CHAPTER XIV.

THE 20TH OF SEPTEMBER, 1692.

But the far mind was absent in pursuit Of him, her love, in fields where foes contested The bloody harvest, and a crown the fruit, Dread fruit, with cares and dangerous joys invested! Her mind was absent in the distant war. PEDRO OF CASTILE.

"Whither awa', Clermistonlee, ye mad buckie?" exclaimed Lord Mersington, as his friend jostled past him under the great pillars or arcade near the cross, one forenoon, when all the city were abroad _enjoying_ the sunshine; "whatna way is that to gliff folk? is a dun or the deil after ye?"

"I crave pardon, my Lord, but did not observe you; for what is all this crowd collected?"

"The heralds have been proclaiming the ratification of the new Protestant league against Louis of France."

"A league," added Clermistonlee scornfully, "which our pious and glorious William hath tinkered up, that the treasure and blood of his two British kingdoms may be wasted in defence of the rascally Hollanders and thick-pated Flemings. By all the devils, my Lord, we have brought our political pigs to a pretty market!" and he began to whistle a cavalier air.

"Wheesht!" said Mersington, glancing furtively around him; "this is clean contrary to the Act of Council; and mind ye, my braw billy, if ye aye strut with that long feather and cocked beaver, your pinkit mantle, and lace o'erlay, like a ruffling buck o' King Charles' time, instead o' wearing the sad-coloured garb and sober demeanour of these our present days, when naething but psalm-singing, swearing in low Dutch, and mortifying the spirit, are in vogue, you'll sune hae the eyes o' the Council upon ye, as a Jacobite in disguise, a hatcher o' plots, conspiracies, and the deil kens what mair--he, he!"

"Crush me, if I will lessen one curl of my peruke, or one slash in my doublet, to please any Dutch king or clown that ever wore breeches!"

"You seem in a braw mood this morning. I warrant you'll hae pouched a round sum at shovel-board last night in the Covenant Close."

"A messenger from the court of St. Germain has just been arrested by Muclutchy, the macer of Council," replied Clermistonlee, watching keenly the sharp visage of the senator; "by Jove, you change colour, my gossip!--any correspondence in that quarter, hah?"

"I trow not," said the other, resuming his immovable aspect; "d'ye tak' me for a gomeral? What is that we see above the Tolbooth-gable?"

"The arm of the gibbet."

"Weel," rejoined the judge, drily, "and what news brought the messenger?"

"Nought but letters from the exiled lords and gentlemen; some of them, I tell thee, Mersington, are deeply touching, and would harrow up even that impenetrable heart of thine. They tell of blighted loves and blasted hopes, of sorrow and of suffering, humiliation and despair; but of a loyalty and unblemished honour that shed a glory around the cause for which they suffer--a glory that makes us intensely despicable by comparison. There are passages in some of those letters from the brave cavaliers of Dundee that have made many of the Council almost weep with compassion. By the Heaven that is above us, I feel that I would be a thousand times more happy as one of those illustrious exiles, than struggling here to maintain, by gambling, exactions, and roguery, a hollow rank, a gilded title, and a career of extravagance on which I have run too far to return!"

"The only sensible clause in your process," said Mersington, testily. "But you'll hae yoursel laid by the heels yet, and then you may whistle on your thumb for the braw mains and revenues of Bruntisfield and the Wrytes, for whilk you've graned and girned these twa years and mair."

"Right! 'twas but the feeling of a moment for the misfortunes of our former friends, whose hearts, to their honour (unlike ours) were better than their heads."

"Puir chields--puir chields--I doubt the Act of eighty-nine presses unco hard on some of them."

"Among other letters, is one from that wild spark, Douglas of Finland, once a lieutenant in the regiment of Dunbarton, addressed to his false leman, Mistress Annie Laurie. Poor credulous fool, to trust in a woman's faith! He knows not that she hath become Lady Craigdarroch, and so hath forgot him in the arms of his friend. I like love-letters, having written some bushels of them in my time; but his--by the devil's beard!--it equals anything in the _Banished Virgin_, or _Cassandra_. I have taken the liberty to confiscate it to my own use; and here it is."

"Hold! a thought strikes me; the hand is easy of imitation, and for what may ye no add a postscriptum, whilk may be of service in your love affair, by wedding young Fenton----"

"The devil confound him!"

"To some airy damoiselle; or knocking him on the head during his French campaign?"

"'Tis all one. Excellent! Juden will deliver it. Annie will fly to her gossip, with every string in her boddice straining with the greatness of her intelligence; and as we never knew a damsel prefer a dead lover to a living one, we may imagine or hope the issue. 'Tis sublime!"

"I wad rather hae a dead gudewife, I ken--he, he!" said Mersington, as he adjusted his wig and took his friend's arm, striking his gold-headed cane on the pavement with the air of a man who has said something smart; "but let us hae nae mair o' your plaguy qualms o' conscience, for they dinna dovetail weel wi' the general tenour o' your way. Weel, anent this postscriptum--he, he!--let us adjourn to----"

"Hugh Blair's, you would say. Poor Hugh! his locale hath changed with the times, and there is nothing now but gloom and obscurity, cobwebs and dust, where all was once courtly merriment and joyous revelry. Who could have imagined that a time would come when this famous coffee-house would be voted 'a den of cavalier iniquity'--that the buirdly hosteller with whom the noble Perth, the gallant Dunbarton, and the courtly Dundee wiled away the hours at picquet and tric-trac, and pushed the wine from hand to hand, would be accused of those honours as a crime, and thrown into the iron-room of the Tolbooth, there to languish in poverty and misery, while the luscious contents of his well-stored cellars were confiscated to the public use?"

"It ill beseems ye to condemn the last clause in your interlocutor, my noble gossip, when the maist of the precious contents of Hughie's runlets ran owre your ain craig. My certie! you had a braw rug at the forfeitures, baith gentle and semple!"

"Ha, ha! enough of this--the present business is to procure the use of an inkhorn. I am restricted in wine to drink medicated Hippocras. What art grinning at now?"

"Your occasional scruples o' conscience--he, he! Do ye mind the whilly-whaw ye were in anent the spectre of an armed man in the hall of Clermiston?"

"Why the devil remind me of it?" exclaimed the other, angrily; "if it really was a spirit----"

"_If!_ we have in profane as weel as sacred writing owre mony evidences of their reality, and their appearance for various purposes whilk we cannot comprehend; and we have also as mony solid proofs that the devil can mak' deid bodies move; but anent this, see Gabrieile Nandæus in his _Apology_, and Delrio in his _Disquisitiones Magica_."

"D--n Delrio! Ever pestering me with thy musty learning!--but here is a change-house, where it may be that we can get this notable postscriptum concocted."

* * * * *

The summer had passed away, and now brown autumn was once more reddening the heather of the Pentlands, and spreading her dun tints over the woods of Bruntisfield; the sombre eve was closing fast, but the bright fire burned merrily as ever in the chamber-of-dais at the old castellated Place, and ruddily its warm light shone through the barred windows into the recesses of the old woodlands, which every passing breeze robbed of some of their crisped foliage, and strewed it over the muirlands to the south. The old manor-house had recovered from the rages of that terrible night in 1688, and was now repaired, and stronger than ever; the windows were more thickly grated, and numerous loopholes and two additional turrets defended the barbican gate.

Lilian and her friend Annie were seated side by side as of old, and opposite sat Lady Grisel--but a change had come over them all. Though the hale old lady recovered from the shock of Lilian's abduction, it had seriously affected her health, and now she was a picture of the helplessness of extreme old age, in her dotage, pale and querulous, but ever gentle and childlike. She occupied the same old fringed chair, with its bobs of parti-coloured silk, in which she had sat every evening for fifty years; her ivory wheel, though now unused, stood on one side of it, and her tall metal-headed cane on the other. Lilian was paler and thinner, and had lost much of her girlish beauty; she had many cares gnawing at her heart, but she was still as adorable and interesting as ever. Annie was, if possible, more so than formerly; the bloom of her beauty had expanded to the utmost; her cheek had a higher colour, and her eye a brighter sparkle; her tall and beautiful figure was more inclined to _embonpoint_. But alas for poor Finland, the fickle Laurie was now the wife of Craigdarroch, who had risen to the rank of Colonel of Horse in the new Scottish army of William III. Her dress was more matronly and magnificent than formerly, and her rich flower tabby suit, with its brocade stomacher and silver fringes, contrasted with Lilian's plain blue suit of Florence silk with its falls of point d'Espagne.

Ashamed that she had broken her own solemn engagements to her exiled lover, with the natural fickleness of her sex, Annie was labouring to undermine the truth of Lilian, and, Heaven knows why, tormented the poor girl hourly, by urging the suit of Lord Clermistonlee, and left no arguments untried to carry her point, and remove the scruples of her more gentle but less facile friend.

"And poor Walter!" urged Lilian, with a look of great tenderness in her mild and moistened eyes, replying to some observation of Annie.

"Marry come up with your Walter!--tush! bethink you, dear Lilian, this gallant never loved you truly, or else, dost think he would have preferred following King James?"

Lilian's eyes sparkled; a terrible retort trembled on her tongue, but her gentleness repressed it, and she could only exclaim with tears--

"Oh, horror! this insinuation is the most unkind of all. The unmerited shame and contumely, the dark and dishonourable suspicions that the malice of Clermistonlee has brought upon me I can bear, for I despise though I mourn them deeply--but a doubt of Walter's faith--oh, Annie, Annie, it sinks like a dagger in my heart. 'Tis the hope of his return, animated by the same spirit of love and truth in which he left me, that makes me rise superior to them all. Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, with girlish ecstasy, "my dear, dear Walter, the hour will yet come, when, with a kiss of affection, I will tell thee that this old manor and all these lands around it are thine, for ever thine!"

"And your heart?" laughed Annie.

"Dearest, that he has already. You see you cannot make me angry."

"And Clermistonlee?"

"Oh, name him not."

"He loves thee truly and fondly," said Annie.

"Dost think he loves me as Walter doth? dost think he knows what love means? Oh, no; he never conceived it. His passion is a turbulent phantasy, inflamed by rivalry, difficulty, and opposition, sharpened it may be by wounded pride and exasperated revenge. Oh, how can you forget the horrid mystery that involves the fate of his wife--the unhappy Alison Gilford?"

"Pho! she died in France."

"Of a broken heart."

"Gossip, quotha!" laughed Annie, "hearts are never broken except in the pages of De Scuderi. But with all his averred evil propensities, I think there is something very noble about Lord Clermistonlee."

"Noble?"

"Do not his wit, his elegance, and courage excite our admiration?"

"Yes--but do they make us forget that the villain lurks under that prepossessing exterior?" rejoined Lilian, scornfully.

"Dear Lilian, I have but one more argument to urge, and 'tis the old one; remember that your fair fame which his addresses have injured, requires----"

"What?"

"Marriage," added Annie, quietly. Lilian turned pale; her spirit of dissent was too strong for words; she shook her head with a mournful but decided air, and, after a pause, said, "never, oh, never!" but Annie only laughed, and a long and unpleasant pause in the conversation ensued. At length Lilian said, shuddering,

"Oh, what a grue came over me just now! What can it portend?"

"That an evil spirit is near us," replied Annie, turning pale with the superstition of the time.

"Nay, felt ye a grue, my bairn?" said Lady Grisel, rousing momentarily from her waking dose; "then some one is treading on the ground that shall be your grave." Again Lilian shuddered, and throwing her arms around her grand-aunt, kissed her, exclaiming,

"'Tis the first sentence I have heard you utter for a month--and oh, what a terrible one it is!"

At that moment there was a loud jingle at the great risp on the barbican gate, and Elsie Elshender hobbled in to say that an "auld broken soldier, who had limpit up the gate was speiring for my Lady Craigdarroch, but wadna enter."

"'Tis a letter from the Laird; his troop are in the north, watching the wild gillies of Braemar. Tush! what can his message be now?" said Annie, as she flew to the foot of the staircase, where a man in a tattered red coat, a great scratch wig, with a broad hat flapped over it, one patch on his right eye, and another on his nose, limped forward on a crutch, and presented a letter. "From whence comes it, poor man?" asked Annie.

"From the frontiers of Alsatia; blessings on your sweet face, my noble lady," replied the veteran, gruffly. Annie grew pale as death.

"From whom?" she faltered.

"The brave laird of Finland, Lady Annie; on mony a lang day's march I have trailed my pike by his side, owre the fields o' France and the howmes o' Holland, deil tak them baith, for there's neither brose nor brochon, nor sowans nor sourocks to be gotten there for love, lear, or money; but I've far to gang this nicht, and maun een march on, so God bless your noble ladyship--mind a puir auld soldier that's faced fire and water baith."

Trembling violently, Annie untied the ribbons of her purse and gave him a carolus, which he received with abundance of thanks, and he was limping away when Elsie hobbled forward and presented him with a bicker of ale.

"Drink, puir body," said she, "though the times are sair changit, nane pass this threshold without tasting o' the kindness o' langsyne. We dinna send awa' the naked and the hungry wi' a scrap o' gospel and a screed o' a psalm, like auld Drumdryan or the Laird o' Lickspittal owre bye yonder; drink deep, puir body! I once had a son a soldier-lad, (my puir Hab that was killed in the fearfu' times,) and, for his sake, my heart warms to your auld red coat."

"Here's to ye, my bonny lady, and to you Cummer Elsie, and never may ye be tarbarrelled for a' you're sae runkled and auld; hech, how!" and, drinking the ale to the last drop, this rough and uncourteous old fellow tossed the bicker to Elsie and limped away with great agility.

"Ha, ha!" he laughed, when the barbican gate was angrily banged behind him; "how the gay goshawk pounced at the lure; wha would hae thought I would ever hae hobbit and nobbit wi' Lucky Elshender after puir Meg's mischanter among her kale? This carolus comes in gude time, for my pouch is gey empty now. Deil tak' the patches and scratches, the rags and bags," he continued tearing off his disguise; "again I am Juden Stenton,

"And wha daur meddle wi' me? Wha daur meddle wi' me? My name it's Juden Stenton, And wha daur meddle wi' me?"

And, light hearted by the success of his Lord's scheme, he sang and laughed as he trudged back to the city.

On rejoining Lilian, Annie was in a flutter of extreme agitation; and, after great reluctance, in which shame and curiosity struggled with some remnant of her former love, and after bursting into tears and then laughing hysterically, she broke the seal and read in a quavering voice as follows:--

"Trenches before Mons, penult June, 1692.

"Mine own sweet Annie,

"God knoweth whether the words I am now inditing will ever be seen by your own dear blue eyes. Nevertheless I write (on a drumhead for a desk), and in great haste, for the bearer of this starts for Versailles in an hour. A trench where the dead and dying lie among the blood-stained earth, piled, yea, chin-deep, and where the cannon-balls are rebounding every instant from the ramparts of Mons, is a very unpleasant place to compose love-speeches; but, believe me, that the heart of poor Dick Douglas in suffering and danger, poverty and exile, is still unchanged, my beloved Annie, and as much thine as ever. Here are we, a company of gallant Scottish gentlemen, in such a plight as you never could conceive; and the very appearance of our ragged attire, our emaciated forms and our exceeding misery, would melt your gentle heart with the softest compassion. My ancient signet ring, the last relic of the house of Finland, I bartered yesterday for a loaf of bread, and now I have nothing left save the lock of thy hair, which shall go with me to the grave. But more glorious by far are our Jacobite rags than the gay bravery we might have worn under that accursed usurper against whom we have sworn to fight to the last gasp.

"The mischances of war are fast reducing the faithful cavaliers of Dundee. Starvation or the bullet daily send some brave heart to its long repose, and the survivors are in such a plight that not even the Westland Whigs could wish them lower. From the frontiers of Spain we have travelled to Alsatia, and from thence to Mons. It was a march of horrors! We were utterly without the necessaries of life, and in the depth of a severe winter, marched nine hundred miles over a country covered with snow. Many of us were barefooted. For many weeks our food was nuts in the woods, roots in the fields, horsebeans and garlic, and thus it is that Louis XIV. rewards our loyalty, our patience, our fatigues and achievements.

"Our old friend Walter Fenton is well. Through all the campaigns under Monsieur le Mareschal Noailles and the noble Luxembourg, he hath shewed himself worthy of the knighthood King James' sword bestowed. Yesterday he volunteered, with sixty of our unhappy cavaliers, to plant the banner of King Louis on the Bastion de Sainte Wandree, and nobly did he redeem his word. Commend me to all our leal and right honourable friends, and to those who may think kindly of the poor cavaliers for the happy days that have passed away for ever. A time may come--adieu, dearest Annie--the call to arms is sounding along the lines, and we are about to march for Steinkirke, a duty from which few will return. On my mind there weighs a heavy presentiment of what I cannot name to thee. Farewell, my gentle Annie, and may God bless thee! for I fear we shall see the bonnie braes of Maxwelton together no more.

FINLAND,

"Late Lieut, in the Royall Scotts Ffoot."

There was a tone of sorrowful resignation to a hard and hopeless fate pervading this letter that struck a pang of deep remorse through the heart of Annie--but a pang for one moment only; the volatility of her sex aided her, and smiling through her tears, she said,

"My poor dear lighthearted Dick, would to Heaven I could lessen the miseries you endure!"

"Oh, Annie," said Lilian reproachfully, clasping her hands and weeping, "poor Walter and poor Finland!"

"Tush!" said Annie pettishly, her dark-blue eyes sparkling between shame and sorrow. "Gossip, tease me not."

"Stay, there is something more--oh, read it."

"A postscriptum"--

"It will grieve you much to hear that Walter Fenton hath broken his plighted troth to your fair friend Napier, and married a French woman, a mere camp follower, of evil repute. Right heavy tidings this will be for the heiress of Bruntisfield, but I ever deemed her spark a fool; again I kiss your hand--adieu."

The wicked expression of triumph that flashed in Annie's eyes quickly gave way to one of compassion and regret, on beholding the aspect of Lilian. Pale as death, with her eyes starting from their sockets, her silken curls seeming to twist like knots about her throbbing temples; her nether lip turned from crimson to blue, and quivering convulsively; her bosom heaving with the terrible and sickening sensations that oppressed it. Her little hands were firmly clenched, and her dry hot eyes were full of fire.

"Again, again, read it once more, Annie," she said, in a voice of strange but exquisite cadence.

"Not for worlds!" exclaimed Annie; "Oh, thou wicked letter, thus to mar our peace and hurl us into sorrow. Oh, if Craigdarroch should hear I have had a billet from my former lover, he will kindle up into such a fit of jealousy and rage as the world never saw; to the flames with it!" and she tossed into the fire the letter which poor Finland had so fondly and sorrowfully indited. It was consumed in a moment; and thus all after examination of the postscript was precluded, otherwise the forgery might have been discovered before its effects became too fatal.

"A _camp follower of evil repute_! It is false--impossible--Finland hath lied! Yet--yet--a cup of water, for Heaven's sake--my throat is parched and scorching!" Lilian sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands, but neither wept nor swooned, for her sense of injury was too acute for tears.

How bitter was the palsying sickness of heart--the agony she endured!

Not a tear fell, for the fire that burned in her breast seemed to have absorbed them.

"This is the _third_ 20th of September since he first left me. Oh, Walter, Walter, God may forgive thee this great ingratitude and cruelty, but I never can!"