The supper had been gay and cheerful, the materials better than might have been expected in a small country inn of Scotland at the beginning of the seventeenth century; and Julia and Gowrie were alone once more, for Mr. Rhind had now become quite accustomed to his position, and forgetting all his sage decorums, consulted little but his own ease. The night was cold and clear, the fire in the large open chimney blazed bright and cheerfully, and a gay and happy sensation, as if the presentiment of coming joy, was in the heart both of the lady and of her lover. When they crossed the border, indeed, and re-entered the native land of both, their feelings had been different; a sort of dread had come upon Julia's mind--that kind of oppressive sensation which often overpowers us when some great fact, to which we have long looked forward, is accomplished, deciding our destiny for ever, and yet leaving the results hidden in darkness till they are evolved by time. When Gowrie had said, "Here we are, in Scotland," the land of her fathers, where they had ruled, and bled, and suffered--the land where her own fate was to be worked out; where the brightest happiness which the wildest flight of her young fancy could reach, or the deepest grief which a fearful heart could portray, was to be enjoyed or endured; an overpowering impression of great things, past and to come, fell upon her for an instant, and she could hardly sit her horse.
The feelings of Gowrie were somewhat similar. After a long absence, he, too, was returning to his native land. With him, too, there was much that was painful in the history of the past. In this land his father had perished on the scaffold; from it that father's father had fled an exile to linger out a few short years of sickness in a foreign country; while many and many a relation and friend had here wetted the scaffold with their blood. What was before himself? he asked; and as he crossed the frontier, he strove to cast his eye forward, as if to penetrate the dark and heavy veil which hides the future of all mortal fate: nor did he do so without dread.
Such feelings, however, had passed away. The morning had been clear, though cold. The scenes through which they passed were fair enough, and there was that blue freshness in the hues of the bright wintry landscape which compensates, in some degree, for the warmer colouring of the summer. All had gone well, too, on the road. Nothing had occurred to harass or disturb. The delicate complexion of the beautiful girl, nurtured under a softer sky, had acquired a brighter glow in the bracing influence of the northern air, and she looked lovelier than ever in Gowrie's eyes; while, as she turned a look to him, he seemed to ride with that prouder air which one ever feels inclined to assume when, after a long absence, we again tread the land of our birth and of our love.
Thus, by the time they reached the inn for the night, all dark fancies had been swept away; and now they sat with their feet to the bright lire, and with their hearts overflowing with those words of love which had been repressed during the day by the presence of another.
Austin Jute, Austin Jute, stay where you are for an hour! Break not yet the spell of happy dreams--cloud not yet the gleam of wintry sunshine. Let no shadow cross their path!
But it must not be. There was a tap at the door, and Lord Gowrie raised his head, and looked round with some surprise, saying, "Come in."
"I have ventured to intrude upon you, my lord," said Austin Jute, "having a message from his majesty, the king----"
At that moment he was followed into the room by the good host, who at once began to bustle with cups and platters; but Gowrie turned, saying, as he saw his servant stop suddenly, "You can leave those things, Master Fairbairn. I will send for you when I want them removed."
The man retired slowly and ill pleased, and Gowrie made a sign to Austin to go on; but the man paused for an instant, and then approached the door, saying, in a low voice, "By your leave, my good lord, I will see that there be no eaves-droppers."
There was no one at the back of the door; but the light that streamed out shone upon the figure of the landlord at the end of the passage. Austin stood for a moment and stared at him with a full, determined, pertinacious gaze, till the man, somewhat disconcerted, walked slowly and sulkily down the stairs.
Then returning close to his lord's chair, and shutting the door behind him, Austin said, "I have a great deal to tell you, my lord, and have made haste to get back."
"The king's message first, good Austin. What said his majesty?"
"Oh, fine things, my lord," answered Austin Jute. "It's a bad mercer's where there's no silk, and a poor court where there are no courtesies. The king was full of delectable speeches upon your lordship's graces and fine qualities; and he bids you hasten on to his presence with all speed, as he wishes to consult you upon many things."
"What, then, you saw his majesty in person?" said Gowrie.
"Ay, did I," answered Austin Jute, "and heard him, too, and that before he knew it. Thus I had the sauce to my salmon ready made--that is to say, the interpretation of his majesty's speeches before they were spoken."
"Explain, explain," said Gowrie, somewhat eagerly. "I trust that thou hast committed no new imprudence, Austin?"
"Oh no, my good lord," answered the man. "I never commit any imprudences on your account: it is only on my own I venture. I would not play at pitch and toss with your fortunes as I do with mine for half your lordship's estate. But the matter is this: I went to Edinburgh as you told me, but at the palace--Holyrood, as they call it--I found that the king had gone the day before to another place called Falkland, and making myself familiar with the porter, I heard all about it, as how King James V. had died there----But that as nothing to do with the matter; so on with my tale. Well, this morning early, I set off for Falkland with the letter, taking----"
"This morning early?" said Gowrie. "Thou hast had a long journey for a winter's day----Stay, stay, my Julia. This may be news for you also."
"It is, indeed, my lord," answered Austin Jute, with a bow to the lady; "and I have, as your lordship said, had a long journey, for I took my way round that my horse and myself might have as little water as possible. Well, I got to Falkland about ten o'clock, and a fine place it is, better than Eltham a great deal. When I got there, I left my horse and my sword at the inn, brushed the dust off my jerkin, and went away to the palace. Well, I asked to see the king."
"Asked to see the king!" exclaimed Gowrie, almost angry; "in Heaven's name, man, what were you thinking of! Do you suppose that the king sees every servant who brings a letter of compliment from a gentleman of his court? You should have given it to an usher, or some other officer."
"Upon my life, my lord, I know not what possessed me," answered Austin Jute, "unless, indeed, it was that the porter at Holyrood told me the king had got a gentleman of the name of Ramsay with him, and the name of our friend in Paris was Ramsay too. So I wanted to see what was going on--I always want to know what is going on. However, the people at the palace told me that the king was very busy in his cabinet, transacting affairs of state. I answered, I would wait his majesty's pleasure, or come back again in an hour. Thereat the men laughed, which was not very civil, and told me I had better come back. Taking them at their word, I left the door, and was going back to the inn, when seeing some horses led about near one corner of the building, I concluded that there must lie the stable, and always having a love for horses, I went away thither to see if there was anything worth looking at. I found nobody there; but saw a door open, with a view into a park beyond, so I judged I might as well take a walk."
"Upon my life, I wonder thou hast come back with thine ears on," said Gowrie.
"One is born with luck, though years bring learning," replied Austin Jute; "and luck befriended me, my lord, all the way through. First I came to a garden with some fine trees in it. I did not know there were any such in Scotland; and then I walked across a wild piece of ground towards a thick wood I saw some way off, about a third of a mile or so. Well, it was a mighty pleasant wood, with a great many of the brown leaves still hanging upon the underwood, and alleys and avenues cut very nicely. I wandered here and I wandered there, till at last, when I wanted to get out, I could not find the way; and suddenly, just as I was going out of one alley into another, I heard two people speaking, and I stopped----"
"To eavesdrop," said Gowrie, with a glowing cheek; "for shame of yourself, sir!"
"Well, it is a bad habit, my lord," said Austin; "but all servants have it; and in this instance it is lucky I gave way to it."
"Tell me nothing about it," said Gowrie. "I will not have it said----"
"My lord, you must hear," replied the man, firmly. "If you drive your dagger into me the next minute, you shall hear what I have to say, for this dear lady's safety and your own, and the happiness of both, depend upon it. If people will take double ways with you, you must take double ways with them; and I tell you the king is putting on a fair face to you, but intends you ill."
Julia dropped her head upon her hand, with a cheek which had lost the rose; and Gowrie, after a pause, said, "If such be the case, speak on. I must not refuse intelligence that may affect her."
"It's about her almost altogether, my lord," replied Austin Jute, "for there was a great deal had gone before, which I did not hear. However, I know that what seemed the younger voice said, 'If your majesty will give me a warrant I will apprehend the earl as he comes.' Now mind, my lord, I can't give you the exact words all through, but I'll give you their meaning. Well, when this voice had spoken, a fat thick voice answered, like that of a man with plums in his mouth; and it called the other a fool, and said he didn't understand policy, and a great deal more, and that he would deal fair and softly with your lordship till he had got occasion against you--I should have told you that this wasn't the first thing I heard, because it has all got mixed up in my head together; but I heard the young one say, 'They call her the Lady Julia Douglas,' which showed me it was you they were talking of, and my lady here; and besides, one of them said something about hating those Ruthvens."
"Make your tale short--make your tale short," said the earl. "What more said the king about the lady? As for myself, I will take care he shall have no occasion against me."
"Why, he said, my lord, that the lady and her mother had carried off from Scotland all the treasures of a gentleman he called Morton, who had been attainted for treason."
"Alas! alas!" said Julia, "I've often heard my grandfather say that we fled with little more than would carry us to Italy."
"What more--what more?" demanded the earl; and Austin Jute proceeded to give very accurately the substance of all that had been said by the king and Ramsay during the latter part of their conversation.
"In his ward!" exclaimed Gowrie. "She shall never be in his ward, if I can help it. No, no, my Julia. Your father's wealth was his ruin, for to seize it was the object of those who destroyed him. What he did with it has never been discovered; and now, fancying that you must either possess it or know where it is concealed, this avaricious king of ours would fain get you into his power. Heaven only knows what then might happen. But that shall never be!--What more said he, Austin?"
"Nay, not much, my good lord, but what he did say was not sweet;" and then, after detailing the rest, he added, "At those words I heard them get up, and begin to walk along, crushing the crisp leaves under their feet. So I went on and met them."
"You were mad," cried Gowrie.
"Oh no, my lord, never wiser," answered Austin Jute. "I put on a gay sort of sauntering air, and called out to the king as soon as I saw him, 'Halloo, old gentleman! I wish you would show me how to get out, for I have lost my way.' The young man looked as if he would have cracked my skull, but the old one took it as a good joke."
Moved as he was, Gowrie could not forbear from smiling faintly. "And how did all this end?" he asked.
"Why, sir, I treated him with no sort of ceremony for some time," said Austin Jute; "talked with him familiarly about the king, and for fear of getting you into a scrape, owned it was a lie that I had told at the palace about having orders to deliver your letter to the king himself, and said that I wanted very much to see the king, because I had heard from you he was as wise as Solomon, and the greatest hunter upon earth. We chatted very friendly for some time, I can tell you; and then he thought fit to let out that he was the king, never dreaming, I will answer for it, that I knew it quite well all the time. When he had got your letter, nothing could be more civil or complimentary than his majesty was. He bade you hasten your coming, as I told you before, and sought to know which road you took, so I told him by Carlisle, just to give your lordship time. If it does not suit you to bear me out, you can just say that it was a lie of mine, or a mistake, or anything you please. My ears are quite at your lordship's disposal."
"No," said Gowrie, thoughtfully--"no. Something must be determined at once. Go out into the passage, Austin, and see that nobody comes near.--No eaves-dropping, remember!"
"Upon my honour, my lord," replied the man, and took his departure.
"Oh, Gowrie, what is to be done?" exclaimed Julia.
Gowrie pressed her to his breast with feelings difficult to describe. "In truth, love, I hardly know," he said. "I must think calmly for a moment."
"Had I not better return at once to England," she asked, "and remain there till you can satisfy the king that I know nothing of this coveted wealth, or till we can be united?"
Gowrie walked up and down the room for a minute, strongly tempted, but he did not yield.
"No, love, no," he said; "if you go, I must go too. I will not leave you unprotected in another land; and, moreover, it might be dangerous even to myself. Listen, dearest Julia;" and seating himself beside her, he laid his hand upon hers, saying, "While we were in London, some subtle dark words were dropped by the ministers of Elizabeth, as to my having the power of being of great service to her majesty in my native land. I gave no encouragement to such conversation, and it ceased; but if she had you in her power, might not she try to use the strong love which she knows I bear you, to drive me to acts contrary to my duty and my allegiance? Trust you with her, I dare not. Trust you in James's hands I will not; for I doubt him, Julia--I doubt him much. He prides himself on dissembling; and his acts all show that he aims at absolute power. What is to be done, is the question, and only two courses seem open to us--either for you to give me your hand at once, when Gowrie's arm will find means to protect Gowrie's wife.--Nay, look not so sad; I know your scruples, dear one, and there is another course to choose. We have in this country of Scotland a district, as you know, called the Highlands, where law is little known, and to which the king's power can hardly be said to extend. Just upon the borders of that district, I have a mountain castle called Trochrie, where, I think, beyond all doubt, you would be in greater safety than in England. At all events, it would require an army to bring you forth; and I do not believe that James would think fit to do any violent act. It may be as well, however, that you should remain there in secret till I can prove to the king that neither his own avarice, nor the greediness of his favourites, would be served by taking you from me. The castle shall be well prepared for defence, however; and with justice on my side, and the good friends I have, I could hold out against him for ever. I will do no disloyal act myself, but I will endure no tyranny."
"Oh, let me thither," cried Julia, with a bright smile of hope coming upon her face again. "I will keep myself so carefully that he shall never dream that I am there. I will take exercise in the early morning, or in the evening twilight, so that people shall fancy I am a spirit; and the rest of the day I will pass my time in my lonely tower with my two maidens, like some enchanted lady that we read of in those books of magic chivalry."
"It is very hard to doom you to such a fate, my Julia--to send such a flower as you to bloom in such a desolate wilderness."
"Hard!" said Julia, enthusiastically--"hard, when it is for you, Gowrie! Have I not been accustomed to solitude too? It will but be living over again, for a short time, amidst the beautiful scenes of nature, with free fresh air and changing skies around me, the same life that I led so long in Padua, amongst close houses in a dull town. And then, perhaps," she added, with a smile, "Gowrie may sometimes steal away from courts to see me; and when I think the time of his coming draws nigh, what joy it will be to look out from some high window of the castle, over moor and fell, to see if I can perceive my dear knight coming across the distant plain."
"It is a fair picture you have drawn, dear girl, of a less fair reality," answered Gowrie; "but I will try, dear girl, to make it as bright for you as may be. Often, often will I come to see you, till the dear hour when I can call you my own. And I will bring some of my sweet sisters, too, to cheer you. We will store the old castle with pleasant books and instruments of music; and when I come you shall sing me the songs of the sweet south, till all darker things are forgotten. Still, still I could hardly consent to your plunging into such a scene, were not the bright season coming when our Highlands look the fairest, when the yellow broom and the purple heath succeed each other on the hills, and the bright sunshine softens the ruggedness of the scene. During the six long months which must elapse ere, according to our promise, you can give me your hand, the year still goes on brightening for us in Scotland. In truth, I see no other course we can pursue."
"Nor I," she said, eagerly. "Let me set out to-morrow early, Gowrie; and in the meantime you hasten back across the border again, take the way round by Carlisle, as the man said you were coming by that road, and so lull the king's suspicions, if he entertains any."
"But you cannot go alone, my Julia," answered her lover. "That will never do. Stay; my mother is at Dirleton with my young brothers. I have thought of a plan that will answer. You shall go thither under the escort of good Austin Jute and my servant David Drummond. She can then forward you on your way to Trochrie with Austin and some of her own people. Part of the way were better made by sea, for the waves will leave no trace of your passing, and the weather is now fair. To Dirleton you can go to-morrow, and on the following day proceed; but alas! I must not go with you, I fear."
Julia bent her head a little, gazing on the ground, and then said, in a low voice, "Will she receive me willingly, Gowrie?"
"As her own child," replied Gowrie, warmly; "I will answer for it, love."
"Though I am a stranger, an intruder, one who even now is bringing danger on her beloved son!" said Julia, almost sadly.
"You know not Dorothea Stuart," answered Gowrie. "Were the pursuers close upon your steps, my love, were every danger and misfortune following you close, it would only render you dearer to her--it would only make her whole soul rise to serve you. However, I will write to her this very night, telling her all I wish, and the reasons thereof. You shall carry the letter with you; and if everything is not performed as zealously and punctually as if I were there myself, my mother is changed indeed, and has lost all love for me. Now, dearest Julia, retire to rest; you shall be roused in time, and everything shall be prepared for your departure: alas! that I must add, for our parting, too; but it shall not be a long one, dear girl. Whenever occasion serves that I can get away without observation, I will be on the way to Trochrie, for my heart will lie buried there with you, and even in the midst of crowds I shall be solitary."
Julia could not answer, for her heart was too full--it was like a cup brimming over, and the least thing that shook her would have spilt the precious drops within. One silent pressure of the hand, and they parted for the night; but when she was gone, Gowrie stood and mused with sad and painful thoughts, and ere she sought her pillow she bent her head and wept.
There was a fine old house, as we should call it now, but which was then in great part a modern one, although the beating and buffeting of angry winds, and the dark breath of the storm, had blackened it ere more than sixty years had passed since the foundation-stone was laid. It was built in a style of which there are very few specimens in England, though several in France; but that is easily accounted for, inasmuch as during the greater portion of the short period assigned to that particular style, contentions of one kind or another had existed between the court of London and that of Paris, and the communication between England and Italy was extremely limited. Very different had been the case with Scotland, the connexion between which country and France had been cemented by many ties, while an infinite number of the young noblemen of the north completed their education either at Paris or at one of the universities of Italy. The Tudor architecture in churches is well known; and although there is something in the breast of every man of taste which tells him that there is a want of purity of conception and grandeur of design therein, yet it is very beautiful in its kind. So much, however, can hardly be said in favour of the social architecture of the period; and perhaps less still, in point of really good taste, were the pretensions of that Italian style, in which one front of Dirleton House was constructed. The windows were large and many, divided by stone mullions, and having pilasters between, light and airy, but of no order under the sun, and panels covered with rich and fantastic arabesques.
The whole had an air of lightness and richness, notwithstanding its incongruous and unmeaning details; but at the hour of which I speak, and at which a little cavalcade consisting of seven horses approached the front, nothing could be seen of the elaborate ornaments, and the whole building lay in the midst of the grey woods that surrounded it, a large and sombre pile of building, with a cheerful light streaming through two or three of the casements. Weary with travelling, anxious and apprehensive, Julia looked up to Dirleton House with a cold feeling of dread and gloom. Vain had been Gowrie's assurances of a kind reception: she felt that she was a wanderer--a fugitive, claiming protection and aid, even to their own peril, from persons on whom she had no claim, and who were strangers to her in all the kindly relations of the heart. Her timidity became more and more great as she approached the principal entrance of the house, which projected before the rest, with a sort of terrace and flight of steps of its own. Fancy was very busy, and showed her the strange looks with which she would be at first received, the stately lady of royal race, the two or three tall and lordly striplings, her sons, all gazing upon her as a stranger, and wondering what brought her there.
"I will send in the letter first," she thought; "they will then know who I am, at least; and I shall soon see by my reception whether I am a welcome guest or not. It will be bad enough at the best----Here, Austin," she said, when, having ridden up to the terrace by one of the two slopes at the sides, the man sprang to hold her rein, and assist her to dismount,--"here, Austin, take this letter in. Deliver it into the Countess of Gowrie's own hand, and tell her that I wait her pleasure without."
The man looked surprised, but took the letter, and approached the great door, by the side of which hung an immense massive iron ring, notched all over the inner side, with a small iron bar beside it suspended from a chain, Austin gazed at this strange-looking instrument by the faint light, and felt it with his hand, but could make nothing of it. He was looking for some other means of making their presence known within, when the other servant, David Drummond, a heavy, sinister-looking man, started forward, and taking hold of the ring, soon produced a sound, by running the iron bar over the notches in the inside, sufficient to call two or three servants to the door.
Austin was immediately admitted, and disappeared from Julia's sight, while the other servant shook hands with an old friend, one of the domestics of the countess, and seemed to explain who the fair guest was, for the porter came instantly forward, and with a civil tone, but in such broad Scotch that she could scarcely understand him, asked if she would not alight and come in, as he was quite sure his mistress would be very glad to see her.
"I will alight," said Julia, accepting his assistance, "for I am very weary of my horse's back; but as to the rest, I will wait;" and springing to the ground, she leaned her arm upon the saddle, the tired beast standing quite still by her side.
She had not long to remain in uncertainty, however, for hardly two minutes had passed when she heard a female voice, as some one approached the door from within, exclaiming, "Where's my bairn? Where's my dear child?" and immediately after a tall and commanding woman, somewhat past the middle age, issued forth with a quick step, and approached her. Her gray hair, falling from under a black velvet coif, and mingling with a lace veil attached thereunto, her long black velvet garments, in the fashion of the reign of Queen Mary, her fine, though worn countenance, her tall figure, and her quick step and eager look, all struck poor Julia with a feeling of awe, which was only dissipated by the warm and tender embrace in which the countess folded her, kissing her repeatedly, and saying, "And did ye doubt, poor thing, that Gowrie's mother would not take ye to her heart? Come, come, my bairn, you do not know me yet; but Dorothea Ruthven is no false friend or fleeching courtier, to say one thing and mean another. Come you in, and rest all your cares upon a mother's bosom; for, God willing, I will be a mother to you as to my own bairns."
Thus saying, she took her by the hand, and led her through the wide vestibule into a small but richly decorated room on the ground floor. Then stopping in the midst, where the full light from a large sconce filled with wax candles fell upon them both, she turned to look upon her fair companion for the first time.
As if struck and astonished by what she beheld, the old countess suddenly loosed her hold, and clasping her two hands together, she exclaimed, "Ae, but you're bonny!" Then instantly throwing her arms round her, she pressed her to her heart again.
Julia wept with agitation and joy, and the gentle clasping of her small soft fingers upon the old countess's hand conveyed without words all that was passing in her heart.
"Now sit down, my dear child," said Lady Gowrie, taking her own seat, and pointing to another close by her; "you're weary and frightened, I dare say, for I see from the first few lines of Gowrie's letter that something has not gone quite right with all your plans; but you must not let that put your heart down, my bonny bird, for this is a wild land, and if we were to let little things scare us, we should live in terror all our lives. My two young lads have gone out, and not come back yet, but they will be right glad when they return to find their new sister, and then we'll have our supper, and you shall go to bed and sleep."
"Oh, read Gowrie's letter first, before you are so kind, dear lady," said Julia, wiping the tears from her eyes; "you will see that my coming with him has first brought embarrassment upon him on his return to his native land, and perhaps you may not love me so well afterwards."
"Not a bit less, my child," said the old countess, in a firm, but sad tone. "I have ever loved those I loved, best when misfortune came upon them. Did I not love his father well," she continued, raising her eyes to heaven, "the day the axe fell? And yet, woe is me! bitter was that day of love, indeed! Well-a-well, I will read my boy's letter; but mind, my dear, you are to call me mother, for a mother I will be to you, come fair or come foul;" and wiping away the tears from her eyes, she held the letter nearer to the sconce, and read.
While she went on, Julia gazed at her with a look of anxious interest; but her longing to know what would be the lady's feelings on hearing all the particulars of her situation, was soon lost in scanning the worn but noble feelings, and tracing the strong likeness between her and her son.
"Fie, fie!" cried the old lady, at length, when she had read the somewhat long epistle to an end; "this is but a scratch, and you and Gowrie have taken it for a wound. Our good king is fond of gold, and he has those about him who are fonder still; but when they find that you have none, my child, they'll leave you at peace right willingly. It will all come to nothing, you'll see. However, in the meantime, like a dutiful mother," she continued, with a smile, "I must do what my son bids me, though I'm loath to part with you so soon. But first I must take care that the servants are tutored to speak carefully. All my own people I can depend upon; can you on yours, my child?"
"I trust so," replied Julia; "the two girls can speak no English, so they are safe; and of the men, one is faithfulness itself. The other I do not know so well, but he has been with Gowrie long, I believe, and came with us all the way from Italy."
"What's his name?" asked the countess; and when she heard it was David Drummond, she shook her head with a rather doubtful look. "He's what we call a dour creature," she said, "but faithful to his trust, I believe. He killed a man here in a fray, and I sent him over to John to get him out of harm's way. John warned him well, that if he played so with his hands again, he should suffer; but I believe he is honest, only ill to manage when he takes a grudge at any one. I will have the people up into the vestibule, and tell them to be secret. They've been used to things that would teach fools discretion."
Thus saying, she rose, and taking a small silver bell from the table, went out into the vestibule, where Julia heard the bell ring, and after a short pause the sound of many feet moving. Then came the voice of the countess speaking loud and slow. A few short sentences, with long pauses between, concluded her harangue; but in a moment after there was a considerable movement and bustle; and when Lady Gowrie returned, she had on either side a fine tall lad, bearing a strong resemblance to her eldest son. Each of the boys gazed forward with natural eagerness to see their future sister in-law, and the colour mounted somewhat more warmly into Julia's face; but all embarrassment was over in a moment, for one after the other advanced with frank grace, kissed her fair cheek, and called her Julia and sister.
"Now, William, my boy," said the countess, "we must have supper soon and to bed betimes, for Julia must on upon her way early to-morrow, and you must go to guard her, with five or six of the men and her own people."
"Early to-morrow!" cried the lad, in great surprise; "I thought that she was going to stay with us here. Where is she going?"
"Ask no questions, lad," said his mother, gravely; "it does not become youth to inquire, but rather to obey. You will have your directions to-morrow ere you set out; and those you must entirely keep to yourself till you come to the end of your journey. Now go and order them to set on the supper. Your dear sister is tired and hungry, I doubt not."
"No, indeed, dear mother," replied Julia; "fear has taken all appetite from me to-day."
"Fear, poor frightened bird!" said the old lady. "We must strengthen your heart with mountain air--not to make it harder, but more firm. Fear nothing here, my dear, for we will guard you well. You come of an eagle's race, and he who checques at you is but a goshawk."
While she had been speaking, her son William had left the room, and in a minute or two it was announced that supper was served. Putting her arm through that of her fair guest, the countess led her to a small hall, where supper was found upon the table; but as they went the elder lady said, in a low voice, to her young companion, "You shall have a little chamber next to mine, and your two maidens beyond. I will wake you before daylight, for ever since Gowrie's death I rise at four. But, in truth, you must warn the girls yourself that you set out early, for though I could once speak French I have lost it now, and Italian I could never conquer."
Weariness of body and of mind performed for Julia the part of peace; and she slept as soon as her head touched the pillow. Her sleep was disturbed and full of dreams, however; and on the following morning she woke with a start and a feeling of terror, when some one knocked at her chamber door. For a moment or two she knew not where she was; but she was soon recalled to the recollection of all the circumstances of her fate, by the voice of the Countess of Gowrie warning her that it was time to rise for her journey. All that kindness could do was performed to soothe, comfort, and encourage her; and her lover's mother affected to laugh at her fears, though she bewailed the necessity of her going at that season of the year into the wild and solitary scenes where she was about to take up her abode.
In her directions to her son William, the old countess was very particular, remaining closeted with him for nearly half an hour. No one was informed of the ultimate end of the journey about to be taken but Julia and himself; and instead of directing their course by land towards Trochrie, the party proceeded in a straight line towards the sea, and took boat, thereby increasing the length of the journey some thirty or forty miles. The servants, who were acquainted with the country, might well be somewhat surprised when they found where they landed, and in what direction they afterwards bent their course; but not the slightest expression of astonishment was seen upon the countenance of any one, and not one word of comment was uttered amongst them. With much unquestioning obedience they followed where their young master led, in a manner which perhaps was only seen in Scotland at that time. Towards Julia, William Ruthven was all brotherly kindness and attention, cheering her to the utmost of his power, and attempting, in his young zeal, to amuse her with tales of the different places through which they passed. But it is sad to say, that almost every little history--such had been for many years the state of Scotland--ended with a tragedy; and he soon found that the subject on which Julia was most inclined to speak was that of his brother Gowrie. He indulged her, then, by many a question with regard to the earl's stay in Italy, and to their journey home; and thus indeed he did contrive to while away several hours, till at length, on the evening of the third day, they arrived in sight of a large and somewhat gloomy-looking building, which William Ruthven pointed out as the castle of Trochrie. During the whole of the latter part of their journey the mountains had been rising up before them, and all the beautiful scenery of Athol, with which every English traveller is well acquainted, presented itself to Julia's sight. The day was peculiarly favourable, too, though that which preceded it had been dark and lowering. The sun, journeying towards the north, had made, as it were, an effort to dispel the clouds; and, towards evening, the heavy masses of vapour floating away upon the light wind, only served to cast dark shadow upon some points of the landscape, while the rest remained covered with bright gleams; and the sinking sun flooded the glens with light, and sparkled in the streams and waterfalls. At the distance of about a mile from the castle a man was sent forward to have the gates opened, and as they rode over the drawbridge, which had been lowered to give them admission, William Ruthven said, in a kind tone, "Welcome to Trochrie, dear Julia."
Julia knew not why, but a cold shudder crept over her frame at the words; and looking up at the dark arch under which she was passing, she asked herself involuntarily, "In what case shall I pass these gates again?"
We must now turn to follow the course of the Earl of Gowrie, who hurried to horse as soon as he could force himself to part with Julia, the 28th of February, and he spared not the spur till he had reached Carlisle. The distance was not far short of a hundred miles, although knowing the country well, till he reached the borders of Cumberland he took the shortest cuts towards his destination. Nevertheless, by twelve o'clock on the following day, he had reached the city of the British chief, and halted there for three hours, to rest those horses which were capable of going on, and to purchase three or four others, to supply the place of those which were knocked up. The journey was then resumed, at a slow and orderly pace; and the earl once more approached the frontier of Scotland, on the western side. Such rapid progress as he had made during the last thirty hours was not at all suited, of course, to the habits of good Mr. Rhind; and that worthy gentleman was left behind, with a request that he would tarry for a day or two at Dunbar, and then proceed slowly to Edinburgh, preserving perfect silence as to the events which had lately taken place; which, it must be remarked, puzzled him greatly, as the earl was not inclined to enter into lengthened explanations on the subject. On the discretion of the servants who accompanied him, the earl thought he could depend; and he consequently satisfied himself with giving them merely two commands--namely, to avoid mentioning to any one their previous journey to Dunbar, and if asked what had become of the lady who had accompanied them to England, to state that he, the earl, had sent her to a place of security some way before they reached Carlisle. This having been done, they rode on towards Langholm, where the earl proposed to pass the night. On his arrival, however, at the only inn which that place contained, he found the court-yard in a bustle with numerous horses and servants, and perceived also two or three of the king's guard loitering about. The announcement that the place was quite full, therefore, did not surprise him; and, in answer to his inquiries, the host informed him that the Lord Lindores had just returned with his suite, after having visited the border that morning.
Gowrie smiled at the name of one of the especial companions of the king; and finding, in answer to a quiet inquiry, that the noble lord had arrived from Edinburgh late the night before, he was confirmed in the suspicion, that the object of Lindores' coming had been to claim the wardship of Julia in the king's name.
Innocent of all offence himself, however, he did not scruple to send up a message to the courtier nobleman, requesting that he would spare him a part of the accommodation of the inn; but one of Lord Lindores' servants had been beforehand with him in communicating his arrival, and before the host, whom Gowrie charged with his message, could leave his side, the gentleman to whom it was to be delivered was seen descending the stairs, which, as was then very customary in Scottish inns, came down at once on the outside of the house, from a covered gallery above, into the court-yard. His dress and appearance were sufficient to indicate his rank, although Gowrie had not seen him from his boyhood; but Lord Lindores, forgetting his prudence, advanced at once towards the young earl, holding out his hand, and saying, "Ah, my noble Lord of Gowrie, how goes it with your lordship? Welcome back to Scotland after a long absence."
"Many thanks, my lord," replied Gowrie, shaking hands with him. "My absence has indeed been long enough for old friends to forget me. But I find your lordship has engaged the whole house; can you not spare me a room or two?"
"I should be sadly wanting in courtesy else," replied the other, whose eye, during the whole conversation, had been wandering over Gowrie's followers. "We will put some of the men into the cottages or houses near. What will you require?"
"Only a room for myself," replied the earl, who was somewhat amused by the puzzled look upon his companion's face--"only a room for myself, and an ante-room for two or three of my servants. The rest must shift as they can. We will not put you to inconvenience."
"That will be soon arranged," replied Lord Lindores; "and as my supper will be ready in a few minutes, your lordship must honour me by partaking thereof. I will just speak a word or two to some of my men, telling them to seek lodgings elsewhere, and rejoin you in a moment."
Gowrie remained near the foot of the stairs till his return, with an air of the most perfect indifference; but he did not fail to observe what seemed eager question and answer pass between his brother peer and one of the men who had been in the court-yard when he arrived.
"Now, noble earl, permit me to show you the road," said Lord Lindores, returning; and he led the way up stairs to a small guest-chamber, prepared for the evening meal, but which was also ornamented by a truckle bed. After some ordinary compliments, Lord Lindores fell into thought for a moment or two, and then looking up, he said, "Had I not thought that your lordship would not arrive in Scotland till to-morrow, I should have prepared better for your accommodation; for, to say the truth, I was led to expect the pleasure of seeing you on the border if my business detained me here a day or two."
"Indeed! How so?" demanded Gowrie, looking up; for he, too, had fallen into thought.
"Oh, very simply," replied the other lord. "His majesty, when sending me yesterday to inquire into some of the affairs upon the border, informed me that he had had a letter from your lordship, and, as you were returning by Carlisle, I should most likely meet you somewhere here. He bade me greet you well on his part, and say that he was anxious for your arrival."
"His majesty is ever gracious," said Gowrie, drily; "I trust to kiss his hand the day after to-morrow at the farthest."
"He taught me to believe, my noble lord, that I should find a fair lady in your company," said his companion, assuming a jocular look and tone; "the most beautiful of the beautiful, I understand; a gem that you have brought us from southern lands."
"Oh, no," answered Gowrie, in a light and easy tone; "his majesty has been misled. Such a lady as you describe did travel part of the way hither under my convoy; but I left her behind before I reached Carlisle."
"Indeed!" said Lord Lindores, with a look of mortification and surprise. "But perhaps the journey was too fatiguing, and she will follow you?"
"Oh dear, no!" answered Gowrie, with a laugh. "She is very well where she is, I doubt not, and will remain there for some time."
"On my life," cried the other, resuming his jocular tone, "I think your lordship is jealous of us poor lords of Holyrood."
"To be sure I am," answered Gowrie, at once; "and fully resolved I am not to bring her to that court till I bring her as my wife. You see, my good lord, I am frank with you; but you will own that there is cause to fear that I might lose my bride, if I carried her amongst such gay cavaliers as the Lord of Lindores."
His companion, who had already seen the middle age, laughed gaily; for I know neither age nor circumstance in which vanity will not do its work. He seemed perfectly deceived, however, and indeed was so, concluding that Gowrie, from some cause, suspecting the king's purpose, had left his fair companion on the other side of the border. He was not well satisfied, indeed, with the result of his mission, for he had calculated upon gaining considerable credit with the king by skilfully executing a somewhat delicate task. Their meal passed over gaily, however; and Lindores, who was somewhat of a bon vivant, had taken care that the table should be supplied with better wine than could be procured at Langholm. Of this he partook abundantly, and hospitably pressed his guest to do the same; but Gowrie was upon his guard, and contrived to avoid the glass, without his companion noticing that such was the case. In the meantime, Lindores, imagining that each large double bottle was shared equally between him and the earl, drank more than his due proportion, and passed through most of the stages of inebriety, from loquacity to drowsiness. In the former stage, however, the wine being in and the wit out, he laughed joyously at the thought of the king's disappointment, and told his companion, as a profound secret, the end and object of his journey to the border.
On the following day early, the earl and Lord Lindores set out together for Edinburgh; but Gowrie thought fit to stop for the night at Selkirk, while his companion pushed on somewhat farther, in order to bear to the king the news of his disappointment in person. He arrived in the capital at a somewhat early hour the next day, and proceeded at once to the palace, where James's ill-humour knew no bounds.
"That is just like those Ruthvens," he said, in the presence of Sir Hugh Herries and John Ramsay, who were in the king's closet when Lindores told his story. "They are all as wise as serpents, but not as innocent as doves; and this lad is at the head of them. If he were not at heart a rebel to his own liege sovereign, wherefore should he leave the lass in England? Does it not give our good aunt Elizabeth a hold upon him, which no foreign sovereign should have over one of our subjects? Can she not twist him thereby what way she likes? Maybe his treason is already consummate, and he has left the girl behind him as a pignus or pledge for his carrying it out to our destruction. We must deal softly with him, nevertheless," he continued, seeing that his words had sunk deeply into the minds of those around him, and having, perhaps, the example of Henry II. before his eyes--"we must deal softly with him, till we find occasion against him; mind that, lads, and let not one of ye cross him, so as to make the matter into a private quarrel. He has many friends and great wealth, so we must go gently to work with him till the time comes."
Notwithstanding his injunctions to others, the king could not altogether restrain his own demeanour, but remained sullen and irritable all day. He inquired twice whether the earl had arrived in Edinburgh; and when told that he had come to the house of one of his relations, whither a number of the old friends of his family flocked to meet and congratulate him, he exclaimed, "The fickle fools! They go as blithesome to a burial."
The following morning, as he was seated with the queen, receiving some of the nobles of the court, with the Duchess of Lennox, Gowrie's sister, on one side of Anne of Denmark, and Beatrice Ruthven behind her chair, some loud shouts, uttered in the streets of the town, made themselves heard even in the royal apartments.
"What are the fools skirling at now?" cried the king; "is it another Tolbooth fray?"
"Not so, your majesty," replied Lord Inchaffray, who had just entered; "as I rode hither a moment ago, the young Earl of Gowrie was passing up the street with a large number of noble gentlemen, his friends; and some hundreds of people were running after his horse's heels, shouting and wishing him joy on his return."
James's brow darkened immediately, and lolling his tongue in his cheek, with a bitter and meaning smile, he said, loud enough for several persons to hear, "There were as many people who convoyed his father to the scaffold at Stirling."
The Duchess of Lennox instantly turned deadly pale, and fell, so that she would have struck her head against the queen's chair, had she not been caught in the arms of her sister Beatrice.
The court was immediately thrown into strange confusion; and the king, as if totally unconscious that the illness of the young duchess was produced by his own act, exclaimed, "De'il's in the woman! What's the matter with her? The rooms not so hot."
"But your majesty's words were sharp," said Beatrice; "my sister is not accustomed to hear the death of a father she loved made sport of."
"You are saucy, mistress, I think," said the king, frowning upon her.
"And your majesty unkind," said Beatrice, boldly; but Anne of Denmark interfered, and caused some of the gentlemen present to assist in conveying the duchess to another room.
James himself felt in some degree, it would appear, that he had acted in a cruel and discourteous manner, for he said, in a low but somewhat apologetic tone, "Fegs! I forgot she was the earl's daughter. One cannot always remember, in this good land of ours, who is of kin to those who have had their heads chopped off."
He then turned to other subjects, seeming soon to forget altogether what had occurred; and when, a few minutes afterwards, Gowrie himself was introduced, unconscious of all that had taken place, the king received him with the utmost cordiality and kindness, displaying remarkably, on this occasion, that detestable hypocrisy which he considered one of the essential parts of kingcraft. If anything, his manner was too condescending and gracious, approaching to a degree of familiarity more repugnant to the feelings of the young earl than haughtiness could have been. After having given him his hand to kiss, he pinched his ear, called him a truant, and insisted upon examining him in what he called the humanities, much to the annoyance of most of the gentlemen of his court, many of whom understood neither the Latin nor Greek languages, and some of whom did not understand their own. The earl's replies gave his majesty satisfaction, at least apparently; and he went so far as to pronounce him a good scholar and a credit to the country.
This gracious speech he followed up by commanding him to come to his breakfast on the following morning, and there he commenced a conversation with the earl, who was standing behind his chair, the coarseness of which, in point of language, prevents it from here being written down, but the nature of which may be divined, when I state that it referred to the murder of David Rizzio, and the fright which that horrible event had occasioned to the unfortunate Mary when about to become the mother of the very monarch who spoke.
Gowrie felt that the choice of the subject was intended as an insult to himself, from the part which his grandfather had borne in that lamentable transaction; but he repressed all angry feeling, not alone from respect for the royal authority, but also because he had a deep internal conviction that the conduct of his ancestor on that occasion could not be justified, and that the king had a fair subject of reproach against his family, which, upon every Christian principle and every honourable feeling, should have been restrained to silence, considering all that had passed since, but which might naturally be remembered, if not rankle, in a weak grovelling mind. He made no reply whatever then, and left the conversation to seek another course, when suddenly, to his surprise, Colonel Stuart entered the room, and was greeted by James as an invited guest.
The spirit of his race now rose in his bosom. He saw before him, invited apparently to meet him there that morning, the man who, when his father, after an imperious order from the king to quit the realm within fourteen days, lingered for a few hours longer at Dundee to settle the affairs of his family, and to hire a ship to carry him abroad, pursued him to the very port where he was about to embark, and brought his head to the block. His patience could not endure any more, and drawing back a step, he said, "I think, your majesty, it may be better for me now to retire."
"Come, come, my Lord Gowrie," said the king, "I will not have you look down upon Colonel Stuart. He is a worthy gentleman, and has done this crown good service. Neither will I have you seek quarrel with him in regard to passages long gone."
"Sir," answered the earl, with a low bow, "I will never seek that man, but it is not fit that he should cross my path. As to seeking quarrel with him,aquila non capit muscat. I now beseech your majesty to pardon me for retiring;" and he withdrew slowly from the royal presence.