Part 23

"Thy blessing, father! thy blessing!" said she, "we come to crave thy blessing, father! and now," continued she, starting up, "let the feast be prepared!--and the dance!--for Duncan, thine own dear Duncan, has made me his bride, and I am the happiest maiden in all Scotland! See, see! look here, how gaily my head is garlanded! Indeed, indeed, as all the neighbours were wont to say, we were made for each other. And now I am Duncan's bride! Aye, gentlefolks!" added she, curtseying gracefully around, and then hiding her blushing face in her hands for a moment, "and I shall soon be my Duncan's lady! So, as the fair maid sings in the old ballad,--

'Oh! I shall henceforth be, my love, As happy as a queen, For such a youth as thee, my love, Was never, never seen--never! no, never!'

Father! father! thou art my father now as well as Duncan's--hath not Duncan told thee all, father? Methinks it was but to-day that we agreed to break the secret of our love to thee; and Duncan, thine own Duncan Bane, was to tell thee all! and thou wert to give us thy blessing; and we were to be wedded--aye, wedded as man and wife, never again to sunder--but my brain so burns with joy, and my foolish heart beats so, that--but no matter--ha!--I forget--I must go bid the guests!--I must away--I must go bid the bridal guests, they will take it all the kinder that I bid them myself. Hush, then!" added she, sinking her voice, and approaching the bier upon tiptoe, and gently stooping to kiss the cold lips of the corse. "Hush, then, Duncan, my love, rest thee in sweet slumber till I return. All good be with ye, good gentlefolks. Mark me, I bid ye all to our bridal; but I have other guests to bid--I must away!--I have many guests to bid--away, away!" and so she hurried forth from the gateway, singing as she went,--

"And when that we shall wedded be, All by the holy priest, Full many a knight and lady bright Shall grace our bridal feast."

The true interpretation of the cause of Anna's frenzy came palpably to the mind of the old laird of Tullochcarron. Whatever he might have thought of the attachment of the lovers under other circumstances, he now felt that the discovery of it had only come like a gleam of sunshine to enhance the brightness of those earthly prospects which were henceforth darkened for ever. Yet still with iron nerve he strung himself firmly up to bear it all. He gave one piteous glance of despair towards the bier where lay the dead body of his son, his only child, and then he suffered himself to be led passively up into the hall of the peel-tower, whither the corpse was immediately carried and laid out. Then it was that human courage could no longer support him,--it yielded, and he gave way to all a father's grief. For a time he indulged fully in this; and then, drying up his tears, he summoned his vassals, ordered in the prisoner Lachlan Dhu, and instantly proceeded to hold a court upon him.

The murderer would have fain denied his guilt, but little evidence was necessary to convict in those days. In this case there was enough to convince all present. An assize was set upon him--Ballindalloch's letter was produced and read: at once his bold and resolute air of innocence was shaken. The prisoner's own statement as to the point where he stood when he had witnessed the alleged accident, was proved to be false by old Hamish, who chanced to see him whilst running along a path which led, not from that point, but directly from the brow of the cliff whence Duncan Bane had met his death. The dumb boy described and pointed out, with most intelligent action, how and by whom the murder was perpetrated; and his little sister distinctly told, that she and her brother had seen Lachlan Dhu push Duncan Bane over the crag. Finally, the sheet was removed from the body of Duncan, and then, they say, the wounds began to well forth afresh; and the agitation of the murderer was so great, that he called for a priest, confessed all, was shortly shriven; and as the sun of that day which had witnessed his crime was preparing to disappear behind the western mountains, its slanting rays were throwing a horrible splendour over his powerful but now exanimate frame, as it swung to and fro in the evening breeze from the fatal tree on the gallow hill.

The afflicted Anna Gordon wandered wildly about with maniac energy during all that day, no one knew where. At last, her friends, who went in search of her, found her on the mountain, and led her gently homewards. It happened that the path they took passed by the gallow hill. At some distance off she descried the figure of him who had so recently paid the penalty of his crime.

"Yonder is a guest! I will bid yonder guest!" cried poor Anna, with a frantic laugh, as she broke from her friends, and hurried towards the spot where it hung, ere anyone could arrest her. She stood for some moments with her eyes steadily fixed upon the ghastly visage, and then bursting out in a sudden fit of frenzy, "I heard my Duncan's cry!" she shrieked aloud, in a voice that pierced the ears and the hearts of all who heard her. "'Twas his last joyous cry to call me to our bridal! quick! quick!--let us away!--hark!--hark!--again!--again!--again!"

She rushed rapidly forwards a few steps, as if she had been flying to meet her lover. She tottered, and fell in a swoon, was borne home by her friends in a state of stupor, and placed in bed. But it would seem that some internal and vital failure had taken place, for the poor thing ceased to breathe; and the gentle spirit of Anna Gordon fled to unite itself with that of him she loved. Nor were their earthly remains sundered, for the father of Duncan Bane saw them consigned together to the same grave, and he wept over them both.

The old laird of Tullochcarron was but little seen beyond the court-yard of his peel-tower for many weeks after his son's murder; then, indeed, he did come abroad, as if to superintend his affairs as he was wont to do, but it was more because he thought that it was right for him so to do, than from any relish he had in the employment. It was this conviction of what was expected of him, that likewise made him force a false smile of cheerfulness over his good-humoured countenance, which, alas! was with him but as the sunshine that gilded the sepulchre of inextinguishable mourning within. One of the first visits that he paid was to the castle of his ancient feudal enemy, Ballindalloch. He was kindly received, for his severe recent affliction was sincerely pitied by his generous neighbour.

"Ballindalloch," said he, "I am come to thank thee for the friendly caution which thou gavest to a foolish old man, who, if he had taken it as it was meant, would have had his roof-tree still fresh and firm. But let that pass," continued he, with a sigh, and with the full tear rising over his eyelid. "The obligation I owe to thee is not the less, that I, blinded man, refused to give more heed to thy caution."

"Talk not of this, sir," said Ballindalloch. "I must e'en confess to thee, Tullochcarron, that the advice came from so questionable a quarter, that had I been in thy case I might have spurned it myself. But say, sir, wilt thou not eat and drink with me?"

"Willingly," replied Tullochcarron.

"Wilt thou name aught that might, perchance, be most pleasing to thy taste?" said Ballindalloch.

"I know I need not ask for salmon," said Tullochcarron, "for such food is hardly now to be had."

"Though the fish have been somewhat rare with us of late," said Ballindalloch, "I think I can promise thee that thou shalt have as much of thy favourite dish as shall satisfy thee."

"Alas!" said Tullochcarron with a faltering voice, and with a tear rolling down his cheek, "salmon have, indeed, been rare with me since--since--but," added he, making a strong effort to overcome the feelings excited by the recollection of his son, and perhaps with the hope of hiding his agitation under a good-humoured jest, "I hear that the salmon are so bewitched, that they hardly ever come farther inland now than the Bog of Gight. In so great a scarcity, then, I much doubt whether the stock of fresh fish within the Castle of Ballindalloch will stand against my well-known voracity."

"Be assured that there is as much in the house, of mine own catching, too, as will extinguish thine appetite, and leave something to spare," said Ballindalloch.

"Thou knowest not what a cormorant I am," said Tullochcarron.

"I have heard much of thy powers," said Ballindalloch.

"And I am as sharp set at this moment as ever I was in my life," said Tullochcarron.

"All that may be; yet I fear thee not," said Ballindalloch laughing.

"Art thou bold enough to lay a wager on the issue?" demanded Tullochcarron.

"I am so bold," said Ballindalloch.

"Well, then," said Tullochcarron, "I will wager thee the succession and heirship of my lands against thy grey gelding, that I shall not leave thee a morsel to spare."

"Thou dost give me brave odds, indeed," said Ballindalloch; "thou hadst best bethink thee again ere we strike thumbs on it."

"Nay, I require no more thought," said Tullochcarron; "and, moreover, I grow hungrier every moment. Besides," said the old man with a sigh, that showed that all this jocularity was only assumed to cover a broken heart; "I am putting in peril that in which I can have no interest, whilst, if I win thy gallant grey, I shall be sure of being well mounted for the rest of my life. Art thou afraid of losing thy steed? or wilt thou say done to the wager?"

"I do say done, then, since thou wilt have it so," said Ballindalloch, and he accordingly gave the necessary orders for having the matter put to the proof.

After a little time, a serving man entered with a covered trencher, in which lay, smoking hot, one half of a small salmon. When Tullochcarron lifted the cover, he eyed it with something like contempt, and impelled as he was by his irresistible disease, he fell upon it, and devoured it with an alacrity that astonished every beholder. A whole salmon, but of moderate size, was then brought in, and was instantly attacked by Tullochcarron with as much avidity as if he had not eaten a morsel. Wonderfully and fearfully did he go on to clear his way through it; but as he approached the conclusion of it, his jaws began to go rather more languidly than before. Ballindalloch observed this.

"Ho there! bring more salmon!" cried he aloud.

"No," said Tullochcarron, shoving the trencher from him, and wiping his knife and fork in his napkin, and sticking them into his dirk sheath. "No, no; I have enough. Ballindalloch, my lands shall be yours the moment the breath is out of my body."

"Nay, then," said Ballindalloch, "I must in truth and honesty confess that I called for more salmon but as a bravado; for thou hast indeed finished all the salmon that was in the house, and it is my grey gelding that is thine, not thy lands that are mine."

"It matters not, Ballindalloch," replied the other. "The lands of Tullochcarron are thine notwithstanding. See, there are the writings which I had made out the week after my poor Duncan was so foully murdered. Thou wilt find that thy name was then inserted therein. I but seized on this of the wager as a whimsical means of breaking the matter to thee; and now thou mayest make of Tullochcarron what it may please thee. I shall not stand long in the way, poor decayed sproutless stock as I am! and I have now known enough of thee to be convinced that thou wilt not see me kicked over before my time; but that thou wilt take care of me during the brief space that I may yet cumber this earth, and see me laid decently beside Duncan when I die."

Such then, gentlemen, was the way in which the lands of Tullochcarron came to be united to those of Ballindalloch,--ane union, the which I am told, did vurra much impruv the value of both, and which still subsists to the present day.

ANTIQUARIAN DISCUSSION.

Clifford.--Why, this is the best story I have heard for many a day, for it has both salmon and salmon fishing in it.

Author.--The secret is out now about the fairies and the peel-tower, and, for my own part, I shall never in future doubt the prévoyance and judgment of these good people. Aware, as they must have been, that fate had decreed the lands of Tullochcarron to be merged in those of Ballindalloch, and seeing that this coming event would render the commanding site of Ballindalloch's proposed peel-tower utterly valueless, as he would no longer have any enemy's territory to overlook, their regard for his interest induced them to drive him out of his fancy, and to compel him to descend into the delightful repose and shelter of the beautiful haugh below.

Dominie.--'Pon my word, sir, there is much reason in that observe of yours. That is, always premeesing that the story I told had been a tale of reasonable and probable fack.

Author.--But as you yourself remarked at the conclusion of it, Mr. Macpherson, the wild faery tale connected with the ancient foundations of the peel-tower may have some matter of truth wrapped up in it; and why may we not suppose then, that Ballindalloch, having commenced some small exploratory building there, had afterwards discontinued it when the prospect of his succession to the lands of Tullochcarron opened to him.

Dominie.--Troth, I'm thinking you have guessed it sir,--that wull just be it.

Grant.--The conjecture is at least as good as those of most antiquaries.

Clifford.--It would certainly seem to have some foundation in the old site.

Author.--If that was meant as a pun, Mr. Secretary, I think you should be immediately condemned to tell us a long story, in expiation of so grave an offence.

Clifford.--The first time, certainly, that I ever heard a pun called a grave offence; but, to bury all further controversy, I will tell you a legend which I learned when I was on a visit to some of my relations in Ross-shire; and since you think that my offence is so very heavy, I shall impose on myself a long penance, of which I pray the gods that you, my good auditors, may not suffer any share.

LEGEND OF CHIRSTY ROSS.

About the middle of last century, there resided in the burgh of Tain, on the eastern coast of Ross-shire, a poor shopkeeper of the name of Ross. The contents of that strange and multifarious emporium, which he called his shop, might have been well advertised by a handbill, like that which I once met with in Ireland, where, in the long list of miscellaneous articles enumerated, I remember to have seen "tar, butter, hog's-lard, brimstone, and other sweetmeats--brushes, scythe-stones, mouse-traps, and other musical instruments." You may easily imagine, that the profits arising from the sale of such trumpery wares as these, were barely sufficient to provide the necessaries of life for his numerous family, and to bestow on his children the common education which Scotland, very much to her credit, so readily and cheaply affords. Although Mr. Ross's enjoyments were not numerous, yet, by endeavouring to have as few wants as possible, he managed to live contentedly and happily enough, and he cheerfully struggled on drudging at his daily occupation, thanking God for the mercies which were bestowed on him, and looking forward with hope to the prospect of better days yet in store.

A circumstance occurred one afternoon, which led him to imagine that this prospect was nearer realisation than he could have believed it to be. A stranger, of a spare form and extremely atrabilious complexion, was seen to ride into the town at a gentle pace, and to go directly up to the principal house of entertainment for travellers, as if the way to it had been familiar to him. He had not been long housed there, when a waiter came across the street to Mr. Ross, with compliments "from the gentleman at the inn," who requested a few minutes' conversation with him. The eager shopkeeper, anticipating some important sale of his goods, waited not to doff his apron and sleeves, but hurried over the way directly, and, what was his astonishment and delight, when, after a few words of inquiry and explanation had passed between them, he found himself weeping tears of joy in the arms of an affectionate elder brother.

This man had left his father's house when very young, with little else but hope for his portion, and after being so lost sight of by his relations, that they had long believed him to be dead, he now most unexpectedly returned to them from India with an ample fortune. Wonderful were the visions of wealth which now arose in the mind of the poor shopkeeper, and, on his warm invitation, his brother, and his brother's saddle-bags, were quickly transferred from the inn to his small and inconvenient house, and the Indian was speedily subjected to the danger of being smothered in the embraces of his sister-in-law and her numerous progeny.

Narrow as was his apartment, and small as was his bed, the nabob felt himself in elysium in his brother's house. He had never before experienced the genial effects of the warmth of kindred blood. He was idolised by every one of the family, and imminent was the risk he ran of being killed with kindness. Nor was he the great object of attention to his immediate relations alone. He soon became the oracle of a large circle of kind friends and neighbours, who were seen crowding Mr. Ross's small back parlour, which many of them had never before condescended to enter. And not only was the Indian feasted by small and great, but his humble brother and his sister-in-law were also invited to parties by people who had hardly before been aware of the fact that such an individual as Mr. Ross, the grocer and hardwareman, existed in the place. But now Mr. Ross was not only discovered, as it were, but he was discovered to be a very sensible man, having much of his brother, the nabob's sound intellect, though wanting the advantages of cultivation. As to the nabob, he was a rara avis in terris,--an absolute phoenix, a creature a specimen of which is not to be met with in every age of the world. What the nabob uttered was considered as law; and even when he was absent, "the nabob said this," and "the nabob said that," and "that's the way the nabob likes it," were expressions continually employed by the good people of the town and neighbourhood to put an end to a debate; and they never failed to be quite conclusive upon every question. All this had a certain charm for the old Indian. It was extremely pleasant thus despotically to rule over men's opinions, aye, and over women's too, even in such a place as Tain. But the copper of the gilded crown and sceptre of his dominion soon began to appear through its thin coating. His own origin had indeed been humble, but as his wealth had grown by degrees, so had he been gradually elevated above his original sphere, till he had at last risen into familiar intercourse with people of rank and consequence, from whose society his address, and still more, his ideas had received a certain degree of polish. This did not prevent him from greatly enjoying the plain, honest, warm, but very vulgar manners of his brother and his townsmen, whilst they were as yet new to him. They pleased him at first, precisely on the same principle of novelty, combined with old association, which made him relish for a certain time sheep's-head broth and haggis. But having unfortunately expressed himself rather strongly in his admiration of these dishes, the good folks thought themselves bound to give them to him upon all occasions, so that they soon began to lose their charm; and just so it was that the uninterrupted converse with the good, yet homely people around him, to which he was daily subjected, very soon became dull, tiresome, ennuyant, and, finally, disgusting, until it eventually grew to be so very intolerable that he altogether abandoned the thought he had entertained of purchasing an estate in that neighbourhood which was then for sale, and he quickly came to the determination of bringing this visit to his native town to a speedy conclusion, and of returning to London to take up his abode there among people who like himself had known what it was to live on curries and mulligatawny, and who could talk with him of tiffins and tiger hunting.

How shall I describe that wet blanket of disappointment that fell upon the shoulders of Mr. Ross, the grocer and hardwareman, and his family, when the nabob communicated to them this change in his plans. All the poor shopkeeper's splendid visions departed from him with the same suddenness with which the figures from a magic lantern disappear from a wall the moment its light is extinguished. He had already set it down in his own mind as a thing absolutely certain, that his beloved brother would live and die in his house; and he and his wife had been calculating, that as every child they had would be as a child to its bachelor uncle, every child of them would be better provided for than another. Ten thousand cobwebby castles had been erected in the air by this worthy couple, who had already made lairds of all the boys, and lairds' ladies at least of all the girls. "Out of sight out of mind" was a proverb that came with chilling truth to their hearts; and although the nabob had already shown much affection to them, and had behaved generously enough in giving liberal aid towards the improvement of his brother's condition and that of his family, yet they could not help considering his threatened separation from them as the removal of the sunshine of fortune from the hemisphere of their fate. Never was the anticipated departure of any one more deeply or sincerely deplored. The nabob himself had no such feelings. He looked forward to his escape from his relatives and friends as to a period of happy relief. Yet to this there was one exception.

Chirsty Ross, as his niece Christina was provincially called, was then a very beautiful and extremely engaging little girl of some five or six years of age. From the first day that the old Indian took up his residence in her father's house, she had innocently and unconsciously commenced her approaches against the citadel of his heart. Each succeeding hour saw her gain outpost after outpost, and defence after defence, until she fairly entwined herself so firmly around his affections, that he could not contemplate the approaching loss of her smiles, of her kisses, and of her prattle, with anything like philosophy. He had been naturally enough led to shower a double portion of his favours upon her. She was already in the habit of calling him "her own uncle," as if he had belonged exclusively and entirely to herself, and to this she had been a good deal encouraged by the nabob. It is not wonderful, therefore, that when his departure was communicated to her, she was thrown into an inconsolable paroxysm of grief, and clung to his knees, giving loud vent to her plaints, and sobbing as if her little heart would have burst.

"Take me with you! take me with you, my own dear uncle! oh, take your own Chirsty with you!" cried she.

"I shall take you with me, my little dear!" exclaimed the nabob, snatching her up, and kissing her. "I shall take you with me, provided your father and mother will but part with you."

A negotiation was speedily entered into. The parents were too sensible of the great advantages which such a proposal opened for their child to think for one moment of throwing any obstacle in the way of its fulfilment. They, moreover, hoped that this arrangement might have the desirable effect of keeping up a connecting tie between them and their rich relative. However much they might have been disappointed in this last respect, they certainly never had any reason to accuse the nabob of any forgetfulness of those promises which he made to them at parting.