Chapter XI: Under the Oak

Yes, so it was! The pursued refugee, for whose sake Windlestrae lay a ruin, for whose sake its owner and his son were sheltered with him in the hidden stronghold of the Seven Men of Glenmoriston, might be no better able to make amends for such calamities, nor defend himself and them from further mischiefs. But under the veil of Lord Geoffry Armitage, Charles Stewart, the adored Prince of Scotland, had seen fit to hide himself in Windlestrae; and if it was the man that Andrew and his father had learned to love, it was also their sovereign whom they had entertained unawares.

"Forgive me, Boyd," cried the Pretender, raising Gilbert tenderly and insisting that, because of his extreme faintness, he should recline on a pallet already improvised; "forgive me! It was not that I feared to trust you or Andrew with your king's identity. I deferred doing so from an idle freak, when we met, until I was ashamed--and then came the hope of better days, when I might enjoy your surprise at recognizing me in gayer surroundings. Alas, alas! I looked not for such a meeting as this. Tell me at once, Andrew, for the love of Heaven, the worst those miscreants have done to you."

"Danforth arrived, my lord--I mean, Your Majesty," Andrew began, falteringly.

"Nay, I like the old title best. By the ring that I gave thee, call me by it," interrupted Prince Charles, smiling. He was in haste to hear the outlines of the story, for he was secretly shocked at Boyd's appearance. A refugee surgeon, who was addressed by the sympathizing group as MacCullom, was dressing the pistol-wound, with a solicitous face, and administering spirits. Extracting the ball he found was impossible.

"The escape had just been discovered. They sought to know more. Danforth was there, too. My father and I kept back what we could, until they wrung from us your being at Windlestrae and flying with the outlaw. They fettered my father--beat me--have burnt Windlestrae. We were being borne to Neith by them."

"O God!" cried Prince Charles, raising his eyes to the blue sky above, and then casting them in grief and pity on the father and son; "what misery do I bring upon men wherever I set my foot! Reward such faithful hearts, O Lord, for all the sorrow I breed among them! Hear ye that, Patrick Grant--hear ye that, John Macdonnell? If ever we again can lift hand against them, woe be to them and their children!"

"It shall--it shall! Woe be to them!" rose the hoarse reply from those standing by.

"Your Majesty, the wounded gentleman would fain speak with you," said the surgeon MacCollum. He added, in a whisper, something else, as Charles turned apologetically to Boyd's resting-place, that made the Prince exclaim, in a shocked tone, "What? No, no! It cannot be, MacCollum, it must not be."

But the other answered, "I am as astonished as you; but it is too late, Your Majesty."

Boyd was stretched out at the foot of an oak, carefully tended. "What is it, true friend?" asked Charles, bending over him and clasping his sinewy hand. "God do more to me for ill than he hath, if I do not revenge you upon those who have so wronged you for my sake! Are you in great pain?"

"Not so great but that I would fain hear of your adventures after you left my poor house," began Boyd, gasping, despite his fortitude. "Alas! my house had done them no wrong! Why should they destroy it with its Master?"

"With its Master?" remonstrated Charles; "nay, Boyd, you are over-fearful. Chisholm and I--see, there he is--oh, we found the path that he well knew how to trace, and were here hours ago. A number of brave men, believing, from Rab Kaims' tale, that mischief was in the air, were dashing away toward the Neith Road to fall upon Danforth when he should set out for the town. They were your rescuers, and had gone when Chisholm and I got hither."

"God be blessed for them!" replied Boyd, feebly. "I thank Him that I, too, have been counted worthy to suffer for my king! What a joy, what an honor forever, in my family, unto Andrew's children's children, shall this week remain!" The thought seemed to possess him wholly.

"And what keen remorse and regret to me, noble Master of Windlestrae!" exclaimed Charles. He drew Andrew closer as they knelt there together. The lad had grown more alarmed than ever at his father's appearance, but was far from suspecting that MacCollum's whisper pronounced the wound mortal, and Gilbert's life a question of brief time. The infuriated trooper had not thrown away his shot.

"Nay, my lord--be it not so," replied Boyd, "not so! What hath chanced is of God and for my sovereign. Aha!" added he with a scornful curl of his lips, now white and compressed in pain, "what will my Windlestrae neighbors say when they learn it? Andrew, boy, the honor of my house, of thy house is won for thee, when Scotland shall see peace beneath her rightful king. Would I might not die here! If I could but live to welcome such a day, too! Not so is it set for me!"

"Father, father!" ejaculated Andrew, dropping his royal protector's hand as the bitter truth broke upon him. "Why speak you thus? Do you suffer so? Oh, tell me not, tell me not that he is--is dying! Look at him, gentlemen, look at him!"

"My poor fellow," responded MacCollum, gently, as he felt the patient's pulse--for Boyd had closed his eyes an instant, from agony and exhaustion--"I should wrong you by feigning. I fear that he cannot hold out long."

Boyd looked up again. A great change had suddenly come over his face. Andrew was terrified at it. His father not only was intensely pale and weak, but the lines of age had somehow stolen into his rugged countenance, the shadows of eld into his sunken eyes.

"My lord," he said to the Pretender, after a long look at Andrew, "I am dying. I pass away, here, in this green-wood, stretched at your feet, not making obeisance before you when you shall be seated on the throne of your fathers. Will you grant me a last request? By one promise you can repay all this debt which, while it lies lightly, ay, joyfully, on my heart, you say is a burden to yours."

"Oh, Boyd, Boyd--anything--everything!" exclaimed Charles, the tears filling his blue eyes.

"Unto you, then, do I commit my son. Defend him, care for him, so far as Heaven shall permit. He is as a wild partridge upon the mountains now; as art thou. But I see it, I feel it, the God of Strength shall lead thee and him hence; yea, shall deliver thee in safety from this land, and grant to thee long life and a death upon a peaceful pillow. Henceforth, remember my lad. Swear to me that thou wilt, so far as shall be in thy power, be his guardian, his protector forevermore."

"I swear it," replied Prince Charles, solemnly, taking the sobbing Andrew's hand again in his own. "I call these about us to my witness. Whither I go, shall he go; and where I lodge, shall he lodge."

"You mark?" asked Boyd, with painful eagerness, turning his eyes to those on the right and left of his couch. "So may it be! Andrew, to thy king do I commit thee. Live thou for him--die thou for him as do I, if need be. Lean over--kiss my forehead. Ah, thy face looks like thy mother's, boy, when I wedded her under the green holms at Dunmorar. So!--my lord, with this Mouse's Nest we defy Danforth----Quick, Mistress Janet, bring the candles!--we must not lose a moment! It is life and death! Captain Jermain, Captain Jermain, you can _not_ lodge in the Purple Chamber!"----And then, with a few more muttered incoherencies in his delirium, the heroic soul of the Master of Windlestrae fled.

One by one the circle drew back or slipped away, leaving only the Prince and Andrew gazing through their tears on the face upturned to the waving oak. Presently Surgeon MacCollum came and gently laid a cloak over the still form. The sobbing Andrew was drawn away. But Charles remained on his knees, praying inaudibly, beside the dead Master's body.