THE GOLDEN HEART
When Wat Gordon opened his eyes, he looked into a face he knew right
well.
"Faith, Will, is it time to get up already?" he said, thinking his
cousin and he were off together on some ploy of ancient days--for a
morning's fishing on the hills above Knockman, mayhap.
For his cousin Will it was indeed who stood before him, clad in the
worn and smoke-begrimed uniform of the Regiment of the Covenant.
"Wat, Wat, how came you here, lad?" cried Will Gordon.
A gleam of his ancient wilfulness beaconed a moment in Wat's eye.
"Why--over the wall there," he said. "I was in somewhat of a hurry and
I had not time to go round by the gate and tirl at the pin."
And with that something buzzed drowsily in his ears like a prisoned
blue-bottle, and he fainted again.
Lucky it was for Wat Gordon that Sir Robert Hamilton did not command
the regiment, and that the dead Cleland had instilled his humane
principles into those under him. For the officers merely ordered their
prisoner to be carried along with their own wounded to a convenient
house in the town, and there to be warded till he should be well enough
to be remitted to Edinburgh.
To this hospital Will Gordon came to see him often, and give him what
heartening he might; but it was not till the seventh day, when Wat
showed some promise of early recovery, that Will, with a mighty serious
face, showed him a trinket in the palm of his hand.
"Ken ye that?" he asked.
"'Tis Kate's token that she was to send me if she needed me. Where got
ye it, Will?"
And even as he spoke these words Wat was half out of bed in his
eagerness; but Will took him in his arms with gentle firmness and
pressed him back upon the pillow.
"Bide a wee," he said; "ye will do no good that way. Ye are far too
weak to travel, and there is a strong guard at the door. Listen! I got
the gold heart from Kate herself, and she bade me tell you that if ye
could not come to her by the tenth day of September, ye would never
need to come at all."
"What means that message, Will? Tell me truly," said Wat, white to the
lips, yet sitting up calmly in spite of his deadly weakness and the
curious singing drone in his ears.
"They have worked upon her to weariness, I think," said Will, a little
sadly; "worked upon her with tales of your unfaithfulness, which, to
do her justice, she would scorn to believe--told her that her father's
very life depends upon the marriage, because of the old friendship and
succor he had from Claverhouse; wearied her out, till the lass knows
not which way to turn. And so she has consented to be wedded to my Lord
Barra on the tenth of September. But, as Maisie judges, our Kate will
die rather than marry any man she hates."
Wat leaped out of bed and began to dress himself.
"Let me go, Will--let me alone! Hands off! Do not touch me, or I will
strike you on the face. Only ten days--and so far to go! But I will
fight my way through. I am strong and well, I tell you--"
And with that Will Gordon laid him back again upon the bed like a child.
"Wat," he said, "I am with you in this, since Kate loves you and Maisie
bids me. (You have never asked of her welfare, but no matter.) I have
gotten Jack Scarlett here by me in the town. We will arrange your
escape and get you horses. But you must be a deal stronger than you are
ere you are ready to travel, and at least you must abide here yet three
days."
"Three days, Will; 'tis plainly impossible! I should die stark raving
mad of the waiting and anxiety. Better let me go, Will, this very
night."
And almost for very weariness and the sense of powerlessness in the
grip of fate, Wat could have wept; but a thought and a resolve steadied
him.
From that moment he began, as it were obediently, to talk of
indifferent things; and Will humored him, well pleased that it should
be so. Ere he departed, Will said, "I will bring Scarlett to your
window to-night. Do you speak with him for a moment and let him go."
Wat smilingly promised, and went on to tell of his winter adventures
among the clans, as if they were all he thought about.
"Good-night, and a sweet sleep to you, Wat, lad!" said Will Gordon.
"In three days, I promise you, you shall ride forth, well mounted and
equipped."
And so, smiling once more on his cousin, he went down the stair.
Then Wat Gordon laid his head on the pillow as obediently as a child.
But he only kept it there till his cousin was out of the room and he
heard his footsteps die down the street. In a trice he was out of bed
and trying all the fastenings of the windows of his room. He was alone
in his dormitory, but on either side of him were rooms containing
wounded men of the Cameronians, to whom night nurses came and went, so
that it behooved him to be wary.
One of the windows was barred with iron outside, while the sash of the
other was fixed and would not open at all.
Wat threw open the barred window as far as he could and shook the iron
lattice. It held firm against his feeble strength, but upon a more
minute examination the stanchions seemed only to be set in plaster.
"That's better; but I wish Jack Scarlett would come!" murmured Wat, as
he staggered back to his bed. He kissed his hand towards the South with
something of his old air of gallant recklessness.
"On the tenth I shall be with you, dear love, to redeem my pledge, or
else--"
But before his lips could frame the alternative he had fainted on the
floor.
Scarlett came to Lochinvar's window when the night was darkest, a
little before midnight.
"Wat," he cried, softly; "Wat Gordon!"
Wat was already at the lattice and promptly reached his hand out to his
ancient comrade.
"Jack," he whispered, hoarsely, "for God's sake get me out of this
hole! They would shut me up here for three days, till she is married to
the devil Barra. And she has sent me the token--the heart of gold. I
have it here. You mind it was to be the fiery cross betwixt us two? She
is needing me and I must go. Break down the window bars, good Jack, and
let me out."
"But your cousin says that you are not fit to travel, that you will
never reach Galloway unless you have some rest before you go. Besides,
it will take some time to purchase horses for the long journey--"
"I cannot wait, Jack," interrupted Wat, fiercely; "I shall die here
in three days if I stay. How can I wait with the greedy talons of the
monster drawing nearer to my lass? See, Jack, I have thirty guineas
in my belt. I will leave twenty of them in any horse's stall in the
stables. And, God knows! it is not the officers of the Cameronian
regiment who have horses worth half so much. Try the bars, good Jack,
and let me out."
Scarlett endeavored to reason with him, to dissuade him from the
venture for that night at least.
"To-morrow, Lochinvar; only one night--we shall wait but to see what
to-morrow brings."
"Scarlett, look you here," Wat said, earnestly, his face gleaming
ghastly through the lattice in the steely glint of stars. "You know
whether or not I am a man of my word. I have a dagger here--hid in the
leather of my boot. Now if you do not help me to escape to-night, 'fore
the Lord, Jack, I will let out my soul or the morning--and my blood
will be on your head."
He leaned out till his agony-wet brow touched the bars. His fingers
clutched and shook them in his desperation.
"Well," said Scarlett, half to himself, "I will e'en do it, since it
must be so. But it will prove a sorry job for us all. 'Tis but taking
the poor laddie's life in another way."
So, vanishing for a tale of minutes, which seemed hours to the pale,
wounded, half-frenzied figure at the window, he returned with a
"geleck" or iron crow-bar, with which he promptly started work on
the lime and plaster of the stanchions. It was not long before he
loosened one and then another. Once or twice he had to cower down in
order to escape the lanterns of the patrol--for, unlike the clans, the
Cameronians kept excellent watch; but in half an hour his task was
completed.
"The Lord forgie me, laddie, for this!" he said, as he helped Wat out,
and felt the palms of his hands burning hot, while his body was shaking
with feverish cold.
"Now help me to get a horse!" said Wat, as soon as they stood in safety
under the ruined walls of the cathedral. "There are the stables of the
officers' horses. Come, let us go over yonder."
"It's a rope's end at ony rate," said Scarlett; "old Jack has been at
mony ploys, but he never was a horse-thief before!"
"How did we get away from the city of Amersfort, tell me, Jack?" said
Wat, with a touch of his ancient humor, being pleased at getting his
will.
"Ah, but then a woman did the stealing for love, as you do now. It
is different with me, that have no love to steal for--or to die for,
either," he added, sadly.
Wat put his hand affectionately on the shoulder of the old free-lance.
"Even so do you steal, old bear," he said, gently patting him; "you do
it for love of me."
"I declare," quoth Scarlett, with relief in his voice, "I believe I
do. Guid kens what there is aboot ye, laddie, that makes both lassies
and auld grizzle-pates run their heads into holes and their necks into
tow-ropes for the love o' ye!"
The stables had been left completely unguarded, for it was the
officers' boast that they desired not any greater safety than their
men. Cleland, indeed, had once ordered all the officers' horses to be
brought out and shot, just because some of the soldiers complained that
the officers had a greater chance of escape than they.
Since that time the horses had been permitted to remain in the not too
zealous care of the grooms, who fulfilled their duty by sleeping in the
town at a distance from their charges.
Even the very stable door was unlocked, and as they opened it the
horses were heard restlessly moving within.
"Any of Keppoch's gay lads might make a haul very easily this nicht,"
said Scarlett, as they entered.
"I saw Keppoch and many another pretty fighter get his bellyful over
there by the walls the other day," said Wat, grimly, as he proceeded
coolly to make his selection by the sense of touch alone.
When he had done this, Scarlett and he saddled the chosen beast and led
him out, having previously tied stable rags over his iron-shod feet to
keep them from clanking on the pavement. Making a detour, they soon
gained the river, which they skirted cautiously till they were a mile
from the town. Then Wat mounted without the assistance of his companion.
"God help ye, laddie; ye will never win near your lass, I fear me. But
ye can try. And that is aye the best o't in this world. That it is for
us mortals to do the trying, and for God to finish ilka job to His ain
liking."
With which sage reflection he gave Wat his sword, his pistols and
ammunition, together with some bread for the journey--looking at which
last, Wat felt that he could as soon eat his horse's tail.
"Hae!" said the master-at-arms, "ye will be the better o' that or ye
come to the end o' the Lang Wood. I have plenty more by me."
Wat laughed.
"You cannot deceive a desperate man," he said, "nor yet lie to him.
Well do I know that this is every bite you have in the world."
"Listen, Wat," said the free-lance. "I have found me a decent woman
that has ta'en a liking to me, and she has ta'en me in. I'm weel
provided for. Tak' them, laddie, tak' them. Ye will need them mair nor
me."
Saying which Scarlett started promptly on the back track to the town,
crying as he went: "God speed ye, laddie; I'll never set een on ye
mair!"
So with a sob in his throat and a feeling as if he were riding on
empty air, Wat Gordon turned the head of the officer's charger (by a
strange and fitting chance it was his cousin Will's), and set his
chest to the current of the river, at the place where the tracks on the
shoaling gravel and the chuckling of the shallow river over its pebbles
indicated a ford.
So our true hero, ill, fevered, desperate, in the stark grip with
death, started on his almost impossible quest--without an idea or a
plan save that he must ride into the blank midnight to save his love,
or die for her.