Old Mortality, Complete

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER XVII.

  What tragic tears bedim the eye! What deaths we suffer ere we die! Our broken friendships we deplore, And loves of youth that are no more. LOGAN.

  Cuddie soon returned, assuring the stranger, with a cheerful voice, "thatthe horse was properly suppered up, and that the gudewife should make abed up for him at the house, mair purpose-like and comfortable than thelike o' them could gie him."

  "Are the family at the house?" said the stranger, with an interrupted andbroken voice.

  "No, stir, they're awa wi' a' the servants,--they keep only twa nowadays,and my gudewife there has the keys and the charge, though she's no afee'd servant. She has been born and bred in the family, and has a' trustand management. If they were there, we behovedna to take sic freedomwithout their order; but when they are awa, they will be weel pleased weserve a stranger gentleman. Miss Bellenden wad help a' the haill warld,an her power were as gude as her will; and her grandmother, LeddyMargaret, has an unto respect for the gentry, and she's no ill to thepoor bodies neither.--And now, wife, what for are ye no getting forritwi' the sowens?"

  "Never mind, lad," rejoined Jenny, "ye sall hae them in gude time; I kenweel that ye like your brose het."

  Cuddie fidgeted and laughed with a peculiar expression of intelligence atthis repartee, which was followed by a dialogue of little consequencebetwixt his wife and him, in which the stranger took no share. At lengthhe suddenly interrupted them by the question: "Can you tell me when LordEvandale's marriage takes place?"

  "Very soon, we expect," answered Jenny, before it was possible for herhusband to reply; "it wad hae been ower afore now, but for the death o'auld Major Bellenden."

  "The excellent old man!" said the stranger; "I heard at Edinburgh he wasno more. Was he long ill?"

  "He couldna be said to haud up his head after his brother's wife and hisniece were turned out o' their ain house; and he had himsell sairborrowing siller to stand the law,--but it was in the latter end o' KingJames's days; and Basil Olifant, who claimed the estate, turned a papistto please the managers, and then naething was to be refused him. Sae thelaw gaed again the leddies at last, after they had fought a weary sort o'years about it; and, as I said before, the major ne'er held up his headagain. And then cam the pitting awa o' the Stewart line; and, though hehad but little reason to like them, he couldna brook that, and it cleanbroke the heart o' him; and creditors cam to Charnwood and cleaned out a'that was there,--he was never rich, the gude auld man, for he dow'd nasee onybody want."

  "He was indeed," said the stranger, with a faltering voice, "an admirableman,--that is, I have heard that he was so. So the ladies were leftwithout fortune, as well as without a protector?"

  "They will neither want the tane nor the tother while Lord Evandalelives," said Jenny; "he has been a true friend in their griefs. E'en tothe house they live in is his lordship's; and never man, as my auldgudemother used to say, since the days of the Patriarch Jacob, served saelang and sae sair for a wife as gude Lord Evandale has dune."

  "And why," said the stranger, with a voice that quivered with emotion,"why was he not sooner rewarded by the object of his attachment?"

  "There was the lawsuit to be ended," said Jenny readily, "forby manyother family arrangements."

  "Na, but," said Cuddie, "there was another reason forby; for the youngleddy--"

  "Whisht, hand your tongue, and sup your sowens," said his wife; "I seethe gentleman's far frae weel, and downa eat our coarse supper. I wadkill him a chicken in an instant."

  "There is no occasion," said the stranger; "I shall want only a glass ofwater, and to be left alone."

  "You'll gie yoursell the trouble then to follow me," said Jenny, lightinga small lantern, "and I'll show you the way."

  Cuddie also proffered his assistance; but his wife reminded him, "Thatthe bairns would be left to fight thegither, and coup ane anither intothe fire," so that he remained to take charge of the menage.His wife led the way up a little winding path, which, after threadingsome thickets of sweetbrier and honeysuckle, conducted to the back-doorof a small garden. Jenny undid the latch, and they passed through anold-fashioned flower-garden, with its clipped yew hedges and formalparterres, to a glass-sashed door, which she opened with a master-key,and lighting a candle, which she placed upon a small work-table, askedpardon for leaving him there for a few minutes, until she prepared hisapartment. She did not exceed five minutes in these preparations; butwhen she returned, was startled to find that the stranger had sunkforward with his head upon the table, in what she at first apprehended tobe a swoon. As she advanced to him, however, she could discover by hisshort-drawn sobs that it was a paroxysm of mental agony. She prudentlydrew back until he raised his head, and then showing herself, withoutseeming to have observed his agitation, informed him that his bed wasprepared. The stranger gazed at her a moment, as if to collect the senseof her words. She repeated them; and only bending his head, as anindication that he understood her, he entered the apartment, the door ofwhich she pointed out to him. It was a small bedchamber, used, as sheinformed him, by Lord Evandale when a guest at Fairy Knowe, connecting,on one side, with a little china-cabinet which opened to the garden, andon the other, with a saloon, from which it was only separated by a thinwainscot partition. Having wished the stranger better health and goodrest, Jenny descended as speedily as she could to her own mansion.

  "Oh, Cuddie!" she exclaimed to her helpmate as she entered, "I doubtwe're ruined folk!"

  "How can that be? What's the matter wi' ye?" returned the imperturbedCuddie, who was one of those persons who do not easily take alarm atanything.

  "Wha d' ye think yon gentleman is? Oh that ever ye suld hae asked him tolight here!" exclaimed Jenny.

  "Why, wha the muckle deil d'ye say he is? There's nae law againstharbouring and intercommunicating now," said Cuddie; "sae, Whig or Tory,what need we care wha he be?"

  "Ay, but it's ane will ding Lord Evandale's marriage ajee yet, if it 'sno the better looked to," said Jenny; "it's Miss Edith's first joe, yourain auld maister, Cuddie."

  "The deil, woman!" exclaimed Cuddie, starting up, "Crow ye that I amblind? I wad hae kend Mr. Harry Morton amang a hunder."

  "Ay, but, Cuddie lad," replied Jenny, "though ye are no blind, ye are nosae notice-taking as I am."

  "Weel, what for needs ye cast that up to me just now; or what did ye seeabout the man that was like our Maister Harry?"

  "I will tell ye," said Jenny. "I jaloused his keeping his face frae us,and speaking wi' a madelike voice, sae I e'en tried him wi' some taleso lang syne; and when I spake o' the brose, ye ken, he didna justlaugh,--he's ower grave for that nowadays, but he gae a gledge wi' hisee that I kend he took up what I said. And a' his distress is about MissEdith's marriage; and I ne'er saw a man mair taen down wi' true love inmy days,--I might say man or woman, only I mind how ill Miss Edith waswhen she first gat word that him and you (ye muckle graceless loon) werecoming against Tillietudlem wi' the rebels.--But what's the matter wi'the man now?"

  "What's the matter wi' me indeed!" said Cuddie, who was again hastilyputting on some of the garments he had stripped himself of; "am I no gaunup this instant to see my maister?"

  "Atweel, Cuddie, ye are gaun nae sic gate," said Jenny, coolly andresolutely.

  "The deil's in the wife!" said Cuddie. "D 'ye think I am to be JohnTamson's man, and maistered by women a' the days o' my life?"

  "And whase man wad ye be? And wha wad ye hae to maister ye but me,Cuddie, lad?" answered Jenny. "I'll gar ye comprehend in the making of ahay-band. Naebody kens that this young gentleman is living but oursells;and frae that he keeps himsell up sae close, I am judging that he'spurposing, if he fand Miss Edith either married, or just gaun to bemarried, he wad just slide awa easy, and gie them nae mair trouble. Butif Miss Edith kend that he was living, and if she were standing beforethe very minister wi' Lord Evandale when it was tauld to her, I'sewarrant she w
ad say No when she suld say Yes."

  "Weel," replied Cuddie, "and what's my business wi' that? If Miss Edithlikes her auld joe better than her new ane, what for suld she no be freeto change her mind like other folk? Ye ken, Jenny, Halliday aye threepshe had a promise frae yoursell."

  "Halliday's a liar, and ye're naething but a gomeril to hearken till him,Cuddie. And then for this leddy's choice, lack-a-day! ye may be sure a'the gowd Mr. Morton has is on the outside o' his coat; and how can hekeep Leddy Margaret and the young leddy?"

  "Isna there Milnwood?" said Cuddie. "Nae doubt the auld laird left hishousekeeper the liferent, as he heard nought o' his nephew; but it's butspeaking the auld wife fair, and they may a' live brawly thegither, LeddyMargaret and a'."

  "Rout tout, lad," replied Jenny; "ye ken them little to think leddies o'their rank wad set up house wi' auld Ailie Wilson, when they're maistower proud to take favours frae Lord Evandale himsell. Na, na, they maunfollow the camp, if she tak Morton."

  "That wad sort ill wi' the auld leddy, to be sure," said Cuddie; "she wadhardly win ower a lang day in the baggage-wain."

  "Then sic a flyting as there wad be between them, a' about Whig andTory," continued Jenny.

  "To be sure," said Cuddie, "the auld leddy 's unto kittle in thaepoints."

  "And then, Cuddie," continued his helpmate, who had reserved herstrongest argument to the last, "if this marriage wi' Lord Evandale isbroken off, what comes o' our ain bit free house, and the kale-yard, andthe cow's grass? I trow that baith us and thae bonny bairns will beturned on the wide warld!"

  Here Jenny began to whimper; Cuddie writhed himself this way and thatway, the very picture of indecision. At length he broke out, "Weel,woman, canna ye tell us what we suld do, without a' this din about it?"

  "Just do naething at a'," said Jenny. "Never seem to ken onything aboutthis gentleman, and for your life say a word that he suld hae been here,or up at the house! An I had kend, I wad hae gien him my ain bed, andsleepit in the byre or he had gane up by; but it canna be helpit now. Theneist thing's to get him cannily awa the morn, and I judge he'll be innae hurry to come back again."

  "My puir maister!" said Cuddie; "and maun I no speak to him, then?"

  "For your life, no," said Jenny. "Ye're no obliged to ken him; and Iwadna hae tauld ye, only I feared ye wad ken him in the morning."

  "Aweel," said Cuddie, sighing heavily, "I 'se awa to pleugh the outfieldthen; for if I am no to speak to him, I wad rather be out o' the gate."

  "Very right, my dear hinny," replied Jenny. "Naebody has better sense thanyou when ye crack a bit wi' me ower your affairs; but ye suld ne'er doonything aff hand out o' your ain head."

  "Ane wad think it's true," quoth Cuddie; "for I hae aye had some carlineor quean or another to gar me gang their gate instead o' my ain. Therewas first my mither," he continued, as he undressed and tumbled himselfinto bed; "then there was Leddy Margaret didna let me ca' my soul my ain;then my mither and her quarrelled, and pu'ed me twa ways at anes, as ifilk ane had an end o' me, like Punch and the Deevil rugging about theBaker at the fair; and now I hae gotten a wife," he murmured incontinuation, as he stowed the blankets around his person, "and she'slike to tak the guiding o' me a' thegither."

  "And amna I the best guide ye ever had in a' your life?" said Jenny, asshe closed the conversation by assuming her place beside her husband andextinguishing the candle.

  Leaving this couple to their repose, we have next to inform the readerthat, early on the next morning, two ladies on horseback, attended bytheir servants, arrived at the house of Fairy Knowe, whom, to Jenny'sutter confusion, she instantly recognised as Miss Bellenden and LadyEmily Hamilton, a sister of Lord Evandale.

  "Had I no better gang to the house to put things to rights?" said Jenny,confounded with this unexpected apparition.

  "We want nothing but the pass-key," said Miss Bellenden; "Gudyill willopen the windows of the little parlour."

  "The little parlour's locked, and the lock's, spoiled," answered Jenny,who recollected the local spmpathy between that apartment and thebedchamber of her guest.

  "In the red parlour, then," said Miss Bellenden, and rode up to the frontof the house, but by an approach different from that through which Mortonhad been conducted.

  "All will be out," thought Jenny, "unless I can get him smuggled out ofthe house the back way."

  So saying, she sped up the bank in great tribulation and uncertainty.

  "I had better hae said at ante there was a stranger there," was her nextnatural reflection. "But then they wad hae been for asking him tobreakfast. Oh, safe us! what will I do?--And there's Gudyill walking inthe garden too!" she exclaimed internally on approaching the wicket; "andI daurna gang in the back way till he's aff the coast. Oh, sirs! whatwill become of us?"

  In this state of perplexity she approached the cidevant butler, with thepurpose of decoying him out of the garden. But John Gudyill's temper wasnot improved by his decline in rank and increase in years. Like manypeevish people, too, he seemed to have an intuitive perception as to whatwas most likely to teaze those whom he conversed with; and, on thepresent occasion, all Jenny's efforts to remove him from the gardenserved only to root him in it as fast as if he had been one of theshrubs.

  Unluckily, also, he had commenced florist during his residence at FairyKnowe; and, leaving all other things to the charge of Lady Emily'sservant, his first care was dedicated to the flowers, which he had takenunder his special protection, and which he propped, dug, and watered,prosing all the while upon their respective merits to poor Jenny, whostood by him trembling and almost crying with anxiety, fear, andimpatience.

  Fate seemed determined to win a match against Jenny this unfortunatemorning. As soon as the ladies entered the house, they observed that thedoor of the little parlour--the very apartment out of which she wasdesirous of excluding them on account of its contiguity to the room inwhich Morton slept--was not only unlocked, but absolutely ajar. MissBellenden was too much engaged with her own immediate subjects ofreflection to take much notice of the circumstance, but, desiring theservant to open the window-shutters, walked into the room along with herfriend.

  "He is not yet come," she said. "What can your brother possibly mean? Whyexpress so anxious a wish that we should meet him here? And why not cometo Castle Dinnan, as he proposed? I own, my dear Emily, that, evenengaged as we are to each other, and with the sanction of your presence,I do not feel that I have done quite right in indulging him."

  "Evandale was never capricious," answered his sister; "I am sure he willsatisfy us with his reasons, and if he does not, I will help you to scoldhim."

  "What I chiefly fear," said Edith, "is his having engaged in some of theplots of this fluctuating and unhappy time. I know his heart is with thatdreadful Claverhouse and his army, and I believe he would have joinedthem ere now but for my uncle's death, which gave him so much additionaltrouble on our account. How singular that one so rational and so deeplysensible of the errors of the exiled family should be ready to risk allfor their restoration!"

  "What can I say?" answered Lady Emily,--"it is a point of honour withEvandale. Our family have always been loyal; he served long in theGuards; the Viscount of Dundee was his commander and his friend foryears; he is looked on with an evil eye by many of his own relations, whoset down his inactivity to the score of want of spirit. You must beaware, my dear Edith, how often family connections and earlypredilections influence our actions more than abstract arguments. But Itrust Evandale will continue quiet,--though, to tell you truth, I believeyou are the only one who can keep him so."

  "And how is it in my power?" said Miss Bellenden.

  "You can furnish him with the Scriptural apology for not going forth withthe host,--'he has married a wife, and therefore cannot come.'"

  "I have promised," said Edith, in a faint voice; "but I trust I shall notbe urged on the score of time."

  "Nay," said Lady Emily, "I will leave Evandale (and here he comes) toplead his own cause."

  "Stay, sta
y, for God's sake!" said Edith, endeavouring to detain her.

  "Not I, not I," said the young lady, making her escape; "the third personmakes a silly figure on such occasions. When you want me for breakfast, Iwill be found in the willow-walk by the river."

  As she tripped out of the room, Lord Evandale entered. "Good-morrow,Brother, and good-by till breakfast-time," said the lively young lady;"I trust you will give Miss Bellenden some good reasons for disturbingher rest so early in the morning."

  And so saying, she left them together, without waiting a reply.

  "And now, my lord," said Edith, "may I desire to know the meaning of yoursingular request to meet you here at so early an hour?"

  She was about to add that she hardly felt herself excusable in havingcomplied with it; but upon looking at the person whom she addressed, shewas struck dumb by the singular and agitated expression of hiscountenance, and interrupted herself to exclaim, "For God's sake, what isthe matter?"

  "His Majesty's faithful subjects have gained a great and most decisivevictory near Blair of Athole; but, alas! my gallant friend Lord Dundee--"

  "Has fallen?" said Edith, anticipating the rest of his tidings.

  "True, most true: he has fallen in the arms of victory, and not a manremains of talents and influence sufficient to fill up his loss in KingJames's service. This, Edith, is no time for temporizing with our duty. Ihave given directions to raise my followers, and I must take leave of youthis evening."

  "Do not think of it, my lord," answered Edith; "your life is--essentialto your friends,--do not throw it away in an adventure so rash. What canyour single arm, and the few tenants or servants who might follow you, doagainst the force of almost all Scotland, the Highland clans onlyexcepted?"

  "Listen to me, Edith," said Lord Evandale. "I am not so rash as you maysuppose me, nor are my present motives of such light importance as toaffect only those personally dependent on myself. The Life Guards, withwhom I served so long, although new-modelled and new-officered by thePrince of Orange, retain a predilection for the cause of their rightfulmaster; and "--and here he whispered as if he feared even the walls ofthe apartment had ears--"when my foot is known to be in the stirrup, tworegiments of cavalry have sworn to renounce the usurper's service, andfight under my orders. They delayed only till Dundee should descend intothe Lowlands; but since he is no more, which of his successors dare takethat decisive step, unless encouraged by the troops declaring themselves!Meantime, the zeal of the soldiers will die away. I must bring them to adecision while their hearts are glowing with the victory their old leaderhas obtained, and burning to avenge his untimely death."

  "And will you, on the faith of such men as you know these soldiers tobe," said Edith, "take a part of such dreadful moment?"

  "I will," said Lord Evandale,--"I must; my honour and loyalty are bothpledged for it."

  "And all for the sake," continued Miss Bellenden, "of a prince whosemeasures, while he was on the throne, no one could condemn more than LordEvandale?"

  "Most true," replied Lord Evandale; "and as I resented, even during theplenitude of his power, his innovations on Church and State, like afreeborn subject, I am determined I will assert his real rights, when heis in adversity, like a loyal one. Let courtiers and sycophants flatterpower and desert misfortune; I will neither do the one nor the other."

  "And if you are determined to act what my feeble judgment must still termrashly, why give yourself the pain of this untimely meeting?"

  "Were it not enough to answer," said Lord Evandale, "that, ere rushing onbattle, I wished to bid adieu to my betrothed bride? Surely it is judgingcoldly of my feelings, and showing too plainly the indifference of yourown, to question my motive for a request so natural."

  "But why in this place, my lord," said Edith; "and why with such peculiarcircumstances of mystery?"

  "Because," he replied, putting a letter into her hand, "I have yetanother request, which I dare hardly proffer, even when prefaced by thesecredentials."

  In haste and terror, Edith glanced over the letter, which was from hergrandmother.

  "My dearest childe," such was its tenor in style and spelling, "I never more deeply regretted the reumatizm, which disqualified me from riding on horseback, than at this present writing, when I would most have wished to be where this paper will soon be, that is at Fairy Knowe, with my poor dear Willie's only child. But it is the will of God I should not be with her, which I conclude to be the case, as much for the pain I now suffer, as because it hath now not given way either to cammomile poultices or to decoxion of wild mustard, wherewith I have often relieved others. Therefore, I must tell you, by writing instead of word of mouth, that, as my young Lord Evandale is called to the present campaign, both by his honour and his duty, he hath earnestly solicited me that the bonds of holy matrimony be knitted before his departure to the wars between you and him, in implement of the indenture formerly entered into for that effeck, whereuntill, as I see no raisonable objexion, so I trust that you, who have been always a good and obedient childe, will not devize any which has less than raison. It is trew that the contrax of our house have heretofore been celebrated in a manner more befitting our Rank, and not in private, and with few witnesses, as a thing done in a corner. But it has been Heaven's own free will, as well as those of the kingdom where we live, to take away from us our estate, and from the King his throne. Yet I trust He will yet restore the rightful heir to the throne, and turn his heart to the true Protestant Episcopal faith, which I have the better right to expect to see even with my old eyes, as I have beheld the royal family when they were struggling as sorely with masterful usurpers and rebels as they are now; that is to say, when his most sacred Majesty, Charles the Second of happy memory, honoured our poor house of Tillietudlem by taking his _disjune_ therein," etc., etc., etc.

  We will not abuse the reader's patience by quoting more of LadyMargaret's prolix epistle. Suffice it to say that it closed by laying hercommands on her grandchild to consent to the solemnization of hermarriage without loss of time.

  "I never thought till this instant," said Edith, dropping the letter fromher hand, "that Lord Evandale would have acted ungenerously."

  "Ungenerously, Edith!" replied her lover. "And how can you apply such aterm to my desire to call you mine, ere I part from you, perhaps forever?"

  "Lord Evandale ought to have remembered," said Edith, "that when hisperseverance, and, I must add, a due sense of his merit and of theobligations we owed him, wrung from me a slow consent that I would oneday comply with his wishes, I made it my condition that I should not bepressed to a hasty accomplishment of my promise; and now he availshimself of his interest with my only remaining relative to hurry me withprecipitate and even indelicate importunity. There is more selfishnessthan generosity, my lord, in such eager and urgent solicitation."

  Lord Evandale, evidently much hurt, took two or three turns through theapartment ere he replied to this accusation; at length he spoke: "Ishould have escaped this painful charge, durst I at once have mentionedto Miss Bellendon my principal reason for urging this request. It is onewhich she will probably despise on her own account, but which ought toweigh with her for the sake of Lady Margaret. My death in battle mustgive my whole estate to my heirs of entail; my forfeiture as a traitor,by the usurping Government, may vest it in the Prince of Orange or someDutch favourite. In either case, my venerable friend and betrothed bridemust remain unprotected and in poverty. Vested with the rights andprovisions of Lady Evandale, Edith will find, in the power of supportingher aged parent, some consolation for having condescended to share thetitles and fortunes of one who does not pretend to be worthy of her."

  Edith was struck dumb by an argument which she had not expected, and wascompelled to acknowledge that Lord Evandale's suit was urged withdelicacy as well as with consideration.

  "And yet," she said, "such is the waywardness with which my heart revertst
o former times that I cannot," she burst into tears, "suppress a degreeof ominous reluctance at fulfilling my engagement upon such a briefsummons."

  "We have already fully considered this painful subject," said LordEvandale; "and I hoped, my dear Edith, your own inquiries, as well asmine, had fully convinced you that these regrets were fruitless."

  "Fruitless indeed!" said Edith, with a deep sigh, which, as if by anunexpected echo, was repeated from the adjoining apartment. MissBellenden started at the sound, and scarcely composed herself upon LordEvandale's assurances that she had heard but the echo of her ownrespiration.

  "It sounded strangely distinct," she said, "and almost ominous; but myfeelings are so harassed that the slightest trifle agitates them."

  Lord Evandale eagerly attempted to soothe her alarm, and reconcile her toa measure which, however hasty, appeared to him the only means by whichhe could secure her independence. He urged his claim in virtue of thecontract, her grandmother's wish and command, the propriety of insuringher comfort and independence, and touched lightly on his own longattachment, which he had evinced by so many and such various services.These Edith felt the more, the less they were insisted upon; and atlength, as she had nothing to oppose to his ardour, excepting a causelessreluctance which she herself was ashamed to oppose against so muchgenerosity, she was compelled to rest upon the impossibility of havingthe ceremony performed upon such hasty notice, at such a time and place.But for all this Lord Evandale was prepared, and he explained, withjoyful alacrity, that the former chaplain of his regiment was inattendance at the Lodge with a faithful domestic, once a non-commissionedofficer in the same corps; that his sister was also possessed of thesecret; and that Headrigg and his wife might be added to the list ofwitnesses, if agreeable to Miss Bellenden. As to the place, he had chosenit on very purpose. The marriage was to remain a secret, since LordEvandale was to depart in disguise very soon after it was solemnized,--acircumstance which, had their union been public, must have drawn upon himthe attention of the Government, as being altogether unaccountable,unless from his being engaged in some dangerous design. Having hastilyurged these motives and explained his arrangements, he ran, withoutwaiting for an answer, to summon his sister to attend his bride, while hewent in search of the other persons whose presence was necessary.When Lady Emily arrived, she found her friend in an agony of tears, ofwhich she was at some loss to comprehend the reason, being one of thosedamsels who think there is nothing either wonderful or terrible inmatrimony, and joining with most who knew him in thinking that it couldnot be rendered peculiarly alarming by Lord Evandale being thebridegroom. Influenced by these feelings, she exhausted in succession allthe usual arguments for courage, and all the expressions of sympathy andcondolence ordinarily employed on such occasions. But when Lady Emilybeheld her future sister-in-law deaf to all those ordinary topics ofconsolation; when she beheld tears follow fast and without intermissiondown cheeks as pale as marble; when she felt that the hand which shepressed in order to enforce her arguments turned cold within her grasp,and lay, like that of a corpse, insensible and unresponsive to hercaresses, her feelings of sympathy gave way to those of hurt pride andpettish displeasure.

  "I must own," she said, "that I am something at a loss to understand allthis, Miss Bellenden. Months have passed since you agreed to marry mybrother, and you have postponed the fulfilment of your engagement fromone period to another, as if you had to avoid some dishonourable orhighly disagreeable connection. I think I can answer for Lord Evandalethat he will seek no woman's hand against her inclination; and, thoughhis sister, I may boldly say that he does not need to urge any ladyfurther than her inclinations carry her. You will forgive me, MissBellenden; but your present distress augurs ill for my brother's futurehappiness, and I must needs say that he does not merit all theseexpressions of dislike and dolour, and that they seem an odd return foran attachment which he has manifested so long, and in so many ways."

  "You are right, Lady Emily," said Edith, drying her eyes and endeavouringto resume her natural manner, though still betrayed by her falteringvoice and the paleness of her cheeks,--"you are quite right; LordEvandale merits such usage from no one, least of all from her whom he hashonoured with his regard. But if I have given way, for the last time, toa sudden and irresistible burst of feeling, it is my consolation, LadyEmily, that your brother knows the cause, that I have hid nothing fromhim, and that he at least is not apprehensive of finding in EdithBellenden a wife undeserving of his affection. But still you are right,and I merit your censure for indulging for a moment fruitless regret andpainful remembrances. It shall be so no longer; my lot is cast withEvandale, and with him I am resolved to bear it. Nothing shall in futureoccur to excite his complaints or the resentment of his relations; noidle recollections of other days shall intervene to prevent the zealousand affectionate discharge of my duty; no vain illusions recall thememory of other days--"

  As she spoke these words, she slowly raised her eyes, which had beforebeen hidden by her hand, to the latticed window of her apartment, whichwas partly open, uttered a dismal shriek, and fainted. Lady Emily turnedher eyes in the same direction, but saw only the shadow of a man, whichseemed to disappear from the window, and, terrified more by the state ofEdith than by the apparition she had herself witnessed, she utteredshriek upon shriek for assistance. Her brother soon arrived, with thechaplain and Jenny Dennison; but strong and vigorous remedies werenecessary ere they could recall Miss Bellenden to sense and motion. Eventhen her language was wild and incoherent.

  Uttered A Dismal Shriek, And Fainted--224]

  "Press me no farther," she said to Lord Evandale,--"it cannot be; Heavenand earth, the living and the dead, have leagued themselves against thisill-omened union. Take all I can give,--my sisterly regard, my devotedfriendship. I will love you as a sister and serve you as a bondswoman,but never speak to me more of marriage."

  The astonishment of Lord Evandale may easily be conceived."Emily," he said to his sister, "this is your doing. I was accursed whenI thought of bringing you here; some of your confounded folly has drivenher mad!"

  "On my word, Brother," answered Lady Emily, "you're sufficient to driveall the women in Scotland mad. Because your mistress seems much disposedto jilt you, you quarrel with your sister, who has been arguing in yourcause, and had brought her to a quiet hearing, when, all of a sudden, aman looked in at a window, whom her crazed sensibility mistook either foryou or some one else, and has treated us gratis with an excellent tragicscene."

  "What man? What window?" said Lord Evandale, in impatient displeasure."Miss Bellenden is incapable of trifling with me; and yet what else couldhave--"

  "Hush! hush!" said Jenny, whose interest lay particularly in shiftingfurther inquiry; "for Heaven's sake, my lord, speak low, for my ladybegins to recover."

  Edith was no sooner somewhat restored to herself than she begged, in afeeble voice, to be left alone with Lord Evandale. All retreated,--Jennywith her usual air of officious simplicity, Lady Emily and the chaplainwith that of awakened curiosity. No sooner had they left the apartmentthan Edith beckoned Lord Evandale to sit beside her on the couch; hernext motion was to take his hand, in spite of his surprised resistance,to her lips; her last was to sink from her seat and to clasp his knees."Forgive me, my lord!" she exclaimed, "forgive me! I must deal mostuntruly by you, and break a solemn engagement. You have my friendship, myhighest regard, my most sincere gratitude; you have more,--you have myword and my faith; but--oh, forgive me, for the fault is not mine--youhave not my love, and I cannot marry you without a sin!"

  "You dream, my dearest Edith!" said Evandale, perplexed in the utmostdegree, "you let your imagination beguile you; this is but some delusionof an over-sensitive mind. The person whom you preferred to me has beenlong in a better world, where your unavailing regret cannot follow him,or, if it could, would only diminish his happiness."

  "You are mistaken, Lord Evandale," said Edith, solemnly; "I am not asleep-walker or a madwoman. No, I could not have believed from any onewhat I
have seen. But, having seen him, I must believe mine own eyes."

  "Seen him,--seen whom?" asked Lord Evandale, in great anxiety.

  "Henry Morton," replied Edith, uttering these two words as if they wereher last, and very nearly fainting when she had done so.

  "Miss Bellenden," said Lord Evandale, "you treat me like a fool or achild. If you repent your engagement to me," he continued, indignantly,"I am not a man to enforce it against your inclination; but deal with meas a man, and forbear this trifling."

  He was about to go on, when he perceived, from her quivering eye andpallid cheek, that nothing less than imposture was intended, and that bywhatever means her imagination had been so impressed, it was reallydisturbed by unaffected awe and terror. He changed his tone, and exertedall his eloquence in endeavouring to soothe and extract from her thesecret cause of such terror.

  "I saw him!" she repeated,--"I saw Henry Morton stand at that window, andlook into the apartment at the moment I was on the point of abjuring himfor ever. His face was darker, thinner, and paler than it was wont to be;his dress was a horseman's cloak, and hat looped down over his face; hisexpression was like that he wore on that dreadful morning when he wasexamined by Claverhouse at Tillietudlem. Ask your sister, ask Lady Emily,if she did not see him as well as I. I know what has called him up,--hecame to upbraid me, that, while my heart was with him in the deep anddead sea, I was about to give my hand to another. My lord, it is endedbetween you and me; be the consequences what they will, she cannot marrywhose union disturbs the repose of the dead."

  "Good Heaven!" said Evandale, as he paced the room, half mad himself withsurprise and vexation, "her fine understanding must be totallyoverthrown, and that by the effort which she has made to comply with myill-timed, though well-meant, request. Without rest and attention herhealth is ruined for ever."

  At this moment the door opened, and Halliday, who had been LordEvandale's principal personal attendant since they both left the Guardson the Revolution, stumbled into the room with a countenance as pale andghastly as terror could paint it.

  "What is the matter next, Halliday?" cried his master, starting up. "Anydiscovery of the--"

  He had just recollection sufficient to stop short in the midst of thedangerous sentence.

  "No, sir," said Halliday, "it is not that, nor anything like that; but Ihave seen a ghost!"

  "A ghost, you eternal idiot!" said Lord Evandale, forced altogether outof his patience. "Has all mankind sworn to go mad in order to drive meso? What ghost, you simpleton?"

  "The ghost of Henry Morton, the Whig captain at Bothwell Bridge," repliedHalliday. "He passed by me like a fire-flaught when I was in the garden!"

  "This is midsummer madness," said Lord Evandale, "or there is somestrange villainy afloat. Jenny, attend your lady to her chamber, while Iendeavour to find a clue to all this."

  But Lord Evandale's inquiries were in vain. Jenny, who might have given(had she chosen) a very satisfactory explanation, had an interest toleave the matter in darkness; and interest was a matter which now weighedprincipally with Jenny, since the possession of an active andaffectionate husband in her own proper right had altogether allayed herspirit of coquetry. She had made the best use of the first moments ofconfusion hastily to remove all traces of any one having slept in theapartment adjoining to the parlour, and even to erase the mark offootsteps beneath the window, through which she conjectured Morton's facehad been seen, while attempting, ere he left the garden, to gain one lookat her whom he had so long loved, and was now on the point of losing forever. That he had passed Halliday in the garden was equally clear; andshe learned from her elder boy, whom she had employed to have thestranger's horse saddled and ready for his departure, that he had rushedinto the stable, thrown the child a broad gold piece, and, mounting hishorse, had ridden with fearful rapidity down towards the Clyde. Thesecret was, therefore, in their own family, and Jenny was resolved itshould remain so.

  "For, to be sure," she said, "although her lady and Halliday kend Mr.Morton by broad daylight, that was nae reason I suld own to kenning himin the gloaming and by candlelight, and him keeping his face frae Cuddieand me a' the time."

  So she stood resolutely upon the negative when examined by Lord Evandale.As for Halliday, he could only say that as he entered the garden-door,the supposed apparition met him, walking swiftly, and with a visage onwhich anger and grief appeared to be contending.

  "He knew him well," he said, "having been repeatedly guard upon him, andobliged to write down his marks of stature and visage in case of escape.And there were few faces like Mr. Morton's." But what should make himhaunt the country where he was neither hanged nor shot, he, the saidHalliday, did not pretend to conceive.

  Lady Emily confessed she had seen the face of a man at the window, buther evidence went no farther. John Gudyill deponed _nil novit in causa_.He had left his gardening to get his morning dram just at the time whenthe apparition had taken place. Lady Emily's servant was waiting ordersin the kitchen, and there was not another being within a quarter of amile of the house.

  Lord Evandale returned perplexed and dissatisfied in the highest degreeat beholding a plan which he thought necessary not less for theprotection of Edith in contingent circumstances, than for the assuranceof his own happiness, and which he had brought so very near perfection,thus broken off without any apparent or rational cause. His knowledge ofEdith's character set her beyond the suspicion of covering any capriciouschange of determination by a pretended vision. But he would have set theapparition down to the influence of an overstrained imagination, agitatedby the circumstances in which she had so suddenly been placed, had it notbeen for the coinciding testimony of Halliday, who had no reason forthinking of Morton more than any other person, and knew nothing of MissBellenden's vision when he promulgated his own. On the other hand, itseemed in the highest degree improbable that Morton, so long and sovainly sought after, and who was, with such good reason, supposed to belost when the "Vryheid" of Rotterdam went down with crew and passengers,should be alive and lurking in this country, where there was no longerany reason why he should not openly show himself, since the presentGovernment favoured his party in politics. When Lord Evandale reluctantlybrought himself to communicate these doubts to the chaplain, in order toobtain his opinion, he could only obtain a long lecture on demonology, inwhich, after quoting Delrio and Burthoog and De L'Ancre on the subject ofapparitions, together with sundry civilians and common lawyers on thenature of testimony, the learned gentleman expressed his definite anddetermined opinion to be, either that there had been an actual apparitionof the deceased Henry Morton's spirit, the possibility of which he was,as a divine and a philosopher, neither fully prepared to admit or todeny; or else that the said Henry Morton, being still in _rerum natura_,had appeared in his proper person that morning; or, finally, that somestrong _deceptio visus_, or striking similitude of person, had deceivedthe eyes of Miss Bellenden and of Thomas Halliday. Which of these was themost probable hypothesis, the doctor declined to pronounce, but expressedhimself ready to die in the opinion that one or other of them hadoccasioned that morning's disturbance.

  Lord Evandale soon had additional cause for distressful anxiety. MissBellenden was declared to be dangerously ill.

  "I will not leave this place," he exclaimed, "till she is pronounced tobe in safety. I neither can nor ought to do so; for whatever may havebeen the immediate occasion of her illness, I gave the first cause for itby my unhappy solicitation."

  He established himself, therefore, as a guest in the family, which thepresence of his sister, as well as of Lady Margaret Bellenden (who, indespite of her rheumatism, caused herself to be transported thither whenshe heard of her granddaughter's illness), rendered a step equallynatural and delicate. And thus he anxiously awaited until, without injuryto her health, Edith could sustain a final explanation ere his departureon his expedition.

  "She shall never," said the generous young man, "look on her engagementwith me as the means of fettering her to a union, the ide
a of which seemsalmost to unhinge her understanding."