A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.
Thou tortur'st me. I hate all obligations
Which I can ne'er return--and who art thou,
That I should stoop to take them from your hand?
FATAL CURIOSITY.
The post of honour--that in the hall or lobby immediately outside the
room occupied by the ladies--had been appropriated by the serjeant to
Walter Fenton.
The young man placed his pike across the door of the chamber of dais
(as the dining-hall was named in those Scottish houses, which, though
to all intents baronial, were not castles) and then paced slowly to
and fro.
A lamp, the chain of which was suspended from the mouth of a
grotesque face carved on the wall, lighted the lobby or ambulatory,
and dimly its flickering rays were reflected by a rusty trophy of
ancient weapons opposite. An old head-piece and chain-jacket formed
the centre, while crossbows, matchlocks, partisans, and two-handed
swords, radiated round them. A deer's skull and antlers, riding
gambadoes, heavy whips and spurs, a row of old knobby chairs, and a
clumsy oaken clock, which (like many persons in the world) had two
faces, one looking to the lobby, the other to the dining-hall, ticked
sullenly in a corner, and made up the furniture of the place.
Save the monotonous vibrations of the clock, and an occasional murmur
of voices from the chamber of dais, no other sound disturbed the
solitary watch of Fenton, unless when a distant shout of hilarity
burst from the vaulted kitchen, and reverberated through the winding
staircases and stone corridors of the ancient mansion.
Absorbed in meditation, the young man walked slowly to and fro,
turning with something of military briskness at each end of the
half-darkened passage, by the indifferent light of which we must
present a view of him to the reader.
"A young man, gentle-voiced and gentle-eyed,
Who looked and spake like one the world had frowned on."
He seemed to be about twenty years of age; of a rather tall and very
handsome figure, which his scarlet sleeves, and corslet tapering to
the waist, and tightly compressed by a broad buff belt sustaining a
plainly-mounted sword and dagger, tended greatly to improve. The
cheek-plates of his burgonet, or steel cap, were unclasped, and his
dark-brown hair rolled over his polished gorget in the profuse
fashion of the time; his pale forehead was thoughtful and
intellectual in expression; but the gilt peak of his cap partly
concealed it, and cast a shadow over a very prepossessing face of a
dark complexion, and somewhat melancholy contour. His dark eye had a
soft and pleasing expression, though at times it loured and overcast.
The curve of his lips, though gentle, and haughty, and scornful, by
turns, was ever indicative of firmness and decision. They were red
and full as those of a girl; but short black mustaches, pointed
smartly upward, imparted a military aspect to a face such as few
could contemplate without interest--especially women. With the
manner of one who has early learned to think, and hold communion with
himself, his eye sparkled and his cheek flushed as certain ideas
occurred to him: anon his animation died away, he sighed deeply, and
thus immersed in his own thoughts, continued to pace to and fro,
until at the half-opened door of the chamber of dais there appeared
the fair face of Lilian Napier--a face so regular in its contour of
eyebrow, lip, and nostril, that the brightness of her blue eyes, and
the waving of her auburn ringlets, together with a decided piquancy
of expression, alone prevented it from being insipid. She was
looking cautiously out.
On recognizing her, Fenton bowed, and the girl blushed deeply, as she
said hurriedly, and in a low voice,
"O joy! Walter Fenton, is it indeed you? how fortunate! but oh, what
a night this has been for us all!"
"Mistress Lilian," said he (the prefix Miss as a title of honour did
not become common until the beginning of the next century) "need I
say that it has been a night of sorrow and mortification to me? Yet,
God wot, what could I do but obey the orders of my superiors?"
"Hush!" she whispered; for at that moment Lady Bruntisfield came
forth, pale and agitated, with eyes red from recent weeping.
Tall in form and majestic in bearing, Lady Grizel Napier, as I have
said before, was one of those stately matrons who appear to have
departed with their hoops and fardingales. In youth, her face had
possessed more than ordinary beauty, and now, in extreme old age, it
still retained its feminine softness and pleasing expression.
Undecided in politics, she was intensely loyal to James; while
condemning his government, she railed at the non-conformists and
reprobated the severities of the council in the same breath. Like
every dame of the olden time, she was a matchless mediciner, and
maker of preserves, conserves, physics, and cordials, and, did a
vassal's finger but ache, Lady Grizel was consulted forthwith. Like
every woman of her time, she was intensely superstitious: she shook
her purse when the pale crescent of the new moon rose above the
Corstorphine woods; if the salt-foot was overturned, she remembered
Judas, trembled, and threw a pinch over her left shoulder; she saw
coffins in the fire, letters in the candles, and quaked at deidspales
when they guttered in the wind. She listened in fear to the
chakymill, or death-watch, which often ticked obstinately for a whole
night in the massive posts of her canopied bed. Witches, of course,
were a constant source of hatred and annoyance, and, notwithstanding
her great faith in the Holy Kirk (and a little in Peden's
Prophecies), she had such a wholesome dread of the Prince of
darkness, that, according to the ancient usage, a piece of her lands
adjoining the Harestane was dedicated to him, under the dubious name
of _the gudeman's croft_, and, in defiance of all the acts against
this old superstition (which still exists in remote parts of
Scotland), it was allowed to remain a weedy waste, unsown and
unemployed. With all this, her manners were high-bred and courtly;
her information extensive; and there was in her air a certain
indescribable loftiness, which then consciousness of noble birth and
long descent inspired, and which failed not to enforce due respect
from equals and inferiors.
On her approach, Walter Fenton bowed with an air in which politeness
and commiseration were gracefully blended. Her bright-haired
kinswoman leant upon her arm, and from time to time stole furtive and
timid glances at the volunteer beneath her long eyelashes.
"Young man," said Lady Bruntisfield, "for a soldier, you seem good
and gentle. Have you a mother" (her voice faltered) "who is dear to
you--a sister whom you love?"
"Nor mother, nor sister, nor kindred have I, madam. Alas! Lady
Grizel, I am alone in the world: the first, and perhaps it may be the
last, of my race," he added bitterly. "But what would your ladyship
with Walter Fenton?"
"Ha! are you one of the Fentons of that Ilk?"
"Nay, lady, I am only Walter Fenton of the Scottish Musqueteers, and
nothing more: but in what can I serve you?"
"How shall I speak it?--That you will sleep on your post, and permit
this poor child--dost comprehend me?--oh! I will nobly reward you;
and the deed will be registered elsewhere."
"Oh, no!--no! beg no such boon for me," said the blushing and
trembling girl; while the brow of the young man became clouded.
"You would counsel me to my ruin, Lady Bruntisfield: is it generous,
is it noble, when I am but a poor soldier? Seek not to corrupt me by
gold," he said hurriedly, on the old lady drawing a purse from her
girdle; "for all I possess is my honour, the poor man's best
inheritance. And yet, for the sake of Lilian Napier, I would dare
much."
The deep blush which suffused the soft cheek and white brow of Lilian
as the pikeman spoke, was not unobserved by the elder lady; and she
said, with undisguised hauteur,--
"How is this, sir sentinel?--ye know my kinswoman, and by that glance
it would seem that ye have met before. Lilian, do thou speak."
Lilian trembled, but was silent and confused.
"I have often had the honour of seeing Mistress Lilian at my Lord
Dunbarton's," said the young man, hastening to her relief.
"How! are you little Fenton?"
"The Countess's page, madam."
"By my father's bones!" said Lady Grizel, striking the floor angrily
with her cane; "I little thought a time would come when I would sue a
boon in vain, either from a lord's loon or a lady's foot-page!"
These words seemed to sting the young soldier deeply; fire sparkled
in his eyes. But tears suffused those of Lilian.
"Madam," said he firmly, "I am the first private gentleman of
Dunbarton's Foot, and am so unused to such hauteur, that had the best
man in broad Scotland uttered words like these, my sword had
assuredly taken the measure of his body."
"I admire your spirit, sir," said Lady Grizel gently; "but it might
be shewn in a more honourable cause than the persecution of helpless
women-folk."
"Lady Grizel, a soldier from my childhood, I have been inured to
hardship and trained to face every danger. My conscience is my own;
my soul belongs to God: and my sword to the King and Parliament of
Scotland, whose orders I must obey."
"Then, gentle sir, be generous as your bearing is noble, and, in the
name of God, permit my little kinswoman to escape. Alas! you know
well what is in store for us, if we are dragged before that odious
Privy Council--fine, imprisonment, torture----"
"Or banishment to Virginia," said Lilian, bursting into tears.
"God wot I pity you, Lady Bruntisfield, and would lay down my life to
serve you. Retire--I will keep my post; your chamber has windows by
which----"
"Alas! they are grated, and there are sentinels without."
Fenton stamped his foot impatiently.
"Birds' eggs aye bring ill luck; and oh! Lilian, ye thoughtless
bairn, when ye strung up the pyets yesternight, I forewarned ye that
something would happen. The thumbscrews and extortions of the
Council, yea, and banishment even in my auld age, I might bear,
though the thocht of being laid far frae the graves of my ain kindred
is hard to thole; but thee, my dear doo, Lilian--it is for thee my
heart bleeds."
"Oh! madam, they cannot be such villains as to harm her--so young--so
fair."
"You know not what I mean," replied Lady Grizel, pressing her hands
upon her breast, and speaking in an incoherent and bitter manner.
"Lord Clermistonlee rules at the Council-board, and he hath seen
Lilian. Wretch--wretch, too well do I know 'tis for worse than the
thumb-screws he would reserve her!"
She paused; and Fenton starting, said--
"Oh, whence were all my unreasonable scruples? Finland by his hints
warned me of Clermistonlee, that roué and ruffian, whose name brings
scandal on our peerage."
"Then let my dear aunt Grizel escape to some place of concealment,
and, good Mr. Fenton, you shall have my prayers and gratitude for
life."
It was the young girl who spoke; her accents were low and imploring;
and her whole appearance was very fascinating, for her timidity and
mortification added the utmost expression to her blue eyes, while her
lips, half parted, shewed the whiteness of her teeth, and lent a
sweetness and simplicity to her face. The tenor of her address made
the heart of Walter flutter, for love was fast subduing his
scrupulous sense of duty.
"Artless Lilian," said he with a faint smile, "Lord Clermistonlee
aims neither at Lady Grizel's liberty or life. He is a villain of
the deepest dye; and you have many things to fear. It ill beseems a
lady of birth to sue a boon from a poor sworder such as I. Leave me
to my fate, and the fury of the Council. I am, I hope, a gentleman,
though an unfortunate one, and reduced to the necessity of trailing a
pike under the noble Earl of Dunbarton; but in spirit I can be
generous as a king, though my whole inheritance is to follow the
drum."
"I offered you money----"
"Lady Grizel," said Fenton, colouring again, "I hope that the poorest
musqueteer who follows the banner of Dunbarton would have rejected it
with scorn. Though soldiers, we are not like those rapacious wolves
the troopers of Lag, of Dalzel, or Kirke the Englishman. By my
faith, madam, for six shillings Scots per day I have often perilled
life and limb in a worse cause than yours; and why should I scruple
now? Escape while there is yet time. Lady Grizel, permit me to lead
you forth."
And, drawing off his leather glove, he offered his hand to the old
dame, who, struck by the gallantry of his manner, said--
"You have quite the air of a cavalier, such as I mind o' in my young
days, when the first Charles was crowned in Holyrood."
"I pretend not to be a cavalier," said Walter, with a sad smile: "the
camp is the school of gallantry."
"Fear for my Lilian makes me miserably selfish. I would rather die,
good youth, than that a hair of your head should be injured; but that
this delicate bairn should be dragged before that fierce Council,
like some rude cottar's wife--'tis enough to make the dead bones in
the West-kirk aisle to clatter in their coffins! Ere we go, say what
will be your inevitable punishment for this dereliction of duty?"
"A few days' close ward in the Abbey-guard, with pease bannocks and
sour beer to regale on, and mounting guard at the Palace porch in
back-breast and headpieces, partisan, sword and dagger; in full
marching harness, for four-and-twenty consecutive hours--that is all,
madam," said he gaily; though the inward forebodings of his heart and
his sad experience told him otherwise. "In serving _you_, fair
Lilian," he added gently, and half attempting, but not daring to
touch her hand, "I shall be more than a thousand times recompensed
for any penance I may perform. Believe me, it will weigh as a
featherweight against what the Council may inflict on Lady
Bruntisfield. Now, then, away in God's name! Ye will surely find a
secure shelter somewhere among your numerous friends and tenantry;
but seek not the city, for Dunbraiken's guards are on the alert at
every gate; and, above all, oh! beware of--of Lord Clermistonlee, who
(if Finland suspects truly) has a deep project to accomplish."
"Heaven bless thee, good young man!" faltered the venerable Lady
Grizel, laying her small but wrinkled hands upon his shoulders, and
gazing on him with eyes that beamed with heartfelt gratitude.
"Alack! alack! my mind gangs back to the time when three hearts as
brave and as gentle as yours, grew up from heartsome youth to stately
manhood under this auld roof-tree; but, oh, waly! waly! the cauld
blast o' war laid my three fair flowers in the dust."
A noise in the kitchen, and the loud voice of the halberdier calling
fresh sentinels, now caused them to hurry away. To conceal about
their persons such jewels and money as they could collect from the
cabinets in the chamber of dais, to muffle up in their hoods and
mantles, to give one glance of adieu to the portrait of the dark
cavalier above the fire-place, and another of gratitude to Walter
Fenton, were all the work of a minute,--and they were led forth to
the avenue. Grey morning was breaking in the east, and the black
ridge of Arthur's Seat stood in strong relief against the brightening
sky; the wind had died away, and the waning moon shone cold and dim
in the west, while, far to the northward, the dark opaque clouds were
piled in shadowy masses above the bold and striking outline of the
capital. There the great spire of the Gothic cathedral, the ramparts
of its rockbuilt fortress, the crenelated towers of the Flodden-wall,
and the streets within "piled deep and massy, close and high," were
all glimmering in the first pale rays of the dawn, though the valleys
below, and the woods around, were still sunk in the gloom and
obscurity of night. A sentinel challenged from the dark shadow of
the barbican wall, and his voice made the fugitives tremble with fear.
"Dunbarton," answered Walter, and on receiving the password, the
soldier stept back. "And now, ladies, whence go ye?"
"As God shall direct--to some of our faithful tenant bodies, for
safety and concealment," sobbed Lady Bruntisfield.
"Poor Mr. Fenton!" murmured Lilian; "I tremble more for you than for
ourselves."
"A long farewell to our gude auld barony of Bruntisfield and the
Wrytes--to main and holm, and wood and water," said Lady Grizel,
mournfully; "we stand under the shadow of its green sauchs and oak
woods for the last time. Once before I fled frae them, but that was
in the year fifty, when our natural enemies, the English, won that
doolfu' day at Dunbar, and again our hail plenishing will be ruined
and harried, as in the days o' the ruffianly and ungracious Puritans."
"Not by us, Lady Bruntisfield," replied the young man, slightly
piqued; "we are the soldiers of the gallant Dunbarton, the old Royals
of Turenne, les Gardes Ecossais of a thousand battles and a thousand
glorious memories, and your mansion will be sacred as if in the hands
of so many apostles. Farewell, and God speed ye! Would that I could
accompany your desolate steps to some place of safety! but that would
discover all." They parted.
"I have done," muttered Walter, striking his breast; "and from this
hour I am a lost man!"
Hastily returning, he resumed his post, with his heart beating high
with the conflicting emotions of pleasure and apprehension. Youth
and beauty in suffering, danger, or humiliation, form naturally an
object of interest and compassion; but Walter, though pleased by the
conviction that he had done a good action, and one so fully involving
the gratitude of Lilian Napier and her haughty relative, felt a dread
of what was to ensue, weighing heavily on his mind; for the Scottish
privy council was then composed of men with whom the proudest noble
dared not to trifle, and before whom the pride and power of the great
Argyle, lord of a vast territory, and chief of the most powerful of
the western clans, bent like a reed beneath the storm. Poor Walter
reflected, that he was but a friendless and nameless volunteer, and
too well he knew that the council would not be cheated of their prey
without a terrible vengeance.
Scarcely had he resumed his post in the corridor, when the serjeant,
whose brown visage was flushed with carousing, and whose corslet
braces were unclasped to give space for the quantity of viands he had
imbibed, reeled up with a relief of sentinels, all more or less in
the same condition.
"All right, an't please you, Master Walter. I warrant you will be
tired of this post of honour, and longing for a leg of a devilled
capon, and a horn of the old butler's Rhenish."
"I thought you had forgotten me, Wemyss. You will have a care, sir,"
said Walter, addressing the soldier who relieved him, with a glance
that was not to be misunderstood, "that you do not disturb the ladies
by entering the chamber of dais; dost hear me, thou pumpkin-head?"
"Rot me, Master Fenton, I have clanked my bandoleers before the tent
of Monsieur of France, and I need nae be learned now, how to keep
guard on king or knave, baron or boor. Dost think that I, who am the
son of an auld vassal of her ladyship's, would dragoon her out of
marching money?"
"'Tis well," replied the pikeman, briefly, as he retired, not to the
kitchen, but to a solitary apartment prepared for him by the orders
of his old patron, the halberdier.