"'We will meet you at the chapel of Loretto, beside the Links of Musselburgh, on Friday, in the evening, for there we mean to spend the whole night in vigil and in prayer, &c.—E.D."
"At our Lady of Loretto! what a place for an assignation with these skipper varlets," said Lord Hailes, "those cullionly mongrels!"
"Art sure of this, sirrah?" asked Lord Home, with a terrible frown.
"Sure as I now address your lordship—for I read word for word as it is written."
"At six in the evening?"
"Six, my lord."
"God's death!" said Hailes, with ferocious joy, "if this meeting take place, I would not wed the Lord Drummond's daughter had she the crown of Scotland on her head."
"Nor I her sister, with Brittany and Orkney to boot."
"What then shall we do?"
"Send their letter to its destination, my lords," said Borthwick, who ever loved to ferment and further mischief; "permit the ladies quietly to ride forth, but attend the tryst, too—and let them find their lovers there, but less their heads."
"It shall be so; we'll beset the place, Hailes, and cut them into gobbets, by my father's soul we will?"
"But Loretto is a holy place."
"What! art thou one of those who deem one place more holy than another because a shaveling mumbles Latin there? Well, we will drag them forth and hang them at the Musselburgh Cross, if you will. I'll take a hundred horse and hide them in the woods of Pinkey. Enough—enough, we'll see to it; and now to send this letter to the churls at Largo. The bearer—"
"I left him drunk as a Saxon, and snorting like a pig, in an alehouse near the Timber Bourse; day has not yet broken, so I may easily restore it to his pouch without his having missed it, perhaps."
"Good—excellent! away, it lacks but a short time of day-dawn; when all this matter is over and settled, when the rooks of Pinkey Wood have gorged them to their fill on those aspiring curs who cross our plans, I'll make thee, Borthwick—a rascal though thou art—the richest varlet in my new earldom—away, away!" and laughing and pushing, he almost put Borthwick out of the room. When he was gone,—
"Hailes, can we really trust this fellow?" asked Home.
"Trust him! For gold he would sell his father's bones, and his own slender chance of salvation; but I'll have him followed, and prove whether or not he plays us foul."
The messenger of Home was no other than the unwilling Laird of Blackcastle, who had been sleeping in his armour on a stone bench in the upper hall of the King's Wark, and who grumbled under his helmet as he followed Borthwick through the dark and narrow streets of Leith in the grey light of the morning.
Turning off towards the Timber Bourse he saw him enter the narrow alley which led to Tibby Tarvet's alehouse, and there he met Willie Wad in a high state of excitement.
"What ho, Master Wad," said he, "you are abroad betimes."
"Abroad betimes, thou dog-thief and loon; thou'st boarded me like a pirate in the night, and stolen a letter frae me."
"Beware ye, sirrah, of what you say," replied Borthwick, making a show of dignified indignation; "beware, for I am a man of a good repute, that must not be impugned; but if this be the letter you have lost—"
"It is—it is," said Wad, almost dancing with joy as the other displayed the missing article; "and where got ye it?"
"Lying at the close-head."
"Say you so? Could I have dropped it?"
"You know best."
"My deck was overstown wi' usquebaugh—donnart deil that I am, it must have been so!"
"This letter is of value then??
"I would rather lose my starboard fin than it."
"Then it is well worth a crown."
"To those wha hae crowns to spare," said the gunner.
Borthwick took a firmer grasp of the packet.
"What, will a gay gentleman in a scarlet cloak, chaffer thus wi' a puir mariner like me?" asked Wad, with astonishment mingled with contempt.
"I have said the letter is well worth a crown."
"Crowns hae I none—but I will gie what I have, and then let us part; sorrow be on the hour I met you."
As money poured upon this wretched bravo, avarice grew and strengthened in his heart; and he omitted no opportunity of gathering all he could win; knowing well that ere long Scotland would be too hot to hold him.
"A' I hae is here," said Wad, opening a secret nook in his pouch; "three rose-nobles, and welcome you are to them."
"Rose-nobles," said Borthwick, suspiciously, and pricking up his ears at the sound; "where got you them?"
"In the pouch of a dead Englishman. Take them; the letter, the letter!" said Willie, losing all patience, and beginning to grasp his knife with one hand, while by the other he angrily snatched away the billet. "You are I doubtna a thief and limmer to boot—despite your braw gear and laced mantle. But off! sheer off, I say, or may I drink bilge, if by one hearty kick I dinna double you up like a bolt of wet canvas!"
With these complimentary remarks Willie hastened down the Broad Wynd, crossed the ancient bridge of three arches, where a trifling toll was levied from every passenger, and reached the boat of Jamie Gair, who was just preparing to put off without him. A chill wind was blowing from the north-east and a whiteharrwas setting in from the German Sea, so they buttoned up their gaberdines, betook them to the oars, shot the boat out into the midstream, and in a short time the old wooden pier of Leith, the Beacon Rock and Partan Craig, were left astern. Then they set their lug-sail, and keeping the boat close-hauled, bore away as nearly as her head would lie to the wind, for the beautiful Bay of Largo.
"Well mounted on their gallant steeds,The brothers led the van;And with four-and-twenty troopers gudeTheir midnight march began."—Ballad.
The fatal Friday was a dark and lowering day; the sun had been hidden in fiery clouds, and torrents of rain had fallen, swelling all the mountain streams. The minds of Euphemia and Sybilla Drummond, though joyful in the certainty of their loved sister's safety, were oppressed to some extent by vague forebodings of evil. Lord Drummond was still ignorant of his daughter's discovery, for he was absent on a mission of the insurgents, and was still nursing and maturing his plans of vengeance against James III., whom he deemed and styled "a forfeited and fugitive king."
Well attended, guarded, and surrounded as they were by many hundreds of faithful and obsequious vassals, whose adherence combined the love of the patriarchal clansman with the servility of the Lowland feudal serf, the two young lords had little difficulty in having the mansion of umquhile Sir Andrew Barton closely watched; and on the afternoon of Friday, Borthwick, who had been lying,en perdue, somewhere in the vicinity, announced to them that the two daughters of Lord Drummond had "set forth on their pretended pilgrimage to Loretto."
The two noble suitors hastened to assure themselves that such was indeed the case, and had the chagrin to see them pass out from Leith by St. Anthony's Porte, their cheeks flushed with fear and pleasure, and their eyes beaming, well mounted on ambling horses, with long and sweeping foot-cloths over their saddles, and each attended by a female servant, who rode on a pillion behind a page, and carried each a basket of offerings to the hermit.
"They ride fast," said Home, as they whipped their horses across the level links.
"They will come less speedily back," said Hailes, with his dark but courtly smile; "a heavy heart makes a slow wayfarer and their hearts I ween will be heavy enough."
"Two women and two pages——"
"A slender escort this for noble dames."
"Especially in such ticklish times as these."
"True, my lord; but what will not women risk for a lovers' sake?" said Hailes.
"Two painted pages (I'll have the rascals scourged!) may be guard enough in Lothian here; but in the Merse, or Teviotdale, a hundred spears were not a man too many, if one goes but a hundred yards from one's own gate."
"They have left betimes," said the chief of the Hepburns, looking up at a dial-stone that projected from the corner of St. Anthony's Gate.
"And at what time shall we set forth to spoil this precious pilgrimage—this dainty love-making?"
"Somewhere about six at even," said Hailes.
"Then we shall have the whole night before us."
"All the better; I have directed Borthwick and Blackcastle—"
"I doubt whether my kinsman would like such a conjunct partnership."
"Well, Blackcastle and Borthwick," said Home, impatiently, "with twenty of my most unscrupulous mosstroopers—Johnstones, thieves of Annandale, men who would spear their own brother if I wished them—to be all in their jacks betimes, and mounted to ride with us."
"Pleasant and honourable company," said Lord Hailes, with a smile.
"But fitted for the occasion, my lord," replied Home, firmly; "we know not but those scurvy fellows, Barton and Falconer, may have some of their ruffianly seamen with them; and if so, by my father's hand and by the crest of Home, though it be beneath our rank to draw on varlets such as these, I'll not leave in all Loretto one alive to tell the story to their admiral!"
As he spoke, Home clenched one hand, and with the other thrust his furred cap of maintenance over his dark and fiery eyes.
"Good, my lord; farewell until we meet again," said Hailes; "if to-day we do not teach these fellows a sharp lesson, this glorious raid against the court and king, and that most signal triumph before the walls of Stirling, have been less than vain."
And these two ferocious and unlettered nobles, though bent upon committing one of those atrocities which occurred daily among their proud, turbulent, and unpatriotic class in Scotland, bowed and parted as quietly and as pleasantly as if their appointed tryst had been for a pleasant evening ride in some green lane, instead of one for sacrilege and murder.
The troop of twenty men, who assembled near a gate of the King's Wark, and from thence set forth under the guidance of the two nobles, the Laird of Blackcastle and their new ally, Hew Borthwick, in their aspect and appearance did full justice to that character for ease and flexibility of conscience ascribed to them by Lord Home. They were all strong, dark, and sinewy men, whose forms were hardened into mere bone and brawn, and were durable as iron; for they were lawless mosstroopers, Scottish Bedouins, in fact; men who won every meal at the spear's point, and lived in their harness; men whose dwellings were among wild morasses, pathless woods, and inaccessible mountains; where law was never known, and religion little heard of; wild and predatory warriors, who fought against their countrymen as readily as against the common enemy that dwelt beyond the frontier; for, like the Ishmaelities, their hands were upraised against all men.
Their armour, which consisted of a splinted jack with plate sleeves and steel gloves, head-piece and gourgerin, was all rusty and well dinted by many a sword-cut and lance-thrust. Their beards and whiskers flowed out between their steel cheek-plates, ample and uncombed as the shaggy manes of their strong and active border steeds. Well-armed and fleetly-mounted, Home and Hailes, divested of every distinguishing badge, rode together at their head.
Wheeling off the main street between the hedge-rows of the Cotefield-loan, the whole party crossed the green and sandy links, and entered on the vast and purple expanse of the Figgate-muir, which was covered by the mossy stumps of an old druidical forest, whose roots are yet turned up by the plough and spade.
Shrill blew the wind, and drearily boomed the waves upon their left. The estuary of the Forth looked black as ink, and its billows rolled in white foam upon the lonely beach with a deep and hollow sound. The slanting aspect of the clouds showed that the rain, which had been pouring all that morning in torrents, was again about to descend; and though the party rode fast to escape it, they had only reached the little Chapel of Saint Mary Magdalene, which stood among some coppice near a stream that poured through a ravine into the sea, when it descended with such fury as almost to blind even the border riders, and the wind blew as if it would have blown its last, driving the sand from the shore across the open moor, and forcing the horsemen to seek shelter in the grove, while the two lords dismounted and entered the chapel, the door of which stood open, and before the altar of which they made the usual involuntary genuflection, by half-kneeling and signing the cross; and this, with them, was a very useless piece of mummery.
"How unlucky!" said Home, as the rain continued to fall in torrents upon the stone roof of the little oratory, while the stream beside it rolled in red foambells upon the beach; "this devilish tempest may spoil all, and there seems little chance of its lulling soon."
"Had our meeting with these rascals been elsewhere than at Loretto, there might not perhaps have been a storm."
"Art really so weak as to think this?" said Home.
"I know not what to think—but I like it not," replied his companion, shrugging his shoulders; for he was not without his share of the superstition incident to the time and country.
"How," continued Lord Home, with a lowering expression in his keen and fiery eyes, as he seated himself on a stone bench near the steps of the rude altar, and dashed the water from his plume; "your words would imply that Heaven itself was against us."
"I know not; but this sudden storm hath broken on us with wondrous fury, and here we are forced to draw our bridles within four miles of the place."
"Rest assured, my good lord, that Heaven leaves you and me to mind our own affairs. The elements would never be at peace if storms were raised to cross every man's purpose in Scotland; and least of all will they raise such an infernal hubbub as this to save a couple of scurvy varlets, who must swing, even as their companions swung, over Lander Bridge, in our raid of '82. There is one comfort, however," continued the practical but irreverent chief of the Homes, listening for a moment as the wind howled through the unglazed windows of the edifice, and the rain drenched the copsewood near it, and hissed along the beach till surf and sand were smoking; "we may be assured that the same storm which stays us here must keep our fair dames in shelter at Loretto, while it may also save us all trouble by kindly sending their lovers to feed the fishes of the Firth."
"But suppose we find the cockbirds flown?"
"Think not of such a disappointment."
"Yet such a thing is possible."
"Remember that Lady Euphemia, in her precious post scriptum, spoke of spending the night in vigil and in prayer."
"Profound prayer no doubt it will be, with a couple of saucy gallants to hold their tapers and turn the missal leaves," said Hailes, with a smile of contempt.
"St. Mary, how the sky darkens!"
"And how the rain comes down!"
"This burn beside us is swelling into a perfect torrent."
"How fare our rogues of Annandale in the thicket?"
"Ill enough, I doubt not," replied the Laird of Blackcastle; "and methinks they were as well riding as standing there, like todlowries under a lynn."
"You forget that no man could keep his saddle in such a tempest of wind," said Lord Home.
"Of a surety it must portend some coming evil; a pestilence, or an English invasion," added the superstitious Hailes.
As the chapel of Loretto stood in a solitary place beyond the eastern gate of Musselburgh, the two lords arranged that, on setting forth again, when once the Esk was crossed, it should be surrounded, an alarm given, and that all should be killed who issued forth—every man at least; for they had no wish to incur the vengeance of a tyrannical hierarchy which was full of power and strength, by actually slaughtering their victims within the walls or precincts of a church, if such a catastrophe could be possibly avoided.
But while, within a holy place, and close to the altar of their religion and their God—the symbolical throne, before which they had each gravely, and not the least in mockery, made a low reverence—they sat planning this projected outrage, and combining with their own views such suggestions as the mischievous and blood-thirsty spirit of Borthwick proposed, the storm still continued to howl along the shore; the rain still poured in one broad and blinding cataract; and torn from the woodlands by the furious wind, the wet leaves were whirled and swept in myriads across the moor, which at times was shrouded in mist and spray; and for hours this continued, with occasional gleams of lightning; and the mosstroopers, who had unsaddled their terrified horses and haltered them to the trees, now crowded, all drenched and disconsolate, into the dreary little chapel beside their leaders, where they grumbled and muttered under their thick beards, while drinking raw whiskey from their portable leather flasks and horn quaighs.
As the evening drew on and the place grew dark, they were not without their own fears that the elements were indeed in league against them; and now, enraged that their well-matured stratagem should be crossed by an intervention so unlooked for, their lords sat in sullen silence, listening to the din without; and the time seemed interminably long, for there were then no watches to mark the passing hours, and even had a dial been there, without the sun it had been useless.
"At last," said Home, "at last the wind lulls! Horse and spear, my Annan wights—let us mount, and begone!"
The horses were soon saddled and their riders mounted. Though the wind had lulled, the rain poured down as furiously as ever. The time was now past nine in the evening; but the gloomy aspect of the sky made the drenched landscape and the sea look very dark, for the sun had set enveloped in dense banks of opaque and murky cloud, behind the Ochil peaks, Dumiat, and the hills of Alloa.
The riders soon passed the hamlet named the Fisher Row, and reached the ancient bridge of the Roman Municipium, the arches of which still span "the mountain Esk," the opposite bank of which was covered with copsewood, where the dark and heavy oak mingled its thick crisped foliage with the lighter spray of the pale-green sauch and the feathery ash-tree. This venerable bridge consists of three quaint high and narrow arches, "over which," says one of our modern writers, "all of noble or kingly birth that approached Edinburgh for at least a thousand years must have passed; which has witnessed the processions of monks, the march of armies, and the trains of kings; which has rattled beneath the feet of Mary's ambling steed, and thundered beneath the war-horse of Cromwell."
Swollen by the summer flood, the Esk was found by our troopers to be rolling in one vast sheet of foam under the three arches, each of which are fifty feet in width; and in froth and spray its red current lashed furiously against their strong abutments, sweeping the mingled spoil of field and fell, uprooted trees, straw, hay, and grass, farm implements, rafters, and garden-pales, with the rolling carcasses of sheep and cattle, into the harbour, which wasthenso deep as to admit the largest merchantmen of Norway, of Pomerania, and of Holland; and many of these vessels, built in that quaint style which the Dutch have yet retained unchanged, were riding with all their anchors out, to stem the furiousspeat.
The narrow pathway of the bridge was then barred or spanned by a transverse arch and an iron gate, traces of which are yet remaining in the parapets. The warder dwelt in a small house on the other side, and as the barrier was closed, the night darkening fast, and the rain still pouring down, the two lords and their drenched mosstroopers halloed loudly and impatiently for passage through; but the keeper of the gate paid not the slightest attention to their loud and angry summons.
"Hark," said Lord Hailes; "what hour is that now striking?"
The mournful notes of an old bell were now heard, but faintly and far between, upon the gusts of wind.
"Ten by Musselburgh clock," said Borthwick; "ten, and we still loiter here!"
Above the trees they could discern, against the murky sky, quaint steeple of the Town House, in which there yet remains a bell-clock of the fifteenth century, which was presented to the burgh by their High Mightinesses, the States of Holland.
The dusk was now so deep that the foliaged bank opposite seemed all black and solid; and the white and foaming river boiled and thundered past so rapidly and fiercely, that the boldest trooper among our adventurers shrunk from attempting to swim his horse across it; for if they essayed it above the bridge, they ran the chance of being brained against the arches, on which the stream had risen; and if below it, of being powerlessly swept with thedébrisof its banks among the boats and shipping. Red and fiery, the stars were seen to peep at times between the flying scud, while the dark trees tossed their foliage on the gusty wind, like the black plumes of our modern Scottish infantry.
At times a mournful cry rose amid the gloom that enveloped the rolling river, and the grim horsemen reined back their reeking steeds, and looked darkly and inquiringly in each other's faces.
"Hear ye that, sirs?" said the Laird of Blackcastle. "What doth it sound like?"
"The monks chantingDe Profundisin St. Michael's Kirk," said Lord Hailes.
"God's malison on this base runnion of a warder!" cried Borthwick, impatiently.
"Hark!" said Hailes; "there comes that wailing cry again!"
"'Tis the Water Kelpie!" muttered the troopers, for the belief in that aquatic demon was yet strong in Scotland; and thus there was not a rider there who did not tremble at the idea of being drawn by that voracious fiend into his den below the flood.
"By my soul, I'll ride the river," said Hailes, boldly; "there should be a ford here, I think but the darkness is such that I cannot see."
"Beware in Heaven's name, my lord," cried Blackcastle, anxiously throwing his horse before the charger of his chief; "beware, lest your life be needlessly perilled; for even were the flood stemmed, ye may not abide the Kelpie's grasp. Listen to me," he continued, speaking breathlessly; "I had once a narrow escape from one at the Brig of Tyne, when last I crossed it during a Lammas flood. I had bought me a black horse from a strange-looking carle at the Haddington market; and at the sight of water, however far off, this horse became wild and frantic; it kicked, plunged, and neighed; and when we offered him a drink, he dashed over the bucket, and laved its contents about him with delight. When I rode him along the bridge at the Nunraw, he uttered an awesome yell as he rose into the air with me, and sprang over the parapet; and lo! I found myself astride a kelpie in that black Lammas flood, at mirk midnight! He turned upon me with open jaws, and eyes that blazed with fire! But I signed the cross between us, and then he sunk from me, yelling like a fiend as he was; and drowned I had been assuredly, had I not caught the branch of a sauch-tree and reached the shore——"
"And thy devilish horse-couper, what of him?"
"He was never more seen."
"St. Mary! he must have been the devil!" said Hailes.
"Or Michael Scott of Balwearie," said Home.
"Blackcastle, blow thy bugle," said his chief, "and we'll crop the gate-ward's ears if they hear it not."
"Woe to the loitering villain!" grumbled Home.
"His gudewife will be keeping him a-bed," said the other lord; "and perhaps the poor man dare not rise."
"Ihaveheard that the grey mare is the better horse here," said Blackcastle, as he blew a startling blast; "and I have seen good proof that the poor gate-ward is only Joan Tamson's man, as the saw hath it."
"How——"
"The rosemary sprig borne at their wedding now flourishes in his kail-yard, like a green bay-tree."
"The drowsy rascal; I'll strew its branches on his coffin board. Blow again!"
Once more Blackcastle poured the notes of his horn to the wind; and as the echoes mingled with the roaring of the river and the moaning of the trees, that low wailing cry, so chilling to their hearts, was heard again; and now lights began to twinkle in the warder's cottage.
"Pest upon thee, villain!" said Borthwick; "while we are detained here, our birds may indeed be flown from Loretto. He ought to know 'tis no ordinary errand that bringeth men abroad in weather such as this."
As he spake a white figure, evidently that of a woman in a long dress, appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and beckoned repeatedly to the troopers to attempt the ford.
"'Tis the keeper's wife," said one; "I ken the carlin weel by her lang luggit mutch."
"'Tis the Kelpie—beware, beware!" said another, while their horses trembled, kicked, and plunged, and their eyes shot fire, as a deadly terror seemed to possess them—a terror easily communicated to their superstitious riders.
Still the figure pointed to the ford and beckoned impatiently.
"Thank you, mistress," cried Hailes; "but we would rather not attempt it; so instantly open the gate."
But she continued to beckon, and her voice, if she used it, was lost in the howling of the wind and the hoarse roaring of the stream; so, finding their horses were becoming quite unmanageable, Lord Home lost his temper, a commodity which he was ever losing and long of recovering.
"Hag!" he exclaimed; "undo the gate, or begone at onceto hell!"
On this, it is related, a wild shriek was heard, and the white wavering figure disappeared.
At the same moment, the warder came hurriedly and opened the barrier.
"Wretched varlet!" said the imperious Home, giving the man a blow with his clenched hand; "thou hast kept us waiting long enough; why did not that hag of thine open the gate, instead of seeking to wile us by the ford?"
"A thousand humble pardons, noble gentlemen," stammered the poor warder; "but—but—a hag, said ye?"
"Ay, thy gudewife, carle," said Blackcastle; "I know her well enough by her long-eared coif."
"God assoil us! Ye have seen a spirit; for my wife was drowned at the ford this fatal morning, and noo we are streekin' her puir wat corpse for the burial! Oh! sirs," wept the keeper, "what is this o't—what is this o't?"
"By St. Mary! we have seen a spectre!" shouted Hailes, dashing spurs into his horse, and clearing the bridge at abound; and furiously all the train followed him through the dark but wide street of Musselburgh.
This event shed a species of horror over the whole party, whose faculties, never very clear at any time, were past inquiring whether or not it was a supernatural figure they had seen; so they all spurred on to leave the bridge and stream behind, and to reach Loretto as soon as possible. But whether the delay which occurred at the gate was productive of good or evil consequences to the lovers at the Hermitage, another chapter or so will disclose.
"But now we part, and it may be that years shall wing their flightEre thou again wilt cheer my heart, or rise upon my sight;Then fare thee well! in other days, in years of after life,On fancy's wings, I'll turn to thee, and bless the land of Fife."—Anon.
The weather had become gloomy, and continued so. Though the month was merry and sunny June, and all the woods of fertile Fife were then in their fullest foliage, the sky lowered heavily over the German Sea, and the waves of the Firth broke sullenly on the pillared bluffs of Grail and Elie; and, driven by the east wind, the breakers of Largo Bay broke furiously upon the Dyke, and dashed their spray on the sandy shore beyond it.
This noble bay, in which the Scottish ships and their prizes were still at anchor, forms a semicircle of about ten miles of coast, marked by a peculiar ridge of sand, called by fishermen the Dyke, and old tradition says it was a wall or rampart, that ran from Kincraig, round all the bay, to Methul, and that it contained a forest, called the Wood of Forth. In corroboration of this, the anchors of ships have been known to drag up the roots of oaks from their beds in the sand below.
TheYellow Frigateand her consorts rode quietly there at anchor, and safe from every wind but a south one.
Mean while, in Largo House there was a gay and joyous company, for the hospitable old admiral made all welcome—Englishman and Scot—to the noble dwelling with which the grateful king, James III., had gifted him. The castle was old, for in ancient times it had been a jointure-house of the queens consort, and built, some say, for Jolande de Dreux, the bride of Alexander III. Northward of it rose the conical hill of Largo, green to its summit, which stands nine hundred feet above the yellow shore. Near the castle grew a pine coppice, in the centre of which yawned a wild and deep ravine, theKeil's Den, famous in the annals of sorcery and horror. Through this brawled a mountain burn, which rushed to meet the waters of the bay.
The noble barony of Largo had been granted by James III. to his favourite admiral, because it was the place of his birth, the royal donor considering, "Gratuita et fidelia servicia sibi per familiarem servitorem suum Andream Wod, commorante in Leith, tam per terram, quam per mare, in pace et guerra, gratuiter impensa, in Regno Scotiæ et extra idem, et signanter CONTRA INIMICOS SUOS ANGLIA, et dampnum per ipsum Andream inde sustenta, suum personam gravibus vitæ exponendo periculus 18 die Martii, 1482;" for thus runs his charter, which is yet preserved in the office of the great seal of Scotland.
The evening was grey; a mist was settling over the estuary and the woods and hill of Largo looked dark and nigh; on the tower, head of the admiral's mansion, Barton and Falconer were pacing to and fro, with their quarter-deck step, conversing on their chances in love and war, and awaiting the return of Willie Wad, whom, as related, they had, on the previous day, despatched to Leith with letters to the sisters.
The admiral was on board the fleet, seeing after the repair of damages and awaiting tidings of the lost king or the rebellious barons.
Howard and Margaret Drummond were seated together on the cushioned seats of a deep window in the hall. It overlooked the wooded glen, through which the yellow sunlight straggled in the haze of the misty evening; and both were silent and sad, for their hearts were occupied by many heavy thoughts.
That of Howard was full of Margaret; but her heart was wandering away to Rothesay and their child.
She was very pale, yet a tinge of health had returned to her soft cheek, now that hope was reviving in her breast; now that she was no longer the secret prisoner of Henry and the victim of his cold intrigues; and now that she was about to be restored to the powerful protection of her father, and her youthful husband. With her white hand she playfully caressed a large Scottish staghound, which had ventured to nestle his great rough head upon her knees.
Her fine bright hair, which she had long neglected—at least during her sad sojourn on board theHarry—was now smoothly braided above her forehead, and it shone like threads of gold in the occasional sunbeams that stole through the deep embayment of the window; and nothing could be prettier or more becoming than the fashion of her blue velvet hood, with its white satin lining, tied by twelve little friars' knots of fine silver—a favourite ornament with the Scottish belles of the time.
Howard thought he had never seen her looking so beautiful or so seductive; and she believed that she had never seen him more sad and more silent.
The residence of a day or two in the lonely Castle of Largo, in the society of the gentle Drummond, with the painful certainty of a total separation now close at hand, had sealed the fate of the poor English captain, by destroying his happiness for ever.
"Then I have no hope now—none?" said he, gazing upon her tenderly and earnestly, as he referred to a previous and most anxious conversation.
"It is most painful, good Howard, that my lips should—" said Margaret, with hesitation, "should ever confirm anything that—that is calculated to make unhappy a heart so kind, so noble, and so true as thine: but oh, I beseech you to be assured, that to love me is indeed a hopeless task."
"Curse on our king's cold-blooded policy!" he exclaimed, in bitterness and sorrow. "Had I known you under kinder and better auspices,—under any other than as the compatriot of infamous abductors, you had perhaps listened to me with more approbation. I am indeed unfortunate—more unhappy than the power of language can convey."
He paused, and Margaret sighed with impatience.
"My heart, that never knew another love, is all your own, sweet Margaret; it became so from that time when over your senseless form I spread my cloak in pity; on that unfortunate night at Dundee; a night to me the source of mingled joy and woe, for then I knew you first."
"Alas, poor Edmund Howard; you were indeed born under an evil star."
"Madam, it had been well for me if, in our battle in the Downs, a shot from Barton's ships had ended my career, before this northern mission was devised. I had then been spared the pain of losing you—of loving you in vain!"
He turned his eyes away, and pressed his hands upon his breast, for the depth of his emotion was great.
Margaret gazed upon him with mournful interest: he was indeed most winning in manner and noble in aspect, for he was the stateliest captain in all King Henry's infant fleet.
His face and form were unexceptionable, and his attire was gorgeous. His tunic was cloth-of-gold, brocaded, and fastened by twenty little clasps, studded with diamonds, and on each breast were six slashes of blue silk. A collar of twelve pearls, with twelve medallions of the apostles, encircled his neck, and at the end of it hung his silver whistle, his badge of office and command. His cap was of scarlet velvet, edged with pearls; his long hose were of fawn-coloured silk, and his shoes of crimson leather.
"Captain Howard," said Margaret, after a long and painful pause, "I will make you the partner of a secret, if, on your honour, you promise me to keep it from others; for it is of mighty import to me,—a secret valuable as life, dear as honour."
"Oh, command me, madam," said Howard, kneeling down and removing his cap, full of that chivalric enthusiasm which was peculiar to the time as well as to the man. "Your wish shall teal my lips as close as death himself."
"Well, my kind, good Howard, imagine how I have suffered by your professions of love to me, and how much is the pity I feel, when obliged to acknowledge that I am the wedded wife of the crown prince, and am now, by virtue of thishis ring, the Duchess of Rothesay, and Countess of Carrick."
Howard was paralysed by this fatal intelligence; again he clasped his hands, and his nut-brown cheek grew ashy pale.
"Oh, madam," said he, "to me your secret is worse than death; for now I am indeed hopeless, crushed, and ruined Honour and love are alike lost to me! The wife of Rothesay—"
"Wedded to him, Howard, a year ago, in my uncle's cathedral of Dunblane. 'Tis best to know the worst at once—ay, wedded!"
"Despite his betrothal to a princess of England?"
"Despite a more serious barrier—our ties of blood; and hence this fatal secresy."
"Oh, most fatal—fatal, at least, to me! But say, dear madam, knew Henry our king of this espousal?"
"He knew not, or, knowing, little cared: but the Bishop of Dunblane has been lawlessly seized on his way from Rome with our dispensation, and now well must Henry know this well-kept secret, which was hidden even from my father and my own beloved sisters."
Now there was a long and sorrowful pause.
Howard felt assured that he could urge nothing more, and Margaret, after a time, spoke kindly to him of other things—but in vain; for his passion for her was the only idea that had soothed, or made him forget at times the mortification of being a prisoner, and of his late defeat—a defeat so remarkable, when the smallness of the attacking force is considered: but history shows us, that in all his battles Sir Andrew Wood never feared to encounter double his strength at any time, and never encountered without being victorious; so, on that score Howard had no reason for shame.
Meanwhile, the communings of Robert Barton and Sir Davis Falconer on the bartizan overhead were interrupted by the appearance of Master Wad, who, bonnet in hand, ascended to their lofty promenade by the narrow wheel-stair of a turret, that gave admittance to the battlement, and which yet overlooks the orchard of the house.
"Welcome, good shipmate," said Barton.
"Well, what tidings, Willie?" added Falconer; for in Scotland it is still the kindly custom with persons in authority to address inferiors by theirChristianname.
Not conceiving it conducive either to his interest or reputation to relate how he had lost, and so narrowly regained, the letter of Lady Euphemia, the gunner smoothed down his obstinate forelock, made the invariable scrape with his foot, and delivered the missive to Robert Barton; after which he hurried away to join one whom he deemed his own peculiar prisoner,—the pretty English Rose, who had been also awaiting his return.
"It is from Euphemia!" said Barton, reading it hurriedly; "from dear Effie; and she says it must equally suffice for one from Sybilla to you. It tells of close surveillance, of their father's roughness, and their new lovers' cool insolence and quiet pertinacity. 'Sdeaih! would we were alongside of them for three minutes—only three minutes, Davie. A time has been fixed for their marriage——"
"Their marriage!" reiterated Falconer, stamping his heel on the bartizan.
"They dread the arrival of their uncle the dean—"
"A stern man—hard of heart and dark of brow; I know him well."
"And implore us to find a place where they can be sheltered until these troubles are past, and the army of the insurgent lords is disbanded. Moreover, they promise to meet us on Friday evening at the Chapel of Loretto, beside the Links of Musselburgh—kind Effie!"
"We'll keep the tryst," said Falconer; "Loretto—know ye the place, Robert, for we must not wander much on yonder side of Forth?"
"I know it well; 'tis a run of eighteen miles across the river, and we'll take the ship's pinnace or the boat of Jamie Gair, which lies yonder, anchored by the Dyke; but to find them a place of shelter, that puzzles me sorely!"
"If dear Sybie would but marry me—"
"Perhaps she would, David, now, when matters are at the worst; but where would you place her, while you were afloat—eh?"
"Alas! I have neither house nor hold—nor any home, but theYellow Frigate."
"Nor I; for now these rebel lords have seized my manor of Barnton and my father's house in Leith; but I hope soon to make a clear ship of them."
"Then all those dog-nobles would cry aloud for vengeance, at the sisters taking shelter with us."
"Two jovial young bachelors."
"Nay," said Falconer, with a sigh of anger; "as two plebeians, whose presumption brought dishonour on a noble house."
"Let them cry; it suits their fancy."
"But we must find a secret as well as sure place, lest they be carried off from us at the sword's point; for the Lords Drummond, Hailes, and Home, could march with ease five thousand men to recover them. I know their power better than thee, Robert, the half of whose life, and more, has been spent upon the water. Besides, Lady Euphemia has written to you, perhaps, when spurred on by some keen excitement; and it may so chance that when the time comes, they will shrink from committing themselves to our care."
"What! Effie shrink from committing herself to the care of her betrothed? Thou art a timid lover, Davie."
"I am crushed in spirit by my evil fortune."
"When their hearts are touched, women (and to their glory be it said) scorn alike the vaunted rubbish of feudal pride and the cold north wind of worldly prudence! Besides, who has a better right to secure the safety of Lady Effie than I? Am I not her affianced husband, whose ring of promise is on her finger? Stay—thou knowest, Davie, that my aunt, Robina Barton, is prioress of the Grey Sisters at Dundee; and for the love she bears us, she will gladly keep the three sisters until this breeze blows past and the king's authority is enforced."
"Right, Rob; I would rather trust them with that reverend lady and her good Claresses, than in the strongest castle in Scotland. For these lords might storm and sack the stronghold—even the Bass itself,—when they dare not molest the poor nuns; but we must consult the admiral—"
"He is on board the ships in the bay."
"Or Howard—but then he is an Englishman, and consequently knows little or nothing of Scotland or her customs."
"But he is a brave fellow, a foeman though he be," said Barton, with a darkening face; "and I might learn to love him had not my father fallen in battle by his brother's hand."
Leaving the two friends and lovers to arrange, consider and reconsider their plans,—leaving poor Howard to console himself the best way he can,—leaving the admiral busied about his ships and their prizes, while his gunner and coxswain, though staunch Scotsmen, were yielding to English influence, like greater men in more modern times, but after a more honourable fashion, for they were lowering their colours to the pretty Cicely, and the bright-eyed Rose, on whom their kind leader had bestowed two carcanets of silver, studded with those beautiful stones which are found upon the beach of Fife, and from their deep red colour are called Elie Rubies—leaving Father Zuill busied in the development of the great parabolic speculum,—and leaving young Margaret sighing with impatience to rejoin her boy husband, we will change the scene to the other side of the river.
"'Tis your belief the world was made for man;Kings do but reason on the self-same plan.Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,Who think, or seem to think, man made for them."—COWPER.
Among all the places esteemed for sanctity, at a time when a singular mixture of high religious veneration and a strong faith amounting to adoration and sublimity, united to gross superstition,—existed in the land, there was none in Scotland so famous as the chapel and hermitage of Our Lady of Loretto, which stood a little way without the eastern gate of Musselburgh.
It belonged to the abbots of Dunfermline, and had been built in an age anterior to all written record; so now, we know not when it was founded or by whom. The obscurity in which its early history was enveloped left fancy free, and thus the fane enjoyed a celebrity for holiness second only to the Cottage of the Nativity, like which, it became famous for effecting supernatural cures and conversions on visitors and devotees.
The nuns of St. Catharine of Sienna patronised the cell and sought the prayers of the ascetic who dwelt in the hermitage. In August, 1530, before visiting France, James V. made a pilgrimage of more than forty miles on foot, to Loretto. Ladies about to be delivered sent there their childbed linen, to obtain the "odour of sanctity." If they recovered, the hermit attributed it to the powers of the shrine; if they died, to their own evil and sin. There, it was affirmed that sight had been restored to the blind, and strength to the lame; but under the coarse and pungent satires of Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, and one in particular by John Knox, beginning—
"I, Thomas the Hermit, in Loreitte,Sanct Francies Order do heartillie greet,"
the shrine ultimately lost all reputation and honour; it was demolished, and its materials form the present Tolbooth of the town—little more being left of Loretto than the name and a vault under a wooded mound.
By the decline of the Church, and the general decay of religious sentiment, before the Reformation, the pilgrimages to Loretto became mere scenes of debauchery and an excuse for licentiousness.
In the days of James III. the shrine enjoyed its ancient fame—pure and undefiled; and Father Fairlie, the Franciscan who then occupied the hermitage, afterwards attained a great age, for he was the immediate predecessor of the Father Thomas referred to in the pasquil of Knox. Though a pious enthusiast in some respects, he was not at all one of those who thought
"To merit heaven by making earth a hell."
He had been a soldier in his youth, and fought in the Douglas wars; so he said his office daily and never omitted his prayers, or withheld kind advice from those who sought his shrine; and yet withal, he enjoyed the various good things of this life that came his way. Thus, though he went abroad barefooted and wore the grey woollen gown and cowl, with the knotted girdle prescribed by his patron St. Francis of Assisi, he was one of the most sleek and well fed of the brotherhood in Scotland.
It was towards the afternoon of that stormy day described in a recent chapter. From the Firth a cool wind blew over the sandy knolls and broomy hollows of Musselburgh Links; the old woods of Pinkey and the venerable oaks around the Chapel of Loretto moaned in the rising wind, and their damp foliage whistled drearily. The sky wore a dingy grey hue to the eastward, darkening as it approached the horizon, which served as a background, and against which the white curling waves of the Firth rose and fell, while the bitter surf boomed far along the echoing shore.
No less than three substantial burgess-wives of the "honest town" had been at the shrine on this morning, craving the prayers of the hermit; one for the recovery of her spouse, who was a leper on Inchkeith; a second that her child might be cured of the croup; and a third that her husband might escape from the Turks, who had taken him prisoner in the Levant, all of which Father Fairlie promised should be done "without delay, if they hadfaith;"—however, each had what was of more importance to him, a basket of viands, ready cooked, which they deposited and departed.
The hermit, after a long and sorrowful contemplation of a daintily roasted duck and side of lamb, was compelled (the day being Friday) to content himself with a couple of pounds of kippered salmon, five or six buttered eggs, and a quart of Rhenish wine for dinner; after which he stroked his paunch, made a sign of the cross three times, and blessed the three burgess-wives in his heart. He then drew his grey cowl over his face, and walked forth upon the beach for the double purpose of gaining an appetite for supper and saying "his office," or daily set of prescribed prayers in Latin; though some persons who were envious of the popularity enjoyed by Friar Fairlie among the maids, wives, and widows of the honest town—for so was Musselburgh named,par excellence, by the Regent Randolph in 1333—averred that he knew no more of Latinity than a few scraps, with which he incessantly interlarded his conversation; and as the said scraps sounded very mysterious and holy, they were not without having a due and potent effect upon the simple-minded folks who heard them. Some were rash enough to assert that at vespers he had been heard in his hermitage singing, "Jollie Martin," and that old ditty which became so famous in the time of James V.—
"Bill wilt thou come by a luteAnd belt thee in Sanct Francis cord;"
but all this we verily believe to have been mere scandal, raised by the chaplains of other oratories in the burgh, who belonged to rival orders, and were envious of the fame enjoyed by the poor Franciscan hermit and his shrine at Loretto, without the gate.
The attention of our new friend the recluse was divided between his daily office, which he repeated drowsily and mechanically, and in watching the lowering of the sky and sea, on which a boat with her large lug-sail squared was running straight for the beach which bordered the links.
She cut through the water, riding over, or cleaving asunder the waves with her sharp prow, and throwing on each side a continual shower of spray; the helmsman steered her straight for the shore, and being aware that the tide was ebbing, beached her firmly into the soft sand, while at the same moment two companions whom he had on board reduced the sail, hauled down the yard, and struck the mast. They then threw over the anchor, to keep her fast when the tide floated her again; and stepping into the surf in their long boots which came above the knee, they crossed the links (or downs, as they would be called in England) and approached the observant friar.
The latter was glad to perceive that one of the trio carried an ample basket on one arm and had a small keg under the other; and these—as there were no smugglers in those primitive times—he fondly believed were dutiful offerings for himself.
The three men, who came straight towards him, wore the coarse grey doublet, cloak, and short trews then worn by the Scottish seaman, with long fisher boots; but under this plain attire, the quick eye of the hermit detected in each the upper rim of a gorget of fine steel, and other indications which led him to suspect that two of them at least, were gentlemen, who under their humble garments had each a good coat of mail; and such was really the case, for the three mysterious boat voyagers were none else than Robert Barton, Sir David Falconer, and Willie Wad, who had boldly run across that morning from Largo in a fisherboat, all undeterred by the threatening aspect of the sky and weather, and still less by terror of the insurgents—for each had with him his sword, dagger, and handgun.
"Good-morrow, father," said Barton, with a profound salutation; "we presume you are the Franciscan Father of Loretto."
"Dominus vobiscum—gude-morrow, my bairns," said the Hermit, waving a blessing to them with his fat fingers; "come ye here to pray?" he added, eyeing with affection the basket and barrel.
"We have run in here and anchored, good father, for the double purpose of avoiding the black squall now coming on, and if offering up a small orison at the shrine of Loretto, where—much as I have heard of it—I never, to my shame, have been before," said Robert Barton.
"Come ye here, sirs, to pray alone?" asked the hermit inquisitively.
"Alone"—reiterated Falconer, puzzled by the question; "dost see there are three of us?"
"Benedictus dominus Deus," said the friar, shrugging his shoulders, over which his grey cowl hung, for by past experience, he had a shrewd guess that ladies would soon arrive.
"This is the way to my hermitage—enter, and the blessings of the day be on ye, for every day is blessed."
"The eleventh of this month, for example?" said Falconer.
"Nay, in all his wickedness, man cannot curse it; but our poor king—are there yet no tidings of him?"
"None; and awful rumours are abroad anent his fate."
"Our pilgrimage here is dark and devious," sighed Father Fairlie, eyeing the basket again; "yea, it is full of pitfalls, crooks, and thorns—Benedictus dom——but take care, friend, that barrel will slip and the ale be spilled."
"Wha tauld ye it was ale, friar?" asked the gunner, with a smirk; "maybe it's only bilge?"
"What?" asked the Franciscan.
"Peace, Willie," said Sir David Falconer; "by my faith, priest, it is the best of French brandy."
"Well, as I was saying, our path here in this valley of sorrow, is indeed full of dangers and doubt. The poor king—(brandy indeed!—Causa nostræ lætitiæ!)—the king of the commons, alake!" and the friar beat his breast, through which a glow had spread on hearing with what the keg was filled.
They now approached the chapel, which was surrounded by a high stone wall, and stood amid a grove of venerable oak trees, the branches of which were widely spread and entwined together. One of these bore the name of the Weirdwoman's Aik, from what circumstance it is now impossible to ascertain, but innumerable tales of terror were connected with it. There the souls of those who had committed acts of sacrilege during their lifetime had been heard to moan, and were seen to hover near the precincts of the holy place; there the Druids had performed their impious rites in the days of their awful rule; and there the gentle fairies yet danced in the bright moonlight, on the festival of St. John, as every hermit of Loretto had averred since the chapel was founded.
Moreover, more than one fugitive, who, unable to reach the sanctuary of the chapel, or, mistrusting its security, had clambered up the oak and taken shelter there,had never more come down; thus it was with something of the superstitious awe incident to their time and profession that Barton, Falconer and the gunner gazed up at the dark, dense foliage of the weirdwoman's aik, and approached the chapel.
This venerable fane, which had been built by theKuldei(corrupted gaelic for "the servants of God") at a time when sculpture was merely an adjunct to masonry, was massive and plain; for though erected for the simple form of worship those early priests performed within its walls, it exhibited the engrafted decorations of later times. Built of dark grey stone, it was a simple parallelogram, destitute of transept and of aisle. Its door and windows were arched, and the latter were small and placed high in the wall, having been for ages unglazed,—theKuldeearchitect had wished to screen the half-savage worshippers from the cold east wind that usually blows from the Forth, and from the sandy links; yet much of the solemnity and mystery peculiar to catholic edifices were imparted to it, by a gilded figure of the Saviour on his cross, which stood above the altar; and before it, were daily offerings of flowers.
Above this image shone the letters I.N.R.I.; below was a niche covered by a grotesquely sculptured canopy of stone: here were the elements, within a gilded door, around which were the following words in old gothic letters, cut in the stone, and flourished in blue and gold.
Hic. Est. Servatum Corpos. ex. vergine. natum.
While the three visitors, after dipping their right hands in the font at the chapel door, proceeded, like good catholics, to say a prayer or two on their knees before the carved stone rail which enclosed the altar, the hermit peeped into the basket which the gunner had left without (giving him a wink and nod as he did so); and the reverend father enumerated the contents with great satisfaction, muttering between many a scrap of pious Latinity,—
"A goose, roasted—daintily, too—mater purissima!—and stuffed with cloves and spices, doubtless; a pout pasty; three choppin flasks of Rochelle, as I live! good;—and a mutchkin of canary; a bag of maccaroons, with ten crowns, and five lyons—Dominus vobiscum. Master gunner, you are a worthy soul; and your masters are generous!"
The brevity of their prayers convinced the hermit that they had not come for religious purposes alone, and scrutinizing them he said,—
"My gude sirs, your mariners' garb fails to conceal from me that you have iron harness below these gaberdines of frieze."
"True, father," said Barton, smiling; "we are shelled over like partans. But what of that? In these desperate times men are not wont to go abroad unarmed."
"Then who may ye be?"
"We may be a couple of rascals," said Falconer, laughing, in that free manner acquired by soldiering; "and would be traitors, most likely, if our blood was noble; but being of humble birth, or only the sons of our own deserts, we are the king's liege men, and true Scotsmen."
"Benedictus dominus," mumbled the hermit.
"This is Robert Barton, captain of the yellow caravel; this is Master Wad, our gunner wight, and I am David Falconer; knight, and a captain of the king's arquebusses."
The fat and full-faced hermit threw back his cowl, and taking each by the hand with warmth, said,—
"God and St. Mary bless ye, sirs; for though your fathers were but humble men, you are the sons of gallant deeds, and have stood nobly by our hapless king. Welcome to my poor cell, sirs, and to share the gude cheer ye have brought me. But hark—here are horses!" he added, as the sound of hoofs was heard without.
"Perfect love hath power to softenCares that might our peace destroy;Nay, does more—transforms them often,—Changing sorrow into joy."—COWPER.
The hermit's eyes were filled by a cunning leer, as two ladies, each followed by a page and female attendant, all mounted, rode down the pathway to the chapel, and, whipping up their nags as they passed the Weirdwoman's Aik, they alighted at the arched doorway, from which Barton and Falconer hurried forth to meet them, full of joy and ardour.
"Causa nostræ lætitiæ!" said the hermit. "I kenned how it would be; the hen-birds are come at last!"
Now, as interviews between lovers are usually very delightful to young ladies in general, we might for their benefit narrate at great length all that was said and done by the two fair Drummonds and the brave loyalists who met them at Loretto; but a foreknowledge of the dire conclusion of their tryst, has somewhat chilled us, and so we hasten to unfold the more important part of their adventures.
"So, so; Sancta Maria!" muttered the sleek hermit, as he reckoned on his fingers the sum given by the page of Lady Euphemia, and the contents of a basket given him by the other. "Such is the fashion of prayer in these degenerate modern times, and such are the pilgrims who usually come to pray. Once it was not so. A pity, too, 'tis Friday! That pout pie will be quite stale to-morrow. But away with these thoughts, for here is a pie of buttered crabs, on which I can sup bravely, and with a clear conscience."
"By my certie, Friar Fairlie, ye might victual a sea-going ship," said Willie Wad. "Here now are a cask, six flasks, and three baskets."
"Well," responded the hermit, sulkily, "I shall have the more wherewith to feed the hungry, the puir headsmen and lamiters, who will be here betimes in the morning. King William the Lion ordained that 'Kirkmen should live honestlie by the fruits and profits of their kirk;' even so, sir gunner, do I live by the profit and fruit of mine. I lippen to none, and none can say that while I have a drop to share or a crumb to divide, the poor or the hungry left the cell of Loretto uncared for."
"How black it grows without," said the gunner, somewhat abashed, as he hastened to change the subject, and the chapel became dark and gloomy, while the distant waves were heard to roll like thunder on the lonely beach. "Those that are at sea to-night will hae about as mickle sleep as a weathercock may, in a close-reef-topsail breeze."
"Then do thou take up the barrel and basket, while I take these, and come hither with me, master gunner. And you, gentlemen," he added, to the pages; "this stair leads to my cell. Let us leave these four friends to their prayers (prayers—mater purissima!), while we arrange for them something by way of repast. Look ye, sirs, and be quick. Hark! is that rain?"
Now the storm which swelled the Esk, and served to detain the would-be murderers in the chapel on the Figgate-muir, was beginning to descend in all its fury, and the grove of Loretto waved in the rising wind, while the deep heavy foliage of the weirdwoman's tree swayed mournfully in the gusty blasts.
Meanwhile, heedless of it (for perhaps they heard it not) the lovers poured out their hearts to each other; for their cause was common, and Barton had nothing for the ear of Euphemia that Falconer might not hear, while he had no secret for Sybilla in which his friend had not an interest. It was their common safety, and the successful issue of their fortunes on which they now consulted.
Impetuous and impulsive, with all her firmness, Euphemia gave way to tears and wept bitterly; and the breast of Sybilla was swollen by many a heavy sob. Falconer left nothing unsaid to console and to soothe her, while he gazed upon her tenderly, as if he would have said in the words of the poet,—
"Would I were with thee every day and hourWhich now I spend so sadly, far from thee!Would that my form possessed the magic powerTo follow where my heavy heart would be.Whate'er thy lot by land or sea,Would I were there, eternally!"
"My poor blossom, how faded and how pale!" said Falconer, encircling her by an arm. "But take new courage, dear one, for be assured that happier days will come. God controlleth our destinies, and whatever is in store for you, Sybilla, must be happiness and peace."
"I cannot, without presumption, assure myself of that. I have endured so much, Sir David, since that awful day at Dundee!" she added, closing her eyes for a moment as the scene in the garden came before her.
"Forget it, as I have forgotten it, my sweet one."
"We have been so lonely and so isolated, Euphemia and I, that—that—"
"Thou hast missed me, then, beloved Sybilla!"
"Oh yes, as a bird misses the sunshine," said she, with a bright smile through her tears.
A mute caress was the only reply of Falconer.
"And this may be the last time we shall ever meet!" said Sybilla, clasping her hands.
"Unless we find a safe harbour for you," said Barton.
"And found it must be, Robert," said the firmer Euphemia; "for if we return to place ourselves under the authority of our father, and—and the influence of our uncle, that cold and determined dean, we will be hopelessly separated from you; for, women though we be, we dare not refuse to wed those facile fools of Angus, Hepburn of Hailes, and Home of Home."
Barton uttered a bitter laugh, which almost burst the braces of his cuirass.
"What say you to this, Sybilla?" asked Falconer, with a mournful smile.
"I have nothing to urge," said she, gently; "my mind has long been without hope, and my heart is so crushed by sorrow that I have now less courage than a child."
"Has the Lord Drummond forgotten altogether that you are my plighted wife, Euphemia?" asked Barton, in a mingled tone of tenderness and anger.
"He forgets all—everything—or despises to remember——"
"And faith! I had almost forgotten to give thee that particular kiss our dear Margaret sent thee."
"Stay—the friar—"
"Oh, the hermit—he is busy overhauling our baskets; well—and so Lord Drummond forgets, eh?"
"Everything of the past; and now sees nothing but two earl's coronets and clumps of Border spears; and hears nothing but the whispers of envy, anger, and restless ambition——"
"Ay—and treason and rebellion."
"Hush, Bob," said the less confident Falconer; "bethink you he istheirfather?"
"Poor infatuated old lord," continued Barton, pursuing his own train of thought; "in these times it may be rash to wed, when one half of Scotland has unsheathed the sword against the other; but why may we not bring in the hermit; here is an altar (in the kingdom we have none holier), and we have witnesses enough—the pages, the tirewomen, and the gunner. Father Fairlie will splice us all in half the time a reel would run; what say you, dear Euphemia?"
Sybilla coloured deeply at this proposal, while her sister waved her hand in dissent and said—
"Nay, nay, Robert Barton; say no more of that, or this instant we mount and ride westward again; shelter we must have—a sanctuary—but not such as you would propose."
"Then for the love she bears me, my aunt, the old Claress cf Dundee, will gladly receive you both."
"Such was our wish; but how to reach her?"
"By horse or boat—which you will. Sauchie's soldiers guard the Bridge of Stirling; but the king's ships keep the passage of the river at Alloa. At present neither mode can be thought of—to-night at least; for we shall have a blast that will furrow up the very bottom of the sea, and show old wrecks that lie among the weeds and waste below; yet we shall be happy enough here, whate'er betide without."
"I often think, dear Robert, that happiness has left us for ever!" said the elder sister, with a sigh.
"Heaven hath its own ways, Effie, of working out its own ends; and thus it may be all for the best of purposes that we now are beating against a head-wind with the ebb-tide of misfortune to boot."
"Circumstances are seldom so bad, Lady Euphemia, that they might not be worse," said Falconer, cheerfully; "we might both have been maimed or slain outright in our last battle with the English——"
"Oh, that would have been a scene of horror!" said Sybilla, wringing her hands.
"Horror, indeed, dearest Sybie! When the ships crushed together till the muzzles of their cannon rung, and the boarders were brayed to death between them, as their sides thundered in collision."
"Yea, David," said the Captain; "many a brave fellow found a watery grave that night, and is now lying in pickle off the Isle of May. But let us visit the Father Hermit in his cell; after having a slice of meat and a bicker of wine we shall be better able to arrange our thoughts. And hark! By my soul, what a blast! How the gale rises as the spirits of the air pipe up freak gusts of wind; all at sea must keep sure watch to-night!"
The tempestuous state of the evening prevented the chapel being favoured by any more visitors; and the whole party (including the four attendants of the ladies), making ten persons in all, sat on the stone benches of the Hermit's cell, and by the light of a lamp supped pleasantly enough; though the wind howled through the trees, and moaned in the openings of a burial vault close by, and the boom of the sea resounded on the beach, while the glare of the lightning reddened at times the two narrow slits which served as windows to the recluse's dormitory, and on the coarse glass of which the heavy rain-drops pattered and hissed.
Willie Wad, having nothing else to do (for the ladies' attendants seemed more occupied by the gaily-dressed pages than with him), coiled himself up in a corner, and knowing that he would have to keep the harbour-watch on board to-morrow night, had gone to sleep with that sailor-like facility which defies all discomfort.
The attendants were awed into silence by the reputed holiness of the place; the aspect of the cowled hermit, in his grey Franciscan frock, sitting silent and reserved, as he always did before strangers; and by the grim aspect of the cell, which was all built of bare hewn stone, and darkened by age.
In a recess on one side lay the bed of the recluse; on the other was a rudely sculptured niche, before which projected a little stone font for holy water; within it was a coarse crucifix of black-thorn and a bare skull, well polished by long use; and having inscribed on its blanched bony temples a pious legend.