The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Scottish Cavalier, Volume 3 (of 3), by James Grant This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: The Scottish Cavalier, Volume 3 (of 3) An Historical Romance Author: James Grant Release Date: August 23, 2021 [eBook #66122] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 Produced by: Al Haines *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCOTTISH CAVALIER, VOLUME 3 (OF 3) *** THE SCOTTISH CAVALIER. An Historical Romance. BY JAMES GRANT, ESQ., AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF WAR, OR THE GORDON HIGHLANDERS," "MEMOIRS OF KIRKALDY OF GRANGE," &C. Dost thou admit his right, Thus to transfer our ancient Scottish crown? Ay, Scotland was a kingdom once, And, by the might of God, a kingdom still shall be! ROBERT THE BRUCE, ACT II. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1850. Contents I. Lilian II. How Clermistonlee Pressed His Suit III. Claverhouse to the Rescue IV. The Secret Stair V. The Attempt VI. Edinburgh—The Night of the Revolution VII. Sack of Holyrood VIII. The Veiled Picture IX. Love and Principle X. The Pass of Killycrankie XI. The Last Hour of Dundee XII. St. Germains XIII. The Cavaliers of Dundee XIV. The 20th of September, 1692 XV. The Effect of the Postscriptum XVI. The Battle of Steinkirke XVII. A Disclosure XVIII. Walter Fenton and the King XIX. The Returned Exile XX. The Bubble Burst XXI. Love and Marriage are Two XXII. The Ring and the Secret XXIII. The Iron Room—The Death Shot WALTER FENTON; OR THE SCOTTISH CAVALIER. CHAPTER I. LILIAN. I love thee, gentle Knight! but 'tis, Such love as sisters bear; O, ask my heart no more than this, For more it may not spare. KNIGHT TOGGENBURG. The image of Clermistonlee and his threats came painfully upon Lilian's memory. She shrieked for aid, but her cries were lost in the vacuity of the old-fashioned coach in which she was being carried off. She strove to open the windows, but they were immoveable as those of a castle, and she resigned herself to tears and despair. The vehicle was rumbling and jolting over a waste of frozen snow; here and there, a farm-house or a congealed rivulet were passed, but everything appeared so strange and new, when viewed in their snowy guise by the twilight of the mirky winter night, that Lilian had not the most remote idea in what direction she was taken; and, shuddering with cold and apprehension, the poor girl crouched down in a corner of the coach, and abandoned herself to grief and wretchedness. The excessive chill of the night, and prostration of spirit under which she laboured, produced a sort of stupor, and when the coach stopped, she was unable to move; but a tall dark man, muffled and masked like an intriguing gallant of the day, lifted her out. As one in a dream, who would in vain elude some hideous vision, she attempted to shriek; but the unuttered cry died away on her lips, and she closed her eyes. A strong embrace encircled her; a hot breath—(was it not a kiss?)—came upon her cold cheek, and she felt herself borne along; doors closed behind her, and by the warmth of the altered temperature she was aware of being within a house. She was seated gently in a chair; and now she looked around her. A large fire of roots was blazing on the rough stone-hearth; its ruddy glow rendered yet more red the bare walls and strongly arched roof of a hall (built of red sandstone) such as may be seen in the old fortlets of the lesser barons of Scotland. The windows on each side were deeply embayed by the thickness of the wall, and a deep-browed arch spanned each; they had stone seats covered with crimson cushions, and foot-mats of plaited rushes. The hurrying clouds and occasional stars were seen through the strong basket-gratings that externally defended these prison-like apertures. The hall was paved, and its rude massive furniture consisted only of a great oblong table of oak, several forms or settles, a few high-backed chairs, and one upon a raised part of the floor, at the upper end, had a canopy of crimson cloth over it, announcing that it was the state-chair of the Lord of the Manor. Swords, pikes, harquebuses, hunting and hawking appurtenances, with a few veiled pictures, were among its ornaments. A great almery, or cupboard (so called from the old hospitable custom of setting aside food as alms for the poor), occupied one end of the apartment, and an ancient casque surmounted it. Various bunkers of carved oak, bound with iron, occupied the other. On the right hand of the doorway, a stone lavatory, covered with magnificent sculpture projected from the wall. This old-fashioned bason was furnished with a hole to carry off water, and was an indispensable convenience to every ancient dining-hall. With one rapid glance of terror Lilian surveyed the whole place, and started from her chair to be confronted by one whose aspect made her instinctively shrink back. The keen and hawk-like eyes of Beatrix Gilruth were fixed upon her with an expression at once menacing, searching, and scornful. There was something in the wild visage of this inexplicable woman that excited curiosity, while her air terrified, and her withered person repelled approach. "Who are you, woman?" asked Lilian firmly, as, stepping back a pace, she surveyed her from head to foot; "and what are you?" "What am I?" reiterated the other, with a voice that thrilled, while her grey eyes gleamed with a blue light, and she ground her teeth. "I am what thou shalt be, my pretty minx, ere ye leave these walls, perhaps." Lilian, terrified by her aspect and her answer, sank into a chair, saying, as she clasped her hands, and looked up imploringly from her bright dishevelled hair— "Woman, for the love of God, say where am I?" "In the tower of Clermistonlee." "So my soul foreboded; but can he have dared thus far?" "What will he not dare that man can do?" "O Heaven, protect me!" "Neither the Heaven that is above us, nor the Hell that is beneath, will protect you, pretty one; but you will be made what many as fair have been,—the toy, the plaything of an hour, to be cast aside when some new fancy has seized the wayward mind of your lord and betrayer. Look at that veiled portrait——" At that moment three distinct knocks were heard against the almery. Lilian started and turned pale. "Yes, yes," said Beatrix scornfully, addressing the knocker; "you are impatient. There was a time—but it matters not—I bide mine; and my long delayed vengeance will wither thee up, false lord, even as if the lightning of God had scorched thy perjured soul." Low as this was uttered, it reached the ears of Lilian; she became doubly terrified, and a momentary feeling of utter abandonment made her cover her face with her hands and weep bitterly. But, suddenly starting up, she said with energy — "I will go hence, madam; and whatever be the danger, I will risk it. But the snow, the darkness, and the distance— oh, horror!—Aunt Grisel—gossip Annie—what will they think of this?—what will become of me?" "Stand," said Beatrix, interposing. "Are you mad, to think of leaving this roof in the middle of a winter night? Remember the dreary lea of Clermiston, the rocks and the frozen marshes of Corstorphine, you are fey, maiden, to think it." "Begone, thou ill woman," replied Lilian contemptuously; "I will go, and I dare thee to stay me." "Then," rejoined Beatrix spitefully, "remember the barred windows, the bolted gates, and the good stone walls. Pooh, maiden, take tent and bide where ye are; for I swear ye can never go from hence, but at the pleasure of my lord." "Insolent! Know ye who I am?" asked Lilian. "The young lady of Bruntisfield," answered Beatrix coldly; "a wayward lass with a braw tocher, it seemeth,—one who prefers a younger cap and feather than my lord. Ha! hath he not sworn—(and mark me, maiden, he never swears in vain!)—that he will compel thee yet to beg his love at his hand as a boon, even as humbly as he now sues thine." "In sooth!" retorted Lilian, with angry surprise. "He will surely have the aid of some such witch as thee to work so modern a miracle." "Witch, quotha!" replied Beatrix, whose withered cheek began to redden with passion. "Lilian Napier, there was a time when these grey grizzled locks were once as bright and as glossy as thine; when this brow was as smooth, this faded form as round, yea, and as beautiful; this step as light, and this poor face as fair, as thine now are. So beware thee of taunts, maiden; for the time is coming (if thou art spared) when thou mayest be loathsome as I now am, and loathing as I now do. That hour is coming; for Clermistonlee hath an evil eye, beneath whose baleful influence all that is good and beautiful in woman will wither and die. Oh! Lilian Napier, what a tale of love and weakness, shame and misery, sin and horror, would the history of my life reveal! But my hour of revenge is coming. Yes——" Again three knocks louder than before rang on the almery; and Beatrix, trembling, ceased to talk, and busied herself in laying a supper on the hall-table. "Oh, Walter! Walter!" murmured Lilian, "if you knew of this—if you were here to protect me!" Her tears flowed freely. "Walter!" reiterated Beatrix musing; "can it really be the same? No, it is impossible; and yet, why not?—He is your lover, then, this Walter?" she asked in a low voice, while laying some cold grilled meat, confections, and wine from a buffet. "I know he is—that blush tells me (when did my cheek blush last?) He is young and handsome, I warrant?" Lilian nodded an affirmative. "And men say he is brave?" "Oh, yes! brave as a hero of romance," said Lilian in the same low tone; for there is nothing so pleasing to love as to hear the object of it praised. "And so noble—so generous! If true worth gave a title, my dear Walter would be a belted Earl." "Instead of being a poor standard-bearer in the ranks of Dunbarton." "You have seen him then?" said Lilian, her blue eyes beaming, as she almost forgot her present predicament in the thought of her lover. "Is he not handsome, good woman?" "It is the same!" exclaimed Beatrix, in her shrillest tone. "Walter, the powder-boy—the soldier's brat—hah!"—she ground her teeth, and clenched her shrivelled hands like knots of serpents—"I bide my time. Oh, I will be fearfully avenged!" A third time there was a knocking on the almery, and Beatrix muttered— "I am dumb—I will speak no more." She pointed to the supper-table, and, throwing herself into a chair, fixed her sunken eyes upon the red glowing fire, and, lost in her own wild thoughts, continued to jabber with the rapidity and restlessness of insanity. It was evident that she was partly deranged,—a discovery which, while it raised the pity of the gentle Lilian, increased the dread and the horror of her situation. Clermistonlee, with his faithful rascal Juden, were both within earshot. The former had sufficient tact and experience to know that it would be better to defer any interview with Lilian until next morning, by which time he hoped she would be a little more familiarised with her situation; and leaving Juden, who was ensconced in the recesses of the almery, to be a check upon the troublesome garrulity of his only female domestic, he retired to a snug apartment, where, enveloped in his shag dressing-gown, and comforted by a great tankard of his favourite mulled sack, and several books of "ungodly jests," he practised all his philosophy to enable him to endure this temporary separation from Lilian, consoled by the idea that she was completely in his clutches, within his strong tower, which he was entitled to defend against all men living; and well aware that, in the political storm which in another week would convulse all Scotland from the Cheviots to Cape Wrath, the abduction of a girl—more especially the daughter of a "persecuting cavalier"—would be less regarded than the wind blowing over the muir. As the still, quiet night wore on, and the fumes of the wine mounted into his head, very strange ideas floated through the brain of the roué. Again and again the thought of Lilian being so utterly in his power intruded itself upon his heated imagination; he felt his blood begin to glow; his mind became confused; he endeavoured to combat his constitutional wickedness, and, by aid of his repeated potations, and a highly seasoned grillade, dozed away the night very comfortably in a well-cushioned chair; while his leal henchman was in the same happy state of oblivion, through the medium of various stoups of ale which he imbibed in the spence or buttery. Not so did poor Lilian pass the slow and heavy hours. The repast prepared for her was left untouched, she resisted every invitation to repose, and resolved on passing the night by the hall-fire; until, reflecting that she would be quite as safe in one part of the tower as in another, and wishing to be alone, that she might weep unseen, she was ushered by Beatrix up a narrow stair into a little sleeping apartment, the greater part of which was occupied by a great hearse-looking tester, or canopy bed. The only light in the chamber came from the fire-place, where a heap of logs and coals were blazing, and diffusing a warm glow on the dark wainscotted walls, the oaken floor, and rude ceiling, which was crossed by a massive dormant-tree of oak, covered with grotesque and hideous carving. There was something very gloomy and catafalcque-like in the aspect of the gigantic bed in which Lilian was to repose; its massive posts of dark oak and darker ebony were covered embossage, and the deep crimson curtains, with heavy fringes, fell in shadowy festoons, while four great plumes of feathers surmounted the corners in sepulchral grandeur. It stood upon a raised dais of three steps, and on the back, amid a wilderness of bassi-relievi, flowers, angels, satyrs, and ivy, appeared the coronet and gorgeous blazon of Clermistonlee. "I cannot sleep here, good woman," said Lilian shuddering; but the noise of the closing door, and the bolt jarring outside, was her only reply. She found herself alone. Her first impulse was to fasten her door within securely; her second to examine the chamber, by the light of the fire. In the deep little window stood a beautiful cabinet, on the upper part of which were a mirror and all the usual appurtenances for a lady's toilet, but of the most costly and elegant description, with all the perfumes, oils, essences and lotions then most in vogue. She turned from them with disgust to survey the walls, for the fear of secret entrances was impressed powerfully upon her mind by her knowledge of the number that existed in her own home; but, upon examination, she found nothing to increase her dread, save the cabinet, the doors of which were locked, and returned an unusually hollow sound when she touched them. Alternately a prey to fear and indignation, she walked about the little apartment, or sat by the fire weeping and praying, until sleep began to oppress her; and, unable longer to resist its effects, with an audible supplication to Heaven that the morrow might bring about her release, she threw herself (without undressing) on the bed, and almost immediately fell fast asleep. CHAPTER II. HOW CLERMISTONLEE PRESSED HIS SUIT. A strong dose of love is worse than one of ratafia; when once it gets into our heads it trips up our heels, and then good night to discretion. THE LYING VALET. From an uneasy slumber that had been disturbed by many a painful dream, Lilian started, awoke, and leaped from the bed. The embers of the night fire still smouldered on the hearth stone, and the rays of the red sun rising above a gorge in the Corstorphine hills, radiated through her grated window as through a focus. Pressing her hands upon her temples, she endeavoured to collect the scattered images that had haunted her sleep. She had dreamt of Walter. He seemed to be present in that very chamber, to stand by her gloomy bed, and smiled kindly and fondly as of old. He bent over to kiss her, but lo! his features turned to those of Lord Clermistonlee; the great tester bed with its plumage and canopy became a hearse; she screamed and awoke to find it was day. Now all her former fear and indignation revived in full force, and she wept passionately. Reflecting how completely she was at the mercy of Clermistonlee, whose character for reckless ferocity, and steady obstinacy of purpose, she knew too well; she resolved to endure with patience, and await with caution an opportunity for release or escape. How little she knew of what was acting in Edinburgh! And her beloved kinswoman, so revered, so tender, and affectionate, but so aged and infirm. "O horror!" exclaimed Lilian, wringing her hands, "this must have destroyed her." "Open Madam Lilian," said the voice of Beatrix Gilruth, as she knocked at the door; "open, my lord awaits you at breakfast in the hall." Lilian hesitated; but aware that resistance would not better her fortune, with her usual frankness ran to the door, opened it, and despite the repulsive sternness of Gilruth's aspect, impelled by a sense of loneliness, and a wish to gain her friendship, she bade her good morning, and lightly touched her hand. Her air of innocence and candour impressed the misanthropic heart of Beatrix, and she smiled kindly. While leading her before the mirror to assist in arraying her for breakfast, the bosom of the unfortunate castaway could not repress a sigh, and a scanty tear trembled in either eye, as she writhed her withered fingers in the soft masses of Lilian's hair. "I will shew thee my bairn what a braw busker I am," said Beatrix, "though 'tis long since these poor fingers have had aught to do with top-knots and fantanges." Resigned and careless of what was done with her, Lilian remained with a pale face of placid composure and grief, gazing unconsciously upon her own beautiful image as reflected in the polished mirror; and though she marked it not, there was a vivid and terrible contrast between her statue-like features, and those of her tire-woman—keen, attenuated, and graven with the lines of sorrow, rage, bitterness, and misanthropy; the true index of that storm of evil passions and resentful thoughts that smouldered in her heart. At length the captive was arrayed so far as the skill of Beatrix would go; her dress (that in which she had left home) was long, flowing, and heavily flounced in the French fashion, derived from Albert Durer, who represented an angel in flounced petticoats expelling Adam and Eve from Paradise—hence flounces were all the rage. She wore long and heavy ruffles of the richest lace, a string of pearls and amber was twisted among the bright braids of her beautiful hair; a diamond drop depended from each of her delicate ears, and a rich necklace like a collar, with a pendant, encircled her neck, the whiteness and purity of which never appeared in greater splendour, than when contrasted with the faded skin of poor Beatrix. Passive under her hands, Lilian allowed her great natural beauty to be thus dangerously enhanced, and when she stood up, her rather diminutive stature being increased by her high heeled maroquin shoes, and the grace with which she wore her commode and floating flounces, caused the poor woman, whom so many fair ones had successively supplanted, to utter an exclamation of delight. "Come," said she, "my lord awaits you; how pleased he will be." "Oh my God!" exclaimed Lilian, in deep anguish; "and was it to please him you have thus arrayed and attired me. Fie upon thee, ill woman!" "Here at least his bidding must be obeyed implicitly, as when a hundred of his men stabled their horses in the barbican stalls. He is a dangerous man, hinny, and never tholed thwarting, though the hour is coming when he shall thole bitter vengeance, and dree the deepest remorse. But I bide my time—I bide my time." As she led Lilian into the hall, Clermistonlee advanced to receive her, with an imperturbable air of assurance, gallantry, and devotion. Through one of the deeply recessed windows, the light of the morning sun fell full upon his noble face and figure, which the richness of his dress displayed to the utmost advantage. He wore an embroidered suit of light blue satin slashed with white; he had round his neck the gold collar of the thistle, and had over his left breast the green ribbon and oval badge of the order; a diamond hilted rapier sparkled in a baldrick that was stiff with gold embroidery; his flowing peruke was redolent of perfume; his ruffles were miracles of needlework, and his brilliant sleeve buttons flashed whenever his hands moved. Hateful as he was at all times to Lilian, now he was more so than ever; surprise, indignation, fear, and contempt, agitated her by turns, and she gazed on him in painful suspense, awaiting his address. He had evidently made his toilet with more than usual care, and resolving to give Lilian no time for reproaches, he led her at once to a seat, saying, "My dear girl will no doubt be in a prodigious passion with me, but ladies are kindly disposed to forgive every little mistake that has love for its excuse. 'Tis but a dismal old peelhouse this, dear Lilian, but I hope you slept well. The wind sings in the corridors, the corbies scream on the roof, and all that, but with a clear conscience you know, oh yes, one may dose like a top, or a lord of session. "A clear sharp morning this; I rode as far as Craigroyston before sunrise. There is nothing so improves one's complexion as a gallop in the morning air. Apropos! what do you think of this embroidered suit? 'Tis the last fashion from Paris; that old villain Saunders Snip, in the Craimes, brought it direct from thence last month. On a good figure it is quite calculated to make an impression. Look'ee, fair Lilian; these ruffles cost me twenty guineas a pair, not a tester less I assure you; and the sleeve buttons are the first of their kind, and were made by Monsieur Bütong, the eminent Parisian jeweller, for that glorious fop, the Comte d'Artois, who presented them to a friend of mine in the Scots Archers. "But this tie of my overlay, ha! that is a contrivance of my own; graceful, is it not? exactly—I knew you would think so. Droll, is it not, that our tastes should be the same? You see, my dear girl, at what trouble I have been to please you. Smile again, dear Lilian," continued his lordship, whose overnight potations, the morning ride had failed quite to dispel; "by Heaven, you look divine: where shall I find words to compliment the beauty of your appearance this morning!" "You really seem to require all your verbosity for praising yourself, my lord," said Lilian, coldly. "Now—now, do not be so angry," said Clermistonlee, taking her hand in spite of all her efforts to prevent him. "I am justly so, my lord," replied Lilian making a strong effort to restrain her tears under an aspect of firmness and determination. "By what right have you dared to bring me here and detain me prisoner?" "Hoity, toity—right dear Lilian? the right of a most devoted lover." "My lord, you will be severely punished for this. The law——" "Ha, ha! Lilian, there is no law now, no order, morality, nor any thing else. The world is turned upside down, (at least Britain is)—revolutionized, bewildered, and the old days of battle and broil, reiving and rugging, have come back in all their glory. In this desperate game, my girl," he added, through his clenched teeth, "Clermistonlee must repair his fortune or be lost for ever; but enough of this; let us to breakfast, and then we will talk over matters that lie nearer our hearts. Nay, nay, no refusal—breakfast you must have." He led her towards the long hall table, where, thanks to Juden's catering and ingenuity, a noble repast was laid, in the profuse "style of ancient gourmandizing; and the unscrupulous factotum who stood near with a napkin under his arm, and a long corkscrew in his hand, surveyed Lilian with something between a smirk and a leer, which was sufficient to increase the fear that oppressed, and the anger that swelled within her breast. She withdrew, saying, with a voice that trembled between indignation and apprehension, "Spare me this continued humiliation. Oh my Lord Clermistonlee, if there remain within your breast, one spark of that bright spirit which ought ever to be the guiding star of the noble and the gentleman, you will restore me to my home, to the only relative (save one) whom death has left me in this wide world. Be generous, my lord," continued Lilian, touching his hand, with charming frankness; "Oh be generous, as I know you are brave and reckless. Restore me to my home, and I pledge my word you will never be questioned concerning my abduction. I will pass it over as a foolish but daring frolic. Hear me, my lord, in pity hear me." Clermistonlee trembled beneath her gentle touch; but answered with his usual air of raillery,— "Hoity, toity, little one! art going to read me curtain lectures already? My dear Lilian, it is too bad really! The abduction? Oh the ardour of my love will be a sufficient excuse for that; and as to being questioned—I don't think any person will permit himself to question me, if he remembers that I am the best hand at pistol, rapier, and dagger, in broad Scotland. "Beside, dear Lilian, (why dost always shrink? dost think child I am going to eat thee like a rascally ogre) if thou wouldst save thine honour," here his voice sank involuntarily into an impressive whisper, "become mine. Thou shouldst be well aware that after living in the power of one who is so tremendous a roué by habit and repute, no woman could go forth into the world without lying under suspicions of a very unpleasant nature. The roisters at Blair's coffee house have got hold of the story, for it hath made a devil of a noise in the city, and in the mouths of the Bowhead gossips, and Bess Wynd scandal-mongers, our little affair will be quite a romance." This cruel speech, which was uttered with the utmost coolness and deliberation by Clermistonlee, who played the while with his gold sword-knot, came like ice upon the heart of the unhappy Lilian, who could not but secretly acknowledge that it was too true. She grew pale as death, and, unable to reply, gazed upon her tormentor with a look of such intense aversion, that he could not repress a haughty smile of astonishment. "Ha, ha! for what do you take me?" "For a monster!" murmured Lilian, in a voice almost inarticulate. "Oh—oh! you regard me as a poor sparrow doth a gerfalcon." "Alas!" said Lilian, weeping as she sank into a seat, "the simile is but too true." "You are very unpolite, Madam Lilian; a gerfalcon is between the vulture and the hawk." Lilian answered only by her tears, and his lordship began to get a little provoked. "A devil of a breakfast this, my pretty moppet," he continued, with an air of composure; "when these vapours have passed away, peradventure you will condescend to hear my addresses—meantime consider yourself quite at home, and for Heaven's sake (or rather your own), do take a share of such humble cheer as this my poor house of Clermiston affords." And without troubling her farther, he threw back the curls of his peruke, and attacked the devilled duck, the cold sirloin, and wassail-bowl of spiced ale, the smoking coffee and hot bannocks forthwith. Within the recess of a window, reclined upon the cushion of one of those stone side-seats so common in old Scottish towers, Lilian sat with her face covered with her hands, and shaded by the masses of her fine hair which fell forward over her drooping head. The glory of the red morning sun streamed full upon her tresses and turned them to wreaths of gold. She seemed something etherially beautiful, and the sensual lord felt his heart beat with increased ardour as he gazed on her from time to time; but aware, from old experience, that it was useless to press her to partake of his luxurious breakfast, he resolved to trouble her no more until the first paroxism of her indignation had evaporated. Juden and Beatrix having finished their luggies of porridge and ale at the lower and uncovered part of the table, were now engaged, the former in making lures of feathers and raw meat to train two young hawks that sat near him on a perch, with their long lunes or leashes coiled round it; and the latter, while affecting to occupy herself with some household matter, from the bay of an opposite window, watched with a keen, restless, and often malicious expression, the nonchalant lord and the unhappy Lilian, for whom, at times, she felt something akin to pity, and fain would have set her at liberty; but the keys of the tower gates were buckled to Juden's girdle, and every window was closed by a grating like a strong iron harrow. In the faint hope of some rescue approaching, Lilian gazed earnestly from the window she occupied. It faced the south, and overlooked the then dreary waste of Clermiston Lee, which, with all the undulating country extending to the base of the Pentlands, and that gigantic range, towering peak above peak, as they diminished in the western shire of Linlithgow, were covered with one universal mantle of dazzling snow. Afar off above the hills of Braid the level sun poured its red rays through a hazy sky across the desolate landscape; the thickets, bare and leafless, stood like cypress groves in the waste; the dim winter smoke from many farm-house and cottage lum of clay, ascended in murky columns into the frosty air, but around the lonely tower on the Lee, there was an aspect of stillness and desolation that struck a chill upon Lilian's heart. Far off, on the Glasgow road, that passed the picturesque old church, the thatched hamlet and Foresters' Castle of Corstorphine, a strong square fortress flanked by round towers, a solitary traveller, muffled in his furred rocquelaure and leathern gambadoes, or grey maud and worsted galligaskins (according to his rank), spurred his horse towards the city; but such occasional passers were all beyond the reach of Lilian. The bridle-road to the town was hidden, and not a foot-print stained the spotless mantle of the level Lee. At times a hare or fox shot across it, from the woods or rocks of Corstorphine, but no other living thing approached, and the heart of poor Lilian grew more and more sad as the dreary day wore on, and night once more approached. CHAPTER III. CLAVERHOUSE TO THE RESCUE. The winter cold is past and gone, And now comes on the spring; And I am one of the Scots Life Guards, And I must fight for the King. My dear! And I must fight for him! OLD SONG. By orders from William of Orange, who had taken possession of James's palace, and issued from thence his sounding declarations and imperial mandates, Goderdt de Ginckel, with the utmost expedition, marched the captured Scots towards London, where the Statholder (though he had not yet been crowned) was intent on revenging, by the lash and bullet, this signal instance of resistance to his authority. In consequence of this event; he had the first "Mutiny Act" framed, but being an edict of the English Parliament it could in no way apply to Scottish troops. Aware of the esprit du corps and indomitable valour of the old musqueteers, and fearful of revolt or rescue, de Ginckel sent Lieutenant Gavin twenty other officers and five hundred privates, in charge of Sir Marmaduke Langstone, direct to London, towards which place he marched the remainder by another route; keeping near his person and under sure escort, Lord Dunbarton, Walter Fenton, Finland, and other officers, whose hostility of spirit was more undisguised than their comrades, de Ginckel advanced some miles in rear of the main body of his Black Horsemen. The Earl was destined for the Tower of London; Walter and his brothers in misfortune for the cells of Newgate. In every town and village through which they were marched, dense mobs of "the rascal multitude" attended and loaded them with every insult and opprobrium, such as the vulgar, the cruel, and the wicked are ever ready to hurl upon the fallen or the unfortunate. Marrowbones and cleavers were clattered around them; effigies of King James, and a figure meant to represent a Scotchman, were carried or kicked along the streets before them, and amid yells and hootings, warming-pans were everywhere displayed from the windows at their approach; at that time a famous mode of insulting the Jacobites, being a palpable hit against the legitimacy of the young Prince of Wales. "Fie upon the Scots! Out upon thee, Mon! No warming-pan King! William for ever, and down to hell with all Scots, Papists, and Mass-mongers! hurrah!" yelled the rabble on every hand, while vollies of mud, stones, dead cats, &c., were showered on them from every hand. Meanwhile their Dutch escort rode on each side with the most phlegmatic indifference, every man seeming as if fast asleep in his voluminous breeches and wide jack-boots. "Down with the race of Gog—the soldiers of the priests of Baal!" cried an old puritan; "down with Scots Jemmy and his cursed Jesuits!" Weak and exhausted by constant marching, lack of food and sleep; dispirited by misfortune, and disfigured by mud and their torn and soiled attire; in the captives no one could have recognized the dashing cavaliers who passed northward a day or two before. They had all been deprived of their horses and arms, and been robbed of everything of value—their cuirasses, purses, rings, &c.—by their guard. De Ginckel was as brutal and merciless as a Carrib Indian, and repeatedly struck the unfortunate cavaliers with his speaking-trumpet. "Ach Gott!" he often cried to his Ruyters; "if von ob de brisoners escape, ye shall answer for him, body for body, by cast ob dice on de kettle-trum-head!" "My good comrades, and gallant gentlemen," said the Earl of Dunbarton to the little group that marched around him, "were it not that I feel in my heart assured that an hour of vengeance and retribution will come, I would die of sheer spleen and mortification, for the insults we are compelled to put up with." "I pity these bluff-headed Saxon boors, because they know no better," replied Walter, staggering, as a stone struck him on the temple; "but De Ginckel——" "My dear fellow," said Finland, bitterly, "'tis a sample of the good old southern hospitality and kindness of which we hear so much in romance, and so little in history." "But," continued Walter, "I despise these poppy-headed Dutch poltroons in their black iron doublets, and would risk my share of Heaven to have De Ginckel under my hands on Scottish ground, with none to interfere, and no weapons but our rapiers and a case of good pistols." "You speak my thoughts," said the Earl, through his clenched teeth. "My malediction on Langstone and his Red Dragoons. Had they and such as they been good men and true, we had not been reduced to this misfortune; and our misguided King, instead of being a houseless fugitive, had dwelt in Windsor still, where now the usurping Stadtholder keeps Court and Council. Sirs, of a verity we live in strange times!" As they had now crossed the Nen, had left behind old Peterborough (with the hoary fane where St. Oswald's bony arm worked miracles of old), and were marching through the open country, being free from the yells and missiles of the mob, they could converse with tolerable freedom, though at times De Ginckel thundered silence through his trumpet, or a Swart Ruyter, more waggish or wickedly inclined than his soporific comrades, pushed his horse sidelong to tumble one of the captives among the half-frozen mud that encumbered the roadways. Their mortification and dejection increased at every step of their retrograde march, and even the lively sallies of Dr. Joram failed to enliven them. The sombre evening was closing, when De Ginckel, with his Ruyters and their captives, after traversing the fenny district between Cambridge and Lincoln, came in sight of Huntingdon, where, as Dr. Joram remarked, "the devil's god- son, that prime rascal, old Noll, first drew breath." The dying light of the winter sun tipped the spires of the ancient town-hall and the church of All Saints, and glimmered on the sluggish windings of the Ouse. The prisoners were pursuing a lonely road; on one side lay a thick copsewood, and on the other one of those wide and desolate fens then subject to the inundations of the Ouse, whose waters in many places formed deep and solitary meres or tarns. Within the recesses of the wood, the quick eye of Walter had soon detected the glitter of arms, to which he drew the attention of the Earl. "It matters not," replied the dejected noble, "no arms now glitter under James's standard; we are lost men, my dear lad. It will be black tidings for my little Lætitia, when the accursed Tower of London holds the last Lord of Dunbarton." "And what thinkest thou, Walter, our dear lassies will say when they hear we are in Newgate?" asked Finland. "'Twill be rare news for the Lord Clermistonlee," replied Walter, in a fierce whisper. "But look, gentlemen!— behold! In Heaven's name, are these friends or foes?" As he spoke, a troop of horse, clad in brilliant armour, with their white plumes waving in the evening wind, and their long uplifted rapiers flashing in the setting sun, and all gallantly mounted on matchless black horses, filed forth from the coppice, and drew up like magic on the roadway, about a hundred yards in advance of the Swart Ruyters, who instantly reined-up. One cavalier, splendidly accoutred, rode to the front, wheeled round his snorting horse that pawed the air, and issued his orders with stern rapidity— "Gentlemen of the Scottish Guard, prepare to charge! Uncase the standards! Sound trumpets!" The banneroles were unfurled, the trumpets sounded, the kettle-drums ruffled, and each brave cavalier pressed forward in the saddle, as if impatient for the order to rush to the charge. "Ach tuyfel!" shouted De Ginckel through his trumpet; "Scots' Horse—der tuyfel! Sabre de brisoners—cut dem into de towsand becies! Fall on, you Schelms!" But there was no time. "'Tis Claverhouse, and the remains of his regiment. I would know his black steed among a thousand horse!" exclaimed the Earl. "Now God be with thee, thou gallant Grahame, for at last our hour of vengeance is come! Oh for a sword! How gallantly they formed line! Now, now! forward, my Scottish hearts!" The dark eyes of the proud Douglas gleamed with fire, as the deep and distinct order, "Cavaliers of the Life Guard —forward! charge!" burst from the lips of Dundee; and with the force of a whirlwind, the sixty Scottish Guardsmen, bridle to bridle and boot to boot, rushed with their uplifted swords to the onset. "Unsling carbines—blow matches—fire!—tousand tuyfels!—no!—traw sworts!" bellowed De Ginckel through his trumpet, as the front rank of his Ruyters recoiled in confusion on the rear. "Gentlemen, prepare to save yourselves!" exclaimed the Earl of Dunbarton, as the Dutch troopers cast off the cords that bound the prisoners to their waist-belts. "Heaven save us!" ejaculated Dr. Joram; "'tis a perilous case this, truly!" "To the rescue, Claverhouse! A Grahame! A Grahame! God for Scotland and James VII.! To the devil with the Stadtholder! hurrah!" cried the Life Guards. It was a critical moment for the dismounted prisoners, who were hemmed in among the hostile horsemen, and each felt his heart beat like lightning, and his breath come thick and fast, for death or deliverance were at hand. Between the close files of the Swart Ruyters, Walter Fenton saw the full rush of the advancing troop, in their shining harness, and chief of all, the lordly Viscount of Dundee, a lance-length in front, with his sword brandished aloft, and his white ostrich-feathers streaming behind him, his cheek glowing, and his wild dark eyes flashing with that supernatural brightness which was the true index of his fierce and heroic spirit. Though the Dutch were as four to one, the Scottish cavaliers were fearless. There was a tremendous shock—a flashing of swords, as their keen edges rang on the tempered helmets and corslets of proof—a furious spurring of horses—and Walter felt himself beaten to the earth, as if by the force of a thunderbolt; the light left his eyes, and he heard the voice of Claverhouse exclaiming enthusiastically— "Well done, my Scots' Life Guard! Well done, my berry-brown blades!" "Come on, De Ginckel!" cried Holsterlee. "Hand to hand, old gorbelly. Come on! for here are the hand and sword that shall punch a hole in thine Earl's patent!" A heavy hoof struck the head of Walter, as a horse plunged over him, and the Dutch recoiled in utter confusion. He remembered no more. Hewn down by the long swords of the Ruyters, poor old Wemyss and Halbert Elshender lay dead beside him. CHAPTER IV. THE SECRET STAIR. Chloris! since first our calm of peace Was frighted hence, this good we find, Your favours with your fears increase, And growing mischiefs make you kind. EDMUND WALLER. Heavily and slowly passed the cloudy winter day at Clermiston, and evening found Lilian seated, full of tears and misery, by the great fire that rumbled in the arched chimney, and threw a ruddy glow on the rough architecture of the ancient hall. According to old etiquette, there were but two chairs, one for the lord of the manor and the other for his lady; the additional seats were mere stools. Lilian occupied one of these chairs, and her suitor the other. On one of the stone benches within the ingle sat Juden Stenton still trimming hawks' lures; opposite was Beatrix, spinning with all the assiduity of Arachnè. These from time to time regarded her with furtive glances, which roused her anger not less than the presence and odious attentions of their lord did her apprehension. She felt a load accumulating on her breast, as the night wore on; anxiety was impairing her strength and weakening her fortitude, and whenever Clermistonlee addressed her, she answered only by tears. Touched at last by her sorrow, a sentiment of generosity at times would prompt him to return her to her home; but other thoughts came with greater power, and the momentary weakness was immediately dismissed. "Psha!" thought he; "'tis only a woman." Sitting close by her, he spoke from time to time in a low voice; and the scorn, malice, and jealousy which lighted up the keen grey eyes and pinched features of the fallen and forgotten Beatrix on these occasions, filled the gentle Lilian with a horror and pity which she could not conceal. The presence of this unfortunate woman, who, with the indefatigable Juden, formed now his entire household, was a curb for the present on the vivacity of his lordship's passion, and seemed to restrain it within the decorous bounds of gentle whispering. He soon tired of that, and ordering supper to be laid, took advantage of the domestic's absence to draw his chair still nearer Lilian, and take her hands within his own. She was so humbled, so gentle and broken in spirit, that she permitted them to remain, and the passiveness of the action made the heart of Clermistonlee glow with additional ardour. "She loves me in secret," thought he; "but how charming is her coyness—how enchanting her modesty! My dear Lilian—" "My Lord, oh cease to persecute me thus. What wrong have I done you? In what have I offended, that you should make me so utterly miserable?" "What a soft, low, charming voice! Does it offend you, to hear the sighs of the most honourable love that ever warmed a human heart?" "This is the mere cant of love-making—flirtation—the phrases you have addressed to hundreds. My Lord, I know their full value, and despise them. 'Tis enough! I can have no love for you." "Indeed!" "None—so for heaven sake spare me more of this humiliation, and let me begone to the house of Bruntisfield." "Now what strange infatuation is this? No love for me?" mused the egotist. "Why, damsel, when I was in London with Charles, all the women were mad about me—I was quite the rage. Rochester and I led the way in everything. But that was before Bothwell Brig." He glanced at a veiled picture that often attracted his eye, and disturbed the current of his thoughts. "No love for me," he resumed, after a pause. "My pretty one, does my zeal offend you?" "Like your flattery, it does; and my captivity here—a captivity which, I fear, will ever be a stain upon my honour, makes me abhor you." "Abhor? Oh! 'tis a word never said to me before. Provoking Lilian! But," he added, maliciously, "you are right— your honour is lost, and there is only one way to redeem it." She gave him a momentary glance of inquiry and disdain. Clermistonlee drew a ring from his finger. Lilian started back. "Never—never! death were better." "Hah—then you are still thinking of him—this beggarly boy—this nameless soldier—this so-named Fenton. 'Tis a cursed infatuation, Madam; for doubtless, soldierlike he will forget you, while the flower of your youth is wasted in fruitless reliance on his constancy and advancement to honour and fortune." "Forget me?" reiterated Lilian, raising her bright blue eyes to the speaker. "Oh no, he never will forget me! Dear, dear Walter," she added, weeping bitterly; "I know thy worth and truth too well to lose my own." "He will forget thee," said Clermistonlee, angrily. "Never!" replied Lilian, energetically clasping her hands. "In the busy city and on the lonely hills, in the hour of battle and storm by sea and land, he will ever think of me—ever, ever!" "But he may be slain?" said the lord maliciously. "Cruel—cruel!" "What then—hah?" "No second choice would ever make me violate the solemn vow I pledged to him—that plight which I called on heaven to witness and angels to register." Clermistonlee made no reply, but her fervour and her words stung him to the soul; her eyes sparkled and her usually pale cheek glowed; but he knew that it was for the love and by the recollection of another; his first thoughts were those of wrath; his second spleen and sorrow. He arose and stepped aside a little. "Unfortunate that I am!" said he, with something of sadness and real love in his tone and manner. "By what witchcraft am I so hateful to her; but I must quit her presence for a time at least, or lose all hope of her favour for ever." He walked to and fro, while Lilian, resigned again to tears, covered her face with her handkerchief. "Beatrix," said Clermistonlee, in a fierce whisper to the shrinking woman, as she laid supper on the long dark oaken board, over which six tall waxen candles flared from a great iron candelabrum. "Beatrix Gilruth—hear me, old shrivel- skin! Hast never a love philtre about thee? Ere now I have known thee to my own cost use such things." She gave a keen and fierce glance with her sunken eyes, and drawing him into one of the deeply bayed windows, pointed to where the square keep and round towers of the castle of Corstorphine threw a long dark shadow across the frozen lake that, like a mirror before its gates, lay shining in the cold light of the winter moon. "You see yonder castle?" she said. "Yes." "And the aged sycamore beside the dovecot-tower?" "Yes—yes." "Then remember how, nine years ago, the lord of that fair mansion perished under its shadow; and how his own good rapier, urged by the hand of the woman he had wronged, was driven—yea, to the very hilt—in his false and fickle heart. Often at mirk midnight have I seen the dead-light glimmering on his tomb in St. John's kirk, and illuminating the west window of the Forresters' aisle." She gave him a glance so expressive of hatred, fear, contempt, and reproach that he almost quailed beneath it; and as she pointed to the veiled portrait, he turned abruptly away. Her words and allusion had evidently a deep effect on Clermistonlee. He was about to retire, but paused irresolutely, turned, and paused again. Then kissing Lilian's hand, he said in a gentle tone— "Forgive me if I have offended, but love for you makes me perhaps act unwisely. Adieu, dear Lilian: if my presence is obnoxious, I hasten to relieve you of it. Till to morrow, adieu; and pleasant dreams to you." He bowed profoundly, and retired to his own apartment followed by Juden, who kept close to his heels as a spaniel would have done. "Will you not sup, Madam Lilian?" asked Beatrix in a kinder tone than usual. "Sup—oh, no!" "Bethink you, lady; the whole day hath passed, and you have tasted nothing but a posset of milk with a little sack. Still weeping! 'Twas so with me once; but I shall never weep again, until I have wrung tears of blood from my betrayer." "Now you are going to frighten me again. A light, if it please you, good woman; I will retire. Another night under his roof! My poor aunt Grisel.... how bad, how wicked is this!" "My lord desired me to ask if you wished to read a little: it may compose your mind." "Oh, yes!—a thousand thanks, kind Beatrix. Bring me a Bible, if you have one." Beatrix laughed....