CHAPTER LI.

LADY EFFIE'S LETTER.

"But now we part, and it may be that years shall wing their flight Ere thou again wilt cheer my heart, or rise upon my sight; Then fare thee well! in other days, in years of after life, On fancy's wings, I'll turn to thee, and bless the land of Fife."--_Anon_.

The weather had become gloomy, and continued so. Though the month was merry and sunny June, and all the woods of fertile Fife were then in their fullest foliage, the sky lowered heavily over the German Sea, and the waves of the Firth broke sullenly on the pillared bluffs of Grail and Elie; and, driven by the east wind, the breakers of Largo Bay broke furiously upon the Dyke, and dashed their spray on the sandy shore beyond it.

This noble bay, in which the Scottish ships and their prizes were still at anchor, forms a semicircle of about ten miles of coast, marked by a peculiar ridge of sand, called by fishermen the Dyke, and old tradition says it was a wall or rampart, that ran from Kincraig, round all the bay, to Methul, and that it contained a forest, called the Wood of Forth. In corroboration of this, the anchors of ships have been known to drag up the roots of oaks from their beds in the sand below.

The _Yellow Frigate_ and her consorts rode quietly there at anchor, and safe from every wind but a south one.

Mean while, in Largo House there was a gay and joyous company, for the hospitable old admiral made all welcome--Englishman and Scot--to the noble dwelling with which the grateful king, James III., had gifted him. The castle was old, for in ancient times it had been a jointure-house of the queens consort, and built, some say, for Jolande de Dreux, the bride of Alexander III. Northward of it rose the conical hill of Largo, green to its summit, which stands nine hundred feet above the yellow shore. Near the castle grew a pine coppice, in the centre of which yawned a wild and deep ravine, the _Keil's Den_, famous in the annals of sorcery and horror. Through this brawled a mountain burn, which rushed to meet the waters of the bay.

The noble barony of Largo had been granted by James III. to his favourite admiral, because it was the place of his birth, the royal donor considering, "Gratuita et fidelia servicia sibi per familiarem servitorem suum Andream Wod, commorante in Leith, tam per terram, quam per mare, in pace et guerra, gratuiter impensa, in Regno Scotiæ et extra idem, et signanter CONTRA INIMICOS SUOS ANGLIA, et dampnum per ipsum Andream inde sustenta, suum personam gravibus vitæ exponendo periculus 18 die Martii, 1482;" for thus runs his charter, which is yet preserved in the office of the great seal of Scotland.

The evening was grey; a mist was settling over the estuary and the woods and hill of Largo looked dark and nigh; on the tower, head of the admiral's mansion, Barton and Falconer were pacing to and fro, with their quarter-deck step, conversing on their chances in love and war, and awaiting the return of Willie Wad, whom, as related, they had, on the previous day, despatched to Leith with letters to the sisters.

The admiral was on board the fleet, seeing after the repair of damages and awaiting tidings of the lost king or the rebellious barons.

Howard and Margaret Drummond were seated together on the cushioned seats of a deep window in the hall. It overlooked the wooded glen, through which the yellow sunlight straggled in the haze of the misty evening; and both were silent and sad, for their hearts were occupied by many heavy thoughts.

That of Howard was full of Margaret; but her heart was wandering away to Rothesay and their child.

She was very pale, yet a tinge of health had returned to her soft cheek, now that hope was reviving in her breast; now that she was no longer the secret prisoner of Henry and the victim of his cold intrigues; and now that she was about to be restored to the powerful protection of her father, and her youthful husband. With her white hand she playfully caressed a large Scottish staghound, which had ventured to nestle his great rough head upon her knees.

Her fine bright hair, which she had long neglected--at least during her sad sojourn on board the _Harry_--was now smoothly braided above her forehead, and it shone like threads of gold in the occasional sunbeams that stole through the deep embayment of the window; and nothing could be prettier or more becoming than the fashion of her blue velvet hood, with its white satin lining, tied by twelve little friars' knots of fine silver--a favourite ornament with the Scottish belles of the time.

Howard thought he had never seen her looking so beautiful or so seductive; and she believed that she had never seen him more sad and more silent.

The residence of a day or two in the lonely Castle of Largo, in the society of the gentle Drummond, with the painful certainty of a total separation now close at hand, had sealed the fate of the poor English captain, by destroying his happiness for ever.

"Then I have no hope now--none?" said he, gazing upon her tenderly and earnestly, as he referred to a previous and most anxious conversation.

"It is most painful, good Howard, that my lips should--" said Margaret, with hesitation, "should ever confirm anything that--that is calculated to make unhappy a heart so kind, so noble, and so true as thine: but oh, I beseech you to be assured, that to love me is indeed a hopeless task."

"Curse on our king's cold-blooded policy!" he exclaimed, in bitterness and sorrow. "Had I known you under kinder and better auspices,--under any other than as the compatriot of infamous abductors, you had perhaps listened to me with more approbation. I am indeed unfortunate--more unhappy than the power of language can convey."

He paused, and Margaret sighed with impatience.

"My heart, that never knew another love, is all your own, sweet Margaret; it became so from that time when over your senseless form I spread my cloak in pity; on that unfortunate night at Dundee; a night to me the source of mingled joy and woe, for then I knew you first."

"Alas, poor Edmund Howard; you were indeed born under an evil star."

"Madam, it had been well for me if, in our battle in the Downs, a shot from Barton's ships had ended my career, before this northern mission was devised. I had then been spared the pain of losing you--of loving you in vain!"

He turned his eyes away, and pressed his hands upon his breast, for the depth of his emotion was great.

Margaret gazed upon him with mournful interest: he was indeed most winning in manner and noble in aspect, for he was the stateliest captain in all King Henry's infant fleet.

His face and form were unexceptionable, and his attire was gorgeous. His tunic was cloth-of-gold, brocaded, and fastened by twenty little clasps, studded with diamonds, and on each breast were six slashes of blue silk. A collar of twelve pearls, with twelve medallions of the apostles, encircled his neck, and at the end of it hung his silver whistle, his badge of office and command. His cap was of scarlet velvet, edged with pearls; his long hose were of fawn-coloured silk, and his shoes of crimson leather.

"Captain Howard," said Margaret, after a long and painful pause, "I will make you the partner of a secret, if, on your honour, you promise me to keep it from others; for it is of mighty import to me,--a secret valuable as life, dear as honour."

"Oh, command me, madam," said Howard, kneeling down and removing his cap, full of that chivalric enthusiasm which was peculiar to the time as well as to the man. "Your wish shall teal my lips as close as death himself."

"Well, my kind, good Howard, imagine how I have suffered by your professions of love to me, and how much is the pity I feel, when obliged to acknowledge that I am the wedded wife of the crown prince, and am now, by virtue of this _his ring_, the Duchess of Rothesay, and Countess of Carrick."

Howard was paralysed by this fatal intelligence; again he clasped his hands, and his nut-brown cheek grew ashy pale.

"Oh, madam," said he, "to me your secret is worse than death; for now I am indeed hopeless, crushed, and ruined Honour and love are alike lost to me! The wife of Rothesay--"

"Wedded to him, Howard, a year ago, in my uncle's cathedral of Dunblane. 'Tis best to know the worst at once--ay, wedded!"

"Despite his betrothal to a princess of England?"

"Despite a more serious barrier--our ties of blood; and hence this fatal secresy."

"Oh, most fatal--fatal, at least, to me! But say, dear madam, knew Henry our king of this espousal?"

"He knew not, or, knowing, little cared: but the Bishop of Dunblane has been lawlessly seized on his way from Rome with our dispensation, and now well must Henry know this well-kept secret, which was hidden even from my father and my own beloved sisters."

Now there was a long and sorrowful pause.

Howard felt assured that he could urge nothing more, and Margaret, after a time, spoke kindly to him of other things--but in vain; for his passion for her was the only idea that had soothed, or made him forget at times the mortification of being a prisoner, and of his late defeat--a defeat so remarkable, when the smallness of the attacking force is considered: but history shows us, that in all his battles Sir Andrew Wood never feared to encounter double his strength at any time, and never encountered without being victorious; so, on that score Howard had no reason for shame.

Meanwhile, the communings of Robert Barton and Sir Davis Falconer on the bartizan overhead were interrupted by the appearance of Master Wad, who, bonnet in hand, ascended to their lofty promenade by the narrow wheel-stair of a turret, that gave admittance to the battlement, and which yet overlooks the orchard of the house.

"Welcome, good shipmate," said Barton.

"Well, what tidings, Willie?" added Falconer; for in Scotland it is still the kindly custom with persons in authority to address inferiors by their _Christian_ name.

Not conceiving it conducive either to his interest or reputation to relate how he had lost, and so narrowly regained, the letter of Lady Euphemia, the gunner smoothed down his obstinate forelock, made the invariable scrape with his foot, and delivered the missive to Robert Barton; after which he hurried away to join one whom he deemed his own peculiar prisoner,--the pretty English Rose, who had been also awaiting his return.

"It is from Euphemia!" said Barton, reading it hurriedly; "from dear Effie; and she says it must equally suffice for one from Sybilla to you. It tells of close surveillance, of their father's roughness, and their new lovers' cool insolence and quiet pertinacity. 'Sdeaih! would we were alongside of them for three minutes--only three minutes, Davie. A time has been fixed for their marriage----"

"Their marriage!" reiterated Falconer, stamping his heel on the bartizan.

"They dread the arrival of their uncle the dean--"

"A stern man--hard of heart and dark of brow; I know him well."

"And implore us to find a place where they can be sheltered until these troubles are past, and the army of the insurgent lords is disbanded. Moreover, they promise to meet us on Friday evening at the Chapel of Loretto, beside the Links of Musselburgh--kind Effie!"

"We'll keep the tryst," said Falconer; "Loretto--know ye the place, Robert, for we must not wander much on yonder side of Forth?"

"I know it well; 'tis a run of eighteen miles across the river, and we'll take the ship's pinnace or the boat of Jamie Gair, which lies yonder, anchored by the Dyke; but to find them a place of shelter, that puzzles me sorely!"

"If dear Sybie would but marry me--"

"Perhaps she would, David, now, when matters are at the worst; but where would you place her, while you were afloat--eh?"

"Alas! I have neither house nor hold--nor any home, but the _Yellow Frigate_."

"Nor I; for now these rebel lords have seized my manor of Barnton and my father's house in Leith; but I hope soon to make a clear ship of them."

"Then all those dog-nobles would cry aloud for vengeance, at the sisters taking shelter with us."

"Two jovial young bachelors."

"Nay," said Falconer, with a sigh of anger; "as two plebeians, whose presumption brought dishonour on a noble house."

"Let them cry; it suits their fancy."

"But we must find a secret as well as sure place, lest they be carried off from us at the sword's point; for the Lords Drummond, Hailes, and Home, could march with ease five thousand men to recover them. I know their power better than thee, Robert, the half of whose life, and more, has been spent upon the water. Besides, Lady Euphemia has written to you, perhaps, when spurred on by some keen excitement; and it may so chance that when the time comes, they will shrink from committing themselves to our care."

"What! Effie shrink from committing herself to the care of her betrothed? Thou art a timid lover, Davie."

"I am crushed in spirit by my evil fortune."

"When their hearts are touched, women (and to their glory be it said) scorn alike the vaunted rubbish of feudal pride and the cold north wind of worldly prudence! Besides, who has a better right to secure the safety of Lady Effie than I? Am I not her affianced husband, whose ring of promise is on her finger? Stay--thou knowest, Davie, that my aunt, Robina Barton, is prioress of the Grey Sisters at Dundee; and for the love she bears us, she will gladly keep the three sisters until this breeze blows past and the king's authority is enforced."

"Right, Rob; I would rather trust them with that reverend lady and her good Claresses, than in the strongest castle in Scotland. For these lords might storm and sack the stronghold--even the Bass itself,--when they dare not molest the poor nuns; but we must consult the admiral--"

"He is on board the ships in the bay."

"Or Howard--but then he is an Englishman, and consequently knows little or nothing of Scotland or her customs."

"But he is a brave fellow, a foeman though he be," said Barton, with a darkening face; "and I might learn to love him had not my father fallen in battle by his brother's hand."

Leaving the two friends and lovers to arrange, consider and reconsider their plans,--leaving poor Howard to console himself the best way he can,--leaving the admiral busied about his ships and their prizes, while his gunner and coxswain, though staunch Scotsmen, were yielding to English influence, like greater men in more modern times, but after a more honourable fashion, for they were lowering their colours to the pretty Cicely, and the bright-eyed Rose, on whom their kind leader had bestowed two carcanets of silver, studded with those beautiful stones which are found upon the beach of Fife, and from their deep red colour are called Elie Rubies--leaving Father Zuill busied in the development of the great parabolic speculum,--and leaving young Margaret sighing with impatience to rejoin her boy husband, we will change the scene to the other side of the river.