Chapter V: Part 5

You may all well enough guess, gentlemen, how Patrick Stewart was received by the old Lord of Curgarf when he entered his hall, leading in his fair daughter safe and sound. The joy of the father was not the less, that his son, Arthur the Master of Forbes, had returned but a brief space of time before, jaded, dispirited, and sorrowful, from his long, tiresome, and fruitless expedition. Worn with anxiety, the old man had counted watch after watch of the night, and the day and the night again, until his son's arrival, and then he had sunk into the most overwhelming despair. After pouring forth thanks to Heaven, and to all the saints, he now gave way to his joy. The midnight feast was spread, and all was revelry and gladness in the castle. Patrick Stewart was now viewed by him as his guardian angel. Seeing this, Arthur Forbes took an opportunity of advising his friend to profit by the happy circumstance which had now placed him so high in his father's good opinion. He did so--and the result was, that he obtained the willing consent of the old Lord of Curgarf to his union with his daughter, the Lady Catherine, with the promise of a tocher which should be worthy of her.

The happiness of the lovers was now complete, and the next day was spent in open and unrestrained converse between them. The time was fixed for the wedding, and then it was, after all these arrangements had been made, that Patrick Stewart first had leisure fully to recall to mind, all those afflicting circumstances which had taken place when he last saw his brother Walter. He thought of his father--he felt the necessity of going immediately home, to relieve any anxiety which his father, Sir Allan, might have, in consequence of his unexplained absence, as well as to make him acquainted with his approaching marriage. He accordingly took a tender leave of his fair bride that evening, and, starting next morning, he made his way over the hills to Drummin.

Patrick Stewart was already within sight of home, when his attention was arrested by the blast of a bugle, which rang shrilly from the hill above him. It conveyed to him that private signal which was always used between his brother Walter and himself. For the first time in his life it grated harshly in his ear, for it immediately brought back to his recollection those oppressively painful circumstances which had occurred at Dalestie, which he had so studiously endeavoured to banish from his memory. But the strong tide of brotherly affection within him was too resistless not to sweep away every feeling connected with the past. He applied his bugle to his lips, and returned the call; and, looking up the side of the hill, he beheld Walter, and a party of the Clan-Allan, hastening down through the scattered greenwood to meet him.

"Thanks be to Heaven and good Saint Hubert that I see thee safe, my dearest Patrick," said Sir Walter, hurrying towards him, and warmly embracing him. "Hast thou forgiven a brother's anger and unkindness?"

"Could'st thou believe that I could for a moment remember it, my dear Walter?" replied Patrick, returning his embrace.

"Where in the name of wonder hast thou been wandering?" demanded Sir Walter. "Where hast thou been since that night--that night of justice, yet of horror--when you disappeared so mysteriously? Since that moment, when I returned home and found thee not, I have done little else, night or day, but travel about hither and thither, anxiously seeking for tidings of thee."

"Let us walk apart," said Patrick in his ear, "and I will tell thee all that has befallen me."

"Willingly," said Sir Walter in the same tone; "for, in exculpation of myself, I would now fain pour into thy private ear all those circumstances which secretly urged me to execute that stern act of justice and necessity, which then thou could'st not comprehend, and against which thy recoiling humanity did naturally enough compel thee so urgently to protest."

Arm in arm the two brothers then walked on alone, at such a distance before their clansmen as might insure the perfect privacy of their talk, and long ere they reached Drummin, they had fully communicated to each other all that they had mutually to impart. Old Sir Allan had been querulous and impatient about Patrick's absence, and he had been every now and then peevishly inquiring about him. But now that his son appeared, he seemed to have forgotten that he had not been always with him. He was pleased and proud when the contemplated marriage was communicated to him, and he enjoined Sir Walter to see to it, that every thing handsome should be done on the occasion. In this respect, Sir Walter's generosity required no stimulus; and if Patrick was dissatisfied at all, it was with the over liberality which his brother manifested, which, in some particulars, he felt inclined to resist.

"Patrick," said Sir Walter aside to his brother, with a more than ordinarily serious air, "I give thee but thine own in advance. One day or other it will be all thine own. There is something within me that tells me that I am not long for this world. The last words of that wretch, delivered to me, as I told thee, from the midst of those flames that consumed him, were prophetic. But, be that as it may, I have never had thoughts of marrying, and now I am firmly resolved that I never shall marry, so that thou art the sole prop of our house."

The entrance of the retainers, and the spreading of the evening meal, put a stop to all farther conversation between the brothers. Patrick had not yet seen either the Lady Stradawn, or her son Murdoch. On inquiry, he was told that Murdoch had gone on some unknown expedition on the previous day, and that he had not yet returned. A circumstance, so common with him, excited no surprise. As for the Lady Stradawn, she now came swimming into the hall, with her countenance clothed in all its usual smiles. Her salutation to her stepsons was full of well-dissembled warmth and affection. She hastened, with her wonted affectation of fondness, to bustle about Sir Allan, with the well-feigned pretence of anxiety to attend to his wants, after which she took her place at the head of the board. It was then that Patrick's eyes became suddenly fixed upon her with a degree of astonishment, which, fortunately for him, the busy occupation of every one else at the table left them no leisure to observe. To his utter amazement, he beheld in her bosom that very garnet brooch which he had given to Catherine Forbes! His first impulse was to demand from her an explanation of the circumstances by which she had become possessed of it; but a little reflection soon enabled him to control his feelings, though he continued to sit gazing at the well-known jewel, altogether forgetful of the feast, until the lady arose to retire to her chamber.

"My dearest Sir Allan," said she, going up to the old knight's chair to bestow her caresses on him ere she went; "My dearest Sir Allan, thou hast eaten nothing for these two days. What can I get for thee that may tickle thy palate into thy wonted appetite? Said'st thou not something of a deer's heart, for which thou hadst a longing? 'Tis a strange fancy, I'm sure."

"Oh, aye! very true,--a deer's heart!" said the doting old man. "Very true, indeed, my love. I did dream--oh, aye--I dreamed, I say, Bella, that I was eating the rosten heart of a stag--of a great hart of sixteen, [4] killed by my boys on the hill of Dalestie--aye, aye--and with arrows feathered from an eagle's wing. As I ate, and better ate, I always grew stronger and stronger, till at length I was able to rise from my chair as stoutly as ever I did in my life--ouch, aye! that day is gone! Yet much would I like to eat the rosten heart of a deer; but it would need to be that of a great hart of sixteen."

"My dear father, thou shalt not want that," said Sir Walter; "thou shalt have it ere I am a day older, if a hart of sixteen be to be found between this and Loch Aven."

"Aye, aye, Walter boy, as thou sayest," said the old man; "a great hart of sixteen--else hath the heart of the beast no potency in't--aye, and killed with an arrow feathered from an eagle's wing--och, aye--hoch-hey!"

Though the two brothers were satisfied that this was nothing but the drivelling of age, they were not the less anxiously desirous to gratify their father's wish to the very letter. Accordingly, the necessary orders were given, and the trusty Dugald Roy [5] was forthwith summoned to prepare six arrows, which would have been easily supplied, with the small portions of feather which were necessary for them, from the eagle wing in Sir Walter's bonnet. But Sir Allan stopped him as he was about to tear it off.

"What, Sir!" exclaimed the old man testily, and in a state of agitation that shook every fibre of his frame like a palsy;--"What! wouldst thou shear the eagle plume of my boy Walter, thou ill-omened bird that thou art? Yonder hangs mine; it can never more appear bearing proudly forward in the foremost shock of the battle-field. Och, hey, that is true! Take that, thou raven! Thou may'st rend it as ye list. But, my boy's!--the proud plume of mine eldest born boy!--thou shalt never take that!"

"I crave your pardon, Sir Knight," replied Dugald Roy; "and now I think on't, I need not take either, for I have some spare wing feathers in my store that will do all the turn."

The next morning saw Sir Walter and his brother Patrick early on foot, dressed in their plainest hunting attire, stretching up the valley at the head of their attendants. Each of the brothers had three of the eagle-winged arrows stuck into his belt; for, as both were dexterous marksmen, and as they had resolved to use their shafts against nothing else but a great hart of sixteen, they felt themselves to be thus most amply provided to insure success. Fortune was somewhat adverse to them, however; for although they saw deer in abundance, they found themselves in this very part of the valley, when the day was already far spent, without having once had a chance of effecting their object.

"Look ye there, brother Walter!" at length cried Patrick Stewart suddenly, as he pointed to a hart with a magnificent head, which was crossing to this side of the river, at the ford you see above yonder. "Look ye there brother! there he goes at last!"

"By the rood, but that is the very fellow we want," replied Sir Walter. "Watch him! See!--he takes the hill aslant. He will not go far, if we may judge from his present pace."

"I saw him walk over that open knoll in the wood high up yonder," said Patrick, after some minutes of pause. "He has no mind to go farther than the dip of the hill above. I think that we are sure of finding him there. What say you brother?"

"Thou art right, Patrick," said Walter. "Then do thou run on, and take the long hollow in the hill-side, beyond the big pine tree yonder. I will follow up the slack behind us here. Let your sweep be wide, that we may be sure of stalking well in beyond him, so that, if we fail of getting proper vantage of him, we may be sure that we drive him not farther a-field. Let us take no sleuth-hound, nor bratchet neither, lest, perchance, we cause him alarm. You, my merry men, will tarry here for us with the dogs."

Off went the two brothers, each in his own direction, and each with his bow in his hand, and his three arrows in his belt. In obedience to Sir Walter's directions, Patrick hurried away to the great pine tree, and then began his ascent through the long hollow in the woody mountain's side with all manner of expedition. After a long and fatiguing climb, he began to use less speed and more caution, as he approached nearer to the somewhat less steep ground, where his hopes lay. Then it was that he commenced making a long sweep around, stealing silently from tree to tree, and concealing himself, as much as he could, by keeping their thick trunks before him, and creeping along among the heather, where such a precaution was necessary. Having completed his sweep to such an extent as led him to believe that he had certainly got beyond the hart, he was about to creep down the hill, in the hope of soon coming upon him, when he chanced to observe a great uprooted pine, which lay prostrated a little way farther on, and somewhat above the spot where he then was, its head rising above the heather like a great green hillock. Thinking that he might as well have one peep beyond it before he turned downwards, and wishing to avail himself of its shade to mask his motions, he took a direct course towards it. But it so happened, that the hart had found it equally convenient for the same purpose, as well as for a place of outlook, for it had taken post close to it, on the farther side. Descrying Patrick Stewart through an accidental opening in the foliage, and having no fancy to hold nearer converse with him, the creature moved slowly away. His quick and practised eye caught a view of it through the opening, as it was going away up the hill, as it happened, in a direct line. Well experienced in woodcraft, he, in a loud voice, called out "hah!" As is common with red deer when in the woods, the hart made a sudden halt, and wheeled half round to listen, and in this way he placed his broadside to the hunter's eye. This was but for an instant, to be sure; but in that instant Patrick Stewart's arrow, passing through the break in the foliage of the pine, fixed itself deep into the shoulder of the hart.

"Clumsily done!" exclaimed Patrick Stewart from very vexation as he saw the hart bound off. "I'll warrant me the arrow-head is deep into his shoulder blade. One single finger's breadth more behind it would have made him mine own, and with all the cleverness of perfect woodcraft."

Patrick, baulked and disappointed, now extended his sweep, and crossed and re-crossed the ground, with the hope of meeting his brother Sir Walter; but as he did not succeed in falling in with him, he followed the track of the hart for some distance up the hill, until he lost every trace of his slot upon the dry summit, after which he returned with all manner of haste to make his way downwards to the party in the valley below. This he did, partly with the expectation of meeting his brother Sir Walter there, and partly with the intention of getting the dogs, that he might make an attempt to recover his wounded hart. There he found--not his brother Sir Walter--but his brother Murdoch--who stood exulting over a dead stag. He was a great hart of sixteen, just such an one as he himself had been after.

"Thou see'st that I have the luck," said Murdoch Stewart triumphantly.

"Whence camest thou, Murdoch? and how comes this?" demanded Patrick.

"All naturally enough, brother," replied Murdoch Stewart carelessly. "As I was wandering idly on the hill-side above there, I espied the people here below, so I came sauntering down to see what they were about, and to hear news of ye all. But, as my luck would have it, I had hardly been with them the pattering of a paternoster, when the very hart that thou wentest after came bang down upon me--my shaft fled--and there he lies. Mark now, brother, is he not well and cleanly killed? Observe--right through the neck you see. But, ha!--it would seem that thou hast spent an arrow too--for these fellows tell me that thou tookest three with thee, and methinks thou hast but twain left in thy belt."

"I used one against the hart I went after," said Patrick coldly.

"And missed him, brother--is't not so?" said Murdoch laughing. "Well, I never hoped that I should live to wipe thine eye in any such fashion; for these varlets all say that this is the very hart that thou went'st after."

"Nay, then," replied Patrick with an air of indifference; "if this be the hart I went after, I must have found another great hart of sixteen the very marrow of him; and him I have so marked, that I'll be sworn he will be known again; for I promise you that at this moment he beareth wood on his shoulder as well as on his head."

"The hart thou sayest that thou sawest may be like Saint Hubert's stag for aught I know," said Murdoch; "but it is clear, from all that these fellows say, that there lies the very hart that thou went'st forth to kill, and that is no arrow of thine that hath fixed itself in his gullet."

"I did see a hart--draw my bow at a hart--and sorely wound a hart," said Patrick, rather testily; "and were it not that the scent is cold, and the hour so late, I think that the sleuth-hounds there, would soon help me to prove to thee that he is as fine a hart of sixteen as this which thou hast slain."

"Cry your mercy, brother," said Murdoch; "I knew not that such great harts of sixteen had been so rife hereabouts, as that one should start up as a butt for thine arrow the moment that the other had been lost to thee. Yet it is clear that thou hast spent an arrow upon something.--Ha!--by the way--where is our brother Walter? They tell me that he went up the hill-side with thee."

"After seeking for him on the hill-side in vain, I reckoned on finding him here," replied Patrick. "But if he be within a mile of us I'll make him answer."

He put his bugle to his lips, and awakened the echoes, with such sounds as were understood between Sir Walter and himself; but the echoes alone replied to him.

"He may have met with a deer which may have led him off in pursuit over the hill," said Patrick.

"Aye," said Murdoch; "he may have fallen in with your hart of sixteen--yea, or another, for aught I know, seeing that harts of sixteen are now so rife on these hills."

"Fall in with what he might, he is not the man to give up his game easily," said Patrick, somewhat keenly.

"Whatever may have befallen him," said Murdoch, "we can hardly hope to see him hereabouts to-night."

"I hope we may see him at Drummin," said Patrick; "for as the night is now drooping down so fast, he will most readily seek the straightest way thither. So, as thou hast now made sure of a great hart of sixteen for Sir Allan, we may as well turn our steps thitherward without more delay."

On reaching Drummin, Patrick Stewart's first inquiry was for his brother Sir Walter. He had not returned home; but it was yet early in the night, and he might have been led away to such a distance as to require the greater part of the night to bring him home. The hart was borne up to the hall in triumph, and exhibited before Sir Allan, with the arrow still sticking in his neck. The old man's countenance was filled with joy and exultation when he beheld it. The Lady Stradawn could not contain her triumph.

"So, Murdoch," said she, "thou art the lucky man who hath killed the much longed for venison! Thou art the lucky man who hath brought thy father the food for which his soul so yearneth! There is something of good omen for thee in this, my boy!"

"A noble head!--a great hart of sixteen, indeed," said Sir Allan. "Aye, aye, that is a head, that is a head indeed! Yet have I slain many as fine in my time. Aye, aye,--but those days are gone; och, hey! gone indeed. See what a cuach his horn hath. Yet that which I slew up at Loch Aven had a bigger cuach than this one by a great deal. As I live, you might have slaked your thirst from the hollow of it the drowthiest day you ever saw. Yet this is a good hart--a noble hart of sixteen,--aye, aye! hoch-hey! But, hey! what's this? A goose-winged shaft? Did I not tell ye that my dream spake of an eagle's wing? His heart will be naught after all--naught, naught--och, hey! och, hey!"

"Nay, we shall soon convince thee to the contrary, father," said Murdoch, motioning to the attendants to lay the deer down upon the hearth. "I will forthwith break him under thine own eye, and thou shalt see, and judge for thyself."

Murdoch then drawing forth his knife, began to open up the animal according to the strictest rules laid down for breaking a deer, as this operation was called, and on proceeding to slit up the slough, to the great wonder of every one, it was discovered that the old man was right. The heart was indeed so very small that it might very well have been said to have been naught. Murdoch was dismayed for a moment at an omen so very inauspicious, which, in his own mind, he felt was more than enough to overthrow all the fair prognostics which his mother had so evidently drawn from his success. The Lady herself was equally disconcerted.

"Naught, naught!" whimpered Sir Allan. "'Tis an ill omen for thee, boy. Thou shalt ne'er fly with an eagle's wing--nay, nay! Aye, aye! Thou art ever doomed to gobble i' the muddy stagnant waters like a midden-gander.--Uch, aye! och, hey!"

"The fiend take the old carl for his saying!" whispered Murdoch angrily aside to his mother.

"Amen!" replied the Lady Stradawn bitterly, in the same under tone. "But fear ye not, boy, thou shalt wear his eagle wing, aye, and sit in his chair to boot, ere long."

This dialogue apart was unobserved by any one, and both son and mother speedily recovered their self-possession. The lady very cunningly set herself, straightway, to turn the weak and dribbling stream of Sir Allan's thoughts from the subject which then occupied them, to some other, which was to her less disagreeable at the moment, and she easily succeeded.

Patrick Stewart's attention was attracted from all this superstitious trifling, as well as from what followed it, by again observing the garnet brooch, which appeared in the bosom of the Lady Stradawn. His thoughts were entirely occupied with it, and his eyes were from time to time rivetted on it. At length it seemed as if Murdoch had somehow remarked his fixed gaze, for a private sign appeared to pass from him to his mother, after which she pleaded a sudden faintness, and left the hall, to return no more that night, and her son soon afterwards followed her. Patrick Stewart's mind remained filled with strange speculations regarding the jewel, until the night wore late, and he began to think anxiously about his brother Sir Walter. Having done the last offices of attention to his father for the evening, he secretly desired Dugald Roy to follow him.

"Dugald," said he, "I am, most unaccountably, unhappy about thy master. Surely, if all had been well with him he should have been here ere this? I cannot rid my mind of the idea that there is something amiss with him. He rested not, as thou knowest, when I was missing, and it would ill become me to sleep when he is absent. Let us go seek for him, then, without delay."

Dugald Roy readily assented; and both of them having dighted themselves well up for turmoil, as well as for toil, they secretly left the tower of Drummin. All that night they travelled, and by daylight they had got into the range of mountains, and of forests, where they had reason to hope for tidings of Sir Walter. They searched through every part of the wooded side of that hill where he had last disappeared, and they visited every human dwelling within a great range around it, but all without obtaining the slightest intelligence regarding him. Disappointed, and disheartened, they had returned nearly as far as where the village of Tomantoul now stands, on their way home in the evening, when they met with Dugald Roy's brother Neil.

"What brought thee here, man?" demanded Dugald; "and what a fiend gives thee that anxious face?"

"Holy Saint Michael, but it is well that I have foregathered with you both!" replied Neil. "You must take some other road than that which leads to Drummin, Sir Patrick. Believe me, it is no place for you at this present time."

"What, in the name of all the saints, hath happened to make it otherwise?" demanded Patrick Stewart.

"Cannot ye speak out at once, ye Amadan ye, and not hammer like a fool that gate?" cried Dugald impatiently.

"Patience! patience!" said Neil; "patience! and ye shall know all presently. In the first place, then, Master Murdoch says that Sir Walter is murdered."

"Murdered!" cried Patrick, in an agony of anxiety; "My brother Walter murdered!--Where?--when?--how?--by whom?--Oh, speak, that I may hasten to avenge him! But, no!--'tis impossible!--speak!--I have mistaken thee--surely it cannot be!"

"Master Murdoch says that it is true," replied Neil. "But the worst of all is, that he hath accused thee, Sir Patrick, of having done the deed, with an arrow, somewhere in the wood on the hill of Dalestie."

"Merciful Saints!" exclaimed Patrick; "can he indeed be such a villain? But who will believe so foul and unnatural a calumny? Oh, Walter, my brother, my brother! Heaven above knows that thy life was ten thousand times dearer to me than mine own!"

"Nay," replied Neil, "he hath called all the clansmen who were there to witness and to support the strong suspicions which he hath industriously raised against thee."

"What argument hath he against me?" cried Patrick Stewart impatiently.

"He says that the men who were present can testify that you and your brother, Sir Walter, went into the wood together," replied Neil; "and that Sir Walter hath not been seen since; and then, he contends, that the sudden flight which you made from Drummin, under the cloud of night, is enough to show that you have taken guilt home to your conscience."

"And is this all?" demanded Patrick Stewart.

"Nay," replied Neil, "there was more stuff of the same kind, by the use of which he hath contrived so to persuade them with his wily tongue, that they are all clamorous against thee. Nay, he hath even warped the feeble judgment of Sir Allan himself to the same belief."

"Serpent that he is!" cried Patrick Stewart. "But let me hasten home to confront this vile traducer. My brother!--my brother Walter!" continued he, bursting into tears. "My brother Walter gone!--and I accused of his murder!--Oh, my brother!--my dear brother! Heaven above knows how willingly I would have laid down my life to have saved thine! Nay, how willingly would I now lay it down at this moment, were it only to secure to me the certainty that thou art yet alive! The very thought that it may be otherwise is agony and desolation to me. But let us hasten to confront this villainy. Let us hasten to revenge! For the love of Heaven, let us hasten home, Dugald!"

"Nay, my good master," said Dugald weeping, "for if this sad tale be true as to Sir Walter's death, other master than thee, I fear me, that I now have none. Neil says well that Drummin is no place for thee to-night, with so sudden and tumultuous a clamour excited against thee. Thine innocence will avail thee nothing. Even the innocence of an angel would naught avail against the diseased judgments of men, with minds so poisoned and so possessed. Be persuaded to go elsewhere, until the false and weak foundations of this most traitorous accusation fail beneath it, and the mists drop from men's eyes. Who can say for certain that my beloved master, Sir Walter, is dead? I cannot believe in so great a calamity. What proof is there that he is dead? There is no news that his body hath been found."

"Nay," replied Neil, "he is only amissing as I said."

"Thou dost well advise me, Dugald," said Patrick Stewart after a moment's thought. "There is, as thou say'st, no proof that my brother, Sir Walter, is dead. It is most reasonable to believe that this may, after all, be nothing but a foolish or malicious surmise. My best hope, nay, my belief is, that it is founded on naught else; and may Heaven in its mercy grant that it may prove so. I will take thine advice. I will not go to Drummin at present, but I shall straightway bend my steps towards the Castle of Curgarf."

"Then shall I and Neil attend thee thither, Sir Knight," said Dugald; "for next to Sir Walter Stewart do I assuredly owe thee fealty and service."

Sir Patrick and his two attendants now turned off in the direction of Curgarf, and the day was so far spent that the sun was setting, as they were passing over the ridge of the country lying between the Aven and the Don. The trees of the forest there grew thinly scattered in little stunted patches. Sir Patrick was walking a few paces in front of the two brothers, musing as he went, when he was suddenly surprised by a shower of arrows falling thickly on and around him. One stuck in his bonnet, another buried itself harmlessly in the folds of his plaid, a third pierced his sandal and slightly wounded his foot; and, whilst a fourth struck fire out of a large stone close to him, two more fell short of him among the heather near him. In an instant his bow and those of his attendants were bent, and their eyes being turned towards the place whence the shafts had flown, they descried some men lurking beneath one of the straggling patches of dwarf pine trees. To have stood aloof with the hope of shooting at them successfully would have been fatal, for the archery of Sir Patrick and his attendants could have done nothing against men so ambushed, whilst the Knight and his people would have been a sure mark for their traitorous foes.

"On them, my brave Dugald!" cried Sir Patrick Stewart, drawing his sword, and rushing towards the enemy.

Dugald Roy, and his brother, Neil, were at his back in a moment. Before they could reach the point against which their assault was directed, several arrows were discharged at them. But so resolute, and so spirited an attack had been so little looked for by those who shot them, that they were too much appalled to take any very steady aim, so that all of them fell innocuous. Seeing Sir Patrick and his two attendants so rapidly nearing their place of concealment, the villains thought it better to turn out, that they might receive their onset on ground where they could all act at once. Six men accordingly appeared claymore in hand, and as Sir Patrick continued to hurry forward, he now took the opportunity of speaking hastily to Dugald and Neil, who were advancing to right and left of him.

"Draw an arrow each," said he, "and when I give you the word, stop suddenly, and each of you pick off the man opposite to you, and leave me to take my choice of the rest.--Now!"

The unlooked for halt was made just as the assassins were preparing to receive the on-comers on the points of their swords. The aim was sure and fatal. Three men fell--and on rushed Sir Patrick and his two people with a loud shout. The three, who yet stood against them, were panic-struck, and, ere they could well offer defence, they were also extended writhing among the heather, in the agonies of death; and the whole matter was over in less time than it has taken for me to tell of it. But, uncertain whether the partial covert of the pine-patch might not still shelter some more enemies, they rushed in among the trees, brandishing their reeking blades. Up started a youth from among some low brushwood, and ran off like a hare. Neil was after him in a moment, and up to him ere he had fled twenty paces. Already he had him by the hair of the head, and his claymore was raised to smite him, when Patrick Stewart called to his follower to stay his hand. Neil obeyed, and granted the youth his life; but when he brought him in as a prisoner, what was the Stewart's surprise when he discovered that he was the same individual whose life he had spared in the Catterane's den.

"Ha!" exclaimed Sir Patrick; "said I not well that I questioned the wisdom of sparing thy life when we last met, thou vermin? What hast thou to urge, that I should show mercy to thee now, Sir Caitiff?"

"Oh, mercy, mercy, Sir Knight!" exclaimed the youth, piteously. "Trust me, I came not hither willingly. I had no hand in this treacherous ambush against thy life."

"Appearances are woefully against thee," said Patrick Stewart; "yet would I not willingly do thee hurt, if thou be'st innocent. But this is no convenient time nor place to tarry for thy trial. So bring him along with thee, Dugald. We shall take our own leisure to examine him afterwards; meanwhile, take especial care that he escape not."

Sir Patrick Stewart's reception at Curgarf may be easily guessed at. He told of the providential escape he had made from assassination by the way; but he thought it better, as yet, to say nothing of the mysterious disappearance of his brother, Sir Walter, or of the traitorous accusations against himself, to which it had given rise. His resolve to be silent as to this matter was formed, because he had by this time reasoned himself into the firm persuasion that his brother's reappearance would speedily make his own innocence as clear as noonday.

He was next morning happily seated in the hall, now talking with the old Lord of Curgarf on one subject, and again taking his opportunity of whispering to the Lady Catherine on another, when he suddenly recollected the brooch he had given her. It was not in her bosom.

"Where are the two twined hearts?" said he to her, smiling. "Fear not, dearest--I am not jealous."

"Thou hast no cause for jealousy, dear Patrick," replied the lady; "and yet, I grieve to say, that I have not the jewel. When the Catteranes hurried me off from here, and just as they stopped for a little time to make up a litter, that they might the more easily carry me, one who appeared to have a certain command over them, but whose face or person I could not see in the obscurity which then prevailed, snatched it from my bosom, whilst affecting to fasten my arryssade more firmly around me. Nay, look not so serious, dearest Patrick! surely thou dost not doubt me in this matter?"

"Doubt thee, my Catherine!" said Sir Patrick, kissing her hand with fervour; "sooner would I doubt mine own existence;--thou art pure virgin truth itself! Think no more of it. Thou shalt have another and a richer one anon. But say, dearest! why should we longer delay to set our own very two hearts in that indissoluble golden knot, with which the sacrament of our holy church may bind them together, so as to form a jewel, of which neither robber nor Catterane can rifle us, and which cannot be rent asunder save by the iron hand of death. I have thy father's permission to move thee to shorten that cruel interval which thou hast placed between me and happiness."

In such a strain as this, did he continue to urge his suit, until it was at last successful; and, to his great joy, it was ultimately arranged, with the consent of all parties, that the marriage should take place on the second day from the time I am now speaking of. The bustle of preparation began in the Castle the moment the circumstance was announced; and it immediately spread far and wide everywhere around it, and went on incessantly day and night. Joy was everywhere as universal among the clansmen as their devotion to the Lady Catherine, the bride, and their admiration of the merits of the bridegroom, could make it. The day at length arrived. The Castle was crowded with all the friends and retainers of the family, who came pouring in to witness a ceremonial so interesting to them all. The Priest had arrived; the Castle chapel had been set in order; the bridal-chamber had been dight up; and the feast prepared; and every soul was astir to contribute, so far as in them lay, to the general felicity, as well as to share in it. The old Lord of Curgarf seemed to have grown young again. Arthur, the Master of Forbes, was all life and raillery. Already had the whole company been assembled within the hall. All the men-at-arms within the Castle had crowded in thither. Even the old warden at the gate had lowered his portcullis, and made every thing secure with bolt, bar, and chain, so that he might safely leave his post to the charge of their stubborn defences. The blushing bride, arrayed in the richest attire, had been led in, attended by her blooming maidens; and the movement towards the chapel was about to be made, so that the ceremony might go on, when suddenly a shrill bugle blast from without the gate made the very Castle walls resound again.

"Go some of ye, and see who that may be who summons us so rudely," said the Lord of Curgarf.

"Murdoch Stewart, and a party of the Clan-Allan, are at the gate, craving admittance," said the messenger, on his return.

"Son Arthur," said the Lord of Curgarf, "get thee down quickly, and give Murdoch Stewart of Clan-Allan, the brother of this our son-in-law to be, instant entry. Let the gate be opened to him, aye, and to all his people, dost thou hear? It was kind in him thus to come, on the spur of the occasion," continued the old Lord, addressing Patrick, after his son had gone with his attendants to obey his will--"It was kind in thy brother to come thus unasked on the spur of the moment. Would that Sir Allan, thy father himself, could have been here."

The court-yard and the stair now rang with the clink of armed men, and Arthur, the Master of Forbes, entered, ushering in Murdoch Stewart, proudly attired, and followed by a formidable band of the Clan-Allan, whose flaring red tartans were strongly contrasted against the more modest green of those of the Clan-Forbes. To the no small surprise of his brother Patrick, he no longer wore that appearance of youthful carelessness and indifference, under the mask of which he had hitherto disguised his true character. His bearing was now manly and lofty, suited to the command of the Clan-Allan, which he now seemed to have assumed. His salutation to the Lord of Curgarf was grave, dignified, and courteous; and, as way was made for him, he advanced, with the utmost self-possession, into the middle of the hall.

"I rejoice that I have arrived thus, as it seems, in the nick of time," said he, looking around him, and bowing as he did so, but without once allowing his eyes to rest on his brother, who stood fixed in silent astonishment at what he beheld.

"So do we all rejoice," replied the Lord of Curgarf. "Had we but known that our bridal might have been thus honoured by the house of Clan-Allan, on so short a warning, trust me thou shouldst not have lacked our warmest bidding, as thou hast now our warmest welcome."

"Welcome or not, my Lord," replied Murdoch Stewart, with a respectful reverence, "thou wilt surely thank me for this most unceremonious visit, when thou shalt know the object of it. I come to save the honour of thy house from foul disgrace: would, that in so doing, I could likewise save the honour of that which gave me birth! But although, in saving thee and thy house from dishonour, the good name of that of Clan-Allan must assuredly be tarnished, it shall never be said of me, that I preserved it by falsehood or infamous concealment."

"Of what wouldst thou speak?" demanded the Lord of Curgarf. "I do beseech thee, keep me, and keep this good company, no longer in suspense."

"Then, my good Lord," replied Murdoch, solemnly, "much as it pains me to utter it, and much as it must pain thee, and all present, to hear it, I must tell thee, that strong suspicions are abroad, that mine eldest brother, Sir Walter Stewart, hath been most foully murdered, and that he, on whom thou wert now on the very eve of bestowing thine only daughter, is the foul murderer, who took an elder brother's life, to make way for the gratification of his own ambitious and avaricious desires. The circumstances are so strong against my unfortunate brother Patrick, that all agree that no one else could have been the murderer."

"All!--all!--all!--all! was echoed from the stern Clan-Allans, at the lower end of the hall.

"Holy saints defend us!" exclaimed the Lord of Curgarf, sinking into a chair.

"'Tis false! oh 'tis all false, father!" cried the trembling Catherine Forbes, rushing forward to assist her father.

"Infamous traitor!" cried Patrick Stewart; "lying and infamous traitor! Where are the proofs on which you found so foul and false an accusation?"

"Would, for the credit of our poor house, that it were false!" said Murdoch, mildly. "But it is impossible to conceal, that thou wert the last person seen in our poor brother Walter's company. Thou wentest up the wood with him, with three arrows in thy belt. Thou camest back shortly afterwards without him. One of thine arrows was gone. Thou gavest reasons for the want of it which proved to be false; and our dear brother Walter hath never been since seen."

"He is guilty! He, and no one else, is the murderer!" cried the men of Clan-Allan hoarsely.

"Woe is me!" said the distracted Lord of Curgarf, springing from his chair with nervous agitation; "the circumstances are indeed too suspicious!"

"Father!--father!--father, he is innocent!" cried the frantic Lady Catherine Forbes, holding the old lord's arm.

"Sister," cried the Master of Forbes, taking the Lady Catherine affectionately by the hand, and speaking to her with great feeling--"Dearest sister, this is indeed an afflicting trial for thee; yet, be of good courage--I have no fears of the result. Patrick Stewart cannot be guilty of the foul and cruel deed of which he has been accused. We must have the matter sifted to the bottom; the truth must be brought out; and, as his innocence must be thereby established, all the evil that can happen will be but the short delay of your nuptials, till he be fairly and fully cleansed from these wicked charges."

"I am sent by my father," said Murdoch Stewart--"I am sent by my father, and that most unwillingly, to demand his son Patrick as a prisoner. Forgive me, my good Lord of Curgarf, for thus daring to execute his paternal order under your roof.--Men of Clan-Allan, seize and bind Patrick Stewart!"

"Hold!" cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder--"Hold, men of Clan-Allan! Lay not a hand upon him, to whom, if my dear master Sir Walter be indeed gone, ye must all soon, in the course of nature, swear fealty as your chieftain. He is guiltless of my beloved master's murder, though murdered, I fear, he hath most foully been. But here is one who can tell more of this cruel and wicked deed. Come hither boy, and tell us what thou may'st know of this mysterious matter."

Dugald Roy then led forward the youth whom he had brought prisoner to Curgarf, of whose very existence Sir Patrick Stewart had lost all recollection, amidst the tumult of joy in which he had been so continually kept by his approaching nuptials. The Lady Catherine Forbes started with surprise when she beheld him; but the countenance of Murdoch Stewart turned as pale as a linen sheet at the sight of him.

"What hast thou to say, young man, to the clearing up of this dark and cruel mystery?" demanded the Lord of Curgarf.

"My Lord, I saw Sir Walter Stewart of Clan-Allan murdered," said the youth in a tremulous voice. "I saw him shot to the death by the arrow of Ewan Cameron, one of the band of Catteranes."

"How camest thou to have been in any such evil company?" demanded the Lord of Curgarf.

"Trusting to have mercy at your hands, my Lord, I will tell my whole story as shortly as I can, if thou wilt but listen to me," replied the youth. "I was prentice to a craftsman in the town of Banff, a man who wrought in gold and silver. Being one day severely chidden by my master for some unlucky fault, the devil entered into me, and I resolved to be revenged of him. Having become known to the captain of a certain band of Catteranes, I stole my master's keys, and gave them to him, so that he and his gang were enabled to rifle the goldsmith's stores of all his valuables. In dread of punishment I fled with them to their den in the hills, where they afterwards kept me in thrall to do their service. The lady, thy daughter, can tell thee that I was there when she was brought in by them, and had not Sir Patrick Stewart left me bound when he spared my life, they would have certainly taken it on their return, in their rage and fury at her escape; but, fortunately, I was lying quite out of their way at the moment, and was not discovered till they had somewhat cooled. Finding that their retreat had been found out, they hastily abandoned it, and dispersed themselves through the hills. On the day that followed after that, we were all collected together to meet our captain; and after two days more, a breathless messenger came early in the morning to tell him something which was kept secret from all else. There were but few of the band with him at the time; but these were ordered to arm on the sudden; and even I, who had never been called out on any expedition until that day, was commanded to arm like the rest.

"Our small party marched off in all haste, and about mid-day we were planted in ambush on the side of a hill above the Aven. Our captain seemed to be restless and anxious. He moved about from place to place, stretching on tiptoe from the top of every knoll, and sometimes climbing the tallest pine trees, in order to scan the valley below more narrowly. At length, as it grew late in the afternoon, he took a long look from one point, and then, as if he had at last made some discovery of importance, he suddenly moved us off into a thicket, which grew on the edge of a considerable opening in the wood on the hill-side; and I would know that opening again, for it had the green quaking bog of a well-head in the very midst of it.

"We had not stood long there, till a man in very plain attire, with a bow in his hand, came up from the thick wood below, and began to pass aslant the open space. 'There goes a good mark for an arrow,' said the captain of the band. 'Shoot at him, my men.'--'He is not worth a shaft,' replied some of his people. 'He is a poor fellow who hath nothing in his sporran to pay for the killing of him.'--'No matter,' said Ewan Cameron, 'he hath a good pair of sandals on him; and my brogues are worn to shreds--so, here goes at him.' And just as the man was passing along the bank close above the well-eye, the arrow fled, and pierced him to the heart. 'Well shot, Ewan!' cried the captain, in a strange ecstasy of joy; 'thou shalt have gold for that shot of thine.' So instant was his death, that he sprang high into the air, and his body fell headlong and without life into the very middle of the bog, with a force that buried it in its yielding mass, so high, that nothing was seen of him but his legs. Ewan hastened to the place, quietly took off the sandals from the dead man, threw off his own brogues, and put on the sandals in place of them, and then the captain himself ran eagerly to help him to force the corpse downwards into the bog; and this they did till the green moss closed over the soles of its feet. I then knew not who the murdered man might be,--and the deed was no sooner done, than our captain ordered us to make our way back, as fast as we could travel, over the hills, whilst he left us to go directly down into the glen.

"Early next morning, a messenger again came to us; and five picked archers were sent out under the orders of Ewan Cameron. I was directed to accompany them; and I marvelled much why I, who was so inexperienced, should be required to go on an expedition where they seemed to be so very particular in choosing their men. But Ewan Cameron soon let me into the secret. 'Thou knowest the person of Patrick Stewart of Clan-Allan, dost thou not?' said he to me.--'If that was he who took the lady from the cave, and left me bound, replied I, 'then have I reason to remember him right well.'--'Then must I tell thee, that we are now sent forth expressly to hunt for him, and to take his life,' replied Ewan; 'and if thou would'st fain preserve thine own, thou wilt need to look sharply about thee, that thou mayest tell me when thou seest him.'--'Who covets to have his life?' demanded I.'--'He who made me take the life of his brother Walter, for those sandals which I now wear,' said Ewan.--'What! our captain?' exclaimed I; 'that must be in revenge, because Sir Patrick Stewart took the lady from him.'--'Partly so, perhaps,' replied Ewan; 'but I am rather jealous that our captain's greatest fault to Sir Patrick Stewart is, that he, like his brother, Sir Walter Stewart, was born before him. Knowest thou not, that our captain is no other than Murdoch Stewart, the third son of old Sir Allan of Stradawn?' I was no sooner made aware of this, than--"

The youth would have proceeded, but the loud murmur of astonishment and horror that arose every where throughout the hall, so drowned his voice, that he was compelled to stop.

"Holy Saint Michael, what a perfect villain thou art!" exclaimed the old Lord of Curgarf, darting a look of indignant detestation at Murdoch Stewart.

"Thou wouldst not condemn a stranger unheard," said Murdoch, calmly.

"Nay," replied the Lord of Curgarf, "thou shalt have full justice. We shall hear thee anon. But let this youth finish his narrative, which would seem to be pregnant with strange and horrible things."