Here is a father now,
Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture,
Make her the stop-gap to some canker’d feud,
Or fling her o’er, like Jonah, to the fishes,
To appease the sea at highest.
ANONYMOUS.
The Lord Keeper opened his discourse with an appearance of unconcern,
marking, however, very carefully, the effect of his communication upon
young Ravenswood.
“You are aware,” he said, “my young friend, that suspicion is the
natural vice of our unsettled times, and exposes the best and wisest of
us to the imposition of artful rascals. If I had been disposed to
listen to such the other day, or even if I had been the wily
politicians which you have been taught to believe me, you, Master of
Ravenswood, instead of being at freedom, and with fully liberty to
solicit and act against me as you please, in defence of what you
suppose to be your rights, would have been in the Castle of Edinburgh,
or some other state prison; or, if you had escaped that destiny, it
must have been by flight to a foreign country, and at the risk of a
sentence of fugitation.”
“My Lord Keeper,” said the Master, “I think you would not jest on such
a subject; yet it seems impossible you can be in earnest.”
“Innocence,” said the Lord Keeper, “is also confident, and sometimes,
though very excusably, presumptuously so.”
“I do not understand,” said Ravenswood, “how a consciousness of
innocence can be, in any case, accounted presumptuous.”
“Imprudent, at least, it may be called,” said Sir William Ashton,
“since it is apt to lead us into the mistake of supposing that
sufficiently evident to others of which, in fact, we are only conscious
ourselves. I have known a rogue, for this very reason, make a better
defence than an innocent man could have done in the same circumstances
of suspicion. Having no consciousness of innocence to support him, such
a fellow applies himself to all the advantages which the law will
afford him, and sometimes—if his counsel be men of talent—succeeds in
compelling his judges to receive him as innocent. I remember the
celebrated case of Sir Coolie Condiddle of Condiddle, who was tried for
theft under trust, of which all the world knew him guilty, and yet was
not only acquitted, but lived to sit in judgment on honester folk.”
“Allow me to beg you will return to the point,” said the Master; “you
seemed to say that I had suffered under some suspicion.”
“Suspicion, Master! Ay, truly, and I can show you the proofs of it; if
I happen only to have them with me. Here, Lockhard.” His attendant
came. “Fetch me the little private mail with the padlocks, that I
recommended to your particular charge, d’ye hear?”
“Yes, my lord.” Lockhard vanished; and the Keeper continued, as if half
speaking to himself.
“I think the papers are with me—I think so, for, as I was to be in this
country, it was natural for me to bring them with me. I have them,
however, at Ravenswood Castle, that I am sure; so perhaps you might
condescend——”
Here Lockhard entered, and put the leathern scrutoire, or mail-box,
into his hands. The Keeper produced one or two papers, respecting the
information laid before the privy council concerning the riot, as it
was termed, at the funeral of Allan Lord Ravenswood, and the active
share he had himself taken in quashing the proceedings against the
Master. These documents had been selected with care, so as to irritate
the natural curiosity of Ravenswood upon such a subject, without
gratifying it, yet to show that Sir William Ashton had acted upon that
trying occasion the part of an advocate and peacemaker betwixt him and
the jealous authorities of the day. Having furnished his host with such
subjects for examination, the Lord Keeper went to the breakfast-table,
and entered into light conversation, addressed partly to old Caleb,
whose resentment against the usurper of the Castle of Ravenswood began
to be softened by his familiarity, and partly to his daughter.
After perusing these papers, the Master of Ravenswood remained for a
minute or two with his hand pressed against his brow, in deep and
profound meditation. He then again ran his eye hastily over the papers,
as if desirous of discovering in them some deep purpose, or some mark
of fabrication, which had escaped him at first perusal. Apparently the
second reading confirmed the opinion which had pressed upon him at the
first, for he started from the stone bench on which he was sitting,
and, going to the Lord Keeper, took his hand, and, strongly pressing
it, asked his pardon repeatedly for the injustice he had done him, when
it appeared he was experiencing, at his hands, the benefit of
protection to his person and vindication to his character.
The statesman received these acknowledgments at first with well-feigned
surprise, and then with an affectation of frank cordiality. The tears
began already to start from Lucy’s blue eyes at viewing this unexpected
and moving scene. To see the Master, late so haughty and reserved, and
whom she had always supposed the injured person, supplicating her
father for forgiveness, was a change at once surprising, flattering,
and affecting.
“Dry your eyes, Lucy,” said her father; “why should you weep, because
your father, though a lawyer, is discovered to be a fair and honourable
man? What have you to thank me for, my dear Master,” he continued,
addressing Ravenswood, “that you would not have done in my case? ‘_Suum
cuique tribuito_,’ was the Roman justice, and I learned it when I
studied Justinian. Besides, have you not overpaid me a thousand times,
in saving the life of this dear child?”
“Yes,” answered the Master, in all the remorse of self-accusation; “but
the little service _I_ did was an act of mere brutal instinct; _your_
defence of my cause, when you knew how ill I thought of you, and how
much I was disposed to be your enemy, was an act of generous, manly,
and considerate wisdom.”
“Pshaw!” said the Lord Keeper, “each of us acted in his own way; you as
a gallant soldier, I as an upright judge and privy-councillor. We could
not, perhaps, have changed parts; at least I should have made a very
sorry _Tauridor_, and you, my good Master, though your cause is so
excellent, might have pleaded it perhaps worse yourself than I who
acted for you before the council.”
“My generous friend!” said Ravenswood; and with that brief word, which
the Keeper had often lavished upon him, but which he himself now
pronounced for the first time, he gave to his feudal enemy the full
confidence of an haughty but honourable heart. The Master had been
remarked among his contemporaries for sense and acuteness, as well as
for his reserved, pertinacious, and irascible character. His
prepossessions accordingly, however obstinate, were of a nature to give
way before love and gratitude; and the real charms of the daughter,
joined to the supposed services of the father, cancelled in his memory
the vows of vengeance which he had taken so deeply on the eve of his
father’s funeral. But they had been heard and registered in the book of
fate.
Caleb was present at this extraordinary scene, and he could conceive no
other reason for a proceeding so extraordinary than an alliance betwixt
the houses, and Ravenswood Castle assigned for the young lady’s dowry.
As for Lucy, when Ravenswood uttered the most passionate excuses for
his ungrateful negligence, she could but smile through her tears, and,
as she abandoned her hand to him, assure him, in broken accents, of the
delight with which she beheld the complete reconciliation between her
father and her deliverer. Even the statesman was moved and affected by
the fiery, unreserved, and generous self-abandonment with which the
Master of Ravenswood renounced his feudal enmity, and threw himself
without hesitation upon his forgiveness. His eyes glistened as he
looked upon a couple who were obviously becoming attached, and who
seemed made for each other. He thought how high the proud and
chivalrous character of Ravenswood might rise under many circumstances
in which _he_ found himself “overcrowed,” to use a phrase of Spenser,
and kept under, by his brief pedigree, and timidity of disposition.
Then his daughter—his favorite child—his constant playmate—seemed
formed to live happy in a union with such a commanding spirit as
Ravenswood; and even the fine, delicate, fragile form of Lucy Ashton
seemed to require the support of the Master’s muscular strength and
masculine character. And it was not merely during a few minutes that
Sir William Ashton looked upon their marriage as a probable and even
desirable event, for a full hour intervened ere his imagination was
crossed by recollection of the Master’s poverty, and the sure
displeasure of Lady Ashton. It is certain, that the very unusual flow
of kindly feeling with which the Lord Keeper had been thus surprised,
was one of the circumstances which gave much tacit encouragement to the
attachment between the Master and his daughter, and led both the lovers
distinctly to believe that it was a connexion which would be most
agreeable to him. He himself was supposed to have admitted this in
effect, when, long after the catastrophe of their love, he used to warn
his hearers against permitting their feelings to obtain an ascendency
over their judgment, and affirm, that the greatest misfortune of his
life was owing to a very temporary predominance of sensibility over
self-interest. It must be owned, if such was the case, he was long and
severely punished for an offence of very brief duration.
After some pause, the Lord Keeper resumed the conversation.—
“In your surprise at finding me an honester man than you expected, you
have lost your curiosity about this Craigengelt, my good Master; and
yet your name was brought in, in the course of that matter too.”
“The scoundrel!” said Ravenswood. “My connexion with him was of the
most temporary nature possible; and yet I was very foolish to hold any
communication with him at all. What did he say of me?”
“Enough,” said the Keeper, “to excite the very loyal terrors of some of
our sages, who are for proceeding against men on the mere grounds of
suspicion or mercenary information. Some nonsense about your proposing
to enter into the service of France, or of the Pretender, I don’t
recollect which, but which the Marquis of A——, one of your best
friends, and another person, whom some call one of your worst and most
interested enemies, could not, somehow, be brought to listen to.”
“I am obliged to my honourable friend; and yet,” shaking the Lord
Keeper’s hand—“and yet I am still more obliged to my honourable enemy.”
“_Inimicus amicissimus_,” said the Lord Keeper, returning the pressure;
“but this gentleman—this Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw—I am afraid the poor
young man—I heard the fellow mention his name—is under very bad
guidance.”
“He is old enough to govern himself,” answered the Master.
“Old enough, perhaps, but scarce wise enough, if he has chosen this
fellow for his _fidus Achates_. Why, he lodged an information against
him—that is, such a consequence might have ensued from his examination,
had we not looked rather at the character of the witness than the tenor
of his evidence.”
“Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw,” said the master, “is, I believe, a most
honourable man, and capable of nothing that is mean or disgraceful.”
“Capable of much that is unreasonable, though; that you must needs
allow, master. Death will soon put him in possession of a fair estate,
if he hath it not already; old Lady Girnington—an excellent person,
excepting that her inveterate ill-nature rendered her intolerable to
the whole world—is probably dead by this time. Six heirs portioners
have successively died to make her wealthy. I know the estates well;
they march with my own—a noble property.”
“I am glad of it,” said Ravenswood, “and should be more so, were I
confident that Bucklaw would change his company and habits with his
fortunes. This appearance of Craigengelt, acting in the capacity of his
friend, is a most vile augury for his future respectability.”
“He is a bird of evil omen, to be sure,” said the Keeper, “and croaks
of jail and gallows-tree. But I see Mr. Caleb grows impatient for our
return to breakfast.”