The supper had been gay and cheerful, the materials better than might
have been expected in a small country inn of Scotland at the beginning
of the seventeenth century; and Julia and Gowrie were alone once more,
for Mr. Rhind had now become quite accustomed to his position, and
forgetting all his sage decorums, consulted little but his own ease.
The night was cold and clear, the fire in the large open chimney
blazed bright and cheerfully, and a gay and happy sensation, as if the
presentiment of coming joy, was in the heart both of the lady and of
her lover. When they crossed the border, indeed, and re-entered the
native land of both, their feelings had been different; a sort of
dread had come upon Julia's mind--that kind of oppressive sensation
which often overpowers us when some great fact, to which we have long
looked forward, is accomplished, deciding our destiny for ever, and
yet leaving the results hidden in darkness till they are evolved by
time. When Gowrie had said, "Here we are, in Scotland," the land of
her fathers, where they had ruled, and bled, and suffered--the land
where her own fate was to be worked out; where the brightest happiness
which the wildest flight of her young fancy could reach, or the
deepest grief which a fearful heart could portray, was to be enjoyed
or endured; an overpowering impression of great things, past and to
come, fell upon her for an instant, and she could hardly sit her
horse.
The feelings of Gowrie were somewhat similar. After a long absence,
he, too, was returning to his native land. With him, too, there was
much that was painful in the history of the past. In this land his
father had perished on the scaffold; from it that father's father had
fled an exile to linger out a few short years of sickness in a foreign
country; while many and many a relation and friend had here wetted the
scaffold with their blood. What was before himself? he asked; and as
he crossed the frontier, he strove to cast his eye forward, as if to
penetrate the dark and heavy veil which hides the future of all mortal
fate: nor did he do so without dread.
Such feelings, however, had passed away. The morning had been clear,
though cold. The scenes through which they passed were fair enough,
and there was that blue freshness in the hues of the bright wintry
landscape which compensates, in some degree, for the warmer colouring
of the summer. All had gone well, too, on the road. Nothing had
occurred to harass or disturb. The delicate complexion of the
beautiful girl, nurtured under a softer sky, had acquired a brighter
glow in the bracing influence of the northern air, and she looked
lovelier than ever in Gowrie's eyes; while, as she turned a look to
him, he seemed to ride with that prouder air which one ever feels
inclined to assume when, after a long absence, we again tread the land
of our birth and of our love.
Thus, by the time they reached the inn for the night, all dark fancies
had been swept away; and now they sat with their feet to the bright
lire, and with their hearts overflowing with those words of love which
had been repressed during the day by the presence of another.
Austin Jute, Austin Jute, stay where you are for an hour! Break not
yet the spell of happy dreams--cloud not yet the gleam of wintry
sunshine. Let no shadow cross their path!
But it must not be. There was a tap at the door, and Lord Gowrie
raised his head, and looked round with some surprise, saying, "Come
in."
"I have ventured to intrude upon you, my lord," said Austin Jute,
"having a message from his majesty, the king----"
At that moment he was followed into the room by the good host, who at
once began to bustle with cups and platters; but Gowrie turned,
saying, as he saw his servant stop suddenly, "You can leave those
things, Master Fairbairn. I will send for you when I want them
removed."
The man retired slowly and ill pleased, and Gowrie made a sign to
Austin to go on; but the man paused for an instant, and then
approached the door, saying, in a low voice, "By your leave, my good
lord, I will see that there be no eaves-droppers."
There was no one at the back of the door; but the light that streamed
out shone upon the figure of the landlord at the end of the passage.
Austin stood for a moment and stared at him with a full, determined,
pertinacious gaze, till the man, somewhat disconcerted, walked slowly
and sulkily down the stairs.
Then returning close to his lord's chair, and shutting the door behind
him, Austin said, "I have a great deal to tell you, my lord, and have
made haste to get back."
"The king's message first, good Austin. What said his majesty?"
"Oh, fine things, my lord," answered Austin Jute. "It's a bad mercer's
where there's no silk, and a poor court where there are no courtesies.
The king was full of delectable speeches upon your lordship's graces
and fine qualities; and he bids you hasten on to his presence with all
speed, as he wishes to consult you upon many things."
"What, then, you saw his majesty in person?" said Gowrie.
"Ay, did I," answered Austin Jute, "and heard him, too, and that
before he knew it. Thus I had the sauce to my salmon ready made--that
is to say, the interpretation of his majesty's speeches before they
were spoken."
"Explain, explain," said Gowrie, somewhat eagerly. "I trust that thou
hast committed no new imprudence, Austin?"
"Oh no, my good lord," answered the man. "I never commit any
imprudences on your account: it is only on my own I venture. I would
not play at pitch and toss with your fortunes as I do with mine for
half your lordship's estate. But the matter is this: I went to
Edinburgh as you told me, but at the palace--Holyrood, as they call
it--I found that the king had gone the day before to another place
called Falkland, and making myself familiar with the porter, I heard
all about it, as how King James V. had died there----But that as
nothing to do with the matter; so on with my tale. Well, this morning
early, I set off for Falkland with the letter, taking----"
"This morning early?" said Gowrie. "Thou hast had a long journey for a
winter's day----Stay, stay, my Julia. This may be news for you also."
"It is, indeed, my lord," answered Austin Jute, with a bow to the
lady; "and I have, as your lordship said, had a long journey, for I
took my way round that my horse and myself might have as little water
as possible. Well, I got to Falkland about ten o'clock, and a fine
place it is, better than Eltham a great deal. When I got there, I left
my horse and my sword at the inn, brushed the dust off my jerkin, and
went away to the palace. Well, I asked to see the king."
"Asked to see the king!" exclaimed Gowrie, almost angry; "in Heaven's
name, man, what were you thinking of! Do you suppose that the king
sees every servant who brings a letter of compliment from a gentleman
of his court? You should have given it to an usher, or some other
officer."
"Upon my life, my lord, I know not what possessed me," answered Austin
Jute, "unless, indeed, it was that the porter at Holyrood told me the
king had got a gentleman of the name of Ramsay with him, and the name
of our friend in Paris was Ramsay too. So I wanted to see what was
going on--I always want to know what is going on. However, the people
at the palace told me that the king was very busy in his cabinet,
transacting affairs of state. I answered, I would wait his majesty's
pleasure, or come back again in an hour. Thereat the men laughed,
which was not very civil, and told me I had better come back. Taking
them at their word, I left the door, and was going back to the inn,
when seeing some horses led about near one corner of the building, I
concluded that there must lie the stable, and always having a love for
horses, I went away thither to see if there was anything worth looking
at. I found nobody there; but saw a door open, with a view into a park
beyond, so I judged I might as well take a walk."
"Upon my life, I wonder thou hast come back with thine ears on," said
Gowrie.
"One is born with luck, though years bring learning," replied Austin
Jute; "and luck befriended me, my lord, all the way through. First I
came to a garden with some fine trees in it. I did not know there were
any such in Scotland; and then I walked across a wild piece of ground
towards a thick wood I saw some way off, about a third of a mile or
so. Well, it was a mighty pleasant wood, with a great many of the
brown leaves still hanging upon the underwood, and alleys and avenues
cut very nicely. I wandered here and I wandered there, till at last,
when I wanted to get out, I could not find the way; and suddenly, just
as I was going out of one alley into another, I heard two people
speaking, and I stopped----"
"To eavesdrop," said Gowrie, with a glowing cheek; "for shame of
yourself, sir!"
"Well, it is a bad habit, my lord," said Austin; "but all servants
have it; and in this instance it is lucky I gave way to it."
"Tell me nothing about it," said Gowrie. "I will not have it said----"
"My lord, you must hear," replied the man, firmly. "If you drive your
dagger into me the next minute, you shall hear what I have to say, for
this dear lady's safety and your own, and the happiness of both,
depend upon it. If people will take double ways with you, you must
take double ways with them; and I tell you the king is putting on a
fair face to you, but intends you ill."
Julia dropped her head upon her hand, with a cheek which had lost the
rose; and Gowrie, after a pause, said, "If such be the case, speak on.
I must not refuse intelligence that may affect her."
"It's about her almost altogether, my lord," replied Austin Jute, "for
there was a great deal had gone before, which I did not hear. However,
I know that what seemed the younger voice said, 'If your majesty will
give me a warrant I will apprehend the earl as he comes.' Now mind, my
lord, I can't give you the exact words all through, but I'll give you
their meaning. Well, when this voice had spoken, a fat thick voice
answered, like that of a man with plums in his mouth; and it called
the other a fool, and said he didn't understand policy, and a great
deal more, and that he would deal fair and softly with your lordship
till he had got occasion against you--I should have told you that this
wasn't the first thing I heard, because it has all got mixed up in my
head together; but I heard the young one say, 'They call her the Lady
Julia Douglas,' which showed me it was you they were talking of, and
my lady here; and besides, one of them said something about hating
those Ruthvens."
"Make your tale short--make your tale short," said the earl. "What
more said the king about the lady? As for myself, I will take care he
shall have no occasion against me."
"Why, he said, my lord, that the lady and her mother had carried off
from Scotland all the treasures of a gentleman he called Morton, who
had been attainted for treason."
"Alas! alas!" said Julia, "I've often heard my grandfather say that we
fled with little more than would carry us to Italy."
"What more--what more?" demanded the earl; and Austin Jute proceeded
to give very accurately the substance of all that had been said by the
king and Ramsay during the latter part of their conversation.
"In his ward!" exclaimed Gowrie. "She shall never be in his ward, if I
can help it. No, no, my Julia. Your father's wealth was his ruin, for
to seize it was the object of those who destroyed him. What he did
with it has never been discovered; and now, fancying that you must
either possess it or know where it is concealed, this avaricious king
of ours would fain get you into his power. Heaven only knows what then
might happen. But that shall never be!--What more said he, Austin?"
"Nay, not much, my good lord, but what he did say was not sweet;" and
then, after detailing the rest, he added, "At those words I heard them
get up, and begin to walk along, crushing the crisp leaves under their
feet. So I went on and met them."
"You were mad," cried Gowrie.
"Oh no, my lord, never wiser," answered Austin Jute. "I put on a gay
sort of sauntering air, and called out to the king as soon as I saw
him, 'Halloo, old gentleman! I wish you would show me how to get out,
for I have lost my way.' The young man looked as if he would have
cracked my skull, but the old one took it as a good joke."
Moved as he was, Gowrie could not forbear from smiling faintly. "And
how did all this end?" he asked.
"Why, sir, I treated him with no sort of ceremony for some time," said
Austin Jute; "talked with him familiarly about the king, and for fear
of getting you into a scrape, owned it was a lie that I had told at
the palace about having orders to deliver your letter to the king
himself, and said that I wanted very much to see the king, because I
had heard from you he was as wise as Solomon, and the greatest hunter
upon earth. We chatted very friendly for some time, I can tell you;
and then he thought fit to let out that he was the king, never
dreaming, I will answer for it, that I knew it quite well all the
time. When he had got your letter, nothing could be more civil or
complimentary than his majesty was. He bade you hasten your coming, as
I told you before, and sought to know which road you took, so I told
him by Carlisle, just to give your lordship time. If it does not suit
you to bear me out, you can just say that it was a lie of mine, or a
mistake, or anything you please. My ears are quite at your lordship's
disposal."
"No," said Gowrie, thoughtfully--"no. Something must be determined at
once. Go out into the passage, Austin, and see that nobody comes
near.--No eaves-dropping, remember!"
"Upon my honour, my lord," replied the man, and took his departure.
"Oh, Gowrie, what is to be done?" exclaimed Julia.
Gowrie pressed her to his breast with feelings difficult to describe.
"In truth, love, I hardly know," he said. "I must think calmly for a
moment."
"Had I not better return at once to England," she asked, "and remain
there till you can satisfy the king that I know nothing of this
coveted wealth, or till we can be united?"
Gowrie walked up and down the room for a minute, strongly tempted, but
he did not yield.
"No, love, no," he said; "if you go, I must go too. I will not leave
you unprotected in another land; and, moreover, it might be dangerous
even to myself. Listen, dearest Julia;" and seating himself beside
her, he laid his hand upon hers, saying, "While we were in London,
some subtle dark words were dropped by the ministers of Elizabeth, as
to my having the power of being of great service to her majesty in my
native land. I gave no encouragement to such conversation, and it
ceased; but if she had you in her power, might not she try to use the
strong love which she knows I bear you, to drive me to acts contrary
to my duty and my allegiance? Trust you with her, I dare not. Trust
you in James's hands I will not; for I doubt him, Julia--I doubt him
much. He prides himself on dissembling; and his acts all show that he
aims at absolute power. What is to be done, is the question, and only
two courses seem open to us--either for you to give me your hand
at once, when Gowrie's arm will find means to protect Gowrie's
wife.--Nay, look not so sad; I know your scruples, dear one, and there
is another course to choose. We have in this country of Scotland a
district, as you know, called the Highlands, where law is little
known, and to which the king's power can hardly be said to extend.
Just upon the borders of that district, I have a mountain castle
called Trochrie, where, I think, beyond all doubt, you would be in
greater safety than in England. At all events, it would require an
army to bring you forth; and I do not believe that James would think
fit to do any violent act. It may be as well, however, that you should
remain there in secret till I can prove to the king that neither his
own avarice, nor the greediness of his favourites, would be served by
taking you from me. The castle shall be well prepared for defence,
however; and with justice on my side, and the good friends I have, I
could hold out against him for ever. I will do no disloyal act myself,
but I will endure no tyranny."
"Oh, let me thither," cried Julia, with a bright smile of hope coming
upon her face again. "I will keep myself so carefully that he shall
never dream that I am there. I will take exercise in the early
morning, or in the evening twilight, so that people shall fancy I am a
spirit; and the rest of the day I will pass my time in my lonely tower
with my two maidens, like some enchanted lady that we read of in those
books of magic chivalry."
"It is very hard to doom you to such a fate, my Julia--to send such a
flower as you to bloom in such a desolate wilderness."
"Hard!" said Julia, enthusiastically--"hard, when it is for you,
Gowrie! Have I not been accustomed to solitude too? It will but be
living over again, for a short time, amidst the beautiful scenes of
nature, with free fresh air and changing skies around me, the same
life that I led so long in Padua, amongst close houses in a dull town.
And then, perhaps," she added, with a smile, "Gowrie may sometimes
steal away from courts to see me; and when I think the time of his
coming draws nigh, what joy it will be to look out from some high
window of the castle, over moor and fell, to see if I can perceive my
dear knight coming across the distant plain."
"It is a fair picture you have drawn, dear girl, of a less fair
reality," answered Gowrie; "but I will try, dear girl, to make it as
bright for you as may be. Often, often will I come to see you, till
the dear hour when I can call you my own. And I will bring some of my
sweet sisters, too, to cheer you. We will store the old castle with
pleasant books and instruments of music; and when I come you shall
sing me the songs of the sweet south, till all darker things are
forgotten. Still, still I could hardly consent to your plunging into
such a scene, were not the bright season coming when our Highlands
look the fairest, when the yellow broom and the purple heath succeed
each other on the hills, and the bright sunshine softens the
ruggedness of the scene. During the six long months which must elapse
ere, according to our promise, you can give me your hand, the year
still goes on brightening for us in Scotland. In truth, I see no other
course we can pursue."
"Nor I," she said, eagerly. "Let me set out to-morrow early, Gowrie;
and in the meantime you hasten back across the border again, take the
way round by Carlisle, as the man said you were coming by that road,
and so lull the king's suspicions, if he entertains any."
"But you cannot go alone, my Julia," answered her lover. "That will
never do. Stay; my mother is at Dirleton with my young brothers. I
have thought of a plan that will answer. You shall go thither under
the escort of good Austin Jute and my servant David Drummond. She can
then forward you on your way to Trochrie with Austin and some of her
own people. Part of the way were better made by sea, for the waves
will leave no trace of your passing, and the weather is now fair. To
Dirleton you can go to-morrow, and on the following day proceed; but
alas! I must not go with you, I fear."
Julia bent her head a little, gazing on the ground, and then said, in
a low voice, "Will she receive me willingly, Gowrie?"
"As her own child," replied Gowrie, warmly; "I will answer for it,
love."
"Though I am a stranger, an intruder, one who even now is bringing
danger on her beloved son!" said Julia, almost sadly.
"You know not Dorothea Stuart," answered Gowrie. "Were the pursuers
close upon your steps, my love, were every danger and misfortune
following you close, it would only render you dearer to her--it would
only make her whole soul rise to serve you. However, I will write to
her this very night, telling her all I wish, and the reasons thereof.
You shall carry the letter with you; and if everything is not
performed as zealously and punctually as if I were there myself, my
mother is changed indeed, and has lost all love for me. Now, dearest
Julia, retire to rest; you shall be roused in time, and everything
shall be prepared for your departure: alas! that I must add, for our
parting, too; but it shall not be a long one, dear girl. Whenever
occasion serves that I can get away without observation, I will be on
the way to Trochrie, for my heart will lie buried there with you, and
even in the midst of crowds I shall be solitary."
Julia could not answer, for her heart was too full--it was like a cup
brimming over, and the least thing that shook her would have spilt the
precious drops within. One silent pressure of the hand, and they
parted for the night; but when she was gone, Gowrie stood and mused
with sad and painful thoughts, and ere she sought her pillow she bent
her head and wept.