Part 14

And, seizing his pocket-book, she opened it, and pulled forth the bunch of notes. They were counted on the instant, and the eyes of the dame brightened up at every addition to the calculation. The farmer explained all, and, in the course of his narration, Matty's wonder waxed great again. She was not altogether satisfied. She looked at the notes, to see that they were not forged; glanced at Giles; fell into a brown study; looked at Mary; hemmed and heyed; and began to make preparations for the stranger. In about an hour afterwards, the old customer arrived, was ushered in to the fire, and took his seat, while Giles went to look to the putting-up of his horse, which, he observed, was as clever and clean-limbed a creature as that which carried the "fair ladye" and "true Thomas" over the Eildon Hills. The supper was, in the meantime, in the act of being served up. The old man coughed and told stories, Mary listened, and Matty eyed her guest with a peculiar expression, which made him rub his beard, cough more and more, and retire farther into the recess which he had taken possession of. Nor would the supper draw him forth; for he said he had supped before he came, yet had he no objection to drink the ale which Matty handed him, and was as merry as an old man might be, who had seen so many summers as his beard betokened. Many a thing they talked of, but they all concerned the farmer, and his wife and daughter; for the never a word would he say of himself, either as to what he was, or where he lived--the dry skeleton of a name, Mr Farquharson, being all he gratified them with, while, in return, he asked so much of the condition and doings of his host and family, that one might have thought he intended either to pay their arrears of rent, or marry the daughter, at the very least. The supper, of which he partook not, being done, he said he wished not to put them about in their arrangements, and would be very well pleased to lie in the small bed behind him, unless that were set apart for some other of the family.

"That ye may weel hae, sir," said Matty on the instant, "if ye hae a fancy to it. A sma' reward for the guid price ye gae for the cattle. Mary can sleep for a nicht in the kitchen--for Jenny is at St Boswell's, and winna be hame before the morn."

"You will have only one night's trouble of me," replied the old man; "but you may have more of the cattle--eight at least--and I think I will better pay you beforehand, Mr Ramsay, that there may be no mistake when the men come to take them away."

And he put into the farmer's hand three times the sum he would have demanded for the keeping of the steers. The farmer would have refused the money, but Matty, whose by-play all along had been unnoticed by her husband, pinched him on the arm, and the words of rejection died away in his mouth. The parties afterwards retired to bed, leaving the strange visiter in the apartment allotted to him.

"I never did a better day's wark, guidwife," said the farmer to his partner, when they went up-stairs.

"Hush! hush! man, ye dinna ken what ye have done," replied she; and the next moment she was busy whispering something in the ear of the farmer. He started instantly, cried, "Impossible, impossible!" and stood for a moment in dismay and consternation. But Matty gave him no time for thought. She was again busy with his ear; and the next exhibition he made was of an opposite character--a strange expression was upon his face, and he slapped her upon the back in the extravagance of a feeling that, whether betokening good-humour or not, seemed to have no bounds. In a short time, the house was as quiet as Grimalkin himself could have wished it, when bent on a hunting foray. All had apparently gone to bed, and the stillness continued till considerably after midnight. A slow tap at the kitchen-door showed that one individual at least was astir.

"Mary, Mary, are you awake?" said a voice, that at least was uninterrupted by a cough.

The answer was a whisper from within. After some parley, the door was opened, and a series of secret doings, among which the opening of the outer door of the house, a recourse to the stable, the saddling of the fleet horse, and other furtive preparations for a departure, were the most important. During all this time, the figure of a female wrapped in a cloak stood in the recess of the door. The horse was quietly walked to the loan, and the mantled figure glided as secretly as a ghost, who knows that the pimp Gallus will shortly awaken, to the starting-post. One swing brought her to the pad, and another placed before her one whom the light of the faint moon exhibited without a bend in his body or beard on his chin. Away they set--

"On, on they rade, and farther on-- The steed gaed swifter than the wind-- Until they reach'd a desert wide, And living land was left behind."

Not a word passed between the couple. The one was occupied spurring on the steed, and the other clung to him, as if love had nerved her arms, and made them as tenacious of the grasp of his waist as Lenora, of German celebrity, was of the soulless body of her Wilhelm. Sometimes he slackened his pace, to ascertain whether the guidman of Kelpiehaugh was up and away in quest of runaway bride, like the Græmes after the heiress of Netherby, over Cannobie-lee; and then, when he thought he heard the clatter of a horse's hoof, he applied the spur again, and away they went, over moss and muir, with such speed as love and fear in the rider may alone impart to the obedient steed. At other times, the space of a few minutes was devoted to soft whispers, and the gallant pressed the encircling arms of his fair one, and sighed as he felt her embrace as tight as a lover's heart could wish. He was as happy as one who is on the verge of the enjoyment of stolen pleasures can be in a world where lawful indulgences had no zest for him; and he turned his head for the muffled kiss, which was granted as freely as any rieving lover, even Lochinvar himself or Jock o' Hazeldean, could have desired. Nor less was he pleased with the pressure of her fair arms, which accompanied or followed the other demonstrations of her affection, and the speed of his steed, now safe, as he thought himself, from all pursuit, was quickened, that he might reach the goal, where all the joys of a long-sighed-for possession awaited him. At length he gave his horse breathing-time, and, taking himself a long inspiration--

"When, think ye, Mary," said he, "I will send for the six steers I purchased from your father yesterday?"

"Maybe never, Robert," was the whispered reply.

"You say right, love. It was never my intention," said he. "I thought it but fair to leave old Giles some consideration for his daughter."

A squeeze was the expression of the gratitude felt by the female for the boon so generously bestowed on the farmer of Kelpiehaugh.

"Was I known, think ye?" he continued. "I liked not the sharp eye of your mother. By my faith! I quailed under it. The devil an ancient carlin duenna in an old romance ever observed so sharp a look-out for the safety of her ward. But, ha! ha! Mary, we have outwitted the old dame, and let her catch us now, if she can. We want only two miles of Langholm, and then, hey! hey! and be merry, as the song says--

'Now all this time let us be merry, And set nocht by this world a cherry.'

Safe in my house at Langholm, Mary, let Giles and his old dame enjoy the bargain they have got. They may sell the steers at the next fair of St Boswell's; but I will not so soon part with my Mary."

"Na, I hope not," replied the whispering female. "But hearna ye the sounds of a horse's feet?"

The lover turned his head.

"Your father, by the rood!" cried he; and, clapping spurs again to his horse, they set off at a quick gallop, with a view to distance their pursuer, who was no other than Giles Ramsay himself, mounted on one of his quickest plough-horses, and brandishing a huge cudgel, in the double act of beating his nag and threatening vengeance on the fugitives.

The pursued were now in danger of being overtaken; for the greater speed of the hunter was counterbalanced by the greater burden, and it was clearly a cast-up whether they would be able to escape the vengeance that awaited them. But, whatever might be the issue, there was no want of energy in either hand or heel of the abductor; and he lashed and spurred his steed more furiously as his fears increased--

"Still looking the sidelong woods among, Before, around him, and behind; And aye, whene'er the echo rung, The steed flew swifter than the wind."

And no less energetic was the fearful pursuer, whose hearty thwacks upon the curpan of his shaggy cart-tracer, mixed with loud halloos, might be heard in the distance, awakening the echoes of the silent night. The lover relished not the appearance, and still less the cries, of the lusty farmer; and as little apparently did his companion--who, as the horse increased his speed, grasped her abductor round the waist--wish to fall into the hands of the enraged pursuer. Away they scoured, and, "Fear not, Mary--love will distance the old churl," fell from the lips of the panting lover, in reply to the inspiring pressure of her arms; while, "Na, na, Robert, flee for the love o' heaven," added more energy to the spur, and more passion to his breast. They reached the skirts of the woody Langholm; but it was not the abductor's intention to stop at his residence, while he was in danger of being overtaken; so, striking to the left, and dashing into a _corrie_, or deep lirk of a hill, he stretched on with the flight of desperation. His wish was to clear the fern brae, as the height was called, and, getting into the thick wood at the back, make a sudden turn, and elude the quick eye of the farmer; but the latter kept dashing and bounding on, hallooing in the distance, and still brandishing his oaken ryss, in the most fearful demonstrations of a vengeance that would be contented with nothing less, apparently, than the body of the one, and the life of the other. Still the fond female turned her eyes behind, and, giving her companion reports of the progress of the pursuer, kept up his energies and alive his spirit.

"All the work of that accursed old duenna, your mother," muttered he.

"Ay, ay, nae doot, nae doot," rejoined she, and hugged him again more closely than ever. The turn of the fern hill did not seem, however, to bring the relief which it promised, for the couple were still within hail of the redoubted Giles; and his shouting reverberated among the rocks like the tally-ho of the hunter, or rather like the deep-mouthed bay of the pack.

But here a more extraordinary phenomenon presented itself, and that was an accession of strength to the sturdy Giles of no fewer than three horsemen, who, probably attracted by his war-whoop, had tendered their services in endeavouring to overtake and seize the fugitives. This circumstance was proclaimed by a united cry of the whole pursuers, which rung in the ears of the lover like the howl which met the Florentine on his visit to the region of the wicked in Hades. There was, however, more in the appearance of the strangers, as seen in the light of the now bright moon, than in their war-shout that carried dismay to the breast of the abductor. What this was, he told not; but his muttering of "Who can have brought him and his servants to this part of the country at this time?" satisfied his companion that he knew the individuals who had thus opportunely joined the cause of the farmer; and now, if indeed that were possible, he urged his panting steed forward at a still quicker pace. His chance of escape was diminishing every moment. The horses of the assistants were fleeter than those of the farmer; and, if he did not succeed in overtaking the fugitives, it was too evident that they would accomplish for him the object he had in view. The lover seemed doubtful what he should do--whether still to press on, lay down his charge, or make a sweep round the hill, and take refuge in Langholm. A clump of trees now intervening between him and the party, he appeared to resolve suddenly on the last manoeuvre; and his reason probably was, that he might have time to secrete his fair one among some of the outhouses of the mansion before the pursuers came up. Acting upon this resolution, he turned the head of his horse, swept in by the tail of the height, struck into a loan, and, after a rapid run of a few minutes, was opposite to the house of Langholm.

"Quick! quick, Mary! jump and follow me," he cried, as he took her in his arms. "This way," and he flew first to one door and then another. They were shut, and he had no alternative left but to take his fair charge into the mansion itself. Rushing up-stairs, and dragging after him his abducted love, he reached a small bedroom, thrust her into it, shut the door, locked it, and returned to face boldly his pursuers. By the time he arrived at the landing-place, his horse had sought the stable; and there was no apparent sign, save his appearance there at that hour, of his having been engaged in the unlawful undertaking for which he had been so hotly pursued.

"I have paid well for my love-errantry," said he, as he took a handkerchief, and wiped the sweat from his face. "There is not another beauty in Scotland for whom I would have toiled as I have now done. Have I given them the slip? Mayhap I may, unless I am right in that fearful conjecture, suggested by the appearance of my strange pursuers."

"Ho, there!" cried the voice of a man, rushing up on horseback. "What is this, Robert?"

"My father!" ejaculated the youth; "what has brought you from Craigton at this hour?"

"Robert! Robert!" ejaculated a voice from a bedroom window, at that moment drawn up--"why have you placed a woman in my bedroom, and locked her in?"

"Is that you, my love?" rejoined the father, in answer to the cry of his wife. "Why, here is some infernal mystery. Your mother and I arrived here to-day. We heard you were at St Boswell's, and I left her here that I might go and join you at the market. Now I have returned to witness a scene that baffles all my wits. Here is a man who has a claim upon you which your mother corroborates by her extraordinary inquiry."

The cavalcade at that moment came up--Giles in the rear, still brandishing his rung, and muttering incoherent threats against the abductor. The youth was surrounded: his father cried for information, his mother screamed from the window. Giles demanded restitution, and the voice of the abducted female was heard in shrill tones over all.

"Ha! Matty, lass, this is sad wark," cried the farmer, on recognising the voice of his wife.

"Is it possible, Robert Melville," said the father, "that you could disgrace your family and your pedigree, by carrying off the wife of this honest farmer--a woman stricken in years--and place her in the bedroom occupied by your mother?"

"It's owre true," cried Giles, with something like a suppressed laugh. "I see her face at the window. He came to Kelpiehaugh habited as an auld man, wi' a grey beard stuck on his chin, and a scratch wig on his head; and, in return for a supper and a bed, carried aff my helpmate, wi' whom I hae lived, in love and honour, for thirty years."

The scene was getting more extraordinary. The young man was sceptical of the truth of Giles' statement; but he could not disprove it by stating what he conceived to be the veritable fact--that he had run away with Mary, the young daughter of the farmer of Kelpiehaugh. He looked at the latter, then turned up his eyes to the window, where he then saw only the face of his mother. Her cries still rung in his ears; the father called for the key; Giles insisted on the truth of his statement; and the inquiries of the servants mingled with the general confusion. By an impulse he could not resist, he gave his father the key; the door was opened, and the mother, who was now dressed, came down-stairs, along with her husband, followed by the female, on whom they turned eyes in which wonder and indignation alternated their suitable expressions. The female threw back her hood.

"We hae had a lang and a hard ride, Mr Melville," said she. "My feth, ye did weel, but your horse did better; and, Giles, man, ye did as I never saw ye do before."

"I couldna want ye, Matty," replied Giles; "and, if I havena testified my love for ye by this nicht's wark, never a man in Scotland ever proved his affection for his wife."

The absence of all ill-humour, the winks which Matty directed to the wonderstruck youth, and his apparent amazement, added to the puzzle which perplexed the minds of the father and the mother.

"What does all this mean, Robert?" cried the mother.

"For God's sake, explain this extraordinary affair!" rejoined the father.

The youth was still mute. At length Matty whispered something in his ear. He spoke for the first time since the scene commenced.

"It may be as you say, Mrs Ramsay," said he.

"Aweel, it's a' richt," replied she; "but it may please Giles and mysel if ye will acknowledge it in the presence o' your father and mother."

"I have no objections," replied he; and, turning to his parents, who understood not one word of all this dialogue, and far less of the strange scene still acting around them, he added, "I hereby declare, in presence of you, as witnesses, that I hereby renounce all claim----"

"To whom?" cried the mother; "to another man's wife--an aged matron? Fie, Robert! Say no more. Close the lips that would dishonour a son in presence of his parents."

"I hereby renounce all claim to six stirks at present lying at the farm of Kelpiehaugh, and promise never to trouble Giles Ramsay for the same."

"It's a' settled and adjusted," cried Matty. "I am satisfied; and Giles, I fancy, you are no ill-pleased wi' my nicht's wark?"

"I dinna ken which o' us hae dune best," replied the farmer. "Between us, our arrears o' rent will be paid up. My bargain was guid; but I freely admit yours is better."

"Then this affair is at last arranged?" said the youth.

The farmer assented. The worthy couple bade adieu to their friends, and proceeded on their way to Kelpiehaugh. We cannot tell what explanations took place at Langholm between the young man and his parents; neither can we tell precisely the import of the conversation that took place between the farmer and his wife on their journey homewards; but we strongly suspect they enjoyed a hearty laugh at the clever manoeuvre of the dame. It is probable that Giles himself was in the secret; at least the good-humour he exhibited in getting again possession of his spouse would lead us to believe that he had been a willing party in the plot that had been so cleverly laid and executed. How far the daughter was to blame has not been recorded; and, to do justice to the farmer and his wife, they never taxed her with indiscretion. She was some time afterwards married, and so put beyond the power of the wild youth who had been so completely foiled by the genius of a clever dame.

SIR PATRICK HUME.

A TALE OF THE HOUSE OF MARCHMONT.

Sir Patrick Hume of Polwarth was elected representative of the County of Berwick in the year 1665, being then in the twenty-fifth year of his age. He was a lover of freedom, a lover of his country, and a staunch Presbyterian. In those days, however, a love of freedom was a dangerous principle either to avow or to carry into Parliament. The tyrant Charles, whom some falsely call the Merry Monarch, was then attempting to rule the empire with a rod of iron. You have all heard of his Long Parliament, and of his afterwards governing the country, like an absolute tyrant, without a Parliament at all. Fettered and servile as parliaments then were, young Hume had boldly stood forward as the advocate of civil and religious liberty; and, when the arbitrary monarch sent down a mandate to Scotland for a levy of men and of money, that he might carry his plans of despotism the more effectually into execution, Sir Patrick resisted the slavishness with which it was about to be obeyed.

"What!" exclaimed he, "are we mere instruments in the hands of the king--creatures appointed to minister to his pleasure? Are we not representatives of the people of Scotland--the representatives of their wants and their wishes, and the defenders of their rights? And shall we, as such, at the mere nod of a monarch, drag them from following their plough in the valley, or attending their hirsels on the hill--shall we do these things, and lay contributions on their cattle, on their corn, and on their coffers, merely because His Majesty wills it? Pause, my countrymen. The king has no authority to compel such a measure, and it can only be rendered legal by the concurrence of the assembled representatives of the people."

"Treason!" vociferated the Duke of Lauderdale, who was the arch-minion of Charles; "before the Parliament of Scotland, I denounce Sir Patrick Hume as a dangerous man--as a plotter against the life and dignity of our sovereign lord the king!"

"What!" exclaimed Sir Patrick, indignantly fixing his eyes upon Lauderdale. "Though there may be amongst us a slave who would sell his country for a royal smile, I still hope that this is a FREE Parliament, and it concerns all the members to be FREE in what concerns the nation."

From that day, Sir Patrick Hume became a suspected man, and the eyes of the king's creatures were upon him; and when, two years afterwards, Charles endeavoured to put down the people by the sword, and establish garrisons throughout the country, again the Laird of Polwarth stood foremost in the ranks of opposition, and resisted his power. The king accordingly ordered his privy council to crush so dangerous a spirit; and Sir Patrick was confined in Stirling Castle, where, with the exception of a short interval, he was imprisoned for two years.

Britain had long been distracted with the pretended discovery of fabulous or ridiculous plots against the royal family; and the perjury of paid miscreants, like the infamous Titus Oates, was causing the scaffolds to run with gore. But tyranny being glutted with Catholic blood, and the extinguishing of what were called Popish plots, the myrmidons of Charles (who lived a libertine, and died a Papist) professed that they had discovered a Protestant plot against his royal person. In this plot the incorruptible Algernon Sydney, Lord Russell, Mr Bailie of Jerviswoode, and Sir Patrick Hume, were included. They beheld their common country withering and wasting beneath the grasp of a tyrant; and true it is they had united together to restore it to freedom, but they were innocent of designs against his life, or even of a wish to dethrone him. They did not, however, act sufficiently in concert, and were unable to bring their plans into operation. A price was set upon their heads--some fled into exile, and others sought refuge on the mountain and in the wilderness; while the amiable Russell died upon the scaffold.

It was near nightfall, in the month of September, 1684, when Jamie Winter, who was joiner on the estate of Polwarth, ran breathless up to Redbraes Castle, and knocked loudly at the door. It was opened by John Allan, the land-steward, who, perceiving his agitation, inquired--

"In the name o' guidness, Jamie, what's happened, or what do ye want?"

"Dinna ask, Maister Allan," replied Jamie; "but, for Heaven's sake, tell me, is Sir Patrick at hame? and let me speak to him presently, as ye value his life."

"Follow me, then, Jamie," said the other, "and come in quietly, that the servants mayna observe onything extraordinar; for we live in times when a man canna trust his ain brither."

The honest joiner was ushered into a room where Sir Patrick sat in the midst of his family, acting at once as their schoolmaster and their playmate.