CHAPTER V.

THE ATTEMPT.

Once in a lone and secret hour of night, When every eye was closed, and the pale moon And stars alone shone conscious of the theft, Hot with the Tuscan grape, and high in blood, Haply I stole unheeded to her chamber. FAIR PENITENT.

When Clermistonlee retired from the hall to the study or parlour, which was the only comfortably furnished apartment in the dreary old tower, he resigned himself to reflection, and sipping his mulled sack, a great tankard of which Juden placed unbidden, and quite as a matter of course, at his elbow. His thoughts at first ran in the usual channel,--a determination to possess Lilian, from the double incentives of passion and pecuniary necessity. He was on the brink of ruin; and her property, or expectations of it, were ample and noble. She was very unprotected; the land was convulsed and trembling on the verge of a great civil war, though as yet no tidings had reached Edinburgh of what was passing in England; and so, as the sack diminished in the tankard, his lordship's thoughts became in proportion more strange, more amorous, and confused. His brain wandered. He was restless and uneasy; his flowing dressing-gown seemed to fit him like a horse-hair shirt; and his disturbed manner was not unobserved by his faithful and subservient factotum.

The latter attempted some consolation, after his fashion; but it was not palatable.

"Begone to the bartizan!" exclaimed his master, angrily, "and bring me instant tidings if anything seems astir in the country about us. I expect news from the city hourly. Leave me."

Juden vanished.

"The deevil tak' lovers and lords!" he muttered, as he drew his broad worsted bonnet over his cross visage, and ascended to the bartizan of the tower, and setting his teeth hard, as he faced the keen north wind, took a survey of the dreary and snow-covered landscape. On the passing wind ten o'clock came sullenly from the spire of St. John of Corstorphine; then all was deathly still save the sough of the winter breeze as it swept over the dreary Lee, and whistled through the open corbells of the projecting tower.

Juden had no particular fancy for enacting the part of warder in so cold a night, and after taking a rapid survey of the extensive waste, he was about to descend again, when an unusual redness in the sky to the eastward arrested him. It rose in the direction of the city, and resembled the lurid and wavering glow of a great conflagration. The red blaze was rapidly spreading and crimsoning the edges of the dusky clouds above, and throwing forward in strong relief the southern edge of the Corstorphine Kills, and the dark pines that shaded them. Astonished, perplexed, and alarmed, Juden continued to gaze in the direction of the light, until a loud hollo startled him, and he perceived a man on horseback close to the foot of the tower.

"Ho!" cried Juden through his hand, for the wind blew keen and high. "What want ye, friend?"

"No a night's lodging, or I wadna come here," answered the other testily. "Closed gates and dark windows betoken cauld cheer and a caulder ingle."

"Beware o' your tongue, friend," replied the butler from aloft. "Langer lugs than yours hae been nailed to the tower yett. You have come frae Edinburgh I warrant?"

"Troth have I, on the spur, man, so open the yett, Juden Stenton."

"What's a' the steer there this night?"

"Gif you had been there ye wad ken," responded the other with sulky importance. "I bear a letter for my Lord Clermistonlee on the king's service, which king Gude kens and the Deil cares."

"Thir are kittle times, friend," replied the butler, warily; "so if King James himsel' came to the peel o' Clermiston this mirk night, not a bolt would be drawn, or a lock undone. Tie the letter to this twine, gossip, and sae gang your way in peace."

Rendered cautious by the nature of the times, and by being constantly on the alert against force and treachery, the wary old servitor lowered over the wall a string, to which after sundry curses the horseman tied a letter, and Juden towed it up, "hand over hand."

"Ill folk are aye feared," said the stranger; "and I doubt there are but few clear consciences in Clermistonlee. My horse is sair forfoughton wi' my ride frae the West Port; he fell at the Foulbrigs, and was nigh swept awa' when fording the Leith doon by there; but I maun een ride on to his honor the Laird o' Niddry without a stirrup cup or a 'God save ye.' Out upon Clermiston and its ill-mannered loons!" and dashing spurs into his horse, the servant galloped at a hunting pace away to the westward, and disappeared among the hollows at the verge of the Lee.

Anxious to learn the contents of a letter in which he doubted not he had as much interest as his Lord, Juden hurried down the corkscrew stair from the bartizan, and repairing to the little study where his half-muddled master was gazing dreamily into the fire, and imbibing his sixth cup of sack, he placed the little square billet before him. Clermistonlee tore it open, and read hurriedly,

"Dear Gossip,

"A glorious revolution hath been accomplished, (and I am just drinking to its success in sugared brandy,) but Satan seems to have broken loose in the city, whilk the rascal sort hath fired in six different places. The acts of Estate and Council are mere nullities. Your presence is required by the Council anent ane address to the new king. We are to have a grand onslaught to-morrow against Baal's prophets, the Host of Pharaoh, and a' that, ye ken.

"Yrs. at service, "MERSINGTON."

"_Postscriptum_.--Keep the bonnie bird in the cage close; her kinsman Napier hath been slain by young Fenton, and ye know how the entail stands. Vale! King William the Second of Scotland for ever!"

Clermistonlee's first impulse was to start up and buckle on his sword, exclaiming,

"My gambadoes, Juden; the red leather ones--saddle Meg, and, peril of thy life, look well to--but no--no! I will not. Thou mayest go to the devil, Mersington, with thy drunken scrawl, the address, and the Council to boot. I leave not Clermiston to-night. Napier slain--and by Fenton! By George, how the plot is thickening! 'Tis glorious. Juden, don your shabble, and ride to the city; tell my gossip Mersington in the _matter_ pending, mark me, knave! in the matter pending to use my name as he shall deem fitting."

Juden replied by a leer of deep cunning (for he too was something of a politician), and, animated by an intense curiosity to know what was acting in the city, hurried away, and in ten minutes had left far behind him the dreary tower and frozen muir, above which its dark outline reared like that of a spectre.

As the fumes of the wine mounted upward, the heated imagination and inflamed passions of Clermistonlee got completely the better of his senses. Thoughts of Lilian's beauty and helplessness came vividly before him; but such reflections instead of kindling his pity, roused all his passion for her to an ungovernable height. Draining a cup of brandy to make him yet more reckless of consequences, and snatching a candle, he staggered from the room, and descended the narrow stone stair that led from his apartment.

He knew that he was alone, for Beatrix was under lock and key; yet he stepped with singular caution. Every stone in the rough walls seemed a grotesque face, regarding him with mockery and wrath; he saw a figure in every shadow, heard a step in every whistle of the midnight wind. He dared not look at portraits as he passed, lest their eyes might seem to move; and thus, though the entire consciousness of his dark intent came broadly and appallingly home to his heart, such was the influence of his ungoverned passions that a spirit of the merest obstinacy urged him to finish what he in part commenced, and the high pulsations of his heart increased at every step which brought him nearer to the chamber of his victim.

He entered the hall. The feeble rays of his upheld candle seemed only to reveal the size and darkness of the place, and the grey winter twilight that struggled through its thickly grated and deeply-arched windows. The embers of the fire still smouldered on the hearth, and, reddening when the hollow wind rumbled down the wide chimney, threw the shadows of the great oaken table, the dark grotesque cabinets and highbacked chairs in long and frightful figures on the paved floor.

Entering the almonry, he opened a door, within it, which revealed a narrow passage in the wall that communicated with the secret outlets of the place, and led directly to the cabinet in Lilian's room.

He stood within it, and the warmth of its atmosphere increased the ferment of his blood. Unconscious of the proximity of so dangerous a visitor, the innocent girl slept soundly, but lightly.

Shading the light with his hand, he gazed impatiently upon the slumbering beauty.

Her hair, which overnight she had put up with the carelessness so natural to grief, had now escaped from the caul, and rolled over the pillow in masses that glittered like gold in the rays of the uncertain light. She was very pale, but a slight glow began to redden her cheek, and it was graced with a smile of inexpressible sweetness.

Twice he approached, and twice drew back irresolute.

An unseen hand seemed to restrain him; the air of perfect innocence pervading the presence of the sleeping girl protected her for a time; and scarcely daring to breathe, the intruder continued to gaze upon her. She slept softly. At last, tears fell over her cheeks, and she tenderly murmured--

"Dear Walter, have I not said that I love you?"

Clermistonlee, on whose bent-down cheek her soft breath came, started at these words as if a serpent had stung him. One of those fierce, malicious, and scornful smiles, which so often imparted to his handsome features a fiendish expression, contracted them but for a moment; another of intense sadness and languor replaced it. At that instant, unable longer to restrain himself, he clasped her in his arms.

"Lilian!" he exclaimed, "dear Lilian, be not alarmed--it is I."

A piercing shriek, that startled the furthest recesses of the old and desolate tower, burst from the lips of Lilian; it was one of those deep and wailing cries of pain and horror which, when once heard, are never forgot.

"Villain, unhand me! Oh! spare me, my Lord--spare me for the love of God!"

"Be calm, Lilian--why should you fear me? Do I not adore you? Yes; I prize your love beyond the possession of life. Dear girl, look not on me thus. I am the most devoted of lovers, and by this kiss, dearest----d--nation!"

He attempted to kiss her; but, endued with new strength by rage and fear, her little hands clutched fiercely his thick mustachios, and twisted his head aside, as she had done once before so effectually.

"Hear me!" he continued, "hear me, sweet Lilian; I came but to say that I loved thee----."

"Love me! oh! horror!--leave me, or I shall expire--leave me!"

At that moment a loud explosion, followed by the fanfare of trumpets and the ruffling of kettle-drums beneath the walls of the tower arrested all the faculties of Clermistonlee, and by throwing his thoughts into another channel, covered him with shame; and he started back, the image of astonishment and irresolution.

Not so Lilian; her presence of mind was instantly restored. Springing to a window, and fearlessly dashing her hands through the panes of glass, she cried in agonized accents--

"Help! help! for the love of the blessed God! Help me, or I perish!"

"Lilian! Lilian!" cried a voice that filled her with transport. It was that of Walter Fenton.

A glance sufficed to show her a gallant troop of horse halted beneath the tower in the grey morning twilight. Again she would have spoken, but the strong hand of Clermistonlee dragged her furiously back into the apartment.