THE PICNIC AT DUNSINANE.
Ambling on together and urging their horses, but at an easy pace,
they soon drew near the object of their destination--Macbeth's famous
castle of Dunsinane--whither the portly old butler, Mr. Tappleton,
had preceded them in a wagonette, freighted with a luxurious
luncheon; and, leaving their cattle in charge of the grooms, they
began the ascent of that peak of the Sidlaw Hills which has been
immortalised by Shakespeare.
With her riding-skirt thrown over her left arm, Eveline acted as
their guide, and it may easily be supposed that she solicited the
assistance of Cameron's arm, rather than that of Sir Paget
Puddicombe, who had quite enough to do in assisting himself up a path
which proved to him, as he said, 'rather a breather.'
It was a winding road cut in the rock, all the other sides being
steep and difficult of access, and ere long, on reaching the flat and
fertile summit, which commands a magnificent view of Strathmore and
Blairgowrie, they found themselves within the strong rampart and deep
fosse of what has once been a great military station of oval form,
two hundred and ten feet long, by one hundred and thirty broad; and
there they found Allan and Ruby Logan, who had preceded them, in full
possession of the highest point, whence he was directing her
attention to the chief features in the scenery, including, of course,
Birnam Wood, fifteen miles distant, 'The Lang Man's Grave,' a great
stone, under which Macbeth is said to lie--Ruby the while clinging to
his arm in the exuberance of her delight, and carrying her riding-hat
in her hand, as she was quite aware that her hair alone, in its
wonderful luxuriance, made her very attractive, it being an unruly
mass of rich, rippling golden amber in hue, shot with a redder and
brighter tint at times when the sunlight struck it.
Under the splendour of a glorious noon, while a soft breeze rippled
the verdant grass, the luncheon was proceeded with; fowls were
dissected, pies investigated, champagne and hock, cool from the
ice-pails, uncorked; all the requisites for a merry party were there,
and yet in the party itself the chief element of high spirits was
wanting, unless in the instance of Ruby Logan, who began to flatter
herself that she had made--or nearly so--a conquest of the Master of
Aberfeldie.
Oppressed with the tenor of the conversation that had so recently
passed between herself and Mr. Holcroft, Olive Raymond was unusually
silent, and, for her, _distraite_; and he, remembering the somewhat
decided 'snub' she had so unexpectedly given him, was somewhat silent
too, but sought consolation in champagne, while listening rather
abstractedly to Sir Paget Puddicombe descanting on the traditions of
the neighbourhood, as, in guide-book fashion, he knew all about the
predictions of the weird sisters, the defeat and death of the
usurper, and was full of the probability that the great dramatist had
visited Dunsinane in person.
But Holcroft only quaffed his liquor, tugged his tawny moustache from
time to time, and listened with an air of boredom, mingled with a
quizzical expression of mistrust in his pale grey shifty eyes.
He had seen Macbeth on the stage, of course, and endured him more
than once; but of the Thane of Cawdor he knew no more than what he
had seen of him behind the footlights, and had cared to learn no
more; and now it was with some genuine Cockney bewilderment, as he
looked at the massive trenches around him, he began to think that
'some such fellow had existed then.'
Eveline and young Cameron, under Sir Paget's eye, were both reserved
and _triste_, and no wine seemed capable of rousing animation in the
lover. He had but one thought--the end of his leave was approaching,
and when he left Dundargue he might never again see Eveline Graham.
His heart was heavy.
When the trio were riding together, it was not that the eyes of
Eveline disappointed him, or that she did not converse with him fully
and earnestly; but he had detected in the manner of Sir Paget a
provoking air of proprietary and confidence with regard to her that
keenly piqued him, and could only have been born, he rightly
conjectured, of some recent confidential arrangement with Lord
Aberfeldie; but the young girl herself was sweetly unconscious of it
all.
His responses had been brief, and he had ventured on few remarks,
aware that little would escape unnoticed; thus he had been somewhat
silent, while Sir Paget's easy-going old roadster ambled between the
horses of himself and Eveline, going pace for pace, Sir Paget's head
at each jerking forward in turtle fashion.
The trio still remained together when seated on the grass at
luncheon, for neither of the gentlemen were disposed to quit the side
of Eveline, whose colour might have been noticed to heighten at a
question Sir Paget asked Cameron, of whom he certainly had a certain
jealousy.
'Where does your property of Stratherroch lie, Mr. Cameron?'
'In Inverness-shire.'
'Ah!--mountainous, of course--good shooting for those who care for
such things--not that I do. Is the land very remunerative now?'
'To others--not to me,' said Cameron, a little bitterly. 'A fair
inheritance would be mine, Sir Paget, were Stratherroch unencumbered.
My father was a wild fellow in his day--as what Highland laird is
not? How some acres were mortgaged in succession, how others went
_in toto_, heaven only knows--I don't. The estate is at nurse now;
one day it will be mine again--but not for years; and I was too long
foolishly sentimental about it.'
'How?' asked Sir Paget.
'I thought I would rather that the manor-house fell to ruins than
pass, even temporarily, into the possession of strangers--of others
than a Cameron; and now, by Jove! it has been for years occupied by
one Jones Smithson, of Manchester.'
'Whose rental is clearing it?'
'Yes; and meantime I have little more in this world than my claymore
and commission in the Black Watch,' said Cameron, with a somewhat
hollow laugh and a swift, sad glance at Eveline; while Sir Paget
smiled complacently as he thought of the balance at _his_ bankers,
and the fat, unfettered acres that lay round Slough-cum-Sloggit.
'I hope you do not find Dundargue dull, Sir Paget?' said Eveline, to
change a conversation that rather oppressed her, as she was sharp
enough to divine the thoughts of both men.
'Assuredly not, Miss Graham; how could it be so when I am enabled to
renew my intimacy with one who can cast, as it were, bright sunshine
in the most shady place?' he replied, with an unusual jerk of his
head, a glance of eye, and accentuation of voice that annoyed her
greatly, while Cameron's lip quivered under his moustache with
mingled irritation and amusement.
And now at luncheon, inspired by a few bumpers of Clicquot, Sir
Paget's glances at Eveline took occasionally the fashion of grotesque
and languishing leers.
The wealthy baronet was older than she by a great many years, but
they by no means warranted him being safe from a love, or passion
rather, that might prove cruel as the grave--the passion of a
middle-aged man for a very handsome young girl, whose parents were
fully disposed to further his views and their own. It has been said
that 'people for the life of them cannot be said to believe in the
love pangs of a man over forty, or of a woman over twenty-nine,' but
people may at times be wrong.
The present epoch was rather a trying one to Cameron and Eveline. As
she had admitted to Allan, she knew that he loved her with a love
unselfish and unspoken; and he felt intuitively that he was far from
indifferent to her--knew it by the indescribable, untaught, and
nameless signs by which a man learns instinctively that a woman loves
him--in a first passion, a most intoxicating conviction; yet
circumstances blended the happiness of Cameron with much that was
alloy.
To avoid attentions or would-be tender speeches that might annoy poor
Cameron, Eveline found herself compelled to talk intently to Sir
Paget about local traditions and superstitions, and, thanks to her
old nurse Nannie, she had--for a fashionable young lady of the
present day--a curious _répertoire_ of stories about wraiths and
warnings, _Daione Shi_ and other fairies, who were wont in
pre-railway times to haunt the corries, cairns, and rocks.
'Have you no ghosts in or about Dundargue?' asked Sir Paget. 'A
grand old mansion is scarcely complete without some such spectral
visitor.'
'Surely that oubliette, whatever it is, of which I have heard more
than once, must contain something of the kind?' said Holcroft, in a
covert, but detestable kind of sneering tone, which he could adopt
when his own interests were not concerned.
'In the gallery that leads to it I have heard of something strange,'
said Allan.
'Oh, do tell us--what is seen there?' exclaimed Ruby Logan.
'Nothing--but old servants have a story to the effect that if anyone
remains long there,' replied Allan, laughing, 'they are certain to
have a strong sense of shadowy forms--intangible presences--hovering
near them, and dare not turn their heads to see what they are.'
'We have no decided ghosts, thank Heaven!' said Eveline, laughing,
and all unconscious of Holcroft's manner. 'There are none even in
the palaces of Holyrood or Falkland, where terrible things have been
done, so why should there be in poor old Dundargue? But a spot close
by where we are now lunching is the alleged scene of a curious
event--a very dark tradition in our family history.'
'Why recur to a story so absurd?' said Allan.
But she was pressed to explain herself, and with a shy, sweet smile
in her eyes as she glanced from time to time at Evan Cameron, and a
wonderfully musical modulation of voice, she told her tale, but not
quite as old nurse Nannie had told it to her.
'The deep, rocky dell that lies between this and Dundargue, a few
miles distant, was ever in past times what we find it now, covered
with dense forest-trees, mingled with alders and silver birches so
thickly as to exclude the rays of the sun, and it was said to be the
haunt of a Urisk or mountain-goblin--a species of fiend which, Sir
Walter Scott says, tradition avers to have had a figure half-man and
half-goat.'
'In short, the Grecian satyr of classical antiquity,' said Allan,
laughing.
'Be that as it may, the existence of this particular Urisk was never
fairly proved until the days of one of our ancestors, Malise Graham
of Dundargue, who fought at the battle of Ben Rinnes against the
Reformers, and had in hiding in the "Priest's Hole," as it is still
called, in the keep, a wandering Scottish Benedictine, known only as
James of Jerusalem.
'Now, Malise Graham had an only daughter, Muriel, a girl possessed of
that rare and soft beauty----'
'Which is still the inheritance of her family,' said Sir Paget, with
a most portentous jerk of his head.
'Please not to interrupt me, or I shall stop,' exclaimed Eveline,
with unconcealed annoyance. 'Muriel, in her walks near Dundargue,
had made--unknown to her family--the acquaintance of a handsome young
stranger of winning manners and prepossessing appearance.
'In the secluded life led in those days by a maiden of rank, such an
event was of deep and peculiar interest; love speedily became the
sequel, and in truth the object of it seemed to have been a very
loveable fellow. Thus it was, with many bitter tears, that one
evening she told him that her frequent absence from home had been
remarked, and that she must meet him no more in that wooded hollow,
especially as it was the haunt of goblins and other evil spirits.
'On hearing this, the handsome stranger laughed till all the dell
seemed to re-echo, caressed her tenderly, and, after urging her on
peril of her truth and soul to come to the trysting-place at least
once again, left her in haste, as some one was seen to approach them.
'This proved to be James of Jerusalem, who is still remembered as the
Black Priest of Dundargue. He wore nothing that was canonical; to
have done so would have been as much as his life was worth in those
days; thus he was clad in a sable Geneva cloak and doublet, with
falling bands, and a calotte cap of black velvet with long lappets.
'He looked deadly pale, and was trembling in every limb, while he
crossed himself again and again, and said, in a low and agitated
voice,
'"Child Muriel, who is he that left you in such hot haste just now?"
'But Muriel,
"Crimson with shame, with terror mute,"
terror of her father, who was a stern and rigid man, remained silent.
'"Speak, unhappy girl!" urged the priest.
'"I know not his name," she replied, faintly.
'"Why?"
'"He conceals it from me."
'"And why?"
'"I know not; but oh, father, guide and counsel me, for I love him
dearly, as he loves me."
'"You must meet him----"
'"Once again," she urged, piteously.
'"Never more, I meant to say--never more. But why say you once
again?"
'"I have promised, on my soul's peril."
'"On your soul's peril indeed!" groaned the priest, in great
tribulation; but, in defiance of all he could urge, Muriel, though
she lived in an age of dark superstition, of omens and dread,
inspired by her love, stole forth at the usual hour and entered the
dell to meet her lover, for the last time, as it proved.
'Perhaps it was a prevision of this that made the wood seem so dark
and gloomy, and even the knots and gnarled branches of the trees to
look like those in the forest to Undine, fiendish faces and freakish
limbs.
'Muriel knew in her heart that such meetings were wrong, unbecoming
to her position, and sinful because she concealed them; but a spell
seemed upon her, and she could not resist it. She took no heed of
the future; she had but one thought, to be again with him.
'"And oh! why should this meeting be our last one?" she wailed in her
heart, as he drew her to him, looking so handsome the while in his
black doublet slashed with red, his ruff and scarlet plume.
'"My own!" said he, caressingly; "my own, I am aware that yonder
dotard, fool and knave, the mass-monger, has been seeking to
influence your mind against me, and to part us."
'"And here he stands prepared to do so!" exclaimed the black priest,
as he suddenly appeared beside them, his eyes sparkling, but
strangely with fear, rage, and triumph mingling in their expression.
Muriel's lover clasped her to his breast, and wrapped his scarlet
mantle round her. Then, while his eyes glared with a fire which
fortunately she did not see, he exclaimed,
'"Stand back, canting liar--stand back, and begone!"
'"Child Muriel, come to me, in the name of God!" cried the priest, in
sore agony; but she still clung to her lover, who, at the name
uttered, cowered and shrank, as in the opera we see Mephistopheles
cower and shrink before the cross-hilted swords of the soldiers.
'"Muriel, Muriel, you are mine!" exclaimed her lover, attempting to
lift her from the ground.
'"Take heed, child, ere it is too late," urged the priest.
'"Dare you advise?" asked the stranger, mockingly; "does not one day
judge another?"
'"Yes, and the last day judges all--even such as you!" cried the
benedictine; then, making a sign of the cross in the air, he
exclaimed, 'In nomine Patris et Filii; et Spiritus Sancti!'
'Scarcely had he done so when, under the power of his exorcism, the
mantle, ruff, and plume of the pretended knight turned to bracken
leaves, his goblin chain to wild holly, and he stood forth in all his
deformity, a horror to the eye, half man and half goat, with the face
of a baffled and exasperated fiend--the Urisk, or wood goblin; and,
with a malignant yell, he vanished down the fast-darkening dingle!'
'And Muriel?' asked Holcroft, who had listened to all with such a
smile as his face might be expected to wear.
'Was saved, of course,' said Eveline.
'And lived happy ever after?'
'Well--content at least, let us hope. She died a nun in the house of
the English Benedictines at Paris--now the convent of the Val de
Grace.'
'And has this legend a moral?' asked Holcroft, mockingly.
'Of course it has,' answered Allan, rather bluntly, yet with a quiet
smile; 'it gave a good hint to the girls at Dundargue to beware of
the attentions of unaccredited strangers.'
Holcroft's colour changed for a moment, and not unnoticed by Allan;
for perhaps, reading between the lines, all this seemed somewhat a
parable to the former, who tugged at his yellow moustaches in a way
he did when irritated, heedless that pomade hongroise was disastrous
to straw-coloured gloves.
The angry gleam that crossed the eyes of Holcroft was also noticed by
Evan Cameron, who, for some reason as yet only known to himself,
could not abide him; though certainly the latter did not cross _him_
by any attentions to the penniless Eveline Graham.
Her little tradition came as a pleasant interlude to nearly all, for
save Sir Paget--always confident and genial--no one seemed quite at
ease, as a sense of cross-purposes brooded over them.
'Tappleton,' cried Allan to the butler, 'another glass of champagne
all round; and then to be off,' he added, swinging Olive adroitly
into her saddle, and thus, as he thought, anticipating Holcroft,
though the latter, remembering keenly his recent 'snub,' had no
intention of offering his services just then.
Allan, fearing that he had gone rather too far with Ruby Logan in
attempting to pique his cousin, now resolved to leave that young lady
to the care of anyone else in their homeward ride, much to her
surprise and disappointment, and took his place by the side of Olive,
in obedience to a half-inviting glance she gave him.
He and his sister were, of course, familiar since childhood with the
ruins of Dunsinane and all their surroundings; but to two or three of
the party, as they turned to depart, and saw the vast ramparts
reddened by the setting sun, there came to memory the scene they had
so often witnessed on the stage--Malcolm's army with the boughs of
Birnam in their helmets, the 'alarms and excursions,' the fierce and
protracted melo-dramatic combat, the downfall of Macbeth beneath the
sword of Macduff, and the cries of 'Hail, King of Scotland--King of
Scotland, hail!'