* * * * *Once more the City of Edinburgh swarmed with Kennedys, come thither to the great trial. There had not been so great a concurrence of Westland folk in Edinburgh, since the memorable day when young Gilbert of Bargany cleared the causeway of us of the house of Cassillis—for which afterwards we were one and all put to the horn, to our great and lasting honour, as hath been related.At the West Port I met Patrick Rippett, he who had taunted Benane at the Maybole snowballing.'Whither is your eye gone?' I asked him, for he had a black patch where his left eye should have been.'A fause loon pyked it out and offered it me back on the end of his rapier!' said Patrick Rippett, with the utmost unconcern.'And what said ye to him?' I asked of Patrick, because he was not a man to take a jest (and such a jest) for nothing.'Faith, I juist bartered him fair. I offered him his heart on the point of mine!' said Rippett, and so strolled away, ogling the snooded maids at the windows of the high lands as best he could, with the one wicked orb which was left to him.I was walking with my father at the time. He had ridden the long way from Kirrieoch on a white pony, all to pleasure my mother.'Ye maun gang and hear the laddie gie his evidence,' she bade him. 'They will fright him to deid else, amang thae Edinburgh men o' the law. They are no canny. So long as Launce gets striking at them with the steel I ken he is safe and sound. For his hand can e'en keep his head, as a Kennedy's ever should. But wha kens what they may do to my laddie when he stands afore the justicers, and the lawyer loons come at him wi' their quips and quandaries?''Faith then, good wife,' said my father, 'ye shall come too. And thou and I shall ride to Edinburgh like joes that are newly wed.'And though at first she denied, yet at the last she consented, well-pleased enough—having a desire to purchase garmentry more suitable for the wife of a laird and the mother of one who was to be made a knight.When my mother went out for the first time, she held up her hands and exclaimed at the noise and bustle of the High Street—the soldiers who were for ever marching to and fro in companies with drums and pipes, the lasses that went hither and thither with a shawl about their heads, and bandied compliments—and such compliments—with swashbucklers and rantipole 'prentice lads. 'The limmers, they need soundly skelping!' said my mother, 'for a' that they carry their heads so high, and their kirtles higher than their heads!''Surely scantly that!' said my father.'But ay,' continued my mother, not heeding him in her press of speech, 'such hair-brained hempies wad be dookit in the Limmers' Dub on Saturday in every decent country, and set on the black stool of repentance ilka Sabbath day. I wonder what the King and the ministers o' Edinburgh can be thinkin' o'?'There was, however, for most of us a long and weary waiting, ere in the town of Edinburgh the High Court of Justiciary was ripe for the hearing of the case against the Mures. But when at last the great day came the whole West Country was there.[#][#] Sir Launcelot Kennedy, of Palgowan and Kirrieoch, appears somewhat to have confused the dates of the first and second trials of John Mure of Auchendrayne. Indeed, weakness in exact chronology is common to his record and to the contemporary Historie of the Kennedies, which was written about the same time by a partisan of the other side—it may even be by John Mure of Auchendrayne himself.And though many a face was joyous as were ours, eke many were sad and lowering. For it is strange that such ill men should have some to love them, or at least so it was with John Mure the elder. And so there were in the city Mures by the score, fighting, black-avised MacKerrows, cankered Craufords, with all the disbanded Bargany discontents from the south of Carrick, Drummurchie's broken band from the hill-lands of Barr, together with many others. So that we kept our swords, as at our first visit to the town in the days of Gilbert Kennedy, free in their scabbards while we ruffled it along the pavement.And I mind what my mother said, the first time she went down the plainstones with me. We met young Anthony Kennedy of Benane, and I perceived that it was his intent to take the wall of me. So I squared myself, and went a little before with my hand on my rapier hilt and my elbows wide, also cocking fiercely my bonnet over my eye—which assurance feared Anthony so greatly that he meekly took the pavement edge, and I went by with my mother on my arm, having, as I thought, come off very well in the matter.But my mother stood stock still in amazement.'Laddie, laddie, I kenned na what had taken ye—ye prinked and passaged for a' the world like our bantam cock at Kirrieoch, when he hears his neighbour at Kirriemore craw in the prime of the morn. Gin ye gang on that gait, ye will get your kame berried and scarted, my lad. So listen your auld mither, and walk mair humbly.'At this I was somewhat shamed, and dropped behind like a little whipped messan; for my mother has a brisk tongue. My father said not a word, but there was a look of dry humorsomeness upon his face which I knew and feared more than my mother's clip-wit tongue.CHAPTER XLIXTHE GREAT DAY OF TRIALAt last, however, the trial was set, and we all summoned for our evidence. It was to be held in the High Court of Justiciary, and was a right solemn thing. A hot day in mid-summer it proved, with the narrow, overcrowded bounds of the town drowsed with heat, and yet eaten up with a plague of flies. The room of the trial was a large one, with a dais for the judges at the end, the boxes for the prisoners, and a tall stool with steps and a bar on which to rest the hands, for the witnesses.And in the long, dark, low, oak-panelled room what a crush of people! For the report of the monstrous dealing of the Mures and the strangeness of their crimes, had caused a mighty coil in the town of Edinburgh and in the country round about. So that all the time of the trial there was a constant hum about the doors—now a continuous murmur that forced its way within, and now a louder roar as the doors were opened and shut by the officers of the court. Also, in order to show themselves busybodies, these pot-bellied stripe-jackets went and came every minute or two, pushing right and left with their halberts, which the poor folk had very peaceably to abide as best they might.But the disposition of the rabble of the city was a marvel to me. For being stirred up by the Bargany folk and by the Earl of Dunbar, Mure's well-wisher, it was singularly unfriendly to us. So that we were almost feared that the criminals might, after all, be let off by the overawing of the assize that sat upon the case. But finally, as it happened, those who were chosen assize-men were mostly landward gentlemen of stout hearts and no subjection to the clamour of the vulgar—such, indeed, as should ever be placed upon the hearing of justice, not mere bodies of the Luckenbooths, who, if they give the verdict against the popular voice, are liable to have their shops and stalls plundered. And James Scrymgeour of Dudhope, a good man, was made the chancellor of the jury.There were many of the great Lords of Session on the bench. For a case so important and notable had not been tried for years, and the Lords of Secret Council appointed my Lord President himself to be in the chief place in his robes, as well as five other justices in his company, that the dittay might be heard with all equal mind and with great motion of solemnity.It was eleven by the clock when the judges were ushered in, Sir John Fenton of Fentonbarns, Lord President, coming first and sitting in the midst.Then the crier of the court shouted, 'Way for His Majesty—for King James the Sext make way!'And all the people rose up while King James was coming in. He sat upon the bench with the justices indeed, but a little way apart, as having by law no share in their deliberations. Nevertheless he was all the time writing and passing pieces of white paper to them, whereat they bowed very courteously back to him. But whether they took any notice of their import I know not.Then the prisoners were brought in. John Mure the elder, with his grey hair and commanding presence, looked out of from beneath his eyebrows like a lion ignominiously beset. James Mure the younger came after his father, a heavy, loutish, ignorant man, but somewhat paled with his bloody handling at the instance of the Lords of Secret Council. Also in accordance with the promise of Earl John in the matter of the finding of the cave, James Bannatyne of Chapeldonnan was not set up for trial along with them, which was a wonder to many and an outcry to some of the evilly affected.Then the court being set, the dittay was read solemnly by a very fair-spoken and courteous gentleman, Thomas Hamilton of Byres, the King's advocate. He spoke in a soft voice as if he were courting a lady. And whenever he addressed a word to the prisoners, it was as if he had been their dearest friend, and grieved that they should thus stand in jeopardy of their lives.Yet, or so it seemed to me, John Mure was ever his match, and answered him without a moment's hesitancy.Then, after the advocate's opening, the evidence was led. They called upon me first to arise. And I declare that my knees trembled and shook as they never did before the shock of battle. So that only the sight of Nell's pale face and my mother holding her hand, at all gave me any shred of courage. But, nevertheless, I went, with my tall, blue-banded hat in hand and my Damascus sword by my side, to the stance. And there I told all that I had seen—first of the murder at the Chapel of St Leonards, with the matter of the Grey Man who sat his horse a little way apart among the sandhills. Yet could I not declare on mine oath that I knew of a certainty that this man was the accused John Mure of Auchendrayne. Though as between man and man I was wholly assured of it.I told also of the sending of the letter and of the confusion of the lad upon his return from the house of Auchendrayne, and of all the other matter which came under my observation, even as I have detailed them in this history, but more briefly. Then a tall, thin, leathery man, Sir John Russell the name of him, advocate for the Mures, stood up and tried to shake me in my averments. But he could not—no, nor any other man. For I wasted no thought on what I ought to say, but out with the plain truth. So that he could not break down the impregnable wall of the thing that was, neither make me say that which was not.Then there came one after the other the Dominie, Meg Dalrymple, Robert Harburgh, and lastly my own Nell. But they had little more to tell than I had told at the first, till the herald of the court cried out for Marjorie Mure, or Kennedy, called in the pleas the younger lady of Auchendrayne.Then, pale as a lily flower is pale, clad in white, and with her hair daintily and smoothly braided, she rose and gave her hand to my Lord Cassillis, who brought her with all dignity and observance to the witness stance. So firmly she stood within it, that she seemed a figure of some goddess done in alabaster, the like of that which I had once seen at the entering in of the King's palace at Holy rood House.There was the stillest silence while Marjorie told her tale. The King stood up in his place, with his hat on his head, to look at her. The judges gazed as though they had seen a ghost. But in an even voice she related all the terrible story, making it clear as crystal, till there stood out the full wickedness of the unparalleled murders.'You are the wife of James Mure, the younger prisoner,' said the man of leather, the advocate Russell,; 'how then do you appear to give evidence against him?''I was first the daughter of Thomas Kennedy of Culzean, whom these men slew!' said she.And this was her sole answer. The lawyers for the defence, as was their duty, tried to make it out that her evidence was prejudiced, and so to shake it. But the King broke out upon them, 'No more than we are all prejudiced against foul murder!'So they were silenced. But the judges were manifestly ill at ease, and shifted in their seats—for even the King had not liberty of speech in that place. Yet no man said him nay, because he was the King, and, save it were Maister Robert Bruce, not many cared to brook his sudden violent rages.Then was entered James Bannatyne, who had been brought to confession (in what fashion it boots not to inquire), and he in his turn detailed, line by line, all the iniquity. So it seemed that now the net was indeed woven about the cruel plotters. But my Lord President, by the King's authority, was instant with the prisoners to confess the murdering of Sir Thomas and of the other—yea, even offering his life (but no more) to either of them who would reveal the matter, and tell who were complices in the conspiracy.And I think James Mure the younger was a little moved at this offer, for I saw him very plainly move and shift the hand that was upon his head. His father watched him with a sharp eye, and once set his manacled wrist upon his son's shoulder, as it had been to encourage him to remain firm. He himself stood erect and undaunted all the time of the trial, like a tower of ancient strength, while his son sat upon a stool with his back against the bars of the box, as it seemed careless of the crimes which were alleged against him. He had not even lifted his eyes when his wife Marjorie went into the place of witnessing.At last it was all over, and the men of the jury spoke earnestly together, while John Mure watched them with his lionlike eyes shining from under his hassock of grey hair. The King sat impatiently drumming his hands upon a rail. He would have liked, I could see, to go over to confer with them. But even King Jamie had hardly dared so much as that.After a short space for consultation their president of assize, Sir James Scrymgeour, stood up in the body of the court with a little paper in his hand,'King's lieges all, are ye agreed in your verdict?' asked my Lord President.'We are,' said Sir James, firmly.'And what is your finding?'There was a great and mighty silence so that the anxious tapping of the King's fingers on the wooden bench could be heard.'We find them both GUILTY—' said Sir James.He would have said more in due form, but there was a thunderous shout from all the Westland folk that were in the hall, so that no more could be heard. But the King was seen upon his feet commanding silence, and the macers of the court struck here and there among them that shouted.Then when the tumult within was a little hushed, my Lord President rose to pronounce sentence. But he had scarce opened his mouth, when there came through the open windows the angry roaring of the mob without. For the news had already reached them, and Dunbar and others were busily employed stirring them up to make a tumult on behalf of the murderers. My Lord President had a noble voice and the words of condemnation came clear and solemn from him, so that they were heard above the din by every ear in the hall—ay, and even as far as the outer port.'We discern and adjudge John Mure of Auchendrayne and James Mure his son and apparent heir to be ta'en to the Mercat Cross of Edinburgh, and there their heads to be stricken from their bodies—as being culpable and convict of many treasonable and heinous crimes. Which is pronounced for DOOM!'And when the officers had removed the prisoners, Marjorie Kennedy walked forth from the hall of judgment, as silent and composed as though she had been coming out of the kirk on a still summer's morning with her Bible in her hand.CHAPTER LTHE LAST OF THE GREY MANIt was the morn of the execution. Justice, delayed for long, was that day to let fall its sword. We of the Cassillis colours mustered in the dead of the night, for there was no force save the City Guard within the walls. And we had recently had overly many proofs how little these men could do with the unruly commons of Edinburgh if it pleased them to be turbulent. So it had come to be bruited abroad, that there was an intent to prevent the execution and deliver the murderers out of the hands of justice.But we were resolved that this should not be. So, as was our bounden duty, we armed us to support the right and to keep the King's peace against all riotous law-breakers. The Earl gave to me the command of one half of the band, reserving the other for himself. And already he called me Sir Launcelot, though I had not yet received the acknowledgment of knighthood from the King.At the first break of day it was to be done. Of this we had private notice from the turnkey of the Tolbooth.I had worked earnestly upon my mother and Nell that they should abide from the business—which was, indeed, not for womankind to see. Though I knew that there would be many there, ay, even dames gentle of degree. But my father marched with me.'Shall I put my harness off me,' said he, 'when there is a chance of a tumult, and of the defeating of the solemn justice of Providence and of King James? God forbid! Wife, help me on with my jack.'So I placed my father in my own command, and I set him in the second rank with Hugh of Kirriemore beside him and Robert Harburgh in front of him, where I judged he would not come to any great harm. And we Kennedies had the King's private permission thus to come through the town under arms. When we arrived at the place the tall scaffold had already been set up at the cross, and even ere we arrayed us first about it, many a candle had begun to wink here and there in the tall windows of the High Street.The Earl was to command a second strong guard from the prison port to the scaffold, lest the rabble should try to overwhelm the City Guard and the marshal's men as they convoyed the prisoners to the place of execution.Thus we of the first band stood grimly to our arms a long time after the gloaming of the morning began. The hum of the folk gathering surrounded us. There was, however, little pleasance or laughing, as there is at an ordinary heading or hanging; and that did not betoken good, for when the populace is silent, it is plotting. This much I had learned in my long service and afterwards as a knight-at-arms. Therefore I hold it the true wisdom to strike ere the many-headed can bite. That, at least, is my thought of it.Slowly and slowly three or four dark figures on the scaffold grew clearer to our eyes, till we could see the headsman and his assistants waiting patiently for their work to be brought to them. The chief of these was a man mighty of his arms. He had a black mask upon his face, and was naked even to the waist. A leathern apron like a smith's was done about his loins, and he stood leaning his broad axe upon the block. The sun was just beginning to redden the clouds in the east, when the door of the Tolbooth fell open with a loud noise. At the very same moment the rooks and jackdaws arose in a perfect cloud from the pinnacles of St Giles as well as from the whole city. And in a black clanging cloud they drifted seaward. Which was looked upon as a marvel by them that watched for freits. For they said, 'These be John Mure's devils that have forsaken him.' And, indeed, whether there was aught in it or no, certain is it that the birds came not back for many days. At least, not to my seeing, but then I was much occupied with other matters.As the procession came out, the Earl John and his men filed on either side in a triple line, with the axe-men of the guard marching close about the prisoners. John Mure walked first in his grey cloak, but bareheaded, striding reverend and strong before all. Behind him came his son. And hand in hand with him (O marvel of marvels!) was she that had been in name his wife, even Marjorie Kennedy. And as they came, the light grew clearer. There seemed to be almost a smile upon the Lady Marjorie's face. And James Mure listened intently as she spoke low and steadily to him.For Marjorie had in these days become (as it seemed) a woman removed from us, supported by no earthly food. For none touched her lips, her strength being upheld by some power from above; at least, so I think. She had received permission from the King to be with her husband in his last hours.'I have fulfilled the Lord's justice, for my duty was laid upon me,' she said, 'but I would not kill both body and soul.'How she effected it I know not; but certain it is that during the weeks of waiting she had won James Mure in some sort to contrition and prayer. And now with his hand in hers, they walked together along the short way to the scaffold foot; but old John Mure strode scornfully on before, heedful neither of man nor woman. And I swear that I could not but in some measure admire at him, devil of cruelty as he was.They climbed the scaffold—John Mure calmly as though he were leading a lady to a banquet table—but his son faltered and had fallen at the ladder foot, save for the hand of Marjorie, who walked in white by his side, accompanying him faithfully to his end.'I am his wife,' she said. 'It was I who brought him to this. Ye will not twain me from him on this day of shame. Never have I owned James Mure as my husband before, but I own him now.' These were her words, when the captain of the guard was instant with her to depart home.And I declare that the doomed man looked at her with something like a beast's dumb gratitude in his eyes, which, when you think on it, is a thing marvellous enough. And I ask not that it shall be believed. Yet I saw it, and will at any time uphold the truth of it with my sword if need be.At last they stood upon the scaffold platform, and the headsman made ready. Then there sounded above the mingled roar of the multitude the blowing of a trumpet. And the King's gay favourite, the Duke of Lennox, rode to the foot of the stage. He had a paper in his hand.'A pardon! A pardon!' yelled the people.My heart gave a great leap and stood still.'They never dare!' cried I. 'Lads, stand firm. If the King hath pardoned the murderers, shall we of the West? Will ye follow me, lads?'And they whispered back, 'Ay, that we will. We will help you to do justice upon them. The Mures shall never leave this place alive, though we all die also. We shall not go back to Carrick, shamed by these men's lives.'So we arranged it, if by any chance there should be news of a reprieve. For it was by singular good hap that we were the only company under arms in the city, save the few men of the Town Guard.But when Lennox made his way to the scaffold, we heard another way of it. I was almost underneath the staging upon the front, and heard that which was said, almost every word.'The King to you two traitors about to die,' he read. 'His Majesty desires greatly to be informed of the certainty of these things whereof you have been accused, and for which you have been justly condemned—the murder of Sir Thomas Kennedy, the matter of the bloody dagger thrown at the Red House, the Treasure of Kelwood, and its taking out of the changehouse on the Red Moss. His Majesty the King offers life and his clemency in a perpetual exile upon some warded isle, to the first of you that will reveal the whole matter.'The King's favourite ceased his reading, and looked at the condemned men.And John Mure in his plain grey cloak, which he had not yet laid aside, looked askance at Lennox, who shone like a butterfly in gay colours, being tricked out in the latest fitful extravagancies of fashion.'We shall be grateful to His Majesty all our lives,' said he, sneeringly, 'but the Solomon of Scotland is so wise that he can easily certify himself of the truth of these things without our poor aid.'But James Mure the younger, where he stood with his wife by his side, seemed a little struck with the message, and began to listen with interest.'Read that again,' he said to Lennox, abruptly.And Lennox, prinking and preening him like a gay-feathered Indian bird in my lady's bower, read the King's mandate over again.John Mure watched his son with the eye of a crouching wild cat. The younger man was about to utter something, when his father said quickly to Lennox, 'I pray thee, my Lord Duke, may I speak with you a moment apart? I am the first to accept the offer!'And with that they came both of them to the side of the scaffold where I was on guard, leaving James Mure standing with drooping head by the block.'Hark ye, my lord,' said Auchendrayne the elder, 'thy master's terms are fair enough to be offered to a dying man on the scaffold. I will take them. But on condition that my son be executed before I reveal the secret. For there are but two of us left, and we have been close to one another all our lives. I would not, therefore, have my son think that I, being an old man, for the sake of a year or two of longer life, would reveal those matters for which he has already suffered the torture of the extreme question, with so great constancy both in the King's inquest chamber and before the Lords of Secret Council.''That is easily arranged,' said Lennox, dusting at his doublet. 'I have but to give the word to the executioner, and he will do his duty first upon your son. Then he will halt till you have accepted the King's mercy, and given pledge and earnest of full revelations concerning these hidden and mysterious matters.'This was Lennox's customary manner of speaking—as he had learned it in the English Court, with womanish conceits and a flood of words and gestures. And as he spoke he smiled upon John Mure, as though the old grey man in the cloak and reverend beard had been some young and easy-virtued dame of the Court.And so taken up with himself was he, that he did not observe the basilisk look which the arch-conspirator turned upon him.Lennox held up his hand to the executioner.'In the King's name,' he cried to the man in the mask, 'do thine office upon the younger first, and speedily.''These are not my orders!' quoth he in the mask, curtly.Lennox flashed a little ebon staff, with a golden crown set upon the summit, before his eyes.'Would'st thou argie-bargie with me?' he said, 'then right soon another shall take thy bishopric and (as thou dost others) shalt shepherd thee to Hades.'Whereat Marjorie, robed in her clear-shining white, took the hand of James Mure, the man that was about to die.'Husband,' said she, calmly, 'I have asked pardon for thee from God—do thou also ask it now, ere swift death take thee. Ask it both from God and man.'For she had been his ministrant angel in the prison. And her own heart being changed—vengeance in the drinking not seeming so sweet a cup as it had appeared in the mixing. She had also won the sullen mechanic heart of him, who, according to the law of the land, had been so long her husband. She had showed him the way to a certain sum of faith, penitence, and hope. Which, perchance, he snatched at, not so much for themselves, but as the best things which were left to him.'James, won thou forth on thy way. Fear not! Thou shalt not be long alone,' she said to him.And, staggering a little, he moved across the scaffold. He would have fallen but that Marjorie set his hand upon her shoulder and put her arm about him. So he came forward stumbling like a man in sore sickness, as doubtless he was.'I am a sinful man,' he said, so that some, at least, could hear him. 'Pray for me, good people. Keep your hands from blood, as I have not kept mine. And, Marjorie, though thou didst never love me, love me now, and bide with me till I die.''Fear not,' she said; 'I will stand beside thee, and not only here. I have a message that I shall right soon be called to journey with thee further, meeting thee somewhere by the way that thou must go.'And calling him again 'sweet brother' and 'James,' she laid down his neck upon the block, and with one blow the headsman featly did his office. But Marjorie stood still and received the poor head in a decent napkin after the masked man had held it up.John Mure looked at her and at her son all the time, and an evil and contemptuous light shone in his eyes.'Madam,' he said, 'it had done no harm had you begun your care and attendance somewhat earlier. Ye might have made a decent preacher out of James. He was never muckle worth for aught else.'Then Lennox came forward again with his paper.'Now, John Mure,' he said, 'we have done according to your desire. Ye will now, I doubt not, having seen the end and reward of iniquity in the person of your son, accept His Majesty's so marvellous clemency, and be content to reveal all the matter.'He came a little near to the old man, airily whisking his paper with his forefinger.John Mure waved him aside with one hand, and held his nose with the other.'Pah! Get apart from me, civet cat!' he cried. 'Think ye that I will have any dealings with you or with your dullard fool master, King Baggy-breeches. I saw that ye might, perchance, were I first turned to dead clay and lappered blood, chance to get something out of James there. I saw him look somewhat too eagerly on your reprieve, for much belated domesticity had turned him soft. So I played with you. And now, wot ye well, ye shall know nothing from me that your precious Solomon of asses cannot divine for himself!'He took off his cloak of grey and lace collar, baring his neck for the dead stroke.'Stay,' he said to Lennox. 'Since your wise King is so curious. Here is a history of divers matters that may interest your master. It may do him some good.'The new minister of Edinburgh, a soft-spoken, King-fearing man, came near. John Mure looked at him.'Of what religion art thou?' he asked. 'Ay, verily, of the King's religion. Were my time not so circumscribed, I would have at thee with texts, thou time-serving rogue. Ay, and would swinge thee with them soundly, too.''In what religion dost thou die?' said the minister. For it was a customary question in those days, when men were forced to live and die on the borderland of many creeds.John Mure smiled as he bent his head to the block.'Of the ancientest persuasion,' said he, 'for I am ready to believe in any well-disposed god whom I may chance to meet in my pilgriming. But in none will I believe till I do meet him. Nevertheless do thou, like a wise, silly bishop, stick to the King and thy printed book!'Which saying was remembered when the minister was afterward made a bishop by the King's favour.With these words, John Mure threw out his hands with a sharp jerk—for that was the customary signal. The broad axe rose and fell, flashing in the sun a moment ere it crashed dully upon the block. The Westland men gave a shout, and the heathen spirit of John Mure of Auchendrayne, carrying such a load of sin and bloodshedding as never soul did before or since, fared forth alone to its own place.CHAPTER LIMARJORIE'S GOOD-NIGHTEven as the axe was falling, Marjorie Kennedy sank down upon the platform of the scaffold, as though the stroke had fallen upon her. I sheathed my sword, and sprang upon the slippery stage to hold her up. When I took her in my arms she was soft and pliable in all her limbs like a little child. Till now she had been like a woman of steel, or rather like one carven in alabaster, as I have said. But now she lay in my arms like a new-born babe on the nurse's lap.We carried her homeward, making strangely enough for some distance but one procession with the bodies which were going to be buried without the wall, while the heads were taken to be set on the pikes of the Nether Bow.To the Earl John's own lodging we brought her, and in a room with a wide north-looking window we laid her down on a bed. Then we stood silently about her, Nell and I being nearest.In a little while Marjorie turned her head to the window. The sun had risen on the sea. A north wind was blowing. All was very blue, and smacked of the morning freshness, for the window was open, and the sea air blew off the firth almost as salt it was wont to blow in at the windows of Culzean.Thrice she moved her lips to speak, but till the fourth time no word came.'I have done the work appointed,' she said, 'I ken not if I have done it right.'She paused a little, and her eyes, as she looked at the sea, were very wide and wistful.'It is a hard saying that "Vengeance is His." I thought it would be sweet—sweet,' she said, 'but now in the mouth it is bitter.''Hush thee, Marjorie,' whispered my Nell; 'it was the justice of God upon the murderers of our father.'And I thought that she spoke well.But Marjorie waved her aside.'Like enough,' she answered, quietly, as one that has not strength to argue, but yet holds the contrary opinion. 'Done, at least, is Marjorie's task. I journey forth to take my wages. Fare you well.'She turned her face a little outward so that she could look upon the sea and the Fife Lomonds.'A dearer shore,' she said, softly, and then she started a little, quickly as if she had waked from sleep.'Where am I?' she asked.But ere we could answer—even Nell, who stood close beside her and stroked her brow with a soft hand, she went on,—'Oh, what am I saying? I was thinking on our garden at Culzean, with its rose walks and the sweet dreaming scent of the sea?'She looked up at me, as it had been almost archly, yet so as almost to break my heart.'Launcelot, lad,' she said, 'hast thou thy gage that I gave thee there? Ye thought me once to be sweet. And I liked you, laddie, I liked you—with something just an inch on the hither side of loving. But now Nelly will love thee a mile on the further side. Come you, Nell,' she said, beckoning her, 'brave, sweet sister! Let not thy sharp tongue longer injure thy warm heart. Give me your hand, little sister Nelly. Where is it? I cannot see—for the bright shining light.'And finding Nell's hand she put it into mine across the bed.'Good-night, bairns,' she said, 'even so keep them till the world ends!'Then for a short space she was silent, and when she spoke again it was very low, so that none save Nell and I could hear. But the words made us tingle as we caught them.'Gilbert,' she was saying in a whisper, clear and distinct, 'is it not sweet to walk thus hand in hand on the green meadows? Are not the spring flowers sweet, lad of my love? Shall I sing thee a song about them? For, though thou know'st it not, I can sing both high and low.'Then she spoke as it had been liltingly and gladsomely.'Gilbert, let me set this spray of the bonny birk above thine heart. Methinks it hath a strange look. I kenned not that it grew in this countryside.'She broke into a weird lilt of song that sent the tears hasting to our eyes. But Marjorie was smiling as she never smiled on me, and that made me weep the more.'It neither grew in syke nor ditchNor yet in any sheuch,But at the gates o' Paradise,That birk grew fair eneuch.''Gilbert, Gilbert,' she said lovingly, crooning like one that is caressed, 'is not this right winsome? That we are walking here together on the living green—with all our fashes, all our troubles left quite behind us. There was surely something long ago that wearied us, something that parted us and twained us. I cannot mind what it was. I shall not try to remember. But, love of mine, it shall separate us no more for ever and ever!'Her voice had almost gone. But once again it came louder.'Keep my hand, Gilbert,' she said, trembling a little, 'there is a mist coming up over the green betwixt me and the sunshine—a cold, cold mist from the sea. But keep thou my hand, dear love, clasp it tighter, and it will pass over.'I saw the death sweat break on her brow.'Gilbert, Gilbert,' she whispered, searching above her with her hands and opening her arms, 'clasp me closer. I cannot see thee, love, for the mist. I cannot feel your hand.'I bent my ear. I thought she was gone from us. But, as from an infinite distance I heard the words come to me. They were the last, spoken with great relief.'The mist has gone by, dear love! The mist has quite gone by!'And she lay still, smiling most sweetly.CHAPTER LIIHOME-COMINGThe snows of another winter had fallen, frozen, and lain long ere they were at last whisked away by the winds of a brisk and bitter March. It was now again the springtime upon the face of the earth—the time of the earliest singing of the mavis, of the sweet piping of the blackbird on the tree. The grasses were green, too, over the unforgotten grave of our Marjorie. But we who loved her had won to a memory that was not now wholly sorrow. Specially we remembered the sweet and profitable end she had made, when after many days of bitter winter in her heart, forgiveness and love at last unsealed her bosom.It had been a long winter for us all, because it behoved that I should go to London, there to be made one of His Majesty's new knights. For I had told all my tale to the King, being so charged by the Earl John.'Yet,' said he, 'keep ever your thumb upon the matter of the Treasure of Kelwood. And I will keep mine right effectually upon Currie, the ill-conditioned thief thereof.'And so he did, and for the same Laird of Kelwood's sake chiefly, he set to mending and patching our old tower of defence on Craig Ailsa, in which he gave one Hamilton the charge of him as prisoner, together with John Dick the traitor and two or three more.'It was a fine, quiet place,' said the Earl John, 'and would give such rascals time and opportunity for repentance—which,' added he, 'seems more than I am ever likely to get with all this throng of business on hand.'For the Earl John was now waxen one of the greatest men in broad Scotland, and withal he had all the power worth considering in the shire of Ayr. So that even the Craufords, wanting now their ancient chief, and broken with bickerings among themselves, sent an embassy of peace and goodwill to him.It chanced that it came when the Earl was in a good humour.'Ah, John Crauford,' said Cassillis, ''tis a changed day since Bargany and you chased us off Skeldon Haughs. It looks as if the sow had not been flitted so far after all. But ye shall have the peace ye ask. For we live under a gracious King who loves quietness as much as when he dwelt here in our kindly North. And he is now the better able to enforce it. Therefore, look ye to it. I will maintain you Craufords in your heritages of Kerse—which by my power as Bailzie, I might legally declare forfeit.'But I will tell you what ye must do in return. Ye shall render me place and precedence at kirk and market. Ye shall build up your private door in Dalrymple Kirk, and ye shall abide from taking your places there till ye have seen me seated.'To this, dourly enough, the Craufords perforce agreed. For, indeed, they could make no better of it, so great a man was our Earl grown.But to me he was ever kind, and proved none so ill-given when it liked him. For he said, 'Build you the house of Palgowan and I will plenish it for you, and that not meanly. And you and my cousin Nell shall rear me routh of lusty knaves to protect my south-western marches, and keep down the reivers of the Dungeon!' Which, indeed (so far as I was concerned), I was right willing to promise.So it came about that the Earl would have it that our wedding must be held in the ancient strength of Cassillis, which sits by the waterside not so far from the town of Ayr. And a bonny, well-sheltered place it is—not like Culzean, which stands blusteringly on the seabrink, over-frowning all. And because the Earl of Cassillis said it, so it was bound to be.For he was our Nell's guardian, and besides we that were to live under him, were none the worse of keeping in with him.When I went to do my courting, as often as not I found Nell walking with him, and ofttimes flouting him. And when I would have cautioned her, 'Tut,' she said, 'he likes nothing better. If his own wife flouted him, he might stay better at home.''Cousin,' Nell would say to him sometimes, 'Cousin John, ye think ye are such a great man, yet a little musket-ball, or a woman's finger-long bodkin, might let all thy greatness out. Ye should think oftener on that.'What, Nell,' said he, 'is it that the hour of thy marriage grows so near, that thou must test thy preaching on me. Keep the proof of the pudding for thine own goodman.''Ah,' said she, 'perchance my cousin, the noble Countess, has already given thee thy fill of it.''Thou art a forward chit,' said he, wringing her ear between his finger and thumb. 'I hope Launce will swinge thee tightly with a supple birch for thy often naughtiness.'It was, indeed, a notable day when Nell and I were married. All the morning my heart was beating a fine tune, lest something should happen ere I got my lass carried off to our home. Alone I rode from the Cove of Culzean to the house of Cassillis. I started brave and early, and my good old horse, Dom Nicholas, rode for once the right road and the ready, the gate that I longed to go. I had a rare fine coat of blue silk upon me, belted about the waist with the King's belt, and with the King's order of knighthood all a-glitter upon my breast. Silver-buttoned was my coat, and of solid silver, too, were the accoutrements of Dom Nicholas—ay, to the very stirrups and the broidery on his blue saddle-cloth. I wore the Earl's Damascus sword, his first gift, swinging at my side. And as Dom Nicholas and I went through Maybole, wot ye, if we kept not our heads up. For the lasses ran out in clouds to watch us go past, and what was even better, the lads sulked and turned their backs, saying that they would be shamed to lay a leg across a horse's back thus appareled. For I knew well what they were thinking. Had I been trudging afoot in hodden, and they riding by all in silk with a gold-hiked sword, that is just what I should have said. So the black envy eating into their hearts and lowering on their brows cheered me like old French wine on a cold day.I had not gone far across the bent when I spied a cavalcade before me. It was the men of Culzean, whom I had so often led in battle, come to give me a right gay sending off. And at their head rode James (now the heir), mirthful Sandy, and mine own little Davie, dressed like a page-boy in satin of blue and gold.They gave me boisterous welcome, and they that dared would have broken many jests of the time-honoured sort upon my head. But on such a day a lover's head is helmeted alike against the hand of war and the strife of tongues.The Earl himself met us at Cassillis Yett. Whereupon I dismounted and bent upon a knee. He raised me right courteously and led me within, conversing all the while as to an equal. Such a repair of folk I never saw before in Carrick or in Kyle. And sweetest of all to me was to see my father, for my mother had bidden at home to welcome us when we should ride southward.And among the first that came to bid me good fortune were Robert Harburgh and his wife. Now so soon as the eyes of my ancient love crossed mine, I perceived well that there was yet wickedness lurking in them.And whensoever her husband was called away on some business of the Earl's I had proof of it. For Kate Allison came near to me, and, setting her hand on the silver buttons of my coat, as though to pick a thread, she said,—'So, Launcelot—or, I should say, Sir Launcelot—is it come to this? You see there is none so disdainful but in time their fall will come.''Nay, Kate,' I made answer, 'it was not I that was first disdainful, for do you mind who it was that told me certain truths in the Grieve's house at Culzean?''Ah Launce!' said Kate Allison, 'own it now. Was not I a kind leech, to bite one I loved so healthily all for his good and for the cooling of his blood?''Kate Allison,' said I, 'thou wast ever a minx, a teasing rogue of rogues. But thy disdain might have gone near to costing me my life!''Go to, Sir Want-wit,' said she. 'Did not I know all the time that thy love for me was no more than a boy's fondness for kissing comfits, and to be made of by a bonny lass? Why, even then thou wast fonder of Nell's little finger than of my whole body.'I knew that Kate spoke true—for, indeed, it was many months since I had so much as thought upon her. But this I told her not. The Lord knows how seldom she had thought upon me. But when they meet together, old sweethearts take pleasure thus in dallying with the past, when all wounds have been healed and no hearts broken.But she saw my eyes wandering, as I guess, every way about, and she must needs tease me concerning that also.'Nay,' she said, 'you will not see your posy, till she comes in to the minister and you. So e'en content ye for a little with an old married wife and the mother of a family. Ye shall have time and to spare with your bonny bride or all be done.''Kate,' I said, 'ye will be my friend as of yore.''Ay, and hold my tongue,' answered she quickly.'That you did not always, then,' said I, 'for there never was such an uncouth love-making in the world, as with your tell-tale tongue ye made mine. I dared not lay my lips to a tender word nor so much as seek a favour, as it might be innocently betwixt man and maid, but it was "That you said to Kate on such a night!" or "Think ye that I count so little on myself as to be content with Kate Allison's cast-off sweet speeches."'And the pretty besom laughed. For though a married wife, she was not a whit sobered, as one might see by her eyes.'It served you greatly right,' said she, 'but do me some justice. Did you ever hear of my telling of the night of the fair at Maybole, and of our home-coming by the woodland way?''No,' said I, curtly. For indeed I liked not that memory specially well, and wondered that she did.'Then,' said Kate Allison, 'rail no more against woman's tongues. For they are moveable yard measures, and let out no more than likes them.'At this moment they called to me from the great door, and Kate Allison waved me off with a gay 'Up and away, Sir Knight!'—which pleased me more from her than many aBenedicitefrom another.The minister had come, they said, and was waiting for me. I went in, and lo! to my wonder, who should he be but Maister Robert Bruce, the sequestrated minister of Edinburgh, with whom the King had at last wholly fallen out concerning the matter of the Gowrie riot.The Earl smiled at my wonderment.'Art thou astonished,' he said, 'thus to see our ancient friend in Carrick? Thinkest thou that thy marriage will not stand? Truth it will, for even King James will think twice, or he bids his bishop unfrock a man that bides with me in my defenced house of Cassillis.''Sir Launcelot,' said Maister Robert Bruce, bending to me with his ancient grace and most reverend dignity, 'this is the happiest hour with me since I quitted my high town upon the Long Ridge. It is true that I wander like a restless ghost seeking abode; but as yet the King hath not bent me—yea, though thrice I have met him in dispute and conference.'Then went the Earl out to bring in my Nell, and I listened to the minister of Edinburgh speaking. Yet, on my life I could not fix my mind on a word he said, for there was a jangling as of many bells in mine ears, and all the pulses of my life beat together. Then knew I of a surety that none had power to touch my heart like Nell Kennedy, the lass that would not need to change her name.At last the door opened and she entered—leaning on the Earl's arm she came. There was a rim of gold about her hair like a coronet. And John of Cassillis bent over to me, as he gave her into my hand. 'Take her,' he said, 'I have set a coronet about her brows for to-day. She is in haste to be wed, or I might have put a real one there. And what had Sir Launcelot done then, poor thing?'And I think the cold, tall Earl John was more than a little fond of our Nell, concerning which I often rally her now.So Nell and I were married. And as though he had known her and her teasing temper, Maister Robert Bruce paused long on the promise to 'obey' when he came to put the questions to her, and also upon the words 'obedient wife.' Wherefore I have ever held him to be a man gifted above most with the second sight.It was between the sweet hazel and the flowering May that we rode south—we two alone. For Robert Harburgh had led a company of men with flower-wreathed lances and of young maids on palfreys as far as the crossing of the roads which come from Culzean, where there met us a party with the loving cup.But now at long and last we were won clear, and ever as we rode we caught hands and laughed and loosed them again—all for gladness to be alone. And we looked in one another's eyes, and nigh brought ourselves and our horses to destruction by thus looking and overlooking. Till I felt mine old Dom Nicholas, a horse that loves not philandering, grow restive and sulky under my thigh, tossing his head up as one slighted for the unworthy. And ever as we went she charged it upon me that then and then, and at such another time, I loved her not. And ever I swore that I did. Thereafter, being beaten on that point, she fell to declaring that she had loved me first and most—but I only reluctantly and, as it had been, at second-hand.Thus we made the miles and the hours go by, redding up all our past life and planning our future, wondering the while if the stir and clangour of war had indeed passed away for ever. For already there had come a new look upon the land. Whether it was the union of the crowns and the new English wealth which made money more plenty, I know not, at any rate certain it is that there had arrived a security to which we in the lands of Carrick had been strangers for many generations.Then it was that the farmer began to set his oxen to the plough in teams of a dozen or more, not fearing any longer that there might come a glint of steel-harnessed riders over the hill, who should drive his cattle before them and leave himself lying in the furrow a-welter in his blood.The wind blew sweet about us. It seemed that never had there been a spring like this one since the world began, never such delicatest airs as those that stirred the crisps about Nell's white neck when she bent it sideways to hearken to my speeches. I declare that were I not an unlearned Scot, who takes to his pen only when work for the sword waxes slack, I could praise my love in similitudes of Arabian birds and ferny sprays, as well as Euphues' Delight or even as in the gentle Sydney his Arcadia.But as it is I waste time, for already I have spoke too long, and must haste me to the end. Though this is a part of my life that I could love to linger on. For what is pleasanter than sunshine after storm and the bolts of ruin.I declare it was five years since I had had time to look at a robin. But there seemed to be time for everything this fine May day.And ever as we went, it seemed that we had been a long time alone, and that it would soon come time to be turning back again. Then to which soever of us the thought came, that we were now on the long lane that has no turning (save that which turns in at the kirkyaird loaning), there would also come the desire to touch and to look. And even thus did Nell Kennedy often, reaching her hand across to me from her gentle, equal-pacing steed.Then would she fall back on the things that had been, and which now were passed away.'Yesterday, at such a time,' she would say, 'I thought that to-day would never come. And now—'Whereupon with her eyes she would look the rest.Then I told her how that I had seen the Dominie but yestereven, when she was sewing at the pearling of her bridal dress and thinking of me. He had gone back with his pipes to the school by the kirk at Maybole.'And what said he of our wedding?' asked my dear.'Why I was instant with him to come and bide at Palgowan,' I made answer. 'Shall I tell thee what he said?''Ay, tell it me, indeed!' quoth she, blithely, stopping a moment on a high-lying moorish summit, with her hand above her eyes and looking to the Spear of the Merrick towards which we rode.'Well, then, he said that those that were but newly wed had no use for carven negro-heads, wherein to put the ashes of their loves.''He is none so ugly as that!' said Nell—with, I think, a look at me which I took for a certain complaisance it pleased me to see.Then I told her how the Dominie had added that it was not yet time for men of his profession to come about the house of a newly-wedded knight. But that if prosperity should come to Palgowan and the din of bairns' voices, we might ask him again in ten years or somewhat less.'Oh,' said Nell, shortly, and rode a little further off. Yet I flattered myself that I had said the thing pretty well. For it was not at all in these terms that the Dominie had put his offer. Indeed, I was in a quandary how most discreetly to deliver his message.So, in the long twilight of May, we came riding down Minnoch Water. For, with the sun-setting, we had fallen silent, and we looked no more so frankly at each other. But with one accord we turned our eyes across the water to watch for the light of my mother's candle in the little window.She heard us as we came; and there, lo! before I knew it, she was at Nelly's saddle leather, helping her to dismount, and the tears were running steadily down her face. I think she minded the day when she, too, had come home a bride to the little house of Kirrieoch among the hills.'Oh, my bairn—my bairn,' was what she said, 'come awa' ben!'And it was to Nell that she said it. Me she minded no more than a cock-sparrow under the eaves. Then came Hugh of Kirriemore out to take the horses. But I went, as is my custom, to the stable with Dom Nicholas, for he never slept well otherwise. And when I came in again I found that my mother had Nell already seated by the fireside, for it is chill among the uplands in May. The peats were burning fine, and on the white board there was a supper set fit for a prince and princess.But all the time my mother never minded me at all, save to rage on me for bringing the lass so far and so fast.'But, mother,' said I, 'remember that if I had not made some haste, all your fine supper would have been wasted.'And indeed it came not far from being that as it was, for we could eat but little. The finest of muirland fare seemed somehow or other to stick by the way, tasting strangely dry and sapless. And after we had done we drew apart and looked at the red ashes, while my mother rattled on about the simple concerns of the sheep and the calves, which mountain-bred folk vastly love both to speak of and to hear about.Presently she leaned over me and took down the burnt Bible out of the wall aumry.'Here, Launce,' she said, 'read you the chapter this night ere ye sleep. It becomes a man wedded and the head of a family. Besides, your father is from home.'I declare I would sooner have charged upon the level spears. But I had no choice with my mother, speaking as she did when I was a boy, and my Nell sitting there crossing her pretty ankles by the fireside. So I manned to read a portion. It was about Jonathan clambering up a rock (and a good soldier he was). But the prayer fairly beat me. However, ere we rose from our knees we said the Lord's prayer all of us together. So to rest we went, without other word spoken. And through the little window of the room in which I was born, Nell and I could hear, ere we went to sleep, the brattle of the burn hurrying down through the peace of the hills, past our own new house of Palgowan and so on toward the silence of the outermost sea.
* * * * *
Once more the City of Edinburgh swarmed with Kennedys, come thither to the great trial. There had not been so great a concurrence of Westland folk in Edinburgh, since the memorable day when young Gilbert of Bargany cleared the causeway of us of the house of Cassillis—for which afterwards we were one and all put to the horn, to our great and lasting honour, as hath been related.
At the West Port I met Patrick Rippett, he who had taunted Benane at the Maybole snowballing.
'Whither is your eye gone?' I asked him, for he had a black patch where his left eye should have been.
'A fause loon pyked it out and offered it me back on the end of his rapier!' said Patrick Rippett, with the utmost unconcern.
'And what said ye to him?' I asked of Patrick, because he was not a man to take a jest (and such a jest) for nothing.
'Faith, I juist bartered him fair. I offered him his heart on the point of mine!' said Rippett, and so strolled away, ogling the snooded maids at the windows of the high lands as best he could, with the one wicked orb which was left to him.
I was walking with my father at the time. He had ridden the long way from Kirrieoch on a white pony, all to pleasure my mother.
'Ye maun gang and hear the laddie gie his evidence,' she bade him. 'They will fright him to deid else, amang thae Edinburgh men o' the law. They are no canny. So long as Launce gets striking at them with the steel I ken he is safe and sound. For his hand can e'en keep his head, as a Kennedy's ever should. But wha kens what they may do to my laddie when he stands afore the justicers, and the lawyer loons come at him wi' their quips and quandaries?'
'Faith then, good wife,' said my father, 'ye shall come too. And thou and I shall ride to Edinburgh like joes that are newly wed.'
And though at first she denied, yet at the last she consented, well-pleased enough—having a desire to purchase garmentry more suitable for the wife of a laird and the mother of one who was to be made a knight.
When my mother went out for the first time, she held up her hands and exclaimed at the noise and bustle of the High Street—the soldiers who were for ever marching to and fro in companies with drums and pipes, the lasses that went hither and thither with a shawl about their heads, and bandied compliments—and such compliments—with swashbucklers and rantipole 'prentice lads. 'The limmers, they need soundly skelping!' said my mother, 'for a' that they carry their heads so high, and their kirtles higher than their heads!'
'Surely scantly that!' said my father.
'But ay,' continued my mother, not heeding him in her press of speech, 'such hair-brained hempies wad be dookit in the Limmers' Dub on Saturday in every decent country, and set on the black stool of repentance ilka Sabbath day. I wonder what the King and the ministers o' Edinburgh can be thinkin' o'?'
There was, however, for most of us a long and weary waiting, ere in the town of Edinburgh the High Court of Justiciary was ripe for the hearing of the case against the Mures. But when at last the great day came the whole West Country was there.[#]
[#] Sir Launcelot Kennedy, of Palgowan and Kirrieoch, appears somewhat to have confused the dates of the first and second trials of John Mure of Auchendrayne. Indeed, weakness in exact chronology is common to his record and to the contemporary Historie of the Kennedies, which was written about the same time by a partisan of the other side—it may even be by John Mure of Auchendrayne himself.
And though many a face was joyous as were ours, eke many were sad and lowering. For it is strange that such ill men should have some to love them, or at least so it was with John Mure the elder. And so there were in the city Mures by the score, fighting, black-avised MacKerrows, cankered Craufords, with all the disbanded Bargany discontents from the south of Carrick, Drummurchie's broken band from the hill-lands of Barr, together with many others. So that we kept our swords, as at our first visit to the town in the days of Gilbert Kennedy, free in their scabbards while we ruffled it along the pavement.
And I mind what my mother said, the first time she went down the plainstones with me. We met young Anthony Kennedy of Benane, and I perceived that it was his intent to take the wall of me. So I squared myself, and went a little before with my hand on my rapier hilt and my elbows wide, also cocking fiercely my bonnet over my eye—which assurance feared Anthony so greatly that he meekly took the pavement edge, and I went by with my mother on my arm, having, as I thought, come off very well in the matter.
But my mother stood stock still in amazement.
'Laddie, laddie, I kenned na what had taken ye—ye prinked and passaged for a' the world like our bantam cock at Kirrieoch, when he hears his neighbour at Kirriemore craw in the prime of the morn. Gin ye gang on that gait, ye will get your kame berried and scarted, my lad. So listen your auld mither, and walk mair humbly.'
At this I was somewhat shamed, and dropped behind like a little whipped messan; for my mother has a brisk tongue. My father said not a word, but there was a look of dry humorsomeness upon his face which I knew and feared more than my mother's clip-wit tongue.
CHAPTER XLIX
THE GREAT DAY OF TRIAL
At last, however, the trial was set, and we all summoned for our evidence. It was to be held in the High Court of Justiciary, and was a right solemn thing. A hot day in mid-summer it proved, with the narrow, overcrowded bounds of the town drowsed with heat, and yet eaten up with a plague of flies. The room of the trial was a large one, with a dais for the judges at the end, the boxes for the prisoners, and a tall stool with steps and a bar on which to rest the hands, for the witnesses.
And in the long, dark, low, oak-panelled room what a crush of people! For the report of the monstrous dealing of the Mures and the strangeness of their crimes, had caused a mighty coil in the town of Edinburgh and in the country round about. So that all the time of the trial there was a constant hum about the doors—now a continuous murmur that forced its way within, and now a louder roar as the doors were opened and shut by the officers of the court. Also, in order to show themselves busybodies, these pot-bellied stripe-jackets went and came every minute or two, pushing right and left with their halberts, which the poor folk had very peaceably to abide as best they might.
But the disposition of the rabble of the city was a marvel to me. For being stirred up by the Bargany folk and by the Earl of Dunbar, Mure's well-wisher, it was singularly unfriendly to us. So that we were almost feared that the criminals might, after all, be let off by the overawing of the assize that sat upon the case. But finally, as it happened, those who were chosen assize-men were mostly landward gentlemen of stout hearts and no subjection to the clamour of the vulgar—such, indeed, as should ever be placed upon the hearing of justice, not mere bodies of the Luckenbooths, who, if they give the verdict against the popular voice, are liable to have their shops and stalls plundered. And James Scrymgeour of Dudhope, a good man, was made the chancellor of the jury.
There were many of the great Lords of Session on the bench. For a case so important and notable had not been tried for years, and the Lords of Secret Council appointed my Lord President himself to be in the chief place in his robes, as well as five other justices in his company, that the dittay might be heard with all equal mind and with great motion of solemnity.
It was eleven by the clock when the judges were ushered in, Sir John Fenton of Fentonbarns, Lord President, coming first and sitting in the midst.
Then the crier of the court shouted, 'Way for His Majesty—for King James the Sext make way!'
And all the people rose up while King James was coming in. He sat upon the bench with the justices indeed, but a little way apart, as having by law no share in their deliberations. Nevertheless he was all the time writing and passing pieces of white paper to them, whereat they bowed very courteously back to him. But whether they took any notice of their import I know not.
Then the prisoners were brought in. John Mure the elder, with his grey hair and commanding presence, looked out of from beneath his eyebrows like a lion ignominiously beset. James Mure the younger came after his father, a heavy, loutish, ignorant man, but somewhat paled with his bloody handling at the instance of the Lords of Secret Council. Also in accordance with the promise of Earl John in the matter of the finding of the cave, James Bannatyne of Chapeldonnan was not set up for trial along with them, which was a wonder to many and an outcry to some of the evilly affected.
Then the court being set, the dittay was read solemnly by a very fair-spoken and courteous gentleman, Thomas Hamilton of Byres, the King's advocate. He spoke in a soft voice as if he were courting a lady. And whenever he addressed a word to the prisoners, it was as if he had been their dearest friend, and grieved that they should thus stand in jeopardy of their lives.
Yet, or so it seemed to me, John Mure was ever his match, and answered him without a moment's hesitancy.
Then, after the advocate's opening, the evidence was led. They called upon me first to arise. And I declare that my knees trembled and shook as they never did before the shock of battle. So that only the sight of Nell's pale face and my mother holding her hand, at all gave me any shred of courage. But, nevertheless, I went, with my tall, blue-banded hat in hand and my Damascus sword by my side, to the stance. And there I told all that I had seen—first of the murder at the Chapel of St Leonards, with the matter of the Grey Man who sat his horse a little way apart among the sandhills. Yet could I not declare on mine oath that I knew of a certainty that this man was the accused John Mure of Auchendrayne. Though as between man and man I was wholly assured of it.
I told also of the sending of the letter and of the confusion of the lad upon his return from the house of Auchendrayne, and of all the other matter which came under my observation, even as I have detailed them in this history, but more briefly. Then a tall, thin, leathery man, Sir John Russell the name of him, advocate for the Mures, stood up and tried to shake me in my averments. But he could not—no, nor any other man. For I wasted no thought on what I ought to say, but out with the plain truth. So that he could not break down the impregnable wall of the thing that was, neither make me say that which was not.
Then there came one after the other the Dominie, Meg Dalrymple, Robert Harburgh, and lastly my own Nell. But they had little more to tell than I had told at the first, till the herald of the court cried out for Marjorie Mure, or Kennedy, called in the pleas the younger lady of Auchendrayne.
Then, pale as a lily flower is pale, clad in white, and with her hair daintily and smoothly braided, she rose and gave her hand to my Lord Cassillis, who brought her with all dignity and observance to the witness stance. So firmly she stood within it, that she seemed a figure of some goddess done in alabaster, the like of that which I had once seen at the entering in of the King's palace at Holy rood House.
There was the stillest silence while Marjorie told her tale. The King stood up in his place, with his hat on his head, to look at her. The judges gazed as though they had seen a ghost. But in an even voice she related all the terrible story, making it clear as crystal, till there stood out the full wickedness of the unparalleled murders.
'You are the wife of James Mure, the younger prisoner,' said the man of leather, the advocate Russell,; 'how then do you appear to give evidence against him?'
'I was first the daughter of Thomas Kennedy of Culzean, whom these men slew!' said she.
And this was her sole answer. The lawyers for the defence, as was their duty, tried to make it out that her evidence was prejudiced, and so to shake it. But the King broke out upon them, 'No more than we are all prejudiced against foul murder!'
So they were silenced. But the judges were manifestly ill at ease, and shifted in their seats—for even the King had not liberty of speech in that place. Yet no man said him nay, because he was the King, and, save it were Maister Robert Bruce, not many cared to brook his sudden violent rages.
Then was entered James Bannatyne, who had been brought to confession (in what fashion it boots not to inquire), and he in his turn detailed, line by line, all the iniquity. So it seemed that now the net was indeed woven about the cruel plotters. But my Lord President, by the King's authority, was instant with the prisoners to confess the murdering of Sir Thomas and of the other—yea, even offering his life (but no more) to either of them who would reveal the matter, and tell who were complices in the conspiracy.
And I think James Mure the younger was a little moved at this offer, for I saw him very plainly move and shift the hand that was upon his head. His father watched him with a sharp eye, and once set his manacled wrist upon his son's shoulder, as it had been to encourage him to remain firm. He himself stood erect and undaunted all the time of the trial, like a tower of ancient strength, while his son sat upon a stool with his back against the bars of the box, as it seemed careless of the crimes which were alleged against him. He had not even lifted his eyes when his wife Marjorie went into the place of witnessing.
At last it was all over, and the men of the jury spoke earnestly together, while John Mure watched them with his lionlike eyes shining from under his hassock of grey hair. The King sat impatiently drumming his hands upon a rail. He would have liked, I could see, to go over to confer with them. But even King Jamie had hardly dared so much as that.
After a short space for consultation their president of assize, Sir James Scrymgeour, stood up in the body of the court with a little paper in his hand,
'King's lieges all, are ye agreed in your verdict?' asked my Lord President.
'We are,' said Sir James, firmly.
'And what is your finding?'
There was a great and mighty silence so that the anxious tapping of the King's fingers on the wooden bench could be heard.
'We find them both GUILTY—' said Sir James.
He would have said more in due form, but there was a thunderous shout from all the Westland folk that were in the hall, so that no more could be heard. But the King was seen upon his feet commanding silence, and the macers of the court struck here and there among them that shouted.
Then when the tumult within was a little hushed, my Lord President rose to pronounce sentence. But he had scarce opened his mouth, when there came through the open windows the angry roaring of the mob without. For the news had already reached them, and Dunbar and others were busily employed stirring them up to make a tumult on behalf of the murderers. My Lord President had a noble voice and the words of condemnation came clear and solemn from him, so that they were heard above the din by every ear in the hall—ay, and even as far as the outer port.
'We discern and adjudge John Mure of Auchendrayne and James Mure his son and apparent heir to be ta'en to the Mercat Cross of Edinburgh, and there their heads to be stricken from their bodies—as being culpable and convict of many treasonable and heinous crimes. Which is pronounced for DOOM!'
And when the officers had removed the prisoners, Marjorie Kennedy walked forth from the hall of judgment, as silent and composed as though she had been coming out of the kirk on a still summer's morning with her Bible in her hand.
CHAPTER L
THE LAST OF THE GREY MAN
It was the morn of the execution. Justice, delayed for long, was that day to let fall its sword. We of the Cassillis colours mustered in the dead of the night, for there was no force save the City Guard within the walls. And we had recently had overly many proofs how little these men could do with the unruly commons of Edinburgh if it pleased them to be turbulent. So it had come to be bruited abroad, that there was an intent to prevent the execution and deliver the murderers out of the hands of justice.
But we were resolved that this should not be. So, as was our bounden duty, we armed us to support the right and to keep the King's peace against all riotous law-breakers. The Earl gave to me the command of one half of the band, reserving the other for himself. And already he called me Sir Launcelot, though I had not yet received the acknowledgment of knighthood from the King.
At the first break of day it was to be done. Of this we had private notice from the turnkey of the Tolbooth.
I had worked earnestly upon my mother and Nell that they should abide from the business—which was, indeed, not for womankind to see. Though I knew that there would be many there, ay, even dames gentle of degree. But my father marched with me.
'Shall I put my harness off me,' said he, 'when there is a chance of a tumult, and of the defeating of the solemn justice of Providence and of King James? God forbid! Wife, help me on with my jack.'
So I placed my father in my own command, and I set him in the second rank with Hugh of Kirriemore beside him and Robert Harburgh in front of him, where I judged he would not come to any great harm. And we Kennedies had the King's private permission thus to come through the town under arms. When we arrived at the place the tall scaffold had already been set up at the cross, and even ere we arrayed us first about it, many a candle had begun to wink here and there in the tall windows of the High Street.
The Earl was to command a second strong guard from the prison port to the scaffold, lest the rabble should try to overwhelm the City Guard and the marshal's men as they convoyed the prisoners to the place of execution.
Thus we of the first band stood grimly to our arms a long time after the gloaming of the morning began. The hum of the folk gathering surrounded us. There was, however, little pleasance or laughing, as there is at an ordinary heading or hanging; and that did not betoken good, for when the populace is silent, it is plotting. This much I had learned in my long service and afterwards as a knight-at-arms. Therefore I hold it the true wisdom to strike ere the many-headed can bite. That, at least, is my thought of it.
Slowly and slowly three or four dark figures on the scaffold grew clearer to our eyes, till we could see the headsman and his assistants waiting patiently for their work to be brought to them. The chief of these was a man mighty of his arms. He had a black mask upon his face, and was naked even to the waist. A leathern apron like a smith's was done about his loins, and he stood leaning his broad axe upon the block. The sun was just beginning to redden the clouds in the east, when the door of the Tolbooth fell open with a loud noise. At the very same moment the rooks and jackdaws arose in a perfect cloud from the pinnacles of St Giles as well as from the whole city. And in a black clanging cloud they drifted seaward. Which was looked upon as a marvel by them that watched for freits. For they said, 'These be John Mure's devils that have forsaken him.' And, indeed, whether there was aught in it or no, certain is it that the birds came not back for many days. At least, not to my seeing, but then I was much occupied with other matters.
As the procession came out, the Earl John and his men filed on either side in a triple line, with the axe-men of the guard marching close about the prisoners. John Mure walked first in his grey cloak, but bareheaded, striding reverend and strong before all. Behind him came his son. And hand in hand with him (O marvel of marvels!) was she that had been in name his wife, even Marjorie Kennedy. And as they came, the light grew clearer. There seemed to be almost a smile upon the Lady Marjorie's face. And James Mure listened intently as she spoke low and steadily to him.
For Marjorie had in these days become (as it seemed) a woman removed from us, supported by no earthly food. For none touched her lips, her strength being upheld by some power from above; at least, so I think. She had received permission from the King to be with her husband in his last hours.
'I have fulfilled the Lord's justice, for my duty was laid upon me,' she said, 'but I would not kill both body and soul.'
How she effected it I know not; but certain it is that during the weeks of waiting she had won James Mure in some sort to contrition and prayer. And now with his hand in hers, they walked together along the short way to the scaffold foot; but old John Mure strode scornfully on before, heedful neither of man nor woman. And I swear that I could not but in some measure admire at him, devil of cruelty as he was.
They climbed the scaffold—John Mure calmly as though he were leading a lady to a banquet table—but his son faltered and had fallen at the ladder foot, save for the hand of Marjorie, who walked in white by his side, accompanying him faithfully to his end.
'I am his wife,' she said. 'It was I who brought him to this. Ye will not twain me from him on this day of shame. Never have I owned James Mure as my husband before, but I own him now.' These were her words, when the captain of the guard was instant with her to depart home.
And I declare that the doomed man looked at her with something like a beast's dumb gratitude in his eyes, which, when you think on it, is a thing marvellous enough. And I ask not that it shall be believed. Yet I saw it, and will at any time uphold the truth of it with my sword if need be.
At last they stood upon the scaffold platform, and the headsman made ready. Then there sounded above the mingled roar of the multitude the blowing of a trumpet. And the King's gay favourite, the Duke of Lennox, rode to the foot of the stage. He had a paper in his hand.
'A pardon! A pardon!' yelled the people.
My heart gave a great leap and stood still.
'They never dare!' cried I. 'Lads, stand firm. If the King hath pardoned the murderers, shall we of the West? Will ye follow me, lads?'
And they whispered back, 'Ay, that we will. We will help you to do justice upon them. The Mures shall never leave this place alive, though we all die also. We shall not go back to Carrick, shamed by these men's lives.'
So we arranged it, if by any chance there should be news of a reprieve. For it was by singular good hap that we were the only company under arms in the city, save the few men of the Town Guard.
But when Lennox made his way to the scaffold, we heard another way of it. I was almost underneath the staging upon the front, and heard that which was said, almost every word.
'The King to you two traitors about to die,' he read. 'His Majesty desires greatly to be informed of the certainty of these things whereof you have been accused, and for which you have been justly condemned—the murder of Sir Thomas Kennedy, the matter of the bloody dagger thrown at the Red House, the Treasure of Kelwood, and its taking out of the changehouse on the Red Moss. His Majesty the King offers life and his clemency in a perpetual exile upon some warded isle, to the first of you that will reveal the whole matter.'
The King's favourite ceased his reading, and looked at the condemned men.
And John Mure in his plain grey cloak, which he had not yet laid aside, looked askance at Lennox, who shone like a butterfly in gay colours, being tricked out in the latest fitful extravagancies of fashion.
'We shall be grateful to His Majesty all our lives,' said he, sneeringly, 'but the Solomon of Scotland is so wise that he can easily certify himself of the truth of these things without our poor aid.'
But James Mure the younger, where he stood with his wife by his side, seemed a little struck with the message, and began to listen with interest.
'Read that again,' he said to Lennox, abruptly.
And Lennox, prinking and preening him like a gay-feathered Indian bird in my lady's bower, read the King's mandate over again.
John Mure watched his son with the eye of a crouching wild cat. The younger man was about to utter something, when his father said quickly to Lennox, 'I pray thee, my Lord Duke, may I speak with you a moment apart? I am the first to accept the offer!'
And with that they came both of them to the side of the scaffold where I was on guard, leaving James Mure standing with drooping head by the block.
'Hark ye, my lord,' said Auchendrayne the elder, 'thy master's terms are fair enough to be offered to a dying man on the scaffold. I will take them. But on condition that my son be executed before I reveal the secret. For there are but two of us left, and we have been close to one another all our lives. I would not, therefore, have my son think that I, being an old man, for the sake of a year or two of longer life, would reveal those matters for which he has already suffered the torture of the extreme question, with so great constancy both in the King's inquest chamber and before the Lords of Secret Council.'
'That is easily arranged,' said Lennox, dusting at his doublet. 'I have but to give the word to the executioner, and he will do his duty first upon your son. Then he will halt till you have accepted the King's mercy, and given pledge and earnest of full revelations concerning these hidden and mysterious matters.'
This was Lennox's customary manner of speaking—as he had learned it in the English Court, with womanish conceits and a flood of words and gestures. And as he spoke he smiled upon John Mure, as though the old grey man in the cloak and reverend beard had been some young and easy-virtued dame of the Court.
And so taken up with himself was he, that he did not observe the basilisk look which the arch-conspirator turned upon him.
Lennox held up his hand to the executioner.
'In the King's name,' he cried to the man in the mask, 'do thine office upon the younger first, and speedily.'
'These are not my orders!' quoth he in the mask, curtly.
Lennox flashed a little ebon staff, with a golden crown set upon the summit, before his eyes.
'Would'st thou argie-bargie with me?' he said, 'then right soon another shall take thy bishopric and (as thou dost others) shalt shepherd thee to Hades.'
Whereat Marjorie, robed in her clear-shining white, took the hand of James Mure, the man that was about to die.
'Husband,' said she, calmly, 'I have asked pardon for thee from God—do thou also ask it now, ere swift death take thee. Ask it both from God and man.'
For she had been his ministrant angel in the prison. And her own heart being changed—vengeance in the drinking not seeming so sweet a cup as it had appeared in the mixing. She had also won the sullen mechanic heart of him, who, according to the law of the land, had been so long her husband. She had showed him the way to a certain sum of faith, penitence, and hope. Which, perchance, he snatched at, not so much for themselves, but as the best things which were left to him.
'James, won thou forth on thy way. Fear not! Thou shalt not be long alone,' she said to him.
And, staggering a little, he moved across the scaffold. He would have fallen but that Marjorie set his hand upon her shoulder and put her arm about him. So he came forward stumbling like a man in sore sickness, as doubtless he was.
'I am a sinful man,' he said, so that some, at least, could hear him. 'Pray for me, good people. Keep your hands from blood, as I have not kept mine. And, Marjorie, though thou didst never love me, love me now, and bide with me till I die.'
'Fear not,' she said; 'I will stand beside thee, and not only here. I have a message that I shall right soon be called to journey with thee further, meeting thee somewhere by the way that thou must go.'
And calling him again 'sweet brother' and 'James,' she laid down his neck upon the block, and with one blow the headsman featly did his office. But Marjorie stood still and received the poor head in a decent napkin after the masked man had held it up.
John Mure looked at her and at her son all the time, and an evil and contemptuous light shone in his eyes.
'Madam,' he said, 'it had done no harm had you begun your care and attendance somewhat earlier. Ye might have made a decent preacher out of James. He was never muckle worth for aught else.'
Then Lennox came forward again with his paper.
'Now, John Mure,' he said, 'we have done according to your desire. Ye will now, I doubt not, having seen the end and reward of iniquity in the person of your son, accept His Majesty's so marvellous clemency, and be content to reveal all the matter.'
He came a little near to the old man, airily whisking his paper with his forefinger.
John Mure waved him aside with one hand, and held his nose with the other.
'Pah! Get apart from me, civet cat!' he cried. 'Think ye that I will have any dealings with you or with your dullard fool master, King Baggy-breeches. I saw that ye might, perchance, were I first turned to dead clay and lappered blood, chance to get something out of James there. I saw him look somewhat too eagerly on your reprieve, for much belated domesticity had turned him soft. So I played with you. And now, wot ye well, ye shall know nothing from me that your precious Solomon of asses cannot divine for himself!'
He took off his cloak of grey and lace collar, baring his neck for the dead stroke.
'Stay,' he said to Lennox. 'Since your wise King is so curious. Here is a history of divers matters that may interest your master. It may do him some good.'
The new minister of Edinburgh, a soft-spoken, King-fearing man, came near. John Mure looked at him.
'Of what religion art thou?' he asked. 'Ay, verily, of the King's religion. Were my time not so circumscribed, I would have at thee with texts, thou time-serving rogue. Ay, and would swinge thee with them soundly, too.'
'In what religion dost thou die?' said the minister. For it was a customary question in those days, when men were forced to live and die on the borderland of many creeds.
John Mure smiled as he bent his head to the block.
'Of the ancientest persuasion,' said he, 'for I am ready to believe in any well-disposed god whom I may chance to meet in my pilgriming. But in none will I believe till I do meet him. Nevertheless do thou, like a wise, silly bishop, stick to the King and thy printed book!'
Which saying was remembered when the minister was afterward made a bishop by the King's favour.
With these words, John Mure threw out his hands with a sharp jerk—for that was the customary signal. The broad axe rose and fell, flashing in the sun a moment ere it crashed dully upon the block. The Westland men gave a shout, and the heathen spirit of John Mure of Auchendrayne, carrying such a load of sin and bloodshedding as never soul did before or since, fared forth alone to its own place.
CHAPTER LI
MARJORIE'S GOOD-NIGHT
Even as the axe was falling, Marjorie Kennedy sank down upon the platform of the scaffold, as though the stroke had fallen upon her. I sheathed my sword, and sprang upon the slippery stage to hold her up. When I took her in my arms she was soft and pliable in all her limbs like a little child. Till now she had been like a woman of steel, or rather like one carven in alabaster, as I have said. But now she lay in my arms like a new-born babe on the nurse's lap.
We carried her homeward, making strangely enough for some distance but one procession with the bodies which were going to be buried without the wall, while the heads were taken to be set on the pikes of the Nether Bow.
To the Earl John's own lodging we brought her, and in a room with a wide north-looking window we laid her down on a bed. Then we stood silently about her, Nell and I being nearest.
In a little while Marjorie turned her head to the window. The sun had risen on the sea. A north wind was blowing. All was very blue, and smacked of the morning freshness, for the window was open, and the sea air blew off the firth almost as salt it was wont to blow in at the windows of Culzean.
Thrice she moved her lips to speak, but till the fourth time no word came.
'I have done the work appointed,' she said, 'I ken not if I have done it right.'
She paused a little, and her eyes, as she looked at the sea, were very wide and wistful.
'It is a hard saying that "Vengeance is His." I thought it would be sweet—sweet,' she said, 'but now in the mouth it is bitter.'
'Hush thee, Marjorie,' whispered my Nell; 'it was the justice of God upon the murderers of our father.'
And I thought that she spoke well.
But Marjorie waved her aside.
'Like enough,' she answered, quietly, as one that has not strength to argue, but yet holds the contrary opinion. 'Done, at least, is Marjorie's task. I journey forth to take my wages. Fare you well.'
She turned her face a little outward so that she could look upon the sea and the Fife Lomonds.
'A dearer shore,' she said, softly, and then she started a little, quickly as if she had waked from sleep.
'Where am I?' she asked.
But ere we could answer—even Nell, who stood close beside her and stroked her brow with a soft hand, she went on,—
'Oh, what am I saying? I was thinking on our garden at Culzean, with its rose walks and the sweet dreaming scent of the sea?'
She looked up at me, as it had been almost archly, yet so as almost to break my heart.
'Launcelot, lad,' she said, 'hast thou thy gage that I gave thee there? Ye thought me once to be sweet. And I liked you, laddie, I liked you—with something just an inch on the hither side of loving. But now Nelly will love thee a mile on the further side. Come you, Nell,' she said, beckoning her, 'brave, sweet sister! Let not thy sharp tongue longer injure thy warm heart. Give me your hand, little sister Nelly. Where is it? I cannot see—for the bright shining light.'
And finding Nell's hand she put it into mine across the bed.
'Good-night, bairns,' she said, 'even so keep them till the world ends!'
Then for a short space she was silent, and when she spoke again it was very low, so that none save Nell and I could hear. But the words made us tingle as we caught them.
'Gilbert,' she was saying in a whisper, clear and distinct, 'is it not sweet to walk thus hand in hand on the green meadows? Are not the spring flowers sweet, lad of my love? Shall I sing thee a song about them? For, though thou know'st it not, I can sing both high and low.'
Then she spoke as it had been liltingly and gladsomely.
'Gilbert, let me set this spray of the bonny birk above thine heart. Methinks it hath a strange look. I kenned not that it grew in this countryside.'
She broke into a weird lilt of song that sent the tears hasting to our eyes. But Marjorie was smiling as she never smiled on me, and that made me weep the more.
'It neither grew in syke nor ditchNor yet in any sheuch,But at the gates o' Paradise,That birk grew fair eneuch.'
'It neither grew in syke nor ditchNor yet in any sheuch,But at the gates o' Paradise,That birk grew fair eneuch.'
'It neither grew in syke nor ditch
Nor yet in any sheuch,
Nor yet in any sheuch,
But at the gates o' Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneuch.'
That birk grew fair eneuch.'
'Gilbert, Gilbert,' she said lovingly, crooning like one that is caressed, 'is not this right winsome? That we are walking here together on the living green—with all our fashes, all our troubles left quite behind us. There was surely something long ago that wearied us, something that parted us and twained us. I cannot mind what it was. I shall not try to remember. But, love of mine, it shall separate us no more for ever and ever!'
Her voice had almost gone. But once again it came louder.
'Keep my hand, Gilbert,' she said, trembling a little, 'there is a mist coming up over the green betwixt me and the sunshine—a cold, cold mist from the sea. But keep thou my hand, dear love, clasp it tighter, and it will pass over.'
I saw the death sweat break on her brow.
'Gilbert, Gilbert,' she whispered, searching above her with her hands and opening her arms, 'clasp me closer. I cannot see thee, love, for the mist. I cannot feel your hand.'
I bent my ear. I thought she was gone from us. But, as from an infinite distance I heard the words come to me. They were the last, spoken with great relief.
'The mist has gone by, dear love! The mist has quite gone by!'
And she lay still, smiling most sweetly.
CHAPTER LII
HOME-COMING
The snows of another winter had fallen, frozen, and lain long ere they were at last whisked away by the winds of a brisk and bitter March. It was now again the springtime upon the face of the earth—the time of the earliest singing of the mavis, of the sweet piping of the blackbird on the tree. The grasses were green, too, over the unforgotten grave of our Marjorie. But we who loved her had won to a memory that was not now wholly sorrow. Specially we remembered the sweet and profitable end she had made, when after many days of bitter winter in her heart, forgiveness and love at last unsealed her bosom.
It had been a long winter for us all, because it behoved that I should go to London, there to be made one of His Majesty's new knights. For I had told all my tale to the King, being so charged by the Earl John.
'Yet,' said he, 'keep ever your thumb upon the matter of the Treasure of Kelwood. And I will keep mine right effectually upon Currie, the ill-conditioned thief thereof.'
And so he did, and for the same Laird of Kelwood's sake chiefly, he set to mending and patching our old tower of defence on Craig Ailsa, in which he gave one Hamilton the charge of him as prisoner, together with John Dick the traitor and two or three more.
'It was a fine, quiet place,' said the Earl John, 'and would give such rascals time and opportunity for repentance—which,' added he, 'seems more than I am ever likely to get with all this throng of business on hand.'
For the Earl John was now waxen one of the greatest men in broad Scotland, and withal he had all the power worth considering in the shire of Ayr. So that even the Craufords, wanting now their ancient chief, and broken with bickerings among themselves, sent an embassy of peace and goodwill to him.
It chanced that it came when the Earl was in a good humour.
'Ah, John Crauford,' said Cassillis, ''tis a changed day since Bargany and you chased us off Skeldon Haughs. It looks as if the sow had not been flitted so far after all. But ye shall have the peace ye ask. For we live under a gracious King who loves quietness as much as when he dwelt here in our kindly North. And he is now the better able to enforce it. Therefore, look ye to it. I will maintain you Craufords in your heritages of Kerse—which by my power as Bailzie, I might legally declare forfeit.
'But I will tell you what ye must do in return. Ye shall render me place and precedence at kirk and market. Ye shall build up your private door in Dalrymple Kirk, and ye shall abide from taking your places there till ye have seen me seated.'
To this, dourly enough, the Craufords perforce agreed. For, indeed, they could make no better of it, so great a man was our Earl grown.
But to me he was ever kind, and proved none so ill-given when it liked him. For he said, 'Build you the house of Palgowan and I will plenish it for you, and that not meanly. And you and my cousin Nell shall rear me routh of lusty knaves to protect my south-western marches, and keep down the reivers of the Dungeon!' Which, indeed (so far as I was concerned), I was right willing to promise.
So it came about that the Earl would have it that our wedding must be held in the ancient strength of Cassillis, which sits by the waterside not so far from the town of Ayr. And a bonny, well-sheltered place it is—not like Culzean, which stands blusteringly on the seabrink, over-frowning all. And because the Earl of Cassillis said it, so it was bound to be.
For he was our Nell's guardian, and besides we that were to live under him, were none the worse of keeping in with him.
When I went to do my courting, as often as not I found Nell walking with him, and ofttimes flouting him. And when I would have cautioned her, 'Tut,' she said, 'he likes nothing better. If his own wife flouted him, he might stay better at home.'
'Cousin,' Nell would say to him sometimes, 'Cousin John, ye think ye are such a great man, yet a little musket-ball, or a woman's finger-long bodkin, might let all thy greatness out. Ye should think oftener on that.
'What, Nell,' said he, 'is it that the hour of thy marriage grows so near, that thou must test thy preaching on me. Keep the proof of the pudding for thine own goodman.'
'Ah,' said she, 'perchance my cousin, the noble Countess, has already given thee thy fill of it.'
'Thou art a forward chit,' said he, wringing her ear between his finger and thumb. 'I hope Launce will swinge thee tightly with a supple birch for thy often naughtiness.'
It was, indeed, a notable day when Nell and I were married. All the morning my heart was beating a fine tune, lest something should happen ere I got my lass carried off to our home. Alone I rode from the Cove of Culzean to the house of Cassillis. I started brave and early, and my good old horse, Dom Nicholas, rode for once the right road and the ready, the gate that I longed to go. I had a rare fine coat of blue silk upon me, belted about the waist with the King's belt, and with the King's order of knighthood all a-glitter upon my breast. Silver-buttoned was my coat, and of solid silver, too, were the accoutrements of Dom Nicholas—ay, to the very stirrups and the broidery on his blue saddle-cloth. I wore the Earl's Damascus sword, his first gift, swinging at my side. And as Dom Nicholas and I went through Maybole, wot ye, if we kept not our heads up. For the lasses ran out in clouds to watch us go past, and what was even better, the lads sulked and turned their backs, saying that they would be shamed to lay a leg across a horse's back thus appareled. For I knew well what they were thinking. Had I been trudging afoot in hodden, and they riding by all in silk with a gold-hiked sword, that is just what I should have said. So the black envy eating into their hearts and lowering on their brows cheered me like old French wine on a cold day.
I had not gone far across the bent when I spied a cavalcade before me. It was the men of Culzean, whom I had so often led in battle, come to give me a right gay sending off. And at their head rode James (now the heir), mirthful Sandy, and mine own little Davie, dressed like a page-boy in satin of blue and gold.
They gave me boisterous welcome, and they that dared would have broken many jests of the time-honoured sort upon my head. But on such a day a lover's head is helmeted alike against the hand of war and the strife of tongues.
The Earl himself met us at Cassillis Yett. Whereupon I dismounted and bent upon a knee. He raised me right courteously and led me within, conversing all the while as to an equal. Such a repair of folk I never saw before in Carrick or in Kyle. And sweetest of all to me was to see my father, for my mother had bidden at home to welcome us when we should ride southward.
And among the first that came to bid me good fortune were Robert Harburgh and his wife. Now so soon as the eyes of my ancient love crossed mine, I perceived well that there was yet wickedness lurking in them.
And whensoever her husband was called away on some business of the Earl's I had proof of it. For Kate Allison came near to me, and, setting her hand on the silver buttons of my coat, as though to pick a thread, she said,—
'So, Launcelot—or, I should say, Sir Launcelot—is it come to this? You see there is none so disdainful but in time their fall will come.'
'Nay, Kate,' I made answer, 'it was not I that was first disdainful, for do you mind who it was that told me certain truths in the Grieve's house at Culzean?'
'Ah Launce!' said Kate Allison, 'own it now. Was not I a kind leech, to bite one I loved so healthily all for his good and for the cooling of his blood?'
'Kate Allison,' said I, 'thou wast ever a minx, a teasing rogue of rogues. But thy disdain might have gone near to costing me my life!'
'Go to, Sir Want-wit,' said she. 'Did not I know all the time that thy love for me was no more than a boy's fondness for kissing comfits, and to be made of by a bonny lass? Why, even then thou wast fonder of Nell's little finger than of my whole body.'
I knew that Kate spoke true—for, indeed, it was many months since I had so much as thought upon her. But this I told her not. The Lord knows how seldom she had thought upon me. But when they meet together, old sweethearts take pleasure thus in dallying with the past, when all wounds have been healed and no hearts broken.
But she saw my eyes wandering, as I guess, every way about, and she must needs tease me concerning that also.
'Nay,' she said, 'you will not see your posy, till she comes in to the minister and you. So e'en content ye for a little with an old married wife and the mother of a family. Ye shall have time and to spare with your bonny bride or all be done.'
'Kate,' I said, 'ye will be my friend as of yore.'
'Ay, and hold my tongue,' answered she quickly.
'That you did not always, then,' said I, 'for there never was such an uncouth love-making in the world, as with your tell-tale tongue ye made mine. I dared not lay my lips to a tender word nor so much as seek a favour, as it might be innocently betwixt man and maid, but it was "That you said to Kate on such a night!" or "Think ye that I count so little on myself as to be content with Kate Allison's cast-off sweet speeches."'
And the pretty besom laughed. For though a married wife, she was not a whit sobered, as one might see by her eyes.
'It served you greatly right,' said she, 'but do me some justice. Did you ever hear of my telling of the night of the fair at Maybole, and of our home-coming by the woodland way?'
'No,' said I, curtly. For indeed I liked not that memory specially well, and wondered that she did.
'Then,' said Kate Allison, 'rail no more against woman's tongues. For they are moveable yard measures, and let out no more than likes them.'
At this moment they called to me from the great door, and Kate Allison waved me off with a gay 'Up and away, Sir Knight!'—which pleased me more from her than many aBenedicitefrom another.
The minister had come, they said, and was waiting for me. I went in, and lo! to my wonder, who should he be but Maister Robert Bruce, the sequestrated minister of Edinburgh, with whom the King had at last wholly fallen out concerning the matter of the Gowrie riot.
The Earl smiled at my wonderment.
'Art thou astonished,' he said, 'thus to see our ancient friend in Carrick? Thinkest thou that thy marriage will not stand? Truth it will, for even King James will think twice, or he bids his bishop unfrock a man that bides with me in my defenced house of Cassillis.'
'Sir Launcelot,' said Maister Robert Bruce, bending to me with his ancient grace and most reverend dignity, 'this is the happiest hour with me since I quitted my high town upon the Long Ridge. It is true that I wander like a restless ghost seeking abode; but as yet the King hath not bent me—yea, though thrice I have met him in dispute and conference.'
Then went the Earl out to bring in my Nell, and I listened to the minister of Edinburgh speaking. Yet, on my life I could not fix my mind on a word he said, for there was a jangling as of many bells in mine ears, and all the pulses of my life beat together. Then knew I of a surety that none had power to touch my heart like Nell Kennedy, the lass that would not need to change her name.
At last the door opened and she entered—leaning on the Earl's arm she came. There was a rim of gold about her hair like a coronet. And John of Cassillis bent over to me, as he gave her into my hand. 'Take her,' he said, 'I have set a coronet about her brows for to-day. She is in haste to be wed, or I might have put a real one there. And what had Sir Launcelot done then, poor thing?'
And I think the cold, tall Earl John was more than a little fond of our Nell, concerning which I often rally her now.
So Nell and I were married. And as though he had known her and her teasing temper, Maister Robert Bruce paused long on the promise to 'obey' when he came to put the questions to her, and also upon the words 'obedient wife.' Wherefore I have ever held him to be a man gifted above most with the second sight.
It was between the sweet hazel and the flowering May that we rode south—we two alone. For Robert Harburgh had led a company of men with flower-wreathed lances and of young maids on palfreys as far as the crossing of the roads which come from Culzean, where there met us a party with the loving cup.
But now at long and last we were won clear, and ever as we rode we caught hands and laughed and loosed them again—all for gladness to be alone. And we looked in one another's eyes, and nigh brought ourselves and our horses to destruction by thus looking and overlooking. Till I felt mine old Dom Nicholas, a horse that loves not philandering, grow restive and sulky under my thigh, tossing his head up as one slighted for the unworthy. And ever as we went she charged it upon me that then and then, and at such another time, I loved her not. And ever I swore that I did. Thereafter, being beaten on that point, she fell to declaring that she had loved me first and most—but I only reluctantly and, as it had been, at second-hand.
Thus we made the miles and the hours go by, redding up all our past life and planning our future, wondering the while if the stir and clangour of war had indeed passed away for ever. For already there had come a new look upon the land. Whether it was the union of the crowns and the new English wealth which made money more plenty, I know not, at any rate certain it is that there had arrived a security to which we in the lands of Carrick had been strangers for many generations.
Then it was that the farmer began to set his oxen to the plough in teams of a dozen or more, not fearing any longer that there might come a glint of steel-harnessed riders over the hill, who should drive his cattle before them and leave himself lying in the furrow a-welter in his blood.
The wind blew sweet about us. It seemed that never had there been a spring like this one since the world began, never such delicatest airs as those that stirred the crisps about Nell's white neck when she bent it sideways to hearken to my speeches. I declare that were I not an unlearned Scot, who takes to his pen only when work for the sword waxes slack, I could praise my love in similitudes of Arabian birds and ferny sprays, as well as Euphues' Delight or even as in the gentle Sydney his Arcadia.
But as it is I waste time, for already I have spoke too long, and must haste me to the end. Though this is a part of my life that I could love to linger on. For what is pleasanter than sunshine after storm and the bolts of ruin.
I declare it was five years since I had had time to look at a robin. But there seemed to be time for everything this fine May day.
And ever as we went, it seemed that we had been a long time alone, and that it would soon come time to be turning back again. Then to which soever of us the thought came, that we were now on the long lane that has no turning (save that which turns in at the kirkyaird loaning), there would also come the desire to touch and to look. And even thus did Nell Kennedy often, reaching her hand across to me from her gentle, equal-pacing steed.
Then would she fall back on the things that had been, and which now were passed away.
'Yesterday, at such a time,' she would say, 'I thought that to-day would never come. And now—'
Whereupon with her eyes she would look the rest.
Then I told her how that I had seen the Dominie but yestereven, when she was sewing at the pearling of her bridal dress and thinking of me. He had gone back with his pipes to the school by the kirk at Maybole.
'And what said he of our wedding?' asked my dear.
'Why I was instant with him to come and bide at Palgowan,' I made answer. 'Shall I tell thee what he said?'
'Ay, tell it me, indeed!' quoth she, blithely, stopping a moment on a high-lying moorish summit, with her hand above her eyes and looking to the Spear of the Merrick towards which we rode.
'Well, then, he said that those that were but newly wed had no use for carven negro-heads, wherein to put the ashes of their loves.'
'He is none so ugly as that!' said Nell—with, I think, a look at me which I took for a certain complaisance it pleased me to see.
Then I told her how the Dominie had added that it was not yet time for men of his profession to come about the house of a newly-wedded knight. But that if prosperity should come to Palgowan and the din of bairns' voices, we might ask him again in ten years or somewhat less.
'Oh,' said Nell, shortly, and rode a little further off. Yet I flattered myself that I had said the thing pretty well. For it was not at all in these terms that the Dominie had put his offer. Indeed, I was in a quandary how most discreetly to deliver his message.
So, in the long twilight of May, we came riding down Minnoch Water. For, with the sun-setting, we had fallen silent, and we looked no more so frankly at each other. But with one accord we turned our eyes across the water to watch for the light of my mother's candle in the little window.
She heard us as we came; and there, lo! before I knew it, she was at Nelly's saddle leather, helping her to dismount, and the tears were running steadily down her face. I think she minded the day when she, too, had come home a bride to the little house of Kirrieoch among the hills.
'Oh, my bairn—my bairn,' was what she said, 'come awa' ben!'
And it was to Nell that she said it. Me she minded no more than a cock-sparrow under the eaves. Then came Hugh of Kirriemore out to take the horses. But I went, as is my custom, to the stable with Dom Nicholas, for he never slept well otherwise. And when I came in again I found that my mother had Nell already seated by the fireside, for it is chill among the uplands in May. The peats were burning fine, and on the white board there was a supper set fit for a prince and princess.
But all the time my mother never minded me at all, save to rage on me for bringing the lass so far and so fast.
'But, mother,' said I, 'remember that if I had not made some haste, all your fine supper would have been wasted.'
And indeed it came not far from being that as it was, for we could eat but little. The finest of muirland fare seemed somehow or other to stick by the way, tasting strangely dry and sapless. And after we had done we drew apart and looked at the red ashes, while my mother rattled on about the simple concerns of the sheep and the calves, which mountain-bred folk vastly love both to speak of and to hear about.
Presently she leaned over me and took down the burnt Bible out of the wall aumry.
'Here, Launce,' she said, 'read you the chapter this night ere ye sleep. It becomes a man wedded and the head of a family. Besides, your father is from home.'
I declare I would sooner have charged upon the level spears. But I had no choice with my mother, speaking as she did when I was a boy, and my Nell sitting there crossing her pretty ankles by the fireside. So I manned to read a portion. It was about Jonathan clambering up a rock (and a good soldier he was). But the prayer fairly beat me. However, ere we rose from our knees we said the Lord's prayer all of us together. So to rest we went, without other word spoken. And through the little window of the room in which I was born, Nell and I could hear, ere we went to sleep, the brattle of the burn hurrying down through the peace of the hills, past our own new house of Palgowan and so on toward the silence of the outermost sea.