In one of the good old houses of the good old town of Edinburgh, and
in a handsome and commodious room, hung with polished leather stamped
with various figures of birds and flowers, in a fashion of which
hardly a vestige now remains, sat Sir George Ramsay and his younger
brother, just after the sun had gone down. The younger was in high
spirits, for, mere lad as he was at the time, he had many of the
weaknesses of the child still in his nature: varying in mood, easily
elated; when checked or disappointed, moody and irritable; when
prosperous, successful, and unopposed, gay, good-humoured, and even
placable. That morning he had been greatly irritated by the news--for
news travelled slowly in those days--that his brother's servant, and
that one of his own favourites too, had been killed by the Earl of
Gowrie's man, David Drummond; and the very calmness with which Gowrie
had met his intemperate insinuations and haughty bearing had not
served to calm him; but the knighthood just received had done more
than any arguments could have effected to soften and improve him; and
now he was talking cheerfully with one of much stronger sense and more
amiable character than himself, who knew him well, and how to direct
his mind to better purposes.
"Well, George, well," he said, "I am glad to hear what you tell me of
the earl. I have no wish to think ill of Gowrie, and if he has acted
as you mention, perhaps he had a right to be offended at the way I
spoke this morning; and I will apologize. A man who is ready to fight
another at any time, need not fear to apologize; but Newburn stated
the matter very differently."
"A man of honour need never fear to apologize when he knows himself in
the wrong, whether he be prepared to fight in a bad cause or not,
John," replied his brother, with a quiet smile; "and nobody, I think,
will suspect our house of wanting courage. As for Newburn, he is a
firebrand, and being now deprived of the power of doing mischief
himself by the consequences of one of his own insolences, he seeks
alone to set others by the ears. I have now had the whole story from
good William Rhind, who was in the carriage at the time. Newburn first
looked into the lady's face, with an insulting laugh, and then, when
the curtain was drawn, pulled it violently back, and thrust his head
quite into the carriage."
"Then he deserved what he got," replied John Ramsay, frankly; "but as
to this other business, you must look to it, George; for I feel sure
that Gowrie is a man who will stand by his own people."
"Doubtless, when they are in the right," replied the other; "but not
when they are in the wrong. I tell you, he seized the scoundrel with
his own hand, as soon as he saw him flying with the poor fellow's
blood upon him, and instantly gave him into the custody--not of his
own followers, as he might have done, and no one said him nay, but--of
the officers of the town. I forgot to tell you, too, that he has given
a pension upon the lands of Ruthven to the widow, and her two
daughters--fifty marks a year to each."
"That's noble--that's kind!" exclaimed John Ramsay.
"It is," said his brother; "but nevertheless, I shall go to Perth on
the day of the trial, not from any doubt of Gowrie's justice, but for
my own honour's sake. Thus, I beseech you, John, listen to no more
tales from Newburn, who would only deceive you. As for my part, I tell
you fairly, cousin or no cousin, he shall never darken my doors again.
I stood by him as long as a gentleman and man of honour could; but in
this business he sought so grossly to pervert the truth, that I will
have no more to do with him."
Young John Ramsay mused for a minute or two; and his brother, thinking
that he was pursuing the same train of thought, added, "You cannot
deny, John, that his whole conduct through life has been disgraceful."
"I was not thinking of him, Dalhousie," said the younger brother, with
a laugh; "I was wondering what Gowrie can have done with this same
beautiful lady--this Lady Julia Douglas, and what can have made the
king all in a moment seem to care so little about the matter. Either
his majesty, with his cunning wit, has found out where she really is,
and knows she is out of his power, or else he is waiting for the
return of the messenger he sent to Italy to inquire about her
treasures. The earl's movements have been very strange, as I told you,
and though so strictly watched----"
But at that moment the door was quietly opened, and a servant said,
"The Earl of Gowrie, Sir George, is waiting at the stairfoot to know
if he can visit you."
The colour came somewhat warmly into John Ramsay's cheek, for though
he had spoke of an apology, he did not think the opportunity of making
it was so near. His brother, however, instantly started up, and went
down to meet the earl, who took him kindly by the hand, saying, "'Tis
a strange hour to visit you, Ramsay; but I have been engaged all this
day, and hearing you had arrived, I would not let another pass without
coming to see you."
"Welcome at any hour, my lord," replied Sir George Ramsay; "but how is
it--alone, and on foot?"
"Even so, George," replied the earl; "had it been a visit of ceremony,
it should have been in the morning, with horses and attendance enow;
but as it is a visit of friendship, alone and on foot is best. I am
now the student of Padua again, and far more happy so than as Earl of
Gowrie."
While this conversation was passing, they were climbing the somewhat
steep and difficult stairs of a house in the old town of Edinburgh,
with a servant going before to light them; and when they entered the
room where young Ramsay had remained, Gowrie seemed somewhat surprised
to see him, but held out his hand frankly.
The other took it, not without grace, and feeling that he must speak
then or never, he said, "I have to offer my excuses, my lord, for some
rashness this morning, brought about by representations I now find to
be false, and I trust----"
"Mention it no more, I pray, Sir John," replied Gowrie, seeing he
paused and hesitated. "I understood full well that you had been
deceived by that idle jade, Rumour, and had I not been in haste to get
over a most painful duty, I would have stayed to explain more fully.
Trust me to do simple justice in the case of the poor man who was so
foully slain at Perth; and when I have done so, never let
misconception of any part of my conduct breed coldness between us
more. And now, let me congratulate you on the honour I hear you have
this day received--none worthier, I am sure, and none who will do more
honour to knighthood."
Seating himself quietly between the two brothers, Gowrie soon carried
the conversation away from things personal, and from all that could
excite one unpleasant feeling, or even difference of opinion. Having
mingled more in the world at large than either of the two brothers,
having seen more of mankind in every respect, he could always lead
where Sir George was very willing to follow, and mingling from time to
time some classical allusion for the elder, with conversation of hawks
and hounds, and courtly pastimes for the younger of the two, he
brought a brightness over the next half hour, which gained wonderfully
upon John Ramsay. So much indeed did it gain upon him, that he became
alarmed. He felt that he was beginning to like and admire a man whom
he wished to hate; that he could not believe all that he desired to
believe of him; and perhaps that he might learn to love the person
whom he was destined to overthrow.
There was certainly some impression of the kind upon his mind. I do
not mean to say that it was any superstitious presentiment, for it
might have its rise in natural causes. The monarch to whom he had
devoted himself had so often displayed his jealous antipathy towards
the man beside him, had so frequently pointed to a coming struggle
between the sovereign and the subject, and had so clearly indicated
him, John Ramsay, as the person upon whose courage, faith, and
resolution he relied, that it was not wonderful, he should see in
Gowrie a man whom he was fated, sooner or later, to encounter as an
enemy, and with whom it were better to enter into no bonds of
friendship.
These feelings impelled him to rise at length, saying, "Well,
Dalhousie, I must away back to the court. We are but servants after
all, though our master be royal; and we must perform our service. I
give you good night, my lord, and am happy that occasion has served
for my explaining conduct which must have seemed rude."
Gowrie shook hands with him; but he said to himself, as the young man
departed, "Nevertheless, he loves me not, and will love me less when
he comes to think over what he will daily consider more humiliating."
"Well, Dalhousie," he continued, aloud, "you and I need no
explanations. Your brother is a gallant youth, but young in mind as
well as years. It is a fault time and experience sorely mends, and I
doubt not he will do honour to your noble name."
"My lord," said Sir George Ramsay, in an eager manner, "pardon my
abruptness, but I have much wished to speak with you alone, and feared
every moment that you would go before my brother."
"What is the matter?" asked the earl, gazing at him. "I had hoped that
all chance of dissension was at an end."
"With my brother, assuredly it is so," replied his companion; "he now
knows you better than he did, and all foolish doubts with him are at
an end. But, my dear lord, I wished to warn you that you are not well
at the court. You know I would not speak unadvisedly upon so serious a
subject. The king does not love you."
"Of that I am well aware," answered Gowrie; "why or wherefore I know
not, and indeed it matters not. But I have done his majesty no wrong.
I have advised him, when called on to advise, as I think best for his
honour, his prosperity, and his peace; and there is no treason in
that, Dalhousie. But, indeed, his dislike began before that--even from
the first day of my arrival. I thwarted some of his plans, Ramsay, and
he does not soon forgive that. But the storm will blow by, and he will
find that I am a loyal subject though a sincere one, and forget his
anger."
"The matter is more serious than that, earl," said Ramsay. "The king
is jealous of your wealth, your power, your influence at the court of
England, your popularity with the people of Scotland. My lord, I tell
you you are in danger."
"I cannot think it," replied Gowrie; "I have given no cause for such
animosity. I defy any one to show a disloyal or even a suspicious act,
and I will give them no occasion, Dalhousie. My innocence be my
shield."
"No disloyal act, if you will, Gowrie," replied Sir George Ramsay, in
the tone of strong friendship, "but as to suspicion, it is different.
The court is full of suspicions, and all aiming at you; and be you
sure, Gowrie, that when suspicion takes possession of the mind of a
coward, it makes him cruel as well as unjust."
Gowrie mused. "If you can point out the causes of suspicion, Ramsay,"
he said at length, "I may perhaps remove them, at least I will try,
provided that I can do so without sacrificing my duty to myself, to my
country, or to my God. I have offended the king by opposing him, but
in truth have done him good service rather than otherwise; and I can
neither regret what I have done, nor promise not to repeat it; but as
to causes of suspicion, I know none."
"I find," replied Sir George Ramsay, "that the first doubts were
created by your frequent intercourse with the English ambassador in
Paris. Then came the extraordinary honour shown you by Elizabeth
herself----"
"Exaggeration!" exclaimed Gowrie. "There were no extraordinary honours
shown me. The Queen of England was kind and civil, expressed an
interest in my favour, spoke of my father as I loved to hear, and once
or twice called me cousin; but I am her cousin, as near in blood,
though not in succession, as any relation that she has. King James is
the undoubted heir to her throne. He has no right to be jealous of
me."
"Your relationship is a dangerous one," said Ramsay; "and when with it
is united the fact of your opposing strongly the views of a vain man,
an obstinate man, and a timid man, you may well fear suspicions. But
they have been increased by other things. You have been very closely
watched since your return to Scotland; and your course has appeared
somewhat mysterious. It is now known that you first crossed the border
near Berwick, then suddenly returned into England, and came round by
Carlisle. Again, you had an English servant with you, whose southern
tongue betrayed his country at once. You sent him with a letter to the
king, and he has since disappeared from your train, for the king
caused him to be sought for, wishing to cross-examine him after his
own peculiar fashion.--Let me go on, that you may have it all before
you. Shortly after your arrival you quitted the court, taking your
fair sister with you, and leading the king to believe that you were
going to Dirleton. Instead of so doing, you crossed the Firth, and
went into Perthshire----"
"I told the king I was going both to Perth and Dirleton."
"But you must have gone somewhere else than to Perth," said Ramsay,
"for although it is not known where you did go, yet they have
ascertained that you did not reach Perth till the fourteenth of the
month--in short, that you were two nights absent, neither at Perth nor
Dirleton, and moreover that you did not enter Perth from the side of
Edinburgh."
"I have other estates I might wish to visit," said Gowrie; "and I did
visit them, Ramsay. But if every movement of a Scottish gentleman is
thus to be watched, life in this land would be very little worth
having."
"I ask no questions, my lord," said Sir George Ramsay. "I speak but as
a friend anxious for your safety, and wishing you to know all and see
where the danger lies. Upon slight grounds men will build up strong
fabrics of suspicion, especially against those whom they hate and
fear; and although I know not exactly in what direction the king's
doubts point; but I can easily conceive that, from the supposed honour
shown you by the Queen of England, from the appearance and
disappearance of a certain servant, from your various movements, and
the secrecy which has attended them, he may imagine that you are
engaged in some intrigues with Elizabeth, and we all know well how
unjustifiably she has meddled with the affairs of this land."
"On my honour and soul, Ramsay," answered Gowrie, "I know of none of
her intrigues, if she has been carrying on any. I hold no
communication with her whatsoever. I have heard nought from her, sent
her no information, and never will consent to a foreign sovereign
taking any part whatsoever in the internal affairs of this land--nay,
not to save my head from the block."
"I do believe you, my noble friend," answered Ramsay; "but still
suspicion, if raised to such a pitch as it has been here, is as
dangerous when false as true, when groundless as just; and I tell you
that you are in danger."
"Of what?" exclaimed Gowrie. "Does he propose to arrest me, to try me?
Let him do it. He will only bring disgrace upon his own head for
persecuting a loyal subject who has done no wrong. I have never given
the slightest cause, Ramsay. I never will; and I dare him, I dare the
whole world, to find any flaw in my conduct which can give an opening
to a plain and straightforward accusation."
"That is likely too," answered Ramsay, shaking his head, "and I do not
believe that any straightforward accusation will be made. The times
are past when men could be murdered under form of law; and greatly as
all men must regret the anarchy and confusion which reigned in the
land so long, yet they have acted as a purifying fire, and produced
that freedom which is the best safeguard of justice. But there are
other means, Gowrie, for ridding oneself of an enemy or of a suspected
friend--secret means, much more easy to hide beforehand from the
victim, and to cover over after with the mantle of authority, than the
coarse expedient of manufacturing charges or corrupting judges."
"Good Heaven!" exclaimed Gowrie; "and is this Scotland?"
"Ay, even so," answered Ramsay. "I will not suppose that the king
would order or attempt such a thing; but there is many a ready hand
prepared to execute what is believed to be the royal wish, many an
eager eye watching to discover what that wish may be. Recollect what
happened in England when Becket, the proud opposer of the crown, a
churchman, fenced in with all the hedges of Rome, was slain at a mere
hint from the sovereign he had offended. We have as rash men amongst
us as Tracy and his companions; and, in your case, you have none of
the safeguards which Becket had. How many accidents could happen by
which the Earl of Gowrie might lose his life?--a street brawl even,
with which he had nothing to do--a chance shot during a hunting
party--a blow struck in apparent sport; I could name a hundred ways in
which the thing might be accomplished, without danger to the
perpetrator of the deed, or imputation upon the prompter."
Gowrie rose, and walked up and down the room, thoughtfully; and, after
a short pause, Ramsay continued. "I have spoken my mind freely, my
dear lord, from our boyish friendship, and from sincere esteem. I have
ventured to say things which put in your power, even perhaps my life;
but I know your generous nature too well not to feel sure that my
confidence will never be abused."
"Be you quite certain of that," answered Gowrie, pausing and taking
his hand. "But what would you have me do, Ramsay? I see the dangers of
which you speak; but I perceive no way of avoiding them."
"There are but two ways that I know of," answered Ramsay. "If you can
remove the king's suspicions, and convince him of your loyalty and
devotion, the danger will pass away."
"Remove some of his suspicions, I might," said Gowrie, thoughtfully;
and his mind rested on Julia's situation, and the chance that existed
of his being able to prove, to the king's satisfaction, that she knew
nought of her father's wealth, and had never possessed any part of it.
Could he do so, and obtain the royal consent to his marriage with her,
the mystery attending some of his late movements could be explained at
once. But he resolved at all events, whatever might be the risk, not
to divulge the place of her concealment till she actually was his
wife. He repeated, then, after thinking for a minute or two--"Remove
some of his suspicions, I might, and I will try to do so, if it can be
effected without a sacrifice which not even safety could compensate.
As to proving to him my loyalty and devotion, I know no way but that
which I have already followed--to be loyal and devoted in seeking what
are really his best interests."
Ramsay shook his head; and the earl replied to this mute
answer--"Well then, Ramsay, I can do no otherwise; if it costs me
life itself I will not abandon the cause of civil and religious
liberty. I will be no consenting party to the oppression of the
people. I will not be the stay of despotism, nor the tool of arbitrary
power. Let him take my life rather than that; for I will not hold the
fee-simple of existence on the tenure of dishonour."
"There you are right," answered Ramsay; "and your views are mine; but
the difference between us is, that you, by your high position, are
called upon to act and speak in dangerous circumstances, when I may be
still and silent. However, try what you can do to remove the king's
suspicions--to account, at least, for some part of your conduct. Nay,
smile not, my dear lord, for things that seem very simple to you,
magnified by the optic glass of jealousy, grow into vast
importance.--Try, I say, what you can do, but wait a few days, till
the remembrance of this morning's work is somewhat softened. There is
no present danger, I do believe. Such schemes take long in hatching;
and you will have time to see how the king bears with you. If he is
dry and sharp, you may doubt his intentions; if he is wondrous kind
and over familiar, showing you great favour and unwonted friendship,
then be you sure he meditates mischief. That is the time for taking
the alternative,--quitting the court, and keeping yourself out of
harm's way. I will take care that you shall have every information
that is communicated to me, except that which comes under the seal of
secresy; but I beseech you, my dear lord, linger not too long, but
trust in my word that I speak not without good cause, and perhaps
suspect more than I say. For the plucking of such a goodly bird as
yourself," he continued, with a faint smile, "would furnish many a
poor half-moulted fowl of the court with golden feathers for the rest
of life."
Gowrie thanked him again and again, and then took his leave; and, in a
very thoughtful mood, returned to his own house.