Chapter V: Part 5

Sir Walter Stewart, for his part, had no sooner fairly set his foot on his own threshold, than a thousand recollections connected with the tower of Drummin, and its neighbouring scenery, crowded upon his mind. This return to the abode of his early days, recalled the remembrance of his young affections, and the contrast which thus arose, in spite of him, between those which he felt persuaded were bestowed on a creature who was innocent, natural, and true, and those which the sacrament of the holy church now demanded of him, as due to her whom he had so much reason to fear might turn out to be artful, artificial, and false, awakened certain unpleasant qualms within him, that he had failed to make that reparation to Alice Asher, which he once had it in his power to have made; and that now, by some strange witchery and infatuation, he had been led to shut the door against that, and his own peace of mind, by one rash and irrevocable act. A direful dread now fell upon him, that he was about to be severely punished for his neglect of one, whose only sin might, with more justice, have been said to have been his--as it was incurred for him, and whose devotion to him, and whose whole conduct since her first and only error, had so well merited a different treatment at his hands. He could not trust his mind to think how much happier he might have now been with her. Nor did the image of his gallant Charley fail to haunt his imagination, and to fill him with self-reproaches. Now it was that his soul winced under the wholesome, though sharp stings of conscience, and the fair visions of ambition, which had so continually flitted through his brain, lost their sunshine, and disappeared for a time, amid the dull and damp mists of self-dissatisfaction that settled down upon it. He felt that though the trial must necessarily be a painful one, it might probably be productive of a certain degree of after-relief to him, if he could procure an interview with Alice Asher. A vow existed between them--a vow that she had extracted from him, immediately previous to the birth of Charley Stewart, that they should never again meet, except in the event of an approach to her on the part of Sir Walter, for the purpose of offering her his hand in marriage. That, alas, was a reason which he could not urge now! But, on the ground of having to speak to her on the subject of her son, he sent for the good priest who was her confessor, and procured from him a dispensation from their mutual vow, so far as to admit of one short meeting between them. It took place; and, as you may easily imagine, their conference was of the tenderest, though purest description. It had more in it of tears than of smiles. Reproaches were there, it is true; but they came not from the meek, penitent, and forgiving Alice Asher; they were numerously and largely heaped by Sir Walter Stewart on his own devoted head. The parting was a scene which I could not venture to describe; and far less could I convey to you the slightest notion of that accumulation of anguish which choked up the heart of Sir Walter, after having had this opportunity of more truly and perfectly knowing the full value of that gentle and devoted spirit, the innocent confidence of whose youth he had so abused, and whom he had so recklessly excluded from his bosom, in order to take home thither that cold and selfish heart which now legally possessed it. Full of such agonizing thoughts as these, he had as yet got but a short way on his return from the dwelling of Alice, when his musing walk was suddenly broken in upon by Cochran, who came unexpectedly out upon him from a side-path that emerged from the wood, into that along which he was then going.

"That cottage, so prettily perched up yonder among the wood, on the brow of the hill you have this moment descended, belongs doubtless to some favourite forester of thine, Sir Walter," said Cochran; "marry, the fellow is lodged in a palace, compared to those dens, scarcely fit for swine, in which the rude and savage inhabitants of this northern wilderness are seen to burrow themselves, like urchins, and which are hardly to be distinguished from the sterile and heath-covered soil on which they stand."

"It is a neat cottage," replied Sir Walter hastily; and, immediately changing the subject, he went on talking rapidly, and at random, until he got rid of Cochran, on their arrival at Drummin; and, from the very dread of all farther impertinent questioning, he threw himself upon a horse, and rode away up the valley, under the pretence of some urgent business, and with the vain hope of shaking off his griefs.

"Now," said Cochran, as he freely entered the Lady Stradawn's private apartment; "Now, I can tell thee, that my suspicions are this very day verified. Now thou mayst have no grudge that thou hast at last restored to me some of that love, which was mine of right, and which should have always been mine, had not the scrannel pipe of this Sir Walter so unfairly whistled it from me."

"What wouldst thou insinuate?" demanded the lady, in some degree of surprise.

"I would only delicately hint, that thy husband Sir Walter is more in tune with another, than with thee," replied Cochran, with a coarse laugh. "I have told thee so before, and now I have proof of the truth of what I told thee."

"Proof, saidst thou?" cried the lady keenly. "What proof, I pray thee?"

"Did I not tell thee I had found him out?" said Cochran. "Did I not tell thee that he visits the cottage that stands on the brow of the wooded hill yonder? I have this day proved that I was right, for I dogged his steps thither, saw him enter it, and watched him patiently, for two good hours, till he again issued forth. Nay, I know more. I know that she who inhabits it is an ancient sweetheart of his; but though an ancient lover, she is young,--aye! and moreover she is beautiful; for as I hovered about the place some two or three days ago, I chanced to get such a glimpse of her, as satisfied me of all that."

"Base villain!" cried the lady, in a rage; "I will be revenged of him, and of her too.--But," added she, again assuming the command of her feelings, "I shall take mine own time."

"Thou canst not be too speedy with thy vengeance as regards thy husband, if thou wouldst have me to help thee," said Cochran, with a vulgar leer--"for, hark ye!--a secret in thine ear--I must go to-morrow--my time hath been long enough uselessly wasted here,--thanks to thine obduracy; and then this building is so far advanced towards completion, as hardly longer to require my master eye, so that little apology now remains for me for longer stay. Nor do I now will it much, seeing that it is of none effect; so I shall e'en hasten back to the court, to look after this earldom of Mar, which the King hath been talking of bestowing upon me, as a successor, much more worthy of it, than his traitorous brother who held it. 'Tis well for me to be on the spot; yet couldst thou but think of giving me back that love, of which this false Sir Walter so wickedly robbed me, I might still contrive to stay awhile to help thee to thy revenge."

"My vengeance must be deeply satiated ere any such passion as love can find room in this heart of mine," said the lady, with eyes that darted lightnings. "At this moment it is overcharged with hate, which nothing can diminish till it is poured out in one vast flood of vengeance on those who have produced it. Go then, my good lord, for to that title thy fortune doth now most securely lead; go--and push it boldly on to the pinnacle of that glory to which it so clearly points. When we meet again, we may have better will, as well as better leisure, to unfold our mutual thoughts and wishes. Meanwhile, believe that mine are ever for thy welfare, and for that honourable advancement to thee, to which the elegance of thy person, as well as thy superiority in mind and manners, doth so well and amply entitle thee."

"Thanks, lady! thy discernment is great and penetrating!" cried Cochran, whose vanity was so blown up by her extravagant praises of him, that, ere she wist, he, by way of an act of gallantry, and in a manner quite suited to the vulgarity of his character, threw his great coarse arms around her delicate neck, and snatched a rude embrace. But though it brought the colour indignantly into her face, she had too much cunning to resent it.

When Sir Walter Stewart returned home that evening, Cochran told him that he could be his guest no longer, seeing that he had received certain communications from his Majesty, which demanded his immediate departure from Drummin for the court. Sir Walter was by no means much afflicted at this intelligence. He exerted himself, however, to do Cochran all manner of hospitality, and to shew him every kindness, and every mark of respect in his power, ere he went. He arose early next morning, therefore, to perform the last duties of a host to a parting guest, and, after Cochran and his escort were mounted, he walked by the side of the architect's horse, talking with him by way of civil convoy, for more than a mile of the road, as in those days it was the usual custom of all hosts to do. As they were going up a little hill above Drummin, called the Calton, they espied a hawk perched upon the very top of a tall tree. Sir Walter had a birding piece in his hand, with which he had been for some time wont to practise.

"There is a fine fair shot for thee to try thy new-fangled weapon against, Sir Walter," said Cochran, pointing to the hawk; "I wager thee five gold pieces that thou canst not bring him down."

"The distance is great," said Sir Walter, pointing his piece at the bird; "but I accept your wager."

"He is safe," said Cochran.

"No!" cried Sir Walter exultingly, after discharging his piece, the bullet from which brought the bird fluttering to the ground. "He's gone, an' he were a king!"

"A good shot, truly!" said Cochran, treasuring up Sir Walter's careless expression for his own future use and purpose. "Marry, but that is a dangerous piece of thine, Sir Knight. Take good care how you handle it, else may it perchance do thee a mischief. But I will keep thee no longer trudging thus by my horse's side; so again I bid thee commend me to thy lady." And so saying, he rode away more abruptly than might have very well beseemed any man of better breeding.

Cochran finished his journey to Stirling, where the King then was, and immediately presented himself at court. He was gratified by the reception he met with from James, who manifested no little joy at the return of his creature. But all mankind are misers, when taking account of the favours of the great, on whom they depend. Unmindful of the large ones they receive themselves, they look only with envious eyes on those, however small, that may be bestowed upon others. Thus it was with the unrighteous Haman, and thus it was with Cochran; for, all the kindness which the King showed to him, in this his first interview, became as nothing, when weighed against the eagerness which his Majesty manifested in his inquiries after Sir Walter Stewart. These were as gall and verjuice to Cochran. In vain did he try to make trifling and oblique insinuations against the Knight of Stradawn, his royal master was in no humour to listen to them at the time, and they were each of them in succession lost to his ear, in the eagerness with which he put his next question. James put question after question as to all the particulars of his occupation at Drummin, as well as regarding the progress of the work, and it was only when he had come down to the day of his departure, that the insidious favourite contrived to catch the royal attention, by relating the story of the birding-piece.

"Sir Walter Stewart is undoubtedly a pretty gentleman, and of very various accomplishment," said Cochran, "Aye, and few know his qualifications better than he does himself."

"He knows not his own accomplishments better than we do," replied the King, in rather a dissatisfied tone.

"Pardon me," replied Cochran, obsequiously, "I never ventured to say that he was vain of them. But your Majesty's perception and judgment are unrivalled. Yet much as you have seen and observed of Sir Walter Stewart, I may venture to question, whether you have chanced to witness aught of his great skill and marvellous accuracy of eye in shooting with a birding-piece?"

"A birding-piece!" exclaimed the King, "we knew not that he ever used any such new-fashioned tool."

"He hath not used it till of late," said Cochran; "but it would seem that he hath lost no time in perfecting himself in the use of it, now that he hath taken it in hand. Your Majesty would be surprised to behold how expertly he can employ it. The last shot I saw him make with it was just as we were about to part, and it astonished me and all those who were in my company."

"We shall ourselves see him use this strange weapon, the very first visit he may make to court," said the King. "But what of this famous shot of his?"

"So please your Majesty, a sparrow-hawk sat on the very top of a straight upright pine tree, of immense height. He was perched there so proudly and confidently in his lofty position, and, as he thought, so safely too, that he looked down as carelessly on our cavalcade below as if he had been the weather-cock on the needle point of some lofty church-spire.--'There's a shot for you, Sir Walter,' said I, and I straightway offered to gage five gold unicorns that he could do nought against it.--'I take thy wager,' said he; and with that he raised his piece, and without saying a word more, he presented it at the over-confident bird, and, to the astonishment of all present, down it came tumbling.--'He's gone!' cried he."

"Aye, and your gold was gone too," interrupted James, laughing heartily.

"Nay, your Majesty, I minded not my gold," replied the wily Cochran; "and had but these words of his been all the speech he uttered, I had been well contented to have lost a larger wager."

"What said he else?" demanded James.

"So please your most gracious Majesty, I had rather leave the rest unsaid," replied Cochran, with great affectation of discretion.

"Nay, but we would hear it all from thee," cried the King, impatiently.

"If your most gracious Majesty commands, your faithful servant must obey," replied Cochran. "Yet true as mine ears are wont to be to their office, I could hardly believe that I heard the words which they then conveyed to me."

"We would have thee keep us no longer in suspense," cried the King. "What words did Sir Walter Stewart utter?"

"As the bird fell," replied Cochran, with a gravity and a seriousness of aspect that would have seemed to imply a heavy charge against the Knight of Stradawn, "As the bird fell, Sir Walter, as I have already signified to your Majesty, exclaimed, 'He's gone!' and then turning aside, he added, in a somewhat lower voice, 'He's gone!--Would he were the King!' So, and please your Majesty, did mine ears report his words."

"Ha!" exclaimed James, with an air of great dissatisfaction, "Ar't sure that he so spake? From all that thou hast seen, as well as heard at Drummin, it would seem to us that both thine eyes and thine ears have been wonderfully sharp to pick up evil against Sir Walter Stewart. Was it likely that he should have thus wantonly spouted forth foul treason in the ears of so many witnesses, some of whom it would appear were sufficiently willing to report to us whatever might be turned to his prejudice?--Go to, sir! I like not this! Those accurate ears of thine must have failed of their honest duty for once. Or if, for some object of thine own, thou hadst wilfully misinterpreted that which they did truly hear, we can tell thee that thou hast not hit thy mark with the same skill or success that Sir Walter Stewart did his. But we shall judge of him in person, and that right speedily, for already hath he received our royal command, borne to him by an especial messenger, to present himself at court by a certain day, in order to be present at the grand tournament which it is our royal will to hold, that we may for once essay to bring our sullen and iron-sinewed nobles around us."

"I humbly crave your Majesty's most gracious pardon," said Cochran, much abashed, and with a cringing reverence. "Your Majesty's matchless wisdom hath put this matter into so clear a light, that I begin to believe that my doubts--I mean the strong doubts I entertained of it at the time--were correct, and that the words must have some how or other come to mine ear awry. I appeal to all the Saints, and to the blessed Virgin to boot, that I would rather hide than publish aught against any one so much in your Majesty's favour as Sir Walter Stewart would seem to be, especially one for whom I have, as I may say, so high a respect, and regard, and admiration."

"We are satisfied," replied the King. "'Tis clear, that in this instance thine ears have deceived thee. None but one demented could have so spoken in such hearing; and Sir Walter Stewart is no madman. But we would talk no more of this. We would now confer with thee as to those plans at which we last looked ere thou wentest.----"

"I will go seek them straightway, your most gracious Majesty," replied Cochran, and making more than ordinarily low and fawning obeisances, he gladly retired to breathe more freely, and to recover from the alarm of that danger which his very unwonted imprudence had brought upon him, and which had so nearly hurled him into the very pit which he had digged for another.

But we must now return to Drummin.----Though the----

AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACE.

Grant.--Who, in the name of wonder, can that be, who knocks so loudly at the outer door, in this lone place, at such an hour?

Serjeant.--Some belated drover, I'll warrant. What an awful night the poor man has had to travel in!

Clifford.--If there be, as philosophers say, no happiness equal to that of being relieved from misery, I think that he who knocks, whoever he may be, is to be envied for the sudden transition he is about to make from all the horrors of night, rain, tempest, and bogs, and swollen burns, to the comforts of this room, such as they are, and especially to this glorious fire.

Author.--What a time they are losing in letting him in!

Serjeant.--I suspect they will have enough ado to get the door opened, without being knocked down by the blast.

Author.--They have let him in at last. Whoever he may be, we must make room for the poor fellow at our fireside.

Grant.--Certainly; I'll go and bring him in here: nay, I see I need not, for here he comes.

Clifford.--What a figure the poor man is! He looks like a newly landed river-god, or like Behemoth himself, come forth from the mighty deeps.

Serjeant.--Whoever he may be, his own father could not know him, were he to see him at this moment, with his whole clothes so bedraggled, and that face of his so clatched up with moss-dirt, that not a feature of it can be seen.

Clifford.--He is like a moving peat-bog, I declare.

Author.--Bless me, how the poor wretch shivers!

Serjeant.--He shakes as if he had an ague-fit.

Clifford.--'Tis absolutely like an earthquake shaking the globe.--Here, sir; pray swallow some of this warm punch--it will bring life into you.

Stranger--(in a perfect palsy of cold.)--Och! it's most reveeving indeed, though the taste of it is just altogether poisoned with the moss that's in my mouth.

Clifford--(with astonishment.)--Mr. Macpherson!

Author.--Is it possible?

Grant.--Where, in the name of all goodness, can you have dropped from, my worthy sir?

Clifford.--Though we know not where he has dropped from, we may see plainly enough, from the foul streams that drop from him, that he has dropped himself, head over heels, into some black peat-hag. Here--get towels, that we may rub the dirt out of his eyes.

Dominie.--Ech, sirs! give me another drop of yon comfortable stuff, and let me see a bit glisk of the fire.--Aye.--Hech me! I'm much the better of that.

Clifford.--Sit down here, sir. Sit down in this chair close to the fire; but first take off that streaming coat of thine. It reminds me of some of those vast black Highland mosses, the very drainings of which give origin to some dozen of rivers. Now, take another pull at this hot stuff, and then tell us your adventures if you can.

Dominie.--Oh, dear me, that is good! Why, gentlemen, my story is short, though my way has been long and weary enough. The fack is, that when I got to my brother Ewan's house, I found that he was away to the low country to make some bargain about the buying of a stock of iron, and that he was not to be home again for a fortnight. You may believe I was much disappointed at this intelligence, after the long tramp I had all the way from Caithness, to come and see him. But it would appear, that my letter to him must have somehow miscarried. Be that as it may, I had no sooner been satisfied that I had no chance of seeing Ewan for a time, than my heart began to yearn after those with whom I had so lately and so sorrowfully parted. So, thinks I to myself, I'll just take my foot in my hand, and after the gentlemen. I'll catch them at Inchrory. If the night had been good and clear, I should have been here good two hours ago. But on came the tempest; and the wind, and the rain, and the darkness together, so bamboozled and dumbfounded me, that, as I was fighting along with might and main, I fell souse over head and ears into a deep peat-pot,

Instabilis tellus, innabilis unda,

out of which it is the mercy of Providence that I was at length able to swatter, after dooking and diving in it like a wild-duck for the better part of a quarter of an hour, till I was nearly drowned in clean mud.

Clifford.--Clean mud, Mr. Macpherson! The mud you have been in would seem to me to have been anything but clean.

Dominie.--True, Mr. Clifford; but I used a phrase of our vernacular, meaning that there was nothing else there but mud--a truth I can speak to by having gone faithfully throughout every corner of the big hole into which I fell without finding any.--Clean, truly!--such a fearsome sight I am!--I declare I am worse than Serjeant John Smith must have been, when he fell into the moss-hole about the time of the battle of Culloden.--Would you like to hear that story, gentlemen?

Clifford.--Much, Mr. Macpherson, but not now, for several reasons. First, we must contrive to get you into dry clothes of some sort, to prevent your dying of cold or fever; secondly, you must have something to eat before you are permitted to talk; and thirdly, there is another Serjeant, one Serjeant Archy Stewart, who is at this moment on duty, and who was in the middle of a long story when your appearance interrupted him. We must have that out first; but, in my capacity of secretary, I shall take care to book you for producing your Serjeant John Smith, when his time comes in the roster.

Dominie.--Eh, I'm sorry that I should have stopped the flow of my friend Serjeant Archy's narration.

Clifford.--How could it have been otherwise, my good man? Why, what flow could have possibly stood against such a flow as that which now streams from your wet garments, Mr. Macpherson? You have already made a lake in the room.

Dominie.--Keep me, so I have!

Serjeant.--Here lassie! Bring cloths and swab up the floor.

Clifford.--You had better not sit longer in that condition, Mr. Macpherson; come away with me up to the garret, where we are to sleep, and then I shall go and see what I can prevail on Mrs. Shaw to do for you, to rig you out.

There was a waggish twinkle in Clifford's eye, as he left the room with Mr. Macpherson. They were not long gone, and when they did return, our young friend appeared leading in the Dominie, clad in a short-gown, and a blue flannel petticoat, both belonging to our hostess. The Scottish garment called the short-gown, is a sort of loose jacket, covering one half the person only, and when tied tight round the waist, it is admirably calculated to show off the mould of a handsome woman to the best advantage. On the present occasion, it was with some difficulty confined round the bulky Dominie, by a red cotton handkerchief, so as fully to display his shape; and as the petticoat reached but a little way below his knees, it exhibited the full proportions of his Herculean legs, enlarged as they were by a pair of the thickest grey worsted hose, and brogues of enormous size, accidentally left there by a Highland drover. Over his head was placed one of Mrs. Shaw's tartan shawls, which Clifford had recommended to be tied under his chin, as a precaution against toothache, to which he declared himself to be frequently a martyr. Such a woman, as the Dominie appeared to make, is never to be seen on the face of this earth, except in some exaggerated specimen of those marine, or rather amphibious animals, to be found on the sea-coasts of Britain, and which are called bathing women. We were all so much taken by surprise with his appearance, that to control our laughter was a matter of utter impossibility.

Clifford.--Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the great Princess Rustifusti.

Dominie--(striding in like a Grenadier.)--Truly, gentlemen, I am ashamed to appear among you in this unbecoming disguise. But my worthy and kind friend Mr. Clifford is so careful of me--mercy on me, what would my boys say if they beheld me?

Grant.--They would be astonished, no doubt, Mr. Macpherson. But come, sit down--here is something comfortable for you to eat. I am sure you must require food by this time.

Dominie.--I must honestly confess to you that I am downright ravenous.

Clifford.--Nay, now, do not disgrace the delicate feminine character which you are at present supporting, by eating like a masculine creature.

Dominie.--Masculine, feminine, or neuter, I am so famished, that I must eat liker, I fear, unto a male wolf, than a delicate leddy, such as fortune has this night forced me to represent.

Clifford.--Nay, then, if that be your way, I must cease to be your chaperon. So do you take charge of your own delicate self, and go on, if you must do so, to disgrace the lovely sex to which you now belong, by your immoderate eating and drinking, whilst I call upon Serjeant Archy Stewart to proceed with his narrative.

THE LEGEND OF CHARLEY STEWART TÀILLEAR-CRUBACH CONTINUED.

Although the jealous dreamings of King James had led him rather to desire the absence of Sir Walter Stewart from his court, whilst the Knight was yet a bachelor, he was no sooner fairly married, than all such fancies were dissipated from the royal mind. The renewed enjoyment in Sir Walter's society, which the monarch had experienced, previous to the departure of the newly married pair for Stradawn, only served to render the after absence of his favourite the more insufferable, and he soon began to weary for the return of so accomplished a companion. Sir Walter had sufficient opportunity of being rendered sensible of the satisfactory alteration in the King's manner towards him, before he left the court; but, notwithstanding all this, he was in no small degree surprised, as well as delighted, with the arrival of the special messenger, who was the bearer of the royal command for him, to attend his Majesty at the tournament, which reached him the very day after Cochran had left him. Sir Walter being one of the best equestrians of his time, he was naturally extremely fond of horses. His great passion was to possess himself of the most beautiful steeds that could possibly be procured, and he spared neither pains nor expense in the gratification of this knight-like fancy. Some time before the period we are now speaking of, he chanced to have acquired some piebald horses, which were of a white colour, marked in a very extraordinary manner with large patches of a sort of bluish tinge. This circumstance led him to indulge the whim of collecting more of the same description, and having, from time to time, procured individual animals, from all quarters, and a considerable addition to their numbers having recently arrived, he now at length found himself enabled to mount a large troop of his attendants on creatures of a similar description, and of the most exquisite symmetry of form. Prepared as he thus happened to be, the news of the tournament gave him particular gratification. His heart exulted, and his mind was all agog, at the prospect of such an opportunity of making so marvellous a display, before a more numerous, as well as more experienced, collection of eyes, than his own glens could afford him. Accordingly, he began to busy himself, without loss of time, in making those arrangements, which were necessary to enable him to appear with that degree of splendour, which he always wished to exhibit on such occasions. Mr. Jonathan Junkins, and all the tailors for many miles round, were put in requisition to make rich housings, and footmantles of scarlet cloth for the saddles, and everything else was got up in a proportionable style of splendour. But let us not imagine that this, his so minute attention to such fopperies, should lower Sir Walter Stewart in our opinion, for we must remember, that all such trifles, being integral parts of chivalry, assumed the greatest importance in the eyes of every knight. For many reasons, Sir Walter Stewart felt no great desire to take his wife with him to court, but he could find no good plea for leaving her behind. Amongst other preparations, therefore, the lady's horse litter required to be new furbished up, seeing that she was now in a condition that made riding somewhat dangerous; but so great was the expedition used by all hands, that by the day previous to that fixed for departure, all the horses were duly trained, and all their equipments, as well as those for the men-at-arms, and all other things necessary for his expedition, were in the highest order.

Sir Walter Stewart retired to rest that night with the intention of being up with the earliest dawn, that he might himself see that nothing had been forgotten. Upon reaching his lady's apartment, he found no one with her but her page, English Tomkins, as he was familiarly called. This was a boy of great beauty of countenance, and of an intelligence of eye very superior to that which his years might have promised. He had followed the lady from England, and he was so strongly attached to his mistress, that, if he was at all deep in her confidence, he had prudence enough to keep all that he knew, strictly secret from every one with whom his situation brought him into contact. To all, except to her, he was reserved and distant, to an extent much beyond that, which might have been looked for from the natural carelessness and ingenuousness of youth, and even the good-humoured freedom which Sir Walter used with him, was never successful in breaking through the parchment case in which he seemed to wrap himself up. He was a most impenetrable youth, and no long time elapsed after the Knight's marriage, before Sir Walter began to look upon the boy with a certain jealousy, and dislike, which he could neither account for nor overcome.

"Do it thine own way," said the lady to him with so great earnestness in her communication with him, that she perceived not Sir Walter's entrance. "Do it thine own way, I tell thee, boy; but see that it be done, and that surely, and secretly too--for I could have no will to leave Drummin, and no heart to enjoy the pleasures of the Court, unless I knew that this was done ere I went."

"What may this be, upon which so much of thy happiness depends?" demanded Sir Walter Stewart, advancing.

"Holy Virgin, what a start you gave me!" cried the lady; "such puerile tricks are hardly worthy of thee."

"What tricks?" asked the Knight, with utter simplicity.

"Such boyish tricks, I tell thee," said the lady, smoothing her angry countenance, and throwing over it a playful smile, and at the same time gently tapping his cheek, as if in the most perfect good humour. "I mean such boyish tricks as that which thou hast now used, by stealing thus to my chamber, and secreting thyself, that thou mightest startle me for thine idle amusement."

"Credit me, I am no such idle boy as thou wouldst suppose," said Sir Walter, gravely; "I have been guilty of no such silly conduct. I came, as I am ever wont to do, without either the intent or the thought of surprising thee. Nay, I knew not that I had done so, until thou didst utter that scream of surprise."

"Well, well, I believe thee," said the lady; "and if thou hadst stolen upon my privacy, thou couldst have gained nothing that would have amounted to treason, seeing that I was but cautioning Tomkins here, as to how he should execute a small deed of charity for me, ere we go to-morrow, which I could ill brook the neglect of. Now, boy, thou may'st go," continued the lady; "And see that thou doest my bidding to the very letter."

"Your commands shall be strictly obeyed, lady," said the boy, bowing as he retired.

The apartment in which the Knight and his lady slept had a window in it which looked down the vale, formed by the combined waters of the Aven and the Livat. A faint but glowing red light shot through this window towards morning, and falling upon Sir Walter Stewart's eyes, gradually unsealed their lids from the deep sleep in which they were closed. He started up at this appearance of approaching sunrise--hurried on his clothes, and hastened down stairs to the court-yard. There he found the men-at-arms, who had the watch, all at their posts; but none of the grooms, or the others whom he had expected to have found already busied with their preparations, were as yet astir. Having expressed his surprise at their laziness, he learned from those on guard, that it yet wanted two good hours of day. Being unwilling to retire again to his chamber, he walked forth beyond the walls, to the terrace on which the castle stands; and he had no sooner got there, than the cause of this his premature disturbance was made sufficiently manifest to him, for his eyes were immediately caught, and his attention fearfully arrested, by a column of fire that shot up from the cottage of Alice Asher, and inflamed the very clouds above.

Giving one loud shout of alarm to the people within the castle walls, he staid not for them, but rushed franticly down the green slope, and crossing a rustic foot-bridge that spanned the river Livat, immediately under the fortalice, he flew towards the wooded hill, too accurately guided through the obscurity of the night, by the conflagration, the light from which blazed in his eyes. But whilst it thus served to direct him towards its object, it had also the effect of dazzling his vision; so that, in the furious precipitation of his speed, he ran against some living being that was coming hurriedly in the opposite direction. Whatever it might be, his force was so tremendous, that he drove it aside from the path, like a ball from a bat, and then rolling forwards on the ground himself, and over and over, he lay for some moments senseless upon the grass. But, having soon afterwards recovered himself, he sprang again to his legs, and, his whole thoughts being absorbed at the moment by his agonizing anxiety for Alice Asher's safety, he stopped not to enquire what had become of the individual who had produced his accident, but rushed on again towards the burning house, on which he still kept his eyes fixed. Long ere he gained the foot of the hill on which it stood, a momentary depression of the flame, followed by an equally sudden and very great increase of it, told him that the roof had fallen in, and that, if the inmates had not already fled for safety, they must now be beyond all reach of assistance. Yet still he paused not; but, doubling his speed, he rushed breathless up through the wood on the side of the hill, and at length arrived at the cottage.

What a sad spectacle did it now present! The walls alone were standing, like a huge grate, in which the inflammable materials of the heather-thatched roof, and the furniture, and interior wood-work, were rapidly consuming. The roses and woodbines that crept over the walls, or trailed in rude luxuriance over the porch, were now shrivelled up and scorched by the intense heat within, nay, even the shrubs and flowers that grew around, were dried up and killed by it.

"Oh, Holy Virgin Mother, she is gone! she is gone!" cried Sir Walter, giving way to a paroxysm of grief.

And now people came running together from the nearest cottages. Eagerly did he enquire of all he met for some information, regarding Alice Asher; but no one could tell him aught of her. The men from the Castle came crowding up the hill, bearing buckets of water. These were now useless. But still Sir Walter called on those who carried them to exert themselves, and, urged by his commands, they ran to and from a neighbouring pool, bearing water, and pouring it over the sinking flames, till they were finally extinguished, at least so far, that they were enabled to rake amid the red-hot embers with long poles, without danger to themselves. With what torturing anxiety did Sir Walter Stewart stand, in the hope that no human remains would be found, by which circumstance he expected to satisfy himself that Alice Asher had escaped. But, alas! they had not searched far, when they found a body, or rather a half-consumed skeleton, in so fearful a state of mutilation, that although its size left no doubt that it was that of a woman, it was quite impossible to guess at the person. Sir Walter was frantic. But still hope lingered within his bosom. Alice had a servant maid in the house. This skeleton was nearer, as he thought, to the size of the woman, than to that of the mistress. Besides, these remains were found in a part of the house which this attendant inhabited. No doubt was left that they were hers; and Sir Walter's heart expanded with the temporary relief which it experienced.

But the search went on. And now Sir Walter Stewart's heart again fluttered betwixt torturing hope and fear,--till,--oh, wretched and bitterly afflicting sight! in that part of the cottage which Alice Asher more particularly occupied, another half-consumed body was found. This was also that of a woman; and, as it corresponded accurately to the size of her about whose fate he was so unhappily interested, every spark of hope was at once extinguished within him. His brain whirled in strange and bewildering confusion. He gasped for breath, and seemed to swallow down liquid fire; all consciousness left him for a time; and he sank down on an adjacent bank in a temporary fainting fit.

I shall not attempt to describe the flood of strong and resistless feeling to which Sir Walter Stewart, resolute as he might be, was compelled to give way, when his senses fully returned to him. Those who were around him respected them in silence. The sun soon afterwards arose upon the melancholy scene; and then it was that the brave Knight's countenance was observed by all, to bear powerfully-written testimony of the deep grief that had been at work upon it. Making a strong and manly effort to subdue his affliction, he gave orders to his people to see that the remains, now so revolting to look upon, should be properly attended to; and, despatching a confidential person to the priest who had acted as father-confessor to Alice Asher, he besought him to do all that might be requisite to ensure that the last sad duties should be decently and reverentially paid, and every religious rite duly performed to her, whose life of contrition, and penitence, for a sin which he felt to have been his alone, had so fair a prospect of reconciling her to her Maker. And, having made these arrangements, he slowly and silently, and with a sorrowful, heavy, and lacerated heart, bent his steps back to Drummin.

When Sir Walter Stewart, and those who were with him, had reached the place where he had been so unaccountably thrown down, he was surprised to see a human figure lying a few yards off the footpath, with the head and shoulders crammed into a thicket. On approaching it, the dress at once informed him that it was his lady's page, English Tomkins. Having ordered some of his people to pull him forth from the bushes in which he was half hid, and to raise him up, he was discovered to be quite dead;--and his death was at once seen to have been occasioned, by his head having come against the thick and knotty trunk of an oak, which grew up from amidst the black thorns and honeysuckles, so that his skull had been dreadfully fractured, and instant extermination of life had ensued.

"Jesus have mercy on me!" cried Sir Walter, with great feeling. "I have been the innocent cause of this poor boy's death, by running against him in the dark;" and having said so, he proceeded to explain to his people the circumstances which had produced and attended the accident.

"Methinks he hardly merits to be much wailed for, Sir Knight, unless thou canst say that these strange articles can have been innocently carried by him," said one of the attendants, pulling, at the same time, from the bosom of the corpse, a small bundle of matches, and a tinder-box, with a flint and steel.--"Marry, these would seem to say, that he had been better employed had he been in his bed."

"What do I see?" cried Sir Walter Stewart, filled with horror, and greatly agitated.--"What! was it murder then?--murder of the most horrible description? Oh, holy Mother of God, can there be such villainy upon earth?"

"What shall we do with this wretched carcass?" demanded one of the people.

"Oh, most unlucky accident!" cried Sir Walter, without heeding him.--"Would that I had but caught him in life! But, alas! strong as suspicion is against him, his secret has died with him! We cannot now wrench forth the truth from him either by spring or by screw. He is gone to his account, before that Judge, at whose tribunal all secrets must appear. Yet, bear him along with you, and see that you take especial care to preserve those dumb instances of his hellish art, till I may require thee to produce them."

Sir Walter Stewart now left his people to carry the body at their own leisure, and shot away ahead of them, at a pace so furious, as to correspond with the violence of those various stormy feelings which then agitated him. On reaching Drummin, he hurried directly to his lady's chamber, where he found her putting the last finish to her travelling dress.

"Madam!" said he to her bower-woman, in a voice which sufficiently betrayed the disturbed state of his mind; "my lady will dispense with thine attendance for a brief space--we would be private."

"What strange conduct is this, Sir Walter?" demanded the lady after her attendant was gone, whilst her voice and manner might have led any one to believe, that she too was not altogether well at ease. "Why shouldst thou have thus sent Jane so rudely forth, when she hath yet so much to pack and to prepare?"

"Because I would fain have some private converse with thee, lady," said the Knight solemnly.--"Dost thou usually send forth thy page Tomkins on errands of charity so very early as several hours before sunrise?"

"No!--No!" replied the lady in a voice of hesitation. "Such are not indeed,--no, they are not his usual hours to be sent on such errands; but--but--the boy had some distance to go. And then--and--and--and then he hath so much to do ere we depart, that--that--But I wonder much that he is not returning by this time!"

"He is returning now!" said Sir Walter, looking hard and somewhat sternly at her.--"But canst thou tell me what he did with a tinder-box, flint, and steel, and matches, concealed in his bosom?"

"Flint--flint--flint and steel saidst thou?" cried the lady, considerably agitated. "How can I say aught about it? Boys are ever full of tricks, and so, I doubt not, is Tomkins. But what hath he told thee himself? Didst thou not question him?"

"As yet he hath told us nothing," replied the Knight, ambiguously.

"Then all is yet right!" cried the lady, from an energetic impulse of satisfaction, which she could not control.

"What is right?" demanded Sir Walter, sternly.

"I would say that--that--that if the boy hath confessed no evil, then 'tis most likely that no evil hath been done."

"Yea," replied Sir Walter, gravely, and with deep feeling, "but the direst evil hath been done--a deed which is hardly to be matched in cruelty--the firing of the house, and the burning to death of an innocent lady and her woman!"

"An innocent lady!" exclaimed his wife, again forgetting herself for a moment. "But thou canst not suspect this boy of having done so foul a deed?"

"Most strongly do I suspect him," replied Sir Walter.

"Nay, nay, 'tis impossible," said the lady. "What could prompt him to so horrible an act?"

"What could prompt him!" exclaimed Sir Walter, "nothing, methinks, in his own bosom; but canst thou not guess who could have prompted him?"

"Nay, nay, how could I guess?" said the lady, in great trepidation.

"Lady!" said Sir Walter, with great solemnity, after having seated her in one chair, and drawn one for himself close to her, where he sat for some moments looking steadily into her pallid and agitated countenance. "Lady! are these the charitable errands on which thou art wont to send this boy?"

"What mean ye, Sir Walter?" demanded the lady, in a state of trembling and alarm which she could not conceal. "The boy hath not basely accused me of aught."

"Sir Walter, your pardon!" said Jane, the lady's bower woman, bursting at that moment most inopportunely into the room, "Ronald would fain know what you would have done with the corpse of poor Tomkins?"

"The corpse of Tomkins!" cried the lady, starting up, and clapping her hands together, in an ecstacy of joy, which she could not hide. "Then the boy is no longer alive!"

"He was found dead, it seems, my lady," said the maid, "and his corpse hath this moment been brought in by Ronald and the rest. 'Tis fearsome to look upon him. He hath got a deadly contusion and gash on his head."

"Alas, poor boy!" cried the lady, wiping her dry eyes with her pocket handkerchief, and mustering up all the symptoms of sorrow she could command. "Who can have murdered him? I shall never again meet with so faithful a page!"

"Faithful, indeed, madam," said Sir Walter, after showing the maid again out of the room, "faithful, indeed, readily to execute those most wicked and murderous orders with which thou didst charge him."

"Nay, nay, this is too much, Sir Walter," replied the lady, now gaining full boldness and command of herself, from having been thus unexpectedly certified that her page was dead, and that he could now tell no tales; "how canst thou dare to insinuate any thing against me?"

"Madam," said Sir Walter, in a hollow tone, and with considerable agitation of manner, "would it were so that thou couldst with truth speak thus boldly. But, alas! the words I heard thee utter last night to the page--the horrible catastrophe of this morning--the place where it pleased Providence that he should meet with his accidental death--the direction in which he was running when he received it, and the implements of destruction which were found in his bosom, can leave no rational doubt in my mind as to the person who conceived and directed this most cruel tragedy; and though evidence may be yet lacking to bring the crime fully home to thee, yet, convinced and satisfied as I am of the justice of this charge against thee, I can no longer suffer the head of so foul a murderess to rest upon this bosom. I leave thee to the stings of thine own conscience, and to that repentance which they may produce, believing that God, in his own good time, will make the truth appear, so that thou mayst be made to expiate thy guilt," and so saying, Sir Walter Stewart left the apartment.

"Leave me to my conscience!" cried the lady, with a laugh of derision, after the door was closed, "my conscience will sit easy enough within me, I trow, since my good fortune hath thus got me so innocently rid of mine instrument, after he had so well worked my will."

Sir Walter's heart was torn by a thousand afflictions. He felt that he would be better any where else than at Drummin. Having now no reliance in the fidelity of his wife, he resolved to leave her behind him, and having hastily packed up the important charters of his lands, and some other valuables, he added them to his other baggage. The time now left was just sufficient to enable him to obey the King's command, to present himself before him on a certain day. His people were all waiting in readiness in the court-yard. Without more thought he flung himself into the saddle, with a bleeding heart. He was distracted by his feelings, but giving the word "forward!" he dashed through the gateway at a furious pace, and his troop of men-at-arms and attendants went thundering after him.

Sir Walter Stewart was received in the kindest manner by both the King and Queen. He was earnestly asked, especially by James, why he had not brought his lady with him. As he could not tell the whole truth, without making a deadly accusation against her, which he had no means of proving, he was compelled to say that he had left her somewhat indisposed, an answer that produced some good humoured raillery from James, delivered in his wonted familiar manner, and left him, for the time at least, sufficiently well satisfied.

The tournament took place in that beautiful tilting-ground, in the rocky valley, close under the south-eastern side of the crag upon which Stirling Castle stands, and which is still pointed out by the citizens of the ancient town, as the place which was so used in those old times. Though few or none of the discontented nobles appeared, it was yet a very glorious spectacle. The singularity and grandeur of Sir Walter Stewart's retinue, and their whole appearance, mounted as they were upon the piebald horses, so richly caparisoned, presented by far the finest feature of the royal procession, and swallowed up every other theme of conversation. He was now perhaps the only one to whom it gave but little pleasure, heavy as his heart then was.

"We would know from our Queen, who, in her mind, was the prettiest gentleman that appeared at the show to-day," said the King, after all was over, and that he was in private with her.