[Contents]CHAPTER LXXIV.The missing Lady Beatrice.Whilst preparations are making for the duel, it may not be improper to relieve the reader’s mind regarding the Lady Beatrice, who had thus unwittingly become the subject of a feud likely to terminate so fatally. After having providentially effected her escape, first from the flames of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, and then from the base and treacherous protection of Sir Andrew Stewart, she fled through the garden, and, being bewildered by a complication of terrors, she ran she knew not whither, and unwittingly taking the direction of the town, rushed wildly through the streets. Terror-struck by the blaze of the Cathedral and the shouts of those who were engaged in its destruction, some of whom her fears led her to imagine had joined in the pursuit which she believed Sir Andrew Stewart still held after her, she darted onwards with inconceivable rapidity, until she passed quite through the town. A little beyond its western entrance, she beheld a light at some distance before her, and believing that it proceeded from the casement of some cottage, she sprang towards it with renewed exertion. To her great disappointment, it turned out to be one of those lamps kept burning within a shrine of the Virgin that stood by the wayside. She sank down exhausted before the image it contained, and clasping her hands together, implored protection from her whom the figure represented.While she was occupied in devotion, she heard the distant tramp of a horse. At first she was doubtful of the reality of the[605]sound, confounded as it was with the far-off shouts of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s people; but it soon became too distinct to be mistaken. It came not very quick, however, and she had yet time to flee. Filled with fresh alarm, she again sprang to her feet; but, alas! their strength was gone. Her limbs refused to do their office, and, tottering for a step or two, she again sank down on the ground, under the half shadow at the base of the little Gothic building. As she fell the horseman came on. He halted in doubt whether that which he beheld sink so strangely was corporeal or spiritual. His horse, too, seemed to partake of his alarm; for when he tried to urge the animal to pass by, he snorted and backed, and could not be persuaded or compelled to advance by any means the rider could use.Meanwhile, the Lady Beatrice, believing that the man who rode the horse had halted for the purpose of dismounting, lay trembling with apprehension that Sir Andrew Stewart was about to seize her. Fear robbed her for some moments of recollection, from which temporary stupor she was roused by feeling her waist powerfully encircled by two arms of no pigmy size or strength, upon which she screamed aloud and fainted away.When the Lady Beatrice regained her recollection, she found herself seated on the saddle, and travelling at a good round pace. She was held in her place, and supported by the same sinewy arms, which were also employed in guiding the reins, and pressing on the steed.“Mercy, mercy, Sir Andrew Stewart,” shrieked she; “oh, whither dost thou carry me?”“St. Lowry be praised that thou hast gathered thysel back frae the warld o’ sauls, my leddy! Of a truth I did greatly fear that thy spirit had yode thither.”“Merciful Providence, Rory Spears!” cried the Lady Beatrice, almost doubting the evidence of her ears. “The holy Virgin be praised, if it be thee indeed!”“Yea, in good truth, it is assuredly me, Roderick Spears, esquire, at the humble service of thy leddyship,” replied Rory.“Then thanks be to the blessed Virgin, I am safe!” replied Beatrice.“Safe!” cried Rory; “yea, as safe as the bold heart of ane esquire can make thee. Trust me, they sall take measure o’ ane ell and ane half o’ this lance that hangs ahint me here, that may essay to do thee aught o’ harm between this and Tarnawa, whither my shalty Brambleberry shall speedily convey us.”“May the saints unite to shower their blessings upon thee,[606]Rory, for thy timely aid!” cried the Lady Beatrice; “but how, I pray thee, didst thou chance to rescue me from the power of Sir Andrew Stewart?”“What!” cried Rory, “so that ill-doing, misbegotten fumart hath been besetting thee again with this accursed traiterie. By St. Lowrie, but I did ance tak measure o’ him afore.”“Yea, he encountered me as I did escape from the flames of the Maison Dieu, and he pursued me to the shrine of the Virgin, where he was in the act of laying his impure hands on me, when I did faint away.”“Na, troth, my leddy,” said Rory, “the hands that war laid on thee war my hands; and, though I should speak weel o’ that the which be’s mine ain, I do boldly avow that they are purer than the scartin’ claws o’ that mouldwarp, although they hae handled mony a foul fish, and I wad be sair ashamed an they waur no teucher. It was me that took haud o’ ye, my leddy, and I made bauld to do that same (being ane esquire) that I might succour ye, distressed damsel that thou wert, by lifting thy dead body into the saddle, that wi’ a sair heart I mought bring thee aff to Tarnawa, where, an thou didst not recover thee, thou mightest have had ane honourable yirdin’.”“But tell me, I pray thee, how thou didst chance to come there?” demanded Beatrice.“I’ll tell thee,” said Rory. “My master, the Yearl, did send me to Aberdeen wi’ a flight o’ falcons he had promised till the King’s Majesty; so I hae been there, yea, and did behold his Royal Grace afore he depairted for his Palace of Scone. I wot he was weel pleased wi’ the birds, and he did show me the fair side o’ his Royal favour for bringing them, partly, nae doot, for the sake o’ my noble master the Yearl o’ Moray, and partly, I do opine, because I am noo an esquire admitted and acknowledged, the which the King himsel did alswa most graciously confirm out o’ his ain mouth. For, says he to me, ‘Squire Rory,’ says he, ‘are the falcons well mewed, and hast thou reclaimed them to purpose?’ To the which I did answer, ‘Try ye them, my Royal Liege, and ye’ll see gin there be ony Royal hern that’ll mount wi’ them. Trust me, my Lord King, that they have a wing that will carry them up to the very riggin’ o’ the lift, an ye can find a hern that ’ill gang there before them.’ The king gied a most gracious laugh thereupon, and so I did laugh too, and the Lords did laugh. At length the King telled ane o’ his fouk to see that Squire Roderick Spears was well feasted; and so I was in good troth, yea, and got handsome gurdeon I rauckon alswa. So, as I was on my way back from Aberdeen, I stopped late[607]yestreen at the Spital o’ the Mason’s Due; but I had not lain long asleep until I was startled to my legs by the cry o’ fire, and the flames bursting out. I hurried on some of my garments, and grupping the rest in my hands, I made the best o’ my way to the stable; but there I could not get in for lack o’ the key. It was firm fast, and I had hard wark, I wis, till I could get something to break it open wi’. Then did I ride through a’ the town to see what destruction the Wolfe o’ Badenoch was doing. But as I was but ae man, and that it would ill become me to find faut wi’ the son o’ the King or the brother o’ my leddy Countess, I cam aff hot foot to tell the Yearl. So seeing thee moving in the light yonder, I maun just say, that, at the first, I did opine that thou wert something not o’ this warld; and had it not been for Brambleberry here, who would by no means pass thee by, and whose good sense therein did gie me time to see that thou were nae ghost, verily thou mightst ha’e lain there still for me.”Under the protection of the faithful Rory Spears, the Lady Beatrice arrived safely at Tarnawa, where she was joyfully received by the Countess. Her converse with the Franciscan had been enough to inform her of the pleasing fact that she was indeed the daughter of the Lord of Dirleton; and the happy Jane de Vaux learned this much from her with a rapture that melted Beatrice’s heart with emotions of delight she had never before experienced. To her, who had grown up without knowing aught of the affectionate regard of a near relation, how soothing must have been the pure embrace of a sister, of a sister too who had already shown herself to be the kindest of friends. But the joy of Jane de Vaux and the Countess of Moray, who had fully participated in the felicity of her young friend, was converted into extreme anxiety about Beatrice, who was seized with a severe illness, the effect of the fatigue, shipwreck, dread, and agitation to which she had lately been exposed. To add to their distress, the Earl of Moray had been gone from home for some days. It is no wonder, then, that the Countess and the Lady Jane de Vaux should have been too much occupied with their patient to think of making inquiry about her uncle the Franciscan; nor was it until the Earl returned that he did what they should have done before; and then it was they learned from the Bishop of Moray that the friar had gone on his important mission to the Wolfe of Badenoch.[608]
[Contents]CHAPTER LXXIV.The missing Lady Beatrice.Whilst preparations are making for the duel, it may not be improper to relieve the reader’s mind regarding the Lady Beatrice, who had thus unwittingly become the subject of a feud likely to terminate so fatally. After having providentially effected her escape, first from the flames of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, and then from the base and treacherous protection of Sir Andrew Stewart, she fled through the garden, and, being bewildered by a complication of terrors, she ran she knew not whither, and unwittingly taking the direction of the town, rushed wildly through the streets. Terror-struck by the blaze of the Cathedral and the shouts of those who were engaged in its destruction, some of whom her fears led her to imagine had joined in the pursuit which she believed Sir Andrew Stewart still held after her, she darted onwards with inconceivable rapidity, until she passed quite through the town. A little beyond its western entrance, she beheld a light at some distance before her, and believing that it proceeded from the casement of some cottage, she sprang towards it with renewed exertion. To her great disappointment, it turned out to be one of those lamps kept burning within a shrine of the Virgin that stood by the wayside. She sank down exhausted before the image it contained, and clasping her hands together, implored protection from her whom the figure represented.While she was occupied in devotion, she heard the distant tramp of a horse. At first she was doubtful of the reality of the[605]sound, confounded as it was with the far-off shouts of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s people; but it soon became too distinct to be mistaken. It came not very quick, however, and she had yet time to flee. Filled with fresh alarm, she again sprang to her feet; but, alas! their strength was gone. Her limbs refused to do their office, and, tottering for a step or two, she again sank down on the ground, under the half shadow at the base of the little Gothic building. As she fell the horseman came on. He halted in doubt whether that which he beheld sink so strangely was corporeal or spiritual. His horse, too, seemed to partake of his alarm; for when he tried to urge the animal to pass by, he snorted and backed, and could not be persuaded or compelled to advance by any means the rider could use.Meanwhile, the Lady Beatrice, believing that the man who rode the horse had halted for the purpose of dismounting, lay trembling with apprehension that Sir Andrew Stewart was about to seize her. Fear robbed her for some moments of recollection, from which temporary stupor she was roused by feeling her waist powerfully encircled by two arms of no pigmy size or strength, upon which she screamed aloud and fainted away.When the Lady Beatrice regained her recollection, she found herself seated on the saddle, and travelling at a good round pace. She was held in her place, and supported by the same sinewy arms, which were also employed in guiding the reins, and pressing on the steed.“Mercy, mercy, Sir Andrew Stewart,” shrieked she; “oh, whither dost thou carry me?”“St. Lowry be praised that thou hast gathered thysel back frae the warld o’ sauls, my leddy! Of a truth I did greatly fear that thy spirit had yode thither.”“Merciful Providence, Rory Spears!” cried the Lady Beatrice, almost doubting the evidence of her ears. “The holy Virgin be praised, if it be thee indeed!”“Yea, in good truth, it is assuredly me, Roderick Spears, esquire, at the humble service of thy leddyship,” replied Rory.“Then thanks be to the blessed Virgin, I am safe!” replied Beatrice.“Safe!” cried Rory; “yea, as safe as the bold heart of ane esquire can make thee. Trust me, they sall take measure o’ ane ell and ane half o’ this lance that hangs ahint me here, that may essay to do thee aught o’ harm between this and Tarnawa, whither my shalty Brambleberry shall speedily convey us.”“May the saints unite to shower their blessings upon thee,[606]Rory, for thy timely aid!” cried the Lady Beatrice; “but how, I pray thee, didst thou chance to rescue me from the power of Sir Andrew Stewart?”“What!” cried Rory, “so that ill-doing, misbegotten fumart hath been besetting thee again with this accursed traiterie. By St. Lowrie, but I did ance tak measure o’ him afore.”“Yea, he encountered me as I did escape from the flames of the Maison Dieu, and he pursued me to the shrine of the Virgin, where he was in the act of laying his impure hands on me, when I did faint away.”“Na, troth, my leddy,” said Rory, “the hands that war laid on thee war my hands; and, though I should speak weel o’ that the which be’s mine ain, I do boldly avow that they are purer than the scartin’ claws o’ that mouldwarp, although they hae handled mony a foul fish, and I wad be sair ashamed an they waur no teucher. It was me that took haud o’ ye, my leddy, and I made bauld to do that same (being ane esquire) that I might succour ye, distressed damsel that thou wert, by lifting thy dead body into the saddle, that wi’ a sair heart I mought bring thee aff to Tarnawa, where, an thou didst not recover thee, thou mightest have had ane honourable yirdin’.”“But tell me, I pray thee, how thou didst chance to come there?” demanded Beatrice.“I’ll tell thee,” said Rory. “My master, the Yearl, did send me to Aberdeen wi’ a flight o’ falcons he had promised till the King’s Majesty; so I hae been there, yea, and did behold his Royal Grace afore he depairted for his Palace of Scone. I wot he was weel pleased wi’ the birds, and he did show me the fair side o’ his Royal favour for bringing them, partly, nae doot, for the sake o’ my noble master the Yearl o’ Moray, and partly, I do opine, because I am noo an esquire admitted and acknowledged, the which the King himsel did alswa most graciously confirm out o’ his ain mouth. For, says he to me, ‘Squire Rory,’ says he, ‘are the falcons well mewed, and hast thou reclaimed them to purpose?’ To the which I did answer, ‘Try ye them, my Royal Liege, and ye’ll see gin there be ony Royal hern that’ll mount wi’ them. Trust me, my Lord King, that they have a wing that will carry them up to the very riggin’ o’ the lift, an ye can find a hern that ’ill gang there before them.’ The king gied a most gracious laugh thereupon, and so I did laugh too, and the Lords did laugh. At length the King telled ane o’ his fouk to see that Squire Roderick Spears was well feasted; and so I was in good troth, yea, and got handsome gurdeon I rauckon alswa. So, as I was on my way back from Aberdeen, I stopped late[607]yestreen at the Spital o’ the Mason’s Due; but I had not lain long asleep until I was startled to my legs by the cry o’ fire, and the flames bursting out. I hurried on some of my garments, and grupping the rest in my hands, I made the best o’ my way to the stable; but there I could not get in for lack o’ the key. It was firm fast, and I had hard wark, I wis, till I could get something to break it open wi’. Then did I ride through a’ the town to see what destruction the Wolfe o’ Badenoch was doing. But as I was but ae man, and that it would ill become me to find faut wi’ the son o’ the King or the brother o’ my leddy Countess, I cam aff hot foot to tell the Yearl. So seeing thee moving in the light yonder, I maun just say, that, at the first, I did opine that thou wert something not o’ this warld; and had it not been for Brambleberry here, who would by no means pass thee by, and whose good sense therein did gie me time to see that thou were nae ghost, verily thou mightst ha’e lain there still for me.”Under the protection of the faithful Rory Spears, the Lady Beatrice arrived safely at Tarnawa, where she was joyfully received by the Countess. Her converse with the Franciscan had been enough to inform her of the pleasing fact that she was indeed the daughter of the Lord of Dirleton; and the happy Jane de Vaux learned this much from her with a rapture that melted Beatrice’s heart with emotions of delight she had never before experienced. To her, who had grown up without knowing aught of the affectionate regard of a near relation, how soothing must have been the pure embrace of a sister, of a sister too who had already shown herself to be the kindest of friends. But the joy of Jane de Vaux and the Countess of Moray, who had fully participated in the felicity of her young friend, was converted into extreme anxiety about Beatrice, who was seized with a severe illness, the effect of the fatigue, shipwreck, dread, and agitation to which she had lately been exposed. To add to their distress, the Earl of Moray had been gone from home for some days. It is no wonder, then, that the Countess and the Lady Jane de Vaux should have been too much occupied with their patient to think of making inquiry about her uncle the Franciscan; nor was it until the Earl returned that he did what they should have done before; and then it was they learned from the Bishop of Moray that the friar had gone on his important mission to the Wolfe of Badenoch.[608]
CHAPTER LXXIV.The missing Lady Beatrice.
The missing Lady Beatrice.
The missing Lady Beatrice.
Whilst preparations are making for the duel, it may not be improper to relieve the reader’s mind regarding the Lady Beatrice, who had thus unwittingly become the subject of a feud likely to terminate so fatally. After having providentially effected her escape, first from the flames of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, and then from the base and treacherous protection of Sir Andrew Stewart, she fled through the garden, and, being bewildered by a complication of terrors, she ran she knew not whither, and unwittingly taking the direction of the town, rushed wildly through the streets. Terror-struck by the blaze of the Cathedral and the shouts of those who were engaged in its destruction, some of whom her fears led her to imagine had joined in the pursuit which she believed Sir Andrew Stewart still held after her, she darted onwards with inconceivable rapidity, until she passed quite through the town. A little beyond its western entrance, she beheld a light at some distance before her, and believing that it proceeded from the casement of some cottage, she sprang towards it with renewed exertion. To her great disappointment, it turned out to be one of those lamps kept burning within a shrine of the Virgin that stood by the wayside. She sank down exhausted before the image it contained, and clasping her hands together, implored protection from her whom the figure represented.While she was occupied in devotion, she heard the distant tramp of a horse. At first she was doubtful of the reality of the[605]sound, confounded as it was with the far-off shouts of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s people; but it soon became too distinct to be mistaken. It came not very quick, however, and she had yet time to flee. Filled with fresh alarm, she again sprang to her feet; but, alas! their strength was gone. Her limbs refused to do their office, and, tottering for a step or two, she again sank down on the ground, under the half shadow at the base of the little Gothic building. As she fell the horseman came on. He halted in doubt whether that which he beheld sink so strangely was corporeal or spiritual. His horse, too, seemed to partake of his alarm; for when he tried to urge the animal to pass by, he snorted and backed, and could not be persuaded or compelled to advance by any means the rider could use.Meanwhile, the Lady Beatrice, believing that the man who rode the horse had halted for the purpose of dismounting, lay trembling with apprehension that Sir Andrew Stewart was about to seize her. Fear robbed her for some moments of recollection, from which temporary stupor she was roused by feeling her waist powerfully encircled by two arms of no pigmy size or strength, upon which she screamed aloud and fainted away.When the Lady Beatrice regained her recollection, she found herself seated on the saddle, and travelling at a good round pace. She was held in her place, and supported by the same sinewy arms, which were also employed in guiding the reins, and pressing on the steed.“Mercy, mercy, Sir Andrew Stewart,” shrieked she; “oh, whither dost thou carry me?”“St. Lowry be praised that thou hast gathered thysel back frae the warld o’ sauls, my leddy! Of a truth I did greatly fear that thy spirit had yode thither.”“Merciful Providence, Rory Spears!” cried the Lady Beatrice, almost doubting the evidence of her ears. “The holy Virgin be praised, if it be thee indeed!”“Yea, in good truth, it is assuredly me, Roderick Spears, esquire, at the humble service of thy leddyship,” replied Rory.“Then thanks be to the blessed Virgin, I am safe!” replied Beatrice.“Safe!” cried Rory; “yea, as safe as the bold heart of ane esquire can make thee. Trust me, they sall take measure o’ ane ell and ane half o’ this lance that hangs ahint me here, that may essay to do thee aught o’ harm between this and Tarnawa, whither my shalty Brambleberry shall speedily convey us.”“May the saints unite to shower their blessings upon thee,[606]Rory, for thy timely aid!” cried the Lady Beatrice; “but how, I pray thee, didst thou chance to rescue me from the power of Sir Andrew Stewart?”“What!” cried Rory, “so that ill-doing, misbegotten fumart hath been besetting thee again with this accursed traiterie. By St. Lowrie, but I did ance tak measure o’ him afore.”“Yea, he encountered me as I did escape from the flames of the Maison Dieu, and he pursued me to the shrine of the Virgin, where he was in the act of laying his impure hands on me, when I did faint away.”“Na, troth, my leddy,” said Rory, “the hands that war laid on thee war my hands; and, though I should speak weel o’ that the which be’s mine ain, I do boldly avow that they are purer than the scartin’ claws o’ that mouldwarp, although they hae handled mony a foul fish, and I wad be sair ashamed an they waur no teucher. It was me that took haud o’ ye, my leddy, and I made bauld to do that same (being ane esquire) that I might succour ye, distressed damsel that thou wert, by lifting thy dead body into the saddle, that wi’ a sair heart I mought bring thee aff to Tarnawa, where, an thou didst not recover thee, thou mightest have had ane honourable yirdin’.”“But tell me, I pray thee, how thou didst chance to come there?” demanded Beatrice.“I’ll tell thee,” said Rory. “My master, the Yearl, did send me to Aberdeen wi’ a flight o’ falcons he had promised till the King’s Majesty; so I hae been there, yea, and did behold his Royal Grace afore he depairted for his Palace of Scone. I wot he was weel pleased wi’ the birds, and he did show me the fair side o’ his Royal favour for bringing them, partly, nae doot, for the sake o’ my noble master the Yearl o’ Moray, and partly, I do opine, because I am noo an esquire admitted and acknowledged, the which the King himsel did alswa most graciously confirm out o’ his ain mouth. For, says he to me, ‘Squire Rory,’ says he, ‘are the falcons well mewed, and hast thou reclaimed them to purpose?’ To the which I did answer, ‘Try ye them, my Royal Liege, and ye’ll see gin there be ony Royal hern that’ll mount wi’ them. Trust me, my Lord King, that they have a wing that will carry them up to the very riggin’ o’ the lift, an ye can find a hern that ’ill gang there before them.’ The king gied a most gracious laugh thereupon, and so I did laugh too, and the Lords did laugh. At length the King telled ane o’ his fouk to see that Squire Roderick Spears was well feasted; and so I was in good troth, yea, and got handsome gurdeon I rauckon alswa. So, as I was on my way back from Aberdeen, I stopped late[607]yestreen at the Spital o’ the Mason’s Due; but I had not lain long asleep until I was startled to my legs by the cry o’ fire, and the flames bursting out. I hurried on some of my garments, and grupping the rest in my hands, I made the best o’ my way to the stable; but there I could not get in for lack o’ the key. It was firm fast, and I had hard wark, I wis, till I could get something to break it open wi’. Then did I ride through a’ the town to see what destruction the Wolfe o’ Badenoch was doing. But as I was but ae man, and that it would ill become me to find faut wi’ the son o’ the King or the brother o’ my leddy Countess, I cam aff hot foot to tell the Yearl. So seeing thee moving in the light yonder, I maun just say, that, at the first, I did opine that thou wert something not o’ this warld; and had it not been for Brambleberry here, who would by no means pass thee by, and whose good sense therein did gie me time to see that thou were nae ghost, verily thou mightst ha’e lain there still for me.”Under the protection of the faithful Rory Spears, the Lady Beatrice arrived safely at Tarnawa, where she was joyfully received by the Countess. Her converse with the Franciscan had been enough to inform her of the pleasing fact that she was indeed the daughter of the Lord of Dirleton; and the happy Jane de Vaux learned this much from her with a rapture that melted Beatrice’s heart with emotions of delight she had never before experienced. To her, who had grown up without knowing aught of the affectionate regard of a near relation, how soothing must have been the pure embrace of a sister, of a sister too who had already shown herself to be the kindest of friends. But the joy of Jane de Vaux and the Countess of Moray, who had fully participated in the felicity of her young friend, was converted into extreme anxiety about Beatrice, who was seized with a severe illness, the effect of the fatigue, shipwreck, dread, and agitation to which she had lately been exposed. To add to their distress, the Earl of Moray had been gone from home for some days. It is no wonder, then, that the Countess and the Lady Jane de Vaux should have been too much occupied with their patient to think of making inquiry about her uncle the Franciscan; nor was it until the Earl returned that he did what they should have done before; and then it was they learned from the Bishop of Moray that the friar had gone on his important mission to the Wolfe of Badenoch.[608]
Whilst preparations are making for the duel, it may not be improper to relieve the reader’s mind regarding the Lady Beatrice, who had thus unwittingly become the subject of a feud likely to terminate so fatally. After having providentially effected her escape, first from the flames of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, and then from the base and treacherous protection of Sir Andrew Stewart, she fled through the garden, and, being bewildered by a complication of terrors, she ran she knew not whither, and unwittingly taking the direction of the town, rushed wildly through the streets. Terror-struck by the blaze of the Cathedral and the shouts of those who were engaged in its destruction, some of whom her fears led her to imagine had joined in the pursuit which she believed Sir Andrew Stewart still held after her, she darted onwards with inconceivable rapidity, until she passed quite through the town. A little beyond its western entrance, she beheld a light at some distance before her, and believing that it proceeded from the casement of some cottage, she sprang towards it with renewed exertion. To her great disappointment, it turned out to be one of those lamps kept burning within a shrine of the Virgin that stood by the wayside. She sank down exhausted before the image it contained, and clasping her hands together, implored protection from her whom the figure represented.
While she was occupied in devotion, she heard the distant tramp of a horse. At first she was doubtful of the reality of the[605]sound, confounded as it was with the far-off shouts of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s people; but it soon became too distinct to be mistaken. It came not very quick, however, and she had yet time to flee. Filled with fresh alarm, she again sprang to her feet; but, alas! their strength was gone. Her limbs refused to do their office, and, tottering for a step or two, she again sank down on the ground, under the half shadow at the base of the little Gothic building. As she fell the horseman came on. He halted in doubt whether that which he beheld sink so strangely was corporeal or spiritual. His horse, too, seemed to partake of his alarm; for when he tried to urge the animal to pass by, he snorted and backed, and could not be persuaded or compelled to advance by any means the rider could use.
Meanwhile, the Lady Beatrice, believing that the man who rode the horse had halted for the purpose of dismounting, lay trembling with apprehension that Sir Andrew Stewart was about to seize her. Fear robbed her for some moments of recollection, from which temporary stupor she was roused by feeling her waist powerfully encircled by two arms of no pigmy size or strength, upon which she screamed aloud and fainted away.
When the Lady Beatrice regained her recollection, she found herself seated on the saddle, and travelling at a good round pace. She was held in her place, and supported by the same sinewy arms, which were also employed in guiding the reins, and pressing on the steed.
“Mercy, mercy, Sir Andrew Stewart,” shrieked she; “oh, whither dost thou carry me?”
“St. Lowry be praised that thou hast gathered thysel back frae the warld o’ sauls, my leddy! Of a truth I did greatly fear that thy spirit had yode thither.”
“Merciful Providence, Rory Spears!” cried the Lady Beatrice, almost doubting the evidence of her ears. “The holy Virgin be praised, if it be thee indeed!”
“Yea, in good truth, it is assuredly me, Roderick Spears, esquire, at the humble service of thy leddyship,” replied Rory.
“Then thanks be to the blessed Virgin, I am safe!” replied Beatrice.
“Safe!” cried Rory; “yea, as safe as the bold heart of ane esquire can make thee. Trust me, they sall take measure o’ ane ell and ane half o’ this lance that hangs ahint me here, that may essay to do thee aught o’ harm between this and Tarnawa, whither my shalty Brambleberry shall speedily convey us.”
“May the saints unite to shower their blessings upon thee,[606]Rory, for thy timely aid!” cried the Lady Beatrice; “but how, I pray thee, didst thou chance to rescue me from the power of Sir Andrew Stewart?”
“What!” cried Rory, “so that ill-doing, misbegotten fumart hath been besetting thee again with this accursed traiterie. By St. Lowrie, but I did ance tak measure o’ him afore.”
“Yea, he encountered me as I did escape from the flames of the Maison Dieu, and he pursued me to the shrine of the Virgin, where he was in the act of laying his impure hands on me, when I did faint away.”
“Na, troth, my leddy,” said Rory, “the hands that war laid on thee war my hands; and, though I should speak weel o’ that the which be’s mine ain, I do boldly avow that they are purer than the scartin’ claws o’ that mouldwarp, although they hae handled mony a foul fish, and I wad be sair ashamed an they waur no teucher. It was me that took haud o’ ye, my leddy, and I made bauld to do that same (being ane esquire) that I might succour ye, distressed damsel that thou wert, by lifting thy dead body into the saddle, that wi’ a sair heart I mought bring thee aff to Tarnawa, where, an thou didst not recover thee, thou mightest have had ane honourable yirdin’.”
“But tell me, I pray thee, how thou didst chance to come there?” demanded Beatrice.
“I’ll tell thee,” said Rory. “My master, the Yearl, did send me to Aberdeen wi’ a flight o’ falcons he had promised till the King’s Majesty; so I hae been there, yea, and did behold his Royal Grace afore he depairted for his Palace of Scone. I wot he was weel pleased wi’ the birds, and he did show me the fair side o’ his Royal favour for bringing them, partly, nae doot, for the sake o’ my noble master the Yearl o’ Moray, and partly, I do opine, because I am noo an esquire admitted and acknowledged, the which the King himsel did alswa most graciously confirm out o’ his ain mouth. For, says he to me, ‘Squire Rory,’ says he, ‘are the falcons well mewed, and hast thou reclaimed them to purpose?’ To the which I did answer, ‘Try ye them, my Royal Liege, and ye’ll see gin there be ony Royal hern that’ll mount wi’ them. Trust me, my Lord King, that they have a wing that will carry them up to the very riggin’ o’ the lift, an ye can find a hern that ’ill gang there before them.’ The king gied a most gracious laugh thereupon, and so I did laugh too, and the Lords did laugh. At length the King telled ane o’ his fouk to see that Squire Roderick Spears was well feasted; and so I was in good troth, yea, and got handsome gurdeon I rauckon alswa. So, as I was on my way back from Aberdeen, I stopped late[607]yestreen at the Spital o’ the Mason’s Due; but I had not lain long asleep until I was startled to my legs by the cry o’ fire, and the flames bursting out. I hurried on some of my garments, and grupping the rest in my hands, I made the best o’ my way to the stable; but there I could not get in for lack o’ the key. It was firm fast, and I had hard wark, I wis, till I could get something to break it open wi’. Then did I ride through a’ the town to see what destruction the Wolfe o’ Badenoch was doing. But as I was but ae man, and that it would ill become me to find faut wi’ the son o’ the King or the brother o’ my leddy Countess, I cam aff hot foot to tell the Yearl. So seeing thee moving in the light yonder, I maun just say, that, at the first, I did opine that thou wert something not o’ this warld; and had it not been for Brambleberry here, who would by no means pass thee by, and whose good sense therein did gie me time to see that thou were nae ghost, verily thou mightst ha’e lain there still for me.”
Under the protection of the faithful Rory Spears, the Lady Beatrice arrived safely at Tarnawa, where she was joyfully received by the Countess. Her converse with the Franciscan had been enough to inform her of the pleasing fact that she was indeed the daughter of the Lord of Dirleton; and the happy Jane de Vaux learned this much from her with a rapture that melted Beatrice’s heart with emotions of delight she had never before experienced. To her, who had grown up without knowing aught of the affectionate regard of a near relation, how soothing must have been the pure embrace of a sister, of a sister too who had already shown herself to be the kindest of friends. But the joy of Jane de Vaux and the Countess of Moray, who had fully participated in the felicity of her young friend, was converted into extreme anxiety about Beatrice, who was seized with a severe illness, the effect of the fatigue, shipwreck, dread, and agitation to which she had lately been exposed. To add to their distress, the Earl of Moray had been gone from home for some days. It is no wonder, then, that the Countess and the Lady Jane de Vaux should have been too much occupied with their patient to think of making inquiry about her uncle the Franciscan; nor was it until the Earl returned that he did what they should have done before; and then it was they learned from the Bishop of Moray that the friar had gone on his important mission to the Wolfe of Badenoch.[608]