THE BETROTHAL.
O love, when womanhood is in the flush,
And man's a young and an unspotted thing!
His first-breathed word and her half conscious blush
Are fair as light in heaven,--as flowers in spring--
The first hour of true love is worth our worshipping.
THE MAID OF ELVAR.
The red evening sun was setting, and his rays piercing the
half-stripped trees of Bruntisfield fell on the old mossy dial-stone,
which they never reached through the thick foliage of summer. It was
about the hour of five, and the western sky shed a crimson glow over
the whole landscape; the Loch lay calm and unruffled as a vast sheet
of polished crystal, reflecting in its bright surface the ruddy
clouds, the blue sky, and the bordering trees, whose foliage was now
assuming the warm tints of Autumn, presenting alternately the darkest
green, the brightest yellow, and most russet brown. The fallen
leaves rustled among the withered sedges of the lake, and the wild
swan, the black duck, and the water hen floated double "bird and
shadow" on its surface, while the tall heron waded among the eel-arks
that lay half hidden by the reeds and water-lilies at the margin.
The rustle of the dark brown woods and the deepening gloom of the
hills, marked the decline of the day and year, and Walter's heart
became chilled and sad as he galloped up the long dark avenue, which
was strewed with the spoil of the passed summer--that happy summer
which had passed away for ever.
Lilian sat within the deep bay of a window in the chamber-of-dais,
busily embroidering Walter's long-promised scarf: it was of blue
velvet, having thistles of silver worked with St. Andrew's crosses
alternately. For many weeks her nimble little fingers had plied the
needle on it, and now it was nearly finished. The tramp of hoofs
made her look down the far-stretching avenue, which, with its arching
elms and sturdy oaks, formed a long vista to the eastward, where it
was terminated by an ancient and grass-tufted archway; beyond it, the
bluff craigs of Salisbury and Arthur's ridgy cone mellowed in the
distance, shone redly in the light of the setting sun, above the
green and waving woods.
The blood rushed to Lilian's snowy temples: she sprang from her seat,
her eyes beaming with delight, which rapidly gave place to surprise
on observing the hurried and disordered air of Walter, who was minus
cloak and plume. Never before had he come on horseback, and her mind
misgave her there was something wrong.
She cast a timid glance at Aunt Grisel. Lulled by an old and
favourite ditty, which for the thousandth time the affectionate
Lilian had sung to her, the old lady had fallen fast asleep in her
great leathern chair, with her relaxed hand on the spinning-wheel,
the gay silver and ivory virrels of which glittered in the light of
the cheerful fire. She slept profoundly.
Lilian threw on her hood and hurried to the door, where Walter had
dismounted, and was in the act of slipping his snaffle-rein through
one of the numerous rings in the wall, necessary appendages to the
door of a manor-house, and quite as requisite as the
"louping-on-stane" in those days, when every visitor of consideration
came on horseback.
With a charming mixture of frankness and timidity, the blushing girl
held out both her hands in welcome to her lover; but there was a
sadness in his smile that made the colour leave her cheek and the
lustre fade in her eye.
"Lilian--dear Madam--Lilian, I see you for the last time!" he
exclaimed, as he took her hands in his, and raised them to his lips.
"The last time?" reiterated Lilian, faintly.
"Oh, are not these sad and bitter words? But so it is, Lilian; the
fatal hour has come--our dream is over. We march for England
to-morrow. The Dutch invaders are on the ocean, and in the hearts
and swords of his faithful soldiers poor King James can alone rely in
the struggle that is to come."
"O, Walter, what horror is this?"
"All the land is on the alert. A red beacon will blaze to-night from
Arthur's rocky peak, and from Stirling in the west, to the Ochils in
the north, will be sent tidings that will rouse the distant clans,
and all Scotland will arise in arms. But oh! how adverse will be the
motives of many who draw the sword! I have come to bid you adieu,
Lilian--a long adieu, for many a battle must be fought and won ere
again I stand on the threshold of your home--this happy home--the
memory of which will cheer me through many a melancholy hour."
"Ah, Walter, the horrors of Aunt Grisel's girlhood are again come
upon us. What a sudden blow it is! We have been so happy--and you
go--." Tears choked her utterance.
"This instant, Lilian," said Walter, overpowered at the sight of her
tears; "this instant. God! I have only a few minutes to spare even
to bid you adieu."
"And Lady Grisel, too," said Lilian, in a breathless voice, for she
was too artless to conceal her deep emotion; "she to whom you have
always been so kind, so attentive--you surely will bid her adieu?"
"I could not be so ungrateful as to omit such a duty; but, dear
Lilian, let us walk once more in the garden--you know our favourite
place, by the old mossy fountain. Ah, Lilian, refuse me not," urged
Walter, who saw that she trembled and hesitated. "I have much to say
that I must not leave unsaid, for never again (how bitter are these
words!) _never again_ may an opportunity come to me; never again may
I bend my eyes on yours, or hear the sound of your voice--oh,
Lilian--"
Never had Walter trusted himself so far: he was earnest, impetuous,
and confused. Lilian glanced timidly at his sparkling eyes, and then
at the darkening woods, and, trembling between love and timidity,
permitted him to draw her arm through his, and lead her into the
ancient garden, the thick holly hedges of which entirely screened
them from observation.
The heart of Lilian foreboded that a scene was to ensue; but a spell
was upon her, a power which she could not resist threw a chain of
delight and fear around her, and bound her to the side of Walter.
She seemed to be in a dream: the very air grew palpable, and she felt
only the beating of her little heart. Equally wishing and dreading
the coming denouement, she was almost unconscious of whither Walter
led her.
He, poor fellow! was something in the same frame of mind. Though he
had full time to rally his thoughts, reflection served but to make
him more confused, and instead of the passionate avowal which, a
moment ago, had trembled on his lips, his intense respect for Lilian
brought him down to the merest commonplace, and again the favorite
words of Finland came truthfully home to his mind, "the girl one
loves is greater than an Empress."
"It is very sad to think that--that peradventure we are walking here
for the last time," said he.
This was not quite what Lilian expected, and somewhat reassured, she
murmured a polite reply.
"You will not forget me when I am far, far away from you, Lilian?"
"Oh, no--how could I forget?" said she, bending her timid eyes kindly
and sadly upon him. There was a charm in her answer that bewildered
her lover, and, unable to resist longer the ardour and impulses of
his heart, he threw an arm around her, and, pressing her right hand
to his breast, exclaimed, in a voice that trembled with emotion,
"I love you, Lilian--I have dared to love you long--oh, may I hope
you will forgive me?"
He paused; but Lilian could make no reply. An instant she was pale,
then a deep blush crimsoned her cheek; her long lashes veiled her
humid eyes--and for the first time Walter pressed his lips to hers as
she sank upon his breast.
"Oh, Lilian," he resumed, after a long pause. "Now on the eve of
parting, and perhaps for ever, I could not leave you with this great
secret preying upon my heart--without saying that _I loved you_. The
hope, that when I am gone, you will think of me with sentiments more
tender and more endearing than those of mere friendship will be my
best incentive to become worthy of them. Dear Lilian, I am poor and
nameless; save my heart and my sword, and the sod which shall cover
me, I own nothing in all this wide world; but than mine, never was
there a love more generous or more true. Long, long, adorable
Lilian, have I loved you in secret, and loved you dearly."
There was no art in his declaration; it came straight from the soul,
and his words, rich, deep, and full of feeling, thrilled through the
agitated heart of the young girl. He sought no reply, no other
avowal of her reciprocal love, than her beautiful confusion and
eloquent silence. Immovable and breathless, she lay within his
embrace, with the deepest blushes overspreading her whole face and
neck. Her mild eyes were shaded by their lashes, and the charming
expression of modesty imparted by their downcast lids increased the
emotion of Walter; and closer to his breast he pressed her passive
form till her heart throbbed against his own.
"O love, when womanhood is in the flush!"
Walter was intoxicated. The purple hood of Lilian had fallen back,
and the braids of her fair hair drooped upon his breast; his dark
hair mingled with them, and their locks sparkled like gold in the
glow of the set sun, as its last rays streamed down the long shady
walk.
Short as the interview was, an age seemed to be comprised within its
compass; the lovers were in a little world of their own--or with them
the external world seemed to stand still. They were all heart and
pulse, and overwhelmed with an emotion which the orthography of every
human language has failed to pourtray.
But anon, the first glow of ardour and excitement passed away, and
the memory of their parting fell like a mountain on their hearts.
Lilian hung half embraced by Walter's arm; and a shower of tears
relieved her.
Ah, could the evil-minded Clermistonlee have witnessed this scene!
The sun set behind the dark woods of Corstorphine; its last rays
faded away from the turret vanes and seared foliage of Bruntisfield;
the oaks and loch of the Burghmuir grew dark, as the shadows of the
autumnal gloaming increased around them, and warned the lovers of the
necessity of retiring and--separating.
Never was the glowing memory of that interview forgotten by Walter
Fenton; and it cheered him through many an hour of sorrow,
humiliation, and misery; through the toils of many a weary night, and
the carnage of many a dangerous day. How happy and how well it is
for us that the future is covered by an impenetrable veil that no
mortal eye can pierce, and no hand draw aside!
The swans had quitted the lake, and the last glow of the day that had
passed, was dying away upon its glassy surface, when hand in hand,
the girl and her lover, contented, if not supremely happy, left the
garden. There, by the old fountain of mossy and fantastic
stone-work, on the pedestal of which a grotesque visage vomited the
water from its capacious throat into a stone basin, they had plighted
unto each other their solemn troth, according to the simple custom of
the time and country.
There was no witness but the evening star that glimmered in the
saffron west. There was no record but their own beating hearts.
Standing one on each side of the gushing fountain, and laving their
hands in the limpid water, they called upon God to hear and register
their vows of truth and love--vows which were, perhaps, less eloquent
than deep, but uttered with all the quiet fervour of two young hearts
as yet unseared and unsoured by the trouble, the duplicity, the
selfishness, and the bitterness of the world.
Poor lovers! It was their first hour of delight; and even then,
though by them unseen, a human visage of livid and terrible aspect
was steadily regarding them from the thick foliage of a dark holly
hedge, with eyes like those of a serpent--eyes that glared like two
burning coals, and seemed full of that dire expression with which the
superstitions of Italy gift the possessors of the _mal-occhio_. The
lips were colourless and white, the teeth were clenched; it was all
that a painter could pourtray of agony and mortification. As they
arose from the fountain, it vanished; footsteps crashed among the
fallen leaves and withered branches, but the lovers heard them not.
Lilian, though she still wept from over-excitement and the
approaching separation which had so suddenly called all these secret
feelings to empire and control in her bosom, with sensations of
mingled happiness and grief too intense to find vent in words, hung
on Walter's arm, and thus clasped hand in hand with more apparent
composure, they slowly returned to the house and entered the
chamber-of-dais.
Its panels of polished oak, the silver plate on the buffet, the china
jars, and japan canisters, on the grotesque ebony cabinets, glittered
ruddily in the light of the blazing fire. A noble stag-hound, with
red eyes and wiry hair, Lilian's lap-dog, and a favorite cat, were
gambolling together on the hearth and tearing the snow-white wool
from the prostrate spinning wheel. Lady Grisel still slept soundly;
but Lilian stole to her side, kissed, and awoke her by murmuring in a
broken voice, and with a sickly attempt at playfulness,
"Awake, aunt Grisel, Mr. Fenton has come to bid us farewell. He
marches by crow of the cock, and we may not see him again for--for
many a weary day."
"My dream is read!" exclaimed the old lady, starting. "O, Lilian,
lass! what is this you tell me? Walter, my poor bairn, come to me;
for whence are ye boune?"
"For England, Madam."
"England! alake, alake! and I was dreaming of Sir Archibald," replied
the venerable dame, whose eyes were glittering with tears. "I saw
him standing there, before the oaken cabinet, in his buff coat, steel
cap and plume, just as I saw him last when under harness; and oh! but
he seemed young and winsome, with glowing cheeks and bright locks of
curling brown. 'Archibald,' I cried, and stretching my arms towards
him, I strove to say mair; but O! Lilian, the words died away in
whispers on my lips. He walked over to the buffet, and took up his
silver tankard, which other lips have never touched since his own.
It was empty. Sairly he gloomed as he wont when aught crossed him,
and flang down the cup. I heard the clank of his jangling spurs as
he turned lightly about, saying, 'Fare-ye-weel, my jo Grisel, horse
and spear's the cry again,' and strode away. But O, his face, and
the flash of his dark-browed eye; they come back to me, a vision from
the grave. I awoke, and there stood Walter Fenton--his living image.
O, Lilian! my doo, something sad is at hand. Blows and blood ever
followed such visions as mine hath been this night. It forbodes deep
dool, and dark misfortune."
"Dear Aunt Grisel, why such dreary thoughts?" said Lilian, no longer
able to restrain her tears; "though we are losing our dear friend Mr.
Fenton--one, I hope, after Sir Archibald's own heart."
"True he hath the bearing of a Napier, and the very eye of my young
son, and, sooth, he was a stalwart cavalier as ever danced a gay
galliard or spurred a horse to the battle field. And you are boune
for the south, Walter? War and blood, more of it yet--more of it
yet--when will the wicked cease from troubling? Well it is for ye,
boy, that ye have no mother to weep this night the bitter tears that
I have often shed for mine. Three fair sons, Walter, hae gone forth
from this auld roof-tree, three stalwart men they were, and winsome
to look upon, blooming and strong as ever braced steel ower gallant
hearts; but hardalake! e'er the sun sank owre the westland hills, the
last o' them lay by his father's side, cauld and stark on the banks
of the Keithingburn.
"But I trow," she added, striking her cane on the floor, "many a braw
English cap and feather lay on the turf ere _that_ came to pass."
The keen grey eyes of the spirited dame flashed bright through their
tears, for strongly at that moment the Spartan spirit of the old
Scottish matron glowed within her breast. "England? Alace! and what
is stirring now that our blue bonnets maun cross the border again?
Smooth water runs deep. I aye thought we were owre sib wi' the south
to byde sae long."
"Madam; we march as friends and allies to assist in repelling
invasion from its shores. William of Orange, with a great armament,
now bends his cannon on the English coast, and by daybreak to-morrow
we march for King James's camp. I must leave you instantly, for I
have not a moment to spare. My Lord Dunbarton requires my presence
at Holyrood, where General Douglas of Queensbury is to address the
officers of the army. Farewell, dear madam; think kindly of me when
I am far, far away from you, for never may we meet again," and half
kneeling he kissed her hand.
"Then ere thou goest, my poor boy, drink to the roof-tree of one who
loves thee well, and who may never behold thee more. Ye hae the very
voice of my youngest son; and O, Walter, my auld heart yearns unto ye
even as a mother's would yearn unto her dearest child."
Walter's heart swelled within him as the kind old lady laid her arm
round his neck.
"Lady Bruntisfield," said he, in a low voice, "often have I known how
sad a thing it was to feel oneself alone in the world, and never will
the memory of these kind words be effaced from my heart."
Lilian, blushing and pale by turns, with eyes full of tears, brought
from the almry a silver cup of wine, and after she and Lady Grisel
had tasted, Walter drained it to the bottom, as he did so uttering a
mental blessing on the house of Bruntisfield. The rich Gascon wine
fired his heart, and gave him courage to sustain the separation.
"'Tis a sad and sudden parting, Walter," said Lady Grisel, weeping
unrestrainedly with that old-fashioned kindness of heart which has
long since fled from the land. "How long will you be away from us?"
"That depends on the fortune of war, Madam."
"Puir bairn! ye mean the misfortune. Alace! we live in waefu' times.
Year after year an auld Scots' wife seeth the fair flowers that
spring up around her trod down and destroyed. How many fair sons are
reared with mickle pain and toil to be cut down by the sword of the
foemen! Thrice in my time have I seen the balefire blaze on
Soutra-edge and Ochil Peak, and thrice have I seen the haill flower
o' the country-side wede away. And well it is, Walter, that thou
hast no other mother than myself to mourn for thee this night; for,
as I said before," she continued, in the garrulous musing of age, "my
mind gangs back to the happy days and the fond faces of other times,
when I have laced the steel cap owre comely cheeks whose smiles were
a' the world to me. Then the balefire was lowing on ilka hill, and
_mount and ride_ was the cry. O, when will men grow wise (as that
fule body Ichabod said with truth), and let the wicked kings of the
earth gird up their loins and go forth to battle alone?
"Thine, Walter Fenton, is owre fair a brow for the midnight dew to
lie upon, and the black corbie to flap its wings aboon in the
stricken battlefield," continued the old lady, weeping, as
"tremulously gentle her small hand" put back the thick dark locks
from Walter's clouded brow and kissed it, while Lilian sobbed audibly
on hearing her speak so forbodingly. The heart of the young man was
too full to permit him to reply, but at that moment he felt he had
done this kind and noble matron a grievous injury in gaining the love
of Lilian without her consent. So reproachfully did the idea come
home to his heart that he was about to throw himself upon his knees,
and in the ardour of his temper pour forth an address in confession
and exculpation--but his courage failed, and never again had he an
opportunity.
Compelled at last to assume his bonnet and rapier he felt his heart
wrung when reflecting that he was, for the last time, with the only
two beings on earth actually dear to him, that in another moment he
would be gone with the wide world before him, and that world all a
void--a wilderness.
Lilian threw over his shoulders the scarf her fingers had
embroidered, and as the reverend lady blessed him, the tears started
into his eyes; he kissed their hands, and hurried away. Both arose
to accompany him to the door; but while Lady Grisel searched for her
long cane, he had yet a moment to give to Lilian. The light in the
entrance hall fell full upon her face; it was pale as death, and
never until that moment had Walter felt how intensely he loved her.
"Once again, farewell, dear Lilian," said he, putting a ring upon her
finger; "wear this for my sake, and forget not this night--the
twentieth of September. O, Lilian, this ring is the dearest, the
only relic I possess, and it contains the secret of my life. On my
mother's hand it was found, when cold, and pale, and dead she lay
among the tombs of the Greyfriars, in the year of Bothwell:--you know
the rest, and will treasure it for my sake. If your lover falls,
Lilian, for you it will be some satisfaction that he died beneath the
Scottish standard, fighting for his King by the side of the brave
Dunbarton! Who would desire a better epitaph?"
"Walter," implored Lilian in a piercing voice, "for the love of God,
if not for the love of me, speak not thus!"
"Thou shalt hear of me, Lilian, if God spares me, as I hope he will
for thy sake," replied Walter, whose military pride neither love nor
sorrow could subdue. "My name shall never be mentioned but with
honour, for I have sworn to become worthy of thee, or to--die! And
if our soldiers prove as they have ever done, leal men and true, many
a helmet will be cloven, many a corslet flattened, many a pike
blunted, and bullet shot ere the banner of King James shall sink
before these plebeian Dutch! Farewell: forget not the twentieth of
September!"
Another mute caress, and Lilian was alone: a horse's hoofs rang among
the strewn autumnal leaves; but the sound died away, and Lilian heard
her heart beating tumultuously.
As his horse plunged forward down the steep avenue, the starting of
the saddle-girths compelled Walter to rein up near the gateway, and
while adjusting the buckles, he became the unconscious listener to
another leave-taking, which was accompanied by loud and obstreperous
lamentations. It was Meinie Elshender bidding adieu to her kinsman
and sweetheart Hab, who was reeling about in his bandaleers under the
influence of various stoups of brandy.
"Now, Hab, you fause loon, dinna say no! You _will_ forget me in the
south, as you did in the west. Soldiers are a' alike."
"Roaring buckies are we, lassie!"
"Twa-faced varlets, that kittle up their lugs when the drums beat,
and make love wherever they gang," replied Meinie, sobbing heavily.
"You will be taking up with some English kimmer, I ken, and
forgetting puir Meinie Elshender, that lo'es ye better than her ain
life; and----"
"If I do, May----"
"Ewhow? and the rambles we've had together in many a red gloaming by
the heronshaws and quarrel-holes. O, Hab, you're a fause ane, and
will forget me--for the truth is no in ye!"
"Dear Meinie, if I do may----"
"Dinna swear, ye fule; for I may weary waiting on ye."
"May the de'il jump down my throat with a harrow at his tail! There
now, will you believe me? Hoots, lass, we'll be back by the
Halloween time to douk for apples in the muckle barn, sow hemp-seed
in the Deil's-croft, roast nuts in the ingle, pu' kail castocks, and
gang guisarding by Drumdryan and the Highriggs. Hech, how!
'Dunbarton's drums beat bonnie, O!'
Kiss me again, lass, and keep up your heart for a month or two more,
when again I will have my arm around ye, and your red cheek pressed
to mine;" continued poor Halbert, to whom that hour was never doomed
to come, "and many a brave story I will tell ye of how our buirdly
Scots chields clapper-clawed the ill-faured Holanders."
"Hab, ye ill-mannered loon!" cried Elsie. "Hab, ye ungratefu'
vassal, daur ye gang awa' without paying your devoirs to my lady?"
"Bid her good bye for me, mother," replied Halbert in a faltering
tone, as the old woman hobbled up and threw her arms passionately
around his neck. "My father was her bounden vassal; but his son is
the king's free soldier. Say gude'en for me, for I have not another
moment to spare even for Meinie. Fareweel, dear mother; I never
expected to leave you again, but for those who follow the de'il or
the drum--Hoots, mother, havers!" exclaimed the soldier, as the poor
woman sobbed convulsively on his breast. "I thought we had a' this
dirdum oure before."
"Fareweel, my bairn, my winsome Habbie! On this side o' the grave we
sail never meet mair. England is a far awa' and an unco' place, and
long ere ye return I will be laid in the lang hame o' my forbears.
But fearfu' times will come and pass ere the grass is green and
waving oure me. Mind your Bible, Hab, for your faither (peace be wi'
him, for he had none wi' me) ever gaed forth to battle with a whinger
in one hand and the _blessed book_ in the other. Beware o' the
errors of episcopacy and idolatory, for your gaun to the hotbed o'
them baith."
"O yes; ou' aye," muttered Hab impatiently.
"Now gang, my bairn, and God will keep his hand oure ye in the hour
of strife, for he ne'er forgets those by whom his power and his glory
are remembered."
And while Hab dashed off towards the city, the old woman with
upraised hands implored with Scottish piety and maternal fervour a
blessing on the footsteps of the son that had departed from her--for
ever.