On a beautiful summer morning, an old man, slightly stooping in his
gait, was slowly walking down a green lane which led in the direction
from Warrington to Winburn Priory. Behind him, at a rapid pace, followed
a younger man, of a muscular frame, exceedingly well-dressed, and
carrying over his arm a thick chequered plaid, like those worn in the
pastoral districts of Scotland. He overtook the elder pedestrian, and
accosted him, saying--
"Here's a bonny morning, freend."
"Sir?" said the old man inquiringly, slightly lifting his hat, and not
exactly comprehending his companion.
"Losh, but he's a mannerly auld body that," thought the other; "I see
the siller upon this suit o' claes has been weel-wared;" and added
aloud, "I was observing it's a delightful morning, sir, and as
delightful a country-side; it wad be a paradise, were it no sae flat."
"Ah, sir!" replied the old man; "but I fear as how the country looks
like a paradise without its innocence."
"Ye talk very rationally, honest man," said the other, whom the reader
will have recognised to be Willie Galloway; "and, if I am no mistaen, ye
maun hae some cause to mak the remark. But, dear me, sir, only look
round ye, and see the trees in a' their glory, the flowers in a' their
innocence; or just look at the rowing burn there, wimplin alang by oor
side, like refined silver, beneath a sun only less glorious than the
Hand that made it; and see hoo the bits o' fish are whittering round,
wagging their tails, and whisking back and forrit, as happy as kings!
Look at the lovely and the cheerfu' face o' a' Nature--or just listen
to the music o' thae sinless creatures in the hedges, and in the blue
lift--and ye will say that, but for the inventions and deceitfulness o'
man's heart, this earth wad be a paradise still. But I tell ye what,
freend--I believe that were an irreligious man just to get up before
sunrise at a season like this, and gang into the fields and listen to
the laverock, and look around on the earth, and on the majesty o' the
heavens rising, he wadna stand for half-an-hoor until, if naebody were
seeing him, he would drap doun on his knees and pray."
Much of Willie's sermon was lost on the old man; he, however,
comprehended a part, and said, "Why, sir, I know as how I always find my
mind more in tune for the service of the church, by a walk in the
fields, and the singing of the birds, than by all the instruments of the
orchestra."
"Orchestra!" said Willie, "what do ye mean?--that's a strange place to
gather devotion frae!"
"The orchestra of the church," returned the other.
"The orchestra o' the church!" said Willie, in surprise--"what's that? I
never heard o't before. There's the poopit, and the precentor's desk,
the pews and the square seats, and doun stairs and the gallery--but ye
nonplus me about the orchestra."
"Why, our lord of the manor," continued the old man, "is one who cares
for nothing that's good, and he will give nothing; and as we are not
rich enough to buy an organ, we have only a bass viol, two tenors, and a
flute."
"Fiddles and a flute in a place o' worship!" exclaimed Willie.
"Yes, sir," replied the other, marvelling at his manner.
"Weel," returned Willie, standing suddenly still, and striking his staff
upon the ground, "that beats a'! And will ye tell me, sir, hoo it is
possible to worship yer Creator by scraping catgut, or blawing wind
through a hollow stick?"
"Why, master," said the old man, "the use of instruments in worship is
as old as the times of the prophets, and I can't see why it should be
given up. But dost thou think, now, that thou couldst go into Chester
cathedral at twilight, while the organ filled all round about thee with
its deep music, without feeling in thy heart that thou wast in a house
of praise. Why, sir, at such a time thou couldst not commit a wicked
action. The very sound, while it lifted up thy soul with delight, would
awe thee."
When their controversy had ended, Willie inquired--"Do ye ken a family
o' the name o' Blackett, that lives aboot this neeborhood?"
"I should," answered the old man; "forty years did I eat of their
bread."
"Then, after sic lang service, ye'll just be like ane o' the family?"
replied Willie.
"Alas!" said the other, shaking his head.
"Ye dinna mean to say," resumed Willie, in a tone of surprise, "that
they hae turned ye aff, in your auld age, as some heartless wretch wad
sell the noble animal that had carried him when a callant, to a cadger,
because it had grown howe-backet, and lost its speed o' foot. But I hope
that young Mr Henry had nae hand in it?"
"Henry!--no! no!" cried the old man eagerly--"bless him! Did you know Mr
Henry, your honour?"
"I did," said Willie; "and I hae come from Scotland ance errand to see
him."
"But, sir," inquired the old man, tremulously, "do you know where to
find him?"
"I expect to find him, by this time, at his father's house."
"Alas!" answered the old domestic, "there has been no one at the priory
for more than twelve months. I don't know where the old knight is. Henry
has not been here since he went to Edinburgh, and that is nigh to five
years gone now."
"Ye dumfounder me, auld man," exclaimed Willie; "but where, in the name
o' guidness, where's the wife?--where's Mrs Blackett?"
"You will mean your countrywoman, I suppose," said the other.
"To be sure I mean her," said Willie--"wha else could I mean?"
"Ah! wo is me!" sighed his companion, and he burst into tears as he
spoke, "dost see the churchyard, just before us?--and they have raised
no stone to mark the spot."
"Dead!" ejaculated Willie, becoming pale with horror, and fixing upon
his fellow-pedestrian a look of agony--"Ye dinna say--dead!"
"Even so!--even so!" said the old domestic, sobbing aloud.
"And hoo was it?" cried Willie; "was it a fair strae death--or just
grief, puir thing--just grief?"
"Why, I can't say how it was," answered his informant; "but I wish I
durst tell all I think."
"Say it!--say it!" exclaimed Willie, vehemently, "what do you mean by,
if you durst say all you think? If there be the shadow o' foul play, I
will sift it to the bottom, though it cost me a thousand pounds; and
there is anither that will gie mair."
"Ah, sir, I am but a friendless old man," replied the other, "that could
not stand the weight of a stronger arm."
"Plague take their arms!" cried Willie, handling his cudgel, as if to
shew the strength of his own--"tell what ye think, and they'll have
strong arms that dare touch a hair o' yer head."
"Well, master," was the reply, "I don't like to say too much to
strangers, but if thou makest any stay in these parts, I may tell thee
something; and I fear that wherever poor Henry is, he is in need of
friends. But perhaps your honour would wish to see her grave?"
"Her grave!" ejaculated Willie--"yes! yes! yes!--her grave!--O misery!
have I come frae Dumfries-shire to see a sicht like this?"
The old man led the way over the stile, hanging his head and sighing as
he went. Willie followed him, drawing his sleeve across his eyes, as was
his custom when his heart was touched, and forgetting the dress of the
gentleman which he wore, in the feelings of the man.
"The family vault is in yonder corner," said his conductor, as they
turned across the churchyard.
"Save us, friend!" exclaimed Willie, looking towards the spot, "saw ye
ever the like o' yon?--a poor miserable dementit creature, wringing his
hands as though his heart would break!"
"Tis he! 'tis he!" shouted the old man, springing forward with the
alacrity of youth, "my child!--my dear young master!"
"Oh! conscience o' man!" exclaimed Willie, "what sort o' a dream is
this? It canna be possible! _Her_ dead, and _him_, oot o' his judgment,
mourning owre her grave in the garb o' a beggar!"
"Ha! discovered again!" cried Henry fiercely, and starting round as he
spoke; but immediately recognising the old domestic, on whom time had
not wrought such a metamorphosis as dress had upon Willie Galloway--"Ha,
Jonathan! old Jonathan Holditch!" he added, "do I again see the face of
a friend!" and instantly discovering Willie, he sprang forward and
grasped his extended hand in both of his.
The old man sat down upon the grave and wept.
"Don't weep, Jonathan," said Henry, "I trust that we shall soon have
cause to rejoice."
"I wish a' may be richt yet," thought Willie; "I took him to be rather
dementit at the first glance, and _rejoice_ is rather a strange word to
use owre a young wife's grave. Puir fellow!"
"Yes, Master Henry," said Jonathan, "I do rejoice that the worst is
past; but I must weep too, for there be many things in all this that I
do not understand."
"Nor me either," said Willie; "but ye say ye think more than ye dare
tell."
"Why is it, Jonathan," continued Henry, "that there is no stone to mark
my mother's grave? There is room enough in our burial place. Why is
there nothing to her memory?" he continued, bending his eyes upon her
sepulchre. "Her _memory_!" he added; "cold, cruel grave; and is memory
all that is left me of such a parent? Is the dumb dust, beneath this
unlettered stone--all!--all! that I can now call mother? Has she no
monument but the tears of her only surviving child?"
"A' about his mother," muttered Willie, "who has been dead for four
years, and no a word aboot puir Helen! As sure as I'm a living man this
is beyont my comprehension--I dinna think he can be _a'thegither
there_!"
Henry turned towards him and said, "I have much to ask, my dear friend,
but my heart is so filled with griefs and forebodings already, that the
words I would utter tremble on my tongue; but what of my Helen--tell me,
what of her?"
"She--she's--weel," gasped Willie, bewildered; "that is--I--I hope--I
trust--that--oh, losh, Mr Blackett, I dinna ken whare I am, nor what I
am saying, for my brain is as daized as a body's that is driven owre wi'
a drift, and rowed amang the snaw! Has there been onybody buried here
lately?"
"Mr Galloway!--Mr Galloway!" exclaimed Henry, half-choked with
agitation, and wringing his hand in his, while the perspiration burst
upon his brow--"in the name of wretchedness--what--what do you mean?"
"Oh, dinna speak to me!" said Willie, waving his hand; "ask that auld
man."
"Jonathan?" exclaimed Henry.
"I don't know what the gentleman means," said the old man; "but no one
has been buried here since your honoured mother, and that is four years
ago."
"And whase grave--whase grave did ye bring me to look at?" inquired
Willie, eagerly.
"My lady's," answered he.
"Yer leddy's!" returned Willie--"do you mean Mr Blackett's mother?"
"Whom else could I mean?" asked old Jonathan, in a tone of wonder.
"Wha else could you mean!" repeated Willie; "then, be thankit! _she's_
no dead!--ye say _she's_ no dead!" and he literally leapt for joy.
"Who dead?" inquired the old man, with increased astonishment.
"Wha dead, ye stupid auld body!--did I no say _his wife_, as plain as I
could speak?"
"_Whose_ wife?" inquired Jonathan, looking from Willie to his master in
bewilderment.
"Whose wife!" reiterated Willie, weeping, laughing, and twirling his
stick; "shame fa' ye--ye may ask that noo, after knocking my heart oot
o' the place o't wi' yer palaver. Whase wife do ye say?--ask Mr Henry."
"Mr Galloway!" interrupted Henry, "am I to understand that you believed
this to be the grave of my beloved Helen?--or, how could you suppose it?
Has she left Primrose Hall?--or, has our marriage----Tell me all you
know, for I wist not what I would ask."
Willie then related to him what the reader already knows--namely, that
she had left Dumfries-shire, and was supposed to have gone to his
father's.
"Blessings on the day that these eyes beheld the dear lady, then,"
exclaimed old Jonathan; "for I could vow that she is under my roof now."
"Under _your_ roof!" cried Henry.
"Was ye doited, auld man, that ye didna tell me that before?" said
Willie.
"I knew no more of my young master's marriage, until just now, than
these gravestones do," said Jonathan; "the dear lady who is with us told
nothing to me. Only my wife told me that she knew she loved our young
master."
"But why is she lodging with you, Jonathan? I have learned that my
father is abroad, and is it that he is soon expected home?"
"A fever caused her to be an inmate of my poor roof," answered Jonathan,
"after she had been rudely driven from the gate as a common beggar. But
I am no longer thy father's servant--and I wish, for thy sake, I could
forget he was thy father; for he has done that which might make the
blessed bones beneath our feet start from their grave. And there is no
one about the Priory now, but the creatures of the villain Norton."
Henry entreated that the old man would not speak harshly of his father,
though he had so treated them; and he briefly informed them, that, on
flying from Scotland to escape his pursuers even at his father's lodge,
he again met one of the individuals who had hunted him as "Blackett, the
traitor," and who had attempted to seize him in the hour of his
marriage--and that even there the cry was again raised against him; and
a band, thirsting for his blood-money, joined in the pursuit. He had
fled to the churchyard, and found concealment in the family vault, where
he had remained until they then discovered him, as, in the early
morning, he had ventured out.
Willie counselled that there was now small vengeance to be apprehended
from the persecution of the government; and when Jonathan stated that
Sir John had married the daughter of Norton, and disinherited Henry by
denying his marriage with his mother, Willie exclaimed--"I see it a', Mr
Henry, just as clear as the A, B, C. This rascal, ye ca' Norton, or your
faither, (forgie me for saying sae,) has employed the villains wha
hunted for yer life; it has been mair them than the government that has
been to blame. Therefore, my advice is, let us go and drive the thieves
out o' the house by force."
Henry, who was speechless with grief, horror, and disgust, agreed to the
proposition of his friend, and they proceeded to the Priory by a shorter
road than the lodge.
Henry knocked loudly at the door, which was opened by a man-servant, who
attempted to shut it in his face; but, in a moment the door was driven
back upon its hinges, and the menial lay extended along the lobby; and
Henry, with his sturdy ally, and old Jonathan, rushed in. Alarmed by the
sound, the other servants, male and female, hurried to the spot; and
epithets, too opprobrious to be written, were the mildest they applied
to the young heir, as he demanded admission.
"Then let us gie them club-law for it," cried Willie, "if they will have
it; and they shall have it to their heart's content, if I ance begin
it."
Armed with such weapons as they could seize at the moment, the servants
menacingly opposed their entrance; but Henry, dashing through them,
rushed towards the stairs, where he was followed by four men-servants,
two armed with swords, and the others with kitchen utensils.
But Willie, following at their heels, cried--"Come back!" and, bringing
his cudgel round his head, with one tremendous swoop caused it to rattle
across the unprotected legs of the two last of the pursuers, and, almost
at the same instant, before their comrades had ascended five steps from
the ground, they, from the same cause, descended backwards, rolling and
roaring over their companions. Within three seconds, all four were
conquered, disarmed, and unable to rise. As the discomfited garrison of
the Priory gathered themselves together, (much in the attitude of Turks
or tailors,) groaning, writhing, and ruefully rubbing their stockings,
Willie, with the composed look of a philosopher, addressed to them this
consoling and important information--"Noo, sirs, I hope ye are a'
_sensibly_ convinced, what guid service a bit hazel may do in a willing
hand; and if ony o' yer banes are broken, I would recommend ye to send
for the doctor before the swelling gets stiff about them. But ye couldna
hae broken banes at a cannier place on a' the leg than just where I gied
ye the bits o' clinks; they were hearty licks, and would gie them a
clean snap, so that, in the matter o' six weeks, ye may be on your feet
again."
Old Jonathan had already followed Henry up stairs; and Willie having
finished his exhortation, proceeded in quest of them. Henry succeeded in
obtaining a change of raiment; and having sent for one who had been long
a tenant upon the estate, he left the house in charge to him, with
orders that he should immediately turn from it all the creatures of
Norton, and engage other servants; and he and his friend, Willie,
proceeded to the house of old Jonathan, where, as the latter supposed, a
lady that he believed to be the wife of his young master, then was.