CHAPTER IV.

A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.

Thou tortur'st me. I hate all obligations Which I can ne'er return--and who art thou, That I should stoop to take them from your hand? FATAL CURIOSITY.

The post of honour--that in the hall or lobby immediately outside the room occupied by the ladies--had been appropriated by the serjeant to Walter Fenton.

The young man placed his pike across the door of the chamber of dais (as the dining-hall was named in those Scottish houses, which, though to all intents baronial, were not castles) and then paced slowly to and fro.

A lamp, the chain of which was suspended from the mouth of a grotesque face carved on the wall, lighted the lobby or ambulatory, and dimly its flickering rays were reflected by a rusty trophy of ancient weapons opposite. An old head-piece and chain-jacket formed the centre, while crossbows, matchlocks, partisans, and two-handed swords, radiated round them. A deer's skull and antlers, riding gambadoes, heavy whips and spurs, a row of old knobby chairs, and a clumsy oaken clock, which (like many persons in the world) had two faces, one looking to the lobby, the other to the dining-hall, ticked sullenly in a corner, and made up the furniture of the place.

Save the monotonous vibrations of the clock, and an occasional murmur of voices from the chamber of dais, no other sound disturbed the solitary watch of Fenton, unless when a distant shout of hilarity burst from the vaulted kitchen, and reverberated through the winding staircases and stone corridors of the ancient mansion.

Absorbed in meditation, the young man walked slowly to and fro, turning with something of military briskness at each end of the half-darkened passage, by the indifferent light of which we must present a view of him to the reader.

"A young man, gentle-voiced and gentle-eyed, Who looked and spake like one the world had frowned on."

He seemed to be about twenty years of age; of a rather tall and very handsome figure, which his scarlet sleeves, and corslet tapering to the waist, and tightly compressed by a broad buff belt sustaining a plainly-mounted sword and dagger, tended greatly to improve. The cheek-plates of his burgonet, or steel cap, were unclasped, and his dark-brown hair rolled over his polished gorget in the profuse fashion of the time; his pale forehead was thoughtful and intellectual in expression; but the gilt peak of his cap partly concealed it, and cast a shadow over a very prepossessing face of a dark complexion, and somewhat melancholy contour. His dark eye had a soft and pleasing expression, though at times it loured and overcast. The curve of his lips, though gentle, and haughty, and scornful, by turns, was ever indicative of firmness and decision. They were red and full as those of a girl; but short black mustaches, pointed smartly upward, imparted a military aspect to a face such as few could contemplate without interest--especially women. With the manner of one who has early learned to think, and hold communion with himself, his eye sparkled and his cheek flushed as certain ideas occurred to him: anon his animation died away, he sighed deeply, and thus immersed in his own thoughts, continued to pace to and fro, until at the half-opened door of the chamber of dais there appeared the fair face of Lilian Napier--a face so regular in its contour of eyebrow, lip, and nostril, that the brightness of her blue eyes, and the waving of her auburn ringlets, together with a decided piquancy of expression, alone prevented it from being insipid. She was looking cautiously out.

On recognizing her, Fenton bowed, and the girl blushed deeply, as she said hurriedly, and in a low voice,

"O joy! Walter Fenton, is it indeed you? how fortunate! but oh, what a night this has been for us all!"

"Mistress Lilian," said he (the prefix Miss as a title of honour did not become common until the beginning of the next century) "need I say that it has been a night of sorrow and mortification to me? Yet, God wot, what could I do but obey the orders of my superiors?"

"Hush!" she whispered; for at that moment Lady Bruntisfield came forth, pale and agitated, with eyes red from recent weeping.

Tall in form and majestic in bearing, Lady Grizel Napier, as I have said before, was one of those stately matrons who appear to have departed with their hoops and fardingales. In youth, her face had possessed more than ordinary beauty, and now, in extreme old age, it still retained its feminine softness and pleasing expression. Undecided in politics, she was intensely loyal to James; while condemning his government, she railed at the non-conformists and reprobated the severities of the council in the same breath. Like every dame of the olden time, she was a matchless mediciner, and maker of preserves, conserves, physics, and cordials, and, did a vassal's finger but ache, Lady Grizel was consulted forthwith. Like every woman of her time, she was intensely superstitious: she shook her purse when the pale crescent of the new moon rose above the Corstorphine woods; if the salt-foot was overturned, she remembered Judas, trembled, and threw a pinch over her left shoulder; she saw coffins in the fire, letters in the candles, and quaked at deidspales when they guttered in the wind. She listened in fear to the chakymill, or death-watch, which often ticked obstinately for a whole night in the massive posts of her canopied bed. Witches, of course, were a constant source of hatred and annoyance, and, notwithstanding her great faith in the Holy Kirk (and a little in Peden's Prophecies), she had such a wholesome dread of the Prince of darkness, that, according to the ancient usage, a piece of her lands adjoining the Harestane was dedicated to him, under the dubious name of _the gudeman's croft_, and, in defiance of all the acts against this old superstition (which still exists in remote parts of Scotland), it was allowed to remain a weedy waste, unsown and unemployed. With all this, her manners were high-bred and courtly; her information extensive; and there was in her air a certain indescribable loftiness, which then consciousness of noble birth and long descent inspired, and which failed not to enforce due respect from equals and inferiors.

On her approach, Walter Fenton bowed with an air in which politeness and commiseration were gracefully blended. Her bright-haired kinswoman leant upon her arm, and from time to time stole furtive and timid glances at the volunteer beneath her long eyelashes.

"Young man," said Lady Bruntisfield, "for a soldier, you seem good and gentle. Have you a mother" (her voice faltered) "who is dear to you--a sister whom you love?"

"Nor mother, nor sister, nor kindred have I, madam. Alas! Lady Grizel, I am alone in the world: the first, and perhaps it may be the last, of my race," he added bitterly. "But what would your ladyship with Walter Fenton?"

"Ha! are you one of the Fentons of that Ilk?"

"Nay, lady, I am only Walter Fenton of the Scottish Musqueteers, and nothing more: but in what can I serve you?"

"How shall I speak it?--That you will sleep on your post, and permit this poor child--dost comprehend me?--oh! I will nobly reward you; and the deed will be registered elsewhere."

"Oh, no!--no! beg no such boon for me," said the blushing and trembling girl; while the brow of the young man became clouded.

"You would counsel me to my ruin, Lady Bruntisfield: is it generous, is it noble, when I am but a poor soldier? Seek not to corrupt me by gold," he said hurriedly, on the old lady drawing a purse from her girdle; "for all I possess is my honour, the poor man's best inheritance. And yet, for the sake of Lilian Napier, I would dare much."

The deep blush which suffused the soft cheek and white brow of Lilian as the pikeman spoke, was not unobserved by the elder lady; and she said, with undisguised hauteur,--

"How is this, sir sentinel?--ye know my kinswoman, and by that glance it would seem that ye have met before. Lilian, do thou speak."

Lilian trembled, but was silent and confused.

"I have often had the honour of seeing Mistress Lilian at my Lord Dunbarton's," said the young man, hastening to her relief.

"How! are you little Fenton?"

"The Countess's page, madam."

"By my father's bones!" said Lady Grizel, striking the floor angrily with her cane; "I little thought a time would come when I would sue a boon in vain, either from a lord's loon or a lady's foot-page!"

These words seemed to sting the young soldier deeply; fire sparkled in his eyes. But tears suffused those of Lilian.

"Madam," said he firmly, "I am the first private gentleman of Dunbarton's Foot, and am so unused to such hauteur, that had the best man in broad Scotland uttered words like these, my sword had assuredly taken the measure of his body."

"I admire your spirit, sir," said Lady Grizel gently; "but it might be shewn in a more honourable cause than the persecution of helpless women-folk."

"Lady Grizel, a soldier from my childhood, I have been inured to hardship and trained to face every danger. My conscience is my own; my soul belongs to God: and my sword to the King and Parliament of Scotland, whose orders I must obey."

"Then, gentle sir, be generous as your bearing is noble, and, in the name of God, permit my little kinswoman to escape. Alas! you know well what is in store for us, if we are dragged before that odious Privy Council--fine, imprisonment, torture----"

"Or banishment to Virginia," said Lilian, bursting into tears.

"God wot I pity you, Lady Bruntisfield, and would lay down my life to serve you. Retire--I will keep my post; your chamber has windows by which----"

"Alas! they are grated, and there are sentinels without."

Fenton stamped his foot impatiently.

"Birds' eggs aye bring ill luck; and oh! Lilian, ye thoughtless bairn, when ye strung up the pyets yesternight, I forewarned ye that something would happen. The thumbscrews and extortions of the Council, yea, and banishment even in my auld age, I might bear, though the thocht of being laid far frae the graves of my ain kindred is hard to thole; but thee, my dear doo, Lilian--it is for thee my heart bleeds."

"Oh! madam, they cannot be such villains as to harm her--so young--so fair."

"You know not what I mean," replied Lady Grizel, pressing her hands upon her breast, and speaking in an incoherent and bitter manner. "Lord Clermistonlee rules at the Council-board, and he hath seen Lilian. Wretch--wretch, too well do I know 'tis for worse than the thumb-screws he would reserve her!"

She paused; and Fenton starting, said--

"Oh, whence were all my unreasonable scruples? Finland by his hints warned me of Clermistonlee, that roué and ruffian, whose name brings scandal on our peerage."

"Then let my dear aunt Grizel escape to some place of concealment, and, good Mr. Fenton, you shall have my prayers and gratitude for life."

It was the young girl who spoke; her accents were low and imploring; and her whole appearance was very fascinating, for her timidity and mortification added the utmost expression to her blue eyes, while her lips, half parted, shewed the whiteness of her teeth, and lent a sweetness and simplicity to her face. The tenor of her address made the heart of Walter flutter, for love was fast subduing his scrupulous sense of duty.

"Artless Lilian," said he with a faint smile, "Lord Clermistonlee aims neither at Lady Grizel's liberty or life. He is a villain of the deepest dye; and you have many things to fear. It ill beseems a lady of birth to sue a boon from a poor sworder such as I. Leave me to my fate, and the fury of the Council. I am, I hope, a gentleman, though an unfortunate one, and reduced to the necessity of trailing a pike under the noble Earl of Dunbarton; but in spirit I can be generous as a king, though my whole inheritance is to follow the drum."

"I offered you money----"

"Lady Grizel," said Fenton, colouring again, "I hope that the poorest musqueteer who follows the banner of Dunbarton would have rejected it with scorn. Though soldiers, we are not like those rapacious wolves the troopers of Lag, of Dalzel, or Kirke the Englishman. By my faith, madam, for six shillings Scots per day I have often perilled life and limb in a worse cause than yours; and why should I scruple now? Escape while there is yet time. Lady Grizel, permit me to lead you forth."

And, drawing off his leather glove, he offered his hand to the old dame, who, struck by the gallantry of his manner, said--

"You have quite the air of a cavalier, such as I mind o' in my young days, when the first Charles was crowned in Holyrood."

"I pretend not to be a cavalier," said Walter, with a sad smile: "the camp is the school of gallantry."

"Fear for my Lilian makes me miserably selfish. I would rather die, good youth, than that a hair of your head should be injured; but that this delicate bairn should be dragged before that fierce Council, like some rude cottar's wife--'tis enough to make the dead bones in the West-kirk aisle to clatter in their coffins! Ere we go, say what will be your inevitable punishment for this dereliction of duty?"

"A few days' close ward in the Abbey-guard, with pease bannocks and sour beer to regale on, and mounting guard at the Palace porch in back-breast and headpieces, partisan, sword and dagger; in full marching harness, for four-and-twenty consecutive hours--that is all, madam," said he gaily; though the inward forebodings of his heart and his sad experience told him otherwise. "In serving _you_, fair Lilian," he added gently, and half attempting, but not daring to touch her hand, "I shall be more than a thousand times recompensed for any penance I may perform. Believe me, it will weigh as a featherweight against what the Council may inflict on Lady Bruntisfield. Now, then, away in God's name! Ye will surely find a secure shelter somewhere among your numerous friends and tenantry; but seek not the city, for Dunbraiken's guards are on the alert at every gate; and, above all, oh! beware of--of Lord Clermistonlee, who (if Finland suspects truly) has a deep project to accomplish."

"Heaven bless thee, good young man!" faltered the venerable Lady Grizel, laying her small but wrinkled hands upon his shoulders, and gazing on him with eyes that beamed with heartfelt gratitude. "Alack! alack! my mind gangs back to the time when three hearts as brave and as gentle as yours, grew up from heartsome youth to stately manhood under this auld roof-tree; but, oh, waly! waly! the cauld blast o' war laid my three fair flowers in the dust."

A noise in the kitchen, and the loud voice of the halberdier calling fresh sentinels, now caused them to hurry away. To conceal about their persons such jewels and money as they could collect from the cabinets in the chamber of dais, to muffle up in their hoods and mantles, to give one glance of adieu to the portrait of the dark cavalier above the fire-place, and another of gratitude to Walter Fenton, were all the work of a minute,--and they were led forth to the avenue. Grey morning was breaking in the east, and the black ridge of Arthur's Seat stood in strong relief against the brightening sky; the wind had died away, and the waning moon shone cold and dim in the west, while, far to the northward, the dark opaque clouds were piled in shadowy masses above the bold and striking outline of the capital. There the great spire of the Gothic cathedral, the ramparts of its rockbuilt fortress, the crenelated towers of the Flodden-wall, and the streets within "piled deep and massy, close and high," were all glimmering in the first pale rays of the dawn, though the valleys below, and the woods around, were still sunk in the gloom and obscurity of night. A sentinel challenged from the dark shadow of the barbican wall, and his voice made the fugitives tremble with fear.

"Dunbarton," answered Walter, and on receiving the password, the soldier stept back. "And now, ladies, whence go ye?"

"As God shall direct--to some of our faithful tenant bodies, for safety and concealment," sobbed Lady Bruntisfield.

"Poor Mr. Fenton!" murmured Lilian; "I tremble more for you than for ourselves."

"A long farewell to our gude auld barony of Bruntisfield and the Wrytes--to main and holm, and wood and water," said Lady Grizel, mournfully; "we stand under the shadow of its green sauchs and oak woods for the last time. Once before I fled frae them, but that was in the year fifty, when our natural enemies, the English, won that doolfu' day at Dunbar, and again our hail plenishing will be ruined and harried, as in the days o' the ruffianly and ungracious Puritans."

"Not by us, Lady Bruntisfield," replied the young man, slightly piqued; "we are the soldiers of the gallant Dunbarton, the old Royals of Turenne, les Gardes Ecossais of a thousand battles and a thousand glorious memories, and your mansion will be sacred as if in the hands of so many apostles. Farewell, and God speed ye! Would that I could accompany your desolate steps to some place of safety! but that would discover all." They parted.

"I have done," muttered Walter, striking his breast; "and from this hour I am a lost man!"

Hastily returning, he resumed his post, with his heart beating high with the conflicting emotions of pleasure and apprehension. Youth and beauty in suffering, danger, or humiliation, form naturally an object of interest and compassion; but Walter, though pleased by the conviction that he had done a good action, and one so fully involving the gratitude of Lilian Napier and her haughty relative, felt a dread of what was to ensue, weighing heavily on his mind; for the Scottish privy council was then composed of men with whom the proudest noble dared not to trifle, and before whom the pride and power of the great Argyle, lord of a vast territory, and chief of the most powerful of the western clans, bent like a reed beneath the storm. Poor Walter reflected, that he was but a friendless and nameless volunteer, and too well he knew that the council would not be cheated of their prey without a terrible vengeance.

Scarcely had he resumed his post in the corridor, when the serjeant, whose brown visage was flushed with carousing, and whose corslet braces were unclasped to give space for the quantity of viands he had imbibed, reeled up with a relief of sentinels, all more or less in the same condition.

"All right, an't please you, Master Walter. I warrant you will be tired of this post of honour, and longing for a leg of a devilled capon, and a horn of the old butler's Rhenish."

"I thought you had forgotten me, Wemyss. You will have a care, sir," said Walter, addressing the soldier who relieved him, with a glance that was not to be misunderstood, "that you do not disturb the ladies by entering the chamber of dais; dost hear me, thou pumpkin-head?"

"Rot me, Master Fenton, I have clanked my bandoleers before the tent of Monsieur of France, and I need nae be learned now, how to keep guard on king or knave, baron or boor. Dost think that I, who am the son of an auld vassal of her ladyship's, would dragoon her out of marching money?"

"'Tis well," replied the pikeman, briefly, as he retired, not to the kitchen, but to a solitary apartment prepared for him by the orders of his old patron, the halberdier.