And she rose and took them to the box--which, by the blessing of God
remained still where we had left it in the recess--and she fitted the
key in the lock, and it turned without a sound. And there the Earl
bathed his hands in the set jewels, the loose stones of price, and the
coined, golden money, plashing them through his fingers with a sound
like a spout of water, till for fear of the King, I advised him to close
it again.
'It is worth the bargain,' said he, 'though I am sorry to have promised
away fair Minnochside. I trow it was woman's wit that guided you in the
asking, and not that thick-bandaged head-piece of thine, Launcelot
Kennedy.'
But I answered not, knowing how to leave well alone when a man is
pleased with himself. So the Earl placed Robert Harburgh to guard the
chest, and to lie discreetly concerning it if any of the King's men
should come near, saying that it was but some foulness appropriate to
the den.
But none came asking, and thus was the Treasure of Kelwood conquest for
ever to the family of Cassillis.
As for Sawny Bean's monstrous brood, is it not recorded how they were
carried through the country to Edinburgh, and as how they went the folk
flocked in from leagues away to see and execrate them. They were
hurried straight to the sands of Leith, where, without process of trial
or pleading, and in the manner prescribed for such fiends, they were
executed out of hand as enemies to the human race in general.
Thus, mainly through my instrumentality, was the country rid of a
monstrous foul blot such as no land since the flood has ever been cursed
with. Though I deny not that Dominie Mure and Nell Kennedy helped well
according to their possibles, yet the most part of the credit was
rightly given to me, who had twice adventured my life within the Cave of
Death--though, as I admit, on both occasions against my will.
* * * * *
Once more the City of Edinburgh swarmed with Kennedys, come thither to
the great trial. There had not been so great a concurrence of Westland
folk in Edinburgh, since the memorable day when young Gilbert of Bargany
cleared the causeway of us of the house of Cassillis--for which
afterwards we were one and all put to the horn, to our great and lasting
honour, as hath been related.
At the West Port I met Patrick Rippett, he who had taunted Benane at the
Maybole snowballing.
'Whither is your eye gone?' I asked him, for he had a black patch where
his left eye should have been.
'A fause loon pyked it out and offered it me back on the end of his
rapier!' said Patrick Rippett, with the utmost unconcern.
'And what said ye to him?' I asked of Patrick, because he was not a man
to take a jest (and such a jest) for nothing.
'Faith, I juist bartered him fair. I offered him his heart on the point
of mine!' said Rippett, and so strolled away, ogling the snooded maids
at the windows of the high lands as best he could, with the one wicked
orb which was left to him.
I was walking with my father at the time. He had ridden the long way
from Kirrieoch on a white pony, all to pleasure my mother.
'Ye maun gang and hear the laddie gie his evidence,' she bade him.
'They will fright him to deid else, amang thae Edinburgh men o' the law.
They are no canny. So long as Launce gets striking at them with the
steel I ken he is safe and sound. For his hand can e'en keep his head,
as a Kennedy's ever should. But wha kens what they may do to my laddie
when he stands afore the justicers, and the lawyer loons come at him wi'
their quips and quandaries?'
'Faith then, good wife,' said my father, 'ye shall come too. And thou
and I shall ride to Edinburgh like joes that are newly wed.'
And though at first she denied, yet at the last she consented,
well-pleased enough--having a desire to purchase garmentry more suitable
for the wife of a laird and the mother of one who was to be made a
knight.
When my mother went out for the first time, she held up her hands and
exclaimed at the noise and bustle of the High Street--the soldiers who
were for ever marching to and fro in companies with drums and pipes, the
lasses that went hither and thither with a shawl about their heads, and
bandied compliments--and such compliments--with swashbucklers and
rantipole 'prentice lads. 'The limmers, they need soundly skelping!'
said my mother, 'for a' that they carry their heads so high, and their
kirtles higher than their heads!'
'Surely scantly that!' said my father.
'But ay,' continued my mother, not heeding him in her press of speech,
'such hair-brained hempies wad be dookit in the Limmers' Dub on Saturday
in every decent country, and set on the black stool of repentance ilka
Sabbath day. I wonder what the King and the ministers o' Edinburgh can
be thinkin' o'?'
There was, however, for most of us a long and weary waiting, ere in the
town of Edinburgh the High Court of Justiciary was ripe for the hearing
of the case against the Mures. But when at last the great day came the
whole West Country was there.[#]
[#] Sir Launcelot Kennedy, of Palgowan and Kirrieoch, appears somewhat
to have confused the dates of the first and second trials of John Mure
of Auchendrayne. Indeed, weakness in exact chronology is common to his
record and to the contemporary Historie of the Kennedies, which was
written about the same time by a partisan of the other side--it may even
be by John Mure of Auchendrayne himself.
And though many a face was joyous as were ours, eke many were sad and
lowering. For it is strange that such ill men should have some to love
them, or at least so it was with John Mure the elder. And so there were
in the city Mures by the score, fighting, black-avised MacKerrows,
cankered Craufords, with all the disbanded Bargany discontents from the
south of Carrick, Drummurchie's broken band from the hill-lands of Barr,
together with many others. So that we kept our swords, as at our first
visit to the town in the days of Gilbert Kennedy, free in their
scabbards while we ruffled it along the pavement.
And I mind what my mother said, the first time she went down the
plainstones with me. We met young Anthony Kennedy of Benane, and I
perceived that it was his intent to take the wall of me. So I squared
myself, and went a little before with my hand on my rapier hilt and my
elbows wide, also cocking fiercely my bonnet over my eye--which
assurance feared Anthony so greatly that he meekly took the pavement
edge, and I went by with my mother on my arm, having, as I thought, come
off very well in the matter.
But my mother stood stock still in amazement.
'Laddie, laddie, I kenned na what had taken ye--ye prinked and passaged
for a' the world like our bantam cock at Kirrieoch, when he hears his
neighbour at Kirriemore craw in the prime of the morn. Gin ye gang on
that gait, ye will get your kame berried and scarted, my lad. So listen
your auld mither, and walk mair humbly.'
At this I was somewhat shamed, and dropped behind like a little whipped
messan; for my mother has a brisk tongue. My father said not a word, but
there was a look of dry humorsomeness upon his face which I knew and
feared more than my mother's clip-wit tongue.
*CHAPTER XLIX*
*THE GREAT DAY OF TRIAL*
At last, however, the trial was set, and we all summoned for our
evidence. It was to be held in the High Court of Justiciary, and was a
right solemn thing. A hot day in mid-summer it proved, with the narrow,
overcrowded bounds of the town drowsed with heat, and yet eaten up with
a plague of flies. The room of the trial was a large one, with a dais
for the judges at the end, the boxes for the prisoners, and a tall stool
with steps and a bar on which to rest the hands, for the witnesses.
And in the long, dark, low, oak-panelled room what a crush of people!
For the report of the monstrous dealing of the Mures and the strangeness
of their crimes, had caused a mighty coil in the town of Edinburgh and
in the country round about. So that all the time of the trial there was
a constant hum about the doors--now a continuous murmur that forced its
way within, and now a louder roar as the doors were opened and shut by
the officers of the court. Also, in order to show themselves busybodies,
these pot-bellied stripe-jackets went and came every minute or two,
pushing right and left with their halberts, which the poor folk had very
peaceably to abide as best they might.
But the disposition of the rabble of the city was a marvel to me. For
being stirred up by the Bargany folk and by the Earl of Dunbar, Mure's
well-wisher, it was singularly unfriendly to us. So that we were almost
feared that the criminals might, after all, be let off by the overawing
of the assize that sat upon the case. But finally, as it happened,
those who were chosen assize-men were mostly landward gentlemen of stout
hearts and no subjection to the clamour of the vulgar--such, indeed, as
should ever be placed upon the hearing of justice, not mere bodies of
the Luckenbooths, who, if they give the verdict against the popular
voice, are liable to have their shops and stalls plundered. And James
Scrymgeour of Dudhope, a good man, was made the chancellor of the jury.
There were many of the great Lords of Session on the bench. For a case
so important and notable had not been tried for years, and the Lords of
Secret Council appointed my Lord President himself to be in the chief
place in his robes, as well as five other justices in his company, that
the dittay might be heard with all equal mind and with great motion of
solemnity.
It was eleven by the clock when the judges were ushered in, Sir John
Fenton of Fentonbarns, Lord President, coming first and sitting in the
midst.
Then the crier of the court shouted, 'Way for His Majesty--for King
James the Sext make way!'
And all the people rose up while King James was coming in. He sat upon
the bench with the justices indeed, but a little way apart, as having by
law no share in their deliberations. Nevertheless he was all the time
writing and passing pieces of white paper to them, whereat they bowed
very courteously back to him. But whether they took any notice of their
import I know not.
Then the prisoners were brought in. John Mure the elder, with his grey
hair and commanding presence, looked out of from beneath his eyebrows
like a lion ignominiously beset. James Mure the younger came after his
father, a heavy, loutish, ignorant man, but somewhat paled with his
bloody handling at the instance of the Lords of Secret Council. Also in
accordance with the promise of Earl John in the matter of the finding of
the cave, James Bannatyne of Chapeldonnan was not set up for trial along
with them, which was a wonder to many and an outcry to some of the
evilly affected.
Then the court being set, the dittay was read solemnly by a very
fair-spoken and courteous gentleman, Thomas Hamilton of Byres, the
King's advocate. He spoke in a soft voice as if he were courting a
lady. And whenever he addressed a word to the prisoners, it was as if
he had been their dearest friend, and grieved that they should thus
stand in jeopardy of their lives.
Yet, or so it seemed to me, John Mure was ever his match, and answered
him without a moment's hesitancy.
Then, after the advocate's opening, the evidence was led. They called
upon me first to arise. And I declare that my knees trembled and shook
as they never did before the shock of battle. So that only the sight of
Nell's pale face and my mother holding her hand, at all gave me any
shred of courage. But, nevertheless, I went, with my tall, blue-banded
hat in hand and my Damascus sword by my side, to the stance. And there
I told all that I had seen--first of the murder at the Chapel of St
Leonards, with the matter of the Grey Man who sat his horse a little way
apart among the sandhills. Yet could I not declare on mine oath that I
knew of a certainty that this man was the accused John Mure of
Auchendrayne. Though as between man and man I was wholly assured of it.
I told also of the sending of the letter and of the confusion of the lad
upon his return from the house of Auchendrayne, and of all the other
matter which came under my observation, even as I have detailed them in
this history, but more briefly. Then a tall, thin, leathery man, Sir
John Russell the name of him, advocate for the Mures, stood up and tried
to shake me in my averments. But he could not--no, nor any other man.
For I wasted no thought on what I ought to say, but out with the plain
truth. So that he could not break down the impregnable wall of the
thing that was, neither make me say that which was not.
Then there came one after the other the Dominie, Meg Dalrymple, Robert
Harburgh, and lastly my own Nell. But they had little more to tell than
I had told at the first, till the herald of the court cried out for
Marjorie Mure, or Kennedy, called in the pleas the younger lady of
Auchendrayne.
Then, pale as a lily flower is pale, clad in white, and with her hair
daintily and smoothly braided, she rose and gave her hand to my Lord
Cassillis, who brought her with all dignity and observance to the
witness stance. So firmly she stood within it, that she seemed a figure
of some goddess done in alabaster, the like of that which I had once
seen at the entering in of the King's palace at Holy rood House.
There was the stillest silence while Marjorie told her tale. The King
stood up in his place, with his hat on his head, to look at her. The
judges gazed as though they had seen a ghost. But in an even voice she
related all the terrible story, making it clear as crystal, till there
stood out the full wickedness of the unparalleled murders.
'You are the wife of James Mure, the younger prisoner,' said the man of
leather, the advocate Russell,; 'how then do you appear to give evidence
against him?'
'I was first the daughter of Thomas Kennedy of Culzean, whom these men
slew!' said she.
And this was her sole answer. The lawyers for the defence, as was their
duty, tried to make it out that her evidence was prejudiced, and so to
shake it. But the King broke out upon them, 'No more than we are all
prejudiced against foul murder!'
So they were silenced. But the judges were manifestly ill at ease, and
shifted in their seats--for even the King had not liberty of speech in
that place. Yet no man said him nay, because he was the King, and, save
it were Maister Robert Bruce, not many cared to brook his sudden violent
rages.
Then was entered James Bannatyne, who had been brought to confession (in
what fashion it boots not to inquire), and he in his turn detailed, line
by line, all the iniquity. So it seemed that now the net was indeed
woven about the cruel plotters. But my Lord President, by the King's
authority, was instant with the prisoners to confess the murdering of
Sir Thomas and of the other--yea, even offering his life (but no more)
to either of them who would reveal the matter, and tell who were
complices in the conspiracy.
And I think James Mure the younger was a little moved at this offer, for
I saw him very plainly move and shift the hand that was upon his head.
His father watched him with a sharp eye, and once set his manacled wrist
upon his son's shoulder, as it had been to encourage him to remain firm.
He himself stood erect and undaunted all the time of the trial, like a
tower of ancient strength, while his son sat upon a stool with his back
against the bars of the box, as it seemed careless of the crimes which
were alleged against him. He had not even lifted his eyes when his wife
Marjorie went into the place of witnessing.
At last it was all over, and the men of the jury spoke earnestly
together, while John Mure watched them with his lionlike eyes shining
from under his hassock of grey hair. The King sat impatiently drumming
his hands upon a rail. He would have liked, I could see, to go over to
confer with them. But even King Jamie had hardly dared so much as that.
After a short space for consultation their president of assize, Sir
James Scrymgeour, stood up in the body of the court with a little paper
in his hand,
'King's lieges all, are ye agreed in your verdict?' asked my Lord
President.
'We are,' said Sir James, firmly.
'And what is your finding?'
There was a great and mighty silence so that the anxious tapping of the
King's fingers on the wooden bench could be heard.
'We find them both GUILTY--' said Sir James.
He would have said more in due form, but there was a thunderous shout
from all the Westland folk that were in the hall, so that no more could
be heard. But the King was seen upon his feet commanding silence, and
the macers of the court struck here and there among them that shouted.
Then when the tumult within was a little hushed, my Lord President rose
to pronounce sentence. But he had scarce opened his mouth, when there
came through the open windows the angry roaring of the mob without. For
the news had already reached them, and Dunbar and others were busily
employed stirring them up to make a tumult on behalf of the murderers.
My Lord President had a noble voice and the words of condemnation came
clear and solemn from him, so that they were heard above the din by
every ear in the hall--ay, and even as far as the outer port.
'We discern and adjudge John Mure of Auchendrayne and James Mure his son
and apparent heir to be ta'en to the Mercat Cross of Edinburgh, and
there their heads to be stricken from their bodies--as being culpable
and convict of many treasonable and heinous crimes. Which is pronounced
for DOOM!'
And when the officers had removed the prisoners, Marjorie Kennedy walked
forth from the hall of judgment, as silent and composed as though she
had been coming out of the kirk on a still summer's morning with her
Bible in her hand.
*CHAPTER L*
*THE LAST OF THE GREY MAN*
It was the morn of the execution. Justice, delayed for long, was that
day to let fall its sword. We of the Cassillis colours mustered in the
dead of the night, for there was no force save the City Guard within the
walls. And we had recently had overly many proofs how little these men
could do with the unruly commons of Edinburgh if it pleased them to be
turbulent. So it had come to be bruited abroad, that there was an
intent to prevent the execution and deliver the murderers out of the
hands of justice.
But we were resolved that this should not be. So, as was our bounden
duty, we armed us to support the right and to keep the King's peace
against all riotous law-breakers. The Earl gave to me the command of one
half of the band, reserving the other for himself. And already he
called me Sir Launcelot, though I had not yet received the
acknowledgment of knighthood from the King.
At the first break of day it was to be done. Of this we had private
notice from the turnkey of the Tolbooth.
I had worked earnestly upon my mother and Nell that they should abide
from the business--which was, indeed, not for womankind to see. Though
I knew that there would be many there, ay, even dames gentle of degree.
But my father marched with me.
'Shall I put my harness off me,' said he, 'when there is a chance of a
tumult, and of the defeating of the solemn justice of Providence and of
King James? God forbid! Wife, help me on with my jack.'
So I placed my father in my own command, and I set him in the second
rank with Hugh of Kirriemore beside him and Robert Harburgh in front of
him, where I judged he would not come to any great harm. And we
Kennedies had the King's private permission thus to come through the
town under arms. When we arrived at the place the tall scaffold had
already been set up at the cross, and even ere we arrayed us first about
it, many a candle had begun to wink here and there in the tall windows
of the High Street.
The Earl was to command a second strong guard from the prison port to
the scaffold, lest the rabble should try to overwhelm the City Guard and
the marshal's men as they convoyed the prisoners to the place of
execution.
Thus we of the first band stood grimly to our arms a long time after the
gloaming of the morning began. The hum of the folk gathering surrounded
us. There was, however, little pleasance or laughing, as there is at an
ordinary heading or hanging; and that did not betoken good, for when the
populace is silent, it is plotting. This much I had learned in my long
service and afterwards as a knight-at-arms. Therefore I hold it the
true wisdom to strike ere the many-headed can bite. That, at least, is
my thought of it.
Slowly and slowly three or four dark figures on the scaffold grew
clearer to our eyes, till we could see the headsman and his assistants
waiting patiently for their work to be brought to them. The chief of
these was a man mighty of his arms. He had a black mask upon his face,
and was naked even to the waist. A leathern apron like a smith's was
done about his loins, and he stood leaning his broad axe upon the block.
The sun was just beginning to redden the clouds in the east, when the
door of the Tolbooth fell open with a loud noise. At the very same
moment the rooks and jackdaws arose in a perfect cloud from the
pinnacles of St Giles as well as from the whole city. And in a black
clanging cloud they drifted seaward. Which was looked upon as a marvel
by them that watched for freits. For they said, 'These be John Mure's
devils that have forsaken him.' And, indeed, whether there was aught in
it or no, certain is it that the birds came not back for many days. At
least, not to my seeing, but then I was much occupied with other
matters.
As the procession came out, the Earl John and his men filed on either
side in a triple line, with the axe-men of the guard marching close
about the prisoners. John Mure walked first in his grey cloak, but
bareheaded, striding reverend and strong before all. Behind him came
his son. And hand in hand with him (O marvel of marvels!) was she that
had been in name his wife, even Marjorie Kennedy. And as they came, the
light grew clearer. There seemed to be almost a smile upon the Lady
Marjorie's face. And James Mure listened intently as she spoke low and
steadily to him.
For Marjorie had in these days become (as it seemed) a woman removed
from us, supported by no earthly food. For none touched her lips, her
strength being upheld by some power from above; at least, so I think.
She had received permission from the King to be with her husband in his
last hours.
'I have fulfilled the Lord's justice, for my duty was laid upon me,' she
said, 'but I would not kill both body and soul.'
How she effected it I know not; but certain it is that during the weeks
of waiting she had won James Mure in some sort to contrition and prayer.
And now with his hand in hers, they walked together along the short way
to the scaffold foot; but old John Mure strode scornfully on before,
heedful neither of man nor woman. And I swear that I could not but in
some measure admire at him, devil of cruelty as he was.
They climbed the scaffold--John Mure calmly as though he were leading a
lady to a banquet table--but his son faltered and had fallen at the
ladder foot, save for the hand of Marjorie, who walked in white by his
side, accompanying him faithfully to his end.
'I am his wife,' she said. 'It was I who brought him to this. Ye will
not twain me from him on this day of shame. Never have I owned James
Mure as my husband before, but I own him now.' These were her words,
when the captain of the guard was instant with her to depart home.
And I declare that the doomed man looked at her with something like a
beast's dumb gratitude in his eyes, which, when you think on it, is a
thing marvellous enough. And I ask not that it shall be believed. Yet
I saw it, and will at any time uphold the truth of it with my sword if
need be.
At last they stood upon the scaffold platform, and the headsman made
ready. Then there sounded above the mingled roar of the multitude the
blowing of a trumpet. And the King's gay favourite, the Duke of Lennox,
rode to the foot of the stage. He had a paper in his hand.
'A pardon! A pardon!' yelled the people.
My heart gave a great leap and stood still.
'They never dare!' cried I. 'Lads, stand firm. If the King hath
pardoned the murderers, shall we of the West? Will ye follow me, lads?'
And they whispered back, 'Ay, that we will. We will help you to do
justice upon them. The Mures shall never leave this place alive, though
we all die also. We shall not go back to Carrick, shamed by these men's
lives.'
So we arranged it, if by any chance there should be news of a reprieve.
For it was by singular good hap that we were the only company under arms
in the city, save the few men of the Town Guard.
But when Lennox made his way to the scaffold, we heard another way of
it. I was almost underneath the staging upon the front, and heard that
which was said, almost every word.
'The King to you two traitors about to die,' he read. 'His Majesty
desires greatly to be informed of the certainty of these things whereof
you have been accused, and for which you have been justly condemned--the
murder of Sir Thomas Kennedy, the matter of the bloody dagger thrown at
the Red House, the Treasure of Kelwood, and its taking out of the
changehouse on the Red Moss. His Majesty the King offers life and his
clemency in a perpetual exile upon some warded isle, to the first of you
that will reveal the whole matter.'
The King's favourite ceased his reading, and looked at the condemned
men.
And John Mure in his plain grey cloak, which he had not yet laid aside,
looked askance at Lennox, who shone like a butterfly in gay colours,
being tricked out in the latest fitful extravagancies of fashion.
'We shall be grateful to His Majesty all our lives,' said he,
sneeringly, 'but the Solomon of Scotland is so wise that he can easily
certify himself of the truth of these things without our poor aid.'
But James Mure the younger, where he stood with his wife by his side,
seemed a little struck with the message, and began to listen with
interest.
'Read that again,' he said to Lennox, abruptly.
And Lennox, prinking and preening him like a gay-feathered Indian bird
in my lady's bower, read the King's mandate over again.
John Mure watched his son with the eye of a crouching wild cat. The
younger man was about to utter something, when his father said quickly
to Lennox, 'I pray thee, my Lord Duke, may I speak with you a moment
apart? I am the first to accept the offer!'
And with that they came both of them to the side of the scaffold where I
was on guard, leaving James Mure standing with drooping head by the
block.
'Hark ye, my lord,' said Auchendrayne the elder, 'thy master's terms are
fair enough to be offered to a dying man on the scaffold. I will take
them. But on condition that my son be executed before I reveal the
secret. For there are but two of us left, and we have been close to one
another all our lives. I would not, therefore, have my son think that
I, being an old man, for the sake of a year or two of longer life, would
reveal those matters for which he has already suffered the torture of
the extreme question, with so great constancy both in the King's inquest
chamber and before the Lords of Secret Council.'
'That is easily arranged,' said Lennox, dusting at his doublet. 'I have
but to give the word to the executioner, and he will do his duty first
upon your son. Then he will halt till you have accepted the King's
mercy, and given pledge and earnest of full revelations concerning these
hidden and mysterious matters.'
This was Lennox's customary manner of speaking--as he had learned it in
the English Court, with womanish conceits and a flood of words and
gestures. And as he spoke he smiled upon John Mure, as though the old
grey man in the cloak and reverend beard had been some young and
easy-virtued dame of the Court.
And so taken up with himself was he, that he did not observe the
basilisk look which the arch-conspirator turned upon him.
Lennox held up his hand to the executioner.
'In the King's name,' he cried to the man in the mask, 'do thine office
upon the younger first, and speedily.'
'These are not my orders!' quoth he in the mask, curtly.
Lennox flashed a little ebon staff, with a golden crown set upon the
summit, before his eyes.
'Would'st thou argie-bargie with me?' he said, 'then right soon another
shall take thy bishopric and (as thou dost others) shalt shepherd thee
to Hades.'
Whereat Marjorie, robed in her clear-shining white, took the hand of
James Mure, the man that was about to die.
'Husband,' said she, calmly, 'I have asked pardon for thee from God--do
thou also ask it now, ere swift death take thee. Ask it both from God
and man.'
For she had been his ministrant angel in the prison. And her own heart
being changed--vengeance in the drinking not seeming so sweet a cup as
it had appeared in the mixing. She had also won the sullen mechanic
heart of him, who, according to the law of the land, had been so long
her husband. She had showed him the way to a certain sum of faith,
penitence, and hope. Which, perchance, he snatched at, not so much for
themselves, but as the best things which were left to him.
'James, won thou forth on thy way. Fear not! Thou shalt not be long
alone,' she said to him.
And, staggering a little, he moved across the scaffold. He would have
fallen but that Marjorie set his hand upon her shoulder and put her arm
about him. So he came forward stumbling like a man in sore sickness, as
doubtless he was.
'I am a sinful man,' he said, so that some, at least, could hear him.
'Pray for me, good people. Keep your hands from blood, as I have not
kept mine. And, Marjorie, though thou didst never love me, love me now,
and bide with me till I die.'
'Fear not,' she said; 'I will stand beside thee, and not only here. I
have a message that I shall right soon be called to journey with thee
further, meeting thee somewhere by the way that thou must go.'
And calling him again 'sweet brother' and 'James,' she laid down his
neck upon the block, and with one blow the headsman featly did his
office. But Marjorie stood still and received the poor head in a decent
napkin after the masked man had held it up.
John Mure looked at her and at her son all the time, and an evil and
contemptuous light shone in his eyes.
'Madam,' he said, 'it had done no harm had you begun your care and
attendance somewhat earlier. Ye might have made a decent preacher out
of James. He was never muckle worth for aught else.'
Then Lennox came forward again with his paper.
'Now, John Mure,' he said, 'we have done according to your desire. Ye
will now, I doubt not, having seen the end and reward of iniquity in the
person of your son, accept His Majesty's so marvellous clemency, and be
content to reveal all the matter.'
He came a little near to the old man, airily whisking his paper with his
forefinger.
John Mure waved him aside with one hand, and held his nose with the
other.
'Pah! Get apart from me, civet cat!' he cried. 'Think ye that I will
have any dealings with you or with your dullard fool master, King
Baggy-breeches. I saw that ye might, perchance, were I first turned to
dead clay and lappered blood, chance to get something out of James
there. I saw him look somewhat too eagerly on your reprieve, for much
belated domesticity had turned him soft. So I played with you. And
now, wot ye well, ye shall know nothing from me that your precious
Solomon of asses cannot divine for himself!'
He took off his cloak of grey and lace collar, baring his neck for the
dead stroke.
'Stay,' he said to Lennox. 'Since your wise King is so curious. Here
is a history of divers matters that may interest your master. It may do
him some good.'
The new minister of Edinburgh, a soft-spoken, King-fearing man, came
near. John Mure looked at him.
'Of what religion art thou?' he asked. 'Ay, verily, of the King's
religion. Were my time not so circumscribed, I would have at thee with
texts, thou time-serving rogue. Ay, and would swinge thee with them
soundly, too.'
'In what religion dost thou die?' said the minister. For it was a
customary question in those days, when men were forced to live and die
on the borderland of many creeds.
John Mure smiled as he bent his head to the block.
'Of the ancientest persuasion,' said he, 'for I am ready to believe in
any well-disposed god whom I may chance to meet in my pilgriming. But
in none will I believe till I do meet him. Nevertheless do thou, like a
wise, silly bishop, stick to the King and thy printed book!'
Which saying was remembered when the minister was afterward made a
bishop by the King's favour.
With these words, John Mure threw out his hands with a sharp jerk--for
that was the customary signal. The broad axe rose and fell, flashing in
the sun a moment ere it crashed dully upon the block. The Westland men
gave a shout, and the heathen spirit of John Mure of Auchendrayne,
carrying such a load of sin and bloodshedding as never soul did before
or since, fared forth alone to its own place.
*CHAPTER LI*
*MARJORIE'S GOOD-NIGHT*
Even as the axe was falling, Marjorie Kennedy sank down upon the
platform of the scaffold, as though the stroke had fallen upon her. I
sheathed my sword, and sprang upon the slippery stage to hold her up.
When I took her in my arms she was soft and pliable in all her limbs
like a little child. Till now she had been like a woman of steel, or
rather like one carven in alabaster, as I have said. But now she lay in
my arms like a new-born babe on the nurse's lap.
We carried her homeward, making strangely enough for some distance but
one procession with the bodies which were going to be buried without the
wall, while the heads were taken to be set on the pikes of the Nether
Bow.
To the Earl John's own lodging we brought her, and in a room with a wide
north-looking window we laid her down on a bed. Then we stood silently
about her, Nell and I being nearest.
In a little while Marjorie turned her head to the window. The sun had
risen on the sea. A north wind was blowing. All was very blue, and
smacked of the morning freshness, for the window was open, and the sea
air blew off the firth almost as salt it was wont to blow in at the
windows of Culzean.
Thrice she moved her lips to speak, but till the fourth time no word
came.
'I have done the work appointed,' she said, 'I ken not if I have done it
right.'
She paused a little, and her eyes, as she looked at the sea, were very
wide and wistful.
'It is a hard saying that "Vengeance is His." I thought it would be
sweet--sweet,' she said, 'but now in the mouth it is bitter.'
'Hush thee, Marjorie,' whispered my Nell; 'it was the justice of God
upon the murderers of our father.'
And I thought that she spoke well.
But Marjorie waved her aside.
'Like enough,' she answered, quietly, as one that has not strength to
argue, but yet holds the contrary opinion. 'Done, at least, is
Marjorie's task. I journey forth to take my wages. Fare you well.'
She turned her face a little outward so that she could look upon the sea
and the Fife Lomonds.
'A dearer shore,' she said, softly, and then she started a little,
quickly as if she had waked from sleep.
'Where am I?' she asked.
But ere we could answer--even Nell, who stood close beside her and
stroked her brow with a soft hand, she went on,--
'Oh, what am I saying? I was thinking on our garden at Culzean, with
its rose walks and the sweet dreaming scent of the sea?'
She looked up at me, as it had been almost archly, yet so as almost to
break my heart.
'Launcelot, lad,' she said, 'hast thou thy gage that I gave thee there?
Ye thought me once to be sweet. And I liked you, laddie, I liked
you--with something just an inch on the hither side of loving. But now
Nelly will love thee a mile on the further side. Come you, Nell,' she
said, beckoning her, 'brave, sweet sister! Let not thy sharp tongue
longer injure thy warm heart. Give me your hand, little sister Nelly.
Where is it? I cannot see--for the bright shining light.'
And finding Nell's hand she put it into mine across the bed.
'Good-night, bairns,' she said, 'even so keep them till the world ends!'
Then for a short space she was silent, and when she spoke again it was
very low, so that none save Nell and I could hear. But the words made
us tingle as we caught them.
'Gilbert,' she was saying in a whisper, clear and distinct, 'is it not
sweet to walk thus hand in hand on the green meadows? Are not the
spring flowers sweet, lad of my love? Shall I sing thee a song about
them? For, though thou know'st it not, I can sing both high and low.'
Then she spoke as it had been liltingly and gladsomely.
'Gilbert, let me set this spray of the bonny birk above thine heart.
Methinks it hath a strange look. I kenned not that it grew in this
countryside.'
She broke into a weird lilt of song that sent the tears hasting to our
eyes. But Marjorie was smiling as she never smiled on me, and that made
me weep the more.
_'It neither grew in syke nor ditch_
_Nor yet in any sheuch,_
_But at the gates o' Paradise,_
_That birk grew fair eneuch.'_
'Gilbert, Gilbert,' she said lovingly, crooning like one that is
caressed, 'is not this right winsome? That we are walking here together
on the living green--with all our fashes, all our troubles left quite
behind us. There was surely something long ago that wearied us,
something that parted us and twained us. I cannot mind what it was. I
shall not try to remember. But, love of mine, it shall separate us no
more for ever and ever!'
Her voice had almost gone. But once again it came louder.
'Keep my hand, Gilbert,' she said, trembling a little, 'there is a mist
coming up over the green betwixt me and the sunshine--a cold, cold mist
from the sea. But keep thou my hand, dear love, clasp it tighter, and
it will pass over.'