CHAPTER XLVI.

THE GUNNER.

"They sin who tell us Love can die; With life all other passions fly, All others are but nonity."--_Southey._

At this time, when the sun had set enveloped in clouds--when the Forth was breaking in foam over the black scalp of the Beacon Rock, and while its billows boomed along the dreary ridges of the Mussel-cape and the far expanse of desert-sand that bordered the Figgate-muir,--Euphemia and Sybilla Drummond occupied a seat near the beach at Barton's house, where they sat hand-in-hand, and bathed in tears; for their sky, to speak figuratively, was as much overcast as that which yester-night had warned old Andrew Wood to drop his anchors and make all snug for riding out a gale in the bonny Bay of Largo. But it was not the sullen chafing of the waves, the darkening of the inky sky, the foam-flecked river, or the flying scud, that brought those tears to the hazel eyes of these two gentle and loving sisters, for they feared not for the safety of their lovers; they wept alone for that unhappy fate to which they seemed abandoned; for ambition or avarice had steeled the heart of their father against them; and family pride and priestly austerity had withered up the soul of their uncle; and hope they had none.

Callous, proud, and cold, Hailes and Home seemed bent on espousing them in a spirit of mere opposition or convenience--if not with something of revenge, for their rejection of an absurd and insulting suit which had been coarsely pressed upon them, while it was known that their affections were secured by others, and that their hearts were swollen with sorrow by the strange disappearance of their sister; and young Rothesay, who for her sake loved them well, and who might have unravelled one part of her story--viz., the discovery of the poor little babe in the alcove, was yet, by the lawless detention of the Bishop of Dunblane in England, obliged to seal his lips as to an espousal which he dared not acknowledge to the nation.

Two large willows shaded, and a thick boor-tree hedge screened this old garden seat, on which a hundred lovers had cut their names or initials; and on the soft rind of the wallows, Sybilla soon discovered the date 1486, between the letters D.F. and S.D.--the initials of herself and Falconer, who, in that year had first seen and learned to love her, and, like a true Orlando, had cut them there,--thus revealing, as it were, to the spirits of the air and the sea, that love which he dared hardly acknowledge to himself as yet.

"Poor dear Falconer!" said Sybilla, patting the rind with her pretty white hand; "thou lovest me well and truly!"

Since their separation at Dundee, she had never heard his voice; nor since that horrible day had Euphemia an opportunity of addressing Barton, her betrothed, save for one brief moment, the other evening, when with the admiral he left that house of which the prince and nobles had unlawfully possessed themselves; so both the poor girls were very sad and miserable, and the communings of each served but to feed rather than soothe the sorrow of the other.

Euphemia, who, as the eldest, had learned to act with more decision than her sister, had written and had now concealed in her bosom a letter for Robert Barton, relating to him the desperate crisis that was coming; and boldly saying, that unless he and Falconer rescued and concealed them from Hailes and Home, they would be compelled to bend before the overweening influence of their father, especially if united to the preaching and stern presence of their uncle, the Dean, of whose arrival from the cathedral city of Dunblane they were hourly in terror.

"It is here, you see, sister Sybie," said Lady Euphemia, opening two little pearl buttons of her boddice, and discovering the corner of a square epistle, tied with blue ribbons; "but how we are to get it conveyed to Robert's hand, I know not--for of all the hundreds about us, is there one we can trust? They are all Hepburns devoted to Hailes, Homes devoted to Home, or Drummonds who tremble at our father's name."

"There is young Mewie, or Balloch," said Sybilla; "both smile in the silliest way, and blush from their bonnets to their red beards, when I address them. What think you, Effie, of trying them?"

"I think it would be most unwise. Two cock-lairds, who are good for nothing but hunting the deer and hewing down the clan Donnoquhy, or any other tribe on whom our father unkennels them and their followers, like a pack of hungry hounds;--men who drink all day and sleep all night in their plaids under the hall tables, or anywhere else, like gillies or trencherman. You will find a hundred men as good in our father's band, yet there is not one I dare entrust with _this_!"

"Would not some old Franciscan or Hospitaller convey it, as an act of mercy?" said Sybilla, weeping bitterly.

"They dare not, sister, for the terror of our father's name is great; and through the dean, his wrath might reach even them," said Euphemia.

"And in three days at furthest, this terrible dean will be here, with his stern brow and cunning cold grey eye. Oh! Effie, would not the young prince find us a messenger?"

"Nay, he has not a friend himself on whom he can rely. Young Lindesay, his dearest gossip and companion, fought against him in the king's ranks; and moreover, Rothesay seems as crushed in heart and broken in spirit as ourselves, for strange whispers are abroad anent our poor king's life and some old prophecy; and these rumours sorely wound the prince's happiness and honour."

"I believe thee, sister. Then hedged in, watched, begirt, and attended as we are, how can we communicate?" asked Sybilla; "Heaven only knows!" she added, lowering her head on her sister's breast, and giving way to tears again: "Poor David Falconer--so sad, so gentle! so full of kind and affectionate thoughts!--perhaps I shall never see him more!"

"Come, sister Sybie," said Euphemia, "take an example from me. Do I weep like a child, as little Beatrix would do? No, no; I gather courage as the storm darkens. Barton----"

"Barton is rich; he possesses this lordly house and that noble barony on the Almond. He is very rich, dear Effie, so I do not pity him as I do David Falconer, who is poor, and hath nothing but what his sword wins."

"And, Heaven knows, it would win him more in any land than here in Scotland; for there are over many false traitors and hypocrites, envious detractors and jealous lords among us, for truth, honour, or patriotism to be justly appreciated; and so will it ever be."

"I long so much once more to speak with David!" said Sybilla; "to lay my cheek where it has never lain--on his kind breast, and tell him--tell him all the horror we endured, dear sister, on that last awful day at Dundee."

"True," said Euphemia, as her hazel eyes flashed fire, and she shook the pearl pendants in her velvet cap; "and that day of crime broke all truce for ever between our father's friends and us; and so, this letter----"

"Would it were away--or that I were a pigeon, and could fly with it under my wing."

"If I could meet the poor poet Dunbar,--you remember William Dunbar, who sent us the staff of sweet verses--the kind young Franciscan?--I think we might trust him safely."

"A poor fisherman, rather!" said Sybilla; "he comes from Lord Hailes' country, and yet hath fled to England in dread of the nobles."

The sisters relapsed into silence for a time, and sat observing a brown fisher-boat, which, with its dark chocolate-coloured lug-sail set, was running swiftly towards the old harbour, with its sharp prow dashing the dingy water of the river in white spray on both sides, till it was almost abreast of the west bank of the Leith, _i.e._, between the old wooden pier and the sandy promontory occupied by the garden and mansion of Robert Barton. Then one of two men who were in her shortened sail, while the other, (who was none else but our former friend Jamie Gair) put the tiller hard up, and brought the little vessel sheering close by where the sisters were seated.

The person who had taken in the sail was a short, thickset man, clad in a rough grey gaberdine, girt with a belt at which hung a pouch and poniard; on his head was a blue bonnet; round his neck was a steel gorget, and his legs were encased in long boots which had never been blackened, and seldom oiled. He now sprang ashore by wading through the rippling surf, which came nearly up to his knees, and advanced straight towards the sisters, who, by his attire, knew him to be a seaman of the _Yellow Frigate_. He approached with diffidence, and, removing his bonnet from his round and well-thatched head as he bowed, made one of those scrapes with the right foot which we suppose have been peculiar to all seamen since the ark first got under way.

"Weel, may I drink bilge, ladies, but I have gude luck to-day," said he.

"I hope you may have it every day, sir," said Lady Euphemia. "I suppose you are----"

"Wad--madam; Willie Wad, gunner to the Laird of Largo."

Sybilla held her breath as she listened to him!

"It came on foul weather after our tulzie with the Englishmen off Dunbar, and so we ran owre to Largo Bay, where the squadron rides wi' head to wind and topgallant yards on deck; while the admiral, and a' our gallant gentlemen--English as weel as Scots--are safely moored in Largo House; but as soon as I could leave the ship, the gude Captain Barton and Sir David Falconer sent me across the Firth in Jamie Gair's boat, wi' some sma' bits o' remembrances to you ladies, and to let ye be assured that they are baith sound and tight, and had never a plank started or spar knocked awa', though shot and shaft the other night flew about us thick as hail in February."

"And so they are safe!" said the impulsive Euphemia, taking a silver chain from her neck, and throwing it over the head of the gunner.

"Gentle madam," said the sailor, with another scrape of the right foot; "I couldna' decline the honour you do me--I would rather drink bilge! but what is a puir fellow like me to do wi' a gaud sae braw as this?"

"You have some bonnie lass who loves you, I doubt not."

"I have had many, but they aye parted their cables and got adrift someway or other; yet there is a braw bonnie craft at Largo that may yet come under my lee," replied Wad, who had grown tender with English Rose; "but the Captain gied me a silver pound to pay expenses though his shipmate. I hae here a packet addressed to you, Lady Euphemia, and another for the Lady Sybilla; I ne'er kent murkle o' crocans and crooks, being better leaved in the weight o' shot, the charges o' powder, wi knotting and splicing; so I desired that the big packet from Captain Barton should be for the tallest lady, and the next, from the captain of our arquebusses, for you, Lady Sybilla."

"How fortunate that we were here! watched as we are, you could never have reached us."

"They have braw news, ladies, to tell you," said Willie, gathering courage as he spoke, and ceasing to twirl his bonnet, or shift from foot to foot; "for what think ye? We found your fair sister, the Lady Margaret, a prisoner on board the English _Harry_."

Astonishment and joy fettered the tongues of the sisters at this intelligence.

"Ay, ladies; and noo she is wi' the admiral in Largo Tower, and I would ye were moored in as safe riding; for by what the captain told me, there are owre many gilded sharks and perfumed pirates hovering about ye here; and by my father's grave, I see twa coming this way noo!"

The sisters did not hear this exclamation, or did not understand it, for they were weeping and joyfully embracing each other, being highly excited by the intelligence which the short squat gunner imparted to them with the most perfect stolidity; and while they addressed each other, he continued to smooth his thick shock hair, and gaze with suspicion upon two richly-attired gentlemen, who were in half armour, and who loitered near the back porch of the house, where they were closely observing him; for they were no other than the two lords, Hailes and Home.

Those who are in the habit of plotting and deceiving, usually suspect others of doing the same. Thus, the moment these noble suitors (who had come to visit the sisters) perceived Euphemia and Sybilla conversing with an armed seaman, they paused to watch for what might follow, as they had no doubt he belonged to one of the admiral's ships.

To the eager questions of "How--why--and wherefore their sister Margaret came to be an English captive?" Wad replied, again and again,--

"I ken nae mair, ladies, than the man in the mune; and neither do the admiral nor Robert Barton; for the English captains, who alone may ken, are vowed to silence. We opine there has been dark treachery at work, but why or how is owre deep for us to fathom; but noo I maun e'en be sheering off, for two armed gallants are heaving in sight, and Barton warned me that this was dangerous ground. These are the letters, whilk will gie a' necessary account of our battle; and lest ye have na time to read and answer them--for I must cut my cable and run--just say, madam, where it will please you to meet the captain and Sir David, who hae muckle to say that none but you maun hear?"

"Oh, we cannot have more to hear than we have to say and ask!" said Euphemia, who had already made herself mistress of Barton's loving epistle, while Sybilla was bending her streaming eyes over Falconer's, who had sent her a handsome gold cross which he had found in one of the captured ships; while Barton had enclosed a book--then a priceless gift--which he had found in the _Harry_.

"Is the admiral coming over to Leith?" they asked.

"No; his hard-won prizes will he yield to none but to the king; and the king is not here."

"I have a letter ready written for Barton, and in a moment will add where we can meet him; but my poor brain is a chaos now," said Euphemia. "Where shall we say, sister--St. Magdalen's Chapel?"

"On the Figgate-muir--it is so lonely."

"And on what pretence can we visit it?"

"A pilgrimage to pray," said Sybilla.

"People do not believe in pilgrimages now. Hailes would laugh, and our father would storm and refuse----"

"Then where else shall I say?" said Euphemia.

"The Rood Chapel in Leith Loan."

"Their lives would be in peril there," said Willie Wad, who still kept his eyes fixed on the eavesdroppers, who had resolved to waylay him as he passed through the garden, and force him at the sword's point, to say from whence he came, or be slain.

"Say, say," urged Euphemia, bewildered, as she produced at pencil of pointed lead.

"I know not where to say--but oh, speak lower, lest we be overheard."

"Oh, will you be wary, Willie, for we have none to trust but you?"

"I will stick to you like a burr on a bonnet," replied Wad, with energy; "and may he that would wrong ye ne'er drink aught but bilge in this world, and boiling water in that to come!"

"We will meet them at Loretto," said Sybilla.

"Loretto! that is beyond the Eskwater, and further off than St. Magdalene's."

"True, sister; but it is a place of such holiness, that none will molest us there."

"May Heaven forgive our duplicity--but what can we do without it?" sighed Euphemia.

"We can meet them there, and pray too, sister."

"We shall go on horseback, accompanied only by women and pages. The place is quiet; our meeting once achieved, and arrangements made, perhaps for a flight to our dear Maggie at Largo, we must trust to Providence for the rest. I am happier now, that this is decided on," continued Euphemia, as she wrote--'Post scriptum; we will meet you at the Chapel of Loretto. beside the links of Musselburgh, on Friday, in the evening; for there we mean to spend the whole night in vigil and in prayer. Till then, may God and the Blessed Virgin take you into their holy keeping. E.D.' "Friday will be the day after to-morrow--may no unhappy event intervene to prevent our keeping the tryst," she added, folding the letter, and tying the ribbons, after which she gave it to Wad, who placed it in the tarpaulin pouch at his girdle; and making a low obeisance, by scraping his left foot and pulling his forelock with the right hand, retired, not by the garden, as the two loitering lords expected, but by wading through the water, and stepping on board of Gair's boat. Then he and the proprietor thereof betook themselves to the oars, and pulled into the crowded harbour, where they were soon lost in the dusk, amid the maze of boats, barges, crayers, and caravels, which filled it on both sides; for, as there were then no wet-docks or stone quays, all vessels were moored by the sides of the Leith, or in the midstream.

With one or two followers, Home hurried away by St. Nicholas Wynd to intercept the gunner, while Hailes advanced to meet the two ladies, who, with flushed faces and sparkling eyes, were retiring into the house.

"I fear, madams," said the proud lord, sarcastically, "that our appearance in the garden has interrupted your conference with a salt-water friend."

"I knew not that your lordship was watching us," replied Euphemia.

"Did yonder tarry rascal come from the ship of our contumacious skipper, the Laird of Largo?"

"Permit us to pass, my lord, and do not add one more insult to the many we have received at your hands."

"I deplore that you should speak thus to me, madam; but your father is a noble, and I cannot see his honour trifled with by fishermen and merchant mariners, though the king may knight them, and set them to fight and man his ships. I pray you to pardon my curiosity--but you gave that seaman a letter, I think."

"He gave me a packet, you mean," said Euphemia, trembling with apprehension, as the calm, bold eye of Hailes scrutinized her beautiful face with more of pity than indignation.

"And this packet----"

"You are very inquisitive."

"Your _betrothed_, the Lord Home, is my dear friend."

Euphemia bit her lips with anger, while her eyes filled with tears.

"And this packet?" said Hailes again.

"Contained a book--only a book found in an English ship; and your lordship knows that a printed book is worth some crofts of corn."

"It may be so, but I would rather have the crofts," said Hailes, with a smile of scorn, as Euphemia opened the black-letter folio. "Thank God, I have no need to write; for I can bite my thumb, and affix my seal, like the good lord my father before me, to aught that is requisite in peace, and with this--his sword--I make my mark, where it suits me, in time of war; but what is this most precious tome?"

"One, the perusal of which might be of infinite service to your lordship."

"Indeed!--then what may it be--read, if it please you, fair madam."

"'_The Book of Good Manners_,'" said Euphemia, with a smile, as she read the title page, which we give literally from the original now before us; "'_fynisshed and translated out of frensshe in to englisshe, the viiij day of Juyne, in the yere of our Lord_, 1487, _and the first yere of the regne of Kyng harry the vij_--compiled by the venerable _Frere Jacques le Graunt, an Augustin_,' and the study thereof would, I am assured, benefit you much, so God keep you, my lord--and now, fare-you-well."

Sybilla laughed, as Euphemia gave one of her lofty bows, and they swept past Hailes, into whose proud heart the broad taunt sank deeply, for he had perception enough to feel his own want of manner and of education; so he bit his nether lip as he muttered, "I shall byde my time, and when I have either of you in my castle by the Tyne, her tongue shall be bridled, should a brank of iron be made for it!"

Then turning on his heel, he hurried after Home to wreak his smothered wrath on the interloping mariner.