Certainly virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are
incensed, or crushed; for prosperity doth best discover vice, but
adversity doth best discover virtue.--_Lord Bacon's Essays._
Mrs. Morgan and Amy Evans expected that the control which the
unfortunate Countess of Nithsdale had as yet exercised over her
feelings would have completely given way when no longer exposed to the
gaze of indifferent persons: they prepared themselves for tears and
fainting; and were surprised when Lady Nithsdale, although silent,
remained firm and collected.
Reared in a foreign convent, from which she had only been removed to a
retired Welsh castle, and from thence to a life of domestic privacy in
Scotland, or, if she occasionally mingled in the busy world, accustomed
to look up to her lord for advice, to hang upon him for support, to
rely on his judgment for the guidance of her own, it seems wonderful
that under such trying circumstances as those in which she was placed,
she should have possessed the worldly wisdom, the courage, the
discretion, and the decision, to act for herself and for her husband,
and to proceed, without wavering or irresolution, to take every measure
that prudence could dictate.
When they reached Lady Nithsdale's lodgings, the kind-hearted Mrs.
Morgan took her leave, after having given Amy and Mrs. Mills a
thousand directions and injunctions as to the tenderness with which the
countess should be treated, the possets which she hoped might compose
her to sleep, and the julap which should be placed by her bed-side.
Lady Nithsdale listened to all her good-natured counsels with a
placidity which astonished and almost alarmed Amy Evans, although to
Mrs. Morgan it appeared but the effect of exhaustion, and, as she
trusted, only augured that she might be restored by some calm and
refreshing sleep.
Amy, who better knew her mistress, and knew that with increased danger
and distress her strength and courage proportionably rose, was not
surprised when, upon Mrs. Morgan's departure, and Mrs. Mills's leaving
them to prepare the posset so earnestly recommended, Lady Nithsdale
laid her hand upon her arm.
"Now, Amy, your true affection, in which I have the utmost
confidence,--I rely on it almost as on my own to my lord,--now it is
going to be put to the test. He must not die! and we must save him!
you and I, Amy, must save him! You start, and look as though you
feared that all I have heard and seen this day" (she pressed her hand
over her eyes) "had turned my brain, but it is not so; for many weeks
I have considered the plan, which is now almost matured within my
head. Prisoners have made their escape from places as strong and as
well guarded, before now! If others have succeeded in rescuing those
most dear to them, why should not we succeed? Promise me, my good and
faithful Amy, that you will assist me to the utmost of your power; and,
above all, promise that you will offer no argument to dissuade me from
my purpose. I tell you before-hand it will be of no avail: should you
refuse to serve me, it will only drive me to confide in others who will
not deserve my confidence so well."
"Oh, madam! do you doubt me? and do you think Amy Evans would leave
undone what others could be found to do? I started, for I remembered
those high walls, that broad deep moat, those guards who pace about
each avenue to the Tower, and I thought what could we hope to effect?
But, madam, command me, and I will diligently execute your behests, and
scrupulously keep your counsel."
"Thanks, dear Amy; I was fully assured you would prove true, and I
know not why I spoke for a moment as if I could doubt your devotion.
Forgive me! but the necessity is so absolute that all who meddle in
this undertaking should be able to answer for themselves under all
circumstances, that I would not have you enter into it thoughtlessly,
or unadvisedly. Even myself, to-day, I thought I could have heard
unmoved, or at least without betraying emotion, the horrible, horrible
words that were uttered; but I misjudged my own strength, my woman's
nerves failed! And yet I bore a great deal, Amy, and wavered not. I
saw the axe, the glittering axe; and I saw my lord, and I heard his
voice; and I heard part of that sentence! I bore much without betraying
myself; and, at last, I was only stunned, confused, for a time. Yes,
I think I may rely on my own fortitude; and you, Amy, you never for a
moment lost your self-command,--and you have always had a ready wit;
oh, we shall succeed, I am sure we shall!"
"Heaven grant we may, my honoured lady! If zeal and perseverance can
effect my lord's preservation, we shall succeed."
"Then listen:--You must purchase at various shops, and on various
occasions, not to excite suspicion, all that is necessary for female
dress, and we must make it up, complete, the size to fit my lord. I
have one in my thoughts whom he may personate: she is very tall; and
though slender, her present condition makes her appear more stout than
usual, when wrapt in a loose cloak. She suspects not my design,--nor
must she;--for she is timid, and might betray all by her fears. She
must not know till too far engaged to retreat.--And now, Amy, send
Walter Elliot to the Tower to inquire of the lieutenant at what hour
to-morrow the Countess of Nithsdale may be admitted to visit her lord.
I am informed that, after the sentence, we are to be allowed to see the
prisoners freely; and it will be best we should do this openly. Alas!
the hardest task of all will be to work on my lord to consent."
"And, madam, think you I also shall be admitted to see my lord?"
"Assuredly, I hope so; I trust we shall procure admission for many of
his friends: it is upon that understanding I build my hopes. I have
been informed that when sentence is once passed, such has usually
been the custom. And now away; let us be stirring. I would there were
something to be done every hour in the day. It is in solitude and
inaction that my sorrows press upon me most heavily. But to-night there
is no more I can effect; I must even wait for the morrow!"
Soon after the Earl of Nithsdale had been reconducted to his lodgings
in the Tower, he heard the striking of the chapel-clock: "It is now
more than an hour," he thought, "since the court broke up. By this time
the news has reached her. By this time my dear wife knows my sentence,
and those hopes which she was resolved to cherish, and which she never
would allow me gradually to undermine, have been destroyed at one rude
blow. Would I could know how it fares with her, how she supports the
shock! To-morrow I shall see her; and strange is it, but I dread to
see her--I dread the sight of her despair. Oh! were it not better to
pass unloved into the grave, than to feel that one's fate inflicts such
exquisite anguish on her, to spare whom a pang such as she now suffers,
one would willingly endure any lengthened torture. Yet could I wish to
lose one particle of that affection which alone suffices to make life
so precious? It may be cruel,--it may be selfish;--but no! I cannot
wish her love to be less! After all, we part but for a time! I do not
doubt that we shall meet where the weary are at rest. And now that
all hope is over, my Winifred will assist me to prepare my soul for
the great change; and she will bear to speak placidly and composedly
of those happy regions where the fear of parting will never embitter
the enjoyment of each other's presence! and I shall be able calmly and
cheerfully to fulfil my destiny, if I can see her resigned!"
But when the morrow came, and Lady Nithsdale was admitted, he found
her far indeed from placidly acquiescing in the fate which he esteemed
unavoidable; but neither was she bewildered with despair, nor
dissolved in tears: she was altogether different from anything he had
anticipated. Her cheeks were flushed, her eye was brilliant, her manner
resolved. He was surprised; but he rejoiced that his own fortitude was
not put to the trial he had dreaded.
"My Winifred will assist her husband to bear himself as becomes a man
and a good Catholic: I see she will avoid unnerving me by her grief;
and among my many causes of gratitude to her, I may still add this,
that she will smooth my passage to a better world. Thanks, my own love,
thanks!"
"And does my lord imagine I could speak, stand, look, move, as I now
do, if I believed it would be carried into effect--that sentence, that
horrible sentence! For I was there--I was in Westminster Hall--I heard
it; I saw the axe! and I saw you, my own dear husband,--I saw you, and
I heard your voice,--that voice which thrilled through all the court,
which must have penetrated to the inmost recesses of every heart!"
"Oh, Winifred! I could almost chide my best beloved for having
wantonly, without any adequate motive, exposed her feelings to so
needless a trial!"
"It was not needlessly; it was not without a motive that I did so: I
had the strongest earthly motive. It was with a view of ascertaining
my own strength, my fortitude, that I courted what I should otherwise
have shrunk from. It was with a view to the accomplishment of that
plan which I have long been forming, and which not all the arguments
you can adduce shall prevent me from pursuing. It was with a view to
self-preservation,--for is not my life wound up in yours? Think you, in
honest truth, think you, I can exist without you? Do you not believe
that if you perish, I shall not survive?"
"Nay, nay, my love," he replied, almost smiling at her vehemence, "I
do believe your affection for me is as strong as ever warmed the pure
soul of devoted woman; still I cannot but think and hope that you will
live many, many years, to be a guide and a protectress to our children.
Remember, you but share the fate of many other fond and loving wives!
Have not the other condemned lords wives, fond and loving wives; and
must not they endure----?"
"No, no, no! Speak not of them! they do not, cannot love their husbands
as I love you; for have they husbands so worthy of their love? What is
the wild Lord Wintoun, the Lord Kenmure, or the good old Lord Nairne?
The Lord Derwentwater, I grant you, is a worthy gentleman;--but what
are they, any of them, when compared with you?"
"But, my sweet Winifred, to die is the doom of all created beings.
Many have loved before; and of all who have ever loved, one must
survive. It is a sad, it is a painful truth; but it is a most plain
and undeniable one. Then why should not this be borne as patiently as
the same bereavement by any other means? A long illness would reconcile
you to the event! and yet would you wish me to endure lengthened
bodily ills? Should you not rather rejoice that I shall thus be spared
all the protracted sufferings of sickness, and that, comparatively
speaking, I shall thus be exempted from the pains of death; that I
shall pass from earth with all my intellects unimpaired, in the full
enjoyment of my faculties! Could there be any satisfaction in marking
the decaying mind, the enfeebled spirit, the soul waxing weak, as the
body sinks under the effects of some wasting malady? Yet how often has
the most devoted affection watched all these humiliating and painful
harbingers of death, till the mourner has been brought to look upon the
dreaded bereavement almost in the light of a blessing? But is there any
consolation in this? Would one not rather choose that the memory of the
departed should be undimmed, unpolluted by the recollection of mortal
decay?"
"Your words are beautiful! I love to hear your voice! it thrills like
music through my heart! The thoughts are noble, lofty, pure, and holy;
but they persuade me not! As I gaze on you, as I listen to you, I only
feel the more, that life without you is not life: it is a blank!--a
dark and dreary chasm into which I dare not look: that I must, must
save you; and that if you love me, you will give heed to me, and that
you will agree to what I shall propose."
"Oh, Winifred! this is cruel kindness. It is cruel to wean me from the
thoughts of death, which I have almost taught myself to love, to lure
me back to those of life, which, alas! possesses only too many charms
for me!"
There was a tenderness in the tone and the manner which gave her hope
that she had worked upon him. She felt that love for her, and pity for
her sorrows, might at this moment induce him to listen; and she opened
to him the plan she had formed for his escape.
But she had scarcely detailed her proposed measures, when he vehemently
refused to engage in what he thought could not be carried into
execution without compromising others. Desperate at the ill-success
which attended her efforts, she abandoned herself to grief: she strove
not to control her feelings; she wrung her hands, she wept in hopeless
agony.
Meanwhile he paced the apartment in anguish not less acute. He accused
himself of cruelty towards her when he witnessed her desperation; and
yet he could not bring himself to agree to measures which he deemed
degrading, and in the success of which he placed little reliance.
Such moments comprise a greater sum of suffering than is spread over
many a common life. At length he stopped before her.
"Winifred, my wife, my honoured wife! Urge me not to anything unworthy.
Call up that noble spirit, which has ever deserved my respect, my
admiration, as much as your beauty and your tenderness have won my
love! Now listen to me in return!"
In a moment her attention was riveted. She scarcely breathed; she
listened as though she would devour each word that fell from his lips,
in ardent hope that he might himself have struck out some plan which
she might execute.
"I have ever been unwilling to present petitions to the king, or to the
government. All that I could in honour urge in self-defence, all that
I could in honesty profess for the future, has been already stated in
my answer to the impeachment, and in my address to my peers yesterday.
I have been, and still am, unwilling to crave mercy at the hands of
one who owes me nothing; from whom I have no right to expect it;--but
that you should not reproach me with wilfully neglecting any means of
safety, I will consent to a petition being presented to King George
by you yourself. If anything can move him, it must be the sight of
distress such as yours,--and in such a form as that!" he added, looking
upon her, as, like a marble statue, she sat with lips apart, her
slender throat bent forward, and her eyes fixed upon him. "He cannot
behold thee unmoved! It may avail thee something in future, if it serve
not me!" he murmured in a low voice.
"Oh! do not trust to the pity of those who have already proved
themselves so ruthless: trust rather to the zeal of your own wife, and
our faithful Amy Evans!"
"I will trust to your zeal, my love, but let it be employed in such a
manner as befits us both; and doubly precious will life be to me if
'tis to you I owe it!"
"And if, as I expect, the king is obdurate? for he fears you; he fears
the unconquerable fidelity of your family to the Stuarts, and he fears
the influence of your high character: he fears,--therefore, will not
pardon you!"
"There is the general petition to parliament, to which I have agreed to
put my name."
"And if that should fail?"
"Then, my love, you must prove that you are a Christian, and a
Catholic, and that you have not forgotten the exhortations to faith,
submission and patience, which good Father Albert gave you in your
youth, and which you tell me he has so often repeated by letter."
"Nay, nay. If all these fail, then promise me that you will not reject
the means I will offer you; that you will not be more merciless than
the king himself; that you will not obstinately refuse to save from
despair one who has ever loved you with most true faith!"
"Oh, Winifred!"
"Promise that you will listen to my plans; that you will maturely
consider them; that, if practicable, you will not reject them; and I
will present the petition, I will cling to the knees of the king, I
will wring mercy from him if it be possible; and if he pardons you, I
will honour him, I will love him, and I will ever esteem him worthy to
be the monarch of these fair realms by the qualities of the heart, as
I already believe him to be so by those of the head! Only promise me
that, if all this should fail, you will not condemn me always to plead
in vain, that you, at least, will not turn away from my prayer, that
you will listen."
"If all other means should fail, then--then, my love, I will listen
attentively, calmly, to all you may urge."
"Thanks, I am satisfied," replied Lady Nithsdale, resolved to interpret
his measured expressions into an implied assent to all her wishes: "and
now prepare the petition, my dearest lord, and I will lose no time in
taking measures that it should reach the king himself. These hands
shall give it him. I know how I may gain access to his presence. I will
see him with my own eyes; and he shall refuse me with his own lips, if
he cannot be worked upon to mercy. When will it be ready?"
"Patience, my love. I must consult with those who can assist me in so
wording it that I may not risk giving offence. In some days it shall be
drawn up."
"Why such delay? Time is precious. Talk not of days. To-morrow, or, at
farthest, the day after,--the twelfth. Tell me when, that I may seek
the kind Mrs. Morgan, and with her arrange all for my admission to St.
James's."
"Gently, gently, dearest Winifred. We must do nothing rashly. By
the thirteenth the petition shall be ready, and we will hope it may
find such grace as shall spare you all further fears on my account.
Meantime, compose yourself."
"Nay, am I not composed? Surely I think I must be a stock, a stone,
thus to preserve my senses, and move, act, speak, like other people. I
sometimes fancy I must lack natural feeling; for it is not grief that
possesses my soul, but hope and fear so strangely blended that there is
no space left for grief!"
"My Winifred need not tax herself with coldness!" replied the earl
tenderly, but sadly, smiling as he looked upon her. Then, resuming a
calm and business-like tone, he added, "The Lord Nairne's lady, as I
understand, is also to present an address to the king, and there seems
good hope that hers may be graciously received. If you could accompany
her it might be well; for she is a staid and discreet person, and has
been much used to courts. She was for some years in great favour with
Queen Anne. She may support and guide you; and, indeed, Winifred, you
must not overtask yourself!"
He was half alarmed at the reliance she seemed to place on her own
strength, and feared it might proceed from a feverish state of
excitement.
"I will wait upon the Lady Nairne to-day," resumed Lady Nithsdale. "I
will do anything, everything, you suggest, now you have promised in
return to listen to my arguments."
She instinctively worded his promise as vaguely as he had done himself,
fearing to alarm him into a declaration that he had only promised
to listen to, not to comply with, her wishes. Without being exactly
conscious that she was endeavouring to cheat him into attending to his
own safety, she hoped to accustom him to the idea, that if she adopted
every plan he proposed, he was thereby pledged to follow hers upon the
failure of his own.