CHAPTER I.

Produced by David Clarke, Mary Meehan and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Wilson's

Tales of the Borders

AND OF SCOTLAND.

HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE.

WITH A GLOSSARY.

REVISED BY

ALEXANDER LEIGHTON,

_One of the Original Editors and Contributors._

VOL. XVIII.

LONDON:

WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE,

AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE.

1884.

CONTENTS

Page

THOMAS OF CHARTRES, (_Hugh Miller_), 1

THE FUGITIVE, (_John Mackay Wilson_), 33

THE BRIDE OF BRAMBLEHAUGH, (_Alexander Leighton_), 63

GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT, (_Professor Thomas Gillespie_)--

XIV. JAMES RENWICK, 95

XV. OLD ISBEL KIRK, 105

XVI. THE CURLERS, 110

XVII. THE VIOLATED COFFIN, 119

THE SURGEON'S TALES, (_Alexander Leighton_)--

THE MONOMANIAC, 127

THE FOUNDLING AT SEA, (_Alexander Campbell_), 159

THE ASSASSIN, (_Alexander Campbell_), 178

THE PRISONER OF WAR, (_John Howell_), 191

WILLIE WASTLE'S ACCOUNT OF HIS WIFE, (_John Mackay Wilson_), 223

THE STONE-BREAKER, (_Alexander Campbell_), 255

LAIRD RORIESON'S WILL, (_Alexander Leighton_), 276

WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS AND OF SCOTLAND.

THOMAS OF CHARTRES.

One morning, early in the spring of 1298, a small Scottish vessel lay

becalmed in the middle of the Irish Channel, about fifteen leagues to

the south of the Isle of Man. During the whole of the previous night,

she had been borne steadily southward, by a light breeze from off the

fast receding island; but it had sunk as the sun rose, and she was now

heaving slowly to the swell, which still continued to roll onward, in

long glassy ridges from the north. A thick fog had risen as the wind

fell--one of those low sea fogs which, leaving the central heavens

comparatively clear, hangs its dense, impervious volumes around the

horizon; and the little vessel lay as if imprisoned within a circular

wall of darkness, while the sun, reddened by the haze, looked down

cheerily upon her from above. She was a small and very rude-looking

vessel, furnished with two lug-sails of dark brown, much in the manner

of a modern Dutch lugger; with a poop and forecastle singularly high,

compared with her height in the waist; and with sides which, attaining

their full breadth scarcely a foot over the water, sloped abruptly

inwards, towards the deck, like the wall of a mole or pier. The

parapet-like bulwarks of both poop and forecastle were cut into deep

embrasures, and ran, like those of a tower, all around the areas they

enclosed, looking down nearly as loftily on the midships as on the

water. The sides were black as pitch could render them--the sails

scarcely less dark; but, as if to shew man's love of the ornamental in

even the rudest stage of art, a huge misshapen lion flared in vermillion

on the prow, and over the stern hung the blue flag of Scotland, with the

silver cross of St Andrew stretching from corner to corner.

From eight to ten seamen lounged about the decks. They were

uncouth-looking men, heavily attired in jerkins and caps of blue

woollen, with long, thick beards, and strongly-marked features. The

master, a man considerably advanced in life--for, though his eye seemed

as bright as ever, his hair and beard had become white as snow--was

rather better dressed. He wore above his jerkin a short cloak of blue

which confessed, in its finer texture, the superiority of the looms of

Flanders over those of his own country; and a slender cord of silver ran

round a cap of the same material. His nether garments, however, were

coarse and rude as those of his seamen; and the shoes he wore were

fashioned, like theirs, of the undressed skin of the deer, with the hair

still attached; giving to the foot that brush-like appearance which had

acquired to his countrymen of the age, from their more polished

neighbours, the appellation of rough-footed Scots. Neither the number,

nor the appearance of the crew, singular and wild as the latter was,

gave the vessel aught of a warlike aspect; and yet there were

appearances that might have led one to doubt whether she was quite so

unprepared for attack or defence as at the first view might be premised.

There ran round the butt of each mast a rack filled with spears, of more

knightly appearance than could have belonged to a few rude seamen--for

of some of these the handles were chased with silver, and to some there

were strips of pennon attached; and a rich crimson cloak, with several

pieces of mail, were spread out to the morning sun, on one of the

shrouds.

The crew, we have said, were lounging about the deck, unemployed in the

calm, when a strong, iron-studded door opened in the poop, and a young

and very handsome man stepped forward.

"Has my unfortunate cloak escaped stain?" he said to the master. "Your

sea-water is no brightener of colour."

"It will not yet much ashame you, Clelland," said the master, "even amid

the gallants of France; but, were it worse, there is little fear, with

these eyes of yours, of being overlooked by the ladies."

"Nay, now, Brichan, that's but a light compliment from so grave a man as

you," said Clelland. "You forget how small a chance I shall have beside

my cousin."

"Not jealous of the Governor, Clelland, I hope?" said the old man,

gaily. "Nay, trust me, you are in little danger. Sir William is perhaps

quite as handsome a man as you, and taller by the head and shoulders;

but, trust me, no one will ever think of him as a pretty fellow. He

stands too much alone for that. Has he risen yet?"

"Risen!--he has been with the chaplain for I know not how long. Their

Latin broke in upon my dreams two hours ago. But what have we yonder, on

the edge of that bank of fog! Is it one of the mermaidens you were

telling me of yesterday?"

"Nay," said the master, "it is but a poor seal, risen to take the air.

But what have we beyond it? By heavens I see the dim outline of a large

vessel, through the fog! and yonder, not half a bow-shot beyond, there

is another! Saints forbid that it be not the English fleet, or the ships

of Thomas of Chartres! Clelland, good Clelland, do call up the Governor

and his company!"

Clelland stepped up to the door in the poop, and shouted hastily to his

companions within--"Strange sails in sight!--supposed enemies--it were

well to don your armours." And then turning to a seaman. "Assist me,

good fellow," he said, "in bracing on mine."

"Thomas of Chartres, to a certainty!" exclaimed the master--"and not a

breath to bear us away! Would to heavens that I were dead and buried, or

had never been born!"

"Why all this ado, Brichan?" said Clelland, who, assisted by the sailor,

was coolly buckling on his mail. "It was never your wont before, to be

thus annoyed by danger."

"It is not for myself I fear, noble Clelland," said the master, "if the

Governor were but away and safe. But, oh, to think that the pride and

stay of Scotland should fall into the merciless hands of a pirate dog!

Would that my own life, and the lives of all my crew, could but purchase

his safety!"

"Take heart, old man," said Clelland, with dignity. "Heaven watches over

the fortunes of the Governor of Scotland; nor will it suffer him to fall

obscurely by the hands of a mere plunderer of merchants and seamen.--Rax

me my long spear."

As he spoke, the Governor himself stepped forward from the door in the

poop, enveloped from head to foot in complete armour. He was a man of

more than kingly presence--taller, by nearly a foot, than even the

tallest man on deck, and broader across the shoulders by full six

inches; but so admirably was his frame moulded, that, though his stature

rose to the gigantic, no one could think of him as a giant. His visor

was up, and exhibited a set of high handsome features, and two of the

finest blue eyes that ever served as indexes to the feelings of a human

soul. His chin and upper lip were thickly covered with hair of that

golden colour so often sung by the elder poets; and a few curling locks

of rather darker shade escaped from under his helmet. A man of middle

stature and grave saturnine aspect, who wore a monk's frock over a coat

of mail, came up behind him.

"What is to befall us now, cousin Clelland?" said the Governor. "Does

not the truce extend over the channel, think you?"

"Ah, these are not English enemies, noble sir," replied the master. "We

have fallen on the fleet of the infamous Thomas of Chartres."

"And who is Thomas of Chartres?" asked the Governor.

"A cruel and bloodthirsty pirate--the terror of these seas for the last

sixteen years. Wo is me!--we have neither force enough to fight, nor

wind to bear us away!"

"Two large vessels," said the Governor, stepping up to the side, "full

of armed men, too; but we muster fifty, besides the sailors; and, if

they attempt boarding us, it must be by boat. Is it not so, master? The

calm which fixes us here, must prevent them from laying alongside and

overmastering us."

"Ah, yes, noble sir," said the master; "but we see only a part of the

fleet."

"Were there ten fleets," exclaimed Clelland, impatiently, "I have met

with as great odds ashore--and here comes Crawford."

The door in the poop was again thrown open, and from forty to fifty

warriors, in complete armour, headed by a tall and powerful-looking man,

came crowding out, and then thronged around the masts, to disengage

their spears. They were all robust and hardy-looking men--the flower

apparently of a country side; and the coolness and promptitude with

which they ranged themselves round their leader, to wait his commands,

shewed that it was not now for the first time they had been called on to

prepare for battle. They were, in truth, tried veterans of the long and

bloody struggle which their country had maintained with Edward--men who,

ere they had united under a leader worthy to command them, had resisted

the enemy individually, and preserved, amid their woods and fastnesses,

at least their personal independence. Such a party of such men, however

great the odds opposed to them, could not, in any circumstances, be

deemed other than formidable.

"We are not born for peace, countryman," said the Governor--"war follows

us even here. Meanwhile, lie down, that the enemy mark not our numbers.

That foremost vessel is lowering her boat, and yonder tall man in

scarlet, who takes his seat in the bows, seems to be a leader."

"It is Thomas of Chartres, himself," said the master. "I know him well.

Some five-and-twenty years ago, we sailed together from Palestine."

"And what," asked the Governor, "could have brought a false pirate

there?"

"He was no false pirate then," replied the master, "but a true Christian

knight; and bravely did he fight for the sepulchre. But, on his return

to France, where he had been pledged to meet with his lady-love, he fell

under the displeasure of the King, his master; and, ever since, he has

been a wanderer and a pirate. You will see, as he approaches, the

scallop in his basnet; and be sure he will be the first man to board

us."

"Excellent," exclaimed the Governor, gaily; "we shall hold him hostage

for the good behaviour of his fleet. Mark me, cousin Crawford. His barge

shoves off, and the men bend to their oars. He will be here in a

twinkling. Do you stand by our good Ancient--would there were but wind

enough to unfurl it!--and the instant he bids us strike, why, lower it

to the deck; but be as sure you hoist it again when you see him fairly

aboard. And you, dear Clelland, do you take your stand here on the deck

beside me, and see to it, when I am dealing with the pirate, that you

keep your long spear between us and his crew. It will be strange if he

boast of his victory this bout."

The men, at the command of their leader, had prostrated themselves on

the deck, while his two brethren in arms, Crawford and Clelland,

stationed themselves at his bidding--the one on the vessel's poop,

directly under the pennon, the other at his side in the midships. The

pirate's barge, glittering to the sun with arms and armour, and crowded

with men, rowed lustily towards them; but, while yet a full hundred

yards away, a sudden breeze from the west began to murmur through the

shrouds, and the bellying sails swelled slowly over the side.

"Heaven's mercy be praised!" exclaimed the master, "we shall escape them

yet. Lay her easy to the wind, good Crawford--lay her easy to the wind,

and we shall bear out through them all."

"Nay, cousin, nay," said the Governor, his eyes flashing with eagerness,

"the pirate must not escape us so. Lay the vessel to. Turn her head full

to the wind. And you, captain, draw off your men to the hold. We must

not lose our good sailors; and these woollens of yours will scarcely

turn a French arrow. Nay, 'tis I who am master now"--for the old man

seemed disposed to linger. "I may resign my charge, perhaps, by and by;

but you must obey me now."

The master and his sailors left the deck. The barge of the pirate came

sweeping onward till within two spears' length of the vessel, and then

hailed her with no courtly summons of surrender. "Strike, dogs, strike!

or you shall fare the worse!" It was the pirate himself who spoke, and

Crawford, at his bidding, pulled down the Ancient. The barge dashed

alongside. Thomas of Chartres, a very tall and very powerful man, seized

hold of the bulwark rail with one hand, and bearing a naked sword in the

other, leaped fearlessly aboard, within half a yard of where the

Governor stood, half-concealed by the shrouds and the bulwarks. In a

moment the sword was struck down, and the intruder locked in the

tremendous grasp of the first champion of his time. Crawford hoisted the

Ancient, yard-high, to the new-risen breeze; while Clelland struck his

long spear against the pirate who had leaped on the gunwale to follow

his leader, with such hearty good-will that the steel passed through

targe and corselet, and he fell back a dead man into the boat. In an

instant the concealed party had sprung from the deck, and fifty Scottish

spears bristled over the gunwale, interposing their impenetrable hedge

between the pirate crew and their leader. For a moment, the latter had

striven to move his antagonist; but, powerful and sinewy as he was, he

might as well have attempted to uproot an oak of an hundred summers.

While yet every muscle was strained in the exertion, the Governor swung

him from off his feet, suspended him at arm's length for full half a

moment in the air, and then dashed him violently against the deck. A

stream of blood gushed from mouth and nostril, and he lay stunned and

senseless where he fell. Meanwhile, the crew of the barge, taken by

surprise, and outnumbered, shoved off a boat's length beyond reach of

the spears, and then rested on their oars.

"He revives," said the warrior in the monk's frock, going up to the

fallen pirate. "Reiver though he be, he has fought for the holy

sepulchre, and has worn golden spurs."

"I will deal with him right knightly," said the Governor. "Yield thee,

Sir Thomas of Chartres," he continued, bending over the prisoner, and

holding up a dagger to his face--"yield thee true hostage for the good

conduct of thy fleet--or shall I call the confessor?"

"I yield me true hostage," said the fallen man. "But who art thou,

terrible warrior, that o'ermasterest De Longoville of France as if he

were a stripling of twelve summers? Art Wallace, the Scottish

Champion!"

"Thou yieldest, De Longoville," said the Governor, "to Sir William

Wallace of Elderslie. But how is it that I meet, in the infamous Thomas

of Chartres, that true soldier of the Cross, De Longoville? I have heard

minstrels sing of thy deeds against the Saracen, Sir Knight, while I was

yet a boy; and yet here art thou now, the dread of the wandering sailor

and the merchant--a chief among thieves and pirates."

"Alas! noble Wallace, thou sayest too truly," said Sir Thomas; "but yet

wouldst thou deem me as worthy of pity as of censure, didst thou but

know all, and the remorse I even now endure. For a full year have I

determined to quit this wild, unknightly mode of life, and go a pilgrim

as of old; not to fight for the sepulchre--for the battles of the Cross

are over--not to fight, but to die for it. But I accept, noble champion,

this my first defeat on sea, as a message from heaven. Accept of me as

true soldier under thee, and I will fight for thee in thy country's

quarrel, to the death."

"Most willingly, brave De Longoville," said the Governor, as he raised

him from the deck; "Scotland needs sorely the use of such swords as

thine."

"And deem not her cause less holy," said the monk--for monk he was, the

well-known Chaplain Blair--"deem not her cause less holy than that of

the sepulchre itself; nor think that thou shalt eradicate the stain of

past dishonour less surely in her battles. The cause of justice, De

Longoville, is the cause of God, contend for it where we may."

Wallace returned to De Longoville the sword of which he had so lately

disarmed him; and the pirate admiral, on learning that the champion was

bound for Rochelle, issued orders to his fleet, which, now that the mist

rose, was found to consist of six large vessels, to follow close in

their wake. The breeze blew steadily from the north-west, and the ships

went careering along, each in her own long furrow of white, towards the

port of their destination; the pirate vessels keeping aloof full two

bowshots from the Scotsman--for so De Longoville had ordered, to prevent

suspicion of treachery. He had set aside his armour, and now appeared to

his new associates as a man of noble and knightly bearing, tall and

stalwart as any warrior aboard, save the Governor; and, though his hair

was blanched around his temples, and indicated the approach of age, the

light step and quick sparkling eye gave evidence that his vigour of

frame still remained undiminished. He sat apart, with the Governor and

his two kinsmen, Clelland and Crawford, in the cabin under the poop. It

was a rude, unornamented apartment, as might be expected, from the

general appearance of the vessel; but the profusion of arms and pieces

of armour which hung from the sides, glittering to the light that found

entrance through a casement in the deck, bestowed on the place an air of

higher pretension. A table with food and wine was placed before the

warriors.

"It is now twenty-six years, or thereby," said De Longoville, "since I

quitted Palestine for France, with the good Louis. I had fought by his

side on the disastrous field of Massouna, and did all that a man of

mould might to rescue him from the Saracens, when he fell into their

hands, exhausted by his wounds and his sore sickness. But that day was

written a day of defeat and disaster to the soldiers of the Cross. Nor

need I say how I took my stand, with the best of my countrymen, on the

walls of Damietta, and maintained them for the good cause, despite of

the assembled forces of the Moslem, until we had bought back our king

from captivity, by yielding up the city we defended for his ransom. It

is enough for a disgraced man and a captive to say that my services were

not overlooked by those whose notice was most an honour; and that, ere I

embarked for France, I received the badge of knighthood from the hand

of the good Louis himself.

"You all know of how different a character Charles of Anjou was from his

brother the king. I had returned from the crusade rich, only in honour,

and found the lady of my affections under close thrall by her parents,

who had resolved that she should marry Loithaire, Lord of Languedoc. I

knew that her heart was all my own; but I knew, besides, that I must

become wealthy ere I could hope to compete for her with a rival such as

Loithaire; and the good Pope Nicholas having made over the crown of the

Two Sicilies to Charles of Anjou, in an evil hour I entered the army

with which Charles was to wrest it from the bastard Manfred--having

certain assurance, from the tyrant himself, that, if he succeeded, I

should become one of the nobles of Sicily. We encountered Manfred at

Beneventura, and the bastard was defeated and slain. But I must blush,

as a knight, for the honour of knighthood--as a Frenchman, for the fair

fame of my country--when I think of the cruelties which followed. Not

the worst tyrants of old Rome could have surpassed Charles of Anjou in

his butcheries. The blood plashed under the hoofs of his charger as he

passed through the cities of his future kingdom; and, when he had borne

down all opposition, 'twould seem as if, in his eagerness to destroy all

who might resist, he had also determined to extirpate all who could

obey. But his policy proved as unsound as 'twas cruel and unjust, as the

terrible _Eve of the Vespers_ has since shown. The Princes of Germany,

headed by the chivalrous Conradine of Swabia, united against us in the

cause of the people. But the arms of France were again triumphant; the

confederacy was broken, and the gallant Conradine fell into the hands of

Charles. It was I, warriors of Scotland! to whom he surrendered; and I

had granted him, as became a knight, an assurance of knightly

protection. But would that my arms had been hewn off at the shoulders

when I first beat down his sword, and intercepted his retreat! The

infamous Charles treated my knightly assurance with scorn; and--can you

credit such baseness, noble Wallace!--he ordered Conradine of Swabia--a

true knight, and an independent prince--for instant execution, as if he

were a common malefactor. My blood boils, even now, when I recall that

terrible scene of injustice and cruelty. The soldiers of France crowded

round the scaffold; and I was among them, burning with shame and rage.

Ere Conradine bent him to the executioner, he took off his glove, and

throwing it amongst us, adjured us, if we were not all as dead to honour

as our leader, to bear it to some of his kinsmen, who would receive it

as a pledge of investiture in his rights, and as beqeathing the

obligation to revenge his death. Will you blame me, noble Wallace! that,

Frenchman as I was, I seized the glove of Conradine, and fled the army

of Charles; and that, ere I returned to France, I delivered it up to

Pedro of Arragon, the near kinsman of the last Prince of Swabia?

"My king and friend, the good Louis, had sailed from France for

Palestine, on his last hapless voyage, ere I had executed my mission. On

my return to France, however, I found a galley of Toulon on the eve of

quitting port, to join with his fleet, then on the coast of Africa, and,

snatching a hurried interview with the lady of my affections, maugre the

vigilance of her relatives, I embarked to fight under Louis, as of old,

for the blessed sepulchre. We landed near Tunis, and saw the tents of

France glittering to the sun. But all was silent as midnight, and the

royal standard hung reversed over the pavilion of the good Louis. He had

died that morning of the plague; and his base and cruel brother, the

false Charles of Anjou, sat beside the corpse. I felt that I had fallen

among my enemies; for though the young King was there, he was weak and

inexperienced, and open to the influence of his uncle. The first knight

I met, as I entered the camp, was Loithaire of Languedoc--now the wily

friend and counsellor of Charles. There were lying witnesses suborned

against me, who accused me of the most incredible and unheard-of

practices; and of these Loithaire was the chief. 'Twas in vain I

demanded the combat, as a test of my innocence. The combat was denied

me; my sword was broken before the assembled chivalry of France; my

shield reversed; and sentence was passed that I should be burnt at a

stake, and my ashes scattered to the four winds of heaven. But it was

not written that I should perish so. Scarce an hour before the opening

of the day appointed for my execution, I broke from prison, assisted by

a brother soldier, whose life I had saved in Palestine, and escaped to

France.

"I was a broken and ruined man. But how wondrous the force of true

affection! My Agnes knew this; and yet, knowing all, she contrived to

elude her guardians, and fled with me to the sea-shore, where we

embarked, in a ship of Normandy, for the south of Ireland. From that

hour De Longoville has fought under no banner but his own. I renounced,

in my anger, my allegiance to my country-nay, declared war with the

sovereign who had so injured me. The years passed, and desperate and

dishonoured men like myself came flocking to me as their leader, till

not Philip himself, or my old enemy Charles, had more kingly authority

on land than De Longoville on the sea. But let no man again deceive

himself as I have done. I had reasoned on the lax morality and doubtful

honour of kings, and asked myself why I might not, as the admiral and

prince of my fleet, achieve a less guilty, though not less splendid

glory than the bastard William of Normandy, or Edward of England, or my

old enemy Charles of Anjou. But I have long since been taught that what

were high achievements and honourable conquest in the admiral of a

hundred vessels, is but sheer piracy in the captain of six. I can trust,

however, that the last days of De Longoville may yet be deemed equal to

the first; and that the middle term of his life may be forgiven him for

its beginning and its close. Not a month since, I carried my wife and

daughter to France, and took final leave of them, with the purpose of

setting out on my pilgrimage to Palestine. That intention, noble

Wallace! is now altered; and I must again seek them out, that they may

accompany me to Scotland."

"The foul stain of treason, brave Longoville, must be removed," said the

Governor. "Charles of Anjou has long since gone to his account: does the

Lord of Languedoc still survive!"

"He still lives," replied the admiral; "his years do not outnumber my

own."

"Then must he either retract the vile calumny, or grant you the combat.

The young Philip has pledged his knightly word, when he solicited the

visit I am now voyaging to pay him, that he would grant me the first

boon I craved in person, should it involve the alienation of his fairest

province. That boon, brave De Longoville, will, at least, present you

with the means of regaining your fair fame."

De Longoville knelt on the cabin floor, and kissed the hand of the

Governor. The conversation glided imperceptibly to other and lighter

matters; time passed gaily in the recital of stories of chivalrous

endurance or exploit; and the gale, which still blew steadily from the

north-west, promised a speedy accomplishment of their voyage. For four

days they sailed without shifting back or lowering sail; and, on the

morning of the fifth, cast anchor in the harbour of Rochelle.

On the evening of the second day after their arrival, a single knight

was pricking his steed through one of the glades of the immense forest

which, at this period, covered the greater part of the province of

Poitiers. He had been passing, ever since morning, through what seemed

an interminable wilderness of wood--here clustered into almost

impenetrable thickets shagged with an undergrowth of thorn, there

opening into long bosky glades and avenues that seemed, however, only to

lead into recesses still more solitary and remote than those that

darkened around him. During the early part of the day, the sun had

looked down gaily among the trees, checkering the sward below with a

carpeting of alternate light and shadow; and the knight, a lover of

falconry and the chase, had rode jocundly on through the peopled

solitude; ever and anon grasping his spear, with the eager spirit of the

huntsman, as the fawn started up beside his courser, and shot like a

meteor across the avenue, or the wild boar or wolf rustled in the

neighbouring brake. Towards evening, however, the eternal sameness of

the landscape had begun to fatigue him; the sun, too, had disappeared,

long before his setting, in a veil of impenetrable vapour, mottled with

grey, ponderous clouds, betokening an approaching storm; and the

horseman pressed eagerly onward, in the hope of reaching, ere its

bursting, the hostelry in which he had purposed to pass the evening. He

had either, however, mistaken his way or miscalculated his distance; for

after passing dell and dingle, glade and thicket, in monotonous

succession, for hours on hours, the forest still seemed as dense and

unending, and the hostelry as distant as ever. A brown and sleepy horror

seemed to settle over the trees as the evening darkened; the thunder

began to bellow in long peals, far to the south, and a few heavy drops

to patter from time to time on the leaves, giving indication of the

approaching deluge. The knight had just resigned himself to encounter

all the horrors of the storm, when, on descending into a little bosky

hollow, through which there passed a minute streamlet, he found himself

in front of a deserted hermitage. It was a cell, opening, like an

Egyptian tomb, in the face of a low precipice. A rude stone-cross,

tapestried with ivy, rose immediately over the narrow door-way.

"The saints be praised!" exclaimed the knight, leaping lightly from his

horse. "I shall e'en avail myself of the good shelter they have

provided. But thou, poor Biscay," he continued, patting his steed,

"wouldst that thou wert with thy master, mine host of the Three _Fleurs

de Lis!_--there is scant stabling for thee here. This way, however, good

Biscay--this way. Thou must bide the storm as thou best may'st in yonder

hollow of the rock." And, leading the animal to the hollow, he fastened

him to the stem of a huge ivy, and then entered the hermitage.

It consisted of one small rude apartment, hewn, apparently with immense

labour, in the living rock. A seat and bed of stone occupied the

opposite sides; and in the extreme end, fronting the door, there was a

rude image of the Virgin, with a small altar of mouldering stone, placed

before it. The evening was oppressively sultry, and, taking his seat on

the bedside, the knight unlaced and set aside his helmet, exhibiting to

the fast-dying light, the brown curling hair and handsome features of

our old acquaintance Clelland--for it was no other than he. The thunder

began to roll in louder and longer peals, and the lightning to illumine,

at brief intervals, every glade and dingle without, and every minute

object within; when a loud scream of dismay and terror, blent with the

infuriated howl of some wild animal, rose from the upper part of the

dell, and Clelland had but snatched up his spear and leaped out into the

storm, when a young female, closely pursued by an enormous wolf, came

rushing down the declivity, in the direction of the hermitage; but, in

crossing the little stream, overcome apparently by fatigue and terror,

she stumbled and fell. To interpose his person between the poor girl and

her ravenous pursuer was with Clelland the work of one moment; to make

such prompt and efficient use of his spear that the steel head passed

through and through the monster, and then buried itself in the earth

beneath, was his employment in the next. The black blood came spouting

out along the shaft, crimsoning both his hands to the wrists; and the

transfixed savage, writhing itself round on the wood in its mortal

agony, and gnashing its immense fangs, just uttered one tremendous howl

that could be heard even above the pealing of the thunder, and then

belched out his life at his feet. He raised the fallen girl, who seemed

for a moment to have sunk into a state of partial swoon, and,

disengaging his good weapon from the bleeding carcass, he supported her

to the hermitage in the rock.

She was attired in the garb of a common peasant of the age and country;

but there was even yet light enough to shew that her beauty was of a

more dignified expression than is almost ever to be found in a

cottage--exquisite in colour and form as that which we meet with in the

latter, may often be. There was a subdued elegance, too, in her few

brief, but earnest expressions of gratitude to her deliverer, that

consorted equally ill with her attire. On entering the hermitage, she

knelt before the altar, and prayed in silence; while Clelland took his

seat on the stone couch where he had before placed his helmet, leaving

to his new companion the settle on the opposite side. Meanwhile the

storm without had increased tenfold. The thunder rolled overhead, peal

after peal, without break or pause; so that the outbursting of every

fresh clap was mingled with the echoes in which the wide-spread forest

had replied to the last. At times, the opposite acclivity, with all its

thickets, seemed as if enveloped in an atmosphere of fire--at times one

immense seam of forked lightning came ploughing the pitchy gloom of the

heavens, from the centre to the horizon. The wild beasts of the forest

were abroad. Clelland could hear their fierce howlings mingled with the

terrific bellowings of the heavens. The dead sultry calm was suddenly

broken. A hurricane went raging through the woods. There was a creaking,

crackling, rushing sound among the trees, as they strained and quivered

to the blast; and a roaring, like that of some huge cataract, showed

that a waterspout had burst in the upper part of the dell, and that the

little stream was coming down in thunder--a wide and impetuous torrent.

Clelland's fair companion still remained kneeling before the altar.

'Twould seem as her prayer of thanks for her great deliverance had

changed into an earnest and oft-reiterated petition for still further

protection.

In a pause of the storm, the frightful howlings of a flock of wolves

were heard rising from over the hermitage, as if hundreds had assembled

on its roof of rock. Clelland sprung from his seat, and, grasping his

spear, stood in the doorway.

"We shall have to bide siege," he said to his companion. "I knew not

that these fierce creatures mustered so thickly here."

"Heaven be our protection!" said the maiden. "They fill every recess of

the forest. I had left my mother's this evening for but an

instant--'twas in quest of a tame fawn--when the monster from whose

murderous fangs you delivered me, started up between me and my home; and

I had to fly from instant destruction into the thick of the forest."

"And so your place of residence is quite at hand?" said Clelland. "In

the course of a long day's journey, I have not met with a single human

habitation."

"The hermitage," replied the maiden, "is but a short half-mile from my

mother's--would that we were but safe there!"

As she spoke, the howling of the wolves burst out again, in frightful

chorus, from above, and at least a score of the ravenous animals came

leaping down over the rock, brushing in their descent the ivy and the

underwood. Clelland couched his spear, so that nothing could enter by

the narrow doorway without encountering its sharp point. But the wolves

came not to the attack; and their yells and howlings from the hollow of

the rock, blent with the terrified snortings and pawings of poor Biscay,

shewed that they were bent on an easier conquest, and bulkier, though

less noble prey. The animal, in his first struggle, broke loose from his

fastenings, and went galloping madly past; and an intensely bright flash

of lightning, that illumined the whole scene of terror without, shewed

him in the act of straining up the opposite bank, with a huge wolf

fastened to his lacerated back, and closely pursued by full twenty more.

It was, in truth, a night of dread and terror. Towards morning, however,

the storm gradually sunk into a calm as dead as that which had preceded

it, and a clear, starry sky looked down on the again silent forest. The

maiden, now that there was less of danger, was rendered thoroughly

unhappy by thoughts of her mother. She had left her, she said, but for

an instant--left her solitary in her dwelling; and how must she have

passed so terrible a night! Clelland strove to quiet her fears. There

was a little cloud in the east, he said, already reddening on its lower

edge; in an hour longer, it would be broad day, and he could then

conduct her to her mother's.

"You have not always worn such a dress as that which you now wear," he

continued; "nor have you spent all your days on the edge of the forest.

Does your father still live?"

There was a pause for a moment.

"I am a native of France," she at length said; "but I have passed most

of my time in other countries. My father, in fulfilment of a vow, is now

bound on a pilgrimage to Palestine."

"And may I not crave your name?" asked Clelland.

"My name," she replied, "is Bertha de Longoville. Brave and courtly

warrior, but for whose generous and knightly daring I would have found

yester-evening a horrid tomb in the ravenous maw of the wolf, do not, I

pray you, ask me more. A vow binds me to secrecy for the time."

"Nay, fear not, gentle maiden," said Clelland, "that what you but wish

to keep secret, I shall once urge you to reveal. But hear me, lady, and

then judge how far I am to be trusted. You are the only daughter of Sir

Thomas de Longoville, once a true soldier of the blessed Cross, but, in

his latter days, less fortunate in his quarrels. Your father is now in

France, and in two weeks hence will be in Paris."

"Saints and angels!" exclaimed the maiden, "he has fallen into the hands

of his enemies!"

"Not so, lady; he is among his best friends. The knightly word of Sir

William Wallace of Elderslie, who never broke faith with friend or

enemy, is pledged for his safe-keeping. With my kinsman, he is secure of

at least safety--perhaps even of grace and pardon. But the day has

broken, maiden; suffer me to conduct you to your mother's."

They left the hermitage together, and ascended the side of the dell. As

they passed the hollow in the rock, a bright patch of blood caught the

eye of Clelland.

"Ah, poor Biscay!" he exclaimed; "there is all that now remains of him;

and how to procure another steed in this wild district, I know not. My

kinsman will be at Paris long ere his herald gets there. Well, there

have been greater mishaps. Yonder is the carcass of the wolf I slew

yester-evening, half eaten by his savage companions."

The morning, we have said, was calm and still; but the storm of the

preceding night had left behind it no doubtful vestiges of its fury.

The stream had fallen to its old level, and went tinkling along its

channel, with a murmur that only served to shew how complete was the

silence; but the banks were torn and hollowed by the recent torrent, and

tangled wreaths of brushwood and foliage lay high on the sides of the

dell. The broken and ragged appearance of the forest gave evidence of

the force of the hurricane. The fallen trees lay thick on the sides of

the more exposed acclivities--some reclining like spears, half bent to

the charge, athwart the spreading boughs of such of their neighbours as

the storm had spared; others lay as if levelled by the woodman, save

that their long flexile roots had thrown up vast fragments of turf,

resembling the broken ruins of cottages. And, in an opening of the wood,

a gigantic oak, the slow growth of centuries, lay scattered over the

soil, in raw and splintery fragments, that gave strange evidence of the

irresistible force of the agent employed in its destruction. The trees

opened as they advanced, and they emerged from the forest as the first

beams of the sun had begun to glitter on the topmost boughs. A low,

moory plain, walled in by a range of distant hills, and mottled with a

few patches of corn, and a few miserable cottages, lay before them. A

grey detached tower, somewhat resembling that of an English village

church, rose on the forest edge, scarce a hundred yards away.

"Yonder tower, Sir Knight," said the maiden, "is the dwelling of my

mother. Alas! what must she not have endured during the protracted

horrors of the night!"

"There is, at least, joy waiting her now," said Clelland; "and all will

soon be well."

They approached the tower. It was a small and very picturesque erection,

of three low stories in height, with projecting turrets at the front

corners, connected by a hanging bartizan, over which there rose a sharp

serrated gable, to the height of about two stories more. A row of

circular shot-holes, and a low, narrow door-way, were the only openings

in the lower storey--the few windows in the upper, long and narrow, and

scarce equal in size to a Norman shield, were thickly barred with iron.

The building had altogether a dilapidated and deserted appearance; for

the turrets were broken-edged and mouldering, and some of the large

square flags had slidden from off the stone roof, and lay in the moat,

which, from a reservoir, had degenerated into a quagmire, mantled over

with aquatic plants, and with, here and there, a bush of willow

springing out from the sides. A single plank afforded a rather doubtful

passage across; and the iron-studded door of the fortalice lay wide

open. Clelland hung back as the maiden entered.

"My daughter! my Bertha!" exclaimed a female voice from within; "and do

you yet live! and are you again restored to me!"

The Knight entered, and found the maiden in the embrace of her mother.

"That I still live," said Bertha, "I owe it to this brave and courtly

knight. But for his generous daring, your daughter would have found

strange burial in the ravenous maw of a wolf."

The mother turned round to Clelland, and grasped his mailed hand in both

hers.

"The saints be your blessing and reward!" she exclaimed; "for I cannot

repay you. God himself be your reward!--for earth bears no price

adequate to the benefit. You have restored to the lonely and the broken

in spirit her only stay and comfort."

"Nay, madam," said Clelland, "I would have done as much for the meanest

serf; for Bertha de Longoville I could have laid down my life."

The mother again grasped his hand. She was a tall and a still beautiful

woman, though considerably turned of forty, and though she yet bore

impressed on her countenance no unequivocal traces of the distress of

the night. She told them of her sufferings; and was made acquainted in

turn with the frightful adventure in the hermitage, and, more startling

still, with the resolution of her husband to confront his calumniators

at the court of France.

"We must set out instantly on our journey to Paris, Bertha," said the

matron; "your father, in his imminent peril, must not lack some one, at

least to comfort, if not to assist him."

"Nay," said Clelland, "ere your setting out, you must first take rest

enough, to recover the fatigues and watching of the night. And, besides,

how could two unprotected females travel through such a country as this?

Hear me, lady: I was hastening to Paris in advance of my party; but now

that I have missed my way and lost my good steed, they will be all there

before me. It matters but little. My kinsman can well afford wanting a

herald. I shall cast myself on your hospitality for the day; and,

to-morrow, should you feel yourself fully recovered, you shall set out

for Paris, under such convoy as I can afford you."

Both ladies expressed their warmest gratitude for the kind and generous

offer; and there was that in the thanks of the younger which Clelland

would have deemed price sufficient for a service much less redolent of

pleasure than that he had just tendered. She was in truth one of the

loveliest women he had ever seen; tall and graceful, and with a

countenance exquisite in form and colour. But, with all of the bodily

and the material that constitutes beauty, it was mainly to expression,

that index of the soul, that she owed her power. There was a steady

light in the dark hazel eye, joined to an air of quiet, unobtrusive

self-possession, which seemed to sit on the polished and finely formed

forehead, that gave evidence of a strong and equable mind; while the

sweet smile that seemed to lurk about the mouth, and the air of softness

spread over the lower part of the face, shewed that there mingled with

the stronger traits of her character the feminine gentleness and

sweetness of disposition, so fascinating in the sex. A little girl from

one of the distant cottages entered the building with a milking pail in

her hands.

"Ah, my good Annette," said the matron, "you left me by much too soon

yester-evening; but it matters not now. You must busy yourself in

getting breakfast for us--meanwhile, good Sir Knight, this way. The

tower is a wild ruin, but all its apartments are not equally ruinous."

They ascended, by a stair hollowed in the thickness of the wall, to an

upper story. There was but one apartment on each floor; so that the

entire building consisted but of four, and the two closet-like recesses

in the turrets. The apartment they now entered was lined with dark oak;

a massy table of the same material occupied the centre; and a row of

ponderous stools, like those which Cowper describes in his "Task," ran

along the wall. An immense chimney, supported by two rude pillars of

stone, and piled with half-charred billets of wood, projected over the

floor; the lintel, an oblong tablet about three feet in height, was

roughened by uncouth heraldic sculptures of merwomen playing on harps,

and two knights in complete armour fronting each other as in the

tilt-yard. The windows were small and dark, and barred with iron; and

through one of these that opened to the east, the morning sun, now risen

half a spear's length over the forest, found entrance, in a square

slanting rule of yellow light, which fell on the floor under a square

recess in the opposite wall. The little girl entered immediately after

the ladies and Clelland, bearing fire and fuel; a cheerful blaze soon

roared in the chimney; and, as the morning felt keen and chill after the

recent storm, they seated themselves before it. An hour passed in

courtly and animated dialogue, and then breakfast was served up.

The younger lady would fain have prolonged the conversation--for it had

turned on the struggles of the Scots, and the wonderful exploits of

Wallace--had not her mother reminded her that they stood much in need of

rest to strengthen them for their approaching journey. They both,

therefore, retired to their sleeping apartments in the turrets; while

the knight, providing himself with a bow and a few arrows, sallied out

into the forest. The practice in woodcraft, which he had acquired under

his kinsman, who, in his reverses, could levy on only the woods and

moors, stood him in so good stead, that, when dinner-time came round, a

noble haunch of venison and two plump pheasants smoked on the board. But

Bertha alone made her appearance. Her mother, she said, still felt

fatigued, and slightly indisposed; but she trusted to be able to join

them in the course of the evening.

There was nothing Clelland had so anxiously wished for, when spending

the earlier part of the day in the wood, as some such opportunity of

passing a few hours with Bertha. And yet, now that the opportunity had

occurred, he scarce knew how to employ it. The radiant smile of the

maiden--her light, elegant form, and lovely features--had haunted him

all the morning; and he wisely enough thought there could be but little

harm in frankly telling her so. But, now that the fair occasion had

offered, he found that all his usual frankness had left him, and that he

could scarce say anything, even on matters more indifferent. And, what

seemed not a little strange, too, the maiden was scarcely more at her

ease than himself, and could find not a great deal more to say. Dinner

passed almost in silence; and Bertha, rising to the square recess in the

wall, drew from it a flagon filled with wine, which she placed before

her guest and a vellum volume, bound in velvet and gold.

"This," she said, "is a wonderful romaunt, written by a countryman of

yours, of whom I have heard the strangest stories. Can you tell me aught

regarding him?"

"Ah!" said the knight, taking up the volume, "the book of Tristram. I am

not too young, lady, to have seen the writer--the good Thomas of

Erceldoune."

"Seen Thomas of Erceldoune! Thomas the Rhymer!" exclaimed the lady. "And

is it sooth that his prophecies never fail, and that he now lives in

Elf-land?"

"Nay, lady, the good Thomas sleeps in Lauderdale, with his fathers. But

we trust much to his prophecies. They have given us heart and hope amid

our darkest reverses. He predicted the years of oppression and suffering

which, through the death of our good Alexander, have wasted our country;

but he prophesied, also, our deliverance through my kinsman, Sir William

of Elderslie. We have already seen much of the evil he foresaw, and

much, also, of the good. Scotland, though still threatened by the power

of Edward, is at this moment free."

"I have long wished," said Bertha, "to see those warriors of Scotland

whose fame is filling all Europe. And now that wish is gratified--nay,

more than gratified."

"You see but one of her minor warriors," said Clelland; "but at Paris

you shall meet with the Governor himself. Your father, Bertha, should he

succeed in clearing his fair fame--and I know he will--sets out with us

for Scotland. Will not you and the lady your mother also accompany us?"

"I had deemed my father bound on a pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre,"

said Bertha.

"But he has since thought," said Clelland, "how much better it were to

live gloriously fighting in a just quarrel beside the first warrior of

the world, than to perish obscurely in some loathsome pesthouse of the

Far East. I myself heard him tender his services to my kinsman."

"Then be sure," said Bertha, "my mother and I will not be separated from

him. Might one find in Scotland, Sir Knight, some such quiet tower as

this, where two defenceless women may bide the issue of the contest?"

"Why defenceless, lady? There are many gallant swords in Scotland that

would needs be beaten down ere you could come to harm. And why not now

accept of Clelland's? Scotland has greater warriors and better swords;

but, trust me, lady, she cannot boast of a truer heart. Accept of me,

lady, as your bounden knight."

A rich flush of crimson suffused the face and neck of the maiden, as she

held out her hand to Clelland, who raised it respectfully to his lips.

"I accept of thee, noble warrior," she said, "as true and faithful

knight, seeing that thy own generous tender of service doth but second

what Heaven had purposed, when, in my imminent peril in the wood, it

sent thee to my rescue. Trust me, warrior, never yet had lady knight

whom she respected more."

Clelland again raised her hand to his lips.

"I have a sister, lady," he said, "whose years do not outnumber your

own. She lives lonely, since the death of my mother, in the home of my

fathers--a tower roomier and stronger than this, and on the edge of a

forest nearly as widely spread. You will be her companion, lady, and her

friend; and your mother will be mistress of the mansion. On the morrow,

we set out for Paris."

The style in which the party travelled was sufficiently humble. Four

small and very shaggy palfreys were provided from the neighbouring

cottages: the ladies and Clelland were mounted on three of these; and

the fourth, led by a hind, carried the luggage of the party. Before

setting out, the lady had entrusted to the charge of the knight, a

small, but very ponderous casket of ebony.

"It needs, in these unsettled times," she said, "some such person to

care for it; and Bertha and I would fare all the worse for wanting it."

The journey was long and tedious, and the daily stages of the party

necessarily short. Their route lay through a wild, half-cultivated

country, which seemed to owe much to the hand of nature, but little to

that of man. There was an ever-recurring succession, day after day, of

dreary, wide-spreading forests, with comparatively narrow spaces

between, which, from the imperfect and doubtful traces of industry which

they exhibited, seemed as if but lately reclaimed from a state of

nature. Groups of miserable serfs, bound to the soil even more rigidly

than their fellow-slaves the cattle, were plying their unskilful and

unproductive labours in the fields. They passed scattered assemblages of

dingy hovels, with here and there a grim feudal tower rising in the

midst--giving evidence, by the strength of its defences, of the

insecurity and turbulence of the time. The travellers they met with were

but few. Occasionally a strolling troubadour or harper accompanied them

part of the way, on his journey from one baronial castle to another. At

times, they met with armed parties of travelling merchants, bound for

some distant fair; at times with disbanded artisans, wandering about in

quest of employment; soldiers in search of a master; or pilgrims newly

returned from Palestine, attired in cloaks of grey, and bearing the

scallop in their caps. The hind, their attendant, bore in his scrip,

from stage to stage, their provisions for the day; and their evenings

were passed in some rude hostelry by the way-side. The third week had

passed, ere, one evening on the edge of twilight, they alighted at the

hostel of St Denis, and ascertained, from mine host, that they were now

within half a stage of Paris.

The hostel was crowded with travellers; and the ladies and Clelland, for

the early part of the evening, were fain to take their places in the

common room beside the fire. A young and handsome troubadour, whose

jemmy jerkin, and cap of green, edged with silver, shewed that he was

either one of the more wealthy of his class, or under the patronage of

some rich nobleman, and who had courteously risen to yield place to

Bertha, had succeeded in reseating himself beside the knight.

"The hostel swarms with company," said Clelland, addressing him--"pray,

good minstrel, canst tell me the occasion? Is there a fair holds

to-morrow?"

"Ah, Sir Knight," said the minstrel, "I should rather ask of thee,

seeing thy tongue shews thee to be a Scot. Dost not know that thy

countryman, the brave Wallace of Elderslie, is at court, and that all

who can, in any wise, leave their homes for a season, are leaving them,

to see him? It is not once in a lifetime that such a knight may be

looked at. And, besides, have you not heard that the combat comes on

to-morrow?"

"I have heard of nothing," said Clelland; "my route has lain, of late,

through the remoter parts of the country. What combat?"

"Sir Thomas de Longoville, so long a true soldier of the cross--so long,

too, a wandering pirate--has defied to mortal combat, Loithaire of

Languedoc; and our fair Philip, through the intercession of Wallace, has

granted him the lists."

Both the ladies started at the intelligence; and the elder, wrapping up

her face in her mantle, bent her head well nigh to her knee.

"And how, good minstrel," said Bertha, in a voice tremulous from

anxiety, "how is it thought the combat will go?"

"That rests with Heaven, fair lady," said the minstrel. "Loithaire is

known far and wide, as a striker in the lists; but who has not also

heard of De Longoville, and his wars with the fierce Saracen? Many seem

to think, too, that he has been foully injured by Loithaire. That soul

of knightly honour, the good Lord Jonville, has already renewed his

friendship with him, as his friend and comrade in the battles of

Palestine, and will attend him to-morrow in the lists."

"May all the saints reward him!" ejaculated the elder lady.

"And at what hour, Sir Minstrel," asked the knight, "does the combat

come on?"

"At the turn of noon," replied the minstrel, "when the shadow first

veers to the east. I go to Paris, to find new theme for a ballad, and to

see the good Wallace, who is himself the theme of so many."

The travellers were early on the road. With all their haste and anxiety,

however, they saw the sun climbing towards the middle heavens, while the

city was yet several miles distant. They spurred on their jaded

palfreys, and entered the suburbs about noon. What was properly the city

of Paris in this age, occupied one of the larger islands of the Seine,

and was surrounded by a high wall, flanked at the angles by massy

towers, and strengthened by rows of thickly-set buttresses; but, on

either side the river, there were immense assemblages of the dirtiest

and meanest hovels that the necessities of man had ever huddled

together. The travellers, however, found but little time for remark in

passing through. All Paris had poured out her inhabitants, to witness

the combat, and they now crowded an upper island of the Seine, which the

chivalry of the age had appropriated as a scene of games, tournaments,

and duels. Clelland and the ladies had but reached the opposite bank,

when a flourish of trumpets told them that the combatants had taken

their places in the lists, and were waiting the signal to engage.

"No further, ladies, no further," said the knight, "or we shall entangle

ourselves in the outer skirts of the crowd, and see nothing. This way;

let us ascend this eminence, and the scene, though somewhat distant,

will be all before us."

They ascended a smooth green knoll, the burial mound of some chieftain

of the olden time, that overlooked the river. The island lay but a short

furlong away. They could look over the heads of the congregated

thousands into the open lists, and see the brilliant assemblage of the

beauty and gallantry of France, which the fame of De Longoville and his

opponent, and the singular nature of their quarrel, had drawn together.

The sun glanced gaily on arms and armour, on many a robe of rich

embroidery and many a costly jewel, and high over the whole, the

oriflame of France, so famous in story, waved its flames of crimson and

gold to the breeze. Knights and squires traversed the area, in gay and

glittering confusion; and at either end there sat a warrior on

horseback, as still and motionless as if sculptured in bronze. The

champion at the northern end was cased from head to foot in sable

armour, and beside him, under the blue pennon of Scotland, there stood a

group of knights, who, though tall and stately as any in the lists,

seemed lessened almost to boys in the presence of a gigantic warrior in

bright mail, who, like Saul among the people, raised his head and

shoulders over the proud crests of the assembled chivalry of France.

"Yonder, ladies--yonder is my kinsman," exclaimed Clelland; "yonder is

Wallace of Elderslie; and the champion beside him is Sir Thomas de

Longoville."

There was a second flourish of trumpets. Bertha flung herself on her

knees on the sward, and raised her hands to her eyes. Her mother almost

fainted outright.

"Nay," said Clelland, "that is but the signal to clear the lists; the

knights hurry behind the palisades, and the champions are left alone.

Fear not, dearest Bertha!--there is a God in heaven, and----Ah, there is

the third flourish! The champions strike their spurs deep into their

chargers; and see how they rush forward, like thunder clouds before a

hurricane! They close!--they close!--hark to the crash!--their steeds

are thrown back on their haunches! Look up, Bertha! look up!--your

father has won--he has won! Loithaire is flung from his saddle, the

spear of De Longoville has passed through hauberk and corslet; I saw the

steel head glitter red at the felon's back. Look up, ladies! look

up!--De Longoville is safe; nay, more--restored to the honour and fair

fame of his early manhood. Let us hasten and join him, that we may add

our congratulations to those of his friends."

Why dwell longer on the story of Thomas de Longoville? No Scotsman

acquainted with Blind Harry need be told how frequent and honourable the

mention of his name occurs in the latter pages of that historian.

Scotland became his adopted country, and well and chivalrously did he

fight in her battles; till, at length, when well nigh worn out by the

fatigues and hardships of a long and active life, the decisive victory

at Bannockburn gave him to enjoy an old age of peace and leisure, in the

society of his lady, on the lands of his son-in-law. Need we add it was

the gallant Clelland who stood in this relation to him? The chosen

knight of Bertha had become her favoured lover, and the favoured lover a

fond and devoted husband. Of the Governor more anon. There was a time,

at least, when Scotsmen did not soon weary of stories of the Wight

Wallace.

THE FUGITIVE.

CHAPTER I.

When Prince Charles Edward, at the head of his hardy Highlanders, took

up his head-quarters in Edinburgh, issuing proclamations and holding

levees, amongst those who attended the latter was a young Englishman,

named Henry Blackett, then a student at the university, and the son of a

Sir John Blackett of Winburn Priory, in Cheshire. His mother had been a

Miss Cameron, a native of Inverness-shire, and the daughter of a poor

but proud military officer. From her he had imbibed principles or

prejudices in favour of the house of Stuart; and when he had been

introduced to the young adventurer at Holyrood, and witnessed the zeal

of his army, his enthusiasm was kindled--there was a romance in the

undertaking which pleased his love of enterprise, and he resolved to

offer his sword to the Prince, and hazard his fortunes with him. The

offer was at once graciously and gratefully accepted, and Henry Blackett

was enrolled as an officer in the rebel army.

He followed the Prince through prosperity and adversity, and when

Charles became a fugitive in the land of his fathers, Henry Blackett was

one of the last to forsake him. He, too, was hunted from one

hiding-place to another; like him whom he had served, he was a fugitive,

and a price was set upon his head.

As has been stated, he imbibed his principles in favour of the house of

Stuart from his mother; but she had been dead for several years. His

father was a weak man--one of whom it may be said that he had no

principles at all; but being knighted by King George, on the occasion

of his performing some civic duty, he became a violent defender of the

house of Brunswick, and he vowed that, if the law did not, he would

disinherit his son for having taken up arras in defence of Charles. But

what chiefly strengthened him in this resolution, was not so much his

devotion for the reigning family, as his attachment to one Miss Norton,

the daughter of a Squire Norton of Norton Hall. She was a young lady of

much beauty, and mistress of what are called accomplishments; but, in

saying this much, I have recorded all her virtues. Her father's

character might be summed up in one brief sentence--he was a deep,

designing, needy villain. He was a gambler--a gentleman by birth--a

knave in practice. He had long been on terms of familiarity with Sir

John Blackett--he knew his weakness, and he knew his wealth, and he

rejoiced in the attachment which he saw him manifesting for his

daughter, in the hope that it would be the means of bringing his estates

within his control. But the property of Sir John being entailed, it

consequently would devolve on Henry as his only surviving son. He,

therefore, was an obstacle to the accomplishment of the schemes on which

Norton brooded; and when the latter found that he had joined the army of

the young Chevalier, he was chiefly instrumental in having his name

included in the list of those for whose apprehension rewards were

offered; and he privately, and at his own expense, employed spies to go

in quest of him. He also endeavoured to excite his father more bitterly

against him. Nor did his designs rest here--but, as he beheld the

fondness of the knight for his daughter increase, he, with the cunning

of a demon, proposed to him to break the entail; and when the other

inquired how it could be done, he replied--"Nothing is more simple; deny

him to be your heir--pronounce him illegitimate. There is no living

witness of your marriage with his mother. The only document to prove it

is some thumbed leaf in the register of an obscure parish church in the

Highlands of Scotland; and we can secure it."

To this most unnatural proposal the weak and wicked old man consented;

and I shall now describe the means employed by Norton to become

possessed of the parish register referred to.

Squire Norton had a son who was in all respects worthy of such a

father--he was the image of his mind and person. In short, he was one of

the _things_ who, in those days, resembled those who in our own call

themselves _men of the world_, forsooth! and who, under that

name, infest and corrupt society--making a boast of their

worthlessness--poisoning innocence--triumphing in their work of

ruin--and laughing, like spirits of desolation, over the daughter's

misery and disgrace, the father's anguish, the wretched mother's tears,

and the shame of a family, which they have accomplished. There are such

creatures, who disgrace both the soul and the shape of man, who are mere

shreds and patches of debauchery--sweepings from the shops of the

tailor, the milliner, and the hair-dresser--who live upon the plunder

obtained under false pretences from the industrious--who giggle, ogle,

pat a snuff-box, or affect to nod in a church, to be thought sceptics or

fine gentlemen. One of such was young Norton; and he was sent down to

Scotland to destroy the only proof which Henry Blackett, in the event of

his being pardoned, could bring forward in support of his legitimacy.

He arrived at a lonely village in Inverness-shire, near which the

cottage formerly occupied by Major Cameron, the grandfather of Henry,

was situated; and of whom he found that few of the inhabitants

remembered more than that "there lived a man." Finding the only inn that

was in the village much more cleanly and comfortable than he had

anticipated, he resolved to make it his hotel during his residence, and

inquired of the landlady if there were any one in the village with whom

a gentleman could spend an evening, and obtain information respecting

the neighbourhood.

"Fu' shurely! fu' shurely, sir!" replied his Highland hostess--"there pe

te auld tominie."

"Who?" inquired he, not exactly comprehending her Celtic accent.

"Wha put te auld tominie?" returned she; "an' a tiscreet, goot

shentleman he pe as in a' te toun."

"The dominie?--the dominie?" he repeated, in a tone of perplexity.

"Oigh! oigh! te tominie," added she, "tat teaches te pits o' pairns, an'

raises te psalm in te kirk."

He now comprehended her meaning; and from her coupling the dominie's

name with the kirk, believed that he might be of use to him in the

accomplishment of his object, and desired that he might be sent for.

"Oigh!" returned she, smiling, "an' he no pe lang, for he like te

trappie unco weel."

Within five minutes, Dugald Mackay, precentor, teacher, and parish-clerk

of Glencleugh, entered the parlour of Mrs Macnab. Never was a more

striking contrast exhibited in castle or in cottage. Here stood young

Norton, bedecked with all the foppery of an exquisite of his day; and

there stood Dugald Mackay, his thick bushy grey hair falling on his

shoulders, holding in his hand a hat not half the size of his head,

which had neither been made nor bought for him, and which had become

brown with service, and was now stitched in many places, to keep it

together. Round it was wrapped a narrow stripe of crape browner than

itself, and over all winded several yards of gut and hair-line, with

hooks attached, betokening his angling propensities. Dugald was a

thickset old man, with a face blooming like his native heather. His feet

were thrust into immense brogues, as brown as his hat, and their

formidable patches shewed that their wearer could use the _lingle_ and

_elshun_, although his profession was to "teach the young idea how to

shoot." He wore tartan hose--black breeches, fastened at the knees by

silver gilt buckles, and much the worse for the wear, while, from the

accumulation of ink and dust, they might have stood upright. His vest

was huge and double-breasted, its colour not recognised by painters; and

his shoulders were covered by a very small tartan coat, the tails of

which hardly reached his waist. Such was Dugald Mackay; and the youth,

plying him with the bottle, endeavoured to ascertain how far he could

render him subservient to his purpose.

"You appear fond of angling," said Norton.

"Fond o' fishing?" returned the man of letters; "ou ay; ou ay!--hur hae

mony time filt te creel o' te shentlemen frae Inverness, for te

sixpence, and te shilling, and te pig crown, not to let tem gaun pack

wi' te empty pasket. And hur will teach your honour, or tress your

honour's hooks, should you be stopping to fish. Here pe goot sport to

your honour," continued he, raising a bumper to his lips.

The other, glad to assign a plausible pretext for his visit, said that

he had come a few days for the sake of fishing, and inquired how long

his guest had been in the neighbourhood.

"Hur peen schulemaister and parish-clerk in Glencleugh for forty year,"

replied Dugald.

"Parish-clerk!" said Norton, eagerly, and checking himself,

continued--"that is--in the church you mean, you raise the tunes?"

"Ou ay, hur nainsel' pe precenter too," answered Dugald; "put hur be

schulemaister and parish-clerk into te pargain."

"And what are your duties as parish-clerk?" inquired the other, in a

tone of indifference.

"Ou, it pe to keep te pooks wi' te marriages, te christenings, and te

deaths. Here pe to your honour's very goot luck again," said he,

swallowing another bumper.

Thus the holder of the birch and parish chronicler began to help himself

to one glass after another, until the candles began to dance reels and

strathspeys before him. At length the angler, expressing a wish to see

such a curiosity as the matrimonial and baptismal register of a hamlet

so remote, out sallied Dugald, describing curved lines as he went, and

shortly returned, bearing the eventful quartos under his arm. Norton

looked through them, laughing, jesting, and professing to be amused, and

his eye quickly fell upon the page which he sought. Dugald laughed,

drank, and talked, until his rough head sank upon his breast, and

certain nasal sounds gave notice that the schoolmaster was abroad. In a

moment, Norton transferred the leaf which contained the certificate of

Lady Blackett's marriage, from the volume to his pocket. His father had

ordered him to destroy it; but the son, vicious as the father,

determined to keep it, and to hold it over him as an instrument of

terror to extort money. The dominie being roused to take one glass more

by way of a night-cap, was led home, as usual, by Mrs Macnab's

servant-of-all-work, who carried the volumes.

Shortly after this, the marriage between Sir John Blackett and Miss

Norton took place; her father rejoiced in the success of his schemes,

and Henry was disinherited and disowned.