LOVE AND MARRIAGE ARE TWO.
Oh, these were only marks of joy, forsooth,
For his return in safety! Were they so?
And so ye may believe, and so my words
May fall unheeded! Be it so; what comes
Will nevertheless come.
AGAMEMNON OF ÆSCHYLUS.
The shadows of the gloomy evening had deepened as he approached the
ancient Place of Bruntisfield, and its dark façade, its heavy
projecting turrets and barred casements, impressed him with
additional sadness.
The wind sighed down the lonely avenue, and whirled the fallen leaves
as it passed. Many a raven flapped its wings and screamed
discordantly above his head, and all such sounds had a powerful
effect on him at the time.
Confused, despairing, and feeling a sentiment of profound contempt
and anger, struggling for mastery with his old and passionate love,
his heart seemed about to rend with its conflicting emotions.
One sensation was ever present--it was one of desolation and
loneliness--that he had nothing more to live for; that the world was
all a blank. The light that had long led him on through so many
miseries and dangers had vanished from his view: his idol was
shattered for ever.
He felt that it was impossible to think with calmness; to tear from
his breast the dear image and the cherished hopes he had fostered
there so long--to exchange admiration for contempt--love for
indifference. Oh, no! it could never be. Ages seemed to have
elapsed since the sun had set that evening; while his parting with
Lilian, the triumph of Killycrankie, the carnage of Steinkirke, and
his mission from the King, seemed all the events of yesterday.
He felt sick and palsied at heart.
Irresistibly impelled to see her, heedless alike of the dangerous
charm of her presence and the risk he ran if discovered, his whole
soul was bent upon an interview, that he might upbraid her with her
perfidy--hurl upon her a mountain of reprobation and bitterness, of
obloquy and scorn, and then leave her presence for ever.
"I am alone in the world," thought he. "This is my native land--the
land where I had garnered up my heart, my hopes, and my wishes,
though not one foot of it is mine save the sod that must cover me.
Of all the tens of thousands that tread its soil, there is not one
now with whom I can claim kindred, who would welcome me in coming, or
bless me in departing--not one to shed a tear on the grave where I
shall lie. Oh! it is very sad to feel one's self so desolate. Where
now are all those brave companions with whom I was once so daring, so
joyous, and so gay? Alas! on a hundred fields their bones lie
scattered, and I alone survive to mourn the glory of the days that
are gone for ever! Oh, never more shall the drum beat or trumpet
sound for me! Oh, never more shall love or glory fire my heart
again! Oh, never more, for the hour is passed and never can
return"--and he almost wept, so intensely bitter were his thoughts of
sorrow and regret.
The barbican gate stood ajar, and the old and well remembered doorway
at the foot of the tower was also open; they seemed to invite his
entrance, and, careless of the consequences, he went mechanically
forward.
The old portrait on horseback, the trophy of arms, and the wooden
Flemish clock with its monotonous _tick-tack_, still occupied the
vaulted lobby. Every thing seemed as he had seen them last. He
turned to the left and entered the chamber-of-dais, breathless and
trembling, for he seemed instinctively to know that _she_ was there.
He entered softly, and, overpowered by the violence of his
conflicting emotions, stood rooted to the spot. The old chamber,
with its massive pannelling and rich decorations of the Scoto-French
school was partially lighted by the ruddy glow from the great
fire-place, and by the last deep red flush of the departed sun that
streamed through its grated windows.
The dark furniture, the grotesque cabinets with their twisted
columns, the stark chairs with their knobby backs and worsted bobs,
the grim full-length of Sir Archibald Napier, cap-a-pie à la
cuirassier, the dormant beam with its load of lances, swords, and
daggers, were all as Walter had last seen them; but the old lady's
well-cushioned chair, her long walking-cane and ivory virreled
spinning-wheel had long since disappeared; and hawk's-hoods, hunting
horns, spurs, whips, and stray tobacco pipes lay in various places,
while in lieu of Lady Grisel's sleek and pampered tom cat, a great
wiry, red-eyed, sleuth hound slept on the warm hearth-rug. On all
this Walter bestowed not a glance, for his eyes and his soul became
immediately rivetted on the figure of Lilian.
With her head leaning on her hand she sat within the deep recess of a
western window, and the faint light of the setting sun lit up her
features and edged her ringlets with gold. She was absorbed in deep
thought.
Lilian, who for days, and months, and years, in health and in
sickness, in danger and in safety, in sorrow and in joy, had never
for a moment been absent from his thoughts, was now before him, and
yet he had not one word of greeting to bestow. He seemed to be in a
trance--to be oppressed by some horrible dream.
He observed her anxiously and narrowly. Nothing could be more tender
than the love that was expressed in his eyes, and nothing more acute
than the agony expressed by his contracted features.
Lapse of years, change of circumstances and of thought had
considerably altered the appearance of Lilian. The light-hearted,
slender, and joyous girl had expanded into a stately, grave, and
melancholy matron. Oh, what a change those five sad years had
wrought! Her dress was magnificent, as became the wife of a Scottish
noble; her figure, though still slight, was fuller and rounder than
of old; her face, though still dignified and beautiful, was
paler--even sickly. Her blue eyes seemed to have lost much of their
former brilliancy, and to have gained only in softness of expression.
Her dark lashes were cast down, and her aspect was sad and touching.
The bloom of her lip and her cheek had faded away together, for
heavily on her affectionate heart had the hand of suffering weighed.
She wept, and the heart of Walter was melted within him. Had all the
universe been his he would have given it to have embraced her. He
sighed bitterly, but dared not to approach.
"He is gone," said Lilian,--"gone to spend another night in riot and
debauchery, while I am left ever alone. Perhaps 'tis well, for often
his presence is intolerable. Woe is me! Oh, how different was the
future I once pictured to my imagination!"
The sound of that dear voice, which had so often come to him through
his dreams in many a far and foreign camp and city, made Walter
tremble. He was deeply moved. The fire in the arched chimney, which
had been smouldering, now suddenly shot up into a broad and ruddy
blaze that lighted the whole chamber. Lilian turned her head, and
instantly grew pale as death, for full on the image of him who
occupied her thoughts--of Walter Fenton, hollow eyed, emaciated, and
supported on a walking-staff--fell the bright stream of that fitful
light. He looked so unearthly, so motionless and spectral, that
Lilian's blood ran cold.
She would have screamed, but the cry died away upon her lips. After
a moment or two her spirit rallied; her respiration, though hurried,
became more free; her face blushed scarlet up to the very temples,
and then became ashy pale, as before, and her glazed eyes resumed
their wild and inquiring expression. She arose, but neither advanced
nor spoke. All power seemed to have left her.
"Oh, Lilian! Lilian!" said the poor wanderer in a voice of great
pathos; "after the lapse of five long years of exile and suffering,
what a meeting is this for us! Under what a course of perils have
the hope of my return and your truth not sustained me? My God! that
I should find you thus. Is this the welcome I expected?"
Summoning all her courage and that self-possession which women have
in so great a degree, Lilian (though her eyes were full of tears)
averted her face, and recalled the fatal letter of Finland, on which
had turned the whole of her future fate.
"Look at me, adorable Lilian!" said Walter, kneeling and stretching
his arms towards her.
Lilian dared not to look; but she trembled violently and sobbed
heavily.
"Look at me, beloved one," said Walter wildly and passionately.
"Changed though I am, and though another holds your heart, you cannot
have forgotten me, or learned to view me with aversion and contempt.
If this Lord has won your affection--"
"Oh, say not that, Walter," sobbed Lilian "do not say my affection."
"Oh, horror! what misery can equal such an avowal? My fatal absence
has undone us both."
"Say, rather, your fatal inconstancy."
"Mine?" reiterated Walter.
"Oh, yes, yes; upbraid me not," said Lilian in a piercing voice. "I
was faithful and true until you forsook me for another. To God I
appeal," she cried, raising her clasped hands and weeping eyes to
Heaven, "kneeling I appeal if ever in word, or thought, or hope I
swerved in truth from thee, dear Walter, until tidings of your
marriage reached me; when, stung by jealousy, by pride, by
disappointment and despair, and urged by the unmerited contumely that
had fallen upon me, I yielded to the exhortations of my friends, and
in an evil hour----." She covered her face with her hands, and could
say no more.
"Heaven preserve my senses!" ejaculated Walter Fenton, "for here the
wiles of Hell have been at work. We have been deceived, cruelly
deceived, dear Lilian, by some deep-laid plot of villany which this
right hand shall yet unravel and revenge. And you are the wife of
Clermistonlee? Hear me, unfortunate! You are less than--ah, how
shall I say it? You are not and cannot be his wife!"
"You rave, poor Walter. Our doom is irrevocably sealed. Our paths
in life must be for ever separate. Oh, for the love of gentle mercy
begone, and let us meet no more, for at this moment I feel my brain
whirling, and I am trembling on the very verge of madness."
"Lilian, this is the 20th of September," said Walter.
"Cruel, cruel; do not speak of it," said she, wringing her hands.
"For Heaven's sake leave me, and take back the pledge--the ring, for
to retain it longer were a sin, and too long have I sinned in
treasuring it as I have done."
Unlocking a cabinet, she drew from a secret drawer a ring to which a
ribbon was attached, and offered it to Walter; but he never
approached.
"We have been cruelly duped, dear Lilian; but oh, how could you doubt
me, for never did I mistrust you? But hear me, though my words
should crush your heart as mine just now is crushed. Alison Gifford,
the first wife of Lord Clermistonlee yet lives, though (as she told
me) dead to him and to the world for ever!"
"What new horror is this?" said Lilian, pressing her hands upon her
temples.
In a few words her unhappy lover explained how he had become
acquainted with the existence of Lady Clermistonlee.
"Oh, this is indeed to bruise the bruised--to heap brands upon a
burning heart," said Lilian, as she sank into a chair and covered her
face with her hands. A long pause ensued, till Walter said in a low
and trembling voice,
"Lilian, do you really love this man--this Clermistonlee?"
"He is my husband."
"It is impossible you can love him!"
"Love him!--oh, no! custom has in part overcome the aversion with
which I once regarded him, and by his able flattery he has succeeded
in soothing me into a temper of kind indifference and quiet
resignation--but oh, this interview----"
Walter, who had never dared to diminish the distance between them,
gazed wistfully and tenderly upon her; but at that moment an infant
that was sleeping in its cradle awoke, and cried aloud. Its voice
seemed to sting him to the heart, and he turned abruptly to withdraw.
"Farewell, Lilian," said he; "I will go, and my presence shall
disturb your serenity no more. May you be happy, and may God bless
and forgive you for the agony I now endure! Clermistonlee, like the
matchless villain he has been through life, has wronged us both; but
let him tremble in the midst of his success and his treason, for the
hour is coming when our King shall enjoy his own again, and remember
that in that hour the same hand which rends the baron's coronet from
the brow of your betrayer, bestows on me the Earldom of Dalrulion!
Farewell," said he through his clenched teeth; "to me the paths of
ambition and revenge are open still, though those of happiness and
love are closed, alas, for ever!" He gave her one long glance of
agony, and turned to depart; but at that moment strong hands were
laid upon him violently--the room was filled with soldiers and the
beagles of justice; he was dragged down and bound with cords, ere he
could make the slightest effort in his own defence.
"An out-and-out Jacobite, Papist, and a' the rest o' it--I ken by the
look o' him!" cried Maclutchy, the macer, flourishing his badge of
office. "Here will be some grand plots brought to light that will
bring half the country under doom o' forfeiture and fine. Kittle
times, lads, kittle times!'
"Away with him!" cried Clermistonlee, spurning the manacled
unfortunate with his foot; "away with him! The Lords of the Privy
Council meet in an hour. Lose no time, for by all the devils, the
corbies of the Burghmuir shall pick his bones ere the morrow's sun be
set."
As Walter was roughly dragged away, Lilian threw her hands above her
head, uttered one wild shriek, and fell forward on her face,
motionless as if dead.