CHAPTER XLV.

Austin Jute rode on towards Dirleton; but he did it with an exceedingly strong feeling of ill will. He had doubts and apprehensions in his mind, with regard to the fate of his well-loved master, which, under any ordinary circumstances, would have bound him to his side, to share his peril, to labour to avert it, or to fight in his defence till death. But Gowrie's order had been peremptory; the necessity of warning the earl's mother and Julia was great; and Austin Jute, as I have said, rode on, though with a heavy heart. I shall not trace his journey minutely, but merely notice that he took means to avoid an encounter with the royal cavalcade in its approach to Perth, and then made the best of his way to the old family seat of the Ruthvens and Halyburtons, which, owing to some delay in the passage, he did not reach till nearly eight o'clock. He was admitted instantly to the presence of the old countess, who at the moment was standing by the side of her son's promised bride, watching a portrait of Gowrie which Julia was painting from memory. Every line of his countenance was impressed so deeply upon her mind, that, with the perfect knowledge of the art which she possessed, she had little difficulty in transferring the image to the canvas. She had but to raise her look, and fill the vacant air by the power of imagination, and Gowrie, in all his young and high-toned beauty, stood visible to the mind's eye.

As Austin Jute entered, the countess turned partly towards him, saying, "I think I know your errand already, good man. The pleasure of my son's arrival is to be delayed for a day. Is it not so?"

"It is to be delayed, madam," replied Austin, in a tone so grave, that Julia instantly dropped the brush, and started up.

"What did he say?" she exclaimed, fixing her bright eyes eagerly upon the servant's countenance. "Austin, Austin, what has happened?"

"My dear child, do not agitate yourself so much," said Gowrie's mother, in a soothing tone. "You know the king sent yesterday to ask William to meet him to-day in Perth;[11] and, of course, with the king for his guest, Gowrie could not leave his house, even to visit you, sweet one."

"There is something wrong," cried Julia, still keeping her eyes fixed upon Austin's countenance. "I see it there. Something has happened!"

"No, indeed, dear lady," replied Austin Jute; "nothing has happened that I know of. The king's coming took my lord by surprise, for he knew nothing of it till this day at his dinner."

"Nothing of it!" exclaimed the old countess, her brow contracting a good deal. "Why, it was announced to my boy William, by four o'clock yesterday evening.--But let us hope," she continued, "that this is one of the king's wild jests. He loves to take people by surprise, I have heard, and to make merry with the embarrassment he causes. Had the king arrived ere you departed?"

"No, madam; but he was within a mile of the town," replied Austin Jute. "My lord sent me to warn you, and----"

He paused and hesitated; and the old countess finished the sentence for him, saying, "And to tell us he would come to-morrow. Was it not so?"

Austin shook his head. "He was going to do so, my lady," he replied; "but he stopped himself as the words were on his lips, and said, 'No; I will make no promises for to-morrow. God, and God only, knows what may be to-morrow!'"

Julia sank into a chair, and covered her eyes; and the old countess put her hand to her brow, and fell into deep thought.

"Let me not alarm you more than needful, dear ladies," continued Austin Jute, after remaining silent for a moment or two; "though my lord seemed quite bewildered by the suddenness of the king's visit, and perhaps he might think the matter more serious than it really was----But let me tell you what he said. I can give it you word for word, for I have repeated it over and over again, to myself, as I came along. The order was, 'Tell them the king comes. Tell them I know not why he comes; and let their own judgment speak the rest. But of all things,' added my noble lord, 'let my mother be upon her guard, and see to the safety of my young brothers!'"

"Wise and thoughtful ever," exclaimed the old countess. "Oh, Gowrie, Gowrie!"

Julia remained in silence. She wept not, spoke not, hardly seemed to breathe; and Austin Jute at length demanded, in a low tone, addressing the countess, "Shall I go back, madam, and obtain tidings?"

"Oh, do, do!" cried Julia, starting up, and wringing her hands. "Bring me tidings, bring me tidings!"

"Stay!" cried the countess, with recovered calmness. "Not you, my good man. You are known to some of the people there; I will send a stranger. Go and refresh yourself in the hall; but, first, tell William Laing to come to me, and bid some of the grooms prepare a horse for him without delay."

"We are giving too much way to fear, my child," continued the countess, addressing Julia, as Austin Jute retired. "We are taking for granted that some evil is meditated against my son, and without cause. True, we know the king did at one time suspect him; but we know also that the suspicion was groundless, and as James has lately shown him greater favour, we may well conclude that he is satisfied he was wrong in his doubts."

Julia went and knelt down on the cushion by the countess's feet, and laid her broad fair brow upon her knee. "It was predicted to him," she murmured, in a low voice, "that at this time great peril should befall him; and we were warned in a strange manner that we should never be united. Reason with me not, dear lady. I feel I am superstitious now, though I never was before; and I feel, too, that it is in vain, when superstition has possession of the mind, to struggle against it. God grant that my fears may prove vain and idle, and if not, God grant that we may both have strength to bear up under his will; but my brain feels on fire, and my heart has hardly power to beat."

The countess cast her arms around her and kissed her neck, and at the same moment the servant she had sent for entered the room.

"Mount directly, William Laing," the countess said, "and ride for Perth with all speed. Bring us information, without pause or delay, how fares the earl; but if you get important tidings by the way--mark me, tidings that you can depend upon--return and let us know, be the hour what it may. Now away, and lose not a moment by the road. There is money for you, for you will need a boat."

As the man was retiring, young William Ruthven entered the room, and seeing the anxious countenances before him, he exclaimed, in a tone almost gay, "Why, what is the matter, dearest mother? What is the matter, sweet sister Julia? I came in all glad to tell you that my new falcon, Bell, has struck the largest old heron in the county, and----But this must be something serious," he continued, as Julia turned away with the tears in her eyes, "Gowrie--What of my brother?"

"Nothing, nothing," answered the countess. "His southron servant has just arrived to say that he cannot come to-day, as the king pays him a sudden visit, which he heard not of till dinner time; and our dear Julia, whose heart is not accustomed to the rough things of the world, has taken fright--needlessly, I do hope and trust. Stay with her and comfort her, William. I have some orders to give;" and going out, she sent at once for the factor of the Dirleton estates.

The man came almost immediately; for there was that kind of indefinite uneasiness, that looking forth for evil through the whole house, which so frequently precedes calamity; and every servant was alert and active.

As soon as the door of the little room to which she had retired was closed, the countess said, "I know I can trust you, Guthrie. I have had news I do not like from Perth. The king goes to visit my son suddenly, and by surprise; and the earl sends me word to be upon my guard, and watch for the safety of his brothers. Keep four horses saddled in the stable, and two men ready to fly with the boys, should need be--at least till we hear more: and now, Guthrie, collect me all the money you can get. Go to all the tenants nearest at hand, and ask them for any sums they may have by them, within their amount of rent. Tell them the countess has need of it. They know I would never press them but in dire necessity; and they will not grudge it, I think."

"There is not one of them who will not give his last penny willingly, my lady," replied the factor, "if it be not old Jock Halyburton of the mill. I'll go my round, and be back in an hour."

"Go, then--go, Guthrie," answered the countess; and, leaning her head upon her hand, she remained for somewhat more than half an hour in deep, bitter, painful thought. She noticed not that there was the sound of several feet moving past the door, and the first thing that roused her from her reverie was a loud, shrill, piercing shriek from the adjoining chamber.

Starting up at once she rushed in; but for a moment, by the faint light which now prevailed, she could gain no clear view of the scene before her. All she saw was, that there were two men besides her own sons in the room. The next instant she perceived the form of poor Julia lying prostrate on the floor near the window, with the lad William bending tenderly over her, while the younger boy, Patrick, stood nearer to the door, pale as death, and wringing his hands in bitter grief.

"Oh, Henry, you have killed her!--Poor blighted flower!" cried William Ruthven, as his mother entered.

"I knew not she was in the room," replied Henry Ruthven of Freeland, who was one of the two men whom the countess had seen; and nearly at the same moment his brother Alexander, who was with him, took the old lady's hand, saying, "Alas! dear lady, this is a bitter day!"

"Your news?" said the countess, in a tone preternaturally calm and cold, at the same time seating herself in a chair near.

The young man hesitated for an instant, and then replied, "I and my brother Henry here are forced to fly with all speed for having drawn our swords, dear lady, in defence of your noble sons."

"Then are my sons no more!" said the countess, solemnly; "their friends would not fly if they still lived. Oh, accursed race of Stuart! tyrannical, weak and bloodthirsty, could not the father's death sate your appetite for vengeance, and must you wreak it upon the innocent children? May Heaven avert from you the reward due to those who shed the blood of the unoffending, and visit you only with the remorse which works repentance! Oh, my poor boys, what had you done to merit this? But I must not yield--No, I will not shed a tear. Thank God, I am old, and the separation will but be short. I will remember my noble son's last injunction, and care for his poor brothers. Lads, lads, get ready to ride at once, for this is no longer a land for you. James Stuart will never rest while there is one drop of your blood unshed, one acre of your lands unseized. Away and prepare! The horses are saddled in the stable; the gold will be here anon. Ride with them, Henry and Alex; you will be some protection. And you, poor thing," she continued, rising and moving across the room to where Julia lay, "your prophetic heart gave no false augury. Oh, it was the oracle of deep true love that spoke. Fatherless, motherless, bereft, you shall remain with me, whom this man would make childless. My home shall be your home, and you shall be to me as a daughter. Try not to raise her, William. Let her have a respite from agony. You know not the blessing you would take from her when you seek to call her back to life and memory. Weep not, my dear boy--weep not now. Keep your tears for another hour, as I shall do, and when you are safe afar, then we may weep for others who are safer than ourselves. Go, go, my boy--prepare; and you too, Patrick, for you must not let another sun shine upon you in your native land. Go with them for awhile, good cousins, while they make ready, and leave me and my maidens to tend this poor child."

It was nearly an hour before Julia awoke--I was going to say to consciousness--but that I cannot say. When she opened her eyes she gazed wildly round her, and pronounced the name of Gowrie in a low plaintive tone that wrung his mother's heart.

"Come, my child," said the countess, tenderly; "come with me to your chamber."

"Gowrie," said Julia again, in the same tone, gazing vacantly in his mother's face, "Gowrie!"

It was all that she ever said. No other word ever passed her lips but that. She was gentle, tractable, did all that was required of her, but speak. That she never did after, but to utter one name. All language seemed lost to her but that single sound; and that grew fainter and fainter every day, while the rose died away from her cheek, the light, wandering and wild as it was, faded from her eye, the hand grew thin and pale. Ten weeks all but a day passed, and Julia found rest and peace.

Happy, most happy for her, that reason never returned. She would have heard of him she loved being pronounced a traitor, though he never dreamed of treason--she would have heard of his dead body being mangled by the hand of the executioner--she would have heard of the faithful friends and servants who had drawn their swords to save him from assassination, being torn by the torture and dying a dishonouring death--his lands forfeited--his family proscribed--his very name forbidden to be used; and--oh solemn mockery of God's omniscience!--she would have heard of thanks offered up for his destruction and his murderer's safety.

There could but have been one comfort--to hear and know that all men thought him innocent; that the best and noblest of the clergy in his native land refused, even under pain of deprivation and banishment, to mock God as they were required, and that far and wide, throughout Europe, the history of his asserted treason was treated with contempt, and the tale of his death received with sorrow and with pity. But she died, and, without ever recovering a glimpse of reason to groan under the burden or to feel the relief, went down to that calm home where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.