“Nay, we shall soon convince thee to the contrary, father,” said Murdoch, motioning to the attendants to lay the deer down upon the hearth. “I will forthwith break him under thine own eye, and thou shalt see, and judge for thyself.”Murdoch then drawing forth his knife, began to open up the animal according to the strictest rules laid down for breaking a deer, as this operation was called, and on proceeding to slit up the slough, to the great wonder of every one, it was discovered that the old man was right. The heart was indeed so very small that it might very well have been said to have been naught. Murdoch was dismayed for a moment at an omen so very inauspicious, which, in his own mind, he felt was more than enough to overthrow all the fair prognostics which his mother had so evidently drawn from his success. The Lady herself was equally disconcerted.“Naught, naught!” whimpered Sir Allan.“’Tis an ill omen for thee, boy. Thou shalt ne’er fly with an eagle’s wing—nay, nay! Aye, aye! Thou art ever doomed to gobble i’ the muddy stagnant waters like a midden-gander.—Uch, aye! och, hey!”“The fiend take the old carl for his saying!” whispered Murdoch angrily aside to his mother.“Amen!” replied the Lady Stradawn bitterly, in the same under tone. “But fear ye not, boy, thou shalt wear his eagle wing, aye, and sit in his chair to boot, ere long.”This dialogue apart was unobserved by any one, and both son and mother speedily recovered their self-possession. The lady very cunningly set herself, straightway, to turn the weak and dribbling stream of Sir Allan’s thoughts from the subject which then occupied them, to some other, which was to her less disagreeable at the moment, and she easily succeeded.Patrick Stewart’s attention was attracted from all this superstitious trifling, as well as from what followed it, by again observing the garnet brooch, which appeared in the bosom of the Lady Stradawn. His thoughts were entirely occupied withit, and his eyes were from time to time rivetted on it. At length it seemed as if Murdoch had somehow remarked his fixed gaze, for a private sign appeared to pass from him to his mother, after which she pleaded a sudden faintness, and left the hall, to return no more that night, and her son soon afterwards followed her. Patrick Stewart’s mind remained filled with strange speculations regarding the jewel, until the night wore late, and he began to think anxiously about his brother Sir Walter. Having done the last offices of attention to his father for the evening, he secretly desired Dugald Roy to follow him.“Dugald,” said he, “I am, most unaccountably, unhappy about thy master. Surely, if all had been well with him he should have been here ere this? I cannot rid my mind of the idea that there is something amiss with him. He rested not, as thou knowest, when I was missing, and it would ill become me to sleep when he is absent. Let us go seek for him, then, without delay.”Dugald Roy readily assented; and both of them having dighted themselves well up for turmoil,as well as for toil, they secretly left the tower of Drummin. All that night they travelled, and by daylight they had got into the range of mountains, and of forests, where they had reason to hope for tidings of Sir Walter. They searched through every part of the wooded side of that hill where he had last disappeared, and they visited every human dwelling within a great range around it, but all without obtaining the slightest intelligence regarding him. Disappointed, and disheartened, they had returned nearly as far as where the village of Tomantoul now stands, on their way home in the evening, when they met with Dugald Roy’s brother Neil.“What brought thee here, man?” demanded Dugald; “and what a fiend gives thee that anxious face?”“Holy Saint Michael, but it is well that I have foregathered with you both!” replied Neil. “You must take some other road than that which leads to Drummin, Sir Patrick. Believe me, it is no place for you at this present time.”“What, in the name of all the saints, hathhappened to make it otherwise?” demanded Patrick Stewart.“Cannot ye speak out at once, ye Amadan ye, and not hammer like a fool that gate?” cried Dugald impatiently.“Patience! patience!” said Neil; “patience! and ye shall know all presently. In the first place, then, Master Murdoch says that Sir Walter is murdered.”“Murdered!” cried Patrick, in an agony of anxiety; “My brother Walter murdered!—Where?—when?—how?—by whom?—Oh, speak, that I may hasten to avenge him! But, no!—’tis impossible!—speak!—I have mistaken thee—surely it cannot be!”“Master Murdoch says that it is true,” replied Neil. “But the worst of all is, that he hath accused thee, Sir Patrick, of having done the deed, with an arrow, somewhere in the wood on the hill of Dalestie.”“Merciful Saints!” exclaimed Patrick; “can he indeed be such a villain? But who will believe so foul and unnatural a calumny? Oh, Walter, my brother, my brother! Heaven aboveknows that thy life was ten thousand times dearer to me than mine own!”“Nay,” replied Neil, “he hath called all the clansmen who were there to witness and to support the strong suspicions which he hath industriously raised against thee.”“What argument hath he against me?” cried Patrick Stewart impatiently.“He says that the men who were present can testify that you and your brother, Sir Walter, went into the wood together,” replied Neil; “and that Sir Walter hath not been seen since; and then, he contends, that the sudden flight which you made from Drummin, under the cloud of night, is enough to show that you have taken guilt home to your conscience.”“And is this all?” demanded Patrick Stewart.“Nay,” replied Neil, “there was more stuff of the same kind, by the use of which he hath contrived so to persuade them with his wily tongue, that they are all clamorous against thee. Nay, he hath even warped the feeble judgment of Sir Allan himself to the same belief.”“Serpent that he is!” cried Patrick Stewart.“But let me hasten home to confront this vile traducer. My brother!—my brother Walter!” continued he, bursting into tears. “My brother Walter gone!—and I accused of his murder!—Oh, my brother!—my dear brother! Heaven above knows how willingly I would have laid down my life to have saved thine! Nay, how willingly would I now lay it down at this moment, were it only to secure to me the certainty that thou art yet alive! The very thought that it may be otherwise is agony and desolation to me. But let us hasten to confront thisvillainy. Let us hasten to revenge! For the love of Heaven, let us hasten home, Dugald!”“Nay, my good master,” said Dugald weeping, “for if this sad tale be true as to Sir Walter’s death, other master than thee, I fear me, that I now have none. Neil says well that Drummin is no place for thee to-night, with so sudden and tumultuous a clamour excited against thee. Thine innocence will avail thee nothing. Even the innocence of an angel would naught avail against the diseased judgments of men, with minds so poisoned and so possessed. Bepersuaded to go elsewhere, until the false and weak foundations of this most traitorous accusation fail beneath it, and the mists drop from men’s eyes. Who can say for certain that my beloved master, Sir Walter, is dead? I cannot believe in so great a calamity. What proof is there that he is dead? There is no news that his body hath been found.”“Nay,”replied Neil, “he is only amissing as I said.”“Thou dost well advise me, Dugald,” said Patrick Stewart after a moment’s thought. “There is, as thou say’st, no proof that my brother, Sir Walter, is dead. It is most reasonable to believe that this may, after all, be nothing but a foolish or malicious surmise. My best hope, nay, my belief is, that it is founded on naught else; and may Heaven in its mercy grant that it may prove so. I will take thine advice. I will not go to Drummin at present, but I shall straightway bend my steps towards the Castle of Curgarf.”“Then shall I and Neil attend thee thither, Sir Knight,” said Dugald; “for next to SirWalter Stewart do I assuredly owe thee fealty and service.”Sir Patrick and his two attendants now turned off in the direction of Curgarf, and the day was so far spent that the sun was setting, as they were passing over the ridge of the country lying between the Aven and the Don. The trees of the forest there grew thinly scattered in little stunted patches. Sir Patrick was walking a few paces in front of the two brothers, musing as he went, when he was suddenly surprised by a shower of arrows falling thickly on and around him. One stuck in his bonnet, another buried itself harmlessly in the folds of his plaid, a third pierced his sandal and slightly wounded his foot; and, whilst a fourth struck fire out of a large stone close to him, two more fell short of him among the heather near him. In an instant his bow and those of his attendants were bent, and their eyes being turned towards the place whence the shafts had flown, they descried some men lurking beneath one of the straggling patches of dwarf pine trees. To have stood aloof with the hope of shooting at them successfully would havebeen fatal, for the archery of Sir Patrick and his attendants could have done nothing against men so ambushed, whilst the Knight and his people would have been a sure mark for their traitorous foes.“On them, my brave Dugald!” cried Sir Patrick Stewart, drawing his sword, and rushing towards the enemy.Dugald Roy, and his brother, Neil, were at his back in a moment. Before they could reach the point against which their assault was directed, several arrows were discharged at them. But so resolute, and so spirited an attack had been so little looked for by those who shot them, that they were too much appalled to take any very steady aim, so that all of them fell innocuous. Seeing Sir Patrick and his two attendants so rapidly nearing their place of concealment, the villains thought it better to turn out, that they might receive their onset on ground where they could all act at once. Six men accordingly appeared claymore in hand, and as Sir Patrick continued to hurry forward, he now took the opportunity of speaking hastily toDugald and Neil, who were advancing to right and left of him.“Draw an arrow each,” said he, “and when I give you the word, stop suddenly, and each of you pick off the man opposite to you, and leave me to take my choice of the rest.—Now!”The unlooked for halt was made just as the assassins were preparing to receive the on-comers on the points of their swords. The aim was sure and fatal. Three men fell—and on rushed Sir Patrick and his two people with a loud shout. The three, who yet stood against them, were panic-struck, and, ere they could well offer defence, they were also extended writhing among the heather, in the agonies of death; and the whole matter was over in less time than it has taken for me to tell of it. But, uncertain whether the partial covert of the pine-patch might not still shelter some more enemies, they rushed in among the trees, brandishing their reeking blades. Up started a youth from among some low brushwood, and ran off like a hare. Neil was after him in a moment, and up to him ere he had fled twenty paces. Already he had him by the hair of thehead, and his claymore was raised to smite him, when Patrick Stewart called to his follower to stay his hand. Neil obeyed, and granted the youth his life; but when he brought him in as a prisoner, what was the Stewart’s surprise when he discovered that he was the same individual whose life he had spared in the Catterane’s den.“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Patrick; “said I not well that I questioned the wisdom of sparing thy life when we last met, thou vermin? What hast thou to urge, that I should show mercy to thee now, Sir Caitiff?”“Oh, mercy, mercy, Sir Knight!” exclaimed the youth, piteously. “Trust me, I came not hither willingly. I had no hand in this treacherous ambush against thy life.”“Appearances are woefully against thee,” said Patrick Stewart; “yet would I not willingly do thee hurt, if thou be’st innocent. But this is no convenient time nor place to tarry for thy trial. So bring him along with thee, Dugald. We shall take our own leisure to examine him afterwards; meanwhile, take especial care that he escape not.”Sir Patrick Stewart’s reception at Curgarfmay be easily guessed at. He told of the providential escape he had made from assassination by the way; but he thought it better, as yet, to say nothing of the mysterious disappearance of his brother, Sir Walter, or of the traitorous accusations against himself, to which it had given rise. His resolve to be silent as to this matter was formed, because he had by this time reasoned himself into the firm persuasion that his brother’s reappearance would speedily make his own innocence as clear as noonday.He was next morning happily seated in the hall, now talking with the old Lord of Curgarf on one subject, and again taking his opportunity of whispering to the Lady Catherine on another, when he suddenly recollected the brooch he had given her. It was not in her bosom.“Where are the two twined hearts?” said he to her, smiling. “Fear not, dearest—I am not jealous.”“Thou hast no cause for jealousy, dear Patrick,” replied the lady; “and yet, I grieve to say, that I have not the jewel. When the Catteranes hurried me off from here, and just as they stopped for a little time to make up alitter, that they might the more easily carry me, one who appeared to have a certain command over them, but whose face or person I could not see in the obscurity which then prevailed, snatched it from my bosom, whilst affecting to fasten my arryssade more firmly around me. Nay, look not so serious, dearest Patrick! surely thou dost not doubt me in this matter?”“Doubt thee, my Catherine!” said Sir Patrick, kissing her hand with fervour; “sooner would I doubt mine own existence;—thou art pure virgin truth itself! Think no more of it. Thou shalt have another and a richer one anon. But say, dearest! why should we longer delay to set our own very two hearts in that indissoluble golden knot, with which the sacrament of our holy church may bind them together, so as to form a jewel, of which neither robber nor Catterane can rifle us, and which cannot be rent asunder save by the iron hand of death. I have thy father’s permission to move thee to shorten that cruel interval which thou hast placed between me and happiness.”In such a strain as this, did he continue tourge his suit, until it was at last successful; and, to his great joy, it was ultimately arranged, with the consent of all parties, that the marriage should take place on the second day from the time I am now speaking of. The bustle of preparation began in the Castle the moment the circumstance was announced; and it immediately spread far and wide everywhere around it, and went on incessantly day and night. Joy was everywhere as universal among the clansmen as their devotion to the Lady Catherine, the bride, and their admiration of the merits of the bridegroom, could make it. The day at length arrived. The Castle was crowded with all the friends and retainers of the family, who came pouring in to witness a ceremonial so interesting to them all. The Priest had arrived; the Castle chapel had been set in order; the bridal-chamber had been dight up; and the feast prepared; and every soul was astir to contribute, so far as in them lay, to the general felicity, as well as to share in it. The old Lord of Curgarf seemed to have grown young again. Arthur, the Master of Forbes, was alllife and raillery. Already had the whole company been assembled within the hall. All the men-at-arms within the Castle had crowded in thither. Even the old warden at the gate had lowered his portcullis, and made every thing secure with bolt, bar, and chain, so that he might safely leave his post to the charge of their stubborn defences. The blushing bride, arrayed in the richest attire, had been led in, attended by her blooming maidens; and the movement towards the chapel was about to be made, so that the ceremony might go on, when suddenly a shrill bugle blast from without the gate made the very Castle walls resound again.“Go some of ye, and see who that may be who summons us so rudely,” said the Lord of Curgarf.“Murdoch Stewart, and a party of the Clan-Allan, are at the gate, craving admittance,” said the messenger, on his return.“Son Arthur,” said the Lord of Curgarf, “get thee down quickly, and give Murdoch Stewart of Clan-Allan, the brother of this our son-in-lawto be, instant entry. Let the gate be opened to him, aye, and to all his people, dost thou hear? It was kind in him thus to come, on the spur of the occasion,” continued the old Lord, addressing Patrick, after his son had gone with his attendants to obey his will—“It was kind in thy brother to come thus unasked on the spur of the moment. Would that Sir Allan, thy father himself, could have been here.”The court-yard and the stair now rang with the clink of armed men, and Arthur, the Master of Forbes, entered, ushering in Murdoch Stewart, proudly attired, and followed by a formidable band of the Clan-Allan, whose flaring red tartans were strongly contrasted against the more modest green of those of the Clan-Forbes. To the no small surprise of his brother Patrick, he no longer wore that appearance of youthful carelessness and indifference, under the mask of which he had hitherto disguised his true character. His bearing was now manly and lofty, suited to the command of the Clan-Allan, which he now seemed to have assumed. Hissalutation to the Lord of Curgarf was grave, dignified, and courteous; and, as way was made for him, he advanced, with the utmost self-possession, into the middle of the hall.“I rejoice that I have arrived thus, as it seems, in the nick of time,” said he, looking around him, and bowing as he did so, but without once allowing his eyes to rest on his brother, who stood fixed in silent astonishment at what he beheld.“So do we all rejoice,” replied the Lord of Curgarf. “Had we but known that our bridal might have been thus honoured by the house of Clan-Allan, on so short a warning, trust me thou shouldst not have lacked our warmest bidding, as thou hast now our warmest welcome.”“Welcome or not, my Lord,” replied Murdoch Stewart, with a respectful reverence, “thou wilt surely thank me for this most unceremonious visit, when thou shalt know the object of it. I come to save the honour of thy house from foul disgrace: would, that in so doing, I could likewise save the honour ofthat which gave me birth! But although, in saving thee and thy house from dishonour, the good name of that of Clan-Allan must assuredly be tarnished, it shall never be said of me, that I preserved it by falsehood or infamous concealment.”“Of what wouldst thou speak?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf. “I do beseech thee, keep me, and keep this good company, no longer in suspense.”“Then, my good Lord,” replied Murdoch, solemnly, “much as it pains me to utter it, and much as it must pain thee, and all present, to hear it, I must tell thee, that strong suspicions are abroad, that mine eldest brother, Sir Walter Stewart, hath been most foully murdered, and that he, on whom thou wert now on the very eve of bestowing thine only daughter, is the foul murderer, who took an elder brother’s life, to make way for the gratification of his own ambitious and avaricious desires. The circumstances are so strong against my unfortunate brother Patrick, that all agree that no one else could have been the murderer.”“All!—all!—all!—all! was echoed from the stern Clan-Allans, at the lower end of the hall.“Holy saints defend us!” exclaimed the Lord of Curgarf, sinking into a chair.“’Tis false! oh ’tis all false, father!” cried the trembling Catherine Forbes, rushing forward to assist her father.“Infamous traitor!” cried Patrick Stewart; “lying and infamous traitor! Where are the proofs on which you found so foul and false an accusation?”“Would, for the credit of our poor house, that it were false!” said Murdoch, mildly. “But it is impossible to conceal, that thou wert the last person seen in our poor brother Walter’s company. Thou wentest up the wood with him, with three arrows in thy belt. Thou camest back shortly afterwards without him. One of thine arrows was gone. Thou gavest reasons for the want of it which proved to be false; and our dear brother Walter hath never been since seen.”“He is guilty! He, and no one else, is the murderer!” cried the men of Clan-Allan hoarsely.“Woe is me!” said the distracted Lord of Curgarf, springing from his chair with nervous agitation; “the circumstances are indeed too suspicious!”“Father!—father!—father, he is innocent!” cried the frantic Lady Catherine Forbes, holding the old lord’s arm.“Sister,” cried the Master of Forbes, taking the Lady Catherine affectionately by the hand, and speaking to her with great feeling—“Dearest sister, this is indeed an afflicting trial for thee; yet, be of good courage—I have no fears of the result. Patrick Stewart cannot be guilty of the foul and cruel deed of which he has been accused. We must have the matter sifted to the bottom; the truth must be brought out; and, as his innocence must be thereby established, all the evil that can happen will be but the short delay of your nuptials, till he be fairly and fully cleansed from these wicked charges.”“I am sent by my father,” said Murdoch Stewart—“I am sent by my father, and that most unwillingly, to demand his son Patrick as a prisoner. Forgive me, my good Lord of Curgarf,for thus daring to execute his paternal order under your roof.—Men of Clan-Allan, seize and bind Patrick Stewart!”“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder—“Hold, men of Clan-Allan! Lay not a hand upon him, to whom, if my dear master Sir Walter be indeed gone, ye must all soon, in the course of nature, swear fealty as your chieftain. He is guiltless of my beloved master’s murder, though murdered, I fear, he hath most foully been. But here is one who can tell more of this cruel and wicked deed. Come hither boy, and tell us what thou may’st know of this mysterious matter.”Dugald Roy then led forward the youth whom he had brought prisoner to Curgarf, of whose very existence Sir Patrick Stewart had lost all recollection, amidst the tumult of joy in which he had been so continually kept by his approaching nuptials. The Lady Catherine Forbes started with surprise when she beheld him; but the countenance of Murdoch Stewart turned as pale as a linen sheet at the sight of him.“What hast thou to say, young man, to theclearing up of this dark and cruel mystery?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf.“My Lord, I saw Sir Walter Stewart of Clan-Allan murdered,” said the youth in a tremulous voice. “I saw him shot to the death by the arrow of Ewan Cameron, one of the band of Catteranes.”“How camest thou to have been in any such evil company?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf.“Trusting to have mercy at your hands, my Lord, I will tell my whole story as shortly as I can, if thou wilt but listen to me,” replied the youth. “I was prentice to a craftsman in the town of Banff, a man who wrought in gold and silver. Being one day severely chidden by my master for some unlucky fault, the devil entered into me, and I resolved to be revenged of him. Having become known to the captain of a certain band of Catteranes, I stole my master’s keys, and gave them to him, so that he and his gang were enabled to rifle the goldsmith’s stores of all his valuables. In dread of punishment I fled with them to their den in the hills, where they afterwards kept me in thrall to do theirservice. The lady, thy daughter, can tell thee that I was there when she was brought in by them, and had not Sir Patrick Stewart left me bound when he spared my life, they would have certainly taken it on their return, in their rage and fury at her escape; but, fortunately, I was lying quite out of their way at the moment, and was not discovered till they had somewhat cooled. Finding that their retreat had been found out, they hastily abandoned it, and dispersed themselves through the hills. On the day that followed after that, we were all collected together to meet our captain; and after two days more, a breathless messenger came early in the morning to tell him something which was kept secret from all else. There were but few of the band with him at the time; but these were ordered to arm on the sudden; and even I, who had never been called out on any expedition until that day, was commanded to arm like the rest.“Our small party marched off in all haste, and about mid-day we were planted in ambush on the side of a hill above the Aven. Our captain seemed to be restless and anxious. Hemoved about from place to place, stretching on tiptoe from the top of every knoll, and sometimes climbing the tallest pine trees, in order to scan the valley below more narrowly. At length, as it grew late in the afternoon, he took a long look from one point, and then, as if he had at last made some discovery of importance, he suddenly moved us off into a thicket, which grew on the edge of a considerable opening in the wood on the hill-side; and I would know that opening again, for it had the green quaking bog of a well-head in the very midst of it.“We had not stood long there, till a man in very plain attire, with a bow in his hand, came up from the thick wood below, and began to pass aslant the open space. ‘There goes a good mark for an arrow,’ said the captain of the band. ‘Shoot at him, my men.’—‘He is not worth a shaft,’ replied some of his people. ‘He is a poor fellow who hath nothing in his sporran to pay for the killing of him.’—‘No matter,’ said Ewan Cameron, ‘he hath a good pair of sandals on him; and my brogues are worn to shreds—so, here goes at him.’ And just as the manwas passing along the bank close above the well-eye, the arrow fled, and pierced him to the heart. ‘Well shot, Ewan!’ cried the captain, in a strange ecstasy of joy; ‘thou shalt have gold for that shot of thine.’ So instant was his death, that he sprang high into the air, and his body fell headlong and without life into the very middle of the bog, with a force that buried it in its yielding mass, so high, that nothing was seen of him but his legs. Ewan hastened to the place, quietly took off the sandals from the dead man, threw off his own brogues, and put on the sandals in place of them, and then the captain himself ran eagerly to help him to force the corpse downwards into the bog; and this they did till the green moss closed over the soles of its feet. I then knew not who the murdered man might be,—and the deed was no sooner done, than our captain ordered us to make our way back, as fast as we could travel, over the hills, whilst he left us to go directly down into the glen.“Early next morning, a messenger again came to us; and five picked archers were sentout under the orders of Ewan Cameron. I was directed to accompany them; and I marvelled much why I, who was so inexperienced, should be required to go on an expedition where they seemed to be so very particular in choosing their men. But Ewan Cameron soon let me into the secret. ‘Thou knowest the person of Patrick Stewart of Clan-Allan, dost thou not?’ said he to me.—‘If that was he who took the lady from the cave, and left me bound, replied I, ‘then have I reason to remember him right well.’—‘Then must I tell thee, that we are now sent forth expressly to hunt for him, and to take his life,’ replied Ewan; ‘and if thou would’st fain preserve thine own, thou wilt need to look sharply about thee, that thou mayest tell me when thou seest him.’—‘Who covets to have his life?’ demanded I.’—‘He who made me take the life of his brother Walter, for those sandals which I now wear,’ said Ewan.—‘What! our captain?’ exclaimed I; ‘that must be in revenge, because Sir Patrick Stewart took the lady from him.’—‘Partly so, perhaps,’ replied Ewan; ‘but I am rather jealous that our captain’sgreatest fault to Sir Patrick Stewart is, that he, like his brother, Sir Walter Stewart, was born before him. Knowest thou not, that our captain is no other than Murdoch Stewart, the third son of old Sir Allan of Stradawn?’ I was no sooner made aware of this, than—”The youth would have proceeded, but the loud murmur of astonishment and horror that arose every where throughout the hall, so drowned his voice, that he was compelled to stop.“Holy Saint Michael, what a perfect villain thou art!” exclaimed the old Lord of Curgarf, darting a look of indignant detestation at Murdoch Stewart.“Thou wouldst not condemn a stranger unheard,” said Murdoch, calmly.“Nay,” replied the Lord of Curgarf, “thou shalt have full justice. We shall hear thee anon. But let this youth finish his narrative, which would seem to be pregnant with strange and horrible things.”“I have but little more to say,” continued the youth. “Gratitude to Sir Patrick Stewart, for having spared my life, when his own securitymight have required the taking of it, at once resolved me against betraying him to slaughter. Ewan Cameron marched us straight away to the hill, which rises above the track that leads from the little place of Tomantoul to the river Don, and there he kept us sitting, for some time, watching, till we espied three men coming along the way. Whilst they were yet afar off I knew one of them to be the very person whom the murderers were in search of. ‘Is that Sir Patrick Stewart that comes first yonder?’ demanded Ewan.—‘I cannot tell at this distance,’ said I; ‘but I think the man I saw in the cave was much taller than that man.’—‘That is a tall man,’ said Ewan; ‘take care what thou sayest, or thou mayest chance to have thy stature curtailed by the whole head.’—‘I say what is true,’ said I; ‘no man could know his own father at that distance.’—‘Then will I assert that thou sayest that which is a lie,’ said one of the party; ‘for great as the distance may be, I know that to be Sir Patrick Stewart. I mean that man who comes first of the three.’—‘Let us down upon him without loss of timethen,’ cried Ewan; ‘and do you come along, Sirrah! Thou shalt along with us; and, when our work is done, we shall see whether we cannot find the means of refreshing thy memory.’ Having uttered these words, Ewan hurried us all down to the covert of a small patch of stunted pines, that grew on the flat ground below. There we lay in ambush till Sir Patrick Stewart, and his two attendants, came within bowshot, and there, as is already known to most here, the six assassins were speedily punished for their wicked attempt, and I became Sir Patrick Stewart’s prisoner.”“Now,” said the Lord of Curgarf, addressing himself to Murdoch,“what hast thou to say in answer to all this?—What hast thou to answer for thyself?”“I say that the young caitiff is a foul liar!” cried Murdoch violently.“He is a foul liar, who hath been taught a false tale, to bear me down.”“He may be a liar,” said the Lord of Curgarf; “but his story hangs marvellously well together.”“Who would dare to condemn me on hisunsupported testimony?” demanded Murdoch, boldly.“Here is one who is ready to support his tale,” said Michael Forbes, pressing forward, and pushing before him a strange looking little man, with a long red beard, and a head of hair so untamed, that it hung over his sharp sallow features in such a manner, as, for some moments, to render it difficult for Sir Patrick Stewart to recognise in him, the man whom he had saved from his perilous position in the salmon creel, at the Lynn of Aven.“Ha!—Grigor Beg!” cried Murdoch Stewart, betrayed by his surprise, at beholding him; “What a fiend hath brought thee hither?—But thou—thou can’st say nothing against me.”“I fear I can say nothing for thee, Murdoch Stewart,” said the little man, darting a pair of piercing eyes towards him, from amidst the tangled thickets of his hair. “Nor is it needful for me now to say all I might against thee. But here, as I understand, thou hast basely and falsely accused thy brother Sir Patrick Stewart of murdering his elder brother Sir Walter. Now,I saw Ewan Cameron shoot down Sir Walter Stewart with an arrow; and it was done at thy bidding too, for I was by, on the hill-side, when thou didst give to Ewan Cameron his secret order to slay thy brother, and when thou didst teach him to do the deed, as if it were an idle act, done against a stranger.”“Lies!—lies!—a very net-work of lies, in which to ensnare me!” cried Murdoch. “But who can condemn me for another’s death, who, for aught that we know truly, may yet appear alive and well?”“Thou hadst no such scruple in condemning thine innocent brother, Sir Patrick,” said the Lord of Curgarf; “yet shall no guilt be fixed upon thee, till thy brother’s death be established beyond question. Meanwhile thou must be a bounden prisoner, till the truth be clearly brought to light.”“Men of Clan-Allan! will ye allow him who must be your chieftain to be laid hands on in the house of a stranger?” cried Murdoch Stewart aloud. “You are armed; use your weapons then, and leave not a man alive!”A thrill of horror ran through every bosom. There were brave men enough of the Clan-Forbes there, to have made head against three times the number of Clan-Allans that now stood, armed to the teeth, and in a firm body, at the lower end of the hall; but there was not a man of the Forbeses, who, if not altogether unarmed, had any weapon at all to defend himself with but his dirk. Those who had such instruments were drawing them, whilst others were rushing to the walls, to arm themselves with whatsoever weapons they could most easily reach, and pluck down thence. The noise and bustle of the moment was great, when, all at once, there fell a hush over the turbulence of the scene.“Stir not a man of Clan-Allan!” cried Sir Patrick to the Stewarts, who stood in their array, like a heavy and portentous thundercloud. “Stir not, men of Clan-Allan!—Stir not a finger, I command you!”“Sir Patrick Stewart is our young chieftain!” broke like a roll of Heaven’s artillery from the Clan-Allans. “Sir Patrick Stewart is ouryoung chieftain! Murdoch is a foul traitor and murderer! Bind him, bind him! Let him be the prisoner, and let us have him forthwith justified!”“Nay, nay,” cried Sir Patrick; “bind him if you will, but lay not your hands upon his life. This day, my Catherine,” said he, turning to the lady, and addressing her tenderly and sorrowfully; “This day, that was to have been to me so full of joy, must now, alas! be the first of that doleful time, which, in the bereavement of my heart, I must devote to mourning for my beloved brother Walter. My first duty is to go and seek for his remains; and in following out this most sad and anxious search, I must crave thy presence, my Lord of Curgarf, and thine, too, Arthur, with that of such of our friends as may be disposed to go forth with us, to aid us in so painful a quest.”The wishes of Sir Patrick Stewart were readily agreed to. The nuptials were for the present postponed; and instead of the marriage-feast, some hasty refreshment was taken, preparatory to their immediate departure on their melancholy search. The treacherous MurdochStewart was now given in charge, as a manacled prisoner, to those very Clan-Allans, at the head of whom he had come, so triumphantly, to fix a false accusation on his brother Sir Patrick. With them too went the youth, and the little man, Grigor Beg, who had given their evidence against Murdoch. The old Lord of Curgarf’s quiet palfrey was led forth; and he set forward, attended by Arthur the Master of Forbes, Sir Patrick Stewart, and a considerable following of those who were led to accompany him by duty, or from curiosity.They first visited the scene of the attemptedassassinationof Sir Patrick Stewart. The spot where the six Catteranes were slain, was easily discovered, by the flock of birds of prey that sat perched upon the tops of the dwarf pines, or that wheeled over them in whistling circles; whilst every now and then, some individual, bolder than the rest, would swoop down on the heath, to partake of the banquet which had been spread upon it for them. That some considerable share of courage was required to enable these creatures to do this, was proved tothe party, who, on their nearer approach, scared away a brace of hungry, gaunt-looking wolves, who had been employed in ravenously tearing at the bodies, and dragging them hither and thither with bloody jaws; as well as an eagle, who had dared to sit a little way apart, to feed upon one of the carcases, in defiance of his ferocious four-footed fellow-guests. The spectacle was shocking to all who beheld it. But one object of their search was gained; for, on examination, Patrick recognised his brother Walter’s sandals, which were removed from the feet of the corpse of Ewan Cameron, and taken care of—thus so far corroborating the testimony of the youth. Having completed their investigations in this place, they piled heaps of stones over the bodies on the spot where they lay, and the party then pursued their way, over the mountain, towards the alleged scene of Sir Walter Stewart’s murder.Providence seemed to guide their steps;—for, as they passed over the brow of the wooded hill that dropped down towards the Aven, they scared away two ravens from a hollow place in the heath; and, on approaching the spot, theydiscovered the well-picked bones of a deer. His head showed him to have been an unusually fine great hart of sixteen. An arrow was sticking so deeply fixed through the shoulder-blade, as to satisfy all present, that its point must have produced death, very soon after the animal had received it.“As I hope for mercy, there is the very arrow that was lacking of Sir Patrick’s three!” cried Dugald Roy, triumphantly. “See—there is the very eagle’s feather which I put on it, with mine own hand! And, look—there is the cross, which I always cut on the shaft, to give them good luck. No shaft of mine, so armed, ever misses, when righteously discharged. But for foul or treacherous murther, I’ll warrant me, that the most practised eye could never bring it to a true aim. But” added he, as he very adroitly dislocated out the shoulder-bone, as Highlanders are wont, and then possessed himself of the shoulder-blade, arrow and all—“I’ll e’en take this arrow with me, with the bone just as it is, as a dumb but true witness in a righteous cause.”Led by the directions which they receivedfrom Grigor Beg, they now descended through the forest, till they came to that very well-eye you see yonder—for that was the very individual place, that both the old man and the youth had described as the scene of Sir Walter’s murder. They had used the precaution to bring with them implements for digging; and, by means of these, a few sturdy fellows were soon enabled to make an opening into the lower end of the quaking bog, so as very quickly to discharge the pent-up water within it. The green surface then gradually subsided, and the legs of a human being, with hose on, but without sandals, began to appear, sticking out, with the feet upwards; and, by digging a little around it, they soon succeeded in bringing the body of Sir Walter Stewart fully to light. It was in all respects unchanged. The fatal arrow was deeply buried in his left breast; his bow was firmly grasped in his hand; and his three eagle-winged shafts were in his belt. The small unplumed bonnet which he usually wore, when dressed for following the deer, was fast squeezed down on his head, by the pressure which hadbeen exerted to sink him. How differently were the two brothers, Patrick and Murdoch Stewart, affected by the harrowing spectacle which was now brought before their eyes! Murdoch shed no tear—yet his features were strongly agitated. He looked at the corpse with averted eyes, and shuddered as he looked; whilst his face became black, and again deadly pale, twenty times alternately. Sir Patrick Stewart, on the other hand, threw himself, in an agony of tears, on the cold and dripping body of his murdered brother, as it lay exposed on the bank; and, unable to give utterance to his grief, he clasped it to his bosom, and lavished fond, though unavailing caresses on it. In vain he essayed, with as much tenderness as if his brother could have still felt the pain he might thereby have given him, to pluck forth the arrow, deeply buried in the fatal wound. All present were overcome by this sad scene;—but poor Dugald Roy hung over them, and sobbed aloud, till the violence of his grief recalled Sir Patrick Stewart to himself again.“Aye!” said Dugald Roy; “that is amurderous shaft indeed! A good cloth-yard in length, I’ll warrant me; and feathered, too, from the wing of some ill-omened grey goose, that was hatched in some western sea-loch. This is no arrow of the make of Aven-side, else am I no judge of the tool. No cross upon this, I’ll be sworn. No, no.—By St. Peter, but it hath murther in the very look of it! Aye, and there are the true arrows of the cross in his belt!—These are of my winging, every one of them. Little did I think, when I stuck them into my poor master’s girdle, that this was to be the way in which I was to find them! Would that he had but gotten fair play! Would that he had but got his eye on the villains ere they slew him! If he had but gotten one glimpse of them, by the Rood, but every cross of these shafts would have been eager to have dyed itself red in the blood of their cowardly hearts!”The body of Sir Walter Stewart was now wrapped up in a plaid, and fastened lengthwise upon two parallel boughs, and it was borne towards Drummin. Their movements were so slow, and so often interrupted, that it was darknight long ere they came to the place of their destination. Sir Patrick Stewart felt the necessity of preparing his father, Sir Allan, for the coming scene, as well as for the reception of the Lord of Curgarf, and his son, the Master of Forbes. He therefore resolved to hurry on before the party, that he might have a private meeting with the old Knight, before their arrival. But being fully aware that Sir Allan’s mind had been already filled with those iniquitous falsehoods, which his wicked brother, Murdoch Stewart, had engendered against him, he thought it prudent to take with him Dugald Roy, and two other men of the Clan-Allans, that they might be prepared, if necessary, to support his justification of himself.As Sir Patrick Stewart, and his small escort, approached the outer gate of the Castle of Drummin, they perceived that it was shut. Dugald had no sooner observed this circumstance, than he made a signal to the Knight to remain silent, and then he advanced quietly to the little wicket in the middle of the gate, and knocked gently.“Who is there?” demanded the Warder, from within.“Open the wicket, man, without a moment’s tarrying,” replied Dugald.“Is that thee, Dugald Roy?” demanded the Warder.“Who else could it be?” replied Dugald.“It may be that any other might have done as well,” replied the Warder gruffly. “Thou wentst not forth with Murdoch Stewart;—Art thou of his company at the present time?”“What matter though I went not forth with him, if I come home in his company?” replied Dugald readily.“Is he with thee, then?” demanded the Warder.“To be sure he is,” cried Dugald impatiently. “Come, man! he is close at hand, I tell thee. Come! art thou to keep us standing here all night? By all that’s good, he is coming upon us;—and, if he be detained but the veriest fraction of a prod-flight, thou shalt surely have a cudgelling for thy supper. Come man!—open I tell thee.”The huge iron bolts were now withdrawn from their fastenings, the key grated among the rough wards of the lock, and the wicket was thrown back, whilst the Warder, peering through the opening, seemed as if he were inclined to know something more of those without, before he removed his own bulky person, that still blocked the passage. But Dugald, stooping his head, sprang through the low aperture, and throwing his skull right into the poor fellow’s stomach, with the force of a battering-ram, he laid him sprawling on his back.“Hech!” cried the Warder, as he fell. “Hech me!”“Old fool that thou art!” cried Dugald, taking up the first word of quarrel with him; “who was to think that thou wert to be standing in the very midst of the way?—Yet I hope I have not hurt thee, for all that. Thou knowest, Rory, that I had rather hurt myself than thee.”“Nay, nay,” said the old man, with a surly sort of acquiescence, as he was slowly raising himself from the ground by means of Dugald’s assistance; during which operation PatrickStewart, wrapped up in his plaid, and followed by the other two men, had made good his entrance into the court-yard. “Nay, nay, I am not hurt. I’m no such eggshells, i’faith. Yet what a fiend made thee so impatient? I behooved to be careful who I let in, seeing that I was strictly charged to open to none but Murdoch Stewart himself there,” pointing to Sir Patrick, who was standing a few paces aloof. “More by token, I required to be all the warier, seeing that there was none living within the walls, besides myself, save the old Knight Sir Allan, and the Lady Stradawn.”“How comes that?” demanded Dugald; “Though so many went to Curgarf, there were still some left behind, surely.”“True enough, true enough,” replied the Warder. “But I know not what hath possessed the lady. They have all been sent hither and thither, on some errand or another;—even the very women folk have all gone forth.”Sir Patrick Stewart stood to hear no more, but making a signal to Dugald and the others to follow him, he crossed the court-yard towardsthe door of the keep tower, where they stood aside, whilst he knocked gently, yet loud enough to be heard in the hall above. Soon afterwards, a timid and unsteady footstep was heard descending the stair.“Open, good mother,” said Sir Patrick.“Oh, how thankful I am that thou art come!” said the Lady Stradawn, mistaking him for her son Murdoch, their voices being a good deal like to each other, and opening the door, pale and trembling, with a lamp in her hand, which the gust immediately extinguished. “A plague on the wind, my lamp is out! But oh, I am thankful that thou art come! ’Tis fearful to be left alone in the house with a dead man, and one, too——Oh ’twas fearful!”“Dead!” cried Sir Patrick, with an accent of horror, which might have betrayed him, but for the agitation which then possessed her whom he addressed. “A dead man, saidst thou?”“Aye!” replied the lady, in a hollow tone, “aye! I saw that thou hadst yearnings. Yet, after all, it was but giving him ease, by ridding him of a lingering life of pain. It waskindness, in truth, to help him away from such misery. Yet, ’tis no marvel that thou, who art his very blood, should have some compunction. But thou mayest be at rest now, for he is gone beyond thy help, or that of any one else.”“Gone!” exclaimed Sir Patrick again—“Gone! how did he die?”“Horribly! most horribly!” replied the lady, shuddering. “It was fearful to behold him in his agonies! Knowing, as I did, the potency of the poison, I could hardly have believed that the old man would have taken so long to die.”“Horrible!” exclaimed Sir Patrick, involuntarily.“Aye, it was horrible!” replied the lady; “horrible indeed, as thou wouldst have said if thou hadst seen it. For a moment, the poison seemed to have given him new strength, and he rose from his chair as if he would have done vengeance on me. ’Twas fearful to behold him!”“Art sure he is quite dead?” said Sir Patrick again.“Aye,” replied the lady, “as dead as his son Walter; so dead, as to make thee surely the Laird of Stradawn, the moment that thou shalt have made as sicker of Patrick, as we may now soon hope thou wilt be able to do. I did but help him, as I was saying, out of the pains and wretchedness of old age and dotage. Yet it was an awful work for me. And oh, his last look was fearful! I wish I may ever be able to get rid of it! Would that thou couldst have steeled thyself up to have done it thyself Murdoch! But come in—come in quickly! Hast thou secured the prisoner?”“I have,” replied Sir Patrick, now exerting a certain degree of command over his feelings; “he will be here anon.”“That is well,” replied the Lady Stradawn; “then all is thine own. His trial must be short, and his execution speedy. But come, we have much to do to make things seemly ere they arrive. He must appear to have died of a broken heart, caused by the wickedness of his son. Every thing suspicious must be removed from about him. I could not dare to touchhim. Why stand ye so long hesitating? But ’tis no wonder, for I could not look upon him myself without fancying that the devil was grinning over my shoulder. ’Tis horrible to think on’t! But come,” continued she, as she at last seemed to summon up resolution to climb the stair; “lock the door, Murdoch, and follow me up quickly, for we have no time to lose.”Sir Patrick Stewart made a signal to Dugald and the others, and then ascended to the hall after the Lady Stradawn. A deathlike silence prevailed within it. A single lamp was glimmering feebly on a sconce at the upper end of it: and there stood the lady, pale and trembling, at that side of the chimney which was farthest from Sir Allan’s chair. Sir Patrick, in his agitation, moved hurriedly forward; and the moment the light of the lamp fell upon his features, the lady uttered a loud scream, and swooned away upon the floor.The spectacle that now met his eyes harrowed up his very soul. His father lay dead in his chair, with his features and his limbs fixed in the last frightful convulsion, by which the rackingpoison had terminated his existence. His mouth was twisted, his tongue thrust out, and his eyeballs so fearfully staring, that even his tenderly affectionate son felt it a dreadful effort to look upon that, which used to be to him an object of the deepest veneration and love. Beside his chair was the small table, on which he was usually served with his food. There stood a silver porringer containing the minced meat, which his extreme age required; and notwithstanding all that the Lady Stradawn had said to the contrary, the operation of the poison seemed to have been so quick, as to have mortally affected him, ere he had taken the fourth part of the mess that had been provided for him. Sir Patrick was overpowered by his feelings. He sank into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, he gave way to his grief, in which he remained so entirely absorbed, that neither the entrance of Dugald, nor the thundering which some time afterwards took place at the outer gate, nor the noise of the many voices of those who came pouring in, were sufficient to arouse him.Dugald Roy had the presence of mind to hurry down to the court-yard, to prepare the Lord of Curgarf, and those who came with him, for the dreadful spectacle they were to witness. Thunderstruck and shocked by his intelligence, they crowded up to the hall, where the general horror was for some time so great, as to render every one incapable of acting; but at length they gathered sufficient recollection to bestir themselves. The poisoned porringer was first carefully preserved; the Lady Stradawn was carried off in strong fits to her apartment; the body of Sir Walter Stewart was borne up into the hall; and there, after undergoing the necessary preparations used on such occasions, the father and son were laid out in state together, and the couches on which the bodies rested were surrounded by so great a multitude of wax tapers, as to exchange the melancholy gloom of the place into a blaze of light, which, reflected as it was from the various pieces of armour that glittered in vain pomp upon the walls, shone but to produce a greater intensity of sadness. The good priest of Dounan was sent for; and the appallingnews having spread quickly around, the retainers began to swarm into the Castle, from all quarters, in sorrowing groups, full of lamentation. Meanwhile the Lord of Curgarf and his son, the Master of Forbes, occupied themselves in soothing the afflicted Sir Patrick Stewart, and in aiding and encouraging him to go through with those trying and painful duties which this most afflicting occasion demanded of him.Food and wine had been carried to the Lady Stradawn, where she sat alone in her bower, so deeply sunk in remorse, and dejection, and dread, as to be quite unconscious of the entrance or departure of those who brought her these comforts. Those who were compelled to be the bearers of them, gazed on her with fear, and hastened from her with expedition, and no one else could be persuaded to go near her, even her woman refused to remain with her, as something accursed, so that she was left abandoned by all, as a prey to her evil thoughts. Had any one ventured to look in upon her, as she sat motionless in her great chair, with a lamp flickering on a table beside her, and throwing an uncertain light byfits and snatches on her face, now pale and fixed as marble,—and on her glazed and tearless eyes, and her dry and withered lips, he might have fancied that she was already a corpse; yet deep, deep was the mental agony that she felt.The midnight watch had been set, and all had been for some time silent within the walls of Drummin, save the distant hum of the subdued voices of those who, according to custom, sat waking the corpses in the hall, when the door of the Lady Stradawn’s bower opened, and her son Murdoch appeared. If the spirit of her murdered husband had arisen before her eyes, she could not have started with more astonishment, or recoiled with greater apparent horror.“Murdoch!” cried she, in a loud and agitated voice, “Is it thee, Murdoch?”—And then, sinking back into the same fixed and motionless attitude, whence she had been thus momentarily aroused, she added, in a faint, low, and feeble tone, “Murdoch!—would that thou hadst never been born!”“Mother,” said Murdoch, calmly shutting the door behind him, and taking a seat besideher chair, “I have heard all from Nicol, the playfellow of my boyhood, who chanced to be set to guard me, in the apartment below. I wished to see thee ere we die; and I purchased from the sordid wretch this midnight hour—this last hour of privacy with thee.”“Ha!” cried the Lady Stradawn, with a strange and sudden transition from the apathy and torpor of despair, to the most energetic anxiety of hope; “If Nicol did that for thee, why may we not bribe him to open a way for us through those who guard the gate?—Quick!—quick!—quick!—Oh, let us quickly escape!—Oh, let us not tarry one moment longer! There are my keys; we have treasure in that cabinet, which may well bribe him, and yet leave us rich!”“Be composed, my most worthy mother,” said Murdoch Stewart; “There is not the shadow of a chance for us in that way. The door of the keep is doubly barred, and doubly guarded, and no one leaves it unexamined beneath the light of a blazing torch. The whole men-at-arms and clansmen within the walls, infuriatedagainst us, are of their own free will engaged in vigilant watching. The portcullis is down, the gate barricaded, the barbican manned, and the walls surrounded by patroles. Mother, cast aside all such hopes as useless, for as the guilt of both of us must soon appear as clear as to-morrow’s noonday, so that sun, which shall certainly arise to-morrow morning, shall as surely look upon our graves ere he sets.”The Lady Stradawn sank again into the chair, from which the sudden impulse of hope had so energetically raised her, and, groaning deeply, she relapsed into her former state of deathlike stillness, broken only by the long drawn sob that at certain intervals convulsed her whole frame.“Mother!” said Murdoch Stewart, after a pause; “Where are all the fruits of that career of crime for which thou nursed me as an infant, tutored me as a boy, and prompted me as a man? Have I not followed thy bidding through deceit, robbery, and murder, and where is now my reward?—Thine is locked up there in that secret cabinet of glittering toys, which to-morrowthou must leave, to go out to be hanged by the neck on the gallows-tree, with the son, whom thou wouldst have had Lord of the Aven, grinning at thee like a caitiff cur from the farther end of its beam—”“Oh!—Oh—ho!” cried the agonized woman, shaken through every limb by the palsy of her fears; “Is there no—no deliverance for us?”“Yes,” said Murdoch Stewart, calmly; “yes, there is a deliverance, and a speedy one too.”“Oh, name it!” cried the frantic woman; “Oh, name it! and quickly let us avail ourselves of it!”“Here it is,” said Murdoch Stewart, quietly taking a small paper packet from his bosom; “Here it is, mother. A few small pinches of this powder, mingled in a cup of that wine, will snatch us both from the torture of being made a disgraceful public spectacle to-morrow—of being gazed at by the vulgar eyes, and pointed at by the vile fingers of those wretched serfs, and their grovelling mates and spawn, whom, a little better luck and better fortune for us, had by thattime made the abject slaves of our will. See! here it is mingled, already it is dissolved, and now the draught is potent. Good mother, I pledge thee,” said he, drinking down half of what the goblet contained; “and now here is thy share.”“No,—no,—no!—I cannot!—no, I cannot!” cried the Lady Stradawn, with frantic horror in her averted eyes.“Then do I tell thee, mother mine,” said Murdoch Stewart sternly; “thou hast not trained me up to deal in deeds of blood and death for naught. I shall never suffer thy womanish fears to bring the disgrace of the gallows upon thee. I love thee too much for that. See here, good mother! ’tis but a choice of deaths. Here is a concealed dagger, look you. Say! wouldst thou bring one more murder—the murder of a mother on my already overburdened soul, to sink it deeper in that sea of torment, to which these priests would fain have us believe that those, who, like us, have used the wit and the strength with which they have been gifted, for bettering their own condition in this world, must hastenfrom hence. Drink! or by every fiend that suffers there, thou diest in the instant!”The Lady Stradawn glared at her son with a vacant stare, as if all reason had fled from her. She took the cup mechanically from his hand, and drained it to the bottom.“What hast thou done?” cried the man-at-arms, who had been brought to the door by the violent tone of some of Murdoch Stewart’s last words, and who rushed in just as the Lady Stradawn had swallowed the poison.“Do what thou wilt now, Nicol,” said Murdoch Stewart, with perfect composure; “We are both beyond thy power, or that of any one else within the castle of Drummin.”Nicol at once guessed at what had happened, and ran instantly for the Priest. The good Father of Dounan was deeply skilled in medicine, as well as in divinity. He called for assistance, and antidotes were forcibly given to Murdoch Stewart, and passively received by his mother the Lady Stradawn. Their wretched existence was thus prolonged, though death could not be altogether averted. They lingeredon, in great pain, for many days, during which all judicial proceedings were suspended. The pious priest lost not one moment of this precious time. By exerting all his religious learning, and all his eloquence, he at length succeeded in bringing both of them to a full sense of the enormity of their guilt, as well as to an ample confession of all their crimes. It is not for us to interpret the decrees of the Almighty in such a case as theirs; but if the apparent deep contrition that followed was real, and heartfelt, we may trust that the mercy, as well as the benefit of the merits of that blessed Saviour, who died for us all upon the cross, even for the thief that was crucified with him, was extended to them, dreadful as their crimes had been.My legend now draws to a hasty conclusion. The days of mourning were fully numbered by Sir Patrick Stewart, for his murdered father and brother. The kindness of the old Lord of Curgarf, and his son Arthur Master of Forbes, towards him, was unwearied and most consolatory. Nor were the delicate affections of the Lady Catherine Forbes less tenderly or unremittinglydisplayed, so that, in due time, by becoming her husband, he bound himself to both his friends by the closest and dearest ties. In pious remembrance of his brother Sir Walter’s murder, he erected the pillar of stone I spoke of, as that which stood so long by the side of the well-eye where he was slain; but he refrained from inscribing any thing upon it, lest his doing so might have revived the recollection of Murdoch Stewart’s atrocity. He likewise ordered a stone to be set up, where the proud Priest of Dalestie was burned, rather as a sort of expiation of the stern act of justice, which his brother Sir Walter had inflicted upon him, than to perpetuate the detested memory of the depraved wretch who suffered there.
“Nay, we shall soon convince thee to the contrary, father,” said Murdoch, motioning to the attendants to lay the deer down upon the hearth. “I will forthwith break him under thine own eye, and thou shalt see, and judge for thyself.”Murdoch then drawing forth his knife, began to open up the animal according to the strictest rules laid down for breaking a deer, as this operation was called, and on proceeding to slit up the slough, to the great wonder of every one, it was discovered that the old man was right. The heart was indeed so very small that it might very well have been said to have been naught. Murdoch was dismayed for a moment at an omen so very inauspicious, which, in his own mind, he felt was more than enough to overthrow all the fair prognostics which his mother had so evidently drawn from his success. The Lady herself was equally disconcerted.“Naught, naught!” whimpered Sir Allan.“’Tis an ill omen for thee, boy. Thou shalt ne’er fly with an eagle’s wing—nay, nay! Aye, aye! Thou art ever doomed to gobble i’ the muddy stagnant waters like a midden-gander.—Uch, aye! och, hey!”“The fiend take the old carl for his saying!” whispered Murdoch angrily aside to his mother.“Amen!” replied the Lady Stradawn bitterly, in the same under tone. “But fear ye not, boy, thou shalt wear his eagle wing, aye, and sit in his chair to boot, ere long.”This dialogue apart was unobserved by any one, and both son and mother speedily recovered their self-possession. The lady very cunningly set herself, straightway, to turn the weak and dribbling stream of Sir Allan’s thoughts from the subject which then occupied them, to some other, which was to her less disagreeable at the moment, and she easily succeeded.Patrick Stewart’s attention was attracted from all this superstitious trifling, as well as from what followed it, by again observing the garnet brooch, which appeared in the bosom of the Lady Stradawn. His thoughts were entirely occupied withit, and his eyes were from time to time rivetted on it. At length it seemed as if Murdoch had somehow remarked his fixed gaze, for a private sign appeared to pass from him to his mother, after which she pleaded a sudden faintness, and left the hall, to return no more that night, and her son soon afterwards followed her. Patrick Stewart’s mind remained filled with strange speculations regarding the jewel, until the night wore late, and he began to think anxiously about his brother Sir Walter. Having done the last offices of attention to his father for the evening, he secretly desired Dugald Roy to follow him.“Dugald,” said he, “I am, most unaccountably, unhappy about thy master. Surely, if all had been well with him he should have been here ere this? I cannot rid my mind of the idea that there is something amiss with him. He rested not, as thou knowest, when I was missing, and it would ill become me to sleep when he is absent. Let us go seek for him, then, without delay.”Dugald Roy readily assented; and both of them having dighted themselves well up for turmoil,as well as for toil, they secretly left the tower of Drummin. All that night they travelled, and by daylight they had got into the range of mountains, and of forests, where they had reason to hope for tidings of Sir Walter. They searched through every part of the wooded side of that hill where he had last disappeared, and they visited every human dwelling within a great range around it, but all without obtaining the slightest intelligence regarding him. Disappointed, and disheartened, they had returned nearly as far as where the village of Tomantoul now stands, on their way home in the evening, when they met with Dugald Roy’s brother Neil.“What brought thee here, man?” demanded Dugald; “and what a fiend gives thee that anxious face?”“Holy Saint Michael, but it is well that I have foregathered with you both!” replied Neil. “You must take some other road than that which leads to Drummin, Sir Patrick. Believe me, it is no place for you at this present time.”“What, in the name of all the saints, hathhappened to make it otherwise?” demanded Patrick Stewart.“Cannot ye speak out at once, ye Amadan ye, and not hammer like a fool that gate?” cried Dugald impatiently.“Patience! patience!” said Neil; “patience! and ye shall know all presently. In the first place, then, Master Murdoch says that Sir Walter is murdered.”“Murdered!” cried Patrick, in an agony of anxiety; “My brother Walter murdered!—Where?—when?—how?—by whom?—Oh, speak, that I may hasten to avenge him! But, no!—’tis impossible!—speak!—I have mistaken thee—surely it cannot be!”“Master Murdoch says that it is true,” replied Neil. “But the worst of all is, that he hath accused thee, Sir Patrick, of having done the deed, with an arrow, somewhere in the wood on the hill of Dalestie.”“Merciful Saints!” exclaimed Patrick; “can he indeed be such a villain? But who will believe so foul and unnatural a calumny? Oh, Walter, my brother, my brother! Heaven aboveknows that thy life was ten thousand times dearer to me than mine own!”“Nay,” replied Neil, “he hath called all the clansmen who were there to witness and to support the strong suspicions which he hath industriously raised against thee.”“What argument hath he against me?” cried Patrick Stewart impatiently.“He says that the men who were present can testify that you and your brother, Sir Walter, went into the wood together,” replied Neil; “and that Sir Walter hath not been seen since; and then, he contends, that the sudden flight which you made from Drummin, under the cloud of night, is enough to show that you have taken guilt home to your conscience.”“And is this all?” demanded Patrick Stewart.“Nay,” replied Neil, “there was more stuff of the same kind, by the use of which he hath contrived so to persuade them with his wily tongue, that they are all clamorous against thee. Nay, he hath even warped the feeble judgment of Sir Allan himself to the same belief.”“Serpent that he is!” cried Patrick Stewart.“But let me hasten home to confront this vile traducer. My brother!—my brother Walter!” continued he, bursting into tears. “My brother Walter gone!—and I accused of his murder!—Oh, my brother!—my dear brother! Heaven above knows how willingly I would have laid down my life to have saved thine! Nay, how willingly would I now lay it down at this moment, were it only to secure to me the certainty that thou art yet alive! The very thought that it may be otherwise is agony and desolation to me. But let us hasten to confront thisvillainy. Let us hasten to revenge! For the love of Heaven, let us hasten home, Dugald!”“Nay, my good master,” said Dugald weeping, “for if this sad tale be true as to Sir Walter’s death, other master than thee, I fear me, that I now have none. Neil says well that Drummin is no place for thee to-night, with so sudden and tumultuous a clamour excited against thee. Thine innocence will avail thee nothing. Even the innocence of an angel would naught avail against the diseased judgments of men, with minds so poisoned and so possessed. Bepersuaded to go elsewhere, until the false and weak foundations of this most traitorous accusation fail beneath it, and the mists drop from men’s eyes. Who can say for certain that my beloved master, Sir Walter, is dead? I cannot believe in so great a calamity. What proof is there that he is dead? There is no news that his body hath been found.”“Nay,”replied Neil, “he is only amissing as I said.”“Thou dost well advise me, Dugald,” said Patrick Stewart after a moment’s thought. “There is, as thou say’st, no proof that my brother, Sir Walter, is dead. It is most reasonable to believe that this may, after all, be nothing but a foolish or malicious surmise. My best hope, nay, my belief is, that it is founded on naught else; and may Heaven in its mercy grant that it may prove so. I will take thine advice. I will not go to Drummin at present, but I shall straightway bend my steps towards the Castle of Curgarf.”“Then shall I and Neil attend thee thither, Sir Knight,” said Dugald; “for next to SirWalter Stewart do I assuredly owe thee fealty and service.”Sir Patrick and his two attendants now turned off in the direction of Curgarf, and the day was so far spent that the sun was setting, as they were passing over the ridge of the country lying between the Aven and the Don. The trees of the forest there grew thinly scattered in little stunted patches. Sir Patrick was walking a few paces in front of the two brothers, musing as he went, when he was suddenly surprised by a shower of arrows falling thickly on and around him. One stuck in his bonnet, another buried itself harmlessly in the folds of his plaid, a third pierced his sandal and slightly wounded his foot; and, whilst a fourth struck fire out of a large stone close to him, two more fell short of him among the heather near him. In an instant his bow and those of his attendants were bent, and their eyes being turned towards the place whence the shafts had flown, they descried some men lurking beneath one of the straggling patches of dwarf pine trees. To have stood aloof with the hope of shooting at them successfully would havebeen fatal, for the archery of Sir Patrick and his attendants could have done nothing against men so ambushed, whilst the Knight and his people would have been a sure mark for their traitorous foes.“On them, my brave Dugald!” cried Sir Patrick Stewart, drawing his sword, and rushing towards the enemy.Dugald Roy, and his brother, Neil, were at his back in a moment. Before they could reach the point against which their assault was directed, several arrows were discharged at them. But so resolute, and so spirited an attack had been so little looked for by those who shot them, that they were too much appalled to take any very steady aim, so that all of them fell innocuous. Seeing Sir Patrick and his two attendants so rapidly nearing their place of concealment, the villains thought it better to turn out, that they might receive their onset on ground where they could all act at once. Six men accordingly appeared claymore in hand, and as Sir Patrick continued to hurry forward, he now took the opportunity of speaking hastily toDugald and Neil, who were advancing to right and left of him.“Draw an arrow each,” said he, “and when I give you the word, stop suddenly, and each of you pick off the man opposite to you, and leave me to take my choice of the rest.—Now!”The unlooked for halt was made just as the assassins were preparing to receive the on-comers on the points of their swords. The aim was sure and fatal. Three men fell—and on rushed Sir Patrick and his two people with a loud shout. The three, who yet stood against them, were panic-struck, and, ere they could well offer defence, they were also extended writhing among the heather, in the agonies of death; and the whole matter was over in less time than it has taken for me to tell of it. But, uncertain whether the partial covert of the pine-patch might not still shelter some more enemies, they rushed in among the trees, brandishing their reeking blades. Up started a youth from among some low brushwood, and ran off like a hare. Neil was after him in a moment, and up to him ere he had fled twenty paces. Already he had him by the hair of thehead, and his claymore was raised to smite him, when Patrick Stewart called to his follower to stay his hand. Neil obeyed, and granted the youth his life; but when he brought him in as a prisoner, what was the Stewart’s surprise when he discovered that he was the same individual whose life he had spared in the Catterane’s den.“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Patrick; “said I not well that I questioned the wisdom of sparing thy life when we last met, thou vermin? What hast thou to urge, that I should show mercy to thee now, Sir Caitiff?”“Oh, mercy, mercy, Sir Knight!” exclaimed the youth, piteously. “Trust me, I came not hither willingly. I had no hand in this treacherous ambush against thy life.”“Appearances are woefully against thee,” said Patrick Stewart; “yet would I not willingly do thee hurt, if thou be’st innocent. But this is no convenient time nor place to tarry for thy trial. So bring him along with thee, Dugald. We shall take our own leisure to examine him afterwards; meanwhile, take especial care that he escape not.”Sir Patrick Stewart’s reception at Curgarfmay be easily guessed at. He told of the providential escape he had made from assassination by the way; but he thought it better, as yet, to say nothing of the mysterious disappearance of his brother, Sir Walter, or of the traitorous accusations against himself, to which it had given rise. His resolve to be silent as to this matter was formed, because he had by this time reasoned himself into the firm persuasion that his brother’s reappearance would speedily make his own innocence as clear as noonday.He was next morning happily seated in the hall, now talking with the old Lord of Curgarf on one subject, and again taking his opportunity of whispering to the Lady Catherine on another, when he suddenly recollected the brooch he had given her. It was not in her bosom.“Where are the two twined hearts?” said he to her, smiling. “Fear not, dearest—I am not jealous.”“Thou hast no cause for jealousy, dear Patrick,” replied the lady; “and yet, I grieve to say, that I have not the jewel. When the Catteranes hurried me off from here, and just as they stopped for a little time to make up alitter, that they might the more easily carry me, one who appeared to have a certain command over them, but whose face or person I could not see in the obscurity which then prevailed, snatched it from my bosom, whilst affecting to fasten my arryssade more firmly around me. Nay, look not so serious, dearest Patrick! surely thou dost not doubt me in this matter?”“Doubt thee, my Catherine!” said Sir Patrick, kissing her hand with fervour; “sooner would I doubt mine own existence;—thou art pure virgin truth itself! Think no more of it. Thou shalt have another and a richer one anon. But say, dearest! why should we longer delay to set our own very two hearts in that indissoluble golden knot, with which the sacrament of our holy church may bind them together, so as to form a jewel, of which neither robber nor Catterane can rifle us, and which cannot be rent asunder save by the iron hand of death. I have thy father’s permission to move thee to shorten that cruel interval which thou hast placed between me and happiness.”In such a strain as this, did he continue tourge his suit, until it was at last successful; and, to his great joy, it was ultimately arranged, with the consent of all parties, that the marriage should take place on the second day from the time I am now speaking of. The bustle of preparation began in the Castle the moment the circumstance was announced; and it immediately spread far and wide everywhere around it, and went on incessantly day and night. Joy was everywhere as universal among the clansmen as their devotion to the Lady Catherine, the bride, and their admiration of the merits of the bridegroom, could make it. The day at length arrived. The Castle was crowded with all the friends and retainers of the family, who came pouring in to witness a ceremonial so interesting to them all. The Priest had arrived; the Castle chapel had been set in order; the bridal-chamber had been dight up; and the feast prepared; and every soul was astir to contribute, so far as in them lay, to the general felicity, as well as to share in it. The old Lord of Curgarf seemed to have grown young again. Arthur, the Master of Forbes, was alllife and raillery. Already had the whole company been assembled within the hall. All the men-at-arms within the Castle had crowded in thither. Even the old warden at the gate had lowered his portcullis, and made every thing secure with bolt, bar, and chain, so that he might safely leave his post to the charge of their stubborn defences. The blushing bride, arrayed in the richest attire, had been led in, attended by her blooming maidens; and the movement towards the chapel was about to be made, so that the ceremony might go on, when suddenly a shrill bugle blast from without the gate made the very Castle walls resound again.“Go some of ye, and see who that may be who summons us so rudely,” said the Lord of Curgarf.“Murdoch Stewart, and a party of the Clan-Allan, are at the gate, craving admittance,” said the messenger, on his return.“Son Arthur,” said the Lord of Curgarf, “get thee down quickly, and give Murdoch Stewart of Clan-Allan, the brother of this our son-in-lawto be, instant entry. Let the gate be opened to him, aye, and to all his people, dost thou hear? It was kind in him thus to come, on the spur of the occasion,” continued the old Lord, addressing Patrick, after his son had gone with his attendants to obey his will—“It was kind in thy brother to come thus unasked on the spur of the moment. Would that Sir Allan, thy father himself, could have been here.”The court-yard and the stair now rang with the clink of armed men, and Arthur, the Master of Forbes, entered, ushering in Murdoch Stewart, proudly attired, and followed by a formidable band of the Clan-Allan, whose flaring red tartans were strongly contrasted against the more modest green of those of the Clan-Forbes. To the no small surprise of his brother Patrick, he no longer wore that appearance of youthful carelessness and indifference, under the mask of which he had hitherto disguised his true character. His bearing was now manly and lofty, suited to the command of the Clan-Allan, which he now seemed to have assumed. Hissalutation to the Lord of Curgarf was grave, dignified, and courteous; and, as way was made for him, he advanced, with the utmost self-possession, into the middle of the hall.“I rejoice that I have arrived thus, as it seems, in the nick of time,” said he, looking around him, and bowing as he did so, but without once allowing his eyes to rest on his brother, who stood fixed in silent astonishment at what he beheld.“So do we all rejoice,” replied the Lord of Curgarf. “Had we but known that our bridal might have been thus honoured by the house of Clan-Allan, on so short a warning, trust me thou shouldst not have lacked our warmest bidding, as thou hast now our warmest welcome.”“Welcome or not, my Lord,” replied Murdoch Stewart, with a respectful reverence, “thou wilt surely thank me for this most unceremonious visit, when thou shalt know the object of it. I come to save the honour of thy house from foul disgrace: would, that in so doing, I could likewise save the honour ofthat which gave me birth! But although, in saving thee and thy house from dishonour, the good name of that of Clan-Allan must assuredly be tarnished, it shall never be said of me, that I preserved it by falsehood or infamous concealment.”“Of what wouldst thou speak?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf. “I do beseech thee, keep me, and keep this good company, no longer in suspense.”“Then, my good Lord,” replied Murdoch, solemnly, “much as it pains me to utter it, and much as it must pain thee, and all present, to hear it, I must tell thee, that strong suspicions are abroad, that mine eldest brother, Sir Walter Stewart, hath been most foully murdered, and that he, on whom thou wert now on the very eve of bestowing thine only daughter, is the foul murderer, who took an elder brother’s life, to make way for the gratification of his own ambitious and avaricious desires. The circumstances are so strong against my unfortunate brother Patrick, that all agree that no one else could have been the murderer.”“All!—all!—all!—all! was echoed from the stern Clan-Allans, at the lower end of the hall.“Holy saints defend us!” exclaimed the Lord of Curgarf, sinking into a chair.“’Tis false! oh ’tis all false, father!” cried the trembling Catherine Forbes, rushing forward to assist her father.“Infamous traitor!” cried Patrick Stewart; “lying and infamous traitor! Where are the proofs on which you found so foul and false an accusation?”“Would, for the credit of our poor house, that it were false!” said Murdoch, mildly. “But it is impossible to conceal, that thou wert the last person seen in our poor brother Walter’s company. Thou wentest up the wood with him, with three arrows in thy belt. Thou camest back shortly afterwards without him. One of thine arrows was gone. Thou gavest reasons for the want of it which proved to be false; and our dear brother Walter hath never been since seen.”“He is guilty! He, and no one else, is the murderer!” cried the men of Clan-Allan hoarsely.“Woe is me!” said the distracted Lord of Curgarf, springing from his chair with nervous agitation; “the circumstances are indeed too suspicious!”“Father!—father!—father, he is innocent!” cried the frantic Lady Catherine Forbes, holding the old lord’s arm.“Sister,” cried the Master of Forbes, taking the Lady Catherine affectionately by the hand, and speaking to her with great feeling—“Dearest sister, this is indeed an afflicting trial for thee; yet, be of good courage—I have no fears of the result. Patrick Stewart cannot be guilty of the foul and cruel deed of which he has been accused. We must have the matter sifted to the bottom; the truth must be brought out; and, as his innocence must be thereby established, all the evil that can happen will be but the short delay of your nuptials, till he be fairly and fully cleansed from these wicked charges.”“I am sent by my father,” said Murdoch Stewart—“I am sent by my father, and that most unwillingly, to demand his son Patrick as a prisoner. Forgive me, my good Lord of Curgarf,for thus daring to execute his paternal order under your roof.—Men of Clan-Allan, seize and bind Patrick Stewart!”“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder—“Hold, men of Clan-Allan! Lay not a hand upon him, to whom, if my dear master Sir Walter be indeed gone, ye must all soon, in the course of nature, swear fealty as your chieftain. He is guiltless of my beloved master’s murder, though murdered, I fear, he hath most foully been. But here is one who can tell more of this cruel and wicked deed. Come hither boy, and tell us what thou may’st know of this mysterious matter.”Dugald Roy then led forward the youth whom he had brought prisoner to Curgarf, of whose very existence Sir Patrick Stewart had lost all recollection, amidst the tumult of joy in which he had been so continually kept by his approaching nuptials. The Lady Catherine Forbes started with surprise when she beheld him; but the countenance of Murdoch Stewart turned as pale as a linen sheet at the sight of him.“What hast thou to say, young man, to theclearing up of this dark and cruel mystery?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf.“My Lord, I saw Sir Walter Stewart of Clan-Allan murdered,” said the youth in a tremulous voice. “I saw him shot to the death by the arrow of Ewan Cameron, one of the band of Catteranes.”“How camest thou to have been in any such evil company?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf.“Trusting to have mercy at your hands, my Lord, I will tell my whole story as shortly as I can, if thou wilt but listen to me,” replied the youth. “I was prentice to a craftsman in the town of Banff, a man who wrought in gold and silver. Being one day severely chidden by my master for some unlucky fault, the devil entered into me, and I resolved to be revenged of him. Having become known to the captain of a certain band of Catteranes, I stole my master’s keys, and gave them to him, so that he and his gang were enabled to rifle the goldsmith’s stores of all his valuables. In dread of punishment I fled with them to their den in the hills, where they afterwards kept me in thrall to do theirservice. The lady, thy daughter, can tell thee that I was there when she was brought in by them, and had not Sir Patrick Stewart left me bound when he spared my life, they would have certainly taken it on their return, in their rage and fury at her escape; but, fortunately, I was lying quite out of their way at the moment, and was not discovered till they had somewhat cooled. Finding that their retreat had been found out, they hastily abandoned it, and dispersed themselves through the hills. On the day that followed after that, we were all collected together to meet our captain; and after two days more, a breathless messenger came early in the morning to tell him something which was kept secret from all else. There were but few of the band with him at the time; but these were ordered to arm on the sudden; and even I, who had never been called out on any expedition until that day, was commanded to arm like the rest.“Our small party marched off in all haste, and about mid-day we were planted in ambush on the side of a hill above the Aven. Our captain seemed to be restless and anxious. Hemoved about from place to place, stretching on tiptoe from the top of every knoll, and sometimes climbing the tallest pine trees, in order to scan the valley below more narrowly. At length, as it grew late in the afternoon, he took a long look from one point, and then, as if he had at last made some discovery of importance, he suddenly moved us off into a thicket, which grew on the edge of a considerable opening in the wood on the hill-side; and I would know that opening again, for it had the green quaking bog of a well-head in the very midst of it.“We had not stood long there, till a man in very plain attire, with a bow in his hand, came up from the thick wood below, and began to pass aslant the open space. ‘There goes a good mark for an arrow,’ said the captain of the band. ‘Shoot at him, my men.’—‘He is not worth a shaft,’ replied some of his people. ‘He is a poor fellow who hath nothing in his sporran to pay for the killing of him.’—‘No matter,’ said Ewan Cameron, ‘he hath a good pair of sandals on him; and my brogues are worn to shreds—so, here goes at him.’ And just as the manwas passing along the bank close above the well-eye, the arrow fled, and pierced him to the heart. ‘Well shot, Ewan!’ cried the captain, in a strange ecstasy of joy; ‘thou shalt have gold for that shot of thine.’ So instant was his death, that he sprang high into the air, and his body fell headlong and without life into the very middle of the bog, with a force that buried it in its yielding mass, so high, that nothing was seen of him but his legs. Ewan hastened to the place, quietly took off the sandals from the dead man, threw off his own brogues, and put on the sandals in place of them, and then the captain himself ran eagerly to help him to force the corpse downwards into the bog; and this they did till the green moss closed over the soles of its feet. I then knew not who the murdered man might be,—and the deed was no sooner done, than our captain ordered us to make our way back, as fast as we could travel, over the hills, whilst he left us to go directly down into the glen.“Early next morning, a messenger again came to us; and five picked archers were sentout under the orders of Ewan Cameron. I was directed to accompany them; and I marvelled much why I, who was so inexperienced, should be required to go on an expedition where they seemed to be so very particular in choosing their men. But Ewan Cameron soon let me into the secret. ‘Thou knowest the person of Patrick Stewart of Clan-Allan, dost thou not?’ said he to me.—‘If that was he who took the lady from the cave, and left me bound, replied I, ‘then have I reason to remember him right well.’—‘Then must I tell thee, that we are now sent forth expressly to hunt for him, and to take his life,’ replied Ewan; ‘and if thou would’st fain preserve thine own, thou wilt need to look sharply about thee, that thou mayest tell me when thou seest him.’—‘Who covets to have his life?’ demanded I.’—‘He who made me take the life of his brother Walter, for those sandals which I now wear,’ said Ewan.—‘What! our captain?’ exclaimed I; ‘that must be in revenge, because Sir Patrick Stewart took the lady from him.’—‘Partly so, perhaps,’ replied Ewan; ‘but I am rather jealous that our captain’sgreatest fault to Sir Patrick Stewart is, that he, like his brother, Sir Walter Stewart, was born before him. Knowest thou not, that our captain is no other than Murdoch Stewart, the third son of old Sir Allan of Stradawn?’ I was no sooner made aware of this, than—”The youth would have proceeded, but the loud murmur of astonishment and horror that arose every where throughout the hall, so drowned his voice, that he was compelled to stop.“Holy Saint Michael, what a perfect villain thou art!” exclaimed the old Lord of Curgarf, darting a look of indignant detestation at Murdoch Stewart.“Thou wouldst not condemn a stranger unheard,” said Murdoch, calmly.“Nay,” replied the Lord of Curgarf, “thou shalt have full justice. We shall hear thee anon. But let this youth finish his narrative, which would seem to be pregnant with strange and horrible things.”“I have but little more to say,” continued the youth. “Gratitude to Sir Patrick Stewart, for having spared my life, when his own securitymight have required the taking of it, at once resolved me against betraying him to slaughter. Ewan Cameron marched us straight away to the hill, which rises above the track that leads from the little place of Tomantoul to the river Don, and there he kept us sitting, for some time, watching, till we espied three men coming along the way. Whilst they were yet afar off I knew one of them to be the very person whom the murderers were in search of. ‘Is that Sir Patrick Stewart that comes first yonder?’ demanded Ewan.—‘I cannot tell at this distance,’ said I; ‘but I think the man I saw in the cave was much taller than that man.’—‘That is a tall man,’ said Ewan; ‘take care what thou sayest, or thou mayest chance to have thy stature curtailed by the whole head.’—‘I say what is true,’ said I; ‘no man could know his own father at that distance.’—‘Then will I assert that thou sayest that which is a lie,’ said one of the party; ‘for great as the distance may be, I know that to be Sir Patrick Stewart. I mean that man who comes first of the three.’—‘Let us down upon him without loss of timethen,’ cried Ewan; ‘and do you come along, Sirrah! Thou shalt along with us; and, when our work is done, we shall see whether we cannot find the means of refreshing thy memory.’ Having uttered these words, Ewan hurried us all down to the covert of a small patch of stunted pines, that grew on the flat ground below. There we lay in ambush till Sir Patrick Stewart, and his two attendants, came within bowshot, and there, as is already known to most here, the six assassins were speedily punished for their wicked attempt, and I became Sir Patrick Stewart’s prisoner.”“Now,” said the Lord of Curgarf, addressing himself to Murdoch,“what hast thou to say in answer to all this?—What hast thou to answer for thyself?”“I say that the young caitiff is a foul liar!” cried Murdoch violently.“He is a foul liar, who hath been taught a false tale, to bear me down.”“He may be a liar,” said the Lord of Curgarf; “but his story hangs marvellously well together.”“Who would dare to condemn me on hisunsupported testimony?” demanded Murdoch, boldly.“Here is one who is ready to support his tale,” said Michael Forbes, pressing forward, and pushing before him a strange looking little man, with a long red beard, and a head of hair so untamed, that it hung over his sharp sallow features in such a manner, as, for some moments, to render it difficult for Sir Patrick Stewart to recognise in him, the man whom he had saved from his perilous position in the salmon creel, at the Lynn of Aven.“Ha!—Grigor Beg!” cried Murdoch Stewart, betrayed by his surprise, at beholding him; “What a fiend hath brought thee hither?—But thou—thou can’st say nothing against me.”“I fear I can say nothing for thee, Murdoch Stewart,” said the little man, darting a pair of piercing eyes towards him, from amidst the tangled thickets of his hair. “Nor is it needful for me now to say all I might against thee. But here, as I understand, thou hast basely and falsely accused thy brother Sir Patrick Stewart of murdering his elder brother Sir Walter. Now,I saw Ewan Cameron shoot down Sir Walter Stewart with an arrow; and it was done at thy bidding too, for I was by, on the hill-side, when thou didst give to Ewan Cameron his secret order to slay thy brother, and when thou didst teach him to do the deed, as if it were an idle act, done against a stranger.”“Lies!—lies!—a very net-work of lies, in which to ensnare me!” cried Murdoch. “But who can condemn me for another’s death, who, for aught that we know truly, may yet appear alive and well?”“Thou hadst no such scruple in condemning thine innocent brother, Sir Patrick,” said the Lord of Curgarf; “yet shall no guilt be fixed upon thee, till thy brother’s death be established beyond question. Meanwhile thou must be a bounden prisoner, till the truth be clearly brought to light.”“Men of Clan-Allan! will ye allow him who must be your chieftain to be laid hands on in the house of a stranger?” cried Murdoch Stewart aloud. “You are armed; use your weapons then, and leave not a man alive!”A thrill of horror ran through every bosom. There were brave men enough of the Clan-Forbes there, to have made head against three times the number of Clan-Allans that now stood, armed to the teeth, and in a firm body, at the lower end of the hall; but there was not a man of the Forbeses, who, if not altogether unarmed, had any weapon at all to defend himself with but his dirk. Those who had such instruments were drawing them, whilst others were rushing to the walls, to arm themselves with whatsoever weapons they could most easily reach, and pluck down thence. The noise and bustle of the moment was great, when, all at once, there fell a hush over the turbulence of the scene.“Stir not a man of Clan-Allan!” cried Sir Patrick to the Stewarts, who stood in their array, like a heavy and portentous thundercloud. “Stir not, men of Clan-Allan!—Stir not a finger, I command you!”“Sir Patrick Stewart is our young chieftain!” broke like a roll of Heaven’s artillery from the Clan-Allans. “Sir Patrick Stewart is ouryoung chieftain! Murdoch is a foul traitor and murderer! Bind him, bind him! Let him be the prisoner, and let us have him forthwith justified!”“Nay, nay,” cried Sir Patrick; “bind him if you will, but lay not your hands upon his life. This day, my Catherine,” said he, turning to the lady, and addressing her tenderly and sorrowfully; “This day, that was to have been to me so full of joy, must now, alas! be the first of that doleful time, which, in the bereavement of my heart, I must devote to mourning for my beloved brother Walter. My first duty is to go and seek for his remains; and in following out this most sad and anxious search, I must crave thy presence, my Lord of Curgarf, and thine, too, Arthur, with that of such of our friends as may be disposed to go forth with us, to aid us in so painful a quest.”The wishes of Sir Patrick Stewart were readily agreed to. The nuptials were for the present postponed; and instead of the marriage-feast, some hasty refreshment was taken, preparatory to their immediate departure on their melancholy search. The treacherous MurdochStewart was now given in charge, as a manacled prisoner, to those very Clan-Allans, at the head of whom he had come, so triumphantly, to fix a false accusation on his brother Sir Patrick. With them too went the youth, and the little man, Grigor Beg, who had given their evidence against Murdoch. The old Lord of Curgarf’s quiet palfrey was led forth; and he set forward, attended by Arthur the Master of Forbes, Sir Patrick Stewart, and a considerable following of those who were led to accompany him by duty, or from curiosity.They first visited the scene of the attemptedassassinationof Sir Patrick Stewart. The spot where the six Catteranes were slain, was easily discovered, by the flock of birds of prey that sat perched upon the tops of the dwarf pines, or that wheeled over them in whistling circles; whilst every now and then, some individual, bolder than the rest, would swoop down on the heath, to partake of the banquet which had been spread upon it for them. That some considerable share of courage was required to enable these creatures to do this, was proved tothe party, who, on their nearer approach, scared away a brace of hungry, gaunt-looking wolves, who had been employed in ravenously tearing at the bodies, and dragging them hither and thither with bloody jaws; as well as an eagle, who had dared to sit a little way apart, to feed upon one of the carcases, in defiance of his ferocious four-footed fellow-guests. The spectacle was shocking to all who beheld it. But one object of their search was gained; for, on examination, Patrick recognised his brother Walter’s sandals, which were removed from the feet of the corpse of Ewan Cameron, and taken care of—thus so far corroborating the testimony of the youth. Having completed their investigations in this place, they piled heaps of stones over the bodies on the spot where they lay, and the party then pursued their way, over the mountain, towards the alleged scene of Sir Walter Stewart’s murder.Providence seemed to guide their steps;—for, as they passed over the brow of the wooded hill that dropped down towards the Aven, they scared away two ravens from a hollow place in the heath; and, on approaching the spot, theydiscovered the well-picked bones of a deer. His head showed him to have been an unusually fine great hart of sixteen. An arrow was sticking so deeply fixed through the shoulder-blade, as to satisfy all present, that its point must have produced death, very soon after the animal had received it.“As I hope for mercy, there is the very arrow that was lacking of Sir Patrick’s three!” cried Dugald Roy, triumphantly. “See—there is the very eagle’s feather which I put on it, with mine own hand! And, look—there is the cross, which I always cut on the shaft, to give them good luck. No shaft of mine, so armed, ever misses, when righteously discharged. But for foul or treacherous murther, I’ll warrant me, that the most practised eye could never bring it to a true aim. But” added he, as he very adroitly dislocated out the shoulder-bone, as Highlanders are wont, and then possessed himself of the shoulder-blade, arrow and all—“I’ll e’en take this arrow with me, with the bone just as it is, as a dumb but true witness in a righteous cause.”Led by the directions which they receivedfrom Grigor Beg, they now descended through the forest, till they came to that very well-eye you see yonder—for that was the very individual place, that both the old man and the youth had described as the scene of Sir Walter’s murder. They had used the precaution to bring with them implements for digging; and, by means of these, a few sturdy fellows were soon enabled to make an opening into the lower end of the quaking bog, so as very quickly to discharge the pent-up water within it. The green surface then gradually subsided, and the legs of a human being, with hose on, but without sandals, began to appear, sticking out, with the feet upwards; and, by digging a little around it, they soon succeeded in bringing the body of Sir Walter Stewart fully to light. It was in all respects unchanged. The fatal arrow was deeply buried in his left breast; his bow was firmly grasped in his hand; and his three eagle-winged shafts were in his belt. The small unplumed bonnet which he usually wore, when dressed for following the deer, was fast squeezed down on his head, by the pressure which hadbeen exerted to sink him. How differently were the two brothers, Patrick and Murdoch Stewart, affected by the harrowing spectacle which was now brought before their eyes! Murdoch shed no tear—yet his features were strongly agitated. He looked at the corpse with averted eyes, and shuddered as he looked; whilst his face became black, and again deadly pale, twenty times alternately. Sir Patrick Stewart, on the other hand, threw himself, in an agony of tears, on the cold and dripping body of his murdered brother, as it lay exposed on the bank; and, unable to give utterance to his grief, he clasped it to his bosom, and lavished fond, though unavailing caresses on it. In vain he essayed, with as much tenderness as if his brother could have still felt the pain he might thereby have given him, to pluck forth the arrow, deeply buried in the fatal wound. All present were overcome by this sad scene;—but poor Dugald Roy hung over them, and sobbed aloud, till the violence of his grief recalled Sir Patrick Stewart to himself again.“Aye!” said Dugald Roy; “that is amurderous shaft indeed! A good cloth-yard in length, I’ll warrant me; and feathered, too, from the wing of some ill-omened grey goose, that was hatched in some western sea-loch. This is no arrow of the make of Aven-side, else am I no judge of the tool. No cross upon this, I’ll be sworn. No, no.—By St. Peter, but it hath murther in the very look of it! Aye, and there are the true arrows of the cross in his belt!—These are of my winging, every one of them. Little did I think, when I stuck them into my poor master’s girdle, that this was to be the way in which I was to find them! Would that he had but gotten fair play! Would that he had but got his eye on the villains ere they slew him! If he had but gotten one glimpse of them, by the Rood, but every cross of these shafts would have been eager to have dyed itself red in the blood of their cowardly hearts!”The body of Sir Walter Stewart was now wrapped up in a plaid, and fastened lengthwise upon two parallel boughs, and it was borne towards Drummin. Their movements were so slow, and so often interrupted, that it was darknight long ere they came to the place of their destination. Sir Patrick Stewart felt the necessity of preparing his father, Sir Allan, for the coming scene, as well as for the reception of the Lord of Curgarf, and his son, the Master of Forbes. He therefore resolved to hurry on before the party, that he might have a private meeting with the old Knight, before their arrival. But being fully aware that Sir Allan’s mind had been already filled with those iniquitous falsehoods, which his wicked brother, Murdoch Stewart, had engendered against him, he thought it prudent to take with him Dugald Roy, and two other men of the Clan-Allans, that they might be prepared, if necessary, to support his justification of himself.As Sir Patrick Stewart, and his small escort, approached the outer gate of the Castle of Drummin, they perceived that it was shut. Dugald had no sooner observed this circumstance, than he made a signal to the Knight to remain silent, and then he advanced quietly to the little wicket in the middle of the gate, and knocked gently.“Who is there?” demanded the Warder, from within.“Open the wicket, man, without a moment’s tarrying,” replied Dugald.“Is that thee, Dugald Roy?” demanded the Warder.“Who else could it be?” replied Dugald.“It may be that any other might have done as well,” replied the Warder gruffly. “Thou wentst not forth with Murdoch Stewart;—Art thou of his company at the present time?”“What matter though I went not forth with him, if I come home in his company?” replied Dugald readily.“Is he with thee, then?” demanded the Warder.“To be sure he is,” cried Dugald impatiently. “Come, man! he is close at hand, I tell thee. Come! art thou to keep us standing here all night? By all that’s good, he is coming upon us;—and, if he be detained but the veriest fraction of a prod-flight, thou shalt surely have a cudgelling for thy supper. Come man!—open I tell thee.”The huge iron bolts were now withdrawn from their fastenings, the key grated among the rough wards of the lock, and the wicket was thrown back, whilst the Warder, peering through the opening, seemed as if he were inclined to know something more of those without, before he removed his own bulky person, that still blocked the passage. But Dugald, stooping his head, sprang through the low aperture, and throwing his skull right into the poor fellow’s stomach, with the force of a battering-ram, he laid him sprawling on his back.“Hech!” cried the Warder, as he fell. “Hech me!”“Old fool that thou art!” cried Dugald, taking up the first word of quarrel with him; “who was to think that thou wert to be standing in the very midst of the way?—Yet I hope I have not hurt thee, for all that. Thou knowest, Rory, that I had rather hurt myself than thee.”“Nay, nay,” said the old man, with a surly sort of acquiescence, as he was slowly raising himself from the ground by means of Dugald’s assistance; during which operation PatrickStewart, wrapped up in his plaid, and followed by the other two men, had made good his entrance into the court-yard. “Nay, nay, I am not hurt. I’m no such eggshells, i’faith. Yet what a fiend made thee so impatient? I behooved to be careful who I let in, seeing that I was strictly charged to open to none but Murdoch Stewart himself there,” pointing to Sir Patrick, who was standing a few paces aloof. “More by token, I required to be all the warier, seeing that there was none living within the walls, besides myself, save the old Knight Sir Allan, and the Lady Stradawn.”“How comes that?” demanded Dugald; “Though so many went to Curgarf, there were still some left behind, surely.”“True enough, true enough,” replied the Warder. “But I know not what hath possessed the lady. They have all been sent hither and thither, on some errand or another;—even the very women folk have all gone forth.”Sir Patrick Stewart stood to hear no more, but making a signal to Dugald and the others to follow him, he crossed the court-yard towardsthe door of the keep tower, where they stood aside, whilst he knocked gently, yet loud enough to be heard in the hall above. Soon afterwards, a timid and unsteady footstep was heard descending the stair.“Open, good mother,” said Sir Patrick.“Oh, how thankful I am that thou art come!” said the Lady Stradawn, mistaking him for her son Murdoch, their voices being a good deal like to each other, and opening the door, pale and trembling, with a lamp in her hand, which the gust immediately extinguished. “A plague on the wind, my lamp is out! But oh, I am thankful that thou art come! ’Tis fearful to be left alone in the house with a dead man, and one, too——Oh ’twas fearful!”“Dead!” cried Sir Patrick, with an accent of horror, which might have betrayed him, but for the agitation which then possessed her whom he addressed. “A dead man, saidst thou?”“Aye!” replied the lady, in a hollow tone, “aye! I saw that thou hadst yearnings. Yet, after all, it was but giving him ease, by ridding him of a lingering life of pain. It waskindness, in truth, to help him away from such misery. Yet, ’tis no marvel that thou, who art his very blood, should have some compunction. But thou mayest be at rest now, for he is gone beyond thy help, or that of any one else.”“Gone!” exclaimed Sir Patrick again—“Gone! how did he die?”“Horribly! most horribly!” replied the lady, shuddering. “It was fearful to behold him in his agonies! Knowing, as I did, the potency of the poison, I could hardly have believed that the old man would have taken so long to die.”“Horrible!” exclaimed Sir Patrick, involuntarily.“Aye, it was horrible!” replied the lady; “horrible indeed, as thou wouldst have said if thou hadst seen it. For a moment, the poison seemed to have given him new strength, and he rose from his chair as if he would have done vengeance on me. ’Twas fearful to behold him!”“Art sure he is quite dead?” said Sir Patrick again.“Aye,” replied the lady, “as dead as his son Walter; so dead, as to make thee surely the Laird of Stradawn, the moment that thou shalt have made as sicker of Patrick, as we may now soon hope thou wilt be able to do. I did but help him, as I was saying, out of the pains and wretchedness of old age and dotage. Yet it was an awful work for me. And oh, his last look was fearful! I wish I may ever be able to get rid of it! Would that thou couldst have steeled thyself up to have done it thyself Murdoch! But come in—come in quickly! Hast thou secured the prisoner?”“I have,” replied Sir Patrick, now exerting a certain degree of command over his feelings; “he will be here anon.”“That is well,” replied the Lady Stradawn; “then all is thine own. His trial must be short, and his execution speedy. But come, we have much to do to make things seemly ere they arrive. He must appear to have died of a broken heart, caused by the wickedness of his son. Every thing suspicious must be removed from about him. I could not dare to touchhim. Why stand ye so long hesitating? But ’tis no wonder, for I could not look upon him myself without fancying that the devil was grinning over my shoulder. ’Tis horrible to think on’t! But come,” continued she, as she at last seemed to summon up resolution to climb the stair; “lock the door, Murdoch, and follow me up quickly, for we have no time to lose.”Sir Patrick Stewart made a signal to Dugald and the others, and then ascended to the hall after the Lady Stradawn. A deathlike silence prevailed within it. A single lamp was glimmering feebly on a sconce at the upper end of it: and there stood the lady, pale and trembling, at that side of the chimney which was farthest from Sir Allan’s chair. Sir Patrick, in his agitation, moved hurriedly forward; and the moment the light of the lamp fell upon his features, the lady uttered a loud scream, and swooned away upon the floor.The spectacle that now met his eyes harrowed up his very soul. His father lay dead in his chair, with his features and his limbs fixed in the last frightful convulsion, by which the rackingpoison had terminated his existence. His mouth was twisted, his tongue thrust out, and his eyeballs so fearfully staring, that even his tenderly affectionate son felt it a dreadful effort to look upon that, which used to be to him an object of the deepest veneration and love. Beside his chair was the small table, on which he was usually served with his food. There stood a silver porringer containing the minced meat, which his extreme age required; and notwithstanding all that the Lady Stradawn had said to the contrary, the operation of the poison seemed to have been so quick, as to have mortally affected him, ere he had taken the fourth part of the mess that had been provided for him. Sir Patrick was overpowered by his feelings. He sank into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, he gave way to his grief, in which he remained so entirely absorbed, that neither the entrance of Dugald, nor the thundering which some time afterwards took place at the outer gate, nor the noise of the many voices of those who came pouring in, were sufficient to arouse him.Dugald Roy had the presence of mind to hurry down to the court-yard, to prepare the Lord of Curgarf, and those who came with him, for the dreadful spectacle they were to witness. Thunderstruck and shocked by his intelligence, they crowded up to the hall, where the general horror was for some time so great, as to render every one incapable of acting; but at length they gathered sufficient recollection to bestir themselves. The poisoned porringer was first carefully preserved; the Lady Stradawn was carried off in strong fits to her apartment; the body of Sir Walter Stewart was borne up into the hall; and there, after undergoing the necessary preparations used on such occasions, the father and son were laid out in state together, and the couches on which the bodies rested were surrounded by so great a multitude of wax tapers, as to exchange the melancholy gloom of the place into a blaze of light, which, reflected as it was from the various pieces of armour that glittered in vain pomp upon the walls, shone but to produce a greater intensity of sadness. The good priest of Dounan was sent for; and the appallingnews having spread quickly around, the retainers began to swarm into the Castle, from all quarters, in sorrowing groups, full of lamentation. Meanwhile the Lord of Curgarf and his son, the Master of Forbes, occupied themselves in soothing the afflicted Sir Patrick Stewart, and in aiding and encouraging him to go through with those trying and painful duties which this most afflicting occasion demanded of him.Food and wine had been carried to the Lady Stradawn, where she sat alone in her bower, so deeply sunk in remorse, and dejection, and dread, as to be quite unconscious of the entrance or departure of those who brought her these comforts. Those who were compelled to be the bearers of them, gazed on her with fear, and hastened from her with expedition, and no one else could be persuaded to go near her, even her woman refused to remain with her, as something accursed, so that she was left abandoned by all, as a prey to her evil thoughts. Had any one ventured to look in upon her, as she sat motionless in her great chair, with a lamp flickering on a table beside her, and throwing an uncertain light byfits and snatches on her face, now pale and fixed as marble,—and on her glazed and tearless eyes, and her dry and withered lips, he might have fancied that she was already a corpse; yet deep, deep was the mental agony that she felt.The midnight watch had been set, and all had been for some time silent within the walls of Drummin, save the distant hum of the subdued voices of those who, according to custom, sat waking the corpses in the hall, when the door of the Lady Stradawn’s bower opened, and her son Murdoch appeared. If the spirit of her murdered husband had arisen before her eyes, she could not have started with more astonishment, or recoiled with greater apparent horror.“Murdoch!” cried she, in a loud and agitated voice, “Is it thee, Murdoch?”—And then, sinking back into the same fixed and motionless attitude, whence she had been thus momentarily aroused, she added, in a faint, low, and feeble tone, “Murdoch!—would that thou hadst never been born!”“Mother,” said Murdoch, calmly shutting the door behind him, and taking a seat besideher chair, “I have heard all from Nicol, the playfellow of my boyhood, who chanced to be set to guard me, in the apartment below. I wished to see thee ere we die; and I purchased from the sordid wretch this midnight hour—this last hour of privacy with thee.”“Ha!” cried the Lady Stradawn, with a strange and sudden transition from the apathy and torpor of despair, to the most energetic anxiety of hope; “If Nicol did that for thee, why may we not bribe him to open a way for us through those who guard the gate?—Quick!—quick!—quick!—Oh, let us quickly escape!—Oh, let us not tarry one moment longer! There are my keys; we have treasure in that cabinet, which may well bribe him, and yet leave us rich!”“Be composed, my most worthy mother,” said Murdoch Stewart; “There is not the shadow of a chance for us in that way. The door of the keep is doubly barred, and doubly guarded, and no one leaves it unexamined beneath the light of a blazing torch. The whole men-at-arms and clansmen within the walls, infuriatedagainst us, are of their own free will engaged in vigilant watching. The portcullis is down, the gate barricaded, the barbican manned, and the walls surrounded by patroles. Mother, cast aside all such hopes as useless, for as the guilt of both of us must soon appear as clear as to-morrow’s noonday, so that sun, which shall certainly arise to-morrow morning, shall as surely look upon our graves ere he sets.”The Lady Stradawn sank again into the chair, from which the sudden impulse of hope had so energetically raised her, and, groaning deeply, she relapsed into her former state of deathlike stillness, broken only by the long drawn sob that at certain intervals convulsed her whole frame.“Mother!” said Murdoch Stewart, after a pause; “Where are all the fruits of that career of crime for which thou nursed me as an infant, tutored me as a boy, and prompted me as a man? Have I not followed thy bidding through deceit, robbery, and murder, and where is now my reward?—Thine is locked up there in that secret cabinet of glittering toys, which to-morrowthou must leave, to go out to be hanged by the neck on the gallows-tree, with the son, whom thou wouldst have had Lord of the Aven, grinning at thee like a caitiff cur from the farther end of its beam—”“Oh!—Oh—ho!” cried the agonized woman, shaken through every limb by the palsy of her fears; “Is there no—no deliverance for us?”“Yes,” said Murdoch Stewart, calmly; “yes, there is a deliverance, and a speedy one too.”“Oh, name it!” cried the frantic woman; “Oh, name it! and quickly let us avail ourselves of it!”“Here it is,” said Murdoch Stewart, quietly taking a small paper packet from his bosom; “Here it is, mother. A few small pinches of this powder, mingled in a cup of that wine, will snatch us both from the torture of being made a disgraceful public spectacle to-morrow—of being gazed at by the vulgar eyes, and pointed at by the vile fingers of those wretched serfs, and their grovelling mates and spawn, whom, a little better luck and better fortune for us, had by thattime made the abject slaves of our will. See! here it is mingled, already it is dissolved, and now the draught is potent. Good mother, I pledge thee,” said he, drinking down half of what the goblet contained; “and now here is thy share.”“No,—no,—no!—I cannot!—no, I cannot!” cried the Lady Stradawn, with frantic horror in her averted eyes.“Then do I tell thee, mother mine,” said Murdoch Stewart sternly; “thou hast not trained me up to deal in deeds of blood and death for naught. I shall never suffer thy womanish fears to bring the disgrace of the gallows upon thee. I love thee too much for that. See here, good mother! ’tis but a choice of deaths. Here is a concealed dagger, look you. Say! wouldst thou bring one more murder—the murder of a mother on my already overburdened soul, to sink it deeper in that sea of torment, to which these priests would fain have us believe that those, who, like us, have used the wit and the strength with which they have been gifted, for bettering their own condition in this world, must hastenfrom hence. Drink! or by every fiend that suffers there, thou diest in the instant!”The Lady Stradawn glared at her son with a vacant stare, as if all reason had fled from her. She took the cup mechanically from his hand, and drained it to the bottom.“What hast thou done?” cried the man-at-arms, who had been brought to the door by the violent tone of some of Murdoch Stewart’s last words, and who rushed in just as the Lady Stradawn had swallowed the poison.“Do what thou wilt now, Nicol,” said Murdoch Stewart, with perfect composure; “We are both beyond thy power, or that of any one else within the castle of Drummin.”Nicol at once guessed at what had happened, and ran instantly for the Priest. The good Father of Dounan was deeply skilled in medicine, as well as in divinity. He called for assistance, and antidotes were forcibly given to Murdoch Stewart, and passively received by his mother the Lady Stradawn. Their wretched existence was thus prolonged, though death could not be altogether averted. They lingeredon, in great pain, for many days, during which all judicial proceedings were suspended. The pious priest lost not one moment of this precious time. By exerting all his religious learning, and all his eloquence, he at length succeeded in bringing both of them to a full sense of the enormity of their guilt, as well as to an ample confession of all their crimes. It is not for us to interpret the decrees of the Almighty in such a case as theirs; but if the apparent deep contrition that followed was real, and heartfelt, we may trust that the mercy, as well as the benefit of the merits of that blessed Saviour, who died for us all upon the cross, even for the thief that was crucified with him, was extended to them, dreadful as their crimes had been.My legend now draws to a hasty conclusion. The days of mourning were fully numbered by Sir Patrick Stewart, for his murdered father and brother. The kindness of the old Lord of Curgarf, and his son Arthur Master of Forbes, towards him, was unwearied and most consolatory. Nor were the delicate affections of the Lady Catherine Forbes less tenderly or unremittinglydisplayed, so that, in due time, by becoming her husband, he bound himself to both his friends by the closest and dearest ties. In pious remembrance of his brother Sir Walter’s murder, he erected the pillar of stone I spoke of, as that which stood so long by the side of the well-eye where he was slain; but he refrained from inscribing any thing upon it, lest his doing so might have revived the recollection of Murdoch Stewart’s atrocity. He likewise ordered a stone to be set up, where the proud Priest of Dalestie was burned, rather as a sort of expiation of the stern act of justice, which his brother Sir Walter had inflicted upon him, than to perpetuate the detested memory of the depraved wretch who suffered there.
“Nay, we shall soon convince thee to the contrary, father,” said Murdoch, motioning to the attendants to lay the deer down upon the hearth. “I will forthwith break him under thine own eye, and thou shalt see, and judge for thyself.”Murdoch then drawing forth his knife, began to open up the animal according to the strictest rules laid down for breaking a deer, as this operation was called, and on proceeding to slit up the slough, to the great wonder of every one, it was discovered that the old man was right. The heart was indeed so very small that it might very well have been said to have been naught. Murdoch was dismayed for a moment at an omen so very inauspicious, which, in his own mind, he felt was more than enough to overthrow all the fair prognostics which his mother had so evidently drawn from his success. The Lady herself was equally disconcerted.“Naught, naught!” whimpered Sir Allan.“’Tis an ill omen for thee, boy. Thou shalt ne’er fly with an eagle’s wing—nay, nay! Aye, aye! Thou art ever doomed to gobble i’ the muddy stagnant waters like a midden-gander.—Uch, aye! och, hey!”“The fiend take the old carl for his saying!” whispered Murdoch angrily aside to his mother.“Amen!” replied the Lady Stradawn bitterly, in the same under tone. “But fear ye not, boy, thou shalt wear his eagle wing, aye, and sit in his chair to boot, ere long.”This dialogue apart was unobserved by any one, and both son and mother speedily recovered their self-possession. The lady very cunningly set herself, straightway, to turn the weak and dribbling stream of Sir Allan’s thoughts from the subject which then occupied them, to some other, which was to her less disagreeable at the moment, and she easily succeeded.Patrick Stewart’s attention was attracted from all this superstitious trifling, as well as from what followed it, by again observing the garnet brooch, which appeared in the bosom of the Lady Stradawn. His thoughts were entirely occupied withit, and his eyes were from time to time rivetted on it. At length it seemed as if Murdoch had somehow remarked his fixed gaze, for a private sign appeared to pass from him to his mother, after which she pleaded a sudden faintness, and left the hall, to return no more that night, and her son soon afterwards followed her. Patrick Stewart’s mind remained filled with strange speculations regarding the jewel, until the night wore late, and he began to think anxiously about his brother Sir Walter. Having done the last offices of attention to his father for the evening, he secretly desired Dugald Roy to follow him.“Dugald,” said he, “I am, most unaccountably, unhappy about thy master. Surely, if all had been well with him he should have been here ere this? I cannot rid my mind of the idea that there is something amiss with him. He rested not, as thou knowest, when I was missing, and it would ill become me to sleep when he is absent. Let us go seek for him, then, without delay.”Dugald Roy readily assented; and both of them having dighted themselves well up for turmoil,as well as for toil, they secretly left the tower of Drummin. All that night they travelled, and by daylight they had got into the range of mountains, and of forests, where they had reason to hope for tidings of Sir Walter. They searched through every part of the wooded side of that hill where he had last disappeared, and they visited every human dwelling within a great range around it, but all without obtaining the slightest intelligence regarding him. Disappointed, and disheartened, they had returned nearly as far as where the village of Tomantoul now stands, on their way home in the evening, when they met with Dugald Roy’s brother Neil.“What brought thee here, man?” demanded Dugald; “and what a fiend gives thee that anxious face?”“Holy Saint Michael, but it is well that I have foregathered with you both!” replied Neil. “You must take some other road than that which leads to Drummin, Sir Patrick. Believe me, it is no place for you at this present time.”“What, in the name of all the saints, hathhappened to make it otherwise?” demanded Patrick Stewart.“Cannot ye speak out at once, ye Amadan ye, and not hammer like a fool that gate?” cried Dugald impatiently.“Patience! patience!” said Neil; “patience! and ye shall know all presently. In the first place, then, Master Murdoch says that Sir Walter is murdered.”“Murdered!” cried Patrick, in an agony of anxiety; “My brother Walter murdered!—Where?—when?—how?—by whom?—Oh, speak, that I may hasten to avenge him! But, no!—’tis impossible!—speak!—I have mistaken thee—surely it cannot be!”“Master Murdoch says that it is true,” replied Neil. “But the worst of all is, that he hath accused thee, Sir Patrick, of having done the deed, with an arrow, somewhere in the wood on the hill of Dalestie.”“Merciful Saints!” exclaimed Patrick; “can he indeed be such a villain? But who will believe so foul and unnatural a calumny? Oh, Walter, my brother, my brother! Heaven aboveknows that thy life was ten thousand times dearer to me than mine own!”“Nay,” replied Neil, “he hath called all the clansmen who were there to witness and to support the strong suspicions which he hath industriously raised against thee.”“What argument hath he against me?” cried Patrick Stewart impatiently.“He says that the men who were present can testify that you and your brother, Sir Walter, went into the wood together,” replied Neil; “and that Sir Walter hath not been seen since; and then, he contends, that the sudden flight which you made from Drummin, under the cloud of night, is enough to show that you have taken guilt home to your conscience.”“And is this all?” demanded Patrick Stewart.“Nay,” replied Neil, “there was more stuff of the same kind, by the use of which he hath contrived so to persuade them with his wily tongue, that they are all clamorous against thee. Nay, he hath even warped the feeble judgment of Sir Allan himself to the same belief.”“Serpent that he is!” cried Patrick Stewart.“But let me hasten home to confront this vile traducer. My brother!—my brother Walter!” continued he, bursting into tears. “My brother Walter gone!—and I accused of his murder!—Oh, my brother!—my dear brother! Heaven above knows how willingly I would have laid down my life to have saved thine! Nay, how willingly would I now lay it down at this moment, were it only to secure to me the certainty that thou art yet alive! The very thought that it may be otherwise is agony and desolation to me. But let us hasten to confront thisvillainy. Let us hasten to revenge! For the love of Heaven, let us hasten home, Dugald!”“Nay, my good master,” said Dugald weeping, “for if this sad tale be true as to Sir Walter’s death, other master than thee, I fear me, that I now have none. Neil says well that Drummin is no place for thee to-night, with so sudden and tumultuous a clamour excited against thee. Thine innocence will avail thee nothing. Even the innocence of an angel would naught avail against the diseased judgments of men, with minds so poisoned and so possessed. Bepersuaded to go elsewhere, until the false and weak foundations of this most traitorous accusation fail beneath it, and the mists drop from men’s eyes. Who can say for certain that my beloved master, Sir Walter, is dead? I cannot believe in so great a calamity. What proof is there that he is dead? There is no news that his body hath been found.”“Nay,”replied Neil, “he is only amissing as I said.”“Thou dost well advise me, Dugald,” said Patrick Stewart after a moment’s thought. “There is, as thou say’st, no proof that my brother, Sir Walter, is dead. It is most reasonable to believe that this may, after all, be nothing but a foolish or malicious surmise. My best hope, nay, my belief is, that it is founded on naught else; and may Heaven in its mercy grant that it may prove so. I will take thine advice. I will not go to Drummin at present, but I shall straightway bend my steps towards the Castle of Curgarf.”“Then shall I and Neil attend thee thither, Sir Knight,” said Dugald; “for next to SirWalter Stewart do I assuredly owe thee fealty and service.”Sir Patrick and his two attendants now turned off in the direction of Curgarf, and the day was so far spent that the sun was setting, as they were passing over the ridge of the country lying between the Aven and the Don. The trees of the forest there grew thinly scattered in little stunted patches. Sir Patrick was walking a few paces in front of the two brothers, musing as he went, when he was suddenly surprised by a shower of arrows falling thickly on and around him. One stuck in his bonnet, another buried itself harmlessly in the folds of his plaid, a third pierced his sandal and slightly wounded his foot; and, whilst a fourth struck fire out of a large stone close to him, two more fell short of him among the heather near him. In an instant his bow and those of his attendants were bent, and their eyes being turned towards the place whence the shafts had flown, they descried some men lurking beneath one of the straggling patches of dwarf pine trees. To have stood aloof with the hope of shooting at them successfully would havebeen fatal, for the archery of Sir Patrick and his attendants could have done nothing against men so ambushed, whilst the Knight and his people would have been a sure mark for their traitorous foes.“On them, my brave Dugald!” cried Sir Patrick Stewart, drawing his sword, and rushing towards the enemy.Dugald Roy, and his brother, Neil, were at his back in a moment. Before they could reach the point against which their assault was directed, several arrows were discharged at them. But so resolute, and so spirited an attack had been so little looked for by those who shot them, that they were too much appalled to take any very steady aim, so that all of them fell innocuous. Seeing Sir Patrick and his two attendants so rapidly nearing their place of concealment, the villains thought it better to turn out, that they might receive their onset on ground where they could all act at once. Six men accordingly appeared claymore in hand, and as Sir Patrick continued to hurry forward, he now took the opportunity of speaking hastily toDugald and Neil, who were advancing to right and left of him.“Draw an arrow each,” said he, “and when I give you the word, stop suddenly, and each of you pick off the man opposite to you, and leave me to take my choice of the rest.—Now!”The unlooked for halt was made just as the assassins were preparing to receive the on-comers on the points of their swords. The aim was sure and fatal. Three men fell—and on rushed Sir Patrick and his two people with a loud shout. The three, who yet stood against them, were panic-struck, and, ere they could well offer defence, they were also extended writhing among the heather, in the agonies of death; and the whole matter was over in less time than it has taken for me to tell of it. But, uncertain whether the partial covert of the pine-patch might not still shelter some more enemies, they rushed in among the trees, brandishing their reeking blades. Up started a youth from among some low brushwood, and ran off like a hare. Neil was after him in a moment, and up to him ere he had fled twenty paces. Already he had him by the hair of thehead, and his claymore was raised to smite him, when Patrick Stewart called to his follower to stay his hand. Neil obeyed, and granted the youth his life; but when he brought him in as a prisoner, what was the Stewart’s surprise when he discovered that he was the same individual whose life he had spared in the Catterane’s den.“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Patrick; “said I not well that I questioned the wisdom of sparing thy life when we last met, thou vermin? What hast thou to urge, that I should show mercy to thee now, Sir Caitiff?”“Oh, mercy, mercy, Sir Knight!” exclaimed the youth, piteously. “Trust me, I came not hither willingly. I had no hand in this treacherous ambush against thy life.”“Appearances are woefully against thee,” said Patrick Stewart; “yet would I not willingly do thee hurt, if thou be’st innocent. But this is no convenient time nor place to tarry for thy trial. So bring him along with thee, Dugald. We shall take our own leisure to examine him afterwards; meanwhile, take especial care that he escape not.”Sir Patrick Stewart’s reception at Curgarfmay be easily guessed at. He told of the providential escape he had made from assassination by the way; but he thought it better, as yet, to say nothing of the mysterious disappearance of his brother, Sir Walter, or of the traitorous accusations against himself, to which it had given rise. His resolve to be silent as to this matter was formed, because he had by this time reasoned himself into the firm persuasion that his brother’s reappearance would speedily make his own innocence as clear as noonday.He was next morning happily seated in the hall, now talking with the old Lord of Curgarf on one subject, and again taking his opportunity of whispering to the Lady Catherine on another, when he suddenly recollected the brooch he had given her. It was not in her bosom.“Where are the two twined hearts?” said he to her, smiling. “Fear not, dearest—I am not jealous.”“Thou hast no cause for jealousy, dear Patrick,” replied the lady; “and yet, I grieve to say, that I have not the jewel. When the Catteranes hurried me off from here, and just as they stopped for a little time to make up alitter, that they might the more easily carry me, one who appeared to have a certain command over them, but whose face or person I could not see in the obscurity which then prevailed, snatched it from my bosom, whilst affecting to fasten my arryssade more firmly around me. Nay, look not so serious, dearest Patrick! surely thou dost not doubt me in this matter?”“Doubt thee, my Catherine!” said Sir Patrick, kissing her hand with fervour; “sooner would I doubt mine own existence;—thou art pure virgin truth itself! Think no more of it. Thou shalt have another and a richer one anon. But say, dearest! why should we longer delay to set our own very two hearts in that indissoluble golden knot, with which the sacrament of our holy church may bind them together, so as to form a jewel, of which neither robber nor Catterane can rifle us, and which cannot be rent asunder save by the iron hand of death. I have thy father’s permission to move thee to shorten that cruel interval which thou hast placed between me and happiness.”In such a strain as this, did he continue tourge his suit, until it was at last successful; and, to his great joy, it was ultimately arranged, with the consent of all parties, that the marriage should take place on the second day from the time I am now speaking of. The bustle of preparation began in the Castle the moment the circumstance was announced; and it immediately spread far and wide everywhere around it, and went on incessantly day and night. Joy was everywhere as universal among the clansmen as their devotion to the Lady Catherine, the bride, and their admiration of the merits of the bridegroom, could make it. The day at length arrived. The Castle was crowded with all the friends and retainers of the family, who came pouring in to witness a ceremonial so interesting to them all. The Priest had arrived; the Castle chapel had been set in order; the bridal-chamber had been dight up; and the feast prepared; and every soul was astir to contribute, so far as in them lay, to the general felicity, as well as to share in it. The old Lord of Curgarf seemed to have grown young again. Arthur, the Master of Forbes, was alllife and raillery. Already had the whole company been assembled within the hall. All the men-at-arms within the Castle had crowded in thither. Even the old warden at the gate had lowered his portcullis, and made every thing secure with bolt, bar, and chain, so that he might safely leave his post to the charge of their stubborn defences. The blushing bride, arrayed in the richest attire, had been led in, attended by her blooming maidens; and the movement towards the chapel was about to be made, so that the ceremony might go on, when suddenly a shrill bugle blast from without the gate made the very Castle walls resound again.“Go some of ye, and see who that may be who summons us so rudely,” said the Lord of Curgarf.“Murdoch Stewart, and a party of the Clan-Allan, are at the gate, craving admittance,” said the messenger, on his return.“Son Arthur,” said the Lord of Curgarf, “get thee down quickly, and give Murdoch Stewart of Clan-Allan, the brother of this our son-in-lawto be, instant entry. Let the gate be opened to him, aye, and to all his people, dost thou hear? It was kind in him thus to come, on the spur of the occasion,” continued the old Lord, addressing Patrick, after his son had gone with his attendants to obey his will—“It was kind in thy brother to come thus unasked on the spur of the moment. Would that Sir Allan, thy father himself, could have been here.”The court-yard and the stair now rang with the clink of armed men, and Arthur, the Master of Forbes, entered, ushering in Murdoch Stewart, proudly attired, and followed by a formidable band of the Clan-Allan, whose flaring red tartans were strongly contrasted against the more modest green of those of the Clan-Forbes. To the no small surprise of his brother Patrick, he no longer wore that appearance of youthful carelessness and indifference, under the mask of which he had hitherto disguised his true character. His bearing was now manly and lofty, suited to the command of the Clan-Allan, which he now seemed to have assumed. Hissalutation to the Lord of Curgarf was grave, dignified, and courteous; and, as way was made for him, he advanced, with the utmost self-possession, into the middle of the hall.“I rejoice that I have arrived thus, as it seems, in the nick of time,” said he, looking around him, and bowing as he did so, but without once allowing his eyes to rest on his brother, who stood fixed in silent astonishment at what he beheld.“So do we all rejoice,” replied the Lord of Curgarf. “Had we but known that our bridal might have been thus honoured by the house of Clan-Allan, on so short a warning, trust me thou shouldst not have lacked our warmest bidding, as thou hast now our warmest welcome.”“Welcome or not, my Lord,” replied Murdoch Stewart, with a respectful reverence, “thou wilt surely thank me for this most unceremonious visit, when thou shalt know the object of it. I come to save the honour of thy house from foul disgrace: would, that in so doing, I could likewise save the honour ofthat which gave me birth! But although, in saving thee and thy house from dishonour, the good name of that of Clan-Allan must assuredly be tarnished, it shall never be said of me, that I preserved it by falsehood or infamous concealment.”“Of what wouldst thou speak?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf. “I do beseech thee, keep me, and keep this good company, no longer in suspense.”“Then, my good Lord,” replied Murdoch, solemnly, “much as it pains me to utter it, and much as it must pain thee, and all present, to hear it, I must tell thee, that strong suspicions are abroad, that mine eldest brother, Sir Walter Stewart, hath been most foully murdered, and that he, on whom thou wert now on the very eve of bestowing thine only daughter, is the foul murderer, who took an elder brother’s life, to make way for the gratification of his own ambitious and avaricious desires. The circumstances are so strong against my unfortunate brother Patrick, that all agree that no one else could have been the murderer.”“All!—all!—all!—all! was echoed from the stern Clan-Allans, at the lower end of the hall.“Holy saints defend us!” exclaimed the Lord of Curgarf, sinking into a chair.“’Tis false! oh ’tis all false, father!” cried the trembling Catherine Forbes, rushing forward to assist her father.“Infamous traitor!” cried Patrick Stewart; “lying and infamous traitor! Where are the proofs on which you found so foul and false an accusation?”“Would, for the credit of our poor house, that it were false!” said Murdoch, mildly. “But it is impossible to conceal, that thou wert the last person seen in our poor brother Walter’s company. Thou wentest up the wood with him, with three arrows in thy belt. Thou camest back shortly afterwards without him. One of thine arrows was gone. Thou gavest reasons for the want of it which proved to be false; and our dear brother Walter hath never been since seen.”“He is guilty! He, and no one else, is the murderer!” cried the men of Clan-Allan hoarsely.“Woe is me!” said the distracted Lord of Curgarf, springing from his chair with nervous agitation; “the circumstances are indeed too suspicious!”“Father!—father!—father, he is innocent!” cried the frantic Lady Catherine Forbes, holding the old lord’s arm.“Sister,” cried the Master of Forbes, taking the Lady Catherine affectionately by the hand, and speaking to her with great feeling—“Dearest sister, this is indeed an afflicting trial for thee; yet, be of good courage—I have no fears of the result. Patrick Stewart cannot be guilty of the foul and cruel deed of which he has been accused. We must have the matter sifted to the bottom; the truth must be brought out; and, as his innocence must be thereby established, all the evil that can happen will be but the short delay of your nuptials, till he be fairly and fully cleansed from these wicked charges.”“I am sent by my father,” said Murdoch Stewart—“I am sent by my father, and that most unwillingly, to demand his son Patrick as a prisoner. Forgive me, my good Lord of Curgarf,for thus daring to execute his paternal order under your roof.—Men of Clan-Allan, seize and bind Patrick Stewart!”“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder—“Hold, men of Clan-Allan! Lay not a hand upon him, to whom, if my dear master Sir Walter be indeed gone, ye must all soon, in the course of nature, swear fealty as your chieftain. He is guiltless of my beloved master’s murder, though murdered, I fear, he hath most foully been. But here is one who can tell more of this cruel and wicked deed. Come hither boy, and tell us what thou may’st know of this mysterious matter.”Dugald Roy then led forward the youth whom he had brought prisoner to Curgarf, of whose very existence Sir Patrick Stewart had lost all recollection, amidst the tumult of joy in which he had been so continually kept by his approaching nuptials. The Lady Catherine Forbes started with surprise when she beheld him; but the countenance of Murdoch Stewart turned as pale as a linen sheet at the sight of him.“What hast thou to say, young man, to theclearing up of this dark and cruel mystery?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf.“My Lord, I saw Sir Walter Stewart of Clan-Allan murdered,” said the youth in a tremulous voice. “I saw him shot to the death by the arrow of Ewan Cameron, one of the band of Catteranes.”“How camest thou to have been in any such evil company?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf.“Trusting to have mercy at your hands, my Lord, I will tell my whole story as shortly as I can, if thou wilt but listen to me,” replied the youth. “I was prentice to a craftsman in the town of Banff, a man who wrought in gold and silver. Being one day severely chidden by my master for some unlucky fault, the devil entered into me, and I resolved to be revenged of him. Having become known to the captain of a certain band of Catteranes, I stole my master’s keys, and gave them to him, so that he and his gang were enabled to rifle the goldsmith’s stores of all his valuables. In dread of punishment I fled with them to their den in the hills, where they afterwards kept me in thrall to do theirservice. The lady, thy daughter, can tell thee that I was there when she was brought in by them, and had not Sir Patrick Stewart left me bound when he spared my life, they would have certainly taken it on their return, in their rage and fury at her escape; but, fortunately, I was lying quite out of their way at the moment, and was not discovered till they had somewhat cooled. Finding that their retreat had been found out, they hastily abandoned it, and dispersed themselves through the hills. On the day that followed after that, we were all collected together to meet our captain; and after two days more, a breathless messenger came early in the morning to tell him something which was kept secret from all else. There were but few of the band with him at the time; but these were ordered to arm on the sudden; and even I, who had never been called out on any expedition until that day, was commanded to arm like the rest.“Our small party marched off in all haste, and about mid-day we were planted in ambush on the side of a hill above the Aven. Our captain seemed to be restless and anxious. Hemoved about from place to place, stretching on tiptoe from the top of every knoll, and sometimes climbing the tallest pine trees, in order to scan the valley below more narrowly. At length, as it grew late in the afternoon, he took a long look from one point, and then, as if he had at last made some discovery of importance, he suddenly moved us off into a thicket, which grew on the edge of a considerable opening in the wood on the hill-side; and I would know that opening again, for it had the green quaking bog of a well-head in the very midst of it.“We had not stood long there, till a man in very plain attire, with a bow in his hand, came up from the thick wood below, and began to pass aslant the open space. ‘There goes a good mark for an arrow,’ said the captain of the band. ‘Shoot at him, my men.’—‘He is not worth a shaft,’ replied some of his people. ‘He is a poor fellow who hath nothing in his sporran to pay for the killing of him.’—‘No matter,’ said Ewan Cameron, ‘he hath a good pair of sandals on him; and my brogues are worn to shreds—so, here goes at him.’ And just as the manwas passing along the bank close above the well-eye, the arrow fled, and pierced him to the heart. ‘Well shot, Ewan!’ cried the captain, in a strange ecstasy of joy; ‘thou shalt have gold for that shot of thine.’ So instant was his death, that he sprang high into the air, and his body fell headlong and without life into the very middle of the bog, with a force that buried it in its yielding mass, so high, that nothing was seen of him but his legs. Ewan hastened to the place, quietly took off the sandals from the dead man, threw off his own brogues, and put on the sandals in place of them, and then the captain himself ran eagerly to help him to force the corpse downwards into the bog; and this they did till the green moss closed over the soles of its feet. I then knew not who the murdered man might be,—and the deed was no sooner done, than our captain ordered us to make our way back, as fast as we could travel, over the hills, whilst he left us to go directly down into the glen.“Early next morning, a messenger again came to us; and five picked archers were sentout under the orders of Ewan Cameron. I was directed to accompany them; and I marvelled much why I, who was so inexperienced, should be required to go on an expedition where they seemed to be so very particular in choosing their men. But Ewan Cameron soon let me into the secret. ‘Thou knowest the person of Patrick Stewart of Clan-Allan, dost thou not?’ said he to me.—‘If that was he who took the lady from the cave, and left me bound, replied I, ‘then have I reason to remember him right well.’—‘Then must I tell thee, that we are now sent forth expressly to hunt for him, and to take his life,’ replied Ewan; ‘and if thou would’st fain preserve thine own, thou wilt need to look sharply about thee, that thou mayest tell me when thou seest him.’—‘Who covets to have his life?’ demanded I.’—‘He who made me take the life of his brother Walter, for those sandals which I now wear,’ said Ewan.—‘What! our captain?’ exclaimed I; ‘that must be in revenge, because Sir Patrick Stewart took the lady from him.’—‘Partly so, perhaps,’ replied Ewan; ‘but I am rather jealous that our captain’sgreatest fault to Sir Patrick Stewart is, that he, like his brother, Sir Walter Stewart, was born before him. Knowest thou not, that our captain is no other than Murdoch Stewart, the third son of old Sir Allan of Stradawn?’ I was no sooner made aware of this, than—”The youth would have proceeded, but the loud murmur of astonishment and horror that arose every where throughout the hall, so drowned his voice, that he was compelled to stop.“Holy Saint Michael, what a perfect villain thou art!” exclaimed the old Lord of Curgarf, darting a look of indignant detestation at Murdoch Stewart.“Thou wouldst not condemn a stranger unheard,” said Murdoch, calmly.“Nay,” replied the Lord of Curgarf, “thou shalt have full justice. We shall hear thee anon. But let this youth finish his narrative, which would seem to be pregnant with strange and horrible things.”“I have but little more to say,” continued the youth. “Gratitude to Sir Patrick Stewart, for having spared my life, when his own securitymight have required the taking of it, at once resolved me against betraying him to slaughter. Ewan Cameron marched us straight away to the hill, which rises above the track that leads from the little place of Tomantoul to the river Don, and there he kept us sitting, for some time, watching, till we espied three men coming along the way. Whilst they were yet afar off I knew one of them to be the very person whom the murderers were in search of. ‘Is that Sir Patrick Stewart that comes first yonder?’ demanded Ewan.—‘I cannot tell at this distance,’ said I; ‘but I think the man I saw in the cave was much taller than that man.’—‘That is a tall man,’ said Ewan; ‘take care what thou sayest, or thou mayest chance to have thy stature curtailed by the whole head.’—‘I say what is true,’ said I; ‘no man could know his own father at that distance.’—‘Then will I assert that thou sayest that which is a lie,’ said one of the party; ‘for great as the distance may be, I know that to be Sir Patrick Stewart. I mean that man who comes first of the three.’—‘Let us down upon him without loss of timethen,’ cried Ewan; ‘and do you come along, Sirrah! Thou shalt along with us; and, when our work is done, we shall see whether we cannot find the means of refreshing thy memory.’ Having uttered these words, Ewan hurried us all down to the covert of a small patch of stunted pines, that grew on the flat ground below. There we lay in ambush till Sir Patrick Stewart, and his two attendants, came within bowshot, and there, as is already known to most here, the six assassins were speedily punished for their wicked attempt, and I became Sir Patrick Stewart’s prisoner.”“Now,” said the Lord of Curgarf, addressing himself to Murdoch,“what hast thou to say in answer to all this?—What hast thou to answer for thyself?”“I say that the young caitiff is a foul liar!” cried Murdoch violently.“He is a foul liar, who hath been taught a false tale, to bear me down.”“He may be a liar,” said the Lord of Curgarf; “but his story hangs marvellously well together.”“Who would dare to condemn me on hisunsupported testimony?” demanded Murdoch, boldly.“Here is one who is ready to support his tale,” said Michael Forbes, pressing forward, and pushing before him a strange looking little man, with a long red beard, and a head of hair so untamed, that it hung over his sharp sallow features in such a manner, as, for some moments, to render it difficult for Sir Patrick Stewart to recognise in him, the man whom he had saved from his perilous position in the salmon creel, at the Lynn of Aven.“Ha!—Grigor Beg!” cried Murdoch Stewart, betrayed by his surprise, at beholding him; “What a fiend hath brought thee hither?—But thou—thou can’st say nothing against me.”“I fear I can say nothing for thee, Murdoch Stewart,” said the little man, darting a pair of piercing eyes towards him, from amidst the tangled thickets of his hair. “Nor is it needful for me now to say all I might against thee. But here, as I understand, thou hast basely and falsely accused thy brother Sir Patrick Stewart of murdering his elder brother Sir Walter. Now,I saw Ewan Cameron shoot down Sir Walter Stewart with an arrow; and it was done at thy bidding too, for I was by, on the hill-side, when thou didst give to Ewan Cameron his secret order to slay thy brother, and when thou didst teach him to do the deed, as if it were an idle act, done against a stranger.”“Lies!—lies!—a very net-work of lies, in which to ensnare me!” cried Murdoch. “But who can condemn me for another’s death, who, for aught that we know truly, may yet appear alive and well?”“Thou hadst no such scruple in condemning thine innocent brother, Sir Patrick,” said the Lord of Curgarf; “yet shall no guilt be fixed upon thee, till thy brother’s death be established beyond question. Meanwhile thou must be a bounden prisoner, till the truth be clearly brought to light.”“Men of Clan-Allan! will ye allow him who must be your chieftain to be laid hands on in the house of a stranger?” cried Murdoch Stewart aloud. “You are armed; use your weapons then, and leave not a man alive!”A thrill of horror ran through every bosom. There were brave men enough of the Clan-Forbes there, to have made head against three times the number of Clan-Allans that now stood, armed to the teeth, and in a firm body, at the lower end of the hall; but there was not a man of the Forbeses, who, if not altogether unarmed, had any weapon at all to defend himself with but his dirk. Those who had such instruments were drawing them, whilst others were rushing to the walls, to arm themselves with whatsoever weapons they could most easily reach, and pluck down thence. The noise and bustle of the moment was great, when, all at once, there fell a hush over the turbulence of the scene.“Stir not a man of Clan-Allan!” cried Sir Patrick to the Stewarts, who stood in their array, like a heavy and portentous thundercloud. “Stir not, men of Clan-Allan!—Stir not a finger, I command you!”“Sir Patrick Stewart is our young chieftain!” broke like a roll of Heaven’s artillery from the Clan-Allans. “Sir Patrick Stewart is ouryoung chieftain! Murdoch is a foul traitor and murderer! Bind him, bind him! Let him be the prisoner, and let us have him forthwith justified!”“Nay, nay,” cried Sir Patrick; “bind him if you will, but lay not your hands upon his life. This day, my Catherine,” said he, turning to the lady, and addressing her tenderly and sorrowfully; “This day, that was to have been to me so full of joy, must now, alas! be the first of that doleful time, which, in the bereavement of my heart, I must devote to mourning for my beloved brother Walter. My first duty is to go and seek for his remains; and in following out this most sad and anxious search, I must crave thy presence, my Lord of Curgarf, and thine, too, Arthur, with that of such of our friends as may be disposed to go forth with us, to aid us in so painful a quest.”The wishes of Sir Patrick Stewart were readily agreed to. The nuptials were for the present postponed; and instead of the marriage-feast, some hasty refreshment was taken, preparatory to their immediate departure on their melancholy search. The treacherous MurdochStewart was now given in charge, as a manacled prisoner, to those very Clan-Allans, at the head of whom he had come, so triumphantly, to fix a false accusation on his brother Sir Patrick. With them too went the youth, and the little man, Grigor Beg, who had given their evidence against Murdoch. The old Lord of Curgarf’s quiet palfrey was led forth; and he set forward, attended by Arthur the Master of Forbes, Sir Patrick Stewart, and a considerable following of those who were led to accompany him by duty, or from curiosity.They first visited the scene of the attemptedassassinationof Sir Patrick Stewart. The spot where the six Catteranes were slain, was easily discovered, by the flock of birds of prey that sat perched upon the tops of the dwarf pines, or that wheeled over them in whistling circles; whilst every now and then, some individual, bolder than the rest, would swoop down on the heath, to partake of the banquet which had been spread upon it for them. That some considerable share of courage was required to enable these creatures to do this, was proved tothe party, who, on their nearer approach, scared away a brace of hungry, gaunt-looking wolves, who had been employed in ravenously tearing at the bodies, and dragging them hither and thither with bloody jaws; as well as an eagle, who had dared to sit a little way apart, to feed upon one of the carcases, in defiance of his ferocious four-footed fellow-guests. The spectacle was shocking to all who beheld it. But one object of their search was gained; for, on examination, Patrick recognised his brother Walter’s sandals, which were removed from the feet of the corpse of Ewan Cameron, and taken care of—thus so far corroborating the testimony of the youth. Having completed their investigations in this place, they piled heaps of stones over the bodies on the spot where they lay, and the party then pursued their way, over the mountain, towards the alleged scene of Sir Walter Stewart’s murder.Providence seemed to guide their steps;—for, as they passed over the brow of the wooded hill that dropped down towards the Aven, they scared away two ravens from a hollow place in the heath; and, on approaching the spot, theydiscovered the well-picked bones of a deer. His head showed him to have been an unusually fine great hart of sixteen. An arrow was sticking so deeply fixed through the shoulder-blade, as to satisfy all present, that its point must have produced death, very soon after the animal had received it.“As I hope for mercy, there is the very arrow that was lacking of Sir Patrick’s three!” cried Dugald Roy, triumphantly. “See—there is the very eagle’s feather which I put on it, with mine own hand! And, look—there is the cross, which I always cut on the shaft, to give them good luck. No shaft of mine, so armed, ever misses, when righteously discharged. But for foul or treacherous murther, I’ll warrant me, that the most practised eye could never bring it to a true aim. But” added he, as he very adroitly dislocated out the shoulder-bone, as Highlanders are wont, and then possessed himself of the shoulder-blade, arrow and all—“I’ll e’en take this arrow with me, with the bone just as it is, as a dumb but true witness in a righteous cause.”Led by the directions which they receivedfrom Grigor Beg, they now descended through the forest, till they came to that very well-eye you see yonder—for that was the very individual place, that both the old man and the youth had described as the scene of Sir Walter’s murder. They had used the precaution to bring with them implements for digging; and, by means of these, a few sturdy fellows were soon enabled to make an opening into the lower end of the quaking bog, so as very quickly to discharge the pent-up water within it. The green surface then gradually subsided, and the legs of a human being, with hose on, but without sandals, began to appear, sticking out, with the feet upwards; and, by digging a little around it, they soon succeeded in bringing the body of Sir Walter Stewart fully to light. It was in all respects unchanged. The fatal arrow was deeply buried in his left breast; his bow was firmly grasped in his hand; and his three eagle-winged shafts were in his belt. The small unplumed bonnet which he usually wore, when dressed for following the deer, was fast squeezed down on his head, by the pressure which hadbeen exerted to sink him. How differently were the two brothers, Patrick and Murdoch Stewart, affected by the harrowing spectacle which was now brought before their eyes! Murdoch shed no tear—yet his features were strongly agitated. He looked at the corpse with averted eyes, and shuddered as he looked; whilst his face became black, and again deadly pale, twenty times alternately. Sir Patrick Stewart, on the other hand, threw himself, in an agony of tears, on the cold and dripping body of his murdered brother, as it lay exposed on the bank; and, unable to give utterance to his grief, he clasped it to his bosom, and lavished fond, though unavailing caresses on it. In vain he essayed, with as much tenderness as if his brother could have still felt the pain he might thereby have given him, to pluck forth the arrow, deeply buried in the fatal wound. All present were overcome by this sad scene;—but poor Dugald Roy hung over them, and sobbed aloud, till the violence of his grief recalled Sir Patrick Stewart to himself again.“Aye!” said Dugald Roy; “that is amurderous shaft indeed! A good cloth-yard in length, I’ll warrant me; and feathered, too, from the wing of some ill-omened grey goose, that was hatched in some western sea-loch. This is no arrow of the make of Aven-side, else am I no judge of the tool. No cross upon this, I’ll be sworn. No, no.—By St. Peter, but it hath murther in the very look of it! Aye, and there are the true arrows of the cross in his belt!—These are of my winging, every one of them. Little did I think, when I stuck them into my poor master’s girdle, that this was to be the way in which I was to find them! Would that he had but gotten fair play! Would that he had but got his eye on the villains ere they slew him! If he had but gotten one glimpse of them, by the Rood, but every cross of these shafts would have been eager to have dyed itself red in the blood of their cowardly hearts!”The body of Sir Walter Stewart was now wrapped up in a plaid, and fastened lengthwise upon two parallel boughs, and it was borne towards Drummin. Their movements were so slow, and so often interrupted, that it was darknight long ere they came to the place of their destination. Sir Patrick Stewart felt the necessity of preparing his father, Sir Allan, for the coming scene, as well as for the reception of the Lord of Curgarf, and his son, the Master of Forbes. He therefore resolved to hurry on before the party, that he might have a private meeting with the old Knight, before their arrival. But being fully aware that Sir Allan’s mind had been already filled with those iniquitous falsehoods, which his wicked brother, Murdoch Stewart, had engendered against him, he thought it prudent to take with him Dugald Roy, and two other men of the Clan-Allans, that they might be prepared, if necessary, to support his justification of himself.As Sir Patrick Stewart, and his small escort, approached the outer gate of the Castle of Drummin, they perceived that it was shut. Dugald had no sooner observed this circumstance, than he made a signal to the Knight to remain silent, and then he advanced quietly to the little wicket in the middle of the gate, and knocked gently.“Who is there?” demanded the Warder, from within.“Open the wicket, man, without a moment’s tarrying,” replied Dugald.“Is that thee, Dugald Roy?” demanded the Warder.“Who else could it be?” replied Dugald.“It may be that any other might have done as well,” replied the Warder gruffly. “Thou wentst not forth with Murdoch Stewart;—Art thou of his company at the present time?”“What matter though I went not forth with him, if I come home in his company?” replied Dugald readily.“Is he with thee, then?” demanded the Warder.“To be sure he is,” cried Dugald impatiently. “Come, man! he is close at hand, I tell thee. Come! art thou to keep us standing here all night? By all that’s good, he is coming upon us;—and, if he be detained but the veriest fraction of a prod-flight, thou shalt surely have a cudgelling for thy supper. Come man!—open I tell thee.”The huge iron bolts were now withdrawn from their fastenings, the key grated among the rough wards of the lock, and the wicket was thrown back, whilst the Warder, peering through the opening, seemed as if he were inclined to know something more of those without, before he removed his own bulky person, that still blocked the passage. But Dugald, stooping his head, sprang through the low aperture, and throwing his skull right into the poor fellow’s stomach, with the force of a battering-ram, he laid him sprawling on his back.“Hech!” cried the Warder, as he fell. “Hech me!”“Old fool that thou art!” cried Dugald, taking up the first word of quarrel with him; “who was to think that thou wert to be standing in the very midst of the way?—Yet I hope I have not hurt thee, for all that. Thou knowest, Rory, that I had rather hurt myself than thee.”“Nay, nay,” said the old man, with a surly sort of acquiescence, as he was slowly raising himself from the ground by means of Dugald’s assistance; during which operation PatrickStewart, wrapped up in his plaid, and followed by the other two men, had made good his entrance into the court-yard. “Nay, nay, I am not hurt. I’m no such eggshells, i’faith. Yet what a fiend made thee so impatient? I behooved to be careful who I let in, seeing that I was strictly charged to open to none but Murdoch Stewart himself there,” pointing to Sir Patrick, who was standing a few paces aloof. “More by token, I required to be all the warier, seeing that there was none living within the walls, besides myself, save the old Knight Sir Allan, and the Lady Stradawn.”“How comes that?” demanded Dugald; “Though so many went to Curgarf, there were still some left behind, surely.”“True enough, true enough,” replied the Warder. “But I know not what hath possessed the lady. They have all been sent hither and thither, on some errand or another;—even the very women folk have all gone forth.”Sir Patrick Stewart stood to hear no more, but making a signal to Dugald and the others to follow him, he crossed the court-yard towardsthe door of the keep tower, where they stood aside, whilst he knocked gently, yet loud enough to be heard in the hall above. Soon afterwards, a timid and unsteady footstep was heard descending the stair.“Open, good mother,” said Sir Patrick.“Oh, how thankful I am that thou art come!” said the Lady Stradawn, mistaking him for her son Murdoch, their voices being a good deal like to each other, and opening the door, pale and trembling, with a lamp in her hand, which the gust immediately extinguished. “A plague on the wind, my lamp is out! But oh, I am thankful that thou art come! ’Tis fearful to be left alone in the house with a dead man, and one, too——Oh ’twas fearful!”“Dead!” cried Sir Patrick, with an accent of horror, which might have betrayed him, but for the agitation which then possessed her whom he addressed. “A dead man, saidst thou?”“Aye!” replied the lady, in a hollow tone, “aye! I saw that thou hadst yearnings. Yet, after all, it was but giving him ease, by ridding him of a lingering life of pain. It waskindness, in truth, to help him away from such misery. Yet, ’tis no marvel that thou, who art his very blood, should have some compunction. But thou mayest be at rest now, for he is gone beyond thy help, or that of any one else.”“Gone!” exclaimed Sir Patrick again—“Gone! how did he die?”“Horribly! most horribly!” replied the lady, shuddering. “It was fearful to behold him in his agonies! Knowing, as I did, the potency of the poison, I could hardly have believed that the old man would have taken so long to die.”“Horrible!” exclaimed Sir Patrick, involuntarily.“Aye, it was horrible!” replied the lady; “horrible indeed, as thou wouldst have said if thou hadst seen it. For a moment, the poison seemed to have given him new strength, and he rose from his chair as if he would have done vengeance on me. ’Twas fearful to behold him!”“Art sure he is quite dead?” said Sir Patrick again.“Aye,” replied the lady, “as dead as his son Walter; so dead, as to make thee surely the Laird of Stradawn, the moment that thou shalt have made as sicker of Patrick, as we may now soon hope thou wilt be able to do. I did but help him, as I was saying, out of the pains and wretchedness of old age and dotage. Yet it was an awful work for me. And oh, his last look was fearful! I wish I may ever be able to get rid of it! Would that thou couldst have steeled thyself up to have done it thyself Murdoch! But come in—come in quickly! Hast thou secured the prisoner?”“I have,” replied Sir Patrick, now exerting a certain degree of command over his feelings; “he will be here anon.”“That is well,” replied the Lady Stradawn; “then all is thine own. His trial must be short, and his execution speedy. But come, we have much to do to make things seemly ere they arrive. He must appear to have died of a broken heart, caused by the wickedness of his son. Every thing suspicious must be removed from about him. I could not dare to touchhim. Why stand ye so long hesitating? But ’tis no wonder, for I could not look upon him myself without fancying that the devil was grinning over my shoulder. ’Tis horrible to think on’t! But come,” continued she, as she at last seemed to summon up resolution to climb the stair; “lock the door, Murdoch, and follow me up quickly, for we have no time to lose.”Sir Patrick Stewart made a signal to Dugald and the others, and then ascended to the hall after the Lady Stradawn. A deathlike silence prevailed within it. A single lamp was glimmering feebly on a sconce at the upper end of it: and there stood the lady, pale and trembling, at that side of the chimney which was farthest from Sir Allan’s chair. Sir Patrick, in his agitation, moved hurriedly forward; and the moment the light of the lamp fell upon his features, the lady uttered a loud scream, and swooned away upon the floor.The spectacle that now met his eyes harrowed up his very soul. His father lay dead in his chair, with his features and his limbs fixed in the last frightful convulsion, by which the rackingpoison had terminated his existence. His mouth was twisted, his tongue thrust out, and his eyeballs so fearfully staring, that even his tenderly affectionate son felt it a dreadful effort to look upon that, which used to be to him an object of the deepest veneration and love. Beside his chair was the small table, on which he was usually served with his food. There stood a silver porringer containing the minced meat, which his extreme age required; and notwithstanding all that the Lady Stradawn had said to the contrary, the operation of the poison seemed to have been so quick, as to have mortally affected him, ere he had taken the fourth part of the mess that had been provided for him. Sir Patrick was overpowered by his feelings. He sank into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, he gave way to his grief, in which he remained so entirely absorbed, that neither the entrance of Dugald, nor the thundering which some time afterwards took place at the outer gate, nor the noise of the many voices of those who came pouring in, were sufficient to arouse him.Dugald Roy had the presence of mind to hurry down to the court-yard, to prepare the Lord of Curgarf, and those who came with him, for the dreadful spectacle they were to witness. Thunderstruck and shocked by his intelligence, they crowded up to the hall, where the general horror was for some time so great, as to render every one incapable of acting; but at length they gathered sufficient recollection to bestir themselves. The poisoned porringer was first carefully preserved; the Lady Stradawn was carried off in strong fits to her apartment; the body of Sir Walter Stewart was borne up into the hall; and there, after undergoing the necessary preparations used on such occasions, the father and son were laid out in state together, and the couches on which the bodies rested were surrounded by so great a multitude of wax tapers, as to exchange the melancholy gloom of the place into a blaze of light, which, reflected as it was from the various pieces of armour that glittered in vain pomp upon the walls, shone but to produce a greater intensity of sadness. The good priest of Dounan was sent for; and the appallingnews having spread quickly around, the retainers began to swarm into the Castle, from all quarters, in sorrowing groups, full of lamentation. Meanwhile the Lord of Curgarf and his son, the Master of Forbes, occupied themselves in soothing the afflicted Sir Patrick Stewart, and in aiding and encouraging him to go through with those trying and painful duties which this most afflicting occasion demanded of him.Food and wine had been carried to the Lady Stradawn, where she sat alone in her bower, so deeply sunk in remorse, and dejection, and dread, as to be quite unconscious of the entrance or departure of those who brought her these comforts. Those who were compelled to be the bearers of them, gazed on her with fear, and hastened from her with expedition, and no one else could be persuaded to go near her, even her woman refused to remain with her, as something accursed, so that she was left abandoned by all, as a prey to her evil thoughts. Had any one ventured to look in upon her, as she sat motionless in her great chair, with a lamp flickering on a table beside her, and throwing an uncertain light byfits and snatches on her face, now pale and fixed as marble,—and on her glazed and tearless eyes, and her dry and withered lips, he might have fancied that she was already a corpse; yet deep, deep was the mental agony that she felt.The midnight watch had been set, and all had been for some time silent within the walls of Drummin, save the distant hum of the subdued voices of those who, according to custom, sat waking the corpses in the hall, when the door of the Lady Stradawn’s bower opened, and her son Murdoch appeared. If the spirit of her murdered husband had arisen before her eyes, she could not have started with more astonishment, or recoiled with greater apparent horror.“Murdoch!” cried she, in a loud and agitated voice, “Is it thee, Murdoch?”—And then, sinking back into the same fixed and motionless attitude, whence she had been thus momentarily aroused, she added, in a faint, low, and feeble tone, “Murdoch!—would that thou hadst never been born!”“Mother,” said Murdoch, calmly shutting the door behind him, and taking a seat besideher chair, “I have heard all from Nicol, the playfellow of my boyhood, who chanced to be set to guard me, in the apartment below. I wished to see thee ere we die; and I purchased from the sordid wretch this midnight hour—this last hour of privacy with thee.”“Ha!” cried the Lady Stradawn, with a strange and sudden transition from the apathy and torpor of despair, to the most energetic anxiety of hope; “If Nicol did that for thee, why may we not bribe him to open a way for us through those who guard the gate?—Quick!—quick!—quick!—Oh, let us quickly escape!—Oh, let us not tarry one moment longer! There are my keys; we have treasure in that cabinet, which may well bribe him, and yet leave us rich!”“Be composed, my most worthy mother,” said Murdoch Stewart; “There is not the shadow of a chance for us in that way. The door of the keep is doubly barred, and doubly guarded, and no one leaves it unexamined beneath the light of a blazing torch. The whole men-at-arms and clansmen within the walls, infuriatedagainst us, are of their own free will engaged in vigilant watching. The portcullis is down, the gate barricaded, the barbican manned, and the walls surrounded by patroles. Mother, cast aside all such hopes as useless, for as the guilt of both of us must soon appear as clear as to-morrow’s noonday, so that sun, which shall certainly arise to-morrow morning, shall as surely look upon our graves ere he sets.”The Lady Stradawn sank again into the chair, from which the sudden impulse of hope had so energetically raised her, and, groaning deeply, she relapsed into her former state of deathlike stillness, broken only by the long drawn sob that at certain intervals convulsed her whole frame.“Mother!” said Murdoch Stewart, after a pause; “Where are all the fruits of that career of crime for which thou nursed me as an infant, tutored me as a boy, and prompted me as a man? Have I not followed thy bidding through deceit, robbery, and murder, and where is now my reward?—Thine is locked up there in that secret cabinet of glittering toys, which to-morrowthou must leave, to go out to be hanged by the neck on the gallows-tree, with the son, whom thou wouldst have had Lord of the Aven, grinning at thee like a caitiff cur from the farther end of its beam—”“Oh!—Oh—ho!” cried the agonized woman, shaken through every limb by the palsy of her fears; “Is there no—no deliverance for us?”“Yes,” said Murdoch Stewart, calmly; “yes, there is a deliverance, and a speedy one too.”“Oh, name it!” cried the frantic woman; “Oh, name it! and quickly let us avail ourselves of it!”“Here it is,” said Murdoch Stewart, quietly taking a small paper packet from his bosom; “Here it is, mother. A few small pinches of this powder, mingled in a cup of that wine, will snatch us both from the torture of being made a disgraceful public spectacle to-morrow—of being gazed at by the vulgar eyes, and pointed at by the vile fingers of those wretched serfs, and their grovelling mates and spawn, whom, a little better luck and better fortune for us, had by thattime made the abject slaves of our will. See! here it is mingled, already it is dissolved, and now the draught is potent. Good mother, I pledge thee,” said he, drinking down half of what the goblet contained; “and now here is thy share.”“No,—no,—no!—I cannot!—no, I cannot!” cried the Lady Stradawn, with frantic horror in her averted eyes.“Then do I tell thee, mother mine,” said Murdoch Stewart sternly; “thou hast not trained me up to deal in deeds of blood and death for naught. I shall never suffer thy womanish fears to bring the disgrace of the gallows upon thee. I love thee too much for that. See here, good mother! ’tis but a choice of deaths. Here is a concealed dagger, look you. Say! wouldst thou bring one more murder—the murder of a mother on my already overburdened soul, to sink it deeper in that sea of torment, to which these priests would fain have us believe that those, who, like us, have used the wit and the strength with which they have been gifted, for bettering their own condition in this world, must hastenfrom hence. Drink! or by every fiend that suffers there, thou diest in the instant!”The Lady Stradawn glared at her son with a vacant stare, as if all reason had fled from her. She took the cup mechanically from his hand, and drained it to the bottom.“What hast thou done?” cried the man-at-arms, who had been brought to the door by the violent tone of some of Murdoch Stewart’s last words, and who rushed in just as the Lady Stradawn had swallowed the poison.“Do what thou wilt now, Nicol,” said Murdoch Stewart, with perfect composure; “We are both beyond thy power, or that of any one else within the castle of Drummin.”Nicol at once guessed at what had happened, and ran instantly for the Priest. The good Father of Dounan was deeply skilled in medicine, as well as in divinity. He called for assistance, and antidotes were forcibly given to Murdoch Stewart, and passively received by his mother the Lady Stradawn. Their wretched existence was thus prolonged, though death could not be altogether averted. They lingeredon, in great pain, for many days, during which all judicial proceedings were suspended. The pious priest lost not one moment of this precious time. By exerting all his religious learning, and all his eloquence, he at length succeeded in bringing both of them to a full sense of the enormity of their guilt, as well as to an ample confession of all their crimes. It is not for us to interpret the decrees of the Almighty in such a case as theirs; but if the apparent deep contrition that followed was real, and heartfelt, we may trust that the mercy, as well as the benefit of the merits of that blessed Saviour, who died for us all upon the cross, even for the thief that was crucified with him, was extended to them, dreadful as their crimes had been.My legend now draws to a hasty conclusion. The days of mourning were fully numbered by Sir Patrick Stewart, for his murdered father and brother. The kindness of the old Lord of Curgarf, and his son Arthur Master of Forbes, towards him, was unwearied and most consolatory. Nor were the delicate affections of the Lady Catherine Forbes less tenderly or unremittinglydisplayed, so that, in due time, by becoming her husband, he bound himself to both his friends by the closest and dearest ties. In pious remembrance of his brother Sir Walter’s murder, he erected the pillar of stone I spoke of, as that which stood so long by the side of the well-eye where he was slain; but he refrained from inscribing any thing upon it, lest his doing so might have revived the recollection of Murdoch Stewart’s atrocity. He likewise ordered a stone to be set up, where the proud Priest of Dalestie was burned, rather as a sort of expiation of the stern act of justice, which his brother Sir Walter had inflicted upon him, than to perpetuate the detested memory of the depraved wretch who suffered there.
“Nay, we shall soon convince thee to the contrary, father,” said Murdoch, motioning to the attendants to lay the deer down upon the hearth. “I will forthwith break him under thine own eye, and thou shalt see, and judge for thyself.”
Murdoch then drawing forth his knife, began to open up the animal according to the strictest rules laid down for breaking a deer, as this operation was called, and on proceeding to slit up the slough, to the great wonder of every one, it was discovered that the old man was right. The heart was indeed so very small that it might very well have been said to have been naught. Murdoch was dismayed for a moment at an omen so very inauspicious, which, in his own mind, he felt was more than enough to overthrow all the fair prognostics which his mother had so evidently drawn from his success. The Lady herself was equally disconcerted.
“Naught, naught!” whimpered Sir Allan.“’Tis an ill omen for thee, boy. Thou shalt ne’er fly with an eagle’s wing—nay, nay! Aye, aye! Thou art ever doomed to gobble i’ the muddy stagnant waters like a midden-gander.—Uch, aye! och, hey!”
“The fiend take the old carl for his saying!” whispered Murdoch angrily aside to his mother.
“Amen!” replied the Lady Stradawn bitterly, in the same under tone. “But fear ye not, boy, thou shalt wear his eagle wing, aye, and sit in his chair to boot, ere long.”
This dialogue apart was unobserved by any one, and both son and mother speedily recovered their self-possession. The lady very cunningly set herself, straightway, to turn the weak and dribbling stream of Sir Allan’s thoughts from the subject which then occupied them, to some other, which was to her less disagreeable at the moment, and she easily succeeded.
Patrick Stewart’s attention was attracted from all this superstitious trifling, as well as from what followed it, by again observing the garnet brooch, which appeared in the bosom of the Lady Stradawn. His thoughts were entirely occupied withit, and his eyes were from time to time rivetted on it. At length it seemed as if Murdoch had somehow remarked his fixed gaze, for a private sign appeared to pass from him to his mother, after which she pleaded a sudden faintness, and left the hall, to return no more that night, and her son soon afterwards followed her. Patrick Stewart’s mind remained filled with strange speculations regarding the jewel, until the night wore late, and he began to think anxiously about his brother Sir Walter. Having done the last offices of attention to his father for the evening, he secretly desired Dugald Roy to follow him.
“Dugald,” said he, “I am, most unaccountably, unhappy about thy master. Surely, if all had been well with him he should have been here ere this? I cannot rid my mind of the idea that there is something amiss with him. He rested not, as thou knowest, when I was missing, and it would ill become me to sleep when he is absent. Let us go seek for him, then, without delay.”
Dugald Roy readily assented; and both of them having dighted themselves well up for turmoil,as well as for toil, they secretly left the tower of Drummin. All that night they travelled, and by daylight they had got into the range of mountains, and of forests, where they had reason to hope for tidings of Sir Walter. They searched through every part of the wooded side of that hill where he had last disappeared, and they visited every human dwelling within a great range around it, but all without obtaining the slightest intelligence regarding him. Disappointed, and disheartened, they had returned nearly as far as where the village of Tomantoul now stands, on their way home in the evening, when they met with Dugald Roy’s brother Neil.
“What brought thee here, man?” demanded Dugald; “and what a fiend gives thee that anxious face?”
“Holy Saint Michael, but it is well that I have foregathered with you both!” replied Neil. “You must take some other road than that which leads to Drummin, Sir Patrick. Believe me, it is no place for you at this present time.”
“What, in the name of all the saints, hathhappened to make it otherwise?” demanded Patrick Stewart.
“Cannot ye speak out at once, ye Amadan ye, and not hammer like a fool that gate?” cried Dugald impatiently.
“Patience! patience!” said Neil; “patience! and ye shall know all presently. In the first place, then, Master Murdoch says that Sir Walter is murdered.”
“Murdered!” cried Patrick, in an agony of anxiety; “My brother Walter murdered!—Where?—when?—how?—by whom?—Oh, speak, that I may hasten to avenge him! But, no!—’tis impossible!—speak!—I have mistaken thee—surely it cannot be!”
“Master Murdoch says that it is true,” replied Neil. “But the worst of all is, that he hath accused thee, Sir Patrick, of having done the deed, with an arrow, somewhere in the wood on the hill of Dalestie.”
“Merciful Saints!” exclaimed Patrick; “can he indeed be such a villain? But who will believe so foul and unnatural a calumny? Oh, Walter, my brother, my brother! Heaven aboveknows that thy life was ten thousand times dearer to me than mine own!”
“Nay,” replied Neil, “he hath called all the clansmen who were there to witness and to support the strong suspicions which he hath industriously raised against thee.”
“What argument hath he against me?” cried Patrick Stewart impatiently.
“He says that the men who were present can testify that you and your brother, Sir Walter, went into the wood together,” replied Neil; “and that Sir Walter hath not been seen since; and then, he contends, that the sudden flight which you made from Drummin, under the cloud of night, is enough to show that you have taken guilt home to your conscience.”
“And is this all?” demanded Patrick Stewart.
“Nay,” replied Neil, “there was more stuff of the same kind, by the use of which he hath contrived so to persuade them with his wily tongue, that they are all clamorous against thee. Nay, he hath even warped the feeble judgment of Sir Allan himself to the same belief.”
“Serpent that he is!” cried Patrick Stewart.“But let me hasten home to confront this vile traducer. My brother!—my brother Walter!” continued he, bursting into tears. “My brother Walter gone!—and I accused of his murder!—Oh, my brother!—my dear brother! Heaven above knows how willingly I would have laid down my life to have saved thine! Nay, how willingly would I now lay it down at this moment, were it only to secure to me the certainty that thou art yet alive! The very thought that it may be otherwise is agony and desolation to me. But let us hasten to confront thisvillainy. Let us hasten to revenge! For the love of Heaven, let us hasten home, Dugald!”
“Nay, my good master,” said Dugald weeping, “for if this sad tale be true as to Sir Walter’s death, other master than thee, I fear me, that I now have none. Neil says well that Drummin is no place for thee to-night, with so sudden and tumultuous a clamour excited against thee. Thine innocence will avail thee nothing. Even the innocence of an angel would naught avail against the diseased judgments of men, with minds so poisoned and so possessed. Bepersuaded to go elsewhere, until the false and weak foundations of this most traitorous accusation fail beneath it, and the mists drop from men’s eyes. Who can say for certain that my beloved master, Sir Walter, is dead? I cannot believe in so great a calamity. What proof is there that he is dead? There is no news that his body hath been found.”
“Nay,”replied Neil, “he is only amissing as I said.”
“Thou dost well advise me, Dugald,” said Patrick Stewart after a moment’s thought. “There is, as thou say’st, no proof that my brother, Sir Walter, is dead. It is most reasonable to believe that this may, after all, be nothing but a foolish or malicious surmise. My best hope, nay, my belief is, that it is founded on naught else; and may Heaven in its mercy grant that it may prove so. I will take thine advice. I will not go to Drummin at present, but I shall straightway bend my steps towards the Castle of Curgarf.”
“Then shall I and Neil attend thee thither, Sir Knight,” said Dugald; “for next to SirWalter Stewart do I assuredly owe thee fealty and service.”
Sir Patrick and his two attendants now turned off in the direction of Curgarf, and the day was so far spent that the sun was setting, as they were passing over the ridge of the country lying between the Aven and the Don. The trees of the forest there grew thinly scattered in little stunted patches. Sir Patrick was walking a few paces in front of the two brothers, musing as he went, when he was suddenly surprised by a shower of arrows falling thickly on and around him. One stuck in his bonnet, another buried itself harmlessly in the folds of his plaid, a third pierced his sandal and slightly wounded his foot; and, whilst a fourth struck fire out of a large stone close to him, two more fell short of him among the heather near him. In an instant his bow and those of his attendants were bent, and their eyes being turned towards the place whence the shafts had flown, they descried some men lurking beneath one of the straggling patches of dwarf pine trees. To have stood aloof with the hope of shooting at them successfully would havebeen fatal, for the archery of Sir Patrick and his attendants could have done nothing against men so ambushed, whilst the Knight and his people would have been a sure mark for their traitorous foes.
“On them, my brave Dugald!” cried Sir Patrick Stewart, drawing his sword, and rushing towards the enemy.
Dugald Roy, and his brother, Neil, were at his back in a moment. Before they could reach the point against which their assault was directed, several arrows were discharged at them. But so resolute, and so spirited an attack had been so little looked for by those who shot them, that they were too much appalled to take any very steady aim, so that all of them fell innocuous. Seeing Sir Patrick and his two attendants so rapidly nearing their place of concealment, the villains thought it better to turn out, that they might receive their onset on ground where they could all act at once. Six men accordingly appeared claymore in hand, and as Sir Patrick continued to hurry forward, he now took the opportunity of speaking hastily toDugald and Neil, who were advancing to right and left of him.
“Draw an arrow each,” said he, “and when I give you the word, stop suddenly, and each of you pick off the man opposite to you, and leave me to take my choice of the rest.—Now!”
The unlooked for halt was made just as the assassins were preparing to receive the on-comers on the points of their swords. The aim was sure and fatal. Three men fell—and on rushed Sir Patrick and his two people with a loud shout. The three, who yet stood against them, were panic-struck, and, ere they could well offer defence, they were also extended writhing among the heather, in the agonies of death; and the whole matter was over in less time than it has taken for me to tell of it. But, uncertain whether the partial covert of the pine-patch might not still shelter some more enemies, they rushed in among the trees, brandishing their reeking blades. Up started a youth from among some low brushwood, and ran off like a hare. Neil was after him in a moment, and up to him ere he had fled twenty paces. Already he had him by the hair of thehead, and his claymore was raised to smite him, when Patrick Stewart called to his follower to stay his hand. Neil obeyed, and granted the youth his life; but when he brought him in as a prisoner, what was the Stewart’s surprise when he discovered that he was the same individual whose life he had spared in the Catterane’s den.
“Ha!” exclaimed Sir Patrick; “said I not well that I questioned the wisdom of sparing thy life when we last met, thou vermin? What hast thou to urge, that I should show mercy to thee now, Sir Caitiff?”
“Oh, mercy, mercy, Sir Knight!” exclaimed the youth, piteously. “Trust me, I came not hither willingly. I had no hand in this treacherous ambush against thy life.”
“Appearances are woefully against thee,” said Patrick Stewart; “yet would I not willingly do thee hurt, if thou be’st innocent. But this is no convenient time nor place to tarry for thy trial. So bring him along with thee, Dugald. We shall take our own leisure to examine him afterwards; meanwhile, take especial care that he escape not.”
Sir Patrick Stewart’s reception at Curgarfmay be easily guessed at. He told of the providential escape he had made from assassination by the way; but he thought it better, as yet, to say nothing of the mysterious disappearance of his brother, Sir Walter, or of the traitorous accusations against himself, to which it had given rise. His resolve to be silent as to this matter was formed, because he had by this time reasoned himself into the firm persuasion that his brother’s reappearance would speedily make his own innocence as clear as noonday.
He was next morning happily seated in the hall, now talking with the old Lord of Curgarf on one subject, and again taking his opportunity of whispering to the Lady Catherine on another, when he suddenly recollected the brooch he had given her. It was not in her bosom.
“Where are the two twined hearts?” said he to her, smiling. “Fear not, dearest—I am not jealous.”
“Thou hast no cause for jealousy, dear Patrick,” replied the lady; “and yet, I grieve to say, that I have not the jewel. When the Catteranes hurried me off from here, and just as they stopped for a little time to make up alitter, that they might the more easily carry me, one who appeared to have a certain command over them, but whose face or person I could not see in the obscurity which then prevailed, snatched it from my bosom, whilst affecting to fasten my arryssade more firmly around me. Nay, look not so serious, dearest Patrick! surely thou dost not doubt me in this matter?”
“Doubt thee, my Catherine!” said Sir Patrick, kissing her hand with fervour; “sooner would I doubt mine own existence;—thou art pure virgin truth itself! Think no more of it. Thou shalt have another and a richer one anon. But say, dearest! why should we longer delay to set our own very two hearts in that indissoluble golden knot, with which the sacrament of our holy church may bind them together, so as to form a jewel, of which neither robber nor Catterane can rifle us, and which cannot be rent asunder save by the iron hand of death. I have thy father’s permission to move thee to shorten that cruel interval which thou hast placed between me and happiness.”
In such a strain as this, did he continue tourge his suit, until it was at last successful; and, to his great joy, it was ultimately arranged, with the consent of all parties, that the marriage should take place on the second day from the time I am now speaking of. The bustle of preparation began in the Castle the moment the circumstance was announced; and it immediately spread far and wide everywhere around it, and went on incessantly day and night. Joy was everywhere as universal among the clansmen as their devotion to the Lady Catherine, the bride, and their admiration of the merits of the bridegroom, could make it. The day at length arrived. The Castle was crowded with all the friends and retainers of the family, who came pouring in to witness a ceremonial so interesting to them all. The Priest had arrived; the Castle chapel had been set in order; the bridal-chamber had been dight up; and the feast prepared; and every soul was astir to contribute, so far as in them lay, to the general felicity, as well as to share in it. The old Lord of Curgarf seemed to have grown young again. Arthur, the Master of Forbes, was alllife and raillery. Already had the whole company been assembled within the hall. All the men-at-arms within the Castle had crowded in thither. Even the old warden at the gate had lowered his portcullis, and made every thing secure with bolt, bar, and chain, so that he might safely leave his post to the charge of their stubborn defences. The blushing bride, arrayed in the richest attire, had been led in, attended by her blooming maidens; and the movement towards the chapel was about to be made, so that the ceremony might go on, when suddenly a shrill bugle blast from without the gate made the very Castle walls resound again.
“Go some of ye, and see who that may be who summons us so rudely,” said the Lord of Curgarf.
“Murdoch Stewart, and a party of the Clan-Allan, are at the gate, craving admittance,” said the messenger, on his return.
“Son Arthur,” said the Lord of Curgarf, “get thee down quickly, and give Murdoch Stewart of Clan-Allan, the brother of this our son-in-lawto be, instant entry. Let the gate be opened to him, aye, and to all his people, dost thou hear? It was kind in him thus to come, on the spur of the occasion,” continued the old Lord, addressing Patrick, after his son had gone with his attendants to obey his will—“It was kind in thy brother to come thus unasked on the spur of the moment. Would that Sir Allan, thy father himself, could have been here.”
The court-yard and the stair now rang with the clink of armed men, and Arthur, the Master of Forbes, entered, ushering in Murdoch Stewart, proudly attired, and followed by a formidable band of the Clan-Allan, whose flaring red tartans were strongly contrasted against the more modest green of those of the Clan-Forbes. To the no small surprise of his brother Patrick, he no longer wore that appearance of youthful carelessness and indifference, under the mask of which he had hitherto disguised his true character. His bearing was now manly and lofty, suited to the command of the Clan-Allan, which he now seemed to have assumed. Hissalutation to the Lord of Curgarf was grave, dignified, and courteous; and, as way was made for him, he advanced, with the utmost self-possession, into the middle of the hall.
“I rejoice that I have arrived thus, as it seems, in the nick of time,” said he, looking around him, and bowing as he did so, but without once allowing his eyes to rest on his brother, who stood fixed in silent astonishment at what he beheld.
“So do we all rejoice,” replied the Lord of Curgarf. “Had we but known that our bridal might have been thus honoured by the house of Clan-Allan, on so short a warning, trust me thou shouldst not have lacked our warmest bidding, as thou hast now our warmest welcome.”
“Welcome or not, my Lord,” replied Murdoch Stewart, with a respectful reverence, “thou wilt surely thank me for this most unceremonious visit, when thou shalt know the object of it. I come to save the honour of thy house from foul disgrace: would, that in so doing, I could likewise save the honour ofthat which gave me birth! But although, in saving thee and thy house from dishonour, the good name of that of Clan-Allan must assuredly be tarnished, it shall never be said of me, that I preserved it by falsehood or infamous concealment.”
“Of what wouldst thou speak?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf. “I do beseech thee, keep me, and keep this good company, no longer in suspense.”
“Then, my good Lord,” replied Murdoch, solemnly, “much as it pains me to utter it, and much as it must pain thee, and all present, to hear it, I must tell thee, that strong suspicions are abroad, that mine eldest brother, Sir Walter Stewart, hath been most foully murdered, and that he, on whom thou wert now on the very eve of bestowing thine only daughter, is the foul murderer, who took an elder brother’s life, to make way for the gratification of his own ambitious and avaricious desires. The circumstances are so strong against my unfortunate brother Patrick, that all agree that no one else could have been the murderer.”
“All!—all!—all!—all! was echoed from the stern Clan-Allans, at the lower end of the hall.
“Holy saints defend us!” exclaimed the Lord of Curgarf, sinking into a chair.
“’Tis false! oh ’tis all false, father!” cried the trembling Catherine Forbes, rushing forward to assist her father.
“Infamous traitor!” cried Patrick Stewart; “lying and infamous traitor! Where are the proofs on which you found so foul and false an accusation?”
“Would, for the credit of our poor house, that it were false!” said Murdoch, mildly. “But it is impossible to conceal, that thou wert the last person seen in our poor brother Walter’s company. Thou wentest up the wood with him, with three arrows in thy belt. Thou camest back shortly afterwards without him. One of thine arrows was gone. Thou gavest reasons for the want of it which proved to be false; and our dear brother Walter hath never been since seen.”
“He is guilty! He, and no one else, is the murderer!” cried the men of Clan-Allan hoarsely.
“Woe is me!” said the distracted Lord of Curgarf, springing from his chair with nervous agitation; “the circumstances are indeed too suspicious!”
“Father!—father!—father, he is innocent!” cried the frantic Lady Catherine Forbes, holding the old lord’s arm.
“Sister,” cried the Master of Forbes, taking the Lady Catherine affectionately by the hand, and speaking to her with great feeling—“Dearest sister, this is indeed an afflicting trial for thee; yet, be of good courage—I have no fears of the result. Patrick Stewart cannot be guilty of the foul and cruel deed of which he has been accused. We must have the matter sifted to the bottom; the truth must be brought out; and, as his innocence must be thereby established, all the evil that can happen will be but the short delay of your nuptials, till he be fairly and fully cleansed from these wicked charges.”
“I am sent by my father,” said Murdoch Stewart—“I am sent by my father, and that most unwillingly, to demand his son Patrick as a prisoner. Forgive me, my good Lord of Curgarf,for thus daring to execute his paternal order under your roof.—Men of Clan-Allan, seize and bind Patrick Stewart!”
“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.
“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder.
“Hold!” cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder—“Hold, men of Clan-Allan! Lay not a hand upon him, to whom, if my dear master Sir Walter be indeed gone, ye must all soon, in the course of nature, swear fealty as your chieftain. He is guiltless of my beloved master’s murder, though murdered, I fear, he hath most foully been. But here is one who can tell more of this cruel and wicked deed. Come hither boy, and tell us what thou may’st know of this mysterious matter.”
Dugald Roy then led forward the youth whom he had brought prisoner to Curgarf, of whose very existence Sir Patrick Stewart had lost all recollection, amidst the tumult of joy in which he had been so continually kept by his approaching nuptials. The Lady Catherine Forbes started with surprise when she beheld him; but the countenance of Murdoch Stewart turned as pale as a linen sheet at the sight of him.
“What hast thou to say, young man, to theclearing up of this dark and cruel mystery?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf.
“My Lord, I saw Sir Walter Stewart of Clan-Allan murdered,” said the youth in a tremulous voice. “I saw him shot to the death by the arrow of Ewan Cameron, one of the band of Catteranes.”
“How camest thou to have been in any such evil company?” demanded the Lord of Curgarf.
“Trusting to have mercy at your hands, my Lord, I will tell my whole story as shortly as I can, if thou wilt but listen to me,” replied the youth. “I was prentice to a craftsman in the town of Banff, a man who wrought in gold and silver. Being one day severely chidden by my master for some unlucky fault, the devil entered into me, and I resolved to be revenged of him. Having become known to the captain of a certain band of Catteranes, I stole my master’s keys, and gave them to him, so that he and his gang were enabled to rifle the goldsmith’s stores of all his valuables. In dread of punishment I fled with them to their den in the hills, where they afterwards kept me in thrall to do theirservice. The lady, thy daughter, can tell thee that I was there when she was brought in by them, and had not Sir Patrick Stewart left me bound when he spared my life, they would have certainly taken it on their return, in their rage and fury at her escape; but, fortunately, I was lying quite out of their way at the moment, and was not discovered till they had somewhat cooled. Finding that their retreat had been found out, they hastily abandoned it, and dispersed themselves through the hills. On the day that followed after that, we were all collected together to meet our captain; and after two days more, a breathless messenger came early in the morning to tell him something which was kept secret from all else. There were but few of the band with him at the time; but these were ordered to arm on the sudden; and even I, who had never been called out on any expedition until that day, was commanded to arm like the rest.
“Our small party marched off in all haste, and about mid-day we were planted in ambush on the side of a hill above the Aven. Our captain seemed to be restless and anxious. Hemoved about from place to place, stretching on tiptoe from the top of every knoll, and sometimes climbing the tallest pine trees, in order to scan the valley below more narrowly. At length, as it grew late in the afternoon, he took a long look from one point, and then, as if he had at last made some discovery of importance, he suddenly moved us off into a thicket, which grew on the edge of a considerable opening in the wood on the hill-side; and I would know that opening again, for it had the green quaking bog of a well-head in the very midst of it.
“We had not stood long there, till a man in very plain attire, with a bow in his hand, came up from the thick wood below, and began to pass aslant the open space. ‘There goes a good mark for an arrow,’ said the captain of the band. ‘Shoot at him, my men.’—‘He is not worth a shaft,’ replied some of his people. ‘He is a poor fellow who hath nothing in his sporran to pay for the killing of him.’—‘No matter,’ said Ewan Cameron, ‘he hath a good pair of sandals on him; and my brogues are worn to shreds—so, here goes at him.’ And just as the manwas passing along the bank close above the well-eye, the arrow fled, and pierced him to the heart. ‘Well shot, Ewan!’ cried the captain, in a strange ecstasy of joy; ‘thou shalt have gold for that shot of thine.’ So instant was his death, that he sprang high into the air, and his body fell headlong and without life into the very middle of the bog, with a force that buried it in its yielding mass, so high, that nothing was seen of him but his legs. Ewan hastened to the place, quietly took off the sandals from the dead man, threw off his own brogues, and put on the sandals in place of them, and then the captain himself ran eagerly to help him to force the corpse downwards into the bog; and this they did till the green moss closed over the soles of its feet. I then knew not who the murdered man might be,—and the deed was no sooner done, than our captain ordered us to make our way back, as fast as we could travel, over the hills, whilst he left us to go directly down into the glen.
“Early next morning, a messenger again came to us; and five picked archers were sentout under the orders of Ewan Cameron. I was directed to accompany them; and I marvelled much why I, who was so inexperienced, should be required to go on an expedition where they seemed to be so very particular in choosing their men. But Ewan Cameron soon let me into the secret. ‘Thou knowest the person of Patrick Stewart of Clan-Allan, dost thou not?’ said he to me.—‘If that was he who took the lady from the cave, and left me bound, replied I, ‘then have I reason to remember him right well.’—‘Then must I tell thee, that we are now sent forth expressly to hunt for him, and to take his life,’ replied Ewan; ‘and if thou would’st fain preserve thine own, thou wilt need to look sharply about thee, that thou mayest tell me when thou seest him.’—‘Who covets to have his life?’ demanded I.’—‘He who made me take the life of his brother Walter, for those sandals which I now wear,’ said Ewan.—‘What! our captain?’ exclaimed I; ‘that must be in revenge, because Sir Patrick Stewart took the lady from him.’—‘Partly so, perhaps,’ replied Ewan; ‘but I am rather jealous that our captain’sgreatest fault to Sir Patrick Stewart is, that he, like his brother, Sir Walter Stewart, was born before him. Knowest thou not, that our captain is no other than Murdoch Stewart, the third son of old Sir Allan of Stradawn?’ I was no sooner made aware of this, than—”
The youth would have proceeded, but the loud murmur of astonishment and horror that arose every where throughout the hall, so drowned his voice, that he was compelled to stop.
“Holy Saint Michael, what a perfect villain thou art!” exclaimed the old Lord of Curgarf, darting a look of indignant detestation at Murdoch Stewart.
“Thou wouldst not condemn a stranger unheard,” said Murdoch, calmly.
“Nay,” replied the Lord of Curgarf, “thou shalt have full justice. We shall hear thee anon. But let this youth finish his narrative, which would seem to be pregnant with strange and horrible things.”
“I have but little more to say,” continued the youth. “Gratitude to Sir Patrick Stewart, for having spared my life, when his own securitymight have required the taking of it, at once resolved me against betraying him to slaughter. Ewan Cameron marched us straight away to the hill, which rises above the track that leads from the little place of Tomantoul to the river Don, and there he kept us sitting, for some time, watching, till we espied three men coming along the way. Whilst they were yet afar off I knew one of them to be the very person whom the murderers were in search of. ‘Is that Sir Patrick Stewart that comes first yonder?’ demanded Ewan.—‘I cannot tell at this distance,’ said I; ‘but I think the man I saw in the cave was much taller than that man.’—‘That is a tall man,’ said Ewan; ‘take care what thou sayest, or thou mayest chance to have thy stature curtailed by the whole head.’—‘I say what is true,’ said I; ‘no man could know his own father at that distance.’—‘Then will I assert that thou sayest that which is a lie,’ said one of the party; ‘for great as the distance may be, I know that to be Sir Patrick Stewart. I mean that man who comes first of the three.’—‘Let us down upon him without loss of timethen,’ cried Ewan; ‘and do you come along, Sirrah! Thou shalt along with us; and, when our work is done, we shall see whether we cannot find the means of refreshing thy memory.’ Having uttered these words, Ewan hurried us all down to the covert of a small patch of stunted pines, that grew on the flat ground below. There we lay in ambush till Sir Patrick Stewart, and his two attendants, came within bowshot, and there, as is already known to most here, the six assassins were speedily punished for their wicked attempt, and I became Sir Patrick Stewart’s prisoner.”
“Now,” said the Lord of Curgarf, addressing himself to Murdoch,“what hast thou to say in answer to all this?—What hast thou to answer for thyself?”
“I say that the young caitiff is a foul liar!” cried Murdoch violently.“He is a foul liar, who hath been taught a false tale, to bear me down.”
“He may be a liar,” said the Lord of Curgarf; “but his story hangs marvellously well together.”
“Who would dare to condemn me on hisunsupported testimony?” demanded Murdoch, boldly.
“Here is one who is ready to support his tale,” said Michael Forbes, pressing forward, and pushing before him a strange looking little man, with a long red beard, and a head of hair so untamed, that it hung over his sharp sallow features in such a manner, as, for some moments, to render it difficult for Sir Patrick Stewart to recognise in him, the man whom he had saved from his perilous position in the salmon creel, at the Lynn of Aven.
“Ha!—Grigor Beg!” cried Murdoch Stewart, betrayed by his surprise, at beholding him; “What a fiend hath brought thee hither?—But thou—thou can’st say nothing against me.”
“I fear I can say nothing for thee, Murdoch Stewart,” said the little man, darting a pair of piercing eyes towards him, from amidst the tangled thickets of his hair. “Nor is it needful for me now to say all I might against thee. But here, as I understand, thou hast basely and falsely accused thy brother Sir Patrick Stewart of murdering his elder brother Sir Walter. Now,I saw Ewan Cameron shoot down Sir Walter Stewart with an arrow; and it was done at thy bidding too, for I was by, on the hill-side, when thou didst give to Ewan Cameron his secret order to slay thy brother, and when thou didst teach him to do the deed, as if it were an idle act, done against a stranger.”
“Lies!—lies!—a very net-work of lies, in which to ensnare me!” cried Murdoch. “But who can condemn me for another’s death, who, for aught that we know truly, may yet appear alive and well?”
“Thou hadst no such scruple in condemning thine innocent brother, Sir Patrick,” said the Lord of Curgarf; “yet shall no guilt be fixed upon thee, till thy brother’s death be established beyond question. Meanwhile thou must be a bounden prisoner, till the truth be clearly brought to light.”
“Men of Clan-Allan! will ye allow him who must be your chieftain to be laid hands on in the house of a stranger?” cried Murdoch Stewart aloud. “You are armed; use your weapons then, and leave not a man alive!”
A thrill of horror ran through every bosom. There were brave men enough of the Clan-Forbes there, to have made head against three times the number of Clan-Allans that now stood, armed to the teeth, and in a firm body, at the lower end of the hall; but there was not a man of the Forbeses, who, if not altogether unarmed, had any weapon at all to defend himself with but his dirk. Those who had such instruments were drawing them, whilst others were rushing to the walls, to arm themselves with whatsoever weapons they could most easily reach, and pluck down thence. The noise and bustle of the moment was great, when, all at once, there fell a hush over the turbulence of the scene.
“Stir not a man of Clan-Allan!” cried Sir Patrick to the Stewarts, who stood in their array, like a heavy and portentous thundercloud. “Stir not, men of Clan-Allan!—Stir not a finger, I command you!”
“Sir Patrick Stewart is our young chieftain!” broke like a roll of Heaven’s artillery from the Clan-Allans. “Sir Patrick Stewart is ouryoung chieftain! Murdoch is a foul traitor and murderer! Bind him, bind him! Let him be the prisoner, and let us have him forthwith justified!”
“Nay, nay,” cried Sir Patrick; “bind him if you will, but lay not your hands upon his life. This day, my Catherine,” said he, turning to the lady, and addressing her tenderly and sorrowfully; “This day, that was to have been to me so full of joy, must now, alas! be the first of that doleful time, which, in the bereavement of my heart, I must devote to mourning for my beloved brother Walter. My first duty is to go and seek for his remains; and in following out this most sad and anxious search, I must crave thy presence, my Lord of Curgarf, and thine, too, Arthur, with that of such of our friends as may be disposed to go forth with us, to aid us in so painful a quest.”
The wishes of Sir Patrick Stewart were readily agreed to. The nuptials were for the present postponed; and instead of the marriage-feast, some hasty refreshment was taken, preparatory to their immediate departure on their melancholy search. The treacherous MurdochStewart was now given in charge, as a manacled prisoner, to those very Clan-Allans, at the head of whom he had come, so triumphantly, to fix a false accusation on his brother Sir Patrick. With them too went the youth, and the little man, Grigor Beg, who had given their evidence against Murdoch. The old Lord of Curgarf’s quiet palfrey was led forth; and he set forward, attended by Arthur the Master of Forbes, Sir Patrick Stewart, and a considerable following of those who were led to accompany him by duty, or from curiosity.
They first visited the scene of the attemptedassassinationof Sir Patrick Stewart. The spot where the six Catteranes were slain, was easily discovered, by the flock of birds of prey that sat perched upon the tops of the dwarf pines, or that wheeled over them in whistling circles; whilst every now and then, some individual, bolder than the rest, would swoop down on the heath, to partake of the banquet which had been spread upon it for them. That some considerable share of courage was required to enable these creatures to do this, was proved tothe party, who, on their nearer approach, scared away a brace of hungry, gaunt-looking wolves, who had been employed in ravenously tearing at the bodies, and dragging them hither and thither with bloody jaws; as well as an eagle, who had dared to sit a little way apart, to feed upon one of the carcases, in defiance of his ferocious four-footed fellow-guests. The spectacle was shocking to all who beheld it. But one object of their search was gained; for, on examination, Patrick recognised his brother Walter’s sandals, which were removed from the feet of the corpse of Ewan Cameron, and taken care of—thus so far corroborating the testimony of the youth. Having completed their investigations in this place, they piled heaps of stones over the bodies on the spot where they lay, and the party then pursued their way, over the mountain, towards the alleged scene of Sir Walter Stewart’s murder.
Providence seemed to guide their steps;—for, as they passed over the brow of the wooded hill that dropped down towards the Aven, they scared away two ravens from a hollow place in the heath; and, on approaching the spot, theydiscovered the well-picked bones of a deer. His head showed him to have been an unusually fine great hart of sixteen. An arrow was sticking so deeply fixed through the shoulder-blade, as to satisfy all present, that its point must have produced death, very soon after the animal had received it.
“As I hope for mercy, there is the very arrow that was lacking of Sir Patrick’s three!” cried Dugald Roy, triumphantly. “See—there is the very eagle’s feather which I put on it, with mine own hand! And, look—there is the cross, which I always cut on the shaft, to give them good luck. No shaft of mine, so armed, ever misses, when righteously discharged. But for foul or treacherous murther, I’ll warrant me, that the most practised eye could never bring it to a true aim. But” added he, as he very adroitly dislocated out the shoulder-bone, as Highlanders are wont, and then possessed himself of the shoulder-blade, arrow and all—“I’ll e’en take this arrow with me, with the bone just as it is, as a dumb but true witness in a righteous cause.”
Led by the directions which they receivedfrom Grigor Beg, they now descended through the forest, till they came to that very well-eye you see yonder—for that was the very individual place, that both the old man and the youth had described as the scene of Sir Walter’s murder. They had used the precaution to bring with them implements for digging; and, by means of these, a few sturdy fellows were soon enabled to make an opening into the lower end of the quaking bog, so as very quickly to discharge the pent-up water within it. The green surface then gradually subsided, and the legs of a human being, with hose on, but without sandals, began to appear, sticking out, with the feet upwards; and, by digging a little around it, they soon succeeded in bringing the body of Sir Walter Stewart fully to light. It was in all respects unchanged. The fatal arrow was deeply buried in his left breast; his bow was firmly grasped in his hand; and his three eagle-winged shafts were in his belt. The small unplumed bonnet which he usually wore, when dressed for following the deer, was fast squeezed down on his head, by the pressure which hadbeen exerted to sink him. How differently were the two brothers, Patrick and Murdoch Stewart, affected by the harrowing spectacle which was now brought before their eyes! Murdoch shed no tear—yet his features were strongly agitated. He looked at the corpse with averted eyes, and shuddered as he looked; whilst his face became black, and again deadly pale, twenty times alternately. Sir Patrick Stewart, on the other hand, threw himself, in an agony of tears, on the cold and dripping body of his murdered brother, as it lay exposed on the bank; and, unable to give utterance to his grief, he clasped it to his bosom, and lavished fond, though unavailing caresses on it. In vain he essayed, with as much tenderness as if his brother could have still felt the pain he might thereby have given him, to pluck forth the arrow, deeply buried in the fatal wound. All present were overcome by this sad scene;—but poor Dugald Roy hung over them, and sobbed aloud, till the violence of his grief recalled Sir Patrick Stewart to himself again.
“Aye!” said Dugald Roy; “that is amurderous shaft indeed! A good cloth-yard in length, I’ll warrant me; and feathered, too, from the wing of some ill-omened grey goose, that was hatched in some western sea-loch. This is no arrow of the make of Aven-side, else am I no judge of the tool. No cross upon this, I’ll be sworn. No, no.—By St. Peter, but it hath murther in the very look of it! Aye, and there are the true arrows of the cross in his belt!—These are of my winging, every one of them. Little did I think, when I stuck them into my poor master’s girdle, that this was to be the way in which I was to find them! Would that he had but gotten fair play! Would that he had but got his eye on the villains ere they slew him! If he had but gotten one glimpse of them, by the Rood, but every cross of these shafts would have been eager to have dyed itself red in the blood of their cowardly hearts!”
The body of Sir Walter Stewart was now wrapped up in a plaid, and fastened lengthwise upon two parallel boughs, and it was borne towards Drummin. Their movements were so slow, and so often interrupted, that it was darknight long ere they came to the place of their destination. Sir Patrick Stewart felt the necessity of preparing his father, Sir Allan, for the coming scene, as well as for the reception of the Lord of Curgarf, and his son, the Master of Forbes. He therefore resolved to hurry on before the party, that he might have a private meeting with the old Knight, before their arrival. But being fully aware that Sir Allan’s mind had been already filled with those iniquitous falsehoods, which his wicked brother, Murdoch Stewart, had engendered against him, he thought it prudent to take with him Dugald Roy, and two other men of the Clan-Allans, that they might be prepared, if necessary, to support his justification of himself.
As Sir Patrick Stewart, and his small escort, approached the outer gate of the Castle of Drummin, they perceived that it was shut. Dugald had no sooner observed this circumstance, than he made a signal to the Knight to remain silent, and then he advanced quietly to the little wicket in the middle of the gate, and knocked gently.
“Who is there?” demanded the Warder, from within.
“Open the wicket, man, without a moment’s tarrying,” replied Dugald.
“Is that thee, Dugald Roy?” demanded the Warder.
“Who else could it be?” replied Dugald.
“It may be that any other might have done as well,” replied the Warder gruffly. “Thou wentst not forth with Murdoch Stewart;—Art thou of his company at the present time?”
“What matter though I went not forth with him, if I come home in his company?” replied Dugald readily.
“Is he with thee, then?” demanded the Warder.
“To be sure he is,” cried Dugald impatiently. “Come, man! he is close at hand, I tell thee. Come! art thou to keep us standing here all night? By all that’s good, he is coming upon us;—and, if he be detained but the veriest fraction of a prod-flight, thou shalt surely have a cudgelling for thy supper. Come man!—open I tell thee.”
The huge iron bolts were now withdrawn from their fastenings, the key grated among the rough wards of the lock, and the wicket was thrown back, whilst the Warder, peering through the opening, seemed as if he were inclined to know something more of those without, before he removed his own bulky person, that still blocked the passage. But Dugald, stooping his head, sprang through the low aperture, and throwing his skull right into the poor fellow’s stomach, with the force of a battering-ram, he laid him sprawling on his back.
“Hech!” cried the Warder, as he fell. “Hech me!”
“Old fool that thou art!” cried Dugald, taking up the first word of quarrel with him; “who was to think that thou wert to be standing in the very midst of the way?—Yet I hope I have not hurt thee, for all that. Thou knowest, Rory, that I had rather hurt myself than thee.”
“Nay, nay,” said the old man, with a surly sort of acquiescence, as he was slowly raising himself from the ground by means of Dugald’s assistance; during which operation PatrickStewart, wrapped up in his plaid, and followed by the other two men, had made good his entrance into the court-yard. “Nay, nay, I am not hurt. I’m no such eggshells, i’faith. Yet what a fiend made thee so impatient? I behooved to be careful who I let in, seeing that I was strictly charged to open to none but Murdoch Stewart himself there,” pointing to Sir Patrick, who was standing a few paces aloof. “More by token, I required to be all the warier, seeing that there was none living within the walls, besides myself, save the old Knight Sir Allan, and the Lady Stradawn.”
“How comes that?” demanded Dugald; “Though so many went to Curgarf, there were still some left behind, surely.”
“True enough, true enough,” replied the Warder. “But I know not what hath possessed the lady. They have all been sent hither and thither, on some errand or another;—even the very women folk have all gone forth.”
Sir Patrick Stewart stood to hear no more, but making a signal to Dugald and the others to follow him, he crossed the court-yard towardsthe door of the keep tower, where they stood aside, whilst he knocked gently, yet loud enough to be heard in the hall above. Soon afterwards, a timid and unsteady footstep was heard descending the stair.
“Open, good mother,” said Sir Patrick.
“Oh, how thankful I am that thou art come!” said the Lady Stradawn, mistaking him for her son Murdoch, their voices being a good deal like to each other, and opening the door, pale and trembling, with a lamp in her hand, which the gust immediately extinguished. “A plague on the wind, my lamp is out! But oh, I am thankful that thou art come! ’Tis fearful to be left alone in the house with a dead man, and one, too——Oh ’twas fearful!”
“Dead!” cried Sir Patrick, with an accent of horror, which might have betrayed him, but for the agitation which then possessed her whom he addressed. “A dead man, saidst thou?”
“Aye!” replied the lady, in a hollow tone, “aye! I saw that thou hadst yearnings. Yet, after all, it was but giving him ease, by ridding him of a lingering life of pain. It waskindness, in truth, to help him away from such misery. Yet, ’tis no marvel that thou, who art his very blood, should have some compunction. But thou mayest be at rest now, for he is gone beyond thy help, or that of any one else.”
“Gone!” exclaimed Sir Patrick again—“Gone! how did he die?”
“Horribly! most horribly!” replied the lady, shuddering. “It was fearful to behold him in his agonies! Knowing, as I did, the potency of the poison, I could hardly have believed that the old man would have taken so long to die.”
“Horrible!” exclaimed Sir Patrick, involuntarily.
“Aye, it was horrible!” replied the lady; “horrible indeed, as thou wouldst have said if thou hadst seen it. For a moment, the poison seemed to have given him new strength, and he rose from his chair as if he would have done vengeance on me. ’Twas fearful to behold him!”
“Art sure he is quite dead?” said Sir Patrick again.
“Aye,” replied the lady, “as dead as his son Walter; so dead, as to make thee surely the Laird of Stradawn, the moment that thou shalt have made as sicker of Patrick, as we may now soon hope thou wilt be able to do. I did but help him, as I was saying, out of the pains and wretchedness of old age and dotage. Yet it was an awful work for me. And oh, his last look was fearful! I wish I may ever be able to get rid of it! Would that thou couldst have steeled thyself up to have done it thyself Murdoch! But come in—come in quickly! Hast thou secured the prisoner?”
“I have,” replied Sir Patrick, now exerting a certain degree of command over his feelings; “he will be here anon.”
“That is well,” replied the Lady Stradawn; “then all is thine own. His trial must be short, and his execution speedy. But come, we have much to do to make things seemly ere they arrive. He must appear to have died of a broken heart, caused by the wickedness of his son. Every thing suspicious must be removed from about him. I could not dare to touchhim. Why stand ye so long hesitating? But ’tis no wonder, for I could not look upon him myself without fancying that the devil was grinning over my shoulder. ’Tis horrible to think on’t! But come,” continued she, as she at last seemed to summon up resolution to climb the stair; “lock the door, Murdoch, and follow me up quickly, for we have no time to lose.”
Sir Patrick Stewart made a signal to Dugald and the others, and then ascended to the hall after the Lady Stradawn. A deathlike silence prevailed within it. A single lamp was glimmering feebly on a sconce at the upper end of it: and there stood the lady, pale and trembling, at that side of the chimney which was farthest from Sir Allan’s chair. Sir Patrick, in his agitation, moved hurriedly forward; and the moment the light of the lamp fell upon his features, the lady uttered a loud scream, and swooned away upon the floor.
The spectacle that now met his eyes harrowed up his very soul. His father lay dead in his chair, with his features and his limbs fixed in the last frightful convulsion, by which the rackingpoison had terminated his existence. His mouth was twisted, his tongue thrust out, and his eyeballs so fearfully staring, that even his tenderly affectionate son felt it a dreadful effort to look upon that, which used to be to him an object of the deepest veneration and love. Beside his chair was the small table, on which he was usually served with his food. There stood a silver porringer containing the minced meat, which his extreme age required; and notwithstanding all that the Lady Stradawn had said to the contrary, the operation of the poison seemed to have been so quick, as to have mortally affected him, ere he had taken the fourth part of the mess that had been provided for him. Sir Patrick was overpowered by his feelings. He sank into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, he gave way to his grief, in which he remained so entirely absorbed, that neither the entrance of Dugald, nor the thundering which some time afterwards took place at the outer gate, nor the noise of the many voices of those who came pouring in, were sufficient to arouse him.
Dugald Roy had the presence of mind to hurry down to the court-yard, to prepare the Lord of Curgarf, and those who came with him, for the dreadful spectacle they were to witness. Thunderstruck and shocked by his intelligence, they crowded up to the hall, where the general horror was for some time so great, as to render every one incapable of acting; but at length they gathered sufficient recollection to bestir themselves. The poisoned porringer was first carefully preserved; the Lady Stradawn was carried off in strong fits to her apartment; the body of Sir Walter Stewart was borne up into the hall; and there, after undergoing the necessary preparations used on such occasions, the father and son were laid out in state together, and the couches on which the bodies rested were surrounded by so great a multitude of wax tapers, as to exchange the melancholy gloom of the place into a blaze of light, which, reflected as it was from the various pieces of armour that glittered in vain pomp upon the walls, shone but to produce a greater intensity of sadness. The good priest of Dounan was sent for; and the appallingnews having spread quickly around, the retainers began to swarm into the Castle, from all quarters, in sorrowing groups, full of lamentation. Meanwhile the Lord of Curgarf and his son, the Master of Forbes, occupied themselves in soothing the afflicted Sir Patrick Stewart, and in aiding and encouraging him to go through with those trying and painful duties which this most afflicting occasion demanded of him.
Food and wine had been carried to the Lady Stradawn, where she sat alone in her bower, so deeply sunk in remorse, and dejection, and dread, as to be quite unconscious of the entrance or departure of those who brought her these comforts. Those who were compelled to be the bearers of them, gazed on her with fear, and hastened from her with expedition, and no one else could be persuaded to go near her, even her woman refused to remain with her, as something accursed, so that she was left abandoned by all, as a prey to her evil thoughts. Had any one ventured to look in upon her, as she sat motionless in her great chair, with a lamp flickering on a table beside her, and throwing an uncertain light byfits and snatches on her face, now pale and fixed as marble,—and on her glazed and tearless eyes, and her dry and withered lips, he might have fancied that she was already a corpse; yet deep, deep was the mental agony that she felt.
The midnight watch had been set, and all had been for some time silent within the walls of Drummin, save the distant hum of the subdued voices of those who, according to custom, sat waking the corpses in the hall, when the door of the Lady Stradawn’s bower opened, and her son Murdoch appeared. If the spirit of her murdered husband had arisen before her eyes, she could not have started with more astonishment, or recoiled with greater apparent horror.
“Murdoch!” cried she, in a loud and agitated voice, “Is it thee, Murdoch?”—And then, sinking back into the same fixed and motionless attitude, whence she had been thus momentarily aroused, she added, in a faint, low, and feeble tone, “Murdoch!—would that thou hadst never been born!”
“Mother,” said Murdoch, calmly shutting the door behind him, and taking a seat besideher chair, “I have heard all from Nicol, the playfellow of my boyhood, who chanced to be set to guard me, in the apartment below. I wished to see thee ere we die; and I purchased from the sordid wretch this midnight hour—this last hour of privacy with thee.”
“Ha!” cried the Lady Stradawn, with a strange and sudden transition from the apathy and torpor of despair, to the most energetic anxiety of hope; “If Nicol did that for thee, why may we not bribe him to open a way for us through those who guard the gate?—Quick!—quick!—quick!—Oh, let us quickly escape!—Oh, let us not tarry one moment longer! There are my keys; we have treasure in that cabinet, which may well bribe him, and yet leave us rich!”
“Be composed, my most worthy mother,” said Murdoch Stewart; “There is not the shadow of a chance for us in that way. The door of the keep is doubly barred, and doubly guarded, and no one leaves it unexamined beneath the light of a blazing torch. The whole men-at-arms and clansmen within the walls, infuriatedagainst us, are of their own free will engaged in vigilant watching. The portcullis is down, the gate barricaded, the barbican manned, and the walls surrounded by patroles. Mother, cast aside all such hopes as useless, for as the guilt of both of us must soon appear as clear as to-morrow’s noonday, so that sun, which shall certainly arise to-morrow morning, shall as surely look upon our graves ere he sets.”
The Lady Stradawn sank again into the chair, from which the sudden impulse of hope had so energetically raised her, and, groaning deeply, she relapsed into her former state of deathlike stillness, broken only by the long drawn sob that at certain intervals convulsed her whole frame.
“Mother!” said Murdoch Stewart, after a pause; “Where are all the fruits of that career of crime for which thou nursed me as an infant, tutored me as a boy, and prompted me as a man? Have I not followed thy bidding through deceit, robbery, and murder, and where is now my reward?—Thine is locked up there in that secret cabinet of glittering toys, which to-morrowthou must leave, to go out to be hanged by the neck on the gallows-tree, with the son, whom thou wouldst have had Lord of the Aven, grinning at thee like a caitiff cur from the farther end of its beam—”
“Oh!—Oh—ho!” cried the agonized woman, shaken through every limb by the palsy of her fears; “Is there no—no deliverance for us?”
“Yes,” said Murdoch Stewart, calmly; “yes, there is a deliverance, and a speedy one too.”
“Oh, name it!” cried the frantic woman; “Oh, name it! and quickly let us avail ourselves of it!”
“Here it is,” said Murdoch Stewart, quietly taking a small paper packet from his bosom; “Here it is, mother. A few small pinches of this powder, mingled in a cup of that wine, will snatch us both from the torture of being made a disgraceful public spectacle to-morrow—of being gazed at by the vulgar eyes, and pointed at by the vile fingers of those wretched serfs, and their grovelling mates and spawn, whom, a little better luck and better fortune for us, had by thattime made the abject slaves of our will. See! here it is mingled, already it is dissolved, and now the draught is potent. Good mother, I pledge thee,” said he, drinking down half of what the goblet contained; “and now here is thy share.”
“No,—no,—no!—I cannot!—no, I cannot!” cried the Lady Stradawn, with frantic horror in her averted eyes.
“Then do I tell thee, mother mine,” said Murdoch Stewart sternly; “thou hast not trained me up to deal in deeds of blood and death for naught. I shall never suffer thy womanish fears to bring the disgrace of the gallows upon thee. I love thee too much for that. See here, good mother! ’tis but a choice of deaths. Here is a concealed dagger, look you. Say! wouldst thou bring one more murder—the murder of a mother on my already overburdened soul, to sink it deeper in that sea of torment, to which these priests would fain have us believe that those, who, like us, have used the wit and the strength with which they have been gifted, for bettering their own condition in this world, must hastenfrom hence. Drink! or by every fiend that suffers there, thou diest in the instant!”
The Lady Stradawn glared at her son with a vacant stare, as if all reason had fled from her. She took the cup mechanically from his hand, and drained it to the bottom.
“What hast thou done?” cried the man-at-arms, who had been brought to the door by the violent tone of some of Murdoch Stewart’s last words, and who rushed in just as the Lady Stradawn had swallowed the poison.
“Do what thou wilt now, Nicol,” said Murdoch Stewart, with perfect composure; “We are both beyond thy power, or that of any one else within the castle of Drummin.”
Nicol at once guessed at what had happened, and ran instantly for the Priest. The good Father of Dounan was deeply skilled in medicine, as well as in divinity. He called for assistance, and antidotes were forcibly given to Murdoch Stewart, and passively received by his mother the Lady Stradawn. Their wretched existence was thus prolonged, though death could not be altogether averted. They lingeredon, in great pain, for many days, during which all judicial proceedings were suspended. The pious priest lost not one moment of this precious time. By exerting all his religious learning, and all his eloquence, he at length succeeded in bringing both of them to a full sense of the enormity of their guilt, as well as to an ample confession of all their crimes. It is not for us to interpret the decrees of the Almighty in such a case as theirs; but if the apparent deep contrition that followed was real, and heartfelt, we may trust that the mercy, as well as the benefit of the merits of that blessed Saviour, who died for us all upon the cross, even for the thief that was crucified with him, was extended to them, dreadful as their crimes had been.
My legend now draws to a hasty conclusion. The days of mourning were fully numbered by Sir Patrick Stewart, for his murdered father and brother. The kindness of the old Lord of Curgarf, and his son Arthur Master of Forbes, towards him, was unwearied and most consolatory. Nor were the delicate affections of the Lady Catherine Forbes less tenderly or unremittinglydisplayed, so that, in due time, by becoming her husband, he bound himself to both his friends by the closest and dearest ties. In pious remembrance of his brother Sir Walter’s murder, he erected the pillar of stone I spoke of, as that which stood so long by the side of the well-eye where he was slain; but he refrained from inscribing any thing upon it, lest his doing so might have revived the recollection of Murdoch Stewart’s atrocity. He likewise ordered a stone to be set up, where the proud Priest of Dalestie was burned, rather as a sort of expiation of the stern act of justice, which his brother Sir Walter had inflicted upon him, than to perpetuate the detested memory of the depraved wretch who suffered there.