A brief pause followed the entrance of this unexpected visitor. Standing
upon the threshold, his dark brow knit, his eyes fixed on his prisoners,
the Earl of Buchan stood a few minutes immovable. Alan saw but a
mail-clad warrior, more fierce and brutal in appearance than the
generality of their foes, and felt, with all that heart-sinking
despondency natural to youth, that they were betrayed, that resistance
was in vain, for heavier and louder grew the tramp of horse and man, and
the narrow passage, discernible through the open door, was filled with
steel-clad forms, their drawn swords glancing in the torchlight, their
dark brows gleaming in ill-concealed triumph. Alan was still a boy in
years, despite his experience as a warrior, and in the first agony of
this discovery, the first dream of chains and captivity, when his young
spirit revelled in the thought of freedom, and joyed as a bird in the
fresh air of mount and stream, weaving bright hopes, not exile or
wandering could remove, his impulse had been to dash his useless sword
in anguish to the earth, and weep; but the sight of his mother checked
that internal weakness. He felt her convulsive clasp; he beheld the
expression on her features,--how unlike their wont--terror, suffering,
whose _entire_ cause he vainly endeavored to define, and he roused
himself for her. And she, did she see more than her son? She _knew_ that
face, and as she gazed, she felt hope had departed; she beheld naught
but a long, endless vista of anguish; yet she felt not for herself, she
thought but of her child. And the earl, can we define his exulting
mood?--it was the malice, the triumph of a fiend.
"Who and what art thou?" demanded Alan, fiercely, laying his right hand
on his sword, and with the left firmly clasping his mother's waist.
"What bold knight and honorable chevalier art thou, thus seeking by
stealth the retreat of a wanderer, and overpowering by numbers and
treachery men, who on the field thou and such as thou had never dared to
meet?"
The earl laughed; that bitter, biting laugh of contempt and triumph so
difficult to bear.
"Thou hast a worthy tongue, my pretty springald," said he; "canst thou
use thy sword as bravely? Who and what am I? ask of the lady thou hast
so caressingly encircled with thine arm, perchance she can give thee
information."
Alan started, a cold thrill passed through his frame, as the real cause
of his mother's terror flashed on his mind; her lips, parched and
quivering, parted as to speak, but there was no sound.
"Mother," he said, "mother, speak to thy son. Why, why art thou thus?
it is not the dread of imprisonment, of death. No, no; they have no
terrors for such as thee. Who is this man?"
Engrossed in his own agitation, Alan had not heard the muttered
exclamation which burst from Buchan's lips with his first words, for
great was the earl's surprise as he looked on his son; the impression he
was still a child had remained on his mind despite all reports to the
contrary, but no softer feeling obtained dominion.
"Who and what am I?" he continued, after a brief pause. "Wouldst thou
know, Alan of Buchan? Even a faithful knight, soldier, and subject of
his Royal Highness Edward, king of England and Scotland, and
consequently thy foe; the insulted and dishonored husband of the woman
thou callest mother, and consequently thy father, young man. Ha! have I
spoken home? Thy sword, thy sword; acknowledge thy disloyalty to thy
father and king, and for thee all may yet be well."
"Never!" answered Alan, proudly, the earl's concluding words rousing the
spirit which the knowledge of beholding his father and the emotion of
his mother seemed to have crushed. "Never, Lord of Buchan! for father I
cannot call thee. Thou mayest force me to resign my sword, thou mayest
bring me to the block, but acknowledge allegiance to a foreign tyrant,
who hath no claims on Scotland or her sons, save those of hate and
detestation, that thou canst never do, even if thy sword be pointed at
my heart."
"Boy!" burst from the earl's lips, in accents of irrepressible rage, but
he checked himself; "thou hast learned a goodly lesson of disobedience
and daring, of a truth, and I should tender grateful thanks to thy most
worthy, most efficient and virtuous teacher," he added, in his own
bitterly sarcastic tone. "The Lady Isabella deems, perchance, she has
done her duty to her husband in placing a crown on the head of his
hereditary and hated foe, and leading his son in the same path of
rebellion and disloyalty, and giving his service to the murderer of his
kinsman."
"Earl of Buchan, I have done my duty alike to my country and my son,"
replied the countess, her high spirit roused by the taunts of her
husband. "According to the dictates of my conscience, mine honor as a
Scottish woman, the mother of a Scottish warrior, I have done my duty,
and neither imprisonment, nor torture, nor death will bid me retract
those principles, or waver in my acknowledgment of Scotland and her
king. Pardon me, my lord; but there is no rebellion in resisting the
infringement of a tyrant, no disloyalty in raising the standard against
Edward, for there is no treason when there is no lawful authority; and
by what right is Edward of England king of Scotland? Lord of Buchan, I
have done my duty. As my father taught _me_ I have taught my child!"
"Regarding, of course, madam, all which that child's father would have
taught him, particularly that most Christian virtue returning good for
evil, as in the fact of revenging the death of a kinsman with the gift
of a crown. Oh! thou hast done well, most intrinsically well."
"I own no relationship with a traitor," burst impetuously from Alan.
"Sir John Comyn was honored in his death, for the sword of the Bruce was
too worthy a weapon for the black heart of a traitor. Lord of Buchan, we
are in thy power, it is enough. Hadst thou wished thy son to imbibe thy
peculiar principles, to forget his country and her lights, it had been
better perchance hadst thou remembered thou hadst a child--a son. Had
the duty of a father been performed, perchance I had not now forgotten
mine as a son! As it is, we stand as strangers and as foes. Against thee
in truth I will not raise my sword; but further, we are severed and
forever!" He crossed his arms proudly on his bosom, and returned the
dark, scowling glance of his father with a flashing eye, and a mien as
firm and nobler than his own.
"It is well, young man; I thank you for my freedom," returned the earl,
between his teeth. "As my son, I might stand between thee and Edward's
wrath; as a stranger and my foe, why, whatever his sentence be--the axe
and block without doubt--let it work, it will move me little."
"Heed not his rash words, in mercy, heed them not!" exclaimed the
countess, her voice of agony contrasting strangely with its former proud
reserve. "Neglected, forgotten him as thou hast, yet, Lord of Buchan, he
is still thy son. Oh, in mercy, expose him not to the deadly wrath of
Edward! thou canst save him, thou canst give him freedom. It is I--I who
am the attainted traitor, not my child. Give me up to Edward, and he
will heed not, ask not for thy son. It is I who have offended him and
thee, not my child. Art thou not a Scottish noble, descendant of a
house as purely loyal and devoted to their country as mine own--art thou
not indeed this man, and yet hath Edward, the deadly foe of thy race,
thy land, thy countrymen, more exalted claims than thine own blood? No,
no, it cannot be! thou wilt relent, thou wilt have mercy; let him be but
free, and do with me even what thou wilt!"
"Free! go free!" repeated the earl, with a hoarse laugh, ere Alan could
interfere. "Let him go free, forsooth, when he tells me he is my foe,
and will go hence and join my bitterest enemies the moment he is free.
Go free! and who art thou who askest this boon? Hast thou such claims
upon me, that for thy pleasure I should give freedom to thy son?"
"My lord, my lord, 'tis for thine own sake, for his, thy child as well
as mine, I do beseech, implore thy mercy? draw not the curse of heaven
on thy heart by exposing him to death. Thou wilt know and feel him as
indeed thy child when he lies bleeding before thee, when thine own hand
hath forged the death-bolt, and then, then it will be too late; thou
wilt yearn for his voice in vain. Oh! is it not sufficient triumph to
have in thy power the wife who hath dared thy authority, who hath joined
the patriot band, and so drawn down on her the vengeance of Edward? The
price of a traitor is set upon her head. My lord, my lord, is not one
victim enough--will not my capture insure thee reward and honor in the
court of Edward? Then do with me what thou wilt--chains, torture, death;
but my child, my brave boy--oh, if thou hast one spark of mercy in thy
heart, let him go!"
"Mother," hoarsely murmured Alan, as he strove to raise her from her
suppliant posture, "mother, this shall not be! look upon that face and
know thou pleadest in vain. I will not accept my freedom at such a
price; thy knee, thy supplications unto a heart of stone, for me! No,
no; mother, dear mother, we will die together!"
"Thou shalt not, thou shalt not, my beloved, my beautiful! thy death
will be on my head, though it come from a father's hand. I will plead, I
will be heard! My lord, my lord," she continued, wrought to a pitch of
agonized feeling, no heart save that to which she pleaded could have
heard unmoved, "I ask but his freedom, the freedom of a boy, a
child--and of whom do I ask it?--of his father, his own father! Speak to
me, answer me; thou canst not be so lost to the voice, the feelings of
nature. For the sake of the mother who loved, the father who blessed
_thee_, whose blessing hallowed our union and smiled on our infant boy,
have mercy on me, on thyself--let him, oh, let him be free!"
"Mercy on thee, thou false and perjured woman!" the earl burst forth,
the cold sarcastic expression with which he had at first listened to her
impassioned entreaties giving way to the fearful index of ungoverned
rage; "on thee, thou false traitress, not alone to thy husband's
principles but to his honor! Do I not know thee, minion--do I not know
the motives of thy conduct in leaving thy husband's castle for the court
of Bruce? Patriotism, forsooth--patriotism, ha! the patriotism that had
vent in giving and receiving love from him; it was so easy to do homage
to him in public as thy king. Oh, most rare and immaculate specimen of
female loyalty and virtue, I know thee well!"
"Man!" answered the countess, springing from her knee, and standing
before him with a mien and countenance of such majestic dignity, that
for a brief moment it awed even him, and her bewildered son gazed at her
with emotions of awe, struggling with surprise.
"Ha! faithless minion, thou bravest it well," continued Buchan,
determined on evincing no faltering in his purpose, "but thou bravest it
in vain; dishonored thou art, and hast been, aye, from the time thy
minion Robert visited thee in Buchan Tower, and lingered with thee the
months he had disappeared from Edward's court. Would Isabella of Buchan
have rendered homage to any other bold usurper, save her minion Robert?
Would the murder of a Comyn have passed unavenged by her had the
murderer been other than her gallant Bruce? Would Isabella of Buchan be
here, the only female in the Bruce's train--for I know that he is with
thee--were loyalty and patriotism her only motive? Woman, I know thee! I
know that thou didst love him, ere that false hand and falser heart were
given to me; thy lips spoke perfidy when they vowed allegiance at the
altar; and shall I have mercy on thy son, for such as thee? Mercy! ha,
have I silenced thy eloquence now?"
"Silenced, false, blasphemous villain!" vociferated Alan, every other
feeling lost in the whirlwind of passion, and springing on the earl,
with his drawn sword. "'Tis thou who art the false and faithless--thou
who art lost to every feeling of honor and of truth. Thy words are false
as hell, from whence they spring!"
"Alan, by the love thou bearest me, I charge thee put up thy sword--it
is thy father!" exclaimed, the countess, commandingly, and speaking the
last word in a tone that thrilled to the boy's heart. He checked himself
in his full career; he snapped his drawn sword in twain, he cast it
passionately from him, and uttering, convulsively, "Oh God, oh God, my
father!" flung himself in agony on the ground. With arms folded and the
smile of a demon on his lip the earl had awaited his attack, but there
was disappointment within, for his foul charge had failed in its
intended effect. Prouder, colder, more commandingly erect had become the
mein of the countess as he spoke, till she even appeared to increase in
stature; her flashing eyes had never moved from his face, till his fell
beneath them; her lip had curled, his cheek had flushed: powerful indeed
became the contrast between the accused and the accuser.
"Arise, my son," she said, "arise and look upon thy mother; her brow
even as her heart is unstained with shame; she fears not to meet the
glance of her child. Look up, my boy; I speak these words to _thee_, not
to that bold, bad man, who hath dared unite the name of a daughter of
Fife with shame. He hath no word either of exculpation, denial, or
assent from me. But to thee, my child, my young, my innocent child,
thee, whose ear, when removed from me, they may strive to poison with
false tales, woven with such skill that hadst thou not thy mother's
word, should win thee to belief--to thee I say, look on me, Alan--is
this a brow of guilt?"
"No, no, no, I will not look on thee, my mother! I need not to gaze on
thee to know the horrid falsity of the charge," answered Alan, flinging
his arms passionately around his mother. "Did I never see thee more,
never list that voice again, and did all the fiends of hell come around
me with their lies, I would not hear, much less believe such charge. No,
no! oh God, 'tis my father, speaks it! Father--and my hand is powerless
to avenge."
"I need not vengeance, my beloved; grieve not, weep not that thy hand is
chained, and may not defend thy mother's stainless name; I need it not.
My heart is known unto my God, my innocence to thee; his blessing rest
with thee, my beautiful, and give thee strength for all thou mayest
endure."
She bent down to kiss his brow, which was damp with the dew of intense
anguish. He started up, he gave one long look on her calm and noble
face, and then he flung himself in her arms, and sobbed like a child on
her bosom. It was a fearful moment for that woman heart; had she been
alone with her child, both nerve and spirit must have given way, but
fortunately, perhaps, for the preservation of her fortitude, the Earl of
Buchan was still the witness of that scene, triumphing in the sufferings
he had caused. The countess did indeed fold her boy convulsively to her
breast, but she did not bend her head on his, as Nature prompted; it was
still erect; her mien majestic still, and but a slight quivering in her
beautiful lip betrayed emotion.
"Be firm; be thy noble self," she said. "Forget not thou art a knight
and soldier amid the patriots of Scotland. And now a while, farewell."
She extricated herself with some difficulty from his embrace; she paused
not to gaze again upon the posture of overwhelming despondency in which
he had sunk, but with a step quick and firm advanced to the door.
"Whither goest thou, madam?" demanded the earl fiercely. "Bold as thou
art, it is well to know thou art a prisoner, accused of high treason
against King Edward."
"I need not your lordship's voice to give me such information," she
answered, proudly. "Methinks these armed followers are all-sufficient
evidence. Guard me, aye, confine me with fetters an thou wilt, but in
thy presence thou canst not force me to abide."
"Bid a last farewell to thy son, then, proud minion," he replied, with
fiendish malignity; "for an ye part now, it is forever. Ye see him not
again."
"Then be it so," she rejoined; "we shall meet where falsehood and
malignant hate can never harm us more," and with a gesture of dignity,
more irritating to the earl than the fiercest demonstration of passion,
she passed the threshold. A sign from Buchan surrounded her with guards,
and by them she was conducted to a smaller apartment, which was first
carefully examined as to any concealed means of escape, and then she was
left alone, a strong guard stationed at the door.
The first few minutes after the disappearance of the countess were
passed by her husband in rapidly striding up and down the room, by her
son, in the same posture of mute and motionless anguish in which she had
left him. There is no need to define that suffering, his peculiar
situation is all-sufficient to explain it. Hurriedly securing the door
from all intruders, the earl at length approached his son.
"Wouldst thou be free?" he said, abruptly. "Methinks thou art young
enough still to love liberty better than chains, and perchance death.
Speak, I tell thee; wouldst thou be free?"
"Free!" answered Alan, raising his head, with flashing eye and burning
cheek; "would I be free? Ask of the chained lion, the caged bird, and
they will tell thee the greenwood and forest glade are better, dearer,
even though the chain were gemmed, the prison gilded. Would I be free?
Thou knowest that I would."
"Swear, then, that thou wilt quit Scotland, and vow fealty to Edward;
that never more will thy sword be raised save against the contemned and
hated Bruce. Be faithful but to me and to King Edward, and thou shalt be
free."
"Never!" answered Alan, proudly. "Earl of Buchan, I accept no conditions
with my freedom; I will not be free, if only on this base condition.
Turn recreant and traitor to my country and my king! resign the precious
privilege of _dying_, if I may not _live_, for Scotland--I tell thee,
never! Urge me no more."
"Nay, thou art but a boy, a foolish boy," continued the earl, struggling
to speak persuadingly, "incapable of judging that which is right and
best. I tell thee, I will give thee not freedom alone, but honor,
station, wealth; I will acknowledge thee as my well-beloved son and
heir; I will forget all that is past; nay, not e'en thy will or actions
will I restrain; I will bind thee by no vow; thou shalt take no part
with Edward; I will interfere not with thy peculiar politics; e'en what
thou wilt thou shalt do, aye, and have--and all this but on one
condition, so slight and simple that thou art worse than fool an thou
refusest."
"Speak on," muttered Alan, without raising his head. "I hear."
"Give me but information of the movements of him thou callest king,"
replied Buchan, in a low yet emphatically distinct voice; "give me but a
hint as to where we may meet him in combat--in all honorable and
knightly combat, thou knowest that I mean--give me but information such
as this, and thou art free, unshackled, in condition as in limb."
"In other words, _betray him,_" replied Alan, starting up. "Purchase my
freedom with the price of his! mine, of nothing worth, aye, less than
nothing, redeemed by his! Oh, shame, shame on thee, my lord! Well mayest
thou offer me freedom of action as in will on such condition. Of little
heed to Edward were the resistance of all Scotland, were Robert in his
power. Honor, station, wealth!--oh, knowest thou the human heart so
little as to believe these can exist with black treachery and fell
remorse? Once and forever, I tell thee thine offers are in vain. Were
death in one scale, and free, unshackled liberty in the other, and thou
badest me choose between, I would not so stain my soul. Death, death
itself were welcome, aye, worse than death--confinement, chains. I would
hug them to my heart as precious boons, rather than live and walk the
earth a traitor."
"Beware!" muttered the earl; "tempt me not too far, rash boy. I would
not do thee ill; I would have pity on thy erring youth, remembering the
evil counsels, the base heart which hath guided thee."
"Do thou beware!" retorted Alan, fiercely. "Speak not such foul words to
me. Father, as I know thou art in blood, there are ties far stronger
which bind me to my mother--ties, neglect, forgetfulness, indifference
as thine can never know. Pity, aye, mercy's self, I scorn them, for I
need them not."
"Ha! sayest thou so; then I swear thou shalt not have them!" exclaimed
the earl, rage again obtaining the ascendant. "I would have saved thee;
I would have given thee freedom, though I needed not the condition that
I offered. Thinkest thou I do not know that the traitor Bruce and his
followers will return hither, and fall into the net prepared? thinkest
thou I know not he is with thee, aye, that he would not have left his
patriot countess thus slightly guarded, an he hoped not to return
himself? He cannot escape me--the murder of Sir John Comyn will be
avenged."
"He shall, he will escape thee, proud earl," undauntedly returned Alan.
"The savior of his wretched country will not be forced to bow before
such as thee; he will be saved out of the net prepared--harassed,
chased, encompassed as he is. I tell thee, Earl of Buchan, he will
escape thee yet."
"Then, by heaven, thy head shall fall for his!" fiercely replied the
earl. "If he return not, he has been forewarned, prepared, and I, fool
as I was, have thought not of this danger. Look to it, proud boy, if the
Bruce return not forty-eight hours hence, and thou art still silent,
thou diest."
He held up his clenched hand in a threatening attitude, but Alan neither
moved nor spoke, firmly returning the earl's infuriated gaze till the
door closed on his father's retreating form. He heard the bolts drawn,
the heavy tramp of the guard, and then he threw himself on the couch,
and buried his face in his hands.