I must now go back for a period of more than a month. Gowrie on
quitting Edinburgh rode on at a quick pace, hoping to save the tide at
Queensferry; but he did not succeed. The water had sunk low, and the
boat was on the shore. There was no resource but either to ride
farther up in the direction of Stirling, or to wait till the next
morning. Gowrie chose the latter course, though at the chance of being
pursued and overtaken. He did not like the feeling of flight; and
though it might be necessary, and he had already adopted the expedient
as the only means of security, his repugnance was sufficient to turn
the scale, when, on the banks of the Firth of Forth, he had to
consider what was the next step to be taken. All passed quietly at the
little inn, however. No signs or sounds of pursuit disturbed the
night; and by grey of the dawn on the following morning, the earl and
his followers were upon the shores of Fife. A short ride brought them
into Perthshire; and then feeling in safety, the young earl paused at
the first village, to consider what course he had better follow. If he
went on to Perth, he saw that he might be detained there for some
time. It was long since he had seen her whom he loved; and he felt
that yearning of the heart to hold her in his arms again, which those
who have loved truly can well comprehend. He was also somewhat anxious
for her safety after all that had occurred to Austin Jute; but then,
on the other hand, the few brief words which his sister had written,
had indicated Perth as the place where he ought to take refuge; and it
was not improbable that she might either know of some ambush on the
way to Trochrie, or intend to send him further information before he
went. The importance of receiving the speediest intelligence of what
was passing at the court, decided him at length to act contrary to his
own wishes, and he resolved to sleep that night at least in Perth.
Hardly had he risen on the following morning, when, at one and the
same time, it was announced to him that one of the magistrates of the
town desired to see him, and that a messenger from Dirleton had just
dismounted in the courtyard. The latter was instantly admitted, and
presented the earl with a packet addressed in his mother's hand. On
opening it, however, he found a sealed letter from his sister, and
also a few lines from the countess, informing him that the enclosed
had come that morning from Beatrice, with the request that it might be
forwarded instantly, and by a trusty messenger, to Perth. The letter
from his sister contained the following words:--
"My dear and noble Lord and Brother,
"I had but time and opportunity to write you a very few words
yesterday evening, which Hume must have delivered safely, as I find
this morning that you have followed counsel, and are gone. I now send
you farther information, not direct to Perth, but by the hands of our
dear lady mother, lest what I write should be stopped by the way.
All is quiet here at this present, but some people are much
disappointed, I believe, in their hearts. The cause of my warning was
as follows.--My maid, Margaret Brown, who is very faithful to me, but
of a very prying and inquisitive disposition, and not without
shrewdness, informed me that danger awaited you, my dear brother. She
had seen that something was going on, it seems, in the abbey, which
excited in her some suspicion; and her cousin, Robert Brown, a menial
servant of the palace, after having been called to the presence of the
king, said to her, unadvisedly, as she was coming to my room to aid me
in changing my dress for the court in the evening, 'Your lady will
have a sore heart before long.' Thereupon the girl, after having
dressed me, employed all her art and ingine to draw forth from the man
what it was he meant, and succeeded so far as to learn that you were
to be arrested the next morning; but in such a sort, without due
warrant or form of law, and with insults and injuries belike, as might
bring you to resistance, when, a fray being created, you might
perchance be killed without there seeming blame to any one. This was
the girl's story. She having got some one of the court to call me out
of the presence, and having always found her faithful and true of
tongue, I wrote hastily the words I sent, and gave them to our friend
Hume, to be delivered to your hand.
"Thus far is the girl's story confirmed since your departure, that I
have it from a certain source, several people well armed went down to
your house this morning, and others followed them not far behind, even
so much that the street was crowded. On arriving they asked for you of
the porter, but learning that you had gone for Perth on the night
before, and being confirmed of the fact by one who saw you ride away,
they separated and retired, not having told the reason of their
coming. This makes me well satisfied that I warned you as I did, and
assures me that you have not been driven away needlessly by your
loving sister,
"BEATRICE RUTHVEN."
"I must have forgotten Scotland," murmured Gowrie to himself. "Heaven!
what a dream I have been living in!"
Perhaps what he said was true. We are all apt to forget the evils and
discomforts of a place we have left behind. Memory is fond of pleasant
objects, and plants thick ivy shrubs to rise up and decorate the ruins
of the past. He had forgotten the turbulence and dangers which had
surrounded his early days. He had almost brought himself to fancy
that, as compared with Italy, Scotland was a place of peace, and
security, and freedom, where the assassin's knife, the oppressor's
wrong, the tyrant's sway were comparatively unknown. But the bitter
reality was now before him; and he saw that to be an enemy of the
court was to be but a hunted beast, whom every dog of favour might
pull down and tear at liberty.
After a few minutes' thought, however, he cast off the impression, and
sent for the bailie, who was waiting to speak with him. This
magistrate was the reverse in everything of his junior, Bailie
Roy--tall, thin, and raw-boned in person, somewhat bluff, and very
laconic of speech; a man to be moved neither by fear or favour, but
strong in his attachments and steady in his sense of right. He made an
ungainly bow in answer to the earl's salutation, and at once dropped
into the seat which he was invited to take.
"I have come, my lord," he said, "about the prisoner, David Drummond."
And there he stopped, as if all his say was said.
"Well, Mr. Bailie, what of him?" rejoined the earl. "I hear he has not
been tried yet. If you will name the day most convenient to the
magistrates, I will come down for the purpose, and hold a court."
"They were thinking of the twenty-second of the month," answered
Bailie Graham; "aiblins that might not suit your lordship?"
"Quite well," answered Gowrie. "I will be down, undoubtedly."
Still Mr. Graham continued to sit and twirl his beaver, as if
labouring with some other question or announcement; and at length he
said, "Your lordship would not see the prisoner?"
"Certainly not," answered Gowrie. "He has been my own servant; and
even that might be supposed to have some effect upon my judgment; but
I can have no private communication with him while awaiting trial. If
he have anything to request, either to make imprisonment more
tolerable or to provide for his defence, let him demand it publicly."
"He said he would write to the king, my lord, when he was told of your
answer," replied the bailie; "and he did it."
"Can he write?" asked the earl, in some surprise.
"No, not just with his own hand," said Mr. Graham; "but he got a
scrivener to do it for him; and Bailie Roy, one way or another, got
goodman Jobson to tell him what it was he said."
"I do not wish to hear, Mr. Bailie," said the earl. "It was probably
intended for the king's ear alone."
"Ay, that it was," said the bailie, drily; "and no doubt his majesty
will think no more of it than it deserves. It's not like to do the
Earl of Gowrie much harm, I should think."
"I cannot tell," replied Gowrie, coolly; "but the unfortunate man must
have his own way. If the king thinks there is anything important in
his memorial, he will probably have the prisoner examined before the
council."
"Na, na, my lord, he'll no do that," answered Bailie Graham. "He's
gotten a' that the man can gie; and so he may lie where he is for the
king."
A few words more explained to Gowrie that James had already sent some
one from Edinburgh to confer with the prisoner in his cell; but that
since then, "sin syne," as the bailie expressed it, no farther notice
had been taken of the unfortunate David Drummond.
I must not say that Gowrie had no curiosity to know what the prisoner
had said in his letter to the king; but he would not suffer it to
master him, although he had little doubt that the first intimation of
Julia's concealment at Trochrie had been thus communicated to James,
and he did not feel at all sure that many parts of his conduct might
not have been misrepresented by the sullen spirit of revenge which he
had often remarked in the prisoner.
"It is very possible, Mr. Bailie," he said, "that this man may have
attempted to injure me in his majesty's opinion by false or perverted
statements; but that shall not prevent me from doing all that justice
requires, without the slightest consideration of consequences. We will
proceed, then, to the trial on the day you have named, and I shall not
think it necessary even to let his majesty know the time appointed,
for although it would not become either you or me to stop a letter
addressed to our sovereign, yet the transaction is one with which we
have nothing to do; and we must fulfil our duties as if it had not
taken place."
"I knew your lordship was right," said Bailie Graham, in broader
Scotch than I shall attempt to transcribe. "Bailie Roy, poor body,
thought it would have been better for you to have seen the man, and
spoke civilly to him till he was hanged; but I said that was not the
way a provost of Perth should act; and so good morning to your
lordship. Let them say what they will of you, this is the way to win
through all."
Alas! that it should not always be as the worthy merchant said, and
that this history should afford a pregnant example of the reverse.
Within an hour after the good man had departed from the earl's great
house at Perth, Gowrie himself took his way towards Trochrie, riding
with the spirit of love to hurry him forward. Gay and bright were the
dreams that he dreamed by the way; and a feeling of rejoicing seemed
to fill his heart as he thought that he had cast off the trammels of a
court, and resumed that private station in which he now felt sure that
happiness was only to be obtained. It would seem that fate or chance
takes a delight in throwing obstacles in the way of impatience,
perhaps as a check to its vehemence, and a warning to go more quietly.
Though he set out early from Perth, and might have ridden the distance
to Strathbraan in a few hours, a thousand petty accidents beset the
earl by the way. A ford, which used to be practicable at almost all
seasons, was now found impassable, for there had been rain in the
hills. The earl's own horse cast a shoe, and it had to be replaced
before he could proceed; and lastly, turned by the necessity of
crossing the river higher up, into a more difficult and dangerous
path, one of the horses slipped over a rocky bank, was severely
injured, and the rider taken up insensible. The care of the poor man
occupied some time; and so much was lost in this and other manners,
that the sun had set nearly half an hour when the earl came to the
spot whence the first view of Trochrie Castle was to be obtained. He
looked eagerly forward through the thickening shadows of the night:
the castle itself was lost in the darkness; but a light streamed forth
from two spots, side by side, and Gowrie gladly recognised the
position of the room in which Julia sat. Oh, how cheering, how
gladdening are the lights as we approach after a long absence; what a
tale does that faint distant spot of brightness tell to the heart, of
peace, and love, and calm domestic joy, and all the hopes that gather
round the hearth of home!
Onward he went then, with renewed impatience, and in ten minutes more
he held Julia gladly to his heart. It was a moment that well repaid
all the cares and anxieties and griefs he had suffered.
And there they sat side by side, and gazed at each other in silence,
with her dear hand locked in his, and the heart looking out through
the window of the eye; and each had much to say to the other, but
still it was long unsaid, for emotions would have way before words.
"You look pale and sad, Gowrie," said Julia, at length. "I fear you
have met with disappointment."
"No, indeed, dear girl," he answered, "I am not sad, nor have I reason
to feel disappointment. My sensations have been very mixed, as all the
feelings produced by the great world are; but now joy certainly
predominates, for I am with you, and bear you some happy tidings.
Then, as to disappointment, dearest Julia, I may experience some at
finding that my fancy had drawn pictures of men and things in this, my
native land, in colours far too bright; but that was my own fault or
my own folly; and in the most essential point of my hopes, I have
succeeded as far as I could expect."
"Thank Heaven for that!" replied Julia, with no light words; "whatever
be that point, I am sure that it is a noble and a good one."
"Nay," said Gowrie, "do not praise too much, my Julia. It is a very
selfish one; but, to keep you in no suspense, let me tell you that the
king has given his consent, in writing, to our union in the month of
September next. All difficulties are thus removed, and I must say that
in this he has acted, to all appearance, generously; for he had
learned that you are here, and might not unreasonably, perhaps, have
expressed some anger at my having concealed the fact."
"I heard from good Austin that he had gained intelligence of my
abode," replied Julia, "and I felt some alarm, especially during your
faithful follower's long and unexplained absence; but I tried to
comfort myself by thinking of all the precautions you had taken when
last you were here; for I can hardly fancy that anything which Gowrie
undertakes can go wrong."
"Would it were so, truly, my beloved," replied Gowrie, somewhat
gloomily.
"See this very instance!" exclaimed Julia. "Have you not succeeded
where we had so little hope?"
"Not succeeded as well as I could wish," answered her lover. "The king
has made it a condition, Julia, that you shall formally renounce all
claim whatsoever upon the estates and property of your father--even
Whiteburn, though settled by deed upon your mother."
He paused a moment, watching her thoughtful face, and then added,
"Nevertheless, I have promised the renunciation in your name; first,
because I knew it was the only means of winning the king's consent;
and secondly, because I found that it was more than doubtful whether
you could establish your claim by law."
"I have but one regret in this case, Gowrie," replied the beautiful
girl--"that I come to you poor and dowerless. Oh, if I had all the
wealth which they say my poor father amassed, how gladly would I pour
it out before you!"
"If that be all, have no regret, my love," replied the young
earl--"right glad am I that you do not possess it. I have wealth
enough for both, my Julia--too much, indeed, it seems; for in this
land wealth and influence do not excite envy alone, but doubt and
suspicion likewise. It is dangerous, I am sure, to be too powerful a
subject under a weak king. However, I have enough, and to spare. If
then, dear one, you will sign the act of renunciation, I will despatch
it to the king to-morrow, and then no objection can be ever raised or
opposition offered."
"Then I must not go to the court to sign it?" asked Julia, eagerly.
"Not unless you wish it," replied Gowrie.
"Thank Heaven for that, too!" she exclaimed. "Wish it! Oh no, Gowrie.
I suppose the time will come when I must go there; but had I my will,
that time would never be. I always dreaded the thought of courts, and
what your dear sister told me of that in which she dwells, made me
more timid and fearful than ever. Oh, promise me, Gowrie, that we
shall spend the greater part of life afar from those nests of envy,
malice, and greediness."
"That promise I will make with all my heart," replied her lover; "but
tell me, Julia, are you not weary of this desert solitude? Beatrice,
who almost always counsels well, has half persuaded me to keep you
immured here till you are altogether my own; for she sees danger in
your residing anywhere not provided so well for defence as this. She
thinks the king might seize upon you, and use the expectation of your
hand as a means of leading me to a course which my heart and
conscience disapprove, or rather, employ the fear of losing you, to
drive me to acts which I am bound to oppose and to denounce."
"I have never felt weary one day," answered Julia: "fears I may have
had--anxiety to see you again, I may have felt; but weariness, never;
nor shall I, Gowrie. A few short months will soon pass: you will let
me see you at times; I have beautiful nature before my eyes, books,
music, painting, thought, to fill up the time; and what need I more?
Yes, follow dear Beatrice's counsel. Let me rest here, dear Gowrie,
till all places become alike to me, for thou wilt be with me in all."
Gowrie pressed her gently to his heart, and then withdrew his arms
again; for he felt that, lonely, protected only by his honour, he must
not let even the warmth of the purest love call up a doubt or a fear
in her young heart. His thoughts and words naturally followed the
course in which his feelings led; and he replied, "I will be with you
often, my Julia, though now I must leave you soon, I fear; but when I
return I will try to bring one of my sisters with me to cheer you."
But Julia had tasted less of the tree of the knowledge of good and
evil, and she answered, innocently, "I want no cheering when you are
with me, Gowrie. Glad shall I be to see them; and if they be like
Beatrice, my heart will open to them like a humble flower to the
bright sun; but Gowrie's presence is life enough for me. But I have
many things to tell you, too; and yet, I know not why, but I think you
have not told me all."
"Oh, there are many minor things to mention," answered the young earl,
doubtful whether it were wisest to inform her of the dangers which had
menaced, or to conceal them, now that he was safe, at least for the
time. "What need," he asked himself, "to disturb her mind, and keep
her in constant agitation, whenever I am absent, by fears for me,
whose life has been already menaced? Better let her remain in
ignorance of the perils that beset my path, when she can do nought to
avert them. Could she act, could she counsel, could she direct, I
would conceal nothing from her; but she is here helpless and alone,
unable to do aught but sit and weep over the dangers or the griefs of
others. Shall I make the hours, lonely and dull as they must be here,
sad and apprehensive also? No, no; I will not be insincere; and
whatsoever she asks, will answer her truly; but I will say no more
upon such subjects than needs must be said."
Perhaps Gowrie went a little further than this, for he purposely led
the conversation away from the subject of his own fate; and all that
Julia learned was, that the king had shown no great love in his
demeanour either for the earl or for his brother. Even this made her
somewhat thoughtful; and to change the subject, Austin Jute was sent
for. He came as fresh, as gay, as ugly as ever; but on this occasion
he had little to tell, for his journey back to Trochrie had passed
without impediment from any other source but his ignorance of the way.
The difficulties he met with from that cause, he described with
considerable humour, telling the answers which had been given to his
inquiries at the different places which he had passed, and imitating
the various dialects of the counties through which he had gone, which
were in those days very strongly marked. He did very well till he came
to the Gaelic, and even then, though he was utterly unacquainted with
the words of the language, he contrived to give some of the sounds so
exactly, that Gowrie could not refrain from laughter.
Julia rejoiced to see him so gay; and if she had entertained any
suspicion that he was withholding the painful portion of the truth
from her, it was dissipated by the cheerfulness he displayed.
An hour or two thus went by; but Gowrie would not keep her long from
repose, for he longed to go forth with her on the following morning,
and roam through the valleys, and over the hills, now covered with the
yellow broom and the young shoots of the heath. The weather had become
bright and warm. The fair season was coming on with rapid strides,
when the mountains are softened and decorated by the hand of nature,
and their solemn gloom cheered by the smiles of the sky; and Gowrie
thought of many a plan to make the hours pass pleasantly. "While
here," he said to himself, "the feeling of security will spread a calm
and tranquil atmosphere around us, which we could not obtain in a less
wild and solitary spot. To-morrow, I will take my dear prisoner forth,
and show her some of the beauties of the land to which she is yet a
stranger."
At an early hour, therefore, he bade Julia adieu for the night, and
retired to the room which he had ordered to be prepared for himself in
the gate tower. There he held a somewhat long conversation with Donald
Macduff, his baron bailie in Strathbraan; and having ascertained from
him that all strangers had withdrawn from the neighbourhood, and that
a keen watch had been kept up ever since Austin Jute's capture, lest
any of the king's people should be lurking about in the valleys
around, he lay down to rest, and slept more soundly than he had done
for many a night before.