The missing Lady Beatrice.
Whilst preparations are making for the duel, it may not be improper to
relieve the reader’s mind regarding the Lady Beatrice, who had thus
unwittingly become the subject of a feud likely to terminate so
fatally. After having providentially effected her escape, first from
the flames of the Hospital of the Maison Dieu, and then from the base
and treacherous protection of Sir Andrew Stewart, she fled through the
garden, and, being bewildered by a complication of terrors, she ran she
knew not whither, and unwittingly taking the direction of the town,
rushed wildly through the streets. Terror-struck by the blaze of the
Cathedral and the shouts of those who were engaged in its destruction,
some of whom her fears led her to imagine had joined in the pursuit
which she believed Sir Andrew Stewart still held after her, she darted
onwards with inconceivable rapidity, until she passed quite through the
town. A little beyond its western entrance, she beheld a light at some
distance before her, and believing that it proceeded from the casement
of some cottage, she sprang towards it with renewed exertion. To her
great disappointment, it turned out to be one of those lamps kept
burning within a shrine of the Virgin that stood by the wayside. She
sank down exhausted before the image it contained, and clasping her
hands together, implored protection from her whom the figure
represented.
While she was occupied in devotion, she heard the distant tramp of a
horse. At first she was doubtful of the reality of the sound,
confounded as it was with the far-off shouts of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s
people; but it soon became too distinct to be mistaken. It came not
very quick, however, and she had yet time to flee. Filled with fresh
alarm, she again sprang to her feet; but, alas! their strength was
gone. Her limbs refused to do their office, and, tottering for a step
or two, she again sank down on the ground, under the half shadow at the
base of the little Gothic building. As she fell the horseman came on.
He halted in doubt whether that which he beheld sink so strangely was
corporeal or spiritual. His horse, too, seemed to partake of his alarm;
for when he tried to urge the animal to pass by, he snorted and backed,
and could not be persuaded or compelled to advance by any means the
rider could use.
Meanwhile, the Lady Beatrice, believing that the man who rode the horse
had halted for the purpose of dismounting, lay trembling with
apprehension that Sir Andrew Stewart was about to seize her. Fear
robbed her for some moments of recollection, from which temporary
stupor she was roused by feeling her waist powerfully encircled by two
arms of no pigmy size or strength, upon which she screamed aloud and
fainted away.
When the Lady Beatrice regained her recollection, she found herself
seated on the saddle, and travelling at a good round pace. She was held
in her place, and supported by the same sinewy arms, which were also
employed in guiding the reins, and pressing on the steed.
“Mercy, mercy, Sir Andrew Stewart,” shrieked she; “oh, whither dost
thou carry me?”
“St. Lowry be praised that thou hast gathered thysel back frae the
warld o’ sauls, my leddy! Of a truth I did greatly fear that thy spirit
had yode thither.”
“Merciful Providence, Rory Spears!” cried the Lady Beatrice, almost
doubting the evidence of her ears. “The holy Virgin be praised, if it
be thee indeed!”
“Yea, in good truth, it is assuredly me, Roderick Spears, esquire, at
the humble service of thy leddyship,” replied Rory.
“Then thanks be to the blessed Virgin, I am safe!” replied Beatrice.
“Safe!” cried Rory; “yea, as safe as the bold heart of ane esquire can
make thee. Trust me, they sall take measure o’ ane ell and ane half o’
this lance that hangs ahint me here, that may essay to do thee aught o’
harm between this and Tarnawa, whither my shalty Brambleberry shall
speedily convey us.”
“May the saints unite to shower their blessings upon thee, Rory, for
thy timely aid!” cried the Lady Beatrice; “but how, I pray thee, didst
thou chance to rescue me from the power of Sir Andrew Stewart?”
“What!” cried Rory, “so that ill-doing, misbegotten fumart hath been
besetting thee again with this accursed traiterie. By St. Lowrie, but I
did ance tak measure o’ him afore.”
“Yea, he encountered me as I did escape from the flames of the Maison
Dieu, and he pursued me to the shrine of the Virgin, where he was in
the act of laying his impure hands on me, when I did faint away.”
“Na, troth, my leddy,” said Rory, “the hands that war laid on thee war
my hands; and, though I should speak weel o’ that the which be’s mine
ain, I do boldly avow that they are purer than the scartin’ claws o’
that mouldwarp, although they hae handled mony a foul fish, and I wad
be sair ashamed an they waur no teucher. It was me that took haud o’
ye, my leddy, and I made bauld to do that same (being ane esquire) that
I might succour ye, distressed damsel that thou wert, by lifting thy
dead body into the saddle, that wi’ a sair heart I mought bring thee
aff to Tarnawa, where, an thou didst not recover thee, thou mightest
have had ane honourable yirdin’.”
“But tell me, I pray thee, how thou didst chance to come there?”
demanded Beatrice.
“I’ll tell thee,” said Rory. “My master, the Yearl, did send me to
Aberdeen wi’ a flight o’ falcons he had promised till the King’s
Majesty; so I hae been there, yea, and did behold his Royal Grace afore
he depairted for his Palace of Scone. I wot he was weel pleased wi’ the
birds, and he did show me the fair side o’ his Royal favour for
bringing them, partly, nae doot, for the sake o’ my noble master the
Yearl o’ Moray, and partly, I do opine, because I am noo an esquire
admitted and acknowledged, the which the King himsel did alswa most
graciously confirm out o’ his ain mouth. For, says he to me, ‘Squire
Rory,’ says he, ‘are the falcons well mewed, and hast thou reclaimed
them to purpose?’ To the which I did answer, ‘Try ye them, my Royal
Liege, and ye’ll see gin there be ony Royal hern that’ll mount wi’
them. Trust me, my Lord King, that they have a wing that will carry
them up to the very riggin’ o’ the lift, an ye can find a hern that
’ill gang there before them.’ The king gied a most gracious laugh
thereupon, and so I did laugh too, and the Lords did laugh. At length
the King telled ane o’ his fouk to see that Squire Roderick Spears was
well feasted; and so I was in good troth, yea, and got handsome gurdeon
I rauckon alswa. So, as I was on my way back from Aberdeen, I stopped
late yestreen at the Spital o’ the Mason’s Due; but I had not lain long
asleep until I was startled to my legs by the cry o’ fire, and the
flames bursting out. I hurried on some of my garments, and grupping the
rest in my hands, I made the best o’ my way to the stable; but there I
could not get in for lack o’ the key. It was firm fast, and I had hard
wark, I wis, till I could get something to break it open wi’. Then did
I ride through a’ the town to see what destruction the Wolfe o’
Badenoch was doing. But as I was but ae man, and that it would ill
become me to find faut wi’ the son o’ the King or the brother o’ my
leddy Countess, I cam aff hot foot to tell the Yearl. So seeing thee
moving in the light yonder, I maun just say, that, at the first, I did
opine that thou wert something not o’ this warld; and had it not been
for Brambleberry here, who would by no means pass thee by, and whose
good sense therein did gie me time to see that thou were nae ghost,
verily thou mightst ha’e lain there still for me.”
Under the protection of the faithful Rory Spears, the Lady Beatrice
arrived safely at Tarnawa, where she was joyfully received by the
Countess. Her converse with the Franciscan had been enough to inform
her of the pleasing fact that she was indeed the daughter of the Lord
of Dirleton; and the happy Jane de Vaux learned this much from her with
a rapture that melted Beatrice’s heart with emotions of delight she had
never before experienced. To her, who had grown up without knowing
aught of the affectionate regard of a near relation, how soothing must
have been the pure embrace of a sister, of a sister too who had already
shown herself to be the kindest of friends. But the joy of Jane de Vaux
and the Countess of Moray, who had fully participated in the felicity
of her young friend, was converted into extreme anxiety about Beatrice,
who was seized with a severe illness, the effect of the fatigue,
shipwreck, dread, and agitation to which she had lately been exposed.
To add to their distress, the Earl of Moray had been gone from home for
some days. It is no wonder, then, that the Countess and the Lady Jane
de Vaux should have been too much occupied with their patient to think
of making inquiry about her uncle the Franciscan; nor was it until the
Earl returned that he did what they should have done before; and then
it was they learned from the Bishop of Moray that the friar had gone on
his important mission to the Wolfe of Badenoch.