occasioned dark forebodings of evil, and he felt a strange sadness
sinking on his heart. He longed to hear even the crow of a cock or the
bark of a dog, but no sound could he detect, save the hoofs of his horse
ringing on the frozen pathway which led from the clachan, or onsteading,
to the tower. For a moment he became quite breathless with agitation,
and clung to the mane of his horse.
"God be praised, there is no scutcheon over the gate!" he exclaimed;
"but they lack somewhat of their usual care in leaving it open at this
hour."
The gate of the barbican, or outer wall, was lying off its hinges on the
earth. Janet's turret was dark. Her light, which she was wont to burn
the whole night, gleamed there no longer, and a deadly terror chilled
the heart of Ronald. He trembled, apprehending he knew not what, and
for some minutes surveyed the court and keep before he dismounted and
approached the door. Every thing was mournfully silent and desolate.
Part of the barbican wall had fallen down; the wall-flower had sprung up
between the stones; the moss and grass grew upon the cope, in the
loop-holes, and between the pavement of the court-yard. The byres and
stables were empty, and midnight depredators had torn away the doors and
windows; the once noisy dog-kennel was silent, and the ancient tower was
dark and desolate. The watch-dog's mansion was untenanted, and his
chain lay rusting on the grassy ground.
All was as still as the tomb, and the soul of the soldier died within
him. The flagstaff was yet on the mossy battlement, but the halliard
waved wide on the wind. The old rusty carron gun was yet peeping
through its embrasure, but a tuft of knotted grass hung down from its
muzzle.
His heart, which so lately bounded with pleasure, now throbbed with
apprehension and fear, for the silence around him seemed oppressive and
terrible, when contrasted with the bustle he had witnessed in the
capital a few hours before.
He struck with the hilt of his dirk on the door, knocking long and loud,
and the building echoed like a huge drum, or some vast tomb. Again and
again he knocked, but there was no answer save the mocking echoes. He
attempted to force an entrance, but the door was locked and bolted fast,
and he was compelled to retire. He looked up to the key-stone of the
arched doorway, but the armorial bearings, of which his father was so
proud, the antique crown, and initial letters R.n.R. (ROBERTUS n. REX)
were there no longer. The stone remained, but the ancient sculpture was
demolished. He muttered some incoherent things, for the memory of the
past came swelling up in his breast, and his tongue clove to the roof of
his mouth. He looked across the moonlit lake towards the islet, where
the ruins of the church tower cast a long deep shadow on the graves of
his martial ancestors, and their once numerous brave and devoted
vassals.
It was a time of the deepest mental agony. A century seemed to have
elapsed since the morning. His thoughts were all chaos and confusion,
save one, which was terrible and distinct enough,--that he stood by the
threshold of his father's house, a stranger, a wanderer, and there was
no hand to grasp his, no voice to bid him welcome. After lingering
long, he turned sorrowfully from the tower, to awaken some of the
peasantry at the clachan. On re-passing the ruined gate, he saw, what
had before escaped his observation,--a large ticket or board nailed to
the grass-grown wall of the barbican. He approached, and by the light
of the moon read the following--
"NOTICE.
"Any person or persons found trespassing on the lands of Rosemount
Tower, will be punished with the utmost rigour of the law, by the
Proprietor, Zachary Macquabester, Esq., of Rosemount.
"N.B.--Informers will be handsomely rewarded, on applying to Mr.
Macquibble, writer, Spy-gate, Perth."
The place swam around him.
"Rosemount Tower! The Proprietor, confound him!" exclaimed Ronald,
bursting into fury, "and is it come to this?"
With a heart sick and sore with disappointment, grief, and mortified
pride, he descended to the little street of thatched cottages named the
Clachan. Here all was silence and desolation too. In some places the
roofs had fallen in, and rafters stuck through the thatch, like ribs
through the skin of a skeleton: the chimneys had fallen down, and the
doors and windows were gone. The hamlet was in ruins. The household
fires had been quenched; and as he surveyed the deserted place, he
became painfully aware that his people--those among whom his race had
moved as demi-gods--were gone forth, and that the place of their birth,
and which held the bones of their forefathers, knew them no longer.
The glen, which in his boyhood had maintained two hundred men in what
seemed ease and competence to a people so primitive, was now desert and
waste. The mountains, the wood, and the water were still there, as they
had been in the days of Fingal; but the people had passed away, and
Ronald Stuart, to whom the Gaelic _sobriquet,--Ronald an deigh nam
finn_, might now be truly applied, departed slowly and sadly from
Lochisla.
He did not weep--he was too tough a soldier for that,--and therefore
could not experience the calm feeling of resignation and relief given to
an overcharged bosom by a gush of hot, salt tears; but, with a heart
bursting with fierce feelings and sad remembrances, he departed from the
valley just as the waning moon sank behind the darkening mountains. He
rode slowly at first; but anon he drove his sharp spurs into the flanks
of his horse, and rode towards Inchavon at break-neck speed, as if he
would flee from his own thoughts, and leave his sorrows far behind him.
But the first gush of gloom and disappointment having somewhat subsided,
he strove to calm his agitated spirit, and he derived some consolation
in the timely recollection that, although Lowland innovation might have
expatriated the people of Lochisla, his father might yet be alive.
Eager to learn some tidings, he galloped along with the speed of the
wind, outstripping the gathering storm.
"Ha! here is Inchavon at last! Dear Alice will explain to me all this
strange mystery."
Forward he went at a hunting pace, and, keeping his body well back and
bridle-hand low, he cleared the wall of the park at a bound, and
galloped over the whitening lawn towards the portico, under which he
reined up his panting steed. The whole mansion was involved in silence
and darkness; and as he looked upon its closed windows and gloomy
facade, new apprehensions and terrors began to arise before him.
He rang the lobby-bell with fury, and waited long, but without receiving
an answer. Again and again he rang, yet no one came. He walked round
the house, but every window was closed and dark. The stables were shut
up, and the vane on the clock-tower creaked dismally. Neither dogs nor
fowls appeared about the kitchen offices; not a bat was stirring, and no
sign of life was visible anywhere. Ronald thought that he was bewitched,
that there was a glamour over him, or that the land had been deserted by
its inhabitants.
The chill snow-flakes were descending thick and fast, and he trembled as
much with cold as with apprehension. It was quite a relief when a large
mastiff dog bounded forth suddenly, to the full extent of his chain,
from his kennel in a corner, and barked furiously; and standing erect on
his hind legs, yelled till the house and the surrounding plantations
echoed far and near to the sound. At that moment a light flashed out
upon the snow, and a man, half dressed, appeared at an upper window with
a gun in his hand. Ronald was so white with snow, that it was
impossible to recognise what or who he was, and consequently his
reception was rather rougher than he expected.
"Wha may you be, frien', that come prowlin' aboot honest men's doors at
this time o' the nicht--or mornin' rather, eh?"
"Hah!" exclaimed Ronald, "are you Jock Nevermiss,--roaring Jock the
game-keeper?"
"What the better wad ye be for kennin'?" asked the other, cautiously.
"Come, come, Jock; you must remember me, surely? We have had many a
merry day's sport together. Is it possible that you do not know me?"
"Possible eneuch, chield. But its ower cauld the nicht to hae ony mair
giff-gaff; sae come back i' the morning, and then well see what like ye
are. I like none o' yer Southland-tongued folk."
Ronald was enraged at the fellow's pertinacity, but his fierce reply was
interrupted by the soft voice of a female.
"Gude sake! surely I should ken his voice! O Jock! Jock! what hae ye
been sayin'? It's the young captain o' Lochisla. It's maister Ronald
Stuart o' the tower--Miss Alice's Joe, come home frae the wars! Haud
awa, ye muckle gowk Jock! Oh, I ken ye weel, sir; for many a blithe
kiss ye've gi'en me to carry to Miss Alice."
In a twinkling the hall door was opened, and pretty Jessie Cavers, now
Mrs. J. Nevermiss, stood palpitating and trembling, with her night-cap
on and her feet unshod, by the side of her stout and buirdly helpmate,
whose confusion and earnest apologies Ronald at once cut short, for he
well knew that honest Jock had been labouring under a mistake, for the
unpleasant effect of which he endeavoured to make amends by a hearty but
respectful welcome. Ronald shook the snow-flakes from his dress, and
from the ample plumage of his bonnet, as they lighted him through a cold
but splendid lobby into the library, where a fire was hastily prepared
by the nimble little hands of Jessie.
Ronald experienced another disappointment. Lord Lisle and the family
were in Edinburgh, where they always spent the winter season. In his
hurry to reach the North, he had quite forgotten that; but he was now
informed that they were all "as weel as he could wuss them to be," and
Jock, while he stood near the door twirling his bonnet, assured him with
a sly look, that Miss Alice "was a bonnier and a grander young leddy
noo, and had turned the heads o' hauf the country side. Young
Corrieoich, and many mair, were gone clean wud aboot her."
Old Mrs. Kantweel, the housekeeper, next appeared to bid him welcome.
"O sir!" said she, "ye seem sair distressed and unsettled. Ye'll hae
been up the glen, whar there are nane noo, alake! to greet ye at your
homecomin'."
"Would to Heaven I had been shot at Waterloo, or any where else, rather
than have lived till now!" exclaimed he bitterly, flinging away his
bonnet and sword, and sinking into a chair. It stung him to the soul to
be pitied by servants, however well and kindly they might mean.
"Dinna tak' on sae deeply, sir," continued the matron; "it's sair to
bide, but--"
"Enough of this! You mean kindly, Mrs. Kantweel, but I am unused to
such consolation," replied Stuart, with that native _hauteur_ which he
had resumed now that he had again trod upon Highland heather. "I am
very sorry for disturbing you all at so untimely an hour; but I request
that the whole household will retire to bed, except my old comrade of
the muirs, Jock the gamekeeper, with whom I wish to have a few minutes'
conversation, after he has seen my nag stabled for the night, or rather
the remainder of the morning."
In a few minutes the servants were all in their nests, except Jock, who
was invited to seat himself at the opposite side of the library-table,
on which Jessie had placed decanters of wine and brandy, with a cold
repast, which was, however, left untouched by Ronald.
From Jock he learned the completion of the story of his father's
involvement by Macquirk and others, of the sequestration of the effects,
the sale of the estate, and of the laird's departure for Canada with his
followers; since which nothing had been heard of him. His grief, during
the recital, was excessive; but, since fortune had put it in his power
to undo all that misfortune had done, he resolved to bear his temporary
distress with resignation: it was, too, with a kind of grim satisfaction
that he now remembered having caught a momentary glimpse of a
countenance--which it flashed on his mind was that of AEneas
Macquirk--pressed against the bars of a loop-hole of the ancient
Tolbooth of the Cannongate, on the day the regiment entered Edinburgh so
joyously. The worthy Writer having contrived, by his too sharp
practice, to secure himself accommodation in the building, and seeing
little prospect of release save by the assistance of the finisher of the
law, usurped the functions of that personage, and finished himself, by
means of a noose of his own tying.
With the first gleam of dawn Ronald quitted Inchavon, rode back to
Perth, and returned to Edinburgh as fast as a chaise-and-four could take
him; but his spirits were oppressed, and his heart saddened and seared,
by the adventures of the preceding night.
*CHAPTER XXI.*
*ALICE.*
"Oh! peace to the ashes of those that have bled
For the land where the proud thistle raises its head!
* * * *
Though their lives are extinguished their spirit remains,
And swells in their blood that still runs in our veins;
Still their deathless achievements our ardour awakes,
For the honour and weal of the dear land of cakes."
_William Knox._
At night he was again in Edinburgh, the centre of Scottish science,
industry, hospitality, eccentricity, and learning; Edinburgh, equally
celebrated for the beauty of its ladies, and the most profound cunning
of its lawyers.
It was after drum-beat, that is, eight o'clock in the evening, when he
arrived at the castle. The place seemed empty and deserted: save the
sentinels on the batteries, not a soul was to be seen. The mess-room
was dark and silent, a sure sign of something extraordinary, as the
officers were stanch votaries of Bacchus, and seldom roosted before
twelve. It immediately occurred to Stuart that some great conflagration,
or other cause of disturbance, had happened, and that the magistrates
had ordered the regiment into the city. To ascertain the truth, he
descended the citadel stairs to the main guard-house, a building
situated under the brow of the rock on which the chapel stands, and from
the crowning parapet of which Mons Meg overlooks the city and
surrounding country.
"Well, Douglas, you seem commandant here," said Ronald to the officer on
duty, as he entered.
"How! back already, Stuart? I understood you had leave for six months."
"Never mind; you'll hear all by-and-bye. I hope I may need it yet; but
you seem to have the place to yourself, and to be very sulky too. I
heard you swearing roundly at the drummer just now."
"The little rascal allowed the fire to go out; and as to being sulky, in
truth it would vex an apostle, or Job himself, to be left here in
command of this dismal post, when all our fellows are enjoying
themselves so famously in the city. Yesterday there was a splendid
dinner, a regular banquet given to the sergeants and soldiers by the
inhabitants of Edinburgh. It was served up in the assembly-rooms; the
great poet, Walter Scott, in the chair, supported by the sergeant-major
on his right hand, and grim-visaged Ronald-dhu on the left. A jovial
night they had of it! Every cart and other vehicle in Edinburgh was put
in requisition to convey our men home, as their legs had somehow failed
them. To-night the entire battalion was marched down to the theatre,
free tickets to which have been given to every man, from wing to wing.
The officers all went off about an hour ago to a splendid ball, to which
they have been invited by the _elite_ of Edinburgh. It has been got up
on a scale never witnessed here before; our ball at Aranjuez is nothing
to it. The first people in Scotland will be there,--beauty, fashion,
and all that; while here am I, cooped up in this d--ned guard-room! I
have a dozen minds to slip down and mingle with the crowd: Campbell will
be too much mystified about Egypt, by this time, to know me, and I
believe I might pass unnoticed."
"Very disagreeable, certainly; but not so bad as a wet bivouac on the
Sierra de Guadaloupe. Your medal, too; you lose an opportunity of
displaying it before some of the brightest eyes in Scotland. But the
service--"
"Deuce take the service!" exclaimed the other, pettishly. "If ever I am
victimized in this way again, I will sell out, or resign,--upon my
honour I will!"
"Alice will be at the ball," thought Ronald, as he returned to his
quarters, striding up the citadel stairs, taking three steps at a bound,
resolving to attend the assembly-rooms without delay. Notwithstanding
the perturbation of his spirits, he was dandy enough to take more than
usual care with his toilet, and he found a world of trouble in getting
his sash and plaid to hang gracefully, and arranging the heavy folding
of the latter to display the large-studded brooch, four inches in
diameter, which fastened it,--a jewel that, from its brightness and
size, completely eclipsed his handsome cross of St. James and modest
Waterloo medal. Of the two last-named badges he felt not a little vain,
a sentiment excusable in so young a man. As a field-officer, he no
longer wore the kilt and tasselled purse. For these, the tartan truis
and gilt spurs were substituted; but they became him not the less, for
the tight truis of the Celtic garb display a handsome figure nearly as
well as the warlike filleadhbeg.
From the lofty windows of the assembly-rooms a blaze of light was shed
across George-street, and fell in broad yellow flakes on the crowd of
carriages of every kind, glittering with liveries and harness, and on
the upturned faces of a mob of idlers collected around the porches, the
piazzas and portico, watching the flitting figures of the dancers as
they passed and repassed the curtained windows. Within, every part of
the building was gorgeously lighted, and the soft music of the quadrille
band, playing the airs then most in vogue, floated along the lofty
ceilings and illuminated corridors. Crowds of gentlemen in full dress,
or in uniforms, with ladies sparkling with jewels and radiant with
beauty, were gliding in every direction to cool themselves after
dancing, or to admire the tasteful decorations which met the eye
wherever it turned; and conspicuous among these, Ronald, with the
greatest delight, beheld the splintered poles and tattered colours which
he had so often borne on many a weary march and dangerous occasion.
He looked eagerly around him for Alice, and examined the figure of every
lady he passed. Near the door of the hall, where the dancers were, he,
almost unconsciously, addressed a lady and gentleman regarding the cause
of his anxiety.
"Will you please to tell me if Miss Lisle is here?"
The lady and gentleman smiled, and exchanged glances of surprise.
"Oh, undoubtedly she is," replied the latter. "She is never absent on
such a night as this."
"But she never comes till near eleven," added the lady.
Stuart found that he had been saying something foolish, but he bowed
with a good grace, and mingled with the crowd to conceal his confusion,
for his face was turning as red as his coat.
The appearance of the quadrille parties was splendid. The room was
crowded with all that were gay, beautiful, or fashionable in Edinburgh;
more than one-half of the gentlemen were in uniform, or in the tartan of
their respective clans. The ladies wore a profusion of lofty feathers,
and the effect of so many rich costumes was striking and brilliant
beyond conception.
Eagerly as Ronald's heart throbbed to meet Alice, he had no intention of
getting up a melo-dramatic scene in the ball-room by accosting her
abruptly; he therefore made a reconnoissance of the dancers, keeping
aloof, and observing the company in the room from amidst a group of
gentlemen who were, as usual in such places, clustered around the door.
He felt a light touch upon his arm, and two soft dark eyes were beaming
pleasantly and fondly upon his.
"Ah, _senor!_ ah, Major Stuart!" said the fair owner with astonishment.
"Hah! Ronald my boy!" added another well-known voice, and his hands
were grasped by those of Lisle and his beautiful Spanish wife, who was
now a fashionable belle, with nothing of old Castile about her, except
her "wild dark eyes," upon which few could look without pleasure and
admiration. Her superb figure gave additional beauty to a rich dress of
white satin trimmed with the richest lace. A diamond circlet sparkled
around her forehead. Virginia had the air of a queen. The time when he
had first beheld her, as the half demure, half coquettish Abbess of
Santa Cruz, flitted across Ronald's mind; but it seemed more like a
dream than a reality. Although on the retired list, Lisle wore his
uniform, with his empty sleeve hooked up under the folds of his green
plaid, over which hung his medal and Waterloo ribbon.
"How happy I am to see you!" exclaimed Ronald. "I have been looking for
you every where amid this gay wilderness of people. And you are all
well?"
"As well as you could wish us. Alice is here."
"Would to Heaven I could see her!" said Ronald.
"You shall have your wish instantly," replied Louis. "'Tis a splendid
affair, this!"
"Our fellows seem to be quite the lions of the night."
"The ball surpasses even ours in the palace of Aranjuez," observed
Louis, glancing fondly at Virginia. "But where is Alice?"
"I saw her but a moment ago," replied the donna, whose accent had become
much improved by her residence in Edinburgh. "Oh, how happy, how very
happy she will be to see you!"
Ronald's heart beat more joyously than ever, and his impatience
increased.
"Your sash hides the cross of dear St. James," continued the fair
Castilian. "Show it fully, _amigo_; such a badge sparkles well on the
breast of a soldier. Alice will love to look upon it; and so shall I,
for it will remind me of brave old Spain. We have had many a long
conversation about you, for a year past."
"Lord Lisle is here, of course?"
"In one of the ante-rooms, with Campbell and some of the seniors. But
we must discover Alice," said Louis; "she is very angry with her
field-officer."
"How have I been so unhappy?"
"The carriage was in the High-street yesterday when the regiment marched
in, and for nearly half an hour Alice sat in it, watching you unseen."
"Watching me?"
"Yes."
"Good heavens! I never saw her."
"Your horse was jammed by the crowd within a few yards of us; and there
you remained as fast as King Charles's statue close by, and looking in
every direction except towards us. Poor Alie was very much agitated;
and you kept your back turned upon her, with very happy _nonchalance_,
during the whole of the Baillie's speech, and the rest of the foolery
performed in front of the Exchange."
"How unfortunate!"
"The moment the crowd had dispersed sufficiently we drove to the castle;
but you were off no one knew where, and Alice was sorely displeased."
"I was away to Lochisla," replied Ronald, while his brow became clouded.
The band of the Highlanders commenced at that moment '_el Morillo_,' a
well-known Spanish waltz which they had learned abroad.
"Oh, the gay, the graceful waltz! Let me look upon it," said Virginia,
bending forward, while her eyes flashed with delight. "Ah! I am dying
to have a waltz. 'Tis _el Morillo_!"
"May I have the honour?"! said Ronald, taking her hand and leading her
forward.
"Stay but a moment--there is Alice."
"Where?--ah! tell me."
"How gracefully she steps! Beautiful! beautiful!"
Stuart looked in vain for the Alice he had known in Perthshire.
"I shall show you afterwards," said the cruel donna. "You will have
quite enough of her by-and-by; but we shall be late just now for the
waltz." Away they flew into the brilliant maze of the waltzers, Ronald
clanking his massive spurs at every turn, in a manner he had acquired
among the Spaniards. Notwithstanding his practice among the donnas of
Spain, he acquitted himself but indifferently. Imagining that every lady
who whirled past in succession might be Alice Lisle, he looked
everywhere but to the figure of the dance, and various unpleasant shocks
took place, which excessively annoyed the Castilian precision of
Virginia.
"Stay, stay!" said she; "I will take pity on you. You are too excited to
dance. Let us withdraw, and I will show you your fairy queen."
They left the giddy whirl, and after hanging half breathless on Ronald's
arm for a moment, "There is Alice!" said Virginia.
"Where? On my honour! I know her not. I cannot recognise her."