figure, and whispered broken utterances, showed
that she was seeking consolation under some more than
usually heavy grief. The form seemed so familiar to
her that she could not help stopping, and as she looked
more closely, she was startled to see that it was her
sister.
" Poor Inez !" murmured she, full of pity; and she
went on and waited quietly at the door till at length the
Countess, with tear-stained face, came from the chapel and
slowly approached her.
" Isabel!" cried her sister in surprise, " you here still! "
"Yes, dear," answered the other. "I saw you as I
passed, and so I waited. Won't you tell me now, Inez ?"
"Kaymond is dead," said the Countess, with a deep sigh.
p
210
IAN ROT.
" He was killed in a duel by—by Captain Gordon. Read
this/' and she gave her sister the letter which had aroused
her jealousy the night before.
" How terrible," cried Isabel at last when she had read it.
" How terrible ! And he killed him/^-*
"But it is a mercy tha^pib),«n^Re^^''iast, dear," added
she, after a deseffe.d'/Pis punishment. It
"Wdws'liow good^ doling, £KE you should
"I cannot help grieving/'^i^l^u her sister, with a sigh,
while a faint fluph oversra^tTner pale face. " But I have
done with the p^^frow, please God ! Let us go hoipe
and think o^lmppier things,—come," and they left; the
The streets were more crowded than usual, and the group/
of idlers seemed to have more to talk about. The victory
of Villa Velha had, as ha.d-been anticipated, proved to be a
turning-point in the war. The Spaniards had not -sue-
ceeded in taking any advanced posts, and as the rains had
now begun, the state of the roads rendered further opera-
tions extremely difficult, while winter, which was close at
hand, would make them altogether impassable. They had
therefore begun everywhere to fall back from the frontier,
and it was evident that the war was virtually ended, and
that Portugal was, at all events for a time, saved from her
enemies. The whole nation was therefore beginning to
rejoice in its deliverance, and the tide of popular feeling
had reached even remote Villa Teira. The lovely weather,
—a fortnight's heavy rain had been followed by two or
IAN ROY,
211
three still, bright, cold days—could not fail to cheer even
such sorrow as that of the Countess De Vougny, and Donna
Isabel's spirits, though they were for a brief space some-
what affected by her sympathy for her sister, speedily
recovered their natural buoyancy, which stood little in
need of such influences. By the time they reached
home, the former felt calm and resigned, and the latter
very happy, and they were both so full of affectionate
solicitude towards each other that for the time they
had quite forgotten all about lan's expected visit. It
was, therefore, somewhat of a shock to both of them when
the servant told them that Captain Gordon had arrived
during their absence at Mass, and was awaiting them in the
salon, and while the Countess grew a shade paler at the news,
her sister blushed very becomingly.
The former, however, quickly recovered herself.
" Our hero has lost no time over his journey, has he ? "
said she. " I suppose the servants have taken care to look
after his horse and his appetite; but, no doubt, judging by
the speed at which he has come, he is expecting us with
some impatience."
Ian advanced eagerly to meet them as they entered the
salon.
" "Welcome back again to Villa Teira, Captain Gordon,"
said the Countess, with a pleasant smile. "We hardly
hoped to see you return so soon."
" My absence has seemed a long one to me nevertheless,"
answered Ian, with a low bow, and a quick side glance at
Donna Isabel, which did not escape her sister.
212
IAN ROY.
"He has come buck for her," said she to herself, with a
secret pang, and her manner was a trifle less cordial as she
told him that she was glad to see that he had returned un-
wounded.
"Yes! except for my shoulder, which is still a little
painful at times, I am happy to say that I have come back
much sounder than when I first reached Villa Teira,"
replied he.
"Your shoulder! "Was it a serious wound?" cried
Donna Isabel, who had not yet spoken, with an anxiety so
unmistakable, that the Countess could not help smiling in
spite of herself. " Does it hurt you still ? Did you receive
it in action ?"
" Not exactly—well, yes—that is I did, of course receive
it at the close of the action, Donna Isabel, but it is nearly
all right now, thank you," said he in some confusion, which
he endeavoured to cover by asking the Countess when she
had received his letter.
"It arrived last night quite safely with its enclosures,
Captain Gordon," answered she rather coldly, and with a
marked emphasis on the word.
" I am glad of that," said Ian. " The enclosures were of
course most valuable to you, and I should never have for-
given myself if they had miscarried."
Their eyes met, and the Countess coloured up to the
roots of her hair.
" He has read them," said she to herself. "The cup of
my degradation is full," and she bit her lips and bent her
head slightly forward. The next moment, however, her
IAN ROY.
213
complexion had resumed its usual beautiful creamy
whiteness and save for a slight tremor in her voice she
betrayed but little emotion as, laying her hand on her
sister's shoulder, she said—
" I have shown dear Isabel your letter, Captain Gordon,
for I have no secrets from her. You will understand my
feelings, and also perhaps why, while I thank you for having
imperilled your life on my behalf—though I must remind
you that you did so against my express wish and earnest
prayer—I cannot help the natural sorrow which rises in my
heart for the sad fate of one who, whatever his faults, was
my husband."
She raised her handkerchief to her eyes as she spoke, and
looked so noble and beautiful in her grief, that Ian's heart
smote him, and for a moment he found himself half
wondering whether the two letters might not be forgeries
after all. But it was for a moment only. He had long
since fully convinced himself that there was no doubt as to
their genuineness, and the transient feeling of pity and
respect speedily changed to one of deep scorn, which was,
however, mingled with a touch of unwilling admiration for
such beautiful acting. His experience of Elspeth had filled
him with a rooted hatred for such accomplishments, and it
was with difficulty that he controlled the anger that rose
within him.
"Your rebuke is just, madame," replied he, bowing low
to conceal his feelings. " And I must ask pardon of you
for the fatal act which my impetuous anger at the terrible
wrong done to you by the Count has led me to commit.
214
IAN ROY.
My regret, however, is tempered by the thought that X
have had the honour of crossing swords with an adversary
who, save for that one base act, was in all respects such a
noble one ; and, believe me, -when I say that since 1 heard
the Count's last dying words I have never ceased to sorrow
for my conduct."
Once more their eyes met, and this time those of the
Countess gleamed with an unmistakable anger, while Ian's
as plainly showed the feelings which had inspired this little
speech.
" It is enough, Captain Gordon," said the Countess,
drawing herself up proudly, and with difficulty repressing
the tears of shame and anger that rose into her eyes. " It
is enough. Once more I thank you. And you will perhaps
excuse me now if I leave you for a short time, fori still,
feel a little—a little overcome when I speak of this sad
subject," and with a haughty inclination of the head she
left the room.
When the door closed on her, Ian turned towards Donna
Isabel, who was visibly moved by her sister's sorrow, with
feelings of mingled yearning and relief. As she stood there
with her face full of tender pity for the woman who he
deemed to be so false, and to whom he had so nearly given
his heart, she seemed to him the emblem of truth and
goodness, triumphing over intrigue and deceit. He
thought with a pang of compunction, how long he had
been in realising her worth, and how near he had been to
losing her. He mentally contrasted her with Elspeth,
whom he had once been so eager to make his wife, and as
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215
he did so, the whole of his past career rose before him, with
many ail incident that he would now fain banish from his
memory; aud he asked himself with feelings of humility
and self-reproach, which were quite new to his somewhat
proud and egotistical nature, whether he was really worthy
of her. In short, like most lovers, he could recall nothing
but evil of the past objects of his affections, and see
nothing but good in the present one, and, perhaps, unduly
depreciated himself; but though his thoughts were
thus eloquent, he somehow felt suddenly deprived of all
power of expressing them, and it was the lady who first
broke a rather awkward silence.
" It has been a terrible blow to Inez," said she at last.
" How good she is! Does it not show how good she is to
grieve for such a man ? "
" I fear it must have been a great shqck to her,"
answered Ian rather grimly, and ignoring the latter part of
her remark. " What a blessing it must have been for her
to have you with her ! What would she do without you,"
continued he, approaching the table where she stood
pretending, with marked ill success, to rearrange some
flowers which her sister, who excelled in such matters, had
very tastefully arranged.
Something in his tone made Donna Isabel start. It
sounded so much like " What should I do without you."
" Oh, I don't know!" said she, colouring, and speaking
rather hurriedly. " That is—very well, I suppose," added
she, with rather a forced laugh. " And so you have brought
us home glorious news, Captain Gordon. Portugal, the
216
IAN ROY.
country you affect so to despise, has triumphed, and will
still be free."
" Yes, Portugal has triumphed ! But I have brought
home something else, Donna Isabel," and coming closer to
her he drew the rose she had given him, and which, to tell
the truth, now presented but a sorry appearance, from his
breast.
" What, you kept it then ? It was very silly of you,'' and
she moved a little away from him towards the window.
"I said I should keep it in remembrance of you and of
Portugal."
" Did you ? "
"Isabel," he continued, bending towards her. "Will
you not give me something else ? Cannot you guess what I
would ask you ? Isabel, will you give it me?—yourself! "
For a moment she stood silent with downcast eyes, and
then turning towards him, placed both her hands in his.
" Yes Ian," she said, and he drew her unresistingly
towards him, and clasped her to his breast.
As, with a deep blush, she extricated herself from his
embrace, his eye fell on a familiar object on the opposite
side of the square.
" Look Isabel!" said he, pointing to the young Por-
tuguese standing, as usual, beneath the window of his lady-
love. "They are still there ! "
" So they are," murmured she, smiling.
" Ah Isabel! They manage things very differently in
Scotland."
IAN ROY.
217
And with this pleasant episode, which may be said to
close the first chapter of his career in Portugal, we must
take leave of Ian Roy. Donna Isabel's aunt and sister used
all their efforts to promote her marriage with the man
of her choice, and though her father at first raised some
formal objections as to his family, the pedigree which Ian
procured from the Herald's College at Aberdeen, eventually
satisfied his doubts as to the requisite nobility of his
proposed son-in-law's descent.
On her sister's marriage the Countess at first spoke
seriously of entering a convent, but yielding to Isabel's
entreaties, which, perhaps, received additional force from the
secret feeling that she had not the true vocation for such a
life, she gave up the idea, and, returning to her parents in
Paris, she eventually married again.
Ian sold his patrimony in Scotland soon after he married,
and settled finally in the country of his adoption, where
some of his descendants^are still living. He assisted Count
La Lippe in the work of thoroughly re-organising the
Portuguese army, and when the latter left the country,
overwhelmed with tokens of the esteem both of its Sovereign
and its people, he received an important appointment, which
proved a stepping-stone to some of the highest commands
in the service, and which enabled him materially to aid his
old friend, Goncalvo, whose son Manuel eventually became
a very distinguished officer. His subsequent career, however,
will be better gathered from the following transcript, in
French, of the epitaph on his tomb in the Cathedral at Eio,
which will serve as a fitting conclusion to this history of a
brief portion of his life :—
218
IAN ROT.
"Ici reposent les cendres de son Excellence le tr&s haut et
puissant Seigneur Jean Gordon de Colquharry, Eccossais de
naissance et descendant de l'ancienne et illustre famille de Gordon
de ce pays, qui, ayant pass6 au service des Rois de Portugal, a
merite par ses hautes qualites et ses grands vertus, par sa fidelity
sa valeur, et ses grands talens militaries, d'occuper les grades de
General de Cavalrie, Inspecteur Gdn6ral de l'lnfanterie, Marechal
General des Armdes, Conseiller de Guerre, et des conferences,
&c., &c., &c. Et le Prince, alors Regent, lui ayant confie le
commandement de l'Armee Auxiliaire, Portugaise, il a passe en
Catalogne, oil en consequence des victoires Corvet Coullieres et de
la glorieuse campagne de Roussillon il fut decor6 des Insignes de
l'ordre du Christ, des grand croix de celles d'Aviz etde Charles III.
(Espagnol), et mit enfin le sceau a sa fidelity en accompagnant
S. A. H. le Prince Regent auBr6sil, ouil fut, en arrivant, nomine
Gouverneur Militaire de la Ville et de la Province, Poste qu'il n'a
pourtant pas exerc6 longtemps, ayant succombe a une courte
xualadie beintot apr^s son arrivee a Rio Janeiro, le 8 Avril, 1818."*
* See Appendix. Note 2.
APPENDIX.
APPENDIX.
NOTES.
Note 1, p. 178.
The bricking up of the Countess De Vougny by her husband was
suggested to the writer by the following incident, which is related
as a fact in the "Reminiscences of a Canoness at the Courts of
Louis XIY. and Louis XY.," by the Viscountess de Kerkadoc
(1874).
During one of his hunting expeditions, Richelieu, the celebrated
marshal, came upon a boy and girl playing together in a solitary
part of the forest of Senaar. He was so struck by the refined
appearance and beauty of the latter that he bade her take him to
her home. He found that she lived with an old crone, who in-
formed him that the child had been originally stolen by a gipsy,
who had died and left her in her charge. He took such a fancy to
the girl, whom he called Fleur de Bois, that he adopted her, had
her brought up in his household, and eventually married her
to a certain Mons. De Frene. The latter, apparently without, real
cause, became very jealous of Richelieu, who continued to treat
Fleur de Bois as his daughter. One day, just before going on
active service, the marshal came to say good-bye to Madame De
Fr6ne, and her husband, who was in. the next apartment, saw by
means of a mirror that he kissed her on the forehead. This appears
222
IAN ROT.
to have decided him to take vengeance on her for her supposed
guilt. On pretence of changing their sleeping apartment, he had
a niche made ready in the wall of a dressing-room adjoining a
boudoir at the end of a passage detached from the rest of the
house. To this he one night led the unfortunate lady, and before
she could offer resistance, she was bound and gagged, and was
buried alive by a mason who was waiting to execute the husband's
orders. This man happened to be no other than Fleur de Bois'
old playmate of the Forest of Senaar. He had been captured by
Mons. De Frene's servants, blindfolded, and brought to the chateau
at Versailles, where he was compelled to carry out his horrid task
by means of a loaded pistol with which he was constantly threatened
when attempting to desist. He had, however, recognised his old
companion, and when he found himself set down in the outskirts
of Versailles, and had removed his bandage, he at once hurried to
the Prefet de Police. As he could of course give no clue to the
house, he was unable to obtain any assistance from that quarter ;
but remembering that Mons. De Frene had told his wife that he was
punishing her for her conduct with " her paramour Richelieu," he
then rushed off to the house of the Marshal. The latter was, as
above stated, absent on service, but his wife's maid, who had once
had charge of Fleur de Bois, at once recognised his description,
and by her aid, and the mason's description, the police were
able to identify the house. They found, however, that the un-
happy lady was quite dead, and that her husband had effected his
escape ; nor does he seem ever to have been recaptured. The poor
man who had been the unwilling cause of her death, flung his arms
round the corpse on its discovery, and instantly expired.
Note 2, p. 187.
The main incidents of the above chapter are derived from a
similar encounter which actually took place in 1763 between
Wilkes and Captain John Forbes, a collateral ancestor of the
IAN ROY.
223
writer, then serving in the Royal Ecossais or 103rd French
Regiment of the Line, on a portion of whose career this story is
founded. It is probable that Wilkes was not in Paris at all during
1762, nor was he, so far as the writer is aware, ever visited by
Churchill during his stay there, though the latter was his guest at
Boulogne in 1764, where, as is well known, he died at the end of
the year. An account of the affair is given in Walpole's '' Memoirs
of George III.," and also in Steinmetz's " History of Duelling,"
though in the latter work Forbes is falsely described as a wild
profligate who not long after lost his life in some brawl in one of
the continental towns. It is, however, more fully narrated in the
following extracts from the August and September numbers of
The Scot's Magazine for 1762 (pp. 471 et seq., and 473 et seq., re-
spectively) :—
" Mr. Wilkes, the worthy champion of the Qpposition, set out
from London on July 26th, for France.
After various reports about him, such as,—that he was caned by
a Captain Forbes, a Scots officer in the French service, had been
killed in a duel, assassinated, &c., &c.,—the following appeared
in the papers.
London, September 1st.
' The following account of Mr. Wilkes's affair may be depended
on. Mr. Wilkes being at Compeigne, accidentally met Captain
Forbes, who came up to him and asked if his name were Wilkes ?
who replied that it was. On which the Captain said : ' You are
an infamous scoundrel: you have abused my country, and in so
doing, I think myself personally affronted, and will have satisfac-
tion.' Mr. Wilkes replied that he was ready to give it as soon as
he returned to Paris; but Captain Forbes, hearing nothing from
him on his return thither, called several times at his lodgings
without finding him at home. At last, determined to see him, he
went one morning at six o'clock and waited till he got up, when
he asked him to go out with him directly. Mr. Wilkes answered
224
IAN ROY,
4 that upon reflection he was not at liberty to fight any man, being;
engaged first to fight Lord Egremont.' Captain Forbes replied
4 that he would hear none of these evasions, which, had he made
them at Compeigne, it would have saved him some trouble, for then
he would have caned him ag such a scoundrel deserved ; but that he
might depend upon it if he would not give him satisfaction ; that
he should treat him in that manner wherever he met him.' Mr.
Wilkes replied 4 that rather than expose himself so, he would fight
him, and desired that he would call on him at a certain hour the
next morning.' The Captain came accordingly; but instead of
finding him alone as he expected, there were two persons with him,
who, Captain Forbes imagined, were brought there to witness what
should pass between them; he desired, therefore, that he would
retire into another room, which Mr. Wilkes accordingly did; when
Captain Forbes again asked him 4 if he were ready fight with him ? '
Mr. Wilkes replied 4 that he had never given him any offence, and
was determined not to fight him.' Captain Forbes then assured
him ' that he should cane him whenever he met him.' As soon as
the Captain had retired, Mr. Wilkes went with his two friends to
the Lieutenant de Police, to whom he applied for protection, re-
presenting to him that he was in danger of his life. The Lieu-
tenant de Police thereupon ordered one of his officers to attend
him during his stay in Paris.'
London, September 3rd.
4 By letters from Paris we learn that Mr. Wilkes is under the pro-
tection of Monsieur Cartouche, the Sergeant de Police, and never
stirs abroad without several attendants. No gentleman will speak
to him.'"
The September number contains the following letter on the sub-
ject from Captain Forbes to his father, as well as "An Irishman's
remarks on this affair," 44 Mr. Wilkes's account of the affair, and
his letters to Mr. Murray," &c., &c.:—
44 Sir,—I received yours last night, desiring an exact account of
IAN ROY.
225
what happened betwixt me and that fellow Wilkes, which I shall
tell as it happened.
"Going along ComSdie Street, betwixt ten and eleven forenoon,
I met two English gentlemen, one of whom I thought might be
Wilkes. I had never seen the man before, but guessed him from a
picture I had seen of him. Upon our approaching, I asked him
if Wilkes were not his name ? upon which he tQld me it was. I then
desired I might speak with him apart. The other gentleman that
was with him walked off. I let him know I was a Scotch gentle-
man, and had been a captain in the service of this country; and
that upon account of the scurrilous and ignominious things he
had written against my country, I was determined that he should
fight me. He told me he could not then go with me, but that if
I would take the trouble to write him or come to his lodgings at
the Hotel de Saxe, Rue de Colombier, in the afternoon, he would
go along with me, &c., &c."
The letter then goes on to narrate the events which followed, to
the same purport as the newspaper extract above given. After
describing the final scene at the hotel and the Captain's threat to
cane Wilkes whenever he met him, or in the words of the letter
" give him a hundred strokes of a stick, as he deserved no more to
be used like a gentleman, but as an eternal rascal and scoundrel,"
the writer continues:—
"I went after this scene to dinner, and after that to the Tuileries,
from where, when coming home in the evening, I got notice that
there were orders from the Marshals of France to take me up,
upon which I thought it prudent to keep out of the way. This
happened the 17th and 18th August. I am, &c."
It appears from the other letters that Captain Forbes was some
time concealed in the house of Alexander Murray, but afterwards
escaped, and did not return to Paris. Mr. Murray was therefore put
under arrest by order of the Marshals of France ; and he engaged
for Captain Forbes, and Mr. Wilkes on his own behalf, signed a
Q
226
IAiV BOY
1'arole d'Honneur, that there should be no " Voie de fait, directeor
indirecte " between them.
Mr. Wilkes, according to a letter from him, then appointed a
meeting at Menin, the first town of Austrian Flanders, he also
wrote a letter to the Public Advertiser, declaring that the letter
printed in the General Evening Post, purporting to be from Captain
Forbes to his father must be a forgery, since it contained so many
falsehoods, and giving his own account of the affair.
A correspondent signed " I>emocritus," thus comments on Mr.
Wilkes' conduct and letter :
" But let us review the conduct of our modern hero, even from
the account which is published by himself. The moment he is
disengaged by the death of Lord Egremont from his first affair of
honour, he appoints Austrian Flanders as a proper place to meet
Captain Forbes, though he must be sensible that the Captain was
at that time in London. Bravo, there's spirit and discretion for
you! and then the moment he learns Captain Forbes has left
England, he resolutely runs over to attack him, where he is abso-
lutely certain he cannot be found."
Another letter says :—
"One cannot help laughing to read Mr. Wilkes's letter to Mr.
Murray when he desires him to convey a challenge to Captain
Forbes after he had just exacted Mr. Murray's word of honour that
Captain Forbes should not attack him directly or indirectly."—
Edinburgh Papers, October 8.
The Magazine article ends thus—
" Captain Forbes came to London about the 14th of September,
and was at several coffee-houses near the Royal Exchange. He
was likewise on 'Change, and had a crowd about him almost equal
to the crowd that got round Mr. Wilkes when he was discharged at
Westminster Hall."
An article in the papers, dated London, September 20, is in these
words ;—
TAN ROT.
227
Notice having been received that Captain Forbes was arrived in
town, and that he came with an intention of meeting Mr. Wilkes,
we hear that, to prevent a breach of the law, a message from au-
thority was sent to Captain Forbes to depart immediately, and that
in consequence thereof he left London yesterday morning.
This Captain Forbes is the younger son of Mr. Forbes, of Skel-
later, in Aberdeenshire, who is also a Captain in the French service.
The son is about twenty-four or twenty-five years of age, and was
a Captain in Lord Ogilvie's regiment, which has been lately broke
the father, unhappily engaged in the rebellion of 1745, which
obliged him to leave his native country, but, politics set aside, he
is deemed a worthy, honest man, and the son's character is
altogether untainted."
On leaving the French service, Captain Forbes entered that of
Frederick the Great of Prussia, and afterwards went to Portugal,
where he became a marshal, and married a Portuguese lady of
rank, eventually accompanying the Royal Family of Portugal to
the Brazils, where he died at Rio, as shown in the epitaph at the
end of the story. He is mentioned in history as being a pupil of
Count La Lippe's, but it is utterly impossible that he could have
been in Portugal during the campaign described in the narrative,
and he was most probably summoned there later on, when the
Count was re-organising the Portuguese army.
Note 3, p. 221.
The above story actually appeared among the items of news in a
Mercury of June, 1732, and is there reported as having occurred
at Lanark.—See " Chambers' Domestic Annals of Scotland,"
to which, and to Leckie's "Historyof the Eighteenth Century,"
vol. ii., the reader is refered for information as to Scotch society
during this period.
Note 4, p. 231.
Wilhelm, Count La Lippe, born in London, 1724, died 1777. A
22S
IAN RO Y.
good sketch of his career and character will he found in Walpole's
" Memoirs of George III."
Note 5, p. 245.
It may be stated that all the details of the battle described in
this chapter are entirely imaginary, and that it is founded upon a
short paragraph in the Annual Register for 1762, which says that
the Spanish army, which had taken possession of the greater part
of the province of Traz-oz-Montes, "attempting to cross the
Douro, had its progress checked on that side. The peasants,
animated and led by some English officers, and seizing a difficult
pass, repulsed and drove them back to Torre de Moncorvo. They
are said to have been guilty of some cruelties to the Spanish
prisoners who fell into their hands." The accounts given of this
campaign in all the works which the writer has been able to
examine are extremely meagre. That in the Annual Register
appears to be the fullest, and it is from it that the brief details
respecting it which are given in the story, have been taken. It
also gives some account of the utterly disorganised condition of
Portugal before the war, as to which the reader is also referred to
an interesting article on the "Marquis of Pombal," in the
Edinburgh Review, No. 136 (1872), pp. 179 et seg.
Note 6, p. 251.
The description of Villa Teira, a town created to suit the
exigencies of the story, is in a great measure borrowed from that
given of the old town of Villa Real, in the Province of Traz-oz-
Montes, by Mr. John Latouche, in his very interesting work,
"Travels in Portugal," to which the writer is indebted for most
of his information respecting the scenery and customs of the
country.
IAN ROY.
229
Note 7, p. 257.
A very amusing account is given of this custom of Portuguese love-
making in Mr. John Latouche's " Travels in Portugal" (see Note
6), of which he gives the following curious example (ee pp. 119 ,
120).
. A young Portuguese lady was engaged to be married, but on the
marriage being for some cause broken off, she was sent into a
nunnery at Oporto. On the suppression of the monasteries some
sixty years ago, though the monks were scattered throughout the
kingdom, the nuns were suffered to remain in their nunneries, and
the lady therefore did not leave her Benedictine convent. " It is
to be presumed, however, that the rules of this particular convent
were relaxed, for the young gehtleman, who had been engaged to
this nun, was observed to take his constant stand before the barred
window of his former mistress's cell, while she would become
visible behind the grating. This hopeless courtship lasted no
fewer than four-and-thirty years, till a bowed and middle-aged
man paced the pavement and looked up to a grey-haired mistress.
It only ended with the death of the lady a few weeks ago. (Mr.
Latouche's work was written in 1875.) Many persons have
assured me that they had often been eye-witnesses of what I
have described, and I found that the fact was quite notorious in
Oporto."
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