CHAPTER XI.

THE BETROTHAL.

O love, when womanhood is in the flush, And man's a young and an unspotted thing! His first-breathed word and her half conscious blush Are fair as light in heaven,--as flowers in spring-- The first hour of true love is worth our worshipping. THE MAID OF ELVAR.

The red evening sun was setting, and his rays piercing the half-stripped trees of Bruntisfield fell on the old mossy dial-stone, which they never reached through the thick foliage of summer. It was about the hour of five, and the western sky shed a crimson glow over the whole landscape; the Loch lay calm and unruffled as a vast sheet of polished crystal, reflecting in its bright surface the ruddy clouds, the blue sky, and the bordering trees, whose foliage was now assuming the warm tints of Autumn, presenting alternately the darkest green, the brightest yellow, and most russet brown. The fallen leaves rustled among the withered sedges of the lake, and the wild swan, the black duck, and the water hen floated double "bird and shadow" on its surface, while the tall heron waded among the eel-arks that lay half hidden by the reeds and water-lilies at the margin.

The rustle of the dark brown woods and the deepening gloom of the hills, marked the decline of the day and year, and Walter's heart became chilled and sad as he galloped up the long dark avenue, which was strewed with the spoil of the passed summer--that happy summer which had passed away for ever.

Lilian sat within the deep bay of a window in the chamber-of-dais, busily embroidering Walter's long-promised scarf: it was of blue velvet, having thistles of silver worked with St. Andrew's crosses alternately. For many weeks her nimble little fingers had plied the needle on it, and now it was nearly finished. The tramp of hoofs made her look down the far-stretching avenue, which, with its arching elms and sturdy oaks, formed a long vista to the eastward, where it was terminated by an ancient and grass-tufted archway; beyond it, the bluff craigs of Salisbury and Arthur's ridgy cone mellowed in the distance, shone redly in the light of the setting sun, above the green and waving woods.

The blood rushed to Lilian's snowy temples: she sprang from her seat, her eyes beaming with delight, which rapidly gave place to surprise on observing the hurried and disordered air of Walter, who was minus cloak and plume. Never before had he come on horseback, and her mind misgave her there was something wrong.

She cast a timid glance at Aunt Grisel. Lulled by an old and favourite ditty, which for the thousandth time the affectionate Lilian had sung to her, the old lady had fallen fast asleep in her great leathern chair, with her relaxed hand on the spinning-wheel, the gay silver and ivory virrels of which glittered in the light of the cheerful fire. She slept profoundly.

Lilian threw on her hood and hurried to the door, where Walter had dismounted, and was in the act of slipping his snaffle-rein through one of the numerous rings in the wall, necessary appendages to the door of a manor-house, and quite as requisite as the "louping-on-stane" in those days, when every visitor of consideration came on horseback.

With a charming mixture of frankness and timidity, the blushing girl held out both her hands in welcome to her lover; but there was a sadness in his smile that made the colour leave her cheek and the lustre fade in her eye.

"Lilian--dear Madam--Lilian, I see you for the last time!" he exclaimed, as he took her hands in his, and raised them to his lips.

"The last time?" reiterated Lilian, faintly.

"Oh, are not these sad and bitter words? But so it is, Lilian; the fatal hour has come--our dream is over. We march for England to-morrow. The Dutch invaders are on the ocean, and in the hearts and swords of his faithful soldiers poor King James can alone rely in the struggle that is to come."

"O, Walter, what horror is this?"

"All the land is on the alert. A red beacon will blaze to-night from Arthur's rocky peak, and from Stirling in the west, to the Ochils in the north, will be sent tidings that will rouse the distant clans, and all Scotland will arise in arms. But oh! how adverse will be the motives of many who draw the sword! I have come to bid you adieu, Lilian--a long adieu, for many a battle must be fought and won ere again I stand on the threshold of your home--this happy home--the memory of which will cheer me through many a melancholy hour."

"Ah, Walter, the horrors of Aunt Grisel's girlhood are again come upon us. What a sudden blow it is! We have been so happy--and you go--." Tears choked her utterance.

"This instant, Lilian," said Walter, overpowered at the sight of her tears; "this instant. God! I have only a few minutes to spare even to bid you adieu."

"And Lady Grisel, too," said Lilian, in a breathless voice, for she was too artless to conceal her deep emotion; "she to whom you have always been so kind, so attentive--you surely will bid her adieu?"

"I could not be so ungrateful as to omit such a duty; but, dear Lilian, let us walk once more in the garden--you know our favourite place, by the old mossy fountain. Ah, Lilian, refuse me not," urged Walter, who saw that she trembled and hesitated. "I have much to say that I must not leave unsaid, for never again (how bitter are these words!) _never again_ may an opportunity come to me; never again may I bend my eyes on yours, or hear the sound of your voice--oh, Lilian--"

Never had Walter trusted himself so far: he was earnest, impetuous, and confused. Lilian glanced timidly at his sparkling eyes, and then at the darkening woods, and, trembling between love and timidity, permitted him to draw her arm through his, and lead her into the ancient garden, the thick holly hedges of which entirely screened them from observation.

The heart of Lilian foreboded that a scene was to ensue; but a spell was upon her, a power which she could not resist threw a chain of delight and fear around her, and bound her to the side of Walter. She seemed to be in a dream: the very air grew palpable, and she felt only the beating of her little heart. Equally wishing and dreading the coming denouement, she was almost unconscious of whither Walter led her.

He, poor fellow! was something in the same frame of mind. Though he had full time to rally his thoughts, reflection served but to make him more confused, and instead of the passionate avowal which, a moment ago, had trembled on his lips, his intense respect for Lilian brought him down to the merest commonplace, and again the favorite words of Finland came truthfully home to his mind, "the girl one loves is greater than an Empress."

"It is very sad to think that--that peradventure we are walking here for the last time," said he.

This was not quite what Lilian expected, and somewhat reassured, she murmured a polite reply.

"You will not forget me when I am far, far away from you, Lilian?"

"Oh, no--how could I forget?" said she, bending her timid eyes kindly and sadly upon him. There was a charm in her answer that bewildered her lover, and, unable to resist longer the ardour and impulses of his heart, he threw an arm around her, and, pressing her right hand to his breast, exclaimed, in a voice that trembled with emotion,

"I love you, Lilian--I have dared to love you long--oh, may I hope you will forgive me?"

He paused; but Lilian could make no reply. An instant she was pale, then a deep blush crimsoned her cheek; her long lashes veiled her humid eyes--and for the first time Walter pressed his lips to hers as she sank upon his breast.

"Oh, Lilian," he resumed, after a long pause. "Now on the eve of parting, and perhaps for ever, I could not leave you with this great secret preying upon my heart--without saying that _I loved you_. The hope, that when I am gone, you will think of me with sentiments more tender and more endearing than those of mere friendship will be my best incentive to become worthy of them. Dear Lilian, I am poor and nameless; save my heart and my sword, and the sod which shall cover me, I own nothing in all this wide world; but than mine, never was there a love more generous or more true. Long, long, adorable Lilian, have I loved you in secret, and loved you dearly."

There was no art in his declaration; it came straight from the soul, and his words, rich, deep, and full of feeling, thrilled through the agitated heart of the young girl. He sought no reply, no other avowal of her reciprocal love, than her beautiful confusion and eloquent silence. Immovable and breathless, she lay within his embrace, with the deepest blushes overspreading her whole face and neck. Her mild eyes were shaded by their lashes, and the charming expression of modesty imparted by their downcast lids increased the emotion of Walter; and closer to his breast he pressed her passive form till her heart throbbed against his own.

"O love, when womanhood is in the flush!"

Walter was intoxicated. The purple hood of Lilian had fallen back, and the braids of her fair hair drooped upon his breast; his dark hair mingled with them, and their locks sparkled like gold in the glow of the set sun, as its last rays streamed down the long shady walk.

Short as the interview was, an age seemed to be comprised within its compass; the lovers were in a little world of their own--or with them the external world seemed to stand still. They were all heart and pulse, and overwhelmed with an emotion which the orthography of every human language has failed to pourtray.

But anon, the first glow of ardour and excitement passed away, and the memory of their parting fell like a mountain on their hearts. Lilian hung half embraced by Walter's arm; and a shower of tears relieved her.

Ah, could the evil-minded Clermistonlee have witnessed this scene!

The sun set behind the dark woods of Corstorphine; its last rays faded away from the turret vanes and seared foliage of Bruntisfield; the oaks and loch of the Burghmuir grew dark, as the shadows of the autumnal gloaming increased around them, and warned the lovers of the necessity of retiring and--separating.

Never was the glowing memory of that interview forgotten by Walter Fenton; and it cheered him through many an hour of sorrow, humiliation, and misery; through the toils of many a weary night, and the carnage of many a dangerous day. How happy and how well it is for us that the future is covered by an impenetrable veil that no mortal eye can pierce, and no hand draw aside!

The swans had quitted the lake, and the last glow of the day that had passed, was dying away upon its glassy surface, when hand in hand, the girl and her lover, contented, if not supremely happy, left the garden. There, by the old fountain of mossy and fantastic stone-work, on the pedestal of which a grotesque visage vomited the water from its capacious throat into a stone basin, they had plighted unto each other their solemn troth, according to the simple custom of the time and country.

There was no witness but the evening star that glimmered in the saffron west. There was no record but their own beating hearts.

Standing one on each side of the gushing fountain, and laving their hands in the limpid water, they called upon God to hear and register their vows of truth and love--vows which were, perhaps, less eloquent than deep, but uttered with all the quiet fervour of two young hearts as yet unseared and unsoured by the trouble, the duplicity, the selfishness, and the bitterness of the world.

Poor lovers! It was their first hour of delight; and even then, though by them unseen, a human visage of livid and terrible aspect was steadily regarding them from the thick foliage of a dark holly hedge, with eyes like those of a serpent--eyes that glared like two burning coals, and seemed full of that dire expression with which the superstitions of Italy gift the possessors of the _mal-occhio_. The lips were colourless and white, the teeth were clenched; it was all that a painter could pourtray of agony and mortification. As they arose from the fountain, it vanished; footsteps crashed among the fallen leaves and withered branches, but the lovers heard them not. Lilian, though she still wept from over-excitement and the approaching separation which had so suddenly called all these secret feelings to empire and control in her bosom, with sensations of mingled happiness and grief too intense to find vent in words, hung on Walter's arm, and thus clasped hand in hand with more apparent composure, they slowly returned to the house and entered the chamber-of-dais.

Its panels of polished oak, the silver plate on the buffet, the china jars, and japan canisters, on the grotesque ebony cabinets, glittered ruddily in the light of the blazing fire. A noble stag-hound, with red eyes and wiry hair, Lilian's lap-dog, and a favorite cat, were gambolling together on the hearth and tearing the snow-white wool from the prostrate spinning wheel. Lady Grisel still slept soundly; but Lilian stole to her side, kissed, and awoke her by murmuring in a broken voice, and with a sickly attempt at playfulness,

"Awake, aunt Grisel, Mr. Fenton has come to bid us farewell. He marches by crow of the cock, and we may not see him again for--for many a weary day."

"My dream is read!" exclaimed the old lady, starting. "O, Lilian, lass! what is this you tell me? Walter, my poor bairn, come to me; for whence are ye boune?"

"For England, Madam."

"England! alake, alake! and I was dreaming of Sir Archibald," replied the venerable dame, whose eyes were glittering with tears. "I saw him standing there, before the oaken cabinet, in his buff coat, steel cap and plume, just as I saw him last when under harness; and oh! but he seemed young and winsome, with glowing cheeks and bright locks of curling brown. 'Archibald,' I cried, and stretching my arms towards him, I strove to say mair; but O! Lilian, the words died away in whispers on my lips. He walked over to the buffet, and took up his silver tankard, which other lips have never touched since his own. It was empty. Sairly he gloomed as he wont when aught crossed him, and flang down the cup. I heard the clank of his jangling spurs as he turned lightly about, saying, 'Fare-ye-weel, my jo Grisel, horse and spear's the cry again,' and strode away. But O, his face, and the flash of his dark-browed eye; they come back to me, a vision from the grave. I awoke, and there stood Walter Fenton--his living image. O, Lilian! my doo, something sad is at hand. Blows and blood ever followed such visions as mine hath been this night. It forbodes deep dool, and dark misfortune."

"Dear Aunt Grisel, why such dreary thoughts?" said Lilian, no longer able to restrain her tears; "though we are losing our dear friend Mr. Fenton--one, I hope, after Sir Archibald's own heart."

"True he hath the bearing of a Napier, and the very eye of my young son, and, sooth, he was a stalwart cavalier as ever danced a gay galliard or spurred a horse to the battle field. And you are boune for the south, Walter? War and blood, more of it yet--more of it yet--when will the wicked cease from troubling? Well it is for ye, boy, that ye have no mother to weep this night the bitter tears that I have often shed for mine. Three fair sons, Walter, hae gone forth from this auld roof-tree, three stalwart men they were, and winsome to look upon, blooming and strong as ever braced steel ower gallant hearts; but hardalake! e'er the sun sank owre the westland hills, the last o' them lay by his father's side, cauld and stark on the banks of the Keithingburn.

"But I trow," she added, striking her cane on the floor, "many a braw English cap and feather lay on the turf ere _that_ came to pass." The keen grey eyes of the spirited dame flashed bright through their tears, for strongly at that moment the Spartan spirit of the old Scottish matron glowed within her breast. "England? Alace! and what is stirring now that our blue bonnets maun cross the border again? Smooth water runs deep. I aye thought we were owre sib wi' the south to byde sae long."

"Madam; we march as friends and allies to assist in repelling invasion from its shores. William of Orange, with a great armament, now bends his cannon on the English coast, and by daybreak to-morrow we march for King James's camp. I must leave you instantly, for I have not a moment to spare. My Lord Dunbarton requires my presence at Holyrood, where General Douglas of Queensbury is to address the officers of the army. Farewell, dear madam; think kindly of me when I am far, far away from you, for never may we meet again," and half kneeling he kissed her hand.

"Then ere thou goest, my poor boy, drink to the roof-tree of one who loves thee well, and who may never behold thee more. Ye hae the very voice of my youngest son; and O, Walter, my auld heart yearns unto ye even as a mother's would yearn unto her dearest child."

Walter's heart swelled within him as the kind old lady laid her arm round his neck.

"Lady Bruntisfield," said he, in a low voice, "often have I known how sad a thing it was to feel oneself alone in the world, and never will the memory of these kind words be effaced from my heart."

Lilian, blushing and pale by turns, with eyes full of tears, brought from the almry a silver cup of wine, and after she and Lady Grisel had tasted, Walter drained it to the bottom, as he did so uttering a mental blessing on the house of Bruntisfield. The rich Gascon wine fired his heart, and gave him courage to sustain the separation.

"'Tis a sad and sudden parting, Walter," said Lady Grisel, weeping unrestrainedly with that old-fashioned kindness of heart which has long since fled from the land. "How long will you be away from us?"

"That depends on the fortune of war, Madam."

"Puir bairn! ye mean the misfortune. Alace! we live in waefu' times. Year after year an auld Scots' wife seeth the fair flowers that spring up around her trod down and destroyed. How many fair sons are reared with mickle pain and toil to be cut down by the sword of the foemen! Thrice in my time have I seen the balefire blaze on Soutra-edge and Ochil Peak, and thrice have I seen the haill flower o' the country-side wede away. And well it is, Walter, that thou hast no other mother than myself to mourn for thee this night; for, as I said before," she continued, in the garrulous musing of age, "my mind gangs back to the happy days and the fond faces of other times, when I have laced the steel cap owre comely cheeks whose smiles were a' the world to me. Then the balefire was lowing on ilka hill, and _mount and ride_ was the cry. O, when will men grow wise (as that fule body Ichabod said with truth), and let the wicked kings of the earth gird up their loins and go forth to battle alone?

"Thine, Walter Fenton, is owre fair a brow for the midnight dew to lie upon, and the black corbie to flap its wings aboon in the stricken battlefield," continued the old lady, weeping, as "tremulously gentle her small hand" put back the thick dark locks from Walter's clouded brow and kissed it, while Lilian sobbed audibly on hearing her speak so forbodingly. The heart of the young man was too full to permit him to reply, but at that moment he felt he had done this kind and noble matron a grievous injury in gaining the love of Lilian without her consent. So reproachfully did the idea come home to his heart that he was about to throw himself upon his knees, and in the ardour of his temper pour forth an address in confession and exculpation--but his courage failed, and never again had he an opportunity.

Compelled at last to assume his bonnet and rapier he felt his heart wrung when reflecting that he was, for the last time, with the only two beings on earth actually dear to him, that in another moment he would be gone with the wide world before him, and that world all a void--a wilderness.

Lilian threw over his shoulders the scarf her fingers had embroidered, and as the reverend lady blessed him, the tears started into his eyes; he kissed their hands, and hurried away. Both arose to accompany him to the door; but while Lady Grisel searched for her long cane, he had yet a moment to give to Lilian. The light in the entrance hall fell full upon her face; it was pale as death, and never until that moment had Walter felt how intensely he loved her.

"Once again, farewell, dear Lilian," said he, putting a ring upon her finger; "wear this for my sake, and forget not this night--the twentieth of September. O, Lilian, this ring is the dearest, the only relic I possess, and it contains the secret of my life. On my mother's hand it was found, when cold, and pale, and dead she lay among the tombs of the Greyfriars, in the year of Bothwell:--you know the rest, and will treasure it for my sake. If your lover falls, Lilian, for you it will be some satisfaction that he died beneath the Scottish standard, fighting for his King by the side of the brave Dunbarton! Who would desire a better epitaph?"

"Walter," implored Lilian in a piercing voice, "for the love of God, if not for the love of me, speak not thus!"

"Thou shalt hear of me, Lilian, if God spares me, as I hope he will for thy sake," replied Walter, whose military pride neither love nor sorrow could subdue. "My name shall never be mentioned but with honour, for I have sworn to become worthy of thee, or to--die! And if our soldiers prove as they have ever done, leal men and true, many a helmet will be cloven, many a corslet flattened, many a pike blunted, and bullet shot ere the banner of King James shall sink before these plebeian Dutch! Farewell: forget not the twentieth of September!"

Another mute caress, and Lilian was alone: a horse's hoofs rang among the strewn autumnal leaves; but the sound died away, and Lilian heard her heart beating tumultuously.

As his horse plunged forward down the steep avenue, the starting of the saddle-girths compelled Walter to rein up near the gateway, and while adjusting the buckles, he became the unconscious listener to another leave-taking, which was accompanied by loud and obstreperous lamentations. It was Meinie Elshender bidding adieu to her kinsman and sweetheart Hab, who was reeling about in his bandaleers under the influence of various stoups of brandy.

"Now, Hab, you fause loon, dinna say no! You _will_ forget me in the south, as you did in the west. Soldiers are a' alike."

"Roaring buckies are we, lassie!"

"Twa-faced varlets, that kittle up their lugs when the drums beat, and make love wherever they gang," replied Meinie, sobbing heavily. "You will be taking up with some English kimmer, I ken, and forgetting puir Meinie Elshender, that lo'es ye better than her ain life; and----"

"If I do, May----"

"Ewhow? and the rambles we've had together in many a red gloaming by the heronshaws and quarrel-holes. O, Hab, you're a fause ane, and will forget me--for the truth is no in ye!"

"Dear Meinie, if I do may----"

"Dinna swear, ye fule; for I may weary waiting on ye."

"May the de'il jump down my throat with a harrow at his tail! There now, will you believe me? Hoots, lass, we'll be back by the Halloween time to douk for apples in the muckle barn, sow hemp-seed in the Deil's-croft, roast nuts in the ingle, pu' kail castocks, and gang guisarding by Drumdryan and the Highriggs. Hech, how!

'Dunbarton's drums beat bonnie, O!'

Kiss me again, lass, and keep up your heart for a month or two more, when again I will have my arm around ye, and your red cheek pressed to mine;" continued poor Halbert, to whom that hour was never doomed to come, "and many a brave story I will tell ye of how our buirdly Scots chields clapper-clawed the ill-faured Holanders."

"Hab, ye ill-mannered loon!" cried Elsie. "Hab, ye ungratefu' vassal, daur ye gang awa' without paying your devoirs to my lady?"

"Bid her good bye for me, mother," replied Halbert in a faltering tone, as the old woman hobbled up and threw her arms passionately around his neck. "My father was her bounden vassal; but his son is the king's free soldier. Say gude'en for me, for I have not another moment to spare even for Meinie. Fareweel, dear mother; I never expected to leave you again, but for those who follow the de'il or the drum--Hoots, mother, havers!" exclaimed the soldier, as the poor woman sobbed convulsively on his breast. "I thought we had a' this dirdum oure before."

"Fareweel, my bairn, my winsome Habbie! On this side o' the grave we sail never meet mair. England is a far awa' and an unco' place, and long ere ye return I will be laid in the lang hame o' my forbears. But fearfu' times will come and pass ere the grass is green and waving oure me. Mind your Bible, Hab, for your faither (peace be wi' him, for he had none wi' me) ever gaed forth to battle with a whinger in one hand and the _blessed book_ in the other. Beware o' the errors of episcopacy and idolatory, for your gaun to the hotbed o' them baith."

"O yes; ou' aye," muttered Hab impatiently.

"Now gang, my bairn, and God will keep his hand oure ye in the hour of strife, for he ne'er forgets those by whom his power and his glory are remembered."

And while Hab dashed off towards the city, the old woman with upraised hands implored with Scottish piety and maternal fervour a blessing on the footsteps of the son that had departed from her--for ever.