CHAPTER XXI.

LOVE AND MARRIAGE ARE TWO.

Oh, these were only marks of joy, forsooth, For his return in safety! Were they so? And so ye may believe, and so my words May fall unheeded! Be it so; what comes Will nevertheless come. AGAMEMNON OF ÆSCHYLUS.

The shadows of the gloomy evening had deepened as he approached the ancient Place of Bruntisfield, and its dark façade, its heavy projecting turrets and barred casements, impressed him with additional sadness.

The wind sighed down the lonely avenue, and whirled the fallen leaves as it passed. Many a raven flapped its wings and screamed discordantly above his head, and all such sounds had a powerful effect on him at the time.

Confused, despairing, and feeling a sentiment of profound contempt and anger, struggling for mastery with his old and passionate love, his heart seemed about to rend with its conflicting emotions.

One sensation was ever present--it was one of desolation and loneliness--that he had nothing more to live for; that the world was all a blank. The light that had long led him on through so many miseries and dangers had vanished from his view: his idol was shattered for ever.

He felt that it was impossible to think with calmness; to tear from his breast the dear image and the cherished hopes he had fostered there so long--to exchange admiration for contempt--love for indifference. Oh, no! it could never be. Ages seemed to have elapsed since the sun had set that evening; while his parting with Lilian, the triumph of Killycrankie, the carnage of Steinkirke, and his mission from the King, seemed all the events of yesterday.

He felt sick and palsied at heart.

Irresistibly impelled to see her, heedless alike of the dangerous charm of her presence and the risk he ran if discovered, his whole soul was bent upon an interview, that he might upbraid her with her perfidy--hurl upon her a mountain of reprobation and bitterness, of obloquy and scorn, and then leave her presence for ever.

"I am alone in the world," thought he. "This is my native land--the land where I had garnered up my heart, my hopes, and my wishes, though not one foot of it is mine save the sod that must cover me. Of all the tens of thousands that tread its soil, there is not one now with whom I can claim kindred, who would welcome me in coming, or bless me in departing--not one to shed a tear on the grave where I shall lie. Oh! it is very sad to feel one's self so desolate. Where now are all those brave companions with whom I was once so daring, so joyous, and so gay? Alas! on a hundred fields their bones lie scattered, and I alone survive to mourn the glory of the days that are gone for ever! Oh, never more shall the drum beat or trumpet sound for me! Oh, never more shall love or glory fire my heart again! Oh, never more, for the hour is passed and never can return"--and he almost wept, so intensely bitter were his thoughts of sorrow and regret.

The barbican gate stood ajar, and the old and well remembered doorway at the foot of the tower was also open; they seemed to invite his entrance, and, careless of the consequences, he went mechanically forward.

The old portrait on horseback, the trophy of arms, and the wooden Flemish clock with its monotonous _tick-tack_, still occupied the vaulted lobby. Every thing seemed as he had seen them last. He turned to the left and entered the chamber-of-dais, breathless and trembling, for he seemed instinctively to know that _she_ was there.

He entered softly, and, overpowered by the violence of his conflicting emotions, stood rooted to the spot. The old chamber, with its massive pannelling and rich decorations of the Scoto-French school was partially lighted by the ruddy glow from the great fire-place, and by the last deep red flush of the departed sun that streamed through its grated windows.

The dark furniture, the grotesque cabinets with their twisted columns, the stark chairs with their knobby backs and worsted bobs, the grim full-length of Sir Archibald Napier, cap-a-pie à la cuirassier, the dormant beam with its load of lances, swords, and daggers, were all as Walter had last seen them; but the old lady's well-cushioned chair, her long walking-cane and ivory virreled spinning-wheel had long since disappeared; and hawk's-hoods, hunting horns, spurs, whips, and stray tobacco pipes lay in various places, while in lieu of Lady Grisel's sleek and pampered tom cat, a great wiry, red-eyed, sleuth hound slept on the warm hearth-rug. On all this Walter bestowed not a glance, for his eyes and his soul became immediately rivetted on the figure of Lilian.

With her head leaning on her hand she sat within the deep recess of a western window, and the faint light of the setting sun lit up her features and edged her ringlets with gold. She was absorbed in deep thought.

Lilian, who for days, and months, and years, in health and in sickness, in danger and in safety, in sorrow and in joy, had never for a moment been absent from his thoughts, was now before him, and yet he had not one word of greeting to bestow. He seemed to be in a trance--to be oppressed by some horrible dream.

He observed her anxiously and narrowly. Nothing could be more tender than the love that was expressed in his eyes, and nothing more acute than the agony expressed by his contracted features.

Lapse of years, change of circumstances and of thought had considerably altered the appearance of Lilian. The light-hearted, slender, and joyous girl had expanded into a stately, grave, and melancholy matron. Oh, what a change those five sad years had wrought! Her dress was magnificent, as became the wife of a Scottish noble; her figure, though still slight, was fuller and rounder than of old; her face, though still dignified and beautiful, was paler--even sickly. Her blue eyes seemed to have lost much of their former brilliancy, and to have gained only in softness of expression. Her dark lashes were cast down, and her aspect was sad and touching. The bloom of her lip and her cheek had faded away together, for heavily on her affectionate heart had the hand of suffering weighed.

She wept, and the heart of Walter was melted within him. Had all the universe been his he would have given it to have embraced her. He sighed bitterly, but dared not to approach.

"He is gone," said Lilian,--"gone to spend another night in riot and debauchery, while I am left ever alone. Perhaps 'tis well, for often his presence is intolerable. Woe is me! Oh, how different was the future I once pictured to my imagination!"

The sound of that dear voice, which had so often come to him through his dreams in many a far and foreign camp and city, made Walter tremble. He was deeply moved. The fire in the arched chimney, which had been smouldering, now suddenly shot up into a broad and ruddy blaze that lighted the whole chamber. Lilian turned her head, and instantly grew pale as death, for full on the image of him who occupied her thoughts--of Walter Fenton, hollow eyed, emaciated, and supported on a walking-staff--fell the bright stream of that fitful light. He looked so unearthly, so motionless and spectral, that Lilian's blood ran cold.

She would have screamed, but the cry died away upon her lips. After a moment or two her spirit rallied; her respiration, though hurried, became more free; her face blushed scarlet up to the very temples, and then became ashy pale, as before, and her glazed eyes resumed their wild and inquiring expression. She arose, but neither advanced nor spoke. All power seemed to have left her.

"Oh, Lilian! Lilian!" said the poor wanderer in a voice of great pathos; "after the lapse of five long years of exile and suffering, what a meeting is this for us! Under what a course of perils have the hope of my return and your truth not sustained me? My God! that I should find you thus. Is this the welcome I expected?"

Summoning all her courage and that self-possession which women have in so great a degree, Lilian (though her eyes were full of tears) averted her face, and recalled the fatal letter of Finland, on which had turned the whole of her future fate.

"Look at me, adorable Lilian!" said Walter, kneeling and stretching his arms towards her.

Lilian dared not to look; but she trembled violently and sobbed heavily.

"Look at me, beloved one," said Walter wildly and passionately. "Changed though I am, and though another holds your heart, you cannot have forgotten me, or learned to view me with aversion and contempt. If this Lord has won your affection--"

"Oh, say not that, Walter," sobbed Lilian "do not say my affection."

"Oh, horror! what misery can equal such an avowal? My fatal absence has undone us both."

"Say, rather, your fatal inconstancy."

"Mine?" reiterated Walter.

"Oh, yes, yes; upbraid me not," said Lilian in a piercing voice. "I was faithful and true until you forsook me for another. To God I appeal," she cried, raising her clasped hands and weeping eyes to Heaven, "kneeling I appeal if ever in word, or thought, or hope I swerved in truth from thee, dear Walter, until tidings of your marriage reached me; when, stung by jealousy, by pride, by disappointment and despair, and urged by the unmerited contumely that had fallen upon me, I yielded to the exhortations of my friends, and in an evil hour----." She covered her face with her hands, and could say no more.

"Heaven preserve my senses!" ejaculated Walter Fenton, "for here the wiles of Hell have been at work. We have been deceived, cruelly deceived, dear Lilian, by some deep-laid plot of villany which this right hand shall yet unravel and revenge. And you are the wife of Clermistonlee? Hear me, unfortunate! You are less than--ah, how shall I say it? You are not and cannot be his wife!"

"You rave, poor Walter. Our doom is irrevocably sealed. Our paths in life must be for ever separate. Oh, for the love of gentle mercy begone, and let us meet no more, for at this moment I feel my brain whirling, and I am trembling on the very verge of madness."

"Lilian, this is the 20th of September," said Walter.

"Cruel, cruel; do not speak of it," said she, wringing her hands. "For Heaven's sake leave me, and take back the pledge--the ring, for to retain it longer were a sin, and too long have I sinned in treasuring it as I have done."

Unlocking a cabinet, she drew from a secret drawer a ring to which a ribbon was attached, and offered it to Walter; but he never approached.

"We have been cruelly duped, dear Lilian; but oh, how could you doubt me, for never did I mistrust you? But hear me, though my words should crush your heart as mine just now is crushed. Alison Gifford, the first wife of Lord Clermistonlee yet lives, though (as she told me) dead to him and to the world for ever!"

"What new horror is this?" said Lilian, pressing her hands upon her temples.

In a few words her unhappy lover explained how he had become acquainted with the existence of Lady Clermistonlee.

"Oh, this is indeed to bruise the bruised--to heap brands upon a burning heart," said Lilian, as she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. A long pause ensued, till Walter said in a low and trembling voice,

"Lilian, do you really love this man--this Clermistonlee?"

"He is my husband."

"It is impossible you can love him!"

"Love him!--oh, no! custom has in part overcome the aversion with which I once regarded him, and by his able flattery he has succeeded in soothing me into a temper of kind indifference and quiet resignation--but oh, this interview----"

Walter, who had never dared to diminish the distance between them, gazed wistfully and tenderly upon her; but at that moment an infant that was sleeping in its cradle awoke, and cried aloud. Its voice seemed to sting him to the heart, and he turned abruptly to withdraw.

"Farewell, Lilian," said he; "I will go, and my presence shall disturb your serenity no more. May you be happy, and may God bless and forgive you for the agony I now endure! Clermistonlee, like the matchless villain he has been through life, has wronged us both; but let him tremble in the midst of his success and his treason, for the hour is coming when our King shall enjoy his own again, and remember that in that hour the same hand which rends the baron's coronet from the brow of your betrayer, bestows on me the Earldom of Dalrulion! Farewell," said he through his clenched teeth; "to me the paths of ambition and revenge are open still, though those of happiness and love are closed, alas, for ever!" He gave her one long glance of agony, and turned to depart; but at that moment strong hands were laid upon him violently--the room was filled with soldiers and the beagles of justice; he was dragged down and bound with cords, ere he could make the slightest effort in his own defence.

"An out-and-out Jacobite, Papist, and a' the rest o' it--I ken by the look o' him!" cried Maclutchy, the macer, flourishing his badge of office. "Here will be some grand plots brought to light that will bring half the country under doom o' forfeiture and fine. Kittle times, lads, kittle times!'

"Away with him!" cried Clermistonlee, spurning the manacled unfortunate with his foot; "away with him! The Lords of the Privy Council meet in an hour. Lose no time, for by all the devils, the corbies of the Burghmuir shall pick his bones ere the morrow's sun be set."

As Walter was roughly dragged away, Lilian threw her hands above her head, uttered one wild shriek, and fell forward on her face, motionless as if dead.