evening; and, having retired to his apartment with him, he unfolded
his mind fully to his friendly ear--gave over to him the charge of
all his papers and charters, and prepared every thing for executing a
deed, by which his Lordship was made sole trustee over his estates,
for the behoof of his infant son, with full powers to manage and
direct all matters belonging to them, and, at the same time, making
the Earl himself heir of all, in the event of the child's death. Some
days afterwards, he put the last formal signature and seal to all
this,--not without great, but vain expostulation on the part of Lord
Huntly,--and, having done so, he declared his fixed determination to
depart the very next morning for the Continent, where he had resolved
to bury himself for ever within the cloisters of a monastery.
That night, previous to Sir Walter Stewart's departure, was a
melancholy one for the two friends; and their parting next morning
was still more sad.
The Knight's horses and attendants were already drawn up in the
court-yard, and the Earl's men were thronging around them to bid
them farewell, when a horseman rode into it, bearing a woman on a pad
behind his saddle. The lady was veiled, and muffled up in a mantle;
but, though the form was sufficiently light and delicate, and that
of the youth also much more compact and athletic than gross or heavy,
the good grey steed that bore this double weight, showed unequivocal
symptoms of the long, rapid, and distressing journey he had undergone.
"Ha! we are yet in time?" cried the young man in a tone of
enquiry. "Sir Walter Stewart is still here, is he not?"
"He is still here; but he is on the very eve of his departure for
a foreign land," replied the esquire, in a grave and pensive tone
and manner.
"I would fain speak a few words to him," said the youth, lighting down,
and then lifting the lady from her pillion.
"I fear that may hardly be," said the esquire; "these last minutes of
parting converse between Sir Walter Stewart and the Earl of Huntly,
are, I warrant me, every one of them worth a purse of gold."
"So are they all the more valuable to me for the doing of mine errand,"
said the youth, with an air of command, which seemed naturally to
belong to him. "Here, take this ring, so please thee. Take it to Sir
Walter Stewart, and say that its owner bides without, and would fain
have a short audience of him ere he goes."
"I will do your bidding, fair sir," said the squire, courteously;
"though I know not well how mine embassage may be received; for, if
I mistake not, the Earl and the Knight are shut up alone together in
deep and important conference."
The esquire was in the right. The parting moments of these friends were
precious, and occupied in most interesting talk. The Earl of Huntly
had been using them in pouring out all his eloquence to induce Sir
Walter Stewart, even yet, at this the eleventh hour, to abandon his
resolution of going into a monastery, and to prevail on him to remain
at home, and to resume the rights and the control of his estates. He
urged it upon him, that he owed it to his country, as well as to his
own just vengeance against Cochran, and the King's other favourites,
to join with him and the rest of the nobles in the plots which they
were hatching for their destruction.
"It will be a sweet revenge for thee," said the Earl; "a most sweet
revenge, I say, for thee, to have James suing to thee for mercy,
for the lives of those very minions who have so conspired together
for thy ruin."
"Nay, press me not, dear Huntly," replied Sir Walter Stewart;
"though the King hath been blind and fickle, yet I cannot forget his
long-exerted kindness to me. And as for vengeance, I trust that the
exercise to which I have subjected my soul for these last few nights,
hath conjured all such unholy and unchristian passions forth from my
bosom. But to extinguish in thee all farther vain hope that I may be
brought to yield to thy friendly entreaty, I will now tell thee that
I last night took a solemn vow, on my knees, with mine eyes upon the
blessed crucifix, and my right hand upon the open Evangile, that I
would henceforth flee from the world, and dedicate myself to God."
"With such a vow upon thee," replied Huntly--"With a vow so solemnly
taken, I can urge thee no more."
"Then let my parting words entreat thee not to harm the King," said
Sir Walter Stewart. "Harm not the King, and hurt not one hair of the
head of Ramsay of Balmain, for he is a gentleman, and my very dear
friend, and one indeed to whose friendly warning I have owed my life!"
"There is no intention of hurting James," said Huntly, coldly;
"and as for Ramsay, thou hast said enough, in these last few words
of thine, to make me sacrifice my life to save him, if he should be
brought into peril."
"Thanks, thanks, my noble friend," said Sir Walter, "this promise of
thine gives me comfort in the certainty of Ramsay's safety."
"Who knocks there?" cried Lord Huntly. "Did I not say that we must
be private?"
"A messenger with some errand of moment for Sir Walter Stewart,"
replied the Squire.
"Come in, and tell us who and what he may be," replied Lord Huntly.
"He desired me to deliver this ring into Sir Walter's own hand,"
said the Squire, entering and presenting it to the Knight.
"Ha!" cried the Knight, the moment he threw his eyes on it, "give him
entrance without a moment's delay. My Lord, this is my boy Charley
Stewart, who went abroad in the service of the royal Duke of Albany. I
thank the saints that he is alive! I rejoice that I shall once more
behold him, for I feared that something fatal had befallen him. It is
well that he hath thus come, so opportunely, else, in my bewilderment,
he might have lost his share of that which he hath so well deserved
at my hands."
"It is well, indeed, that he hath come, then," replied the Earl, "for,
if I mistake not, he is a young man worthy of the stock he hath sprung
from. The Duke of Albany, I remember, spoke well of him from France,
some little time after his arrival there."
"His Highness vouchsafed to do so," replied Sir Walter. "But it is so
long since, that now I burn to behold the boy once more, and to see,
with mine own eyes, what improvement foreign nurture hath done on him."
"And I," said the Earl, "am especially curious to hear how his royal
master the Duke hath sped, and whether he may yet talk of returning
to his country, and trusting his person to the protection of the
Scottish nobles. But here comes the youth."
"Charley, my boy!--my son! thank God that thou art alive! I rejoice
to behold thee again once more!" cried Sir Walter, hurrying forward to
embrace him, with deep emotion. "I am glad, most glad, thou art come!"
"Your blessing, father!" cried Charley, who having entered the room
with the veiled lady on his arm, quitted her at the door, and rushed
forward to meet and to throw himself on his knees before Sir Walter.
"Thou hast it, boy!" replied the Knight, raising him up, and clasping
him tenderly to his breast. "Thou hast it most sincerely. Recent
melancholy events have now made thee doubly dear to me. But say,
why is it that I have heard nought of thee for so long a time? Why
is it that thou wert as silent in thy communication as if thou hadst
been dead? Often did I of late seek tidings of thee of De Tremouille,
but so much in vain did I seek them, that I more than half believed
that some fatal calamity had befallen thee. Come, say how hath it
fared with thee and thy royal master, and where, and wherefore,
hast thou left him?"
"With your leave, dear father, and that of this noble Earl," replied
Charley, "I shall hastily run over the outline of our history.--A
fair wind bore us to France, where we were soon transported to
Paris. There we were well received, and well lodged, at the sign of
the Cock, in the street of St. Martin, and all manner of expenses were
defrayed from the French treasury, for the Duke and his attendants,
to the number of twelve persons. We lived a merry life, mingling
in all the shows and pageants of the French court, and proving our
horsemanship with the French cavaliers, with no manner of disgrace
on my humble part, and with great honour on the part of my royal
master. But soon after this, some paltry jealousies and suspicions
broke out against us, fostered, no doubt, by certain Scots, who
had the secret ear of the King of France, and the secret authority
of James of Scotland. Prudence led the royal Duke to travel in the
provinces for a time, and under the disguise of an errant knight,
he wandered about, with me as his esquire, doing feats of arms every
where. Then it was that De Tremouille could report nothing of me,
for I was altogether in disguise, doing the most agreeable service
to my high and most kind master."
"How camest thou to leave so good and honourable a service
then?" demanded the Knight.
"Simply on this ground," replied Charley. "A certain correspondence
began to arise between my royal master and Edward of England. Whilst
this was going on, the Duke, who always showed most kindly towards me,
took me one day into his private apartment, and told me in confidential
secrecy, that a certain treaty was on foot between him and the English
king, with the intent of their uniting to make war upon Scotland. I
was largely promised wealth and honours if I would follow his Highness
to England. But, albeit that I should have been fain to have followed
him all over the world, I could in nowise bring myself to fight against
the country of my birth, or against that country which held my father,
and whose king I held to be my father's friend--that country which
held her--a--a--that country, I mean, which was a--dear to me from
many a tender recollection--and that country, above all, which held
my much loved and most affectionate and most revered mother."
"Poor, kind, and amiable boy!" murmured Sir Walter Stewart, groaning
deeply, "little knowest thou what a shock thou hast yet to receive!"
"I could not fight against such a land," continued Charley, without
observing this scarcely audible interruption. "And on my so declaring
this, and setting forth my reasons before my royal master, he kindly,
and, as he was pleased to say, with regret, gave me his princely
licence to depart; and as he had little to bestow, he honoured me by
putting this massive gold chain around my neck, and I parted from him,
after receiving his gracious thanks for the fidelity of my services,
and with many friendly commendations on the Duke's part to you. I left
him in the more honourable, yet not more faithful, hands, of Monipeny
and Concressault, who are now with him. Having taken ship and reached
the shores of Scotland, I made the best of my way to my native Strath,
and there, learning that thou hadst but recently left it, I hasted,
with all speed, to follow thee hither."
"Thou hast well judged, and well acted, my dear boy!" said the Knight,
embracing him. "By mine honour, but thou dost prove, by thy words,
that thy head hath gained as much in solid sense as thy person and
manners have gathered in strength and grace. My Lord of Huntly,
since Charley hath thus, by God's mercy, turned up alive, thou must
now see done for him, that which I, in such a case provided, as I
already told thee. To thee then I leave it to see him duly enfeoffed
in the place and lands of Kilmaichly, on a part of which he was born,
and this I have bestowed upon him and his heirs in property for ever."
"Be assured I shall see this desire of thine most strictly executed,"
said Lord Huntly.
"Thanks, thanks, most gracious father!" cried Charles Stewart, throwing
himself again upon Sir Walter's neck. "Yet would I consider it a far
greater boon, to be allowed to follow thee in whatever emprise thou
mayst now be bound to."
"That which I am boune after, boy, is too solemn for thy years,"
replied Sir Walter Stewart, gravely. "Thou art as yet too young to
quit the haunts of men, and sins hast thou but few to drive thee
thence, unless mine be visited upon thee. But, hold! thou wouldst
seem to have a fair companion there. Tell me, I pray thee, hast thou
brought a French wife with thee? Alas, rash youth, thou knowest not
what perils are to be found within the silken meshes of the toils of
matrimony! Hath not thine own past experience of the fickle nature
of woman cured thee of love?"
"Nay, nay, my good and honoured father," replied Charley, "so far
as I am concerned, I have learned, to my great joy, though to my sad
remorse and contrition, that woman's love, when pure and virtuous, is
inextinguishable by all the storms and tides of adverse fate. My Rosa
was true, and she yet lives for me and me alone, and I was the rash
insane tool of one who was more an evil spirit than a woman. Thanks
be to God, too, that I have not the crime of murder on my conscience,
for I have learned that my benefactor, Sir Piers Gordon, yet lives."
"Sir Piers Gordon!" exclaimed Huntly, in surprise, "Art thou then
the youth who had so nearly deprived me of so valuable a kinsman and
dependant? Trust me, young man, had the blow been fatal, I could not
easily have forgiven thee."
"My Lord, I could never have forgiven myself," said Charley. "But now
I hope to prove to Sir Piers my gratitude, as well as my penitence,
if he will vouchsafe to pardon me, and to receive me again into
his friendship."
"I think thou mayest safely reckon upon him," said Huntly, "especially
with my intercession for thee."
"Is this thy Rosa, then, boy?" demanded Sir Walter Stewart, pointing
to the veiled lady. "And is she already thy wedded wife? Why all
this mystery? Lead her hither, that we may see and become acquainted
with her."
"It is not Rosa," replied Charley, solemnly, as he retired to the
farther part of the room, and led forward the lady trembling beneath
her veil. "It is not Rosa, nor is Rosa as yet my wife. She whom I
would now introduce to you is no wife, nor hath she ever been bound
by any such holy ties--yet would she crave thy blessing, and one kind
word of comfort from thee," and with this he gently removed the veil
from her head.
"Holy Virgin, and sacred ministers of Almighty Providence, what
do I behold!" exclaimed Sir Walter Stewart, in amazement, "Alice
Asher!--and in life! My beloved Alice, can it indeed be thee?" and
then rushing forward to embrace her, he cried--"It is, it is my Alice!"
"Oh! this more than repays me for a life of wretchedness," said Alice,
weeping, and warmly responding to his emotions. "A mother's pride,
which I have in my boy, would not let me remain behind him; and
the priest gave me licence. I wished to behold him in his father's
arms, and my fond and foolish heart hath been gratified beyond its
deserts. May blessings be showered down upon thee for what thou hast
done!" continued she, sinking on her knees before him, "May blessings
here, and eternal happiness hereafter, be thy portion!"
"Rise, my fair, my beloved, my much injured Alice!" cried the Knight,
raising her gently up, and again tenderly embracing her. "This is
indeed a day of joy! But tell me how it is that mine eyes thus gladly
behold thee, when they have now so long wept for thy supposed death
by that murderous and traitorous fire?"
"Providence interfered to save my worthless life," replied Alice. "It
so happened, that, on the very evening before the burning, I chanced
to go up into Glen-Livat to visit the good widow MacDermot and her
daughter Rosa, whose society was always balm to me, and especially
so because their favourite talk was ever of mine absent Charley. As
I was thus going away from home, my serving-maiden took in a girl,
a friend of hers, to be company for her loneliness, and thus, both
these innocent creatures perished, whilst I escaped. But the ways of
Heaven are inscrutable. Thus it was that two half-consumed corpses
were discovered, which led to the belief of my death; and then it
was that terror for the Lady of Drummin made me dread to contradict
the rumour, and compelled me to live in concealment."
"Enough it is that thou art yet alive, my beloved Alice!" cried Sir
Walter Stewart, carried altogether away by the wildest feelings of
joy. "Dearest, we shall yet be happy!--Thou shalt yet be----"
"Oh, say!--speak!" said Alice, greatly agitated. "What--what wouldst
thou say?"
"What--what have I said?" continued Sir Walter, sinking in tone and
manner into those of deep despondency. "What!--said I that we should
yet be happy?--that thou shouldst yet be my wife. Alas!--no, no,
no--I forgot. It cannot be. My vow--my vow--my solemn vow, already
registered in Heaven! Would that I had known all this ere I had made
it! Would that I had but known that thou wer't still alive! But now,
even these regrets and repinings become sinful. The hand of Providence
is in it, and God's holy will be done. The vow--the solemn vow which I
recorded in Heaven must be fulfilled. Alice, dearest of human beings,
I cannot now be thine! I have henceforth dedicated myself to the
service of the Most High. I depart this very day to make good my vow,
by throwing myself into a foreign monastery."
"The will of the Lord be done!" said Alice Asher, in a hollow voice
of intense suffering, whilst, pale and trembling, she bowed her
head and sank into a chair, where a deluge of tears gave vent to
her emotions. "The will of the Lord be done! And why should it be
otherwise? I have more than deserved all those sufferings and trials,
which God, in his justice and wisdom, hath been pleased to bring upon
me, and why should I wickedly murmur? As thou sayest, the finger of
God is in it. May he sanctify his chastisement for our salvation,
and so let me cheerfully kiss the rod of his fatherly correction."
"Angel that thou art!" cried Sir Walter, greatly moved. "Oh, what
wouldst thou not have been, but for me, villain that I was! Thy sin
was mine. On my head must fall the whole of thy guilt. Thou wert young
and pure, as a creature of heaven. On my head must fall all the wrath
of an offended God; and mine, therefore, must be the penance. Return
then to resume thine innocent and peaceful life. Thou hast a firm and
able protector in thy son, whose strong arm, and upright heart, shall
shield thee from all harm. In due time, he must marry Rosa MacDermot,
and thou mayst yet live happily to see thy grandchildren growing up,
like goodly plants, around thee. Pray for me in thy private hours of
converse with the Almighty, that he may yet extend his mercy to me,
a repentant sinner. My orisons shall never cease to rise for thee. And
now, this last holy kiss, may, without guilt, be permitted to us. May
God for ever bless and preserve thee! And--now--now--farewell for
ever!"
Alice flew into his arms with a frantic hysterical laugh; and after
a long, a silent, and a last embrace, Sir Walter Stewart, gently
unfolding himself from her, rushed with a broken heart from the
apartment, followed by his son and Lord Huntly, leaving Alice Asher,
who sank helpless into a chair, pale, motionless, and silent, as if
death had suddenly fallen upon her. The Knight sprang into his saddle;
Huntly silently but warmly squeezed his hand; Charley Stewart embraced
his manly limb, as he put his foot into the stirrup--and his father
stooped from his seat, and tenderly kissed his brow, and blessed him,
ere he dashed his spur-rowels into the sides of his steed, and galloped
out of the court-yard, with his followers behind him.
Let us now return to the Castle of Drummin.--On that very night in
which the depressed and repentant Sir Walter was solemnly dedicating
himself, at Huntly Castle, to the service of God, she who had been his
lady retired to rest in her chamber, with her infant child placed in
a cradle beside her couch. A lamp, which burned on a table near her,
enabled her to read over again the letter which she had received
from Cochran, the new Earl of Mar; and, after she had done so, she
laid her head back upon the pillow to ruminate upon its contents,
and to resign herself to the enjoyment of those visions of ambition
to which it had given birth. By degrees, sleep overpowered her, and
her waking thoughts began gradually to resolve themselves into wild,
floating, and ill-connected dreams. After many strange and abrupt
changes, she imagined that she was led to the altar by the Earl of
Mar. Both were dressed in all the pomp that befitted the rank of
such a bridegroom and bride. The King and Queen were present; and all
things were prepared for the nuptial ceremony. But, when the marriage
service proceeded, both the Earl and Lady made vain and ineffectual
efforts to join hands. As she struggled to accomplish this, she
suddenly perceived, that the gorgeous golden collar which surrounded
the Earl's neck, was changed into a halter of horse hair. She stared
with wonder upon him; and, as she did so, his coarse, ruddy features
became pale, and fixed, and corpse-like, and he was lifted slowly
from before her, as if some powerful and unseen hand had raised him
from the ground by the halter, until he disappeared altogether from
her sight. She struggled fearfully. The priests, the King, and the
Queen, and the other personages who were present at the bridal, faded
away before her. Her heart grew cold within her from fear and very
loneliness. Suddenly the candles on the altar, and the other lights
in the church, blazed up miraculously, till their pointed flames
were blunted and flattened on the vaulted roof. She endeavoured to
shriek aloud, but no utterance could she give to her voice, whilst
horrid laughter echoed through the surrounding aisles, and demoniac
faces mocked and gibbered at her from behind the massive pillars. A
complete and most unaccountable change immediately took place; and she
beheld a burning cottage before her. Screams were heard from within
the walls, and she would have fain shut her eyes from the sight,
and stopped her ears from the sound; but she could do neither. She
was in an agony which no human tongue can describe. At length, the
figure of a woman, of angelic beauty and expression of countenance,
and ethereal airiness of form, shot upwards, as if borne to heaven
by the rising column of fire. The screams continued from within the
burning walls. They pierced her ears horribly, and the flames darted
around her on all sides, scorching her face and hands, and setting
fire to her garments; and still all her efforts were vain to move
herself from the spot, so as to withdraw from their influence. Half
suffocated, she struggled and toiled to escape from them; and being
at last awakened by her efforts, she was, for one moment, conscious
that she was in the midst of a real conflagration. In that one moment
was concentrated the whole remorse of her wicked life--and it was
terrible! She heard the cries of her perishing babe; and being herself
so choked as to be unable for exertion, she speedily became an easy
and helpless prey to the devouring element. The drapery of her bed,
which she had put aside in order to read the letter, had fallen back
into its place; and having thus caught fire from the lamp, the flames
had thence communicated to the cradle and to the bed; and by the time
the alarm of the conflagration had been given throughout the Castle,
and traced to its source, the lady and her innocent babe, and every
thing within the apartment, had been consumed to ashes.
After such an occurrence as this, it may easily be conceived that
the gates of Drummin were thrown open to the Earl of Huntly, the
moment he appeared with a strong force before it. He staid but a few
days there, to arrange such business as his new possessions demanded
of him. The most prominent and important part of this was, to see
Charles Stewart regularly infeoffed in his property of Kilmaichly,
after which he bestowed knighthood upon him; and having accomplished
all this, the Earl hastened southwards, to lend his powerful aid in
perfecting those plots which were then ripening among the discontented
nobles, and which terminated with the summary execution of Cochran,
and the other minions of King James the Third, over the Bridge of
Lauder. That the life or person of Ramsay were preserved untouched,
may have been in a great measure owing to the last parting injunctions
of his friend Sir Walter Stewart.