will join thee again ere thou hast ridden a long mile."

"I care not if I go with thee, Charley," said Sir Piers; "that is,
if thy friend's house can furnish me with a draught of any thing
better than water, for my throat is parched like a mountain corry in
the dog-days."

"Such as that humble roof may afford, I think I may venture to promise
thee," replied Charley, somewhat disappointed at being so attended.

"I shall go with thee too," said Marcella Gordon, who, on this
occasion, had followed her uncle in his expedition.

The men-at-arms having been halted by the road-side, Charley led the
way to the widow's cottage. As he rode forth from among the trees of
the birch-grove, that flanked one side of the house, and partly shaded
half its front, Rosa's quick eyes caught his figure--her heart bounded
with joy, and in a moment she was at the door, and, from the first
irresistible impulse of her heart, she almost sprang into his arms;
but immediately perceiving that her lover was not alone, she blushed,
and hastily retreated within doors.

"Is that your sister, young man?" demanded the Lady Marcella.

"No, lady," replied Charley, in some confusion; "but she is a very
old friend of mine."

"A very young friend of thine, methinks!" said Sir Piers. "She is
very beautiful."

Mrs. MacDermot now appeared, and ushered the strangers into the house
with well-blended humility and kindness, and proceeded to do the little
hospitalities of her unpretending roof. Charley was himself abashed
and baulked; but yet he conversed with Rosa, though in that chastened
manner that more than any thing else betrays the consciousness of
lovers, in the eyes of those who may be observing them. No eyes were
more penetrating than those of Marcella Gordon. They shot basilisks
at the pair. The visit was necessarily short, and the parting between
Rosa and Charley was doubly severe to both, since they were thus
compelled by the presence of others, to conceal their emotions.

"By all the saints, but thou art a happy fellow, Stewart!" said Sir
Piers Gordon to Charley, as they turned away to join the party. "That
is the prettiest young creature I have seen for many a long day."

"I see little to admire about her," said the Lady Marcella, with a
scornful air; "a waxen child! a smock-faced red and white pippin!"

"Nay, Marcella, women are no judges of beauty in their own sex,"
replied Sir Piers. "I say she is very lovely; and I say again thou
art a happy fellow, Stewart; for, judging from appearances, thou
seem'st to be right well established in her affections."

"We have known one another since her childhood," said Charley Stewart
hurriedly.

"And so now thou wouldst fain convert her from thy playmate into thy
wife," said Sir Piers, laughing.

"My wife, Sir Piers!" said Charley, in great confusion. "What could I
do with a wife, who am so poor and unknown? I must e'en follow Fortune
for some time as my mistress, and court her till she smiles upon me."

"Fear not that she will refuse to smile upon one of thy merit," said
the Lady Marcella. "One who can ride, and wield his weapons as thou
canst, may well look to Fortune providing something better for him
than the obscure and low-bred orphan of a common man-at-arms."

Charley Stewart was silent, but Sir Piers was not altogether so blind
as not to perceive how matters stood with his niece. He had observed
the Lady Marcella's manner,--was struck with her words,--and a strong
conviction entered his mind that she had allowed herself to fall in
love with Charley Stewart. Now his affection for Charley had waxed
so strong, that, knowing the good blood that was in him, he would
have rejoiced to have seen him the husband of Marcella. But feeling
that it would be prudent, before giving encouragement to any such
scheme, that he should privately satisfy himself as to the suspicions
he entertained of an existing attachment between Charley and Rosa
MacDermot, and, having failed in one attempt to lead Charley to be
explicit, he privately resolved in his own mind, secretly to visit
Mrs. MacDermot herself, from whom he looked to receive clearer and
more ready information.

Having accordingly ridden over to her house alone, the very next
morning, he soon learned from the worthy woman the whole history
of the lovers. He was not a little disappointed to find that he
had made so shrewd a guess, and that, to so honest and honourable a
mind as his, there thus remained no fair hope of the completion of
that alliance, which would have been so agreeable to him, as well
as to his niece. All that he had learned from the widow regarding
Charley, had only served to increase his admiration of him, and to
make his regret the greater. But being now in possession of the fact,
he thought it his duty to deal plainly with the Lady Marcella, and
he accordingly embraced the very first opportunity he could command
of speaking with her in private.

"Marcella," said he to her abruptly, "what think ye of Charley
Stewart?"

"A proper young man, I promise thee," replied the lady, with the same
want of ceremony.

"His lameness is unfortunate,--it mars his appearance much," said Sir
Piers. "And that cross scar on his cheek is any thing but ornamental."

"Pshaw!" cried the lady; "a fico for his scar! I hope, ere he dies,
to see his manly face seamed by many a deeper ornament of the same
sort, gained in tough fight, man to man. And as to his lameness! shew
me one that will vault into his saddle with him, or ride with him,
or hold a lance with him after he is in it! Charley Stewart is a
prince of a fellow!"

"All that is very true, niece," said Sir Piers; "but methinks thou
speakest of him with unusual warmth. Pray Heaven thou be'st not in
love with the young man!"

"Nay, uncle, since I must needs say so, that is already past praying
for," replied Marcella, with a sigh; which, as it was the first that
ever in her life escaped her, was a precious deep one.

"I am sorry to hear thee say so, niece," said Sir Piers; "for thy
case is hopeless, seeing that thou hast already a rival, to whom he
is not only attached, but affianced."

"What, uncle!" exclaimed the lady, in a supercilious tone; "dost thou
think so very meanly of thy niece, as to suppose that the whey-faced
orphan of a miserable man-at-arms, can have any chance with me,
when I, the heiress of thy lands, choose to enter the lists?"

"I think and hope too well of my niece and heiress," said Sir Piers
gravely, "to believe, that, for her own gratification, she will try to
divide two hearts already united by the tenderest vows that affection
can form."

"Affection!" exclaimed the lady; "tush, nonsense, uncle! the affection
of children! the brotherly and sisterly affection of babes, for such
was the sort of affection of which Stewart himself spoke, and his
words are all we have yet to go upon."

"Pardon me," said her uncle, calmly; "I have yet better information
than any thing we have gathered from him. Suspecting that Charley
Stewart's merits were beginning to render him not altogether without
interest in your eyes, I deemed it to be my duty to know the truth
regarding this attachment between him and Rosa MacDermot. With this
view I visited the Widow MacDermot herself, and from her I learned,
that the bond between the pair, lacks nothing to complete it, but
the holy sacrament that may fasten the tie for ever."

"And until that tie be fixed, it is nothing," said the lady. "Yet
what sort of evidence would you bring me, truly, of this same
attachment?--That of an old woman, who, in her folly, sees every
thing just according to the way her wishes may lead her fancy. I will
believe Stewart himself before a dozen such crones, especially where
self-interest, and the interest of her girl, must so evidently sway
her. Let me but try my influence on him, and thou shalt see how soon
he will forget this peasant maid. Thou shalt see"----

"I grieve to find that thou art so resolved to blind thyself,
niece!" interrupted Sir Piers, very seriously; "but it is alike my
duty to see that you neither run into hopeless misery, nor try to
convert that misery into happiness, by unjustly and cruelly ruining
the peace of another. I shall again visit the Widow's cottage, this
very afternoon. I shall see and converse with the daughter herself,
after which I shall hold plainer converse than I have ever yet done
with Stewart. If I find that you have judged correctly, and that there
is nothing more in this matter than that the mother hath allowed her
judgment to be warped by her wishes, my best endeavours shall not
be wanting to accomplish those desires which thou hast so clearly
exposed to me. But I tell thee honestly, that if, on the other hand,
I find that the Widow has judged and reported truly, I shall, for
your sake, as well as for that of Stewart, do all I can to promote
his union with Rosa MacDermot."

"Say'st thou so, old man?" muttered the Lady Marcella to herself,
after her uncle had left her; "then must I act--aye, and act quickly,
and boldly too."

After a moment's thought, she clapped her hands for her page, and
sent him directly to entreat that Stewart would favour her with a
private interview immediately. He came at her summons; and, after
the usual salutations were over, she, with a face that, spite of her
determined and dauntless character, absolutely burned, from the very
nature of the communication she had resolved to make, entered upon
it in a low yet steady and unbroken tone.

"I take it for granted, Stewart," said she, "that the few words I
let fall, the other day, when we were returning from our pursuit
after the caitiff Catteranes, were not thrown away upon one of your
quick wit. They were not uttered without intention; and they have,
I trust, proved to thee that thy rare merits have not escaped my
notice, and that I take no common interest in thee."

The Lady Marcella paused for an answer; and the astonished Charley
Stewart, having mumbled some confused and ill-connected expressions
of gratitude for her good opinion, she continued in a yet calmer and
more collected tone.

"I have thus sent for thee, honestly to confess to thee, that the
interest I take in thee is of a nature, which could not permit me
to see unmoved, one, who is so manifestly born for better fortunes,
ignorantly to mar them from too humble an estimation of his own merits,
and, without looking higher, blindly to tie himself down from all
chance of rising, by rashly binding himself to baseness and poverty. If
ever a desire of turning the issues of fate into their proper course,
might be an excuse for a woman speaking out more openly and plainly
than tyrant custom has permitted her sex to do, certain I am it might
be reasonably held to be in the present case. But, were it otherwise,
thou hast already seen enough of me to know, that I am no ordinary
woman; and I, who have dared much, would dare this too--yea, and ten
times more, to secure mine own peace, and thy happiness. Reflect,
then, on the words I uttered as we returned from our expedition. Know,
that Fortune hath not refused to shine on thy deserts, for she now
offers thee the hand and fortune of her who addresses thee."

"Lady!" exclaimed Charley Stewart, staggering back with absolute
amazement, and altogether unable to answer coherently, from the
confusion he was thrown into--"I have been foolishly reserved, lady. I
have been strangely and grievously misconceived. Yet I thought I had
spoken plainly enough.--I--I--I am altogether unworthy of any one of
thy station. I am already pledged to another."

"I was not altogether unprepared for some such confession," said the
lady, with a self-possession, arising from the circumstance, that she
spoke truly. "I had heard, and I did see enough to make me aware that
something had passed between thee and the silly girl MacDermot. But
these were childish ties, entered into when thou couldst have no
foreknowledge of thine own fortunes; and they must, of stern necessity,
yield to that expediency which now demands thine exaltation."

"Lady," replied Stewart, who by this time began to be somewhat
more master of his faculties, "I have learned enough to know that
true exaltation can never be purchased by treachery, perfidy, and
cruelty. Rosa MacDermot and I loved one another whilst she was yet
a child, it is true, but we have loved one another ever since with a
growing affection, which has produced vows of the most solemn nature
between us. I love her more than I do life itself; and not for all
the wealth or honours that this world could bestow, would I cease to
love her."

"So great a constancy, and so true a heart, proves but the more
how much thou wert born for knighthood," said the lady, calmly. "And
perhaps, entangled as thou seemest to have been, it might have been due
to such honour as might befit a knight, to have clung to engagements
so made. But to render such a case of so great self devotion rational,
it would at least be requisite that it should be mutual. Hast thou
proof that it is really so? Hast thou never had doubts on that
score? No suspicions?"

"Proof of the love of Rosa MacDermot, lady?" exclaimed Charley,
with astonishment. "Doubts of Rosa? I should as soon ask for proof
that the blessed sun gives light, or have doubts that the glorious
orb might drop from the firmament."

"Other men before thee have been as honestly confiding, and yet
have been deceived," said the lady. "The humble soil where thou hast
rooted thine affections, is not always that which produces the most
virtuous fruits."

"What wouldst thou hint, lady?" demanded Charley, in a disturbed and
agitated tone.

"I grieve to tell thee," replied the lady. "It pains me to be compelled
to undeceive thee, by withdrawing thee from thy pleasing dreams, to
look boldly on the afflicting truth. Yet I must tell thee, that thy
heroic constancy hath not been met by a like unshaken return of it."

"Say--what?--Holy saints protect me!" cried Charley Stewart, in a
greatly agitated and excited manner. "What wouldst thou insinuate
lady? Rosa unfaithful?--Oh! impossible!--Where is the liar who
hath thus abused thine ear regarding her who is purity and truth
itself? Tell me his name, that I may make my sword drink his base
black heart's blood!"

"Be calm, Stewart," replied the lady, with imperturbable placidity of
manner. "Thou wilt gain nothing by yielding thyself up to blind rage. I
trust thou wilt see that it is no ordinary affection in me that can
prompt me to the disclosure that I am now about to make to thee."

"Speak on, lady. Oh keep me not in suspense!" cried Charley Stewart,
wildly breaking in on her mysterious pause.

"Stewart," said the lady, solemnly, "thou wert prepared to withstand
all temptation that might be calculated to break the rash vows of
youthful ignorance. But she for whom you made them--she for whose
sake thou wouldst have so honourably maintained them to the sacrifice
of wealth and advancement--she, I fear, has had less resolution to
resist their allurements. Be not too much astonished or shocked, for
I must tell thee, that mine uncle, Sir Piers Gordon, is the favoured
lover of Rosa MacDermot."

"Thine uncle Sir Piers, Lady?" cried Charley, petrified with
surprise. "Impossible! it cannot be!"

"Strange as it may seem to thee, and strange as it unquestionably is,"
replied the Lady Marcella, "it is in reality but too true that she
favours his visits for her own purposes. He has already found his way
to the Widow's cottage more than once, and he has even ventured to hint
to myself that he has not been coldly received--and then, Stewart----"

"Lady," interrupted Charley, impatiently and violently, "I would not
believe even Sir Piers himself if he were to tell me this!----and
yet," added he, after a pause, during which he struck his forehead
with the palm of his hand, and seemed to be immersed in deep thought,
"and yet, he was strangely struck with her when first they met!--But
the time is so short--so very short since then--she!--Rosa! Oh, Rosa
never could have been brought, in so short a time, to forget the days
of her childhood, and her oft repeated vows to me!"

"Reflect, Stewart," said the lady, "that mine uncle is a landed laird,
and a belted knight, with spurs at his heels!"

"What!" exclaimed Charley Stewart, in an intense agony of excited
feeling, and with a half choked voice, "landed laird, saidst thou! a
belted knight, with spurs at his heels! Can it be? Oh! that accursed
prophecy of that most accursed hag! But art thou sure of what thou
sayest, lady? How canst thou satisfy me? By all the holy saints I
must be satisfied!"

"Nay," replied Marcella, coolly, "I can satisfy thee no otherwise
than by saying that I have his own word for it, and--"

"His own word!" cried Charley; "Oh, wicked, wicked, and most deceitful
man, thus wilfully to undermine me! Though I was less open in thy
presence, lady, yet I said enough to him afterwards, to have enabled
even a fool and a dotard, to have read my meaning."

"So indeed he hinted," replied Marcella; "but then his apology for
the interpretation which he hath found it convenient to put upon thy
words is, that he has been encouraged by the girl herself. And as he
was with her but yesterday, if he had not spoken truly as to this,
he would have hardly hurried back again thither so soon as he has
now done."

"Back, didst thou say, Lady?" exclaimed Stewart, growing black with
rage and jealousy. "Back!--whither?--when?--how?--Oh, my brain is
burning! Back, didst thou say?"

"Yea," replied the Lady Marcella, with perfect calmness, "mine uncle,
Sir Piers, hath gone to visit Rosa MacDermot this very afternoon. He
parted from me for that purpose but a few minutes before thou camest
in hither. He is on his way thither now. Go!--convince thyself! But be
prudent. Act not rashly. Forget not that a knight, such as he is, hath
a natural belief in him that he is entitled to some little license,
where the matter concerns those only of such low degree as the girl
Rosa MacDermot can boast of."

Charley Stewart listened to those words of the Lady Marcella with a
fixedness of eye, and of aspect, that was almost too fearful for her,
bold as she was, to look upon. He seemed intent upon devouring every
syllable she uttered. And yet, his intentness of gaze was more like
that of a maniac, than of a rational man. She had no sooner finished
than he ground his teeth, clenched his hands, struck them both with
violence upon his bosom, and then rushed from the chamber, without
giving utterance to a word.

"I have stung him to the quick," muttered the Lady Marcella,
in soliloquy, after he was gone. "And now," added she, bitterly,
"my prudent uncle has some chance of learning, to his cost, that it
were better to face the lean and starving lioness, when preying for
food for her famished whelps, than to step between a woman and her
love. I never meant to have brought this upon him. He hath brought
it altogether upon himself; and now let him look to it, that his
heritage be not mine, some few good years before he would have had
it descend upon me. Should the plot chance to work so, my triumph
over this youth will be easy and certain."

The honest old knight, Sir Piers Gordon, had ridden quietly over the
hill, attended only by two of his people, and having left them to take
charge of his horse, in the wood, at no great distance from the Widow's
cottage, he had walked up thither alone. Mrs. MacDermot had been too
much gratified by his friendly talk, during his former visit to her,
not to have made her daughter acquainted with all that passed. Though
his present call was unlooked for, Rosa was already so far prepared to
expect that his visit was a visit of kindness, that she readily obeyed
the request, which he conveyed to her through her mother, to favour him
with her presence. He spoke to her with all the kindness of a father,
and, in answer to his inquiries, she blushingly unbosomed herself to
him, as if he had stood to her in that degree of relationship. She
felt, indeed, that he was the patron and the benefactor of him who
was all in this world to her, and she was, from this cause, already
prepared to love and reverence him. He was full of benevolent plans
for the accomplishment of their union, and the furtherance of their
happiness, and he sat with her on the turf-seat at the cottage door,
expounding them to her, with her hand affectionately in his, and
with his face eagerly turned towards her, in the earnestness of his
conversation, till the sun, which shed his parting radiance upon them,
was just about to sink behind the opposite mountain. Even the sound
of a furiously galloping horse, which came thundering towards them,
failed to arouse them from their interesting talk. Suddenly it burst
out from the woodland, foaming and panting upon the green, within a
few yards of the spot where they were sitting together, and a man,
more like a maniac than a rational being, threw himself from the
saddle. His naked sword was gleaming in his hand, ere his feet had
well touched the ground. It was Charley Stewart.

"Traitor!" cried he in a hoarse choking voice, "up and defend thy
vile life!"

"Charley! Charley!" cried Rosa, springing towards him, "harm not a
hair of his head!"

"What! perjured girl!" cried Charley, pushing her from him so rudely,
as to extend her at some distance from him, nearly senseless on the
green; "wouldst thou whet the very edge of my sword against him,
by thy base entreaties for him? Come on, traitor!"

"Stewart, are ye mad?" cried the Knight; "listen to reason."

"Cowardly traitor that thou art, I will listen to nothing from thee,"
cried Charley Stewart, gnashing his teeth and foaming at the mouth
with fury. "Draw and defend thyself; or, by Heaven, I will forthwith
rid thee of thy vile dastard life! draw, I say!"

"Nay, he must be mad!" cried Sir Piers. "Yet I must defend my life,
though it should be to the peril of his."

But Sir Piers, who sought only to protect himself from Charley's
furious assault, accidentally failed in his very first guard. The
weight of his assailant's blow broke through it, and falling upon the
Knight's head, which had then nothing on it but a bonnet, it stretched
him motionless on the sward. Charley Stewart stood for a moment to
look with horror upon his work--the blood was gushing forth from
the wound, and dying the white hair of him who had been his patron
and friend. From that he turned and gazed upon the prostrate figure
of Rosa MacDermot, who still lay in a kind of half-swoon from the
effects of his violence. He felt as if his bursting heart would have
forced its way through his side. Roused from his trance by the screams
of the Widow MacDermot, he heard the galloping of horses approaching,
and, rushing mechanically into the thickest part of the wood, he made
his way towards the mountains, where night soon overtook him. Still he
continued to wander on, however, without fixed intention or direction;
and it was only on finding, at day-break, that he had already fled far
towards the south, that, after having given due way to his affliction,
he resolved to travel towards Edinburgh, to seek his father, where,
as we have already seen, he ultimately arrived, weary and woe-begone.

The next morning, after Charley Stewart's appearance in Edinburgh,
his father, Sir Walter Stewart, aroused him from the deep sleep into
which his fatigue of body had thrown him, and which, as it was nearly
the first he had had since the sad events which had driven him from the
north, even their cruel influence upon his mind could not disturb. In
reply to Sir Walter's inquiries, he gave him a brief statement of
his history and his misfortunes, and his wounded spirit was soothed
by the kind sympathy which Sir Walter manifested towards him.

"Charley," said he, "thy fate hath been a cruel one, truly; but thou
must bestir thee to shake off thy sorrows. Nothing better, as a cure
for melancholy, than action. I have an emprise on hand, that is for
thee the very medicine that thou lackest, and as it may speedily end
with thee in a journey to France, as the esquire of a knight whom
it will do thee much honour to serve, it is, of all others, the very
best chance that could befal thee under present circumstances. But the
morning wears, and we must go to work without farther loss of time."

Sir Walter Stewart having disguised himself, and his son Charley,
in broad slouched hats and cloaks, they sallied forth together. At
the head of the close, they found two hacknies in the High Street,
held by a single groom. They leaped into their saddles, and, without
any inquiry or explanation as to whither they were bound, they rode
forth together, at a gentle pace, from the southern part of the city,
as if they had been bent more upon pleasure than business. They had
not gone farther in that direction than just beyond the Burgh Loch,
a piece of water which then occupied that extent of flat low ground
now known by the name of The Meadows, when Sir Walter turned his
horse's head to the westward, and, spurring forward, he and Charley
galloped together through the woodland, the groves, and the thickets,
which partially covered the Burgh Muir, and gradually sweeping
round at a point considerably to the westward of the Castle rock,
they then pushed forward at a furious pace in a northerly direction,
making straight for that part of the shore of the Firth of Forth,
lying immediately to the westward of the citadel of Leith. That
which is now a continuous town, was then almost a wilderness of sandy
hillocks, which stretched considerably farther into the sea than the
land now does, its waters having since much encroached on that part
of the coast during the lapse of ages. Taking up a position on a
bare elevated spot, Sir Walter looked with anxious eyes towards the
road-stead. There were but few vessels there; but one seemed to be
slowly coming up to her anchorage, with a fair breeze from the east,
but with her sails so curtailed as betokened caution in those on
board. Sir Walter seemed to eye her with peculiar interest for some
time, and then he addressed a rough red-faced pilot, who was standing
below on the beach, beside his boat, watching the vessel stedfastly,
as if he wished to make out what sort of craft she might be.

"Is not that a foreign barque, friend?" demanded Sir Walter.

"Aye, aye, sir," replied the pilot; "she is a furrenner. If I'm
not far mista'en it's the Garron of Burdy, Captain Davy Trummel,
with wine aboard. I think I kenn her rig--and a clever rig it is,
let me tell ye."

"She seems a goodly sea-boat, well fitted to fly quickly over so long
a voyage," replied Sir Walter carelessly.

"That she is, I'll be sworn sir," answered the pilot. "Few in the
trade can match her, I promise ye. But what strange mortals them
French Munseers are after all: why they should call a vessel a Garron,
the which is the swiftest bit of a craft my eyes ever came across, I
can't nowise reasonably comprehend, unless it be out of a mere spirit
of contradiction. But I must call out the lads, and be off to her,
for there's the signal flying for me."

"Thou shalt take me aboard with thee, and have something for thy
guerdon," said Sir Walter. "I would taste this Frenchman's wines,
ere the palates of the good Burghers become acquainted with them."

"Willingly will I do thy pleasure, sir," replied the man; and,
running towards a solitary cottage which stood upon a bank hard by,
he began shouting out, "Jemmy!" and "Harry!" till two lads, who were
his sons and assistants, appeared.

"Thou must tarry here with the horses, till I return from on board,
Charles," said Sir Walter. "This is the very vessel I looked for--the
Garonne of Bordeaux, Captain De Tremouille. He is an old friend of
mine, and I would fain have some talk with him."

Sir Walter was speedily rowed on board by the pilot and his two
sons. The barque took up her proper ground, under the directions which
the helmsman received from the experienced old sailor. The anchor was
let go, and she swung round to her moorings. Charley Stewart passed
a considerable time in walking the horses about ere he saw the boat
leave the barque. At length he beheld it pulling towards the shore,
and Sir Walter again joined him, bearing two large bundles, which were
stowed away behind their saddles, in such a manner as to be covered
by their cloaks as they rode, and following the same circuitous route
which they had taken in their way out, they returned to the city,
and regained the Knight's lodgings without observation.

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR.

Clifford.--Stop one moment, Serjeant. See how the rain has made its
way through the chinks of the window, and deluged the floor.

Serjeant.--Mercy on me, so it has, sir! Well, I'm sure it's no
wonder. Such a blast as that which is rairding without, would drive
it through a stone wall.

Grant.--Call the girl from the kitchen, like a good man.

Serjeant.--Here, lassie!--We're like to be all drowned at this end
of the house. Bring some cloths, will ye, and dish-clouts, and dry
up this deluge here.

Lassie.--Keep us a', siccana sight! But we're no one hair better in
the other end o' the house.

Clifford.--Aye, that's a good girl. Now lay some of these cloths
along the window here. Aye, that will do. I think that ought to make
us water-tight. Now, heap some more wood and peats on the fire before
you go. Thank ye--that's glorious. Now, let the storm howl as it likes.

Grant.--Do go on with your story, Serjeant. You were interrupted in
a most interesting part of it.

Clifford.--"Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!"--I beg your pardon,
Sergeant; pray proceed.

Author.--Aye, pray do proceed. I am anxious to know what Sir Walter
Stewart's plans are, and how he succeeded in carrying them into
effect. This part of the history is well known; but the minuter
details are nowhere told in any book I am acquainted with, and I am
curious to hear them.

Serjeant--(taking a long draught from his punch-jug.)--You shall be
satisfied immediately, sir.

THE LEGEND OF CHARLEY STEWART TÀILLEAR-CRUBACH
CONTINUED.

Soon after his return home, from his visit to the barque Garonne,
Sir Walter Stewart got rid of his disguise, put on a courtier's
attire, and hastened to the Castle, to pay his usual attendance
of ceremony on the King. This he made a point of never neglecting,
notwithstanding the marked curtailment which his private, and more
familiar intercourse with his Majesty had received. Whilst within the
walls of the fortress, he contrived, quietly and without suspicion,
to make himself master of the state of the roster of the officers of
the royal guard. To his no small satisfaction, he discovered that the
captain of the guard, for the next day, was to be a certain individual
of the name of Strang, whom he knew to be a worthless, reckless,
hard-drinking, gaming fellow. He then made all the observations that
circumstances permitted, and, pleased with the information he had
acquired, he returned to his lodging, in order fully to acquaint
Charley with it, as well as with the whole of his plans, and with
the manner in which he proposed to carry them into execution, so as
to make him perfectly comprehend the part which he intended that he
should play in them. To lull all after surmise regarding himself,
as much as possible, he that evening appeared in the apartments of
Sir William Rogers, and bore his share in the performance of the
music that was given there. He then kept his appointment with the
Earl of Huntly, in order to tell him that all was prepared, and,
after a hasty interview, shortened by their apprehensions of being
detected together, a circumstance which might have been ruinous to
their projects, Sir Walter retired to his lodging for the night.

Some little time after guard-mounting, next morning, the bundles which
they had brought from the French vessel were opened, and the Knight,
and his son, proceeded to disguise themselves, by putting on the
attire of French sailors, which they contained; and so perfectly did
Sir Walter succeed in this operation, that his most intimate friend
could not have known him. Wrapped up in cloaks, they then took their
stand within the dark threshold of a deep doorway, that opened from
the obscure entrance of the close where Sir Walter lodged. This was
a position from which they could see every one who passed up or down
the High Street, without a chance of their being themselves seen.

They had not stood long there, until their ears caught the distant, but
unceasing jabber of the French tongue, coming up the High Street. It
came from half a-dozen or more voices at once, all being talkers and
none listeners. The noise grew louder and louder, until Sir Walter,
by stretching out his neck from his lurking-place, espied the captain
or skipper of the French barque, approaching with some eight or ten
of his crew. They came walking along close to the houses on his side
of the way. They carried two small casks of wine, each of them slung
on a pole between two men, who were changed from time to time as
they required relief, whilst another man carried a little runlet on
his shoulders. Sir Walter gave a particular whistle, and in a moment
the whole party turned in under the covered entrance of the close,
and laid down their burdens as if to rest themselves. In an instant,
Sir Walter and Charley Stewart threw off their cloaks, and transferred
them to two of the French sailors, who immediately retired into the
Knight's lodgings, whilst he and his son succeeded to the burdens
they had carried. Having effected this change, Sir Walter held some
private talk with Captain De Tremouille, after which the party moved
on up the street, and so up the Castle-Hill, until they came to the
castle gate. There the French skipper, in broken English, told the
sentinel that he would fain speak a word to the captain of the guard,
for whom he was the bearer of a small present of wine, and he and
his whole party were speedily admitted.

"I do ave von leetil praisaint of vine for you, sare," said the
skipper, boldly addressing the scarlet-visaged captain of the
guard. "Dis leetil cask for your own taste.--De richest vine in
de varld."

"Thou art an especial good fellow, sir," replied the captain, clumsily
returning the exquisite bow which the Frenchman had made him, whilst,
at the same time, he eyed the runlet, and immediately consigned it to
the particular care of one of his own people. "Nothing could possibly
come more opportunely, and I am most grateful for thy courtesy. It
must be confessed that you Frenchmen are the most perfect gentlemen
in the world, and know how to do a thing genteelly."

"Ah, sare, dat is too mosh compliment for me as van Frainchman,"
replied the skipper, with a smile and a bow yet lower than his former
one. "And de compliment is more bettaire dat she come from van so
grait hero as de Capitaine Strang! Admirasion for de fame of him,
did make me ave de grait desire to honnaire myself wid praisant him
vid dis leetil gift, for vitch liberty I do hope he is not offend."

"Offended, my dear fellow!" cried Captain Strang; "thy runlet comes
to me as welcome as the very flowers in May! But how the pest dost
thou chance to know my name, Sir Skipper?"

"De name and de fame of de grat hero, is alvaise know by all men all
over de varld," replied the skipper, with another most obsequious
reverence.

"By St. Andrew, but this is a curious marvel though," said the
captain. "Who would have thought that my name could have been known
in France as a hero! Yet certain it is that I have done some small
deeds in my time, that these French mooshies may have heard of."

"Deeds, Monsieur le Capitaine!" cried De Tremouille, with feigned
astonishment; "Vondaires in battaile! meeracailes in de feelde! van
Achille of Scotlande! But all dat is nossing at all compare to de fame
of Monsieur le Capitaine for his vonderful taste for de good vine! Ven
dey do talk of good vine in France, dey do alvaise say--Aha! dis
is vine fit for de pallait of van Empereur; bot dis 'ere is more
bettaire, dis is fit for de pallait of de famous Scottish hero, de
Capitaine Strang, dat do know good vine more bettaire dan any oder
man in de varld."

"By all the saints, that is wonderful!" said the captain; "and yet
that I can more easily understand. Yes, yes; few people can match
me there. And then, to be sure, these wine-dealers in France must
know some little of those who are judges of the good stuff, and who,
moreover, like myself, do so much to encourage their trade. But hark
ye, Mr. Skipper! what do ye with those other two casks which those
fellows of thine are carrying?"

"Ah hah! dat is von praisant pour de Duc d'Albanie," replied the
skipper.

"Ha!" cried the captain of the guard, with a certain air of suspicion;
"the Duke of Albany, saidst thou? How comest thou to have a present
for the Duke of Albany?"

"Oh yaes, sare!" replied the imperturbable skipper, with great apparent
innocence, "de vine is von cadeau, vat you do call praisant from de
marchand at Bordeaux, vid de expectation dat de squisite taste of him
may make mi Lor Duc to ave mor of him pour de l'argent, and prevail
on de Royal King, his broder, to ave some too also."

"Um--aye," said the captain of the guard, with hesitation; "likely
story enough--though there be but little chance of the King drinking
ought of the Duke's providing, whatever liquor the Duke may by and bye
drink of his Majesty's brewing. But 'twas natural enow in the merchant
to think so, Mooshie. As for the Duke, he is no bad customer to his
own fist, when he is well set with a jolly boon companion, such as
myself for instance. So thou mayest as well leave thy twin-casks in my
charge, friend; and I shall see that they are properly delivered.--At
least," added he, in an under voice, aside, "I shall take care most
conscientiously to deliver them in due time of their contents."

"Tank you--very mosh tank you, sare," replied the skipper. "Mais I
not trobil you. De marchand did ordaire me to see dem in de royal
hand of de Duc heemself. If I not do dat, I most take heem back
again. Jean! François! il faut----"

"Um!--don't be so hasty, man," interrupted the captain of the guard,
by no means willing to lose sight of the casks, and hesitating, and
cogitating within himself, that if the wine was taken back, he would
lose all chance of tasting it; whereas, if it was once lodged with the
Duke, he had a fair prospect of being invited to share in it. "You
Mooshies are as pestilent hasty as a bit of touch paper. Thou shalt
deliver the wine thyself to the Duke. Here, Laurence--the keys of
the Duke's apartments! Now, Mooshie, do thou and three of thy fellows
quickly shoulder the casks and follow me."

The skipper immediately took up one end of the pole that swung one
of the casks, and addressing Sir Walter Stewart by the name of Jean,
he called to him roughly, in French, to take up the other end. Charley
Stewart and a sailor hoisted up the second cask; and so they followed
the captain of the guard up to the Duke's apartments.

When the doors were opened, which gave access to the royal prisoner,
they found the Duke of Albany sitting at a table in conversation with
his chamberlain, his manly and somewhat stern countenance deprived
of much of its wonted bloom and sunshine, from the confinement to
which he had been subjected, and the melancholy anticipations which
possessed his mind, though nothing had as yet been able to overpower
his indomitable resolution. It was only when he arose from his chair,
to ascertain what his visitors came about, that his powerful and
well-proportioned person, and his broad chest, were fully exhibited.

"What is all this?" cried the Duke, somewhat impatiently.

"So please your Highness' Grace, this French Mooshie skipper is the
bearer of a present of that which he states to be very choice wine
of his country's growth," said Captain Strang, with a low obeisance.

"Who can have thus remembered me in my misfortunes?" demanded the Duke.

"Nay," replied Strang, "I question if either the giver of the gift,
or he that hath it in charge, know ought of the position in which
your Royal Highness is now placed. But stand forth, Sir Mooshie,
and tell thine own tale."

"Eh bien," cried the skipper, advancing, and bowing three or four
times to the ground; "Je le----"

"Hold! hold! Mooshie!" interrupted Captain Strang; "none of thine own
outlandish language, dost thou hear? Thou canst speak our tongue well
enow for all purposes, so keep to that, if it so please thee."

"Very vell, Monsieur le Capitaine String," replied the skipper,
with a shrug, and a grimace, that showed his disappointment in being
thus prevented from speaking to the Duke, in a language which would
have veiled all he said from the apprehension of the captain of the
guard--"Very vell, Monsieur le Capitaine; I vill make van attente
to make onderstand de bad Englis of me to his Royal Highness de Duc
d'Albanie.--I ave been send vid dis two cask of vin, as van cadeau
from de marchand Beauvilliers at Bordeaux, to his Highness Royal de
Duc d'Albanie, vid de ope dat de magnifique flaveur of de vine may
please heem, and procure for de marchand van large ordaire from his
Highness Royal, and from his royal broder, his Majesty de King."

"I can promise nothing for his Majesty, friend," replied the Duke;
"but for myself, I would have ye thank Monsieur Beauvilliers from me,
and say to him, that if the wine liketh me well, I shall send him an
order; that is to say, if there be aught of likelihood of my being
alive to drink of it when it comes to hand.--But what sort of wine
is it that thou hast brought me?"

"In dat cask dere is shoise vine of Gascony," said the skipper,
pointing to that which Charley Stewart had helped to bear; "bot,
goot as it is, I am force to tink dat de oder vine, in dis cask,
vill give more plaisir to son Altesse Royale."

"Sir," said Sir Walter, bringing forward the cask, and speaking to the
skipper in French, as if he were merely applying to him for orders,
but in a tone so loud and distinct as to insure that the Duke should
catch every word that fell from him--"do not show surprise at what I
say, or recognise me, if you discover me.--We are all friends. This
cask contains the means of escape, with instructions how you are
to effect it. Let not the captain of the guard depart without an
invitation to supper; the contents of this cask will tell you why."

"Sacre cochon!" cried the skipper, with an angry air, and at the
same time bestowing a smart blow of a rattan on the shoulders of Sir
Walter. "Sacre cochon que vous estes!"

"What did the fellow say to thee, friend skipper?" demanded the
captain of the guard; "and what didst thou say to him?"

"Mine Got! Monsieur le Capitaine String," replied the skipper, "dis
crew of mine is so great idil vans, dat dey vear out de patience
of van Job heemself. I not be come to dis place ardly van moment,
and bifore I decharge my cargo, ven dey must vant to leif me alone,
and to go to run all over de cite, after de dance, and de Scottis
preetee lasses. Be Gar, Monsieur Jean, you sall vork more vork pour
dis, dat I do tell you, mon garçon."

"Fear nothing, sir," said Sir Walter, again in French, and humbly
bowing to the skipper, as if making an earnest and contrite apology
to his master; "act boldly; remember the south-western side--there
thou shalt find friends beyond the walls."

"Aha, Coquin!" cried the skipper; "mais vous avez joué votre role
à merveille----"

"What said the fellow? and what was thine answer to him?" demanded
the captain of the guard again.

"Par bleu, Monsieur le Capitaine String, I ave make heem bon garçon
at last," replied the skipper; "I do ave make heem cry peccavée."

"Was that all?" said the captain, gruffly. "Then come away, Mooshie,
let us clear out of this. Thou and thy fellows have been long enough
here."

"Before thou goest, I would speak with thee, Captain Strang," said the
Duke. "If fame and mine own experience belie thee not, thou art great
in thy judgment of wines. Wilt thou lend me thy company to-night at
supper, that we may taste the stuff which this fellow hath brought me,
of the rare quality of which he makes so great a boast?"

"Your Royal Highness's Grace does me too much honour," replied Strang,
with a most obsequious bow. "My taste is but a poor and uncultivated
taste; but I shall be proud to perfect it under your Royal Highness's
superior judgment and instruction."

"Then let us have supper at four, good captain," said the Duke; "and
as my chamberlain here would fain invite those three poor knaves who
guard the door, to watch for once within side of it, and to partake
of his table, I would have thee see that, at my expense, enough of
the best viands be provided for all."

"Your Highness is too considerate," replied Strang. "Yet, since your
royal will runs so, it shall be obeyed to the letter. The supper shall
be such as shall content you." And then retiring, and shutting and
locking the door upon his prisoners, he descended the outer steps,
muttering to himself,--"The supper may well be a good one indeed,
and thou mayest well eat and drink thy fill; for, if I be not far
mistaken, it may be the last supper thou mayest eat, and the last
wine thou mayest swallow."

The skipper and his party now left the Castle, without farther
question; and as they passed by the mouth of the close where Sir
Walter Stewart lived, on their way down the High Street, the knight
and his son were replaced by the two French sailors, in the same
adroit manner in which the change had been formerly effected; and
they gained their lodgings, and got rid of their disguise, without
having subjected themselves to the least suspicion, whilst the skipper
continued his way out of the city, with the same number of followers
as he had always had with him.

No sooner was the Duke of Albany free from the chance of interruption,
than he and his chamberlain proceeded to wrench up the end of that
cask which Sir Walter Stewart had so ingeniously and so particularly
indicated, as the important one to the royal captive. They found it
altogether devoid of wine; but, to their no small joy, they found
within it a long coil of rope, and a large roll of wax. Their first
care was to replace the rope, and to shut up the cask again, and then
to roll it into the corner, where they set it on end immediately
in rear of that which contained the wine. They then hastily opened
the roll of wax, and discovered that it contained a letter from Sir
Walter, explaining the whole plan for their escape. Having studied this
again and again, so as fully to possess themselves of its contents,
they committed it to the ample fire-place, where it was immediately
consumed, and then they sat down together to resolve and arrange
all the minor parts and details of their plot. Whilst they were so
employed, Captain Strang was unable to resist the devil that tempted
him to taste his little runlet. It was excellent wine. He boldly,
and with great determination, put in the spigot again, and gallantly
retreated from it. But again and again was he drawn to it by an
attraction as strong as that which the loadstone exerts over the
needle. Again and again he drew the spigot, and sipped moderately. He
would have drank deeply, had not economy whispered him that he had
better preserve it for a future opportunity, seeing that he had the
prospect of that night drinking so largely at another's expense. But
still he sipped and sipped from time to time, so that, although far
from drunk when he appeared in the Duke of Albany's apartment--nay,
I may say, far from being even what is usually called half seas
over--he had so whetted his thirst as to be ready to drink oceans;
and the foundation he had laid was quite enough for a superstructure
of perfect intoxication.

As the supper was to be partaken of by him and his people at the Duke's
expense, the captain of the guard had taken especial care to see that
it was a good one. His Royal Highness sat at a small table near the
huge fire-place, with Captain Strang upon his left hand. There they
were first served by the chamberlain, and the three men of the guard,
with all the delicacies they chose to call for; and large beakers
of the new wine being placed before them, the captain gave full way
to his Bacchanalian inclinations. By and bye they began to play at
dice and tables, whilst the chamberlain and his three guests were
supping. Though already not a little affected by the wine he had
swallowed, the captain preserved enough of his cunning and knavish
brains, to enable him to cheat most villainously. This did not escape
the Duke, but he took care not to appear to perceive it--cursed his ill
luck--and went on to lose, much to the satisfaction of his opponent,
whilst the knavish Strang was secretly congratulating himself upon his
own wonderful strength of head, which had so far prevailed over the
comparative weakness of his royal adversary. Meanwhile the chamberlain
was busily employed in supplying the captain, as well as his own
peculiar guests, with wine, in the greatest abundance. By degrees,
Strang became so much elevated, as to lose much of that obsequious
respect with which he had at first treated his royal host.

"Delicious wine!" cried he, smacking his lips, after a long draught
of it, which left his cup empty. "By the holy Virgin, delicious
wine indeed! But--aw--aw--its goodness inflames me--aw--aw--with a
furious desire to taste--aw--aw--to taste, I say, that other cask the
French knave spoke of--aw--aw--that, I mean, which stands yonder,
behind--aw--aw--behind the barrel from which we have--aw--aw--been
tasting; that, I mean--aw--aw--of which the French Mooshie spake
so largely."

The chamberlain darted a look of agony at his master; but the Duke
preserved a perfect composure.

"Thou shalt taste it forthwith, Sir Captain," said the Duke, giving,
at the same time, a private signal to the chamberlain. "Go, use thy
wimble, and bring us a flask of that other wine."

The chamberlain, understanding his master, went to the barrels,
and concealing them as much as he could by stooping over both of
them, he fumbled with the wimble at the second cask; and, whilst he
pretended to fill the can from it, he slyly drew its contents from
the same which had been running all night, and then he poured out
two sparkling goblets, and set them down on the table.

"Well, Sir Captain," said the Duke, after Strang had taken a long
draught of the wine, "what sayest thou to it? Is it as good as that
which thou hast been all night drinking?"

"That which we have been drinking all night--aw--aw--is but as
hog's wash compared to it," cried the captain, his eyes beginning
to goggle in his head, and emphatically dashing his empty cup down
on the table. "No, no--aw--aw--my palate--aw--aw--is--aw--too true
to be deceived that way. This, look ye, is a wine of--aw--aw--of
superior growth, flavour, and body, not to be matched--not to
be--aw--aw--matched, I tell ye--not to be matched."

"It is, indeed, excellent, as thou sayest," replied the Duke--"absolute
nectar!--Come, fill our goblets again."

"By the Rood, but this is--aw--aw--wine indeed!" cried the captain of
the guard again, after emptying his goblet for the second time. "It
grows--aw--aw--better and better--aw--aw."

"I feel it whizzing in my very brain," said the Duke. "I doubt that
thou wilt have but an easy conquest of me now, Sir Captain. But come,
nevertheless, play away, for I will have my revenge."

"What, ho, Sir Chamberlain," cried the captain, getting more and
more inebriated, and becoming, at the same time, still more and
more convinced of his own strength of brain and sobriety, and
his superiority, in these respects, over the Duke, exemplified,
as it was, by his still farther gains. "What ho!--aw--aw--more
wine--more wine and--aw--aw--from the same cask, dost thou hear,
Sir Chamberlain--aw--aw--from the self-same virtuous cask. Why the
fiend did'st thou not draw from that cask--aw--aw--at first? Come,
wine, I tell thee!--aw--aw--aw--pour us out more of that nectar; my
throat--aw--aw--is parched, and--aw--aw--the more I drink--aw--aw--the
more I would drink. Wine!--aw--aw--wine, I say, Sir Chamberlain!"

The chamberlain spared not to fill and refill his goblet, nor was he
less assiduous in filling those of the three men of the guard, until
overcome by the soporific effects of the oceans of wine which they
poured down, combined with those arising from the overwhelming heat
of the rousing fire that had been purposely kept up, an irresistible
drowsiness fell upon the captain and his men, and they, one after
another, dropped into a deep sleep. The Duke, and his chamberlain,
now armed themselves with knives from the table, and self-preservation
having steeled up their minds to this bloody alternative, they sprang
upon their defenceless victims. The work of death was speedy; all were
despatched in a few moments. The keys were taken from the captain's
girdle-belt. The corpses were piled one over the other in the huge
fire-place, and more fuel was heaped upon them, in order to consume
them. The coil of rope was secured. The doors were opened with the
greatest caution, and, having slipped silently down the outer stair,
they stole away to a lonely corner of the rampart, on the south-western
side of the fortress, where the height and precipitous nature of
the rock had been supposed to have rendered sentinels unnecessary;
and where, though the descent might be more dangerous in itself,
than at many other points in the vicinity, there was less risk of
their being surprised and frustrated in their attempt.

At the foot of the Castle rock, under that part of the walls which
I have now indicated, Sir Walter Stewart, and his son Charles, had
been waiting impatiently ever since the day-light had disappeared. The
night was starry, but there was little moon. That they might the better
observe the walls, they climbed up the steep rock, immediately below
the point where they knew that the attempt was likely to be made,
till they came to the perpendicular part of the cliff, under the base
of which they silently lay down to watch the event. After long and
tedious expectation, during which they were often deceived by their
fancy, they at length perceived a dark looking object getting over the
top of the wall of the rampart, directly above them. They watched it
with intense anxiety, as it began slowly to descend on them, till, as
it neared them, they could distinguish it to be a human being, and the
figure slowly grew upon their sight. The head and shoulders of another
man thrust over the wall above, seemed anxiously to watch the success
of him who was lowering himself. For a moment the descending figure
rested on the narrow ledge of the rock at the foundation of the wall,
and then it again began to come down gently over the perpendicular
face of the cliff, until it was within some ten or fifteen feet of
them. Their hope was now high, when all at once the figure seemed to
be arrested in its progress downward, and swung to and fro for a time.

"What stops you?" demanded Sir Walter Stewart, in a distinct but
subdued voice.

"If this be all the rope, it is too short," said the person above
them, in the same tone; "I have nothing now for it, but to take my
chance and drop."

"Fear not!" said Sir Walter; "we shall try to catch thee in our
cloaks. Now! drop boldly!"

"Now then!" said the man in the air.

But although the united strength of Sir Walter Stewart and his son
enabled them so to receive him, as to save him from utter destruction,
the shock of his fall was so great, as to crush both of them down,
and it was with difficulty that they prevented him and themselves
from rolling down the rocky slope below them.

"How fares it with thee?" demanded Sir Walter.

"But indifferent well," replied the other, unable to rise, and
manifestly in great pain. "I fear I have broken my thigh-bone."

"Holy Saint Andrew, what a misfortune!" exclaimed Sir Walter Stewart.

"Call it not a misfortune," said the attached and devoted
chamberlain. "It was good that I tried it before the Duke, else might
this accident have happened to him, and that indeed would have been
a misfortune."

"What hath happened?" demanded a faint voice, that came from the Duke,
whose head and shoulders still appeared over the wall above.

"A small accident, but not a fatal one," replied the chamberlain. "I
am down; but beware, my gracious master, the rope is too short."

"How much may it want?" demanded the Duke.

"About four or five ells, or so;" replied Sir Walter.

"Tarry till I return then," said the Duke again. "But, hush! I must
hide. Here come the rounds."

The tramp of feet, and the clink of arms, now came faintly on
their ears, as they lay, drawn in as much as possible, under the
rock. Voices, too, were heard, but at such a distance above them, that
they could not tell whether they uttered sounds of jocularity, or of
strife and contention. At last they passed away--but whether the royal
duke had been detected or not, they had no means of knowing. A very
considerable time elapsed, during which their eyes were fixed intently,
and most anxiously, on that part of the top of the wall whence the
head of the royal captive had last been seen to disappear. The pain
of the chamberlain's fractured limb was excruciating, yet to him it
was as nothing, compared to the agony of that suspense which was
suffered by the whole three who waited for the result. At length,
to their inexpressible relief, they beheld the Duke's figure getting
over the wall above them,--and down he came, slowly and gradually,
till his toes touched the rocky ground on which they stood. Warm,
though not loud, were the congratulations he received, and heartfelt
were the thanks which he poured out upon his preservers--and deep
was the grief which he uttered for the painful accident which had
befallen his faithful servant. They learned from his Highness, that
ere the rounds had approached near enough to observe him, he had laid
himself down at length on the ground, within the deep shadow that
prevailed under the wall; that they had passed within a few yards of
him, talking and joking with each other, and most fortunately without
observing him. They were no sooner fairly gone to the other parts of
the walls, than he had stolen back to his prison, cut his blankets
into ropes, and by this means supplied what was wanting of the length
of that which had been furnished to him.

Altogether unmindful of his own safety, the Duke of Albany's first
desire was to provide for the proper care of his maimed chamberlain. It
was with no small difficulty that they got him conveyed down the
craggy slope, and when they reached the valley below, they halted,
and held a consultation as to what was best to be done with him. The
chamberlain himself proposed that they should carry him to the house of
a friend of his own, near at hand, where he knew he would be concealed,
and well cared for, and where he thought he could remain in safety
until his broken limb should be so effectually cured as to enable
him to make his escape.

"I will carry thee thither myself," said the Duke of Albany. "I can by
no means flee hence, until I am assured of the safety of a servant,
who hath ever been so devotedly faithful to me, and who is now,
by the perversity of my fate, to be so painfully separated from me,
when I most need his friendship."

"Nay, I do entreat your Royal Highness to flee without a moment's
delay," said Sir Walter Stewart; "every moment is precious to
you. Leave him to me, and, trust me, I will take every care of him."

"Nay, I cannot consent to that," said the Duke. "Thou must not be
seen nor suspected to have had aught to do in this matter. Thou hast
already periled thyself enough. The house he speaks of is but a little
farther along this hollow way, I will carry him thither myself."

Sir Walter yielded to reason. They assisted the Duke to carry the
chamberlain to a conveniently short distance from the house in
question, the sufferer was then hoisted on his royal master's back,
who speedily bore him safely into his place of concealment.

"Now," said Sir Walter to the Duke, when he had again joined them,
a little way on beyond the house, "your Royal Highness must fly with
all haste to the sea-side. This young man, who is a son of mine,
will guide you to the spot where you will find a boat, which is ready
waiting to convey you to the vessel that is prepared to carry you to
France. He must supply the loss of your faithful chamberlain. Take
him with you, my lord, and let him return to me when it may suit your
convenience to part with him."

"He shall be mine especial esquire," said the Duke.--"Would I had a
station to put him into, worthier of son of thine, and of one of his
own apparent merits."

"Your Royal Highness is too kind," said Sir Walter. "Yet is the lad no
disgrace to me, as I trust that you may find that he will prove none
to you. May Saint Andrew give you safety and a prosperous breeze!--And
here, Charley, take this ring as a pledge of a father's affection,
and let the sight of it be ever to thee as a monitor to make thee do
thy duty like a man."

Their parting was now warm, but brief. The Duke and his new attendant
reached the sea-side in safety. Sir Walter, who had hastened around
the shores of the North Loch, and climbed the Calton Hill, waited
impatiently upon its summit till the first dawn of day-break. Then it
was that he rejoiced to descry the white sail of the French barque,
swoln by a merry and favourable breeze, pressing gallantly down the
Firth, and he continued to watch it, until it was lost amidst the
ruddy haze of the sunrise. He then walked slowly down the eastern slope
of the hill, towards Holyrood, and, making a wide circuit, he passed
between Arthur Seat and Salisbury Craigs, through the hollow wooded
valley, which, though now devoid of trees, is still well known by
the name of the Hunter's Bog, and then, turning his steps towards the
southern gates of the city, he muffled himself well up in his cloak,
and entered it, unnoticed, amid the crowds of market people who were
passing inwards at the Port of the Kirk of Field; and so he gained
his lodging without observation. There he soon afterwards heard of
the astonishment, mortification, and dismay, which had possessed the
King on learning this strange event, which he could not bring himself
to believe until he went to see, with his own eyes, the half-consumed
corpses of the captain of the guard and his men, and the rope which
still hung dangling over the wall of the castle.

Sir Walter Stewart seemed to remain altogether unsuspected of any share
in the escape of the Duke of Albany, though every one was agreed in
believing that his Royal Highness must have been aided from without
the walls. But whether it was that ideal suspicion that conscience of
itself begets, or whether there really were some grounds for it, the
Knight could not help feeling persuaded that the King looked colder
than ever upon him. He failed not, however, on that account, to pay
his duties at court most unremittingly, though, frequent as were his
visits there, they were comparatively small in number to those which
he paid to the house of Sir William Rogers, where he now worshipped,
more fervently than ever, at the shrine of that enchantress, the
fair Juliet Manvers. He now found himself so irretrievably the
captive of her charms, that he had for some time ceased to struggle
in her net, and it was not long after the escape of Albany, that he
sought an audience of King James, that he might humbly communicate
his contemplated nuptials to him, and crave his royal leave for their
consummation, as well as for his retirement for a time from court, that
he might carry his lady to visit his own territories in Stradawn, of
which he was to make her the mistress. From all that had lately passed,
he was not much surprised that the King received his communication
with apparent satisfaction, but he was very much astonished to find,
that it procured for him the sudden and unexpected restoration of all
that familiar cordiality of manner, which he had formerly, for so long
a period, been in the constant habit of receiving from his Majesty.

"What!--marry!" cried the King. "And is this really so?--and a long
attachment saidst thou?"

"An attachment that has grown since first we met, so please your
gracious Majesty," replied Sir Walter.

"Strange!" said the King, as if pondering within himself--"strange
that all this should have escaped me. And yet, now I think on't,
I might have seen it.--We have done thee but scrimp justice, Sir
Walter Stewart, but now, be assured, that we wish thee joy with all
our heart. Thou hast indeed chosen a lovely bride. We--yea, and our
Queen too--shall honour the wedding with our presence; and thy fair
and accomplished lady shall not lack such royal gifts, as may befit
us to bestow, and thy wife to receive.--Trust me, that this wise step
of thine hath much relieved--nay, we would say that it hath given us
unfeigned joy."

Thus reassured of the King's favour, though from what cause he could
not by any means divine, Sir Walter Stewart was happy. His marriage
took place with great pomp of circumstances, in presence of King James
and his Queen. Some months passed quickly and pleasantly away over
the heads of the newly-married couple, who were especially detained
at court, from one week to another, by the royal mandate,--and I need
not tell you, that the lady basked with peculiar delight under the
sunshiny smiles that fell upon her from the royal pair. Cochran was
the only one about court who had reason to be dissatisfied with the
match, seeing that he had himself shewn pretensions to Juliet Manvers,
and had been in no little degree encouraged by her. But whether real
or feigned, he manifested an especial cordiality towards Sir Walter,
and he availed himself of every possible opportunity of frequenting
his society, and that of his lady. To the lady, indeed, he was at
all times most particularly attentive, so much so, in fact, that
Sir Walter hardly relished his uncalled for complaisance. Moreover,
he thought he began to detect a certain relaxation of that earnest
desire to please him, which, for her own purposes, Juliet had so long
displayed towards him before their union. She had now less occasion
for dissimulation, since her object was gained, and so it happened,
that on more occasions than one, when impelled by the humour of the
moment beyond the full restraint of her dissimulative powers, she had
unveiled enough of her real character to make him doubt, whether her
acceptance of him as her husband had been altogether the result of a
disinterested affection for him. The seeds of unhappiness were thus
thickly sown within his breast, and they began to vegetate so fast,
that he at length came to the sudden resolution of carrying off his
wife to his castle of Drummin.

"If thou art resolved to quit our court for a season," said King
James, when Sir Walter made his intentions known to his Majesty,
"thou hast our royal permission, most unwillingly granted to thee,
so to do. But say, what sort of habitation hast thou in the north?"

"'Tis but a rude dwelling, so please your Majesty," replied Sir Walter;
"and somewhat the worse perhaps for the warfare which hath been waged
against it by time and weather."

"Then shalt thou take Cochran, our architect, thither with thee,
to plan and to order its amendment," replied the King.--"'Twas but
the other day we were talking of thy concerns together, when he
voluntarily offered to yield thee his best services."

"'Twas kind of him," said Sir Walter, biting his lips, "but I can in
nowise think of so troubling him.--Indeed, for the present, I cannot
well brook the expense of building, and I must e'en remain as I am
for a time."

"That shall be no hindrance to thee, Stewart," said the King. "The
stream of our royal bounty hath been untowardly diverted from thee
for a time; it behooves us now to refresh thy parched roots, so that
thou mayest again raise thy drooping head. The means shall be found
from our royal treasury for thy building, and Cochran shall go with
thee to Drummin--so let us think no more of this matter, seeing I
have so settled it."

Willingly would Sir Walter Stewart have dispensed with this most
prominent mark of royal favour, but it was now impossible to decline
it. Cochran received his Majesty's command, to hold himself in
readiness to accompany Sir Walter Stewart and his lady to Stradawn,
with secret delight, though he appeared to do so with that servile
submission merely, with which he always bowed to the royal will, and
for which he made himself ample amends by the arrogance with which
he domineered over others. To Sir Walter Stewart he took especial
care to be always smiling, pleasant, and accommodating; and although
he complained, upon this occasion, that this northern journey was a
severe obstruction to the prosecution of those architectural plans
on which he pretended to rest his fame, he went down to Drummin with
the intention of spinning out his visit to as great a length as he
could decently make it extend.

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.

"How can your Majesty hesitate one moment in coming to a judgment
upon so plain and palpable a question?" demanded the Queen, with great
animation. "The ornament of the procession and pageant was undoubtedly
Sir Walter Stewart. Who was there who came within an hundred degrees of
him? The number of his attendants--the beauty of the animals on which
they were mounted--creatures that would seem to have been conjured
forth out of the land of faery itself--creatures that moved as if
formed out of the rarer elements of nature--and then the splendour
of their housings--and, above all, the rich and tasteful dress of
the handsome and elegant owner of so much bravery, who is so full of
grace and skill in the management of his steed, that he bore off the
applause of all eyes and the love of all hearts! But what moves you,
my sovereign Lord? Methinks that something hath displeased you?"

"Your praises of Sir Walter Stewart would seem to us to be something
extravagant," said the King, considerably disturbed. "Was there no one
else there who might have demanded a like portion of your approbation?"

"If your Majesty would have an honest answer from me, I must reply,--no
one," said the Queen. "Even the gorgeous and glittering retinue
of Cochran, the budding Earl of Mar, who takes upon him as if your
Majesty had already dubbed him by that title, was but as gilded clay
compared to the well conceived arrangements of the accomplished Sir
Walter Stewart, who outshone all others."

"All others saidst thou, Margaret? Didst thou not think that we
ourselves were of as fair a presence and appearance as thy minion Sir
Walter Stewart?" demanded the King, with a pettish and perturbed air
and manner.

"Nay, my liege Lord," replied the Queen, very much distressed to
discover that she had thus so innocently offended her husband. "In
speaking thus of Sir Walter Stewart, I never dreamed of bringing
your royal person, or your royal retinue, into comparison with those
of any subject, even with those of Sir Walter Stewart himself,
whose individual splendour, was but as a part of that glorious
magnificence which was all thine own. Do me not the injustice to
judge me so harshly, or so hardly. Could you for one moment suppose
that I could compare Sir Walter Stewart to thee, my royal liege
and husband? Believe me, that although Sir Walter Stewart is much
esteemed by me for his numerous merits, yet he is no minion of mine,
and it were equally cruel and unjust in any one to call him so."

"'Tis at least well to hear thee say so," replied the King, in a sort
of half satisfied tone,--and then turning coldly away, he left the
apartment, with such an air and manner, that Queen Margaret burst
into tears, which it required some thinking and reasoning within
herself to enable her to dry up.

Now it was that the facile mind of King James, became prepared to
imbibe all the villainies which the designing Cochran could pour into
it. Nay, his Majesty became the voluntary and the willing victim of
them. He sent for Cochran, made him recapitulate all the particulars
of the story of the hawk, shot with the birding-piece, together with
that expression of Sir Walter's which he had formerly so repudiated,
but which he now listened to and received as most true and convincing;
and the royal ears being thus so unexpectedly open to him, Cochran
now scrupled not to tell the King, that, to his certain knowledge,
Sir Walter was faithless to his wife. To this story James listened with
anxious attention and interest. He remembered the strange combination
of Venus with the other planets, and he shuddered at the recollection,
as he put it beside his Queen's declared approbation of Sir Walter
Stewart. His Majesty's manner towards the Knight became again estranged
and cold, and his treatment of him unkind; and this being quickly
observed by those sordid and selfish wretches, who, with the sagacity
of the sharks that follow a diseased ship, or the rats that leave
one that is no longer sea-worthy, are ever ready to watch and catch
at such signs of a courtier's decaying influence, a regular bond of
union was formed against him by all but Sir William Rogers, who could
by no means be brought to see that he could benefit his niece by the
ruin of her husband. This plot went on, for some considerable time,
without producing the slightest suspicion on the part of Sir Walter
Stewart, though he could not fail to be sufficiently sensible of the
King's alienation from him.

He was sitting one night alone in his lodgings, when one, in the habit
of a serving-man, was announced to him, as craving for a private
audience of him, that he might deliver a particular message to him
from a gentleman of the court. Having ordered him to be admitted, he
was surprised to see enter a person who appeared to be a stranger to
him, with a light handsome figure, but having a nose of most unnatural
length, hugeness, and redness. He examined him narrowly, yet he still
remained satisfied that he had never seen any such person before;
but they were no sooner left alone, than the stranger began to speak,
and Sir Walter recognised him immediately.

"Trust me, Stewart, it is not without some personal risk that I have
thus adventured to hold communication with thee," said the stranger.

"Ramsay!" exclaimed Sir Walter Stewart, in amazement. "In such
a disguise as this, I should never have discovered thee, but for
thy voice."

"Then must I take care to keep that under," said Ramsay, in a half
whisper. "But time is precious. Thy life is sought for! To-morrow,
nay, even an hour hence, all attempt to escape may be unavailing,
and I, even I, may suffer for this my attempt to save a friend."

"I well know the danger that attends such a duty," said Sir Walter,
"and I would not for worlds that thou shouldst incur it."

"Aye, there thou hast said it," replied Ramsay. "I know well enough
what thou wouldst hint at,--thy service to Albany! Nay, start not! Thy
secret will never be the worse for me. But, nevertheless, that is
one of the suspicions that is harboured against thee."

"Suspicions!" exclaimed Sir Walter, "What suspicions?"

"In the first place, the King hath taken up a jealousy against thee
regarding the Queen," replied Ramsay. "Then some strange story hath
reached his ears from Cochran, who, by the way, hath been this day
created Earl of Mar, regarding some treasonable words thou didst drop
in his hearing in the shooting of a hawk with a birding-piece. Besides
this, Torfefan, the master of fence, hath said, that thou didst
once step in to save the Earl of Huntly from his just vengeance,
for speaking treasonably of the King and his courtiers; whence it
is argued, that thou art in secret league with the discontented
nobles. This is corroborated by that rascal, Hommil, the tailor,
who says he was with Torfefan at the time. To this accusation,
touching thy consorting with the nobles, Andrew, the Astrologer,
bears his support, for he says that he one night found thee and the
Earl in deep conference, alone in the hostel. And, finally, as I have
already hinted, thou art, somehow or other, shrewdly suspected of
having aided in, if not contrived the escape of the Duke of Albany
from Edinburgh Castle. But besides all this, Sir William Rogers, who
hath been long thy friend, hath at last gone over to those who are
malecontent with thee, because he hath had letters from his niece,
complaining that she had been disgracefully and cruelly treated by
thee, and that, too, but a few days before she gave birth to thy son
and heir; and that, in consequence of this thine evil treatment of her,
she hath applied for divorce from thee. But what is all this, and why
should I waste time in such a recapitulation of forgeries? Thy life,
my dear Stewart, is sought for! Ere to-morrow's dawn thou wilt be a
prisoner, and how soon afterwards thou mayest be numbered with the
dead, the fate of the last Mar may teach thee. Fly then, my dear
friend, for thy life! I dare not tarry here longer. Get into thy
saddle with all manner of haste, and see that thou sparest not thy
spurs! And so God give thee good speed till we meet in better times."

Ramsay gave him a warm embrace, and then hurried out of the room and