CHAPTER XX.

THE BUBBLE BURST.

To linger when the sun of life, The beam that gilt its path is gone-- To feel the aching bosom's strife, When _Hope_ is dead, but _Love_ lives on. ANONYMOUS.

Meanwhile, without recognising Clermistonlee, and not aware that he had been recognized by him, poor Walter, who was of that temperament which is easily raised and depressed, turned away from the gate, crushed beneath the load of a thousand fears at the sight of so gay a cavalier caracoling down the avenue of Bruntisfield.

His heart was overcharged with melancholy reflections. "I have been away for five years--in all that time we have never heard of each other. Oh, what if she should have deemed me dead!"

Drawing his last shilling from his pocket, the unfortunate cavalier entered a poor change-house by the wayside, where a great signboard creaking on an iron rod and representing a portrait in a red coat and white wig, and having a tremendously hooked nose, imported that it was the 'King William's head,' kept by Lucky Elshender, who promised good entertainment for "man and beast."

The small clay-floored apartment, with its well-scrubbed bunkers, and rack of shining plates and tin trenchers, kirn-babies on the mantelpiece, and blazing ingle, where turf and wood burned cheerfully in a clumsy iron basket, supported by four massive legs, looked very snug and comfortable.

A personage evidently a divine, long visaged and dark featured, with his lanky sable hair falling on his Geneva bands and coat of rusty black, sat warming his spindle legs at the warm hearth, and smoking a long pipe, on the bowl of which he fixed his great lack lustre eyes with an expression of the deepest abstraction. It was the Reverend Mr. Ichabod Bummel, who came every evening as regularly as six o'clock struck, to smoke a pipe, and hear the passing news at the change-house kept by his aunt-in-law old Elsie, and to bore every traveller who was disposed to hear the abstruse theology and ponderous arguments advanced in his _Bombshell_, for that immortal work had been printed at last, in thick quarto, and a copy of it now lay under his elbow all ready for action against the first good-natured listener or fool-hardy disputant.

In person this redoubtable champion of toleration was as lean as ever, though the goods and chattels of this world had flowed amply upon him of late, notwithstanding the oppression and famine of the time. He had cautiously purchased various tofts and pendicles on the banks of the Powburn, and to these he gave hard and unusual scriptural names, which they bear unto this day, and which the curious may find by consulting the City Directory. One he named the Land of Canaan, another the Land of Goshen, the Land of Egypt, Hebron, and so forth, while the little runnel that traverses them was exalted into the waters of Jordan. Meinie, whom he had espoused, had "proved," as he said, "ane fruitful vine," for she had brought him four sons, all long-visaged, hollow-eyed, and sepulchral counterparts of himself, and he named them Shem, Ham, Japhet, and Ichabod.

On the opposite side of the ingle, and far back in a corner, a miserable-looking woman crouched on the stone bench for warmth. A tartan plaid was muffled about her shoulders, and half concealed her hollow cheeks and ghastly visage. She seemed a personification of the famine and misery that reigned so triumphantly in Scotland. Her eyes were full of unnatural lustre; they flashed like diamonds in the light of the fire, but had a scrutinizing and stern expression in them that startled Walter, and he felt uneasy in her vicinity.

"It's only puir Beatrix Gilruth, my winsome gentleman," said Elsie in a low voice; "she is a gomeral--a natural body that bides about the doors, Sir; just a puir, harmless, daft creature. She'll no harm you, Sir."

In the tumult of his mind Walter did not at first recognise either Elsie or Ichabod, but assuming an air of as much unconcern as he could muster, he called for a bicker of French wine, and took possession of a cutty stool which the slipshod Elsie placed for him hurriedly and officiously opposite the divine, who regarded him with a keen scrutinizing glance, to ascertain his probable station in life, his errand, and objects in coming hither. He saw that he was a traveller, and being on foot must be a poor one.

"Good e'en to your reverence, for I presume I have the honour of addressing a clergyman," said Walter, politely.

"Hum--humph!" answered Ichabod, with a short cough, nodding his head, and never once moving his eyes from Walter's face. Every man was then doubtful and suspicious of strangers (the Scots are so to the present hour), and consequently Ichabod was singularly dry and reserved. But Elsie drew near Walter, and looked at him attentively. The grief that preyed upon his heart had imparted a singularly prepossessing mildness to his features, and a winning cadence to the tone of his voice, but the stark preacher neither saw one nor felt the influence of the other.

"A cold night, your reverence."

"Yea," gasped Ichabod, and there was another pause.

"My service to you, Sir. Wilt taste my wine? 'tis right Gascony, and I should be a judge."

"Yea, having been in those parts where it was produced, probably," observed Ichabod, becoming more curious and communicative as he imbibed the lion's share of Walter's wine pot, and waited for an answer, but there was none given.

"Verily, Sir," began Mr. Bummel, "these are times to chill the souls and bodies of the afflicted. Thou seest how sore the famine waxeth in the land, especially in these our once fertile Lothians, which whilome were wont to be overflowing with milk and honey."

"Ay," chimed in Elsie, "but I've seen them in mair fearfu' times, when they were overflowing wi' blude and soldiers."

"'Tis for that red harvest, woman, that we are visited by this lamentable scourge; plagued even as Egypt was of old. In these three fertile shires of Lothian I have seen a woeful change since the last harvest, and my heart grows heavy when I think upon it; but I am about to arise and go forth from them for ever."

"Indeed, Sir," said Walter.

"I have gotten a pleasant call from the Lord to another kirk----"

"Wi' a _better_ stipend, Sir," added the gleeful Elsie.

"Indubitably," said Mr. Bummel.

"Twa hunder pound Scots, a braw glebe, four bolls o' beir," replied Elsie, counting on her crooked and wrinkled fingers, "aucht chalders--"

"Peace, woman Elsie, for this enumeration of thine savours of a love for the things of this life."

"And a braw pulpit. O, but it's grand you'll be, Ichabod, when in full birr under your sounding board. But alake, Sir," she added, turning to Walter, "arena' these fearfu' times?'

"Sad indeed, gudewife."

"I was in the mealmarket this morning, and oh, Sirs, it was a sight to rend the heart of a nether millstane to see the hungry bairns and wailing mothers worrying about the half-filled pokes. God help them! the puir folk are deeing fast the west country we hear."

"'Tis a scourge on the land for its former sins," said the preacher in his most sepulchral tone; "but let us hope that the faith of its people will save it!"

"You'll hae come from some far awa' country I'm thinking, Sir?" said Elsie, inquisitively, for the extreme sadness of Walter interested her extremely.

"True I have, good woman."

"France, I fancy? that land o' priests and persecution."

"From Holland last. I am a merchant, and deal in broadcloths and cart saddles. From Holland last," he repeated, for their inquisitiveness made him uneasy.

"A blessed land, good youth," said Mr. Bummel. "I sojourned there long when there was a flaming sword over the children of righteousness."

"Reverend sir, canst tell me what are the news among you here?" asked Walter, who was in an agony of mind to lead the conversation to what lay nearest his heart.

"Verily, Sir, nought but the famine--the famine. The west winds hath detained the Flanders mail these two months, and we have heard nothing from London these many weeks, save anent plots of the Jacobites and Papists, of whilk we have ever enough and to spare."

"What have you heard of them of late?"

"'Tis said that one Walter Fenton, formerly an officer in the regiment of Dunbarton (that bloody oppressor of Israel) is now tarrying among us, plotting in James's cause, or on some such errand of hell."

"The rascal," said Walter, drinking to conceal the confusion that overspread his face.

"Yea," continued Ichabod, puffing vigorously, and luckily involving himself in a cloud of smoke. "This morning the heralds, in their vain-glorious trumpery, were proclaiming at the Cross the reward of a thousand merks to any that will bring his head to the Privy Council; and the Lord Clermistonlee, from the good will and affection he bears his Majesty, offers five hundred more?"

"Do you think he will be found?"

"Indubitably. The ports are closed, the guards on the alert; the messengers-at-arms, macers, and halberdiers are all in full chase. He must perish, and so may all who would restore the abominations of idolatry! Here in my _Bombshell_ (a work whilk I have lately imprinted with mickle care and toil), if I do not prove, from the epistles to the Thessalonians, that the great master of popery, the Bishop of Rome, is the grand Antichrist therein referred to, I will be well content to kiss the bloody maiden that stands under the shadow of the Tolbooth gable."

"Hear till him!" cried the delighted Elsie. "Hear till him! O wow, but my Meinie's man is a grand minister--he rides on the rigging of the kirk!"

"I am a stranger here," said Walter, no longer able to repress the torture of his mind; "I know nothing of the vile plot you speak of, having been long in the industrious Low Countries--and--and--cans't tell me, your Reverence, whose mansion is approached by yonder stately avenue of oaks and sycamores?"

"The House of Bruntisfield--called of old the Wrytes."

"Aich ay," added Elsie, shaking her head mournfully; "but a house o' wrongs now."

"Wherefore, gudewife?"

"It is a lang story, honoured Sir," replied Elsie, drawing her stool nearer Walter, and knitting very fast to hide her emotion. "The auld line o' the Napiers ended in a lassie, as bonnie a doo as the Lowdens three could boast o', and mony came frae baith far and near to the wooing and winning o' her; but nane cam speed save a neer-do-weel-loon o' a cavalier officer, to whom she plighted heart and troth--and the plighting pledge was a deid woman's ring. As might be expected, the hellicate cavalier gaed awa' to the wars and plundering in the Lowlands of Holland, and sair my young lady sorrowed for him; I ken that weel, for I was her nurse, and mony a lang hour she grat in my arms for her love that was far awa'. At last word came frae Low Germanie that the fause villain had married some unco' papistical woman, and, in a mad fit o' black despair, my lady accepted the most determined, if no the best o' her suitors----"

"Who?" asked Walter in an unearthly voice, and feeling for the sword he wore no longer. "Who?"

"Randal Lord Clermistonlee, and ehow! but sair hath been the change in our gude auld barony since then. Her braw lands and farmsteadings, her auld patrimony, baith haugh and holme, loch and lea, brae and burn, are a' melting and fleeing awa' by the wasterfu' extravagance o' the wildest loon in a' braid Scotland. Hawks and hounds, revellers and roisterers, and ill-women, thrang the great ha' house frae een to morn and morn till eenin'; and sae, between the freaks and follies, the pride and caprice o' her lord, my puir doo Lilian leads the life o' a blessed martyr. When mad wi' wine and ill luck at the dice tables, he rampages ower her like a Bull o' Bashan; while, at other times, he just doats on her as a faither would on a favourite bairn. But, alake! doating can never remove the misery that has closed over her for the short time she'll likely be amang us--for her heart is breaking fast--it is--it is!"

Here Elsie wept bitterly, and then resumed.

"Her marriage day was ane o' the darkest dool to a' the barony, for on that miserable day our auld lady died; and a' the leal servitors were soon after expelled to mak' room for the broken horse-coupers, ill-women and vagabonds, that were ever and aye in the train o' the new lord."

While Elsie ran on thus, Walter heard her not. His mind was a perfect chaos of distraction.

Oh, what a shock were these tidings to one whose head was so full of romance and enthusiasm, and whose heart was brimming with sensibility and love!

He felt an utter prostration of every faculty, and a deadly coldness seemed to pass over the pulses of his heart. He arose, and laying on the table the last coin he possessed in the world, hurried forth without waiting for change, and, bent on some desperate deed, blind and reckless, with anger, agony and despair in his soul, he entered the dark shadowy avenue, and approached the old castellated mansion--the place of so many tender memories.