Chapter XVII: Part 17

"Nay, reverend father, but rather let me say, thanks be to the Virgin, and to thy timely succour," replied Helen. "One moment later, and my fate had been sealed. But will it please thee to partake of our humble Highland fare? and whilst thou dost condescend to taste of the poor refreshment we have ventured to provide for thee, we women, as beseems us, will withdraw."

"Nay, nay, fair daughter!" replied the sub-prior, "thou shalt by no means depart. Were it a meal, indeed, we might see fit rigidly to insist upon our rule. But we shall but taste thy viands, and put our lips to thy wine-cup for mere courtesy's sake. Therefore disturb thyself not. Marry, as we broke our fast scarcely two hours since before leaving Inverallan, where we sojourned last night, we can have but small appetite now. Yet thy board looketh well, and this upland air of thine, in truth, is sharp and stimulating; and, moreover, we should never refuse to partake--moderately I mean--of the blessings which are furnished to us by a bountiful Providence, yea, even when they are set forth on a table spread, as thine may be said to be, in the wilderness."

Saying so, the good sub-prior seated himself, and set an example to the rest by cutting off and placing on his own trencher the leg and wing of a large turkey, relished it with some reasonably large slices of bacon, and filled himself a cup of wine from a flagon on the table, adding as much of nature's fluid to it as might, with due safety to his conscience, enable him to call it wine and water. The rest of the holy fraternity were not slack in imitating their superior; and after he had thus shown how much the deeds of the Church were better than its promises, by doing much more justice to the provisions than his preface had led his entertainer to hope for, Helen and her companions were mounted on their palfreys, and the sub-prior, and his monks and their escort, having got into their saddles, the prisoner was sent on before them well guarded, and they proceeded on their way. The sight of the Priory of Pluscarden, as its picturesque ruins now prove, was like that of all the monasteries of the same order, beautifully retired, lying at the foot of the hills that abruptly bound the northern side of its broad valley. It was surrounded by a square inclosure of many acres, fenced in by a thick and high wall of masonry, the remains of which are still visible. As the day was departing, the setting sun that shed its light athwart the motionless foliage of those woods that hung on the face of the hills behind the Priory, and gilded the proud pinnacles of the building, which arose from the tall grove in the middle of the large area I have described, threw a last ray of illumination on the glittering crucifix as the long dark line of the procession wound under the deep arch of the outer gate, and as it threaded its way among the small gardens into which the area was parcelled out for the several members of the fraternity. By the kind and hospitable care of the Lord Prior the ladies were soon safely and comfortably lodged in one of the detached buildings on the outside of the wall inclosing the precincts of the Priory, whilst the Laird of Knockando was thrown, a solitary prisoner, into one of the subterranean dungeon vaults within.

Helen Dunbar was that night blessed with sweet and refreshing rest after the fatiguing journey of the previous day. As her gentle spirit began to return to her towards morning from that world of unconsciousness where it had been laid by the profoundness of her sleep, pleasing visions floated over her pillow. The saint-like figure of her venerable uncle, surrounded by a resplendent glory, hovered over her, and smiled upon her from above. Saint Andrew then appeared beside him, and bore him slowly upwards, till both gradually melted from her sight amidst a flood of light in the upper regions of the sky. She awaked in a transport of delight to which her bosom had been for some time a stranger. She arose and attired herself in the sad and simple habit of mourning which she wore, and she threw herself on her knees to ask again for aid from above in the trying circumstances in which she was placed; and then, halving partaken of the refreshment which was liberally provided for her and her companions by the hospitable orders of the prior, she sat patiently waiting for the moment when she should be summoned to attend the chapter.

The brethren of the Priory had no sooner performed the tierce, as those services were called which took place at nine o'clock in the morning, than the convent bell rang to call the chapter to assemble. The chapter-house in which this convocation took place was a beautiful Gothic apartment, of about thirty feet in diameter, lighted by four large windows, and having its groined roof supported by a single pillar. Arranged on one side were the seats of the members of the holy tribunal. That of the Lord Bishop of the diocese, who had come from his palace at Elgin on purpose to preside over the investigation which was about to take place, was a high Gothic chair raised on several steps. Arrayed in his gorgeous episcopal robes, he sat silent and motionless, as if oppressed with the painful subject of the inquiry in which he was to be engaged. On the steps where his feet rested, two handsome boys of his choir were seated, one of whom held his mitre and the other his crosier. On his right sat the Prior, and on his left the Sub-Prior of Pluscarden, attired in their full canonicals, and the other chairs on both sides were filled with those dignitaries and brethren who were members of the chapter. The area of the place was crowded by the monks in their flowing white draperies, together with the lay brothers in their attire, the extreme interest of the case having prevented every one from being absent who was not in the sick-list of the infirmary, or occupied with duties from which they dared not to absent themselves. A deep silence prevailed. At last the sound of arms was heard echoing through the lofty aisles of the adjacent church, and a body of spearmen, retainers of the monastery, headed by the seneschal, entered, guarding in two prisoners.

One of these was the wretched Laird of Auchernach, who appeared with his arms loaded with heavy chains. The captivity which his body had endured in his dungeon, and the mental agony which he had undergone, had manifestly done sad havoc upon him. He took up the position assigned to him by the seneschal with a subdued yet indifferent air, as if the stream of his life had been poisoned, and that he cared not how soon he should now be called upon to pour out its last bitter dregs.

The black visage of the Laird of Knockando, who was the other prisoner, seemed also to have undergone a considerable change since the morning of the preceding day. It was haggard, and his eyes were bloodshot, as if he had had but little repose during the night. There was a certain expression of mental uneasiness about it, which his habitual air of cold and motionless placidity could not altogether conceal. The two prisoners were placed near to each other in a position a little to one side, and at some distance in front of the tribunal that was about to investigate their respective cases.

"John Grant of Knockando," said the Bishop, whilst a subdued hush ran round among the spectators, "thou hast been brought hither as a prisoner, charged upon very undoubted evidence of having most feloniously forged the sign-manual of the reverend superior of this holy priory, and this for the base purpose of wickedly circumventing an innocent orphan maiden, whom, for her pious uncle's sake, we have been pleased to take under the especial protection of our holy mother Church. But as thy delict is one with which we as churchmen may deal in our own good time, we shall for the present postpone and continue thy case, and proceed straightway to our inquiry into the graver, and deeper charge touching that crime of a deeper dye, to wit, the most sacrilegious murder of our pious brother the Priest Innes, of the which he who now stands on thy left hand is accused,--I mean thee, Lewis Grant of Auchernach. But as thou, John Grant of Knockando, wert present at the last interview which the murdered man had with his suspected murderer only the night before, where that unjust cause of offence would seem to have been taken which whetted the cruel blade of the assassin for its purpose, we would first hear what evidence thou hast to give upon the matter."

"My Lord Bishop, and you most Reverend Fathers," said Knockando, his eye having brightened up as the speaker had proceeded, and who had by this time regained all his wonted coolness and self-possession, "I now stand before this holy tribunal under circumstances the most distressing that can well oppress a human being. I shall at present pass entirely by those charges which have been made against myself; and regarding which I trust I shall afterwards have little difficulty in giving ample satisfaction to my venerable accusers. I shall pass these charges by, I say, because I could not, if I were willing, find room in my mind for anything touching myself, filled, as it at this moment is, with the awful and heavy charge made against the unhappy man who now stands beside me,--him whom I once called my friend, and for whom, in the weakness of my nature, and in despite of the unjust outrage which he did me on a recent occasion, I still cannot help being agitated by the same friendly anxiety with which I was ever moved on his account. Such being my feelings, I am sure that no one who now heareth me but must pity me, compelled as I thus am to bear an unwilling testimony the which, I am aware, must grievously tend towards fixing on him the guilt of one of the most unnatural, cruel, and deliberate murders that ever fouled the page of the history of man, and that done, too, on the sacred person of a servant of God, with whom the murderer had for long companied in habits of the strictest intimacy, and in whose hospitalities he had so long and so often shared. But my duty to mankind,--my duty to this venerable tribunal,--and my duty to Heaven, all combine to compel me to speak out the truth, which I shall now do as briefly as I can.

"It is already well known, most Reverend Fathers, that a merry meeting took place at the mill of Duthel on the occasion of the marriage of the miller's daughter. There all who were present can bear testimony, that Lewis Grant of Auchernach did, without any cause of provocation on my part--though it may perhaps be well enough urged in his exculpation, that the violence he did me arose from jealousy because Helen Dunbar took greater pleasure in my converse than in his--yet certain it is that then and there he did most grievously assault me at unawares. The good Priest Innes, who was my most especial friend, and who is now, alas! so much lamented by me, bestowed a quiet word of reproof on the enraged Auchernach, such as a pastor or a father might have well given upon such an occasion. But instead of taking his rebuke with that humble submission with the which it doth alway become a layman to receive the admonitions of the Church, Auchernach in the ears of all uttered fearful denunciations against the good old man as he was in the act of leaving the place, leaning, as he was often compelled by his infirmities to do, upon the stay of this arm of mine. It sorely wounds my heart to be thus forced to repeat the very words which he used, seeing that they are of themselves enow to condemn him; but if I should fail of so doing, there is not a person of any age or sex who was present that night who could not repeat them. They were these,--'Old man! look that thou dost not pay dear for thy favour to that new guest of thine!' Thus carrying his bitter and most unjust rage from me to the good priest, who was about to show me that hospitality which, for that night at least, had been denied to himself. He could have made no successful attempt against the good man that night, for I was in the house to act, under Heaven, as his shield from all harm. But the very next night, when I was no longer there--would I had!--to defend him, the murderer comes, and"----

"Thou hast now gone as far as thy knowledge as an eye or ear-witness may bear thee, Knockando," said the Bishop. "When the subject of thy testimony hath been taken down, our brother the sub-prior may go forth to bring in the lady who is our next evidence."

In obedience to the Bishop's order, the sub-prior withdrew, and soon afterwards returned, ushering in Helen Dunbar. As she entered, she was so overcome by the feelings naturally excited by her situation, at well as by the solemn and impressive spectacle before her, that she did not very well know how she found herself seated in the chair that was placed for her a little to one side, and at such an angle to those of the members of the chapter, so as to permit a full stream of light to fall upon her from a window. Her eyes were thrown on the ground, and she put up a secret aspiration for aid from Heaven during the interval of silence which the judges charitably allowed to give her time to compose herself.

"Helen Dunbar!" said the Bishop, at length slowly addressing her in a deep-toned voice, but with an encouraging manner; "thou already knowest but too well, and to thine unutterable grief and affliction, that thy uncle, Priest Innes, a godly, and now, it is to be hoped, a sainted son of the Church, was, upon the night of the twenty-ninth day of the last month, most cruelly and barbarously murdered, by some one at present unknown. What canst thou say touching that strong suspicion which doth attach to the prisoner, Lewis Grant of Auchernach, who now standeth yonder?"

"My lord," said Helen Dunbar, looking fearfully round, whilst every fibre of her frame seemed to quiver with agitation, as she caught her first view of the wasted form and countenance of the unfortunate prisoner, and met his eye, which was now filled with a flitting fire of anxiety which it had not before exhibited. But she seemed yet more affected by the glance of the Laird of Knockando, who stood beside him. It quite overcame her for some moments. "My lord!--my lord! I--I"----

"Take thine own time, daughter!" said the Bishop cheerily; "and begin, if it so pleaseth thee, with thy recollection of what befell at the wedding at the mill of Duthel. The prisoner Auchernach did then and there strike down John Grant of Knockando without cause of provocation, did he not?"

"My lord, he did strike down Knockando," said Helen; "but as I chanced to watch them standing for some time, as if in talk together, I observed their looks; and, were I to judge from what I saw, I should hold that John Grant of Knockando had by his words so chafed Auchernach, and worked upon his dormant ire, as to fret it into the sudden outburst of that flame, the which blazed forth so openly to the senses of all who were then present."

"Was he not rebuked by the good priest, thine uncle, for the outrage of which he was then guilty?" demanded the Bishop.

"He was, my lord," replied Helen; "and in a sterner tone than he had ever heard the priest use before. But ere mine uncle went to bed, on the evening of that very night in which he was murdered, these ears did privately hear him express a doubt whether he might not have been too hasty in judging him, and he then uttered a fervent ejaculation to Heaven for pardon if he had so erred."

"Heard ye no threat from the lips of Auchernach against thine uncle?" demanded the Bishop.

"I did hear words which in mine agitation at the time I could not well interpret," said Helen. "After the murder of mine uncle, I did, in my distraction, recall and connect these words with the cruel deed which had so swiftly followed them. But certain circumstances did afterwards occur to satisfy me that the words,--'Old man! look that thou dost not pay dear for thy favour to that new guest of thine!' were meant by Auchernach as a friendly warning, and not as a threat."

"Against whom then dost thou believe that Auchernach's friendly warning was given? if so thou judgest it to be," said the Bishop.

"Against him who now standeth beside the accused," said Helen Dunbar; and rising from her chair as she said so, she turned round, and drawing herself up to her full height, she regarded the individual she was addressing with a firm and resolute look, and added in a clear, distinct, and solemn voice,--"The warning of Auchernach was kindly meant, and would to the holy saints that it had been taken as it was intended! The warning of Auchernach was meant to guard against the false arts of John Dhu Grant of Knockando there, whom I do here fearlessly accuse as the real murderer of mine uncle!"

The murmurs of astonishment which ran through the assemblage at this most unlooked for accusation may easily be imagined, as well as the change that took place on the respective countenances of the two prisoners.

"My guardian angel!" cried Auchernach, clasping his hands fervently, and looking tenderly and gratefully towards Helen, his face suddenly flushed with joy.

"Some deep conspiracy against me," murmured Knockando, his countenance changing alternately from the deadly white of guilty fear to the black expression of fiend-like ferocity. "A deep compact between the murderer and his paramour! Where can the veriest shadow of proof be found against my perfect innocence of this foul deed?"

"Let the sacred dignity of our tribunal be respected!" said the Bishop sternly; "and let all such unseemly interruptions cease. Proceed maiden! proceed to offer to us the testimony on which thou art bold enough to make so strange and so determined an accusation."

"My lord," said Helen, still standing, and betraying deep agitation, as in her modest and respectful address to the Bishop she recalled the appalling circumstances; "I was the first person who entered mine uncle's apartment on the morning which followed the fatal night of his murder. When I did approach me to the bed I fancied that he slept; for, as was not uncommon with him, he lay with the blessed crucifix over his bosom. I lifted the holy emblem in my left hand, whilst with my right I did remove the bed-clothes from his chin--when--when--when beholding, as I did, the bloody work which had been done upon him, I fell backwards on the floor in a swoon, and so firmly did I grasp the crucifix to my bosom in mine unconscious agony, that those who came to mine aid, called thither by my scream, found it so placed, and it was carried with me to mine own apartment, and I so found it when my senses were restored to me. That the crucifix had ever lain that night upon mine uncle's breast at all, therefore, could have been known only to myself alone; and to him who, during that fatal night, removed it from his bosom for the purpose of doing the murder on him, and who replaced it there after he had wrought the cruel deed."

"But how can this touch the Laird of Knockando?" demanded the Bishop earnestly.

"My lord," said Helen, "some days after the murder, the Laird of Knockando did force himself into my presence, under the false pretence of bearing a message from the reverend lord prior. His object seemed to be to whet my vengeance against the person who then lay accused of the murder of mine uncle. It was then that, in the presence of my friend and my servant, who are both now within the call of this tribunal, prepared to support this my testimony, then it was, I say, that he used expressions, the which were, for greater security, taken down after he was gone,--'The wretch,' said he, 'The wretch who, lighting down like some nocturnal fiend upon the sacred person of thine uncle, and, reckless of the holy emblem of Christ which lay upon his bosom, could put it aside, that he might plunge his dirk into the innocent throat of his sacred servant, must not only die the death of a felon, but he can never hope for mercy from Him whose blessed emblem he hath outraged.' None but the murderer could have so circumstantially described this most barbarous deed. John Dhu Grant of Knockando did so describe it. Therefore is John Dhu Grant of Knockando the murderer! On his head the blood of my murdered uncle doth loudly call for that justice which it doth behoove man to do upon it. And may He that died for us all, grant that mercy hereafter to his guilty soul which his own relentless sentence would have denied to another."

As Helen Dunbar finished speaking, she fell back into her chair, exhausted by her exertion to fulfil that duty which she had wound up her mind to discharge. The murderer gasped for breath as if he was undergoing suffocation; and his eyes started from their sockets with the terrors which now overwhelmed him. The murmurs which burst from those who were present being checked by the seneschal of the court, the Bishop ordered Helen's servants, James and Janet, and also her friend, to be all three severally called. Each of them were examined. The members of the chapter conferred together for a few minutes apart; and after they had resumed their seats on the tribunal, a death-like silence prevailed, and the Bishop putting on his mitre, and leaning on his crosier, began thus to speak:--

"After the full and patient probing which we have given to this most mysterious case, it must be clear to all men who do now hear us, that this holy tribunal hath before it, as its bounden duty, to dismiss Lewis Grant of Auchernach, discharging him as free from all taint or suspicion of any participation whatsoever in the foul and barbarous murder of our pious brother, Priest Innes. And as it is beyond our power to shut our eyes to the miraculous proof which the Almighty in his wisdom hath caused the very murderer himself to bear towards his own proper condemnation, we have no choice left but to direct our bailie, the which we now hereby do, forthwith to return John Dhu Grant of Knockando to the dungeon whence he was taken, thence to remove him by to-morrow's earliest sun, and to convey him, under a strong guard of our men-at-arms, to Elgin, there to be delivered into the hands of the king's sheriff, that he may take measures to see that the prisoner be submitted to the knowledge of an assize, to be by it clenged or fouled of the crime laid to his charge, as the evidence laid before it may determine. This we do without all prejudice to our own claims to the full right of pit and gallows which belongeth to us; but because this crime of murder, when not fresh and redhanded, being to be considered as more especially one of the pleas of the Crown, we do think it more seemly to leave it to the judges of the King's Grace to execute justice upon the murderer."

The Laird of Knockando's countenance was all this time working like that of a fiend, especially whilst the Bishop was delivering this appalling judgment against him. He had no sooner heard it to an end, than, putting his hand into his bosom, he plucked forth a concealed dirk--that very weapon with which he had murdered the good Priest Innes. He raised it aloft. Helen saw it glancing in the air, and uttered a piercing shriek that rang in the groined roof of the chapter-house. It saved her lover; for, as Knockando brought it down, aimed with a desperate plunge at the heart of his rival, his intended victim threw his body back, and so he most wonderfully escaped from its fatal blade. But it fell not innocuous--it cleft the very skull of a wretched lay-brother, who sat with his tablets below noting down the minutes of the procedure, and the man dropped lifeless upon the pavement. The perpetrator of this second murder was seized and pinioned, and, being instantly tried red-handed as he was--his guilt was established--he was carried out for shrift--confessed that his first crime was done for the wicked purpose of revenging himself against Auchernach by fixing upon him the guilt of the murder. After which the convent-bell tolled dismally. A long procession of monks chanting a hymn, followed by the criminal and the bourreau, guarded by the seneschal and his men-at-arms was seen winding from the gate of the Priory, and after a few short moments of prayer, he was forthwith executed, without further mercy, on the gallow-hill.

I need not tell you that the Laird of Auchernach performed the part of protector to Helen Dunbar during her homeward journey, and that so soon as the days of mourning for her murdered uncle were fulfilled, he received from her the right to act as her protector throughout the longer journey of life. And if he had ever been supposed to be apt, when provoked on certain occasions, to yield too hastily to that indignation which chanced to be excited within him, the recollection of the terrible events which I have narrated to you had the effect of arming him ever afterwards with a degree of control over himself which few men since his time have been known to possess.

THE END.

NOTES

[1] Cabar Fiadh, the head of the wild deer, the crest of the clan MacKenzie.

[2] Fern.

[3] Good people, the propitiatory name usually given by the superstitious peasants to the fairies.

[4] Strength.

[5] A dwelling only occupied in summer whilst feeding the cattle on the highest hill-grazings. The same word as the Swiss chalet.

[6] Strange.