THE ATTEMPT.
Once in a lone and secret hour of night,
When every eye was closed, and the pale moon
And stars alone shone conscious of the theft,
Hot with the Tuscan grape, and high in blood,
Haply I stole unheeded to her chamber.
FAIR PENITENT.
When Clermistonlee retired from the hall to the study or parlour,
which was the only comfortably furnished apartment in the dreary old
tower, he resigned himself to reflection, and sipping his mulled
sack, a great tankard of which Juden placed unbidden, and quite as a
matter of course, at his elbow. His thoughts at first ran in the
usual channel,--a determination to possess Lilian, from the double
incentives of passion and pecuniary necessity. He was on the brink
of ruin; and her property, or expectations of it, were ample and
noble. She was very unprotected; the land was convulsed and
trembling on the verge of a great civil war, though as yet no tidings
had reached Edinburgh of what was passing in England; and so, as the
sack diminished in the tankard, his lordship's thoughts became in
proportion more strange, more amorous, and confused. His brain
wandered. He was restless and uneasy; his flowing dressing-gown
seemed to fit him like a horse-hair shirt; and his disturbed manner
was not unobserved by his faithful and subservient factotum.
The latter attempted some consolation, after his fashion; but it was
not palatable.
"Begone to the bartizan!" exclaimed his master, angrily, "and bring
me instant tidings if anything seems astir in the country about us.
I expect news from the city hourly. Leave me."
Juden vanished.
"The deevil tak' lovers and lords!" he muttered, as he drew his broad
worsted bonnet over his cross visage, and ascended to the bartizan of
the tower, and setting his teeth hard, as he faced the keen north
wind, took a survey of the dreary and snow-covered landscape. On the
passing wind ten o'clock came sullenly from the spire of St. John of
Corstorphine; then all was deathly still save the sough of the winter
breeze as it swept over the dreary Lee, and whistled through the open
corbells of the projecting tower.
Juden had no particular fancy for enacting the part of warder in so
cold a night, and after taking a rapid survey of the extensive waste,
he was about to descend again, when an unusual redness in the sky to
the eastward arrested him. It rose in the direction of the city, and
resembled the lurid and wavering glow of a great conflagration. The
red blaze was rapidly spreading and crimsoning the edges of the dusky
clouds above, and throwing forward in strong relief the southern edge
of the Corstorphine Kills, and the dark pines that shaded them.
Astonished, perplexed, and alarmed, Juden continued to gaze in the
direction of the light, until a loud hollo startled him, and he
perceived a man on horseback close to the foot of the tower.
"Ho!" cried Juden through his hand, for the wind blew keen and high.
"What want ye, friend?"
"No a night's lodging, or I wadna come here," answered the other
testily. "Closed gates and dark windows betoken cauld cheer and a
caulder ingle."
"Beware o' your tongue, friend," replied the butler from aloft.
"Langer lugs than yours hae been nailed to the tower yett. You have
come frae Edinburgh I warrant?"
"Troth have I, on the spur, man, so open the yett, Juden Stenton."
"What's a' the steer there this night?"
"Gif you had been there ye wad ken," responded the other with sulky
importance. "I bear a letter for my Lord Clermistonlee on the king's
service, which king Gude kens and the Deil cares."
"Thir are kittle times, friend," replied the butler, warily; "so if
King James himsel' came to the peel o' Clermiston this mirk night,
not a bolt would be drawn, or a lock undone. Tie the letter to this
twine, gossip, and sae gang your way in peace."
Rendered cautious by the nature of the times, and by being constantly
on the alert against force and treachery, the wary old servitor
lowered over the wall a string, to which after sundry curses the
horseman tied a letter, and Juden towed it up, "hand over hand."
"Ill folk are aye feared," said the stranger; "and I doubt there are
but few clear consciences in Clermistonlee. My horse is sair
forfoughton wi' my ride frae the West Port; he fell at the Foulbrigs,
and was nigh swept awa' when fording the Leith doon by there; but I
maun een ride on to his honor the Laird o' Niddry without a stirrup
cup or a 'God save ye.' Out upon Clermiston and its ill-mannered
loons!" and dashing spurs into his horse, the servant galloped at a
hunting pace away to the westward, and disappeared among the hollows
at the verge of the Lee.
Anxious to learn the contents of a letter in which he doubted not he
had as much interest as his Lord, Juden hurried down the corkscrew
stair from the bartizan, and repairing to the little study where his
half-muddled master was gazing dreamily into the fire, and imbibing
his sixth cup of sack, he placed the little square billet before him.
Clermistonlee tore it open, and read hurriedly,
"Dear Gossip,
"A glorious revolution hath been accomplished, (and I am just
drinking to its success in sugared brandy,) but Satan seems to have
broken loose in the city, whilk the rascal sort hath fired in six
different places. The acts of Estate and Council are mere nullities.
Your presence is required by the Council anent ane address to the new
king. We are to have a grand onslaught to-morrow against Baal's
prophets, the Host of Pharaoh, and a' that, ye ken.
"Yrs. at service,
"MERSINGTON."
"_Postscriptum_.--Keep the bonnie bird in the cage close; her kinsman
Napier hath been slain by young Fenton, and ye know how the entail
stands. Vale! King William the Second of Scotland for ever!"
Clermistonlee's first impulse was to start up and buckle on his
sword, exclaiming,
"My gambadoes, Juden; the red leather ones--saddle Meg, and, peril of
thy life, look well to--but no--no! I will not. Thou mayest go to
the devil, Mersington, with thy drunken scrawl, the address, and the
Council to boot. I leave not Clermiston to-night. Napier slain--and
by Fenton! By George, how the plot is thickening! 'Tis glorious.
Juden, don your shabble, and ride to the city; tell my gossip
Mersington in the _matter_ pending, mark me, knave! in the matter
pending to use my name as he shall deem fitting."
Juden replied by a leer of deep cunning (for he too was something of
a politician), and, animated by an intense curiosity to know what was
acting in the city, hurried away, and in ten minutes had left far
behind him the dreary tower and frozen muir, above which its dark
outline reared like that of a spectre.
As the fumes of the wine mounted upward, the heated imagination and
inflamed passions of Clermistonlee got completely the better of his
senses. Thoughts of Lilian's beauty and helplessness came vividly
before him; but such reflections instead of kindling his pity, roused
all his passion for her to an ungovernable height. Draining a cup of
brandy to make him yet more reckless of consequences, and snatching a
candle, he staggered from the room, and descended the narrow stone
stair that led from his apartment.
He knew that he was alone, for Beatrix was under lock and key; yet he
stepped with singular caution. Every stone in the rough walls seemed
a grotesque face, regarding him with mockery and wrath; he saw a
figure in every shadow, heard a step in every whistle of the midnight
wind. He dared not look at portraits as he passed, lest their eyes
might seem to move; and thus, though the entire consciousness of his
dark intent came broadly and appallingly home to his heart, such was
the influence of his ungoverned passions that a spirit of the merest
obstinacy urged him to finish what he in part commenced, and the high
pulsations of his heart increased at every step which brought him
nearer to the chamber of his victim.
He entered the hall. The feeble rays of his upheld candle seemed
only to reveal the size and darkness of the place, and the grey
winter twilight that struggled through its thickly grated and
deeply-arched windows. The embers of the fire still smouldered on
the hearth, and, reddening when the hollow wind rumbled down the wide
chimney, threw the shadows of the great oaken table, the dark
grotesque cabinets and highbacked chairs in long and frightful
figures on the paved floor.
Entering the almonry, he opened a door, within it, which revealed a
narrow passage in the wall that communicated with the secret outlets
of the place, and led directly to the cabinet in Lilian's room.
He stood within it, and the warmth of its atmosphere increased the
ferment of his blood. Unconscious of the proximity of so dangerous a
visitor, the innocent girl slept soundly, but lightly.
Shading the light with his hand, he gazed impatiently upon the
slumbering beauty.
Her hair, which overnight she had put up with the carelessness so
natural to grief, had now escaped from the caul, and rolled over the
pillow in masses that glittered like gold in the rays of the
uncertain light. She was very pale, but a slight glow began to
redden her cheek, and it was graced with a smile of inexpressible
sweetness.
Twice he approached, and twice drew back irresolute.
An unseen hand seemed to restrain him; the air of perfect innocence
pervading the presence of the sleeping girl protected her for a time;
and scarcely daring to breathe, the intruder continued to gaze upon
her. She slept softly. At last, tears fell over her cheeks, and she
tenderly murmured--
"Dear Walter, have I not said that I love you?"
Clermistonlee, on whose bent-down cheek her soft breath came, started
at these words as if a serpent had stung him. One of those fierce,
malicious, and scornful smiles, which so often imparted to his
handsome features a fiendish expression, contracted them but for a
moment; another of intense sadness and languor replaced it. At that
instant, unable longer to restrain himself, he clasped her in his
arms.
"Lilian!" he exclaimed, "dear Lilian, be not alarmed--it is I."
A piercing shriek, that startled the furthest recesses of the old and
desolate tower, burst from the lips of Lilian; it was one of those
deep and wailing cries of pain and horror which, when once heard, are
never forgot.
"Villain, unhand me! Oh! spare me, my Lord--spare me for the love of
God!"
"Be calm, Lilian--why should you fear me? Do I not adore you? Yes;
I prize your love beyond the possession of life. Dear girl, look not
on me thus. I am the most devoted of lovers, and by this kiss,
dearest----d--nation!"
He attempted to kiss her; but, endued with new strength by rage and
fear, her little hands clutched fiercely his thick mustachios, and
twisted his head aside, as she had done once before so effectually.
"Hear me!" he continued, "hear me, sweet Lilian; I came but to say
that I loved thee----."
"Love me! oh! horror!--leave me, or I shall expire--leave me!"
At that moment a loud explosion, followed by the fanfare of trumpets
and the ruffling of kettle-drums beneath the walls of the tower
arrested all the faculties of Clermistonlee, and by throwing his
thoughts into another channel, covered him with shame; and he started
back, the image of astonishment and irresolution.
Not so Lilian; her presence of mind was instantly restored.
Springing to a window, and fearlessly dashing her hands through the
panes of glass, she cried in agonized accents--
"Help! help! for the love of the blessed God! Help me, or I perish!"
"Lilian! Lilian!" cried a voice that filled her with transport. It
was that of Walter Fenton.
A glance sufficed to show her a gallant troop of horse halted beneath
the tower in the grey morning twilight. Again she would have spoken,
but the strong hand of Clermistonlee dragged her furiously back into
the apartment.