Chapter X: Part 10

"After having satisfied my craving appetite, in which example I had a worthy imitator in the person of my servant, rest was the next thing of which both of us stood in need. My generous host then led me to an inner apartment in the cave, which seemed at once to be the treasury and the magazine. There two sackfuls of heather were, by his orders, brought in and put on end, with the flower uppermost. Then a rope was fastened about the whole to keep it together, and on the top of each was placed a double blanket. On this simple contrivance, which formed an exquisitely soft and delicious couch, we laid ourselves down.

"I had some bank-notes about me, and above twenty guineas in gold, besides a very handsome gold watch, and other trinkets of no inconsiderable value; but, as I had given them up for lost, I made no attempt to secrete any of them. My host, apparently divining my suspicions, insisted upon mounting guard over us--a proposal which I strenuously opposed; but he told me plainly that, unless he kept by me, he would not answer for the conduct of his companions. Against this there was no appeal; and he remained beside us, on the bare rock, all the night.

"In the morning, we found ourselves alone with this singular being. Everything remained as it had been the preceding evening, with this, to us, very pleasant exception, that the band of caterans was nowhere to be seen. Another fire of wood was speedily kindled; and, as our host told us that, before we could reach any place of refreshment, we had to go twenty miles and a bittick--which, being interpreted, means somewhere about five miles more--we took the precaution to lay in a good stock of cakes, butter, and cheese, which we washed down with a moderate quantity of the nectar of the night preceding.

"Our repast over, we descended the circuitous path which led from the cavern, and which one, uninitiated, might have searched for in vain; and, at the bottom, found a lad or gilly holding our horses, which had been well fed, and were in fine spirits. Our host then declared his intention of putting us upon the right track, otherwise, he said, we were sure of losing our way. I desired my servant to dismount and follow us on foot; but this the stranger refused to allow, assigning as a reason, that he preferred walking, and could, without the slightest difficulty, keep up with the horses. In this way, therefore, we proceeded nearly three miles: and, it was evident that, but for his friendly assistance, the chances of getting out of our difficulties would have been very problematical. At last he stopped, and said--

"'Pursue that path for half-a-mile farther, and you will enter upon the great road, after which you can have no difficulty in journeying to the place of your destination.

"I was quite overpowered with this kindness, and felt reluctant to part with my new friend, without, at least, showing how much I appreciated his services.

"'Sir,' said I, 'I am deeply affected by the whole of your conduct towards me and my servant. I can only hope that, some day or other, I may have it in my power to serve you. I have been treated like a prince, when I expected, if not to have my throat cut--which I once thought was inevitable--at least to have been robbed of everything about me. At present I can only offer you this small remuneration, which I trust you will accept. I am only sorry that it is not more.' As I said this, I drew forth my purse, with the intention of giving him all the gold I had about me, but he stayed my hand.

"'Sir!' exclaimed the unknown, 'you have seen the way in which I and my companions live, and you may easily guess that to us gold can be no object. I thank you for the free and liberal way in which it was proffered; but I most respectfully beg to decline accepting it. In serving you I merely followed a precept which I ever--though a cateran--keep in view--to do to others as I would be done by myself. You were in distress, and I relieved you;--there was no merit in doing what I knew was merely my duty; and Ranald More will take no reward for having done that which his heart told him it was right to do.'

"'Heavens!' I cried, 'are you Ranald More?'

"'I am!'

"'Why,' I rejoined; 'your name is a terror to all the country round.'

"'I know it; but what care I? Let the bloodhounds take me if they can.'

"'Are you aware that a reward is offered for your apprehension?'

"'Perfectly.'

"'Why, then, should you trust yourself alone with two armed men?'

"To show that he was perfectly regardless of fear, he merely pointed to his claymore, and I must confess that I should not have been anxious for a single combat, and even with the assistance of my servant, I am not quite sure that we might not have come off second best.

"'But,' continued the cateran, 'you are a gentleman and a man of honour. My secret is safe with you. Bid your servant ride on a few paces.' I gave the necessary order; and when we were alone, the cateran proceeded to narrate to me the following particulars of his life:--

"'I was born in the higher ranks of society; but circumstances, which I need not recapitulate, reduced me to the humble condition of a peasant. Early misfortunes compelled me to conceal my name and family, and I enlisted as a private soldier. My conduct in the army attracted the attention of my superiors; but I had no interest to rise higher than a halbert, and was discharged with the regiment in which I served. When Prince Charles landed on his native shores, I refused to join him, as I considered myself in a manner bound, by my former services, to his opponent. I took, therefore, no further interest in this civil broil than to give my humble assistance to many of those persecuted men whom the bloody mandates of the Duke of Cumberland had marked out for destruction. In this way I have gradually collected around me a band of gallant fellows, who are ready to follow me on any enterprise, however desperate. It was not choice but necessity that compelled me to my present way of life. Some day or other I shall, in all human probability, be taken, and made an example of, to deter others from following the like courses. I only ask, when you hear of my death--in whatever way that may happen--that you will not forget you owed your life to him who never took one but in the cause of his country, when he fought for his king, and exposed his own. Farewell.'

"Then pressing my proffered hand in his, he turned away; and in a few minutes the Highland cateran was out of sight."

"Did you never see him again, father?" inquired Edmund.

"I did; but in circumstances extremely painful; although to the last interview I had with him I owe that portion of happiness with which Providence was graciously pleased to bless me."

"Indeed! O father, do continue your story!"

"Well, Edmund, have patience, and you shall hear all. Time hurried on imperceptibly; and, in a couple of years afterwards, I found myself raised to the rank of a captain. The regiment had been ordered to Ireland, where it remained for about a year; but the Highlands of Scotland not being in a very settled state, it was ordered to that kingdom; and, in the month of January, 1748, I found myself once more in my old quarters; a circumstance far from displeasing, as I had many friends there anxious to make me comfortable.

"The severity of Government had by this time considerably relaxed; and as all fears of any new rebellion were at an end, an anxious endeavour was made to reduce the restless Highlanders to some sort of order, and put down the straggling bands of caterans that disturbed the tranquillity of the country, and kept the proprietors in a perpetual state of anxiety, by lifting, as it was called, their cattle, and other predatory acts.

"Upon inquiring after my old friend, Ranald, I was told he had not been heard of for a long time, and that it was generally supposed he had been killed in some of his marauding expeditions.

"One individual seemed to be peculiarly obnoxious to these worthies, and his cattle had not only been repeatedly carried off, but his granaries had been despoiled. He had bought some of the forfeited estates at small value, and having the misfortune--for so it was reckoned amongst the proud Highlanders, whose pedigrees were generally as long as their purses were short--to be a _parvenu_, his father having been a grocer in the Luckenbooths of Edinburgh, he experienced no mercy from the caterans, and little sympathy from the gentry in his vicinity, who laughed at his misfortunes. To crown all, he had been a commissary in the army of the Duke of Cumberland; and, though neither a bad man nor a hard landlord, still his original connection with the bloody duke was a sin not to be forgiven, and hence the reason of his peculiar persecution.

"Irritated by a series of provoking outrages, Peter Penny, Esq., of Glenbodle, appealed to our commander, and, as he volunteered to guide a small detachment to the place where he had good reason to believe his tormentors were concealed, his appeal was listened to; and, under the charge of one of our lieutenants, a party of some twenty or thirty soldiers proceeded to capture the caterans. As resistance was anticipated, they were well armed, and every precaution was adopted to prevent surprise by ambush.

"Of all this I thought nothing. Such occurrences were common; and, usually, the objects were accomplished with no very great difficulty. In this case, the result was different; and, although the detachment was successful, it was only so at a great expenditure of life; for the caterans gave battle, and were eventually subdued, after killing five of the king's troops, and severely wounding the commander. The laird himself escaped free; for, holding the truth of the adage, that the better part of valour is discretion, he prudently kept in the rear, and thus ran no other risk than a chance shot. Poor fellow, he assured me--and I believe he spoke with perfect sincerity--that, had he imagined so much blood was to be shed on his account, he had much rather the caterans had stolen every animal on his estate, and carried off its entire produce.

"The defence had been well ordered; and it required little observation to see that the chief of the caterans was skilled in military tactics. He fought with infinite bravery, and it was not until a great proportion of his band was either killed or wounded that his capture was effected; and even this would have been doubtful, had he not been weakened by loss of blood. He was, however, brought to Inverness, with one or two of his confederates, who had also been severely wounded. The rest retreated safely to the fastnesses of the mountains.

"The day following, I was somewhat surprised by an intimation that one of the captives was desirous of seeing me. I proceeded to the prison, when I found a man lying on a heap of straw, evidently in a very exhausted state.

"'This is kind, Captain Jardine, very kind,' he exclaimed. Then, after pausing a minute, he proceeded, whilst a faint smile passed over his face--'When we last met, it was in different circumstances.'

"'Gracious Providence!' I answered, 'can it be--do I see Ranald More?'

"'You see all that remains of him--a few short hours, and I shall be beyond the reach of earthly foes. I had once hoped that better days would have come; but they came not. I sought pardon, but it was refused; driven back to my old courses, I am about to pay the penalty of my sins.'

"I endeavoured to reassure him; for, in truth, I felt a sincere esteem for him, and, personally, knew his honourable principles, and deeply regretted that so noble a fellow should have been thrown away. I got the best medical advice, procured a comfortable bed, and everything that might tend to alleviate his sufferings during the brief remainder of his days.

"He was gratified by my attentions. 'One thing consoles me,' he said: 'I shall not die the death of a felon. You soldiers have spared me that disgrace.'

"'Do not despond,' I rejoined; 'whilst there is life there is hope, and----

"Here he interrupted me with--

"'No--no--no. I would not live if I could; I am weary, and need rest in my grave. Captain,' he continued, 'you have dealt with me kindly and considerately; would you make me your debtor still farther? I have one request to make, which, as it does not compromise you in the smallest degree, you will probably grant. It is to convey this ring to the only female in this world for whom I feel regard; and tell her, that the being she cherished when all others neglected him, died blessing her.'

"I assured him I would obey his commands, and that the ring should be personally delivered.

"Ranald, then, as soon as cessation from pain would allow him, disclosed his history, which was brief but painful. The son of a gentleman of an ancient family in Northumberland, proud of his descent and large possessions, he had formed an attachment to one of the bondagers on his father's estate; and, in a luckless hour, crossed the Borders, and was united to her at Lamberton--the Gretna Green of that part of the country. The result was the ordinary one--he was disinherited, and cast off by his father; and his wife, not matching with one of her own rank, could not put up with her husband's ways, or reconcile herself to those habits of propriety which were essential to her new station in society. Unhappiness followed--poverty made him fretful and impatient; although well educated, he would turn his attentions to no useful purpose, and in a fit of desperation he enlisted. During his banishment from home, he saw none of his relatives excepting his niece, then a girl of fourteen, who loved her uncle, and used, by stealth, to bring to his humble dwelling such articles as she thought he might fancy; and endeavoured, so far as was in her power, to soften the severity of his situation.

"The uncle's unexpected departure did not prevent the niece showing similar attentions to the wife; but these were soon terminated by the demise of the latter, who died with the infant in her accouchment. For several years after this, nothing was heard of Ranald; but the anger of his father continued unabated.

"Quitting the army, as I formerly mentioned, he joined the caterans; and after our interview, determined to make an effort to obtain paternal forgiveness. He left his retreat; and one evening presented himself suddenly before his father, who was residing at the family seat. He threw himself on his knees, and asked pardon.

"'Go,' said his father. 'Degenerate son, disgrace not, by your presence, the halls of your ancestors. In vain you supplicate--in vain you attempt to move me from my fixed purposes by your assumed penitence.'

"'Have you no pity for your own offspring--for a being who, but for one unhappy act, never caused you a moment's pain--who has ever venerated and obeyed you?'

"No answer was returned.

"'Say you forgive me--I seek no more; and I will leave you never to return, until my future acts have shown that I am not entirely unworthy of the proud race from whence I have sprung.'

"The old man was silent.

"'For years a father's malison has embittered my life, and rendered me reckless of all consequences. Your pardon will restore me to myself; and can you refuse to grant it?'

"Still no response.

"'If not for one so unworthy as the miserable wretch before you, at least on her account who gave me birth. Say you forgive me.'

"'Never.'

"'Father, we meet for the last time; one word would have restored your son to happiness, and you refuse it. Farewell for ever!'

"At this moment the door opened, and a beautiful girl of twenty rushed in, and threw herself into the old man's arms.

"'Oh, sir, do not part in anger with your son; you are so good, so kind. I am sure you will restore him to your favour.'

"He gently disengaged her from his embrace.

"'Emily,' said he, 'you are a good girl; and on any other subject you might be sure I would listen to your wishes; but on this point I am immoveable; and as Reginald deliberately dissolved the tie between father and son, I no longer recognise him as my child.'

"Saying this, he left the room.

"Emily was sadly overcome by this unexpected repulse. She knew her grandfather's inflexibility, but imagined that the lapse of time would have softened his resentment. Her father--the heir apparent--was then on the Continent; and it was doubtful how far even his influence would produce any change on the unnatural anger of his incensed parent.

"'Dear uncle, you know not how deeply I grieve at this unkind reception. Often have I thought on you during your tedious absence, and longed to see you again; and now when my wish is gratified, I have no home here to offer you; but we must not part--time yet may make all right; and if you would only take up your abode near us, I would do everything to save you; and when my father returns, we will unite our entreaties to obtain your pardon.'

"'Sweet girl!' replied Ranald, 'I duly appreciate your kindness; but it is vain to contend against fate, and here I cannot--will not stay.'

"The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a footman, who, with some confusion and hesitation, intimated that his master wished the strange gentleman would make his visit as short as possible. Having delivered this message, he withdrew.

"'Emily, farewell! I have ever loved you; and your kindness in this hour of trial shows my love was not misplaced.'

"'Do not leave me, uncle; better days will come.'

"'It is vain to urge my stay; my father shall be obeyed. Once more, farewell!'

"His niece found his resolution immoveable. She entreated him to take her purse; this he refused. She then placed on his finger a ring: it was the fatal one--the cause of all his misery. The sight of it overcame him. He wept bitterly. Clasping his niece to his arms, he said, in faltering accents--

"'Beloved girl! this fatal testimonial shall part from me only with death; and, when you see it again, be assured that all my earthly cares are over.'

"He then quitted the home of his forefathers, never again to return. After wandering about for months, necessity drove him back upon his old companions. But he had lost his energy; and it was not until the attack upon the caterans that he again became the Ranald More of olden times.

"The kindness and affection of his niece made a deep impression on Ranald's mind; and his chief anxiety now was to make her acquainted with his fate, and to let her know that he died a repentant man, in the hope of forgiveness in 'another and a better world.'

"The night before he expired, I sat beside him. Ranald was composed. He said--

"'Often, very often, kind friend, have I meditated, after my last repulse, putting an end to my existence; but religion came to my aid, and I resisted manfully the temptings of the fiend. Resignation to the divine will, under every disappointment and affliction, is a duty we all owe to our great Creator, and this precept of my dear mother was too deeply implanted in my mind ever to be entirely eradicated; forgiveness of our enemies she also inculcated; and I can say, with perfect sincerity, that I die in peace with all mankind.'

"'Even your father?' I inquired.

"'Yes; even that cruel parent, through whose obduracy I am now a degraded felon, is forgiven by me. But no more of this. When you see Emily, give her my blessing. Tell her that her dying uncle had her always in his thoughts; and that, in his last moments, he prayed for her prosperity and happiness.'

"As he was evidently much exhausted, I entreated him not to fatigue himself by farther conversation. The clergyman arriving, I took my leave, and returned in the morning. He was still sensible; and the man who had sat up with him mentioned that he had been very quiet all night, though he apparently slept very little. When I approached the bedside, he recognised me; and, with extreme difficulty articulated--

"'Remember!'

"I assured him that his request should be implicitly complied with. His last words were 'Bless you!' Raising himself, he placed his wife's marriage-ring on my finger, pressed my hand feebly, and, overcome by the exertion, fell back on his pillow; a gentle slumber seemed gradually to come over him, from which he never awoke.

"As he was only known as Ranald More, the secret of his birth and rank was carefully preserved by me; my adventure with him of former years was generally known, and my anxiety about him, and my following his body to the grave, created no manner of surprise. His companions were tried, convicted, and executed. The death of their leader, and the capital punishment inflicted on his followers, had a wholesome effect in that district, and 'lifting' of cattle, from that time, became, at least there, somewhat uncommon.

"Resolved to redeem my pledge, I procured leave of absence, and journeyed to Northumberland, where I found the family in mourning for the old gentleman, who had died, strange to say, about a week before his son. The delivery of the ring at once announced the cause of my visit, and my attentions to the unhappy donor were repaid by the extreme kindness of his relatives. Her brother, Edmund, thought he could never do too much for me; and the kind-hearted and beautiful niece of the ill-fated Ranald became----" Here he paused.

"What, father?" inquired Edmund.

"YOUR MOTHER."

THE SERJEANT'S TALES.

JOHN SQUARE'S VOYAGE TO INDIA.

Having been so much edified by Serjeant Square's narrative of the Palantines, I was anxious to hear another section of his adventures. Next day, my wish was gratified.

"After my arrival in Greenock from my voyage to America," he began--"that land of promise, where I had been carried as a Palantine--I had no wages to receive; for I had wrought my passage home--that is, given my labour for my food and room in the vessel, and was not entered as one of the crew. A miserable passage it was; for the captain being as complete a tyrant as ever walked a deck, the crew were ill-used, and, of course, sulky and dissatisfied; and, humble and obedient as I was, the bad humour of every one was put forth upon me. The little seamanship I had been so eager to acquire in my voyage out, now stood me in great stead, and saved me many a kick and blow. Rough and severe as my masters were, my progress was rapid. Young and nimble as a monkey, with a quick eye and good memory, I was no despicable seaman before we reached the Cumbraes. Even the captain, after a severe squall we had off the west of Ireland, commended me, saying, 'Square, you are worth your room and victuals!' Yet of room I had little, and my victuals were no boast. Hammock or bedding I had none; but that mattered not to me, who had no rest. I was in no watch, but was called up or started with a rope's-end at the pleasure of every one, when there was anything to do, from the cable tier, or wherever I had stretched my weary limbs to snatch an hour's sleep. Still I bore up with a cheerful heart; for hard lying and scanty fare were nothing new to me, and I hoped soon to tread the shores of my native land. Well, I had only two dollars and a-half in my pocket when I left Greenock to walk to Auld Reekie. My step was as light as my heart. Towards sunset of the second day, I reached the city; and, before I thought of rest, I had visited all my former haunts. But a very few days served to dissipate my pleasing dreams of home. I had, for years before I left Edinburgh, been looked upon as one too many in the city by those who knew me as a dependant; and doubtless, when I disappeared, they had felt relieved of a load they bore but lightly. I had returned as poor as I departed; and they looked upon me with frowns, upbraiding me with folly for my return from a place where I had a chance of succeeding.

"In my wanderings, I had entered the King's Park by the eastern stile, at the watering-stone, when, as I approached Mushet's Cairn, in the Duke's Walk, I heard the clashing of swords on the other side of the low wall. Urged by curiosity, I mounted the heap of stones to obtain a sight of the combatants. My eyes became fixed upon them; my whole mind was filled with so ardent, so intense an interest, that I could scarcely breathe; yet my feelings were so painful at first, that my heart beat thick, and my limbs shook under me. At one instant, I felt a desire to part them--the next, to see the scene enacted and ended. I had in my mind already taken a side, and wished 'my man' to conquer. They were both, to appearance, gentlemen, and about the same age and stature; one of them much slighter made than the other, who pressed him hard, while he appeared to act principally on the defensive; and so cool and dexterous was he in the use of his sword, that his opponent, though equally master of his, was foiled in all his assaults. It was fearfully grand to see two men so intent upon the destruction of each other. Their looks spoke hatred and determination; their keen eyes were fixed upon each other with an intensity I never before thought the eye capable of; each seemed fixed immoveably upon that of his adversary; yet a fierce vitality beamed in them, motionless as they appeared; while every limb and muscle of their bodies was in the most violent action. No sound arose on the stillness of the scene, except the clash and harsh grating of their swords, as they foiled each other in their cuts and thrusts. While I stood fascinated, gazing upon them, the thinner person--whose side I had taken involuntarily, for I knew neither the individuals nor the cause of quarrel--in parrying a thrust, slipped his foot, and sank to the ground, his antagonist's sword passing through his body in a downward direction. He lay extended at his conqueror's feet, who, quick as thought, seized the hand of his fallen adversary, and detached a ring from one of his fingers. I stood immoveable on the heap of stones, with the low wall still between us, watching the issue. He disengaged his sword, and was in the act of plunging it again into the body. 'Villain! villain!' I shouted; it was all I could utter, horrified as I was. He stopped his raised hand, looked round to where I stood, exclaimed, in a voice hoarse from passion, 'Scoundrel, you must die!' and, at the same moment, bounded towards me, with the blood-stained sword in his hand. Not a moment was to be lost. Urged by fear, I sprang from the cairn, and fled towards the hill, across the swamp. Fearfully I looked over my shoulder as I neared the wall; he was evidently gaining upon me. Young and fleet as I was, he was far my superior in length of leg and strength; yet my fears did not destroy my presence of mind. I saw that it was only by doubling I could escape; for, if the chase were continued for any length of time, he must run me down like a hare; and the fearful consequence gave me energy. At a bound I cleared the wall, and, stooping, ran under its shade for some distance before he reached the spot I had leaped. He stood (for I heard his panting breath) for a second, before he perceived the direction in which I had run--a circumstance of the utmost service to me. Down he leaped, and followed on my track. I again sprang the wall; and, after running a few yards, I was on the highway, and clear of the park. My hopes now were all placed in meeting some one or other, to claim their protection, or in reaching a house before my pursuer could overtake me. I had not run a hundred yards towards the Abbey Hill, when I saw three men in sailor's dress before me, going towards the city. I called to them to stop, for the rapid step of my enemy was sounding in my ears like the death-knell. They stood still, and looked back; the next moment I was up to them; while he that followed leaped the wall, and disappeared in the direction of the town. We sought not to pursue him, for I had not yet recovered my breath sufficiently to inform them of what I had been an unconscious witness. As soon as I told my story, the men resolved to go with me, to ascertain whether the person was dead or required our aid, saying, they were on their way to the Canongate, to meet their captain, by appointment, and having yet sufficient time, they would go by the King's Park, and bear the unfortunate gentleman to town. When we arrived at the spot, we found him seated upon the grass, his head bent forward upon his knee, sick and faint, the blood welling from the wound in his side, which he was making no effort to staunch, and he was plunged in the deepest melancholy. I could hear him sigh heavily ere we crossed the wall. When the seamen saw him, they uttered a cry of mingled surprise and rage. He raised his head; his face was deadly pale; a faint expression of pleasure passed over it for a moment, then it settled into deep sorrow. He appeared utterly regardless of life; and it was even with gentle violence only that he allowed them to staunch his wound by binding their silk handkerchiefs round his breast. We found that his ankle was also dreadfully sprained and swelled; and, truly, his agony must have been great from this cause alone; but no complaint or groan escaped from him; and I thought I perceived that his sufferings were far more mental than even bodily. From exhaustion or apathy, he allowed us to do as we pleased; all he commanded being, to be taken to his vessel, and not to the town. So we bore him to a house at Clock Mill, the nearest refuge, while I ran to the Canongate to procure a surgeon, and a conveyance to carry him to Fisherrow. The surgeon I might bring at my own responsibility, for he would not hear of one, wishing evidently to die. The sailors, who recognised me as having been on board the Eliza of London only a few hours before, in quest of a berth, looked upon me now as one of the crew, for the service I had rendered their beloved captain.

After an absence of nearly an hour, I with difficulty procured a post-chaise and a surgeon. The injury was found not to be of much importance, the sword having glanced along the ribs, producing only a severe flesh wound, which was dressed, and the dislocation reduced. The surgeon insisted upon his staying where he was, for fear of fever, but he was bent upon proceeding to his vessel; so, accompanied by the surgeon, he set off in the chaise, and I, joining my new comrades on foot, proceeded to the vessel, along with them. The sensation produced by the wounded state in which the invalid had come on board, was in proportion to the love the men bore to their captain. As soon as we were upon the deck, every one on board crowded around us. I gave a true detail of all I had witnessed; every one shook me heartily by the hand, and declared he would be my friend to the end of life; but no one was more warmed to me for the little I had done than the mate. The captain's wound put on a favourable appearance, and he was declared out of danger. In a few days, the wind chopped about to the westward, and we got under weigh, to complete the voyage, being bound for London. Before we weighed anchor, the captain caused himself to be carried upon deck, where he sat gazing in the direction of Edinburgh until we were out of the Frith; he seemed consumed with some secret grief, and had not opened his mouth to give a single order, the mate doing all that was required.

"When we had passed the islands of May and the Bass, and stood into the ocean, he called me to him.

"'Square,' said he, 'I have been informed by the mate how much I am indebted to you. The service to me was of small value, insomuch as I had rather have perished in the combat, than survived to think that my traitorous rival has triumphed in his villany; but, believe me, young man, my gratitude to you is not the less--you shall in me never want a friend.'

"I thanked him kindly for his assurance, and said it would be my endeavour to deserve his friendship. He was soon after removed below, and I did not see him until we reached the Thames, and were moored at the Isle of Dogs. The captain, who was part owner, went into furnished lodgings while we were delivering our cargo, being still unable to walk, from the dislocation of his ankle. The greater part of the crew also lodged on shore; but I remained on board with the mate, in charge of the vessel, and often went to the captain with letters and messages. In one of my visits, he desired me to be seated, and give him an account of myself, as he said he had taken an interest in my welfare, and wished to serve me, agreeably to his promise, if I continued to deserve it. I gave him a full detail of my life until I came to the encounter I had witnessed between him and his opponent, when I stopped. 'Nay, young man,' said he,'I wish to hear an account of what you were witness of, from your own mouth.' I went on. He heard me with composure, until I mentioned the tearing off the ring from his finger. When I came to this part of the narrative, his countenance became distorted with rage; he ground his teeth, and stamped upon the floor; his eyes flashed fire, and his passion seemed too great for utterance. I looked on in silence, fearful that, from his weakness, he would fall into a fit. At length, he said, as if in deep abstraction, and unconscious of my presence--

"'Faithless Eliza! I thought I had cast it at thy feet in my agony of blighted hopes, and felt pleased. It was my intention; but my mind was a chaos of misery. The traitor Wallace has got the pledge of the love you proved false to. Would that his sword had pierced the heart his treachery has rendered miserable! No; I shall meet him once again, and one of us shall die----'

"Then starting to his feet, he supported himself upon the back of a chair, his countenance no longer distorted with rage, having changed into a settled, resolute cast, calm and stern. His burst of emotion had passed away.

"'Square,' he said, 'you, like myself, have no tie to bind you to Scotland, no relation or friend on earth; we are as if we had dropped from some distant planet, now desolate of inhabitants, into this busy world. Still I must ever remember that any happiness I ever enjoyed was in Edinburgh; and my heart's cherished hopes--hopes that have cheered my way through toil and danger--were there for ever crushed by the subtle arts of one I thought my friend. Base wretch! you shall not long exult in your villany! Square, you must accompany me back to Edinburgh, as soon as I am able to use this limb with vigour. Do you agree to accompany me?'

"'With pleasure,' I replied; 'whenever or wherever you go, I go'. My young heart was full of gratitude for the kindness I had received from him; and I felt almost as keenly for his wrongs as if I had been a brother. He saw the workings of my mind in my countenance, and, seizing my hand, said--

"'Hence forth we shall be as friends.'

"The surgeon entered at this period of our discourse, and, to the captain's anxious inquiries, replied that it would yet be some weeks before his limb would be so strong that he might use it without pain, for any length of time. It was a whole month after this before we left London, during which I had a private tutor to teach me, and restore any little instruction I had got at school during the life of my parents. I went no longer on board, save to visit the mate, who was now as master on the point of sailing; the Eliza being chartered, and her cargo almost on board. He sailed for Rotterdam eight days before we intended to leave London for Edinburgh; which we were to do in a chaise. A voyage to America, in the present day, gives a landsman less concern than a voyage between London and Leith did in those days.

"All being arranged, and the captain's ankle pretty stout, we set off for Edinburgh. In our tedious ride over the wretched roads, he was pleased to give me the following account of himself:--He was the second son of a gentleman of decayed fortune in the north of Scotland. He and his elder brother had been sent, young, to an uncle's in Edinburgh, for their education. His brother had chosen his uncle's profession of the law; while he, much against his uncle's wish, had preferred the sea. In his occasional visits to Edinburgh, when opportunity offered, he had met in his uncle's a lovely young lady, the daughter of a gentleman, who was obliged to live in exile for the share he had had in the rebellion. She was under his uncle's protection, as her father's agent and her guardian. The young sailor's heart was won by the charms of the gentle Eliza; he wooed and won her love. Vows of constancy were exchanged on both sides; but, although fortune had smiled upon him, he was still not rich enough to maintain his beloved in the rank she was by birth entitled to: and it was agreed at their last parting, that, after a few more successful voyages, he should ask her hand in form from his uncle. Changed rings were accordingly the memorials of their plighted faiths. It was Eliza's ring that Wallace had torn from his finger on that eventful evening. Urged by love, he had in his last voyage come far out of his regular course to visit his Eliza; and having anchored in Fisherrow Bay, he flew on the wings of joyous expectation to Edinburgh. On his way he had met an old schoolfellow, who, in answer to his inquiries after his friends, told him, as a part of the news of the day, that his old schoolfellow and rival, Wallace, was on the eve of marriage to Eliza, and that his addresses were sanctioned by his uncle. Maddened by the intelligence, he had hurried to his uncle's, and had the bad fortune to see Wallace taking leave of her as he approached the house; whereupon, in an agony of jealousy and disappointed love, he hastened to overtake him. Angry words ensued--Wallace boasted of his triumph, and a challenge was given and received, to meet in the King's Park. Urged on by his disappointed hopes, he waited upon Eliza in a frame of mind bordering upon distraction. Without prelude or explanation, he upbraided her as the most faithless of women, saying, he now thought as lightly of her love as he had ever highly prized it; and, in his fury, thought he had, as he intended, thrown her ring at her feet. At first she had looked alarmed, and wept, surprise held her silent, until all her native pride, and the innate dignity of the female, were roused by his taunts and reproaches, and she ordered him from her presence. They parted in mutual anger. Without seeing his uncle or any acquaintance in town, he had walked in the most sequestered parts of Arthur's Seat and the Hunting Bog, until the hour of meeting his rival. They met, and the issue has been told.

"As we approached the city, he became very dull and uncommunicative, sitting absorbed in his own thoughts for hours; the fierce aspect that his countenance had for a long time worn was succeeded by a deep shade of sadness. I was young and inexperienced, and knew not how to speak, to divert his mind from the painful feelings that were preying upon him; thus we sat silent for hours, until we reached Musselburgh. 'Square!' he said, starting up, 'I shall soon have my doubts solved. For this some time an idea has haunted my mind, which renders me the most miserable of men. What if, in my madness (I can give it no milder term), I have wronged Eliza! She was all goodness and truth, and I ought to have weighed well before I reproached her. I have striven to think hardly of her, but my heart refuses. Eliza! Eliza! I have lost you for ever; true or false, I can never look on thy face again; but Wallace shall not triumph in my misery. I have preferred bringing you with me to any other person, because of your intimacy with Edinburgh. I do not wish it to be known that I am in town, until I have ascertained, through you, what has occurred since my last unfortunate visit to it.' I promised cheerfully to do my utmost to serve him in any duty he required, and, before the evening set in, we were safely lodged in the White Horse Tavern at the head of the Canongate. Our first step was to send for one of the cadies--a race of men now extinct; but they were, in their day and generation, a numerous fraternity in Edinburgh, and the source of communication, before the invention of the penny post. The affairs of the inhabitants of all ranks were in general well known to them. Their trustworthiness was admitted, and they were often employed in preference to domestic servants, in whose gossiping qualities they did not participate. I named Angus M'Dougal in preference to any other, as I had long known him. I brought him. When he entered, the captain sat with his back towards us, wrapped up in his travelling cloak, and avoiding the exposure of his face. After our first greeting, I proceeded to make the necessary inquiries, and found that Mr H---- was in town, and went very little abroad, on account of some distress in his house. The captain gave a start, a stifled groan escaped him, and, to relieve his suspense, I inquired of Angus if he knew the cause. 'Oh, the cause is no secret,' replied he; 'his ward, Elizabeth, is not expected to recover frae a dangerous illness. They say it is the effect o' grief, from a strange and hurried occurrence that happened several weeks ago. Miss Eliza had a sweetheart o' the name o' Mr Wallace, wha it was supposed was to hae married her; he was a constant visitor at her uncle's, but there was ane, they say, she liked better, a nephew o' Mr H----'s, wha was lang awa at sea. He appeared suddenly in the house when her guardian was frae hame, and as suddenly left it; nor has he been heard o' since. He was seen in the King's Park by several, as they think. It's no for me to speak evil o' ony gentleman; but they say that her other sweetheart murdered him, and concealed his body, for next forenoon, Mr H---- was sent for express, to come hame to Miss Elizabeth, wha had been out o' ae fit into anither ever since she had seen his nephew. Mr H---- sent everywhere to inquire for the unfortunate young man, but nae tidings could be had. Mr Wallace had left the town suddenly, but nane could tell whar he had gane. They say he was also seen, latish in the afternoon, entering the Duke's Walk to the east. Every part was searched, in vain, for the body, which has never been discovered; but, what has put it beyond a doubt, in the minds of many, that the youth was killed, was, that at a sma' distance within the wall near Mushet's Cairn, the grass was observed to be trodden down, and stained wi' blood. This, and the flight o' Wallace, who is said to hae gane owre to Holland to avoid the vengeance o' his uncle, are, at best, very suspicious circumstances. This Johnny Square, is a' that I ken o' the matter.'

"Dismissing the cadie as soon as possible, amply pleased with his reward, I hurried to the captain, who was weeping, like an infant, his face buried in his handkerchief. I saw that anything I could say, in the present situation, would be intrusion upon grief, too sacred for interference, and too recent to be soothed. After a few minutes, he turned to me--'Am I not the most guilty of men,' he said, 'and deservedly the most wretched? I have, by my hasty, jealous temper, killed my Eliza, and banished myself from her presence for ever, even should she recover. Oh! how could I, for a moment, harbour such a thought, to the injury of such an angel--far less give utterance to it! Fool, fool, that I have ever been!--it is fitting you die to atone for your jealous madness.' And he beat his forehead with his clenched fists. I became afraid that he intended to do some injury to his person; for there was a fierceness, mingled with agony of mind, in his looks, as he grasped, as if by some involuntary motion, the hilt of his sword, that alarmed me. I was on the point, different times, of rushing upon and disarming him; but, at length, this paroxysm was succeeded by one of subdued grief, and he became, to all appearance, as feeble as an infant. 'Oh, that I could, by any sacrifice,' he cried, in thrilling tones, 'obtain one glance of my injured Eliza, if it even were my last, to die at her feet, pleading for forgiveness!--her esteem, and with it her love, I know I have forfeited for ever! Rash, rash fool that I was!' Again he relapsed into silence, and, taking advantage of this new turn of thought, I suggested his writing to his uncle. 'Alas, Square,' he said, 'I cannot write; my mind is in a chaos of confusion--my brain is racked almost to madness.'

"'Then,' I answered, 'allow me to go, as if I had just arrived in town, and expected to have found you there, and to act as occasion requires. If I find I can, there shall be a messenger sent for you to come to your uncle's, or, at all events, I shall return in as short a time as possible, and give you an account of my success.'

"'Square, my friend,' he replied, grasping my hand, 'do with me as you please. My heart is broken--my mind is a tumult of agonising reflections of what I am, and what I might have been. I blush for the weakness you have witnessed in me; but what man in his folly ever threw from him such a treasure as I have lost, and lost for ever?'

"Anxious to alleviate the misery of my benefactor, with hasty steps I proceeded to the Covenant Close, to call upon Mr H----, who lived in the third flat in the Scale Stairs. Almost breathless from the speed I had used, I 'tirled at the pin.' The door was opened by a genteel man-servant in livery, of whom I inquired if Mr H---- was at home, and was answered in the affirmative. I was ushered into an elegant room, where, after waiting a few minutes, a benign but melancholy-looking old gentleman entered:--

"'Mr Square, I am informed,' said he, 'you wish to see me; may I inquire, is your business very pressing, as I am rather engaged at present?'

"'I humbly beg pardon,' said I; 'I am a stranger to you, and only came to town this afternoon. My acquaintance is with your nephew, Captain H----, of the Eliza: can you inform me when you expect him in town?'

"The old man sank into a chair, and remained silent, overcome by his feelings; at length, looking inquiringly into my face, 'Alas! sir,' cried he, 'I have now no nephew.'

"'Excuse me, sir,' I said, 'if I have wounded your feelings. I am astonished at what you tell me, for I saw him, in good health, not many days since, and expected him to have been here to-night.'

"Starting to his feet, he came to where I sat, and, placing his hand on my shoulder, looked anxiously in my face--'Young man,' he said, solemnly, 'have you seen Hugh H---- within these five weeks?'

"'Certainly,' I replied; 'I saw him in London within these ten days, in good health.'

"Clasping his hands, and raising his eyes to heaven--'Blessed be God!' he said, 'my nephew is alive, and my Eliza may yet be snatched from the grave!'

"We now entered into familiar conversation, in which I got from him a similar account to what the cadie had given us, with the addition only of the exertions Mr. H---- had made for the bringing of Wallace to punishment for the murder of his nephew. 'That man,' he concluded, 'has come to rejoice that he is in life; for so strong was the circumstantial evidence, that, had he been apprehended and brought to trial, there is not a jury who would not have given their verdict Guilty.'

"In return, I gave him a detailed account of all that I had witnessed, and the state of misery in which I had left him. Mr. H---- heard me with varied feelings as I proceeded, and said he had had no idea of the attachment between Hugh and Eliza, until this unfortunate affair disclosed it to him; and he feared it had proved fatal to his ward, who was in a very dangerous state--her life even despaired of; but he trusted his nephew's return would be more efficacious than all the prescriptions of her physicians; for hers was a sickness of the heart.

"With a thrill of pleasure at the success of my call, I bade him adieu, taking with me the assurance that he would break the joyful intelligence to Eliza, and either call at the White Horse Tavern himself, or send a note by his servant, to his 'poor Hughie, who was ever a passionate boy,' to come to him. When I returned, I found him pacing the room with hasty steps.

"'Square,' he cried, in a voice bordering on anger, 'is this what I expected from you? You have stayed an age away.'

"'I beg pardon, captain, but I have made no unnecessary delay. I bring you tidings of good hope. Your uncle is rejoiced you are safe, and in town; he will either call himself, or send a card for you to-morrow, as he shall judge safest for the sake of Eliza. Meanwhile, he is to break the unexpected news to her.'

"Joy and grief, hope and fear, now by turns took possession of his mind, until we retired to rest.