Walter Scott

Old Mortality, Complete
Milnwood eagerly extended his hand.

"Only you know," said Bothwell, still playing with the purse, "that every
landholder is answerable for the conformity and loyalty of his household,
and that these fellows of mine are not obliged to be silent on the
subject of the fine sermon we have had from that old puritan in the
tartan plaid there; and I presume you are aware that the consequences of
delation will be a heavy fine before the council."

"Good sergeant,--worthy captain!" exclaimed the terrified miser, "I am
sure there is no person in my house, to my knowledge, would give cause of
offence."

"Nay," answered Bothwell, "you shall hear her give her testimony, as she
calls it, herself.--You fellow," (to Cuddie,) "stand back, and let your
mother speak her mind. I see she's primed and loaded again since her
first discharge."

"Lord! noble sir," said Cuddie, "an auld wife's tongue's but a feckless
matter to mak sic a fash about. Neither my father nor me ever minded
muckle what our mither said."

"Hold your peace, my lad, while you are well," said Bothwell; "I promise
you I think you are slyer than you would like to be supposed.--Come, good
dame, you see your master will not believe that you can give us so bright
a testimony."

Mause's zeal did not require this spur to set her again on full career.

"Woe to the compliers and carnal self-seekers," she said, "that daub over
and drown their consciences by complying with wicked exactions, and
giving mammon of unrighteousness to the sons of Belial, that it may make
their peace with them! It is a sinful compliance, a base confederacy with
the Enemy. It is the evil that Menahem did in the sight of the Lord, when
he gave a thousand talents to Pul, King of Assyria, that his hand might
be with him; Second Kings, feifteen chapter, nineteen verse. It is the
evil deed of Ahab, when he sent money to Tiglath-Peleser; see the saame
Second Kings, saxteen and aught. And if it was accounted a backsliding
even in godly Hezekiah, that he complied with Sennacherib, giving him
money, and offering to bear that which was put upon him, (see the saame
Second Kings, aughteen chapter, fourteen and feifteen verses,) even so it
is with them that in this contumacious and backsliding generation pays
localities and fees, and cess and fines, to greedy and unrighteous
publicans, and extortions and stipends to hireling curates, (dumb dogs
which bark not, sleeping, lying down, loving to slumber,) and gives gifts
to be helps and hires to our oppressors and destroyers. They are all like
the casters of a lot with them--like the preparing of a table for the
troop, and the furnishing a drink-offering to the number."

"There's a fine sound of doctrine for you, Mr Morton! How like you that?"
said Bothwell; "or how do you think the Council will like it? I think we
can carry the greatest part of it in our heads without a kylevine pen and
a pair of tablets, such as you bring to conventicles. She denies paying
cess, I think, Andrews?"

"Yes, by G--," said Andrews; "and she swore it was a sin to give a
trooper a pot of ale, or ask him to sit down to a table."

"You hear," said Bothwell, addressing Milnwood; "but it's your own
affair;" and he proffered back the purse with its diminished contents,
with an air of indifference.

Milnwood, whose head seemed stunned by the accumulation of his
misfortunes, extended his hand mechanically to take the purse.

"Are ye mad?" said his housekeeper, in a whisper; "tell them to keep
it;--they will keep it either by fair means or foul, and it's our only
chance to make them quiet."

"I canna do it, Ailie--I canna do it," said Milnwood, in the bitterness
of his heart. "I canna part wi' the siller I hae counted sae often ower,
to thae blackguards."

"Then I maun do it mysell, Milnwood," said the housekeeper, "or see a'
gang wrang thegither.--My master, sir," she said, addressing Bothwell,
"canna think o' taking back ony thing at the hand of an honourable
gentleman like you; he implores ye to pit up the siller, and be as kind
to his nephew as ye can, and be favourable in reporting our dispositions
to government, and let us tak nae wrang for the daft speeches of an auld
jaud," (here she turned fiercely upon Mause, to indulge herself for the
effort which it cost her to assume a mild demeanour to the soldiers,) "a
daft auld whig randy, that ne'er was in the house (foul fa' her) till
yesterday afternoon, and that sall ne'er cross the door-stane again an
anes I had her out o't."

"Ay, ay," whispered Cuddie to his parent, "e'en sae! I kend we wad be put
to our travels again whene'er ye suld get three words spoken to an end. I
was sure that wad be the upshot o't, mither."

"Whisht, my bairn," said she, "and dinna murmur at the cross--cross their
door-stane! weel I wot I'll ne'er cross their door-stane. There's nae
mark on their threshold for a signal that the destroying angel should
pass by. They'll get a back-cast o' his hand yet, that think sae muckle
o' the creature and sae little o' the Creator--sae muckle o' warld's gear
and sae little o' a broken covenant--sae muckle about thae wheen pieces
o' yellow muck, and sae little about the pure gold o' the Scripture--sae
muckle about their ain friend and kinsman, and sae little about the
elect, that are tried wi' hornings, harassings, huntings, searchings,
chasings, catchings, imprisonments, torturings, banishments, headings,
hangings, dismemberings, and quarterings quick, forby the hundreds forced
from their ain habitations to the deserts, mountains, muirs, mosses,
moss-flows, and peat-hags, there to hear the word like bread eaten in
secret."

"She's at the Covenant now, sergeant, shall we not have her away?" said
one of the soldiers.

"You be d--d!" said Bothwell, aside to him; "cannot you see she's better
where she is, so long as there is a respectable, sponsible, money-broking
heritor, like Mr Morton of Milnwood, who has the means of atoning her
trespasses? Let the old mother fly to raise another brood, she's too
tough to be made any thing of herself--Here," he cried, "one other round
to Milnwood and his roof-tree, and to our next merry meeting with
him!--which I think will not be far distant, if he keeps such a fanatical
family."

He then ordered the party to take their horses, and pressed the best in
Milnwood's stable into the king's service to carry the prisoner. Mrs
Wilson, with weeping eyes, made up a small parcel of necessaries for
Henry's compelled journey, and as she bustled about, took an opportunity,
unseen by the party, to slip into his hand a small sum of money. Bothwell
and his troopers, in other respects, kept their promise, and were civil.
They did not bind their prisoner, but contented themselves with leading
his horse between a file of men. They then mounted, and marched off with
much mirth and laughter among themselves, leaving the Milnwood family in
great confusion. The old Laird himself, overpowered by the loss of his
nephew, and the unavailing outlay of twenty pounds sterling, did nothing
the whole evening but rock himself backwards and forwards in his great
leathern easy-chair, repeating the same lamentation, of "Ruined on a'
sides, ruined on a' sides--harried and undone--harried and undone--body
and gudes, body and gudes!"

Mrs Alison Wilson's grief was partly indulged and partly relieved by the
torrent of invectives with which she accompanied Mause and Cuddie's
expulsion from Milnwood.

"Ill luck be in the graning corse o' thee! the prettiest lad in
Clydesdale this day maun be a sufferer, and a' for you and your daft
whiggery!"

"Gae wa'," replied Mause; "I trow ye are yet in the bonds of sin, and in
the gall of iniquity, to grudge your bonniest and best in the cause of
Him that gave ye a' ye hae--I promise I hae dune as muckle for Mr Harry
as I wad do for my ain; for if Cuddie was found worthy to bear testimony
in the Grassmarket"--"And there's gude hope o't," said Alison, "unless
you and he change your courses."

"--And if," continued Mause, disregarding the interruption, "the bloody
Doegs and the flattering Ziphites were to seek to ensnare me with a
proffer of his remission upon sinful compliances, I wad persevere,
natheless, in lifting my testimony against popery, prelacy,
antinomianism, erastianism, lapsarianism, sublapsarianism, and the sins
and snares of the times--I wad cry as a woman in labour against the black
Indulgence, that has been a stumbling-block to professors--I wad uplift
my voice as a powerful preacher."

"Hout tout, mither," cried Cuddie, interfering and dragging her off
forcibly, "dinna deave the gentlewoman wi' your testimony! ye hae
preached eneugh for sax days. Ye preached us out o' our canny free-house
and gude kale-yard, and out o' this new city o' refuge afore our hinder
end was weel hafted in it; and ye hae preached Mr Harry awa to the
prison; and ye hae preached twenty punds out o' the Laird's pocket that
he likes as ill to quit wi'; and sae ye may haud sae for ae wee while,
without preaching me up a ladder and down a tow. Sae, come awa, come awa;
the family hae had eneugh o' your testimony to mind it for ae while."

So saying he dragged off Mause, the words,
"Testimony--Covenant--malignants--indulgence," still thrilling upon her
tongue, to make preparations for instantly renewing their travels in
quest of an asylum.

"Ill-fard, crazy, crack-brained gowk, that she is!" exclaimed the
housekeeper, as she saw them depart, "to set up to be sae muckle better
than ither folk, the auld besom, and to bring sae muckle distress on a
douce quiet family! If it hadna been that I am mair than half a
gentlewoman by my station, I wad hae tried my ten nails in the wizen'd
hide o' her!"





CHAPTER IX.

          I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars,
          And show my cuts and scars wherever I come;
          This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,
          When welcoming the French at the sound of the drum.
                                                            Burns.

"Don't be too much cast down," said Sergeant Bothwell to his prisoner as
they journeyed on towards the head-quarters; "you are a smart pretty lad,
and well connected; the worst that will happen will be strapping up for
it, and that is many an honest fellow's lot. I tell you fairly your
life's within the compass of the law, unless you make submission, and get
off by a round fine upon your uncle's estate; he can well afford it."

"That vexes me more than the rest," said Henry. "He parts with his money
with regret; and, as he had no concern whatever with my having given this
person shelter for a night, I wish to Heaven, if I escape a capital
punishment, that the penalty may be of a kind I could bear in my own
person."

"Why, perhaps," said Bothwell, "they will propose to you to go into one
of the Scotch regiments that are serving abroad. It's no bad line of
service; if your friends are active, and there are any knocks going, you
may soon get a commission."

"I am by no means sure," answered Morton, "that such a sentence is not
the best thing that can happen to me."

"Why, then, you are no real whig after all?" said the sergeant.

"I have hitherto meddled with no party in the state," said Henry, "but
have remained quietly at home; and sometimes I have had serious thoughts
of joining one of our foreign regiments."

"Have you?" replied Bothwell; "why, I honour you for it; I have served in
the Scotch French guards myself many a long day; it's the place for
learning discipline, d--n me. They never mind what you do when you are
off duty; but miss you the roll-call, and see how they'll arrange
you--D--n me, if old Captain Montgomery didn't make me mount guard upon
the arsenal in my steel-back and breast, plate-sleeves and head-piece,
for six hours at once, under so burning a sun, that gad I was baked like
a turtle at Port Royale. I swore never to miss answering to Francis
Stewart again, though I should leave my hand of cards upon the
drum-head--Ah! discipline is a capital thing."

"In other respects you liked the service?" said Morton,

"Par excellence," said Bothwell; "women, wine, and wassail, all to be had
for little but the asking; and if you find it in your conscience to let a
fat priest think he has some chance to convert you, gad he'll help you to
these comforts himself, just to gain a little ground in your good
affection. Where will you find a crop-eared whig parson will be so
civil?"

"Why, nowhere, I agree with you," said Henry; "but what was your chief
duty?"

"To guard the king's person," said Bothwell, "to look after the safety of
Louis le Grand, my boy, and now and then to take a turn among the
Huguenots (protestants, that is.) And there we had fine scope; it brought
my hand pretty well in for the service in this country. But, come, as you
are to be a bon camerado, as the Spaniards say, I must put you in cash
with some of your old uncle's broad-pieces. This is cutter's law; we must
not see a pretty fellow want, if we have cash ourselves."

Thus speaking, he pulled out his purse, took out some of the contents,
and offered them to Henry without counting them. Young Morton declined
the favour; and, not judging it prudent to acquaint the sergeant,
notwithstanding his apparent generosity, that he was actually in
possession of some money, he assured him he should have no difficulty in
getting a supply from his uncle.

"Well," said Bothwell, "in that case these yellow rascals must serve to
ballast my purse a little longer. I always make it a rule never to quit
the tavern (unless ordered on duty) while my purse is so weighty that I
can chuck it over the signpost. [Note: A Highland laird, whose
peculiarities live still in the recollection of his countrymen, used to
regulate his residence at Edinburgh in the following manner: Every day he
visited the Water-gate, as it is called, of the Canongate, over which is
extended a wooden arch. Specie being then the general currency, he threw
his purse over the gate, and as long as it was heavy enough to be thrown
over, he continued his round of pleasure in the metropolis; when it was
too light, he thought it time to retire to the Highlands. Query--How
often would he have repeated this experiment at Temple Bar?] When it is
so light that the wind blows it back, then, boot and saddle,--we must
fall on some way of replenishing.--But what tower is that before us,
rising so high upon the steep bank, out of the woods that surround it on
every side?"

"It is the tower of Tillietudlem," said one of the soldiers. "Old Lady
Margaret Bellenden lives there. She's one of the best affected women in
the country, and one that's a soldier's friend. When I was hurt by one of
the d--d whig dogs that shot at me from behind a fauld-dike, I lay a
month there, and would stand such another wound to be in as good quarters
again."

"If that be the case," said Bothwell, "I will pay my respects to her as
we pass, and request some refreshment for men and horses; I am as thirsty
already as if I had drunk nothing at Milnwood. But it is a good thing in
these times," he continued, addressing himself to Henry, "that the King's
soldier cannot pass a house without getting a refreshment. In such houses
as Tillie--what d'ye call it? you are served for love; in the houses of
the avowed fanatics you help yourself by force; and among the moderate
presbyterians and other suspicious persons, you are well treated from
fear; so your thirst is always quenched on some terms or other."

"And you purpose," said Henry, anxiously, "to go upon that errand up to
the tower younder?"

"To be sure I do," answered Bothwell. "How should I be able to report
favourably to my officers of the worthy lady's sound principles, unless I
know the taste of her sack, for sack she will produce--that I take for
granted; it is the favourite consoler of your old dowager of quality, as
small claret is the potation of your country laird."

"Then, for heaven's sake," said Henry, "if you are determined to go
there, do not mention my name, or expose me to a family that I am
acquainted with. Let me be muffled up for the time in one of your
soldier's cloaks, and only mention me generally as a prisoner under your
charge."

"With all my heart," said Bothwell; "I promised to use you civilly, and I
scorn to break my word.--Here, Andrews, wrap a cloak round the prisoner,
and do not mention his name, nor where we caught him, unless you would
have a trot on a horse of wood."

     [Note:  Wooden Mare. The punishment of riding the wooden mare was,
     in the days of Charles and long after, one of the various and cruel
     modes of enforcing military discipline. In front of the old
     guard-house in the High Street of Edinburgh, a large horse of this
     kind was placed, on which now and then, in the more ancient times, a
     veteran might be seen mounted, with a firelock tied to each foot,
     atoning for some small offence.

     There is a singular work, entitled Memoirs of Prince William Henry,
     Duke of Gloucester, (son of Queen Anne,) from his birth to his ninth
     year, in which Jenkin Lewis, an honest Welshman in attendance on the
     royal infant's person, is pleased to record that his Royal Highness
     laughed, cried, crow'd, and said Gig and Dy, very like a babe of
     plebeian descent. He had also a premature taste for the discipline
     as well as the show of war, and had a corps of twenty-two boys,
     arrayed with paper caps and wooden swords. For the maintenance of
     discipline in this juvenile corps, a wooden horse was established in
     the Presence-chamber, and was sometimes employed in the punishment
     of offences not strictly military. Hughes, the Duke's tailor, having
     made him a suit of clothes which were too tight, was appointed, in
     an order of the day issued by the young prince, to be placed on this
     penal steed. The man of remnants, by dint of supplication and
     mediation, escaped from the penance, which was likely to equal the
     inconveniences of his brother artist's equestrian trip to Brentford.
     But an attendant named Weatherly, who had presumed to bring the
     young Prince a toy, (after he had discarded the use of them,) was
     actually mounted on the wooden horse without a saddle, with his face
     to the tail, while he was plied by four servants of the household
     with syringes and squirts, till he had a thorough wetting. "He was a
     waggish fellow," says Lewis, "and would not lose any thing for the
     joke's sake when he was putting his tricks upon others, so he was
     obliged to submit cheerfully to what was inflicted upon him, being
     at our mercy to play him off well, which we did accordingly." Amid
     much such nonsense, Lewis's book shows that this poor child, the
     heir of the British monarchy, who died when he was eleven years old,
     was, in truth, of promising parts, and of a good disposition. The
     volume, which rarely occurs, is an octavo, published in 1789, the
     editor being Dr Philip Hayes of Oxford.]

They were at this moment at an arched gateway, battlemented and flanked
with turrets, one whereof was totally ruinous, excepting the lower story,
which served as a cow-house to the peasant, whose family inhabited the
turret that remained entire. The gate had been broken down by Monk's
soldiers during the civil war, and had never been replaced, therefore
presented no obstacle to Bothwell and his party. The avenue, very steep
and narrow, and causewayed with large round stones, ascended the side of
the precipitous bank in an oblique and zigzag course, now showing now
hiding a view of the tower and its exterior bulwarks, which seemed to
rise almost perpendicularly above their heads. The fragments of Gothic
defences which it exhibited were upon such a scale of strength, as
induced Bothwell to exclaim, "It's well this place is in honest and loyal
hands. Egad, if the enemy had it, a dozen of old whigamore wives with
their distaffs might keep it against a troop of dragoons, at least if
they had half the spunk of the old girl we left at Milnwood. Upon my
life," he continued, as they came in front of the large double tower and
its surrounding defences and flankers, "it is a superb place, founded,
says the worn inscription over the gate--unless the remnant of my Latin
has given me the slip--by Sir Ralph de Bellenden in 1350--a respectable
antiquity. I must greet the old lady with due honour, though it should
put me to the labour of recalling some of the compliments that I used to
dabble in when I was wont to keep that sort of company."

As he thus communed with himself, the butler, who had reconnoitred the
soldiers from an arrowslit in the wall, announced to his lady, that a
commanded party of dragoons, or, as he thought, Life-Guardsmen, waited at
the gate with a prisoner under their charge.

"I am certain," said Gudyill, "and positive, that the sixth man is a
prisoner; for his horse is led, and the two dragoons that are before have
their carabines out of their budgets, and rested upon their thighs. It
was aye the way we guarded prisoners in the days of the great Marquis."

"King's soldiers?" said the lady; "probably in want of refreshment. Go,
Gudyill, make them welcome, and let them be accommodated with what
provision and forage the Tower can afford.--And stay, tell my gentlewoman
to bring my black scarf and manteau. I will go down myself to receive
them; one cannot show the King's Life-Guards too much respect in times
when they are doing so much for royal authority. And d'ye hear, Gudyill,
let Jenny Dennison slip on her pearlings to walk before my niece and me,
and the three women to walk behind; and bid my niece attend me
instantly."

Fully accoutred, and attended according to her directions, Lady Margaret
now sailed out into the court-yard of her tower with great courtesy and
dignity. Sergeant Bothwell saluated the grave and reverend lady of the
manor with an assurance which had something of the light and careless
address of the dissipated men of fashion in Charles the Second's time,
and did not at all savour of the awkward or rude manners of a
non-commissioned officer of dragoons. His language, as well as his
manners, seemed also to be refined for the time and occasion; though the
truth was, that, in the fluctuations of an adventurous and profligate
life, Bothwell had sometimes kept company much better suited to his
ancestry than to his present situation of life. To the lady's request to
know whether she could be of service to them, he answered, with a
suitable bow, "That as they had to march some miles farther that night,
they would be much accommodated by permission to rest their horses for an
hour before continuing their journey."

"With the greatest pleasure," answered Lady Margaret; "and I trust that
my people will see that neither horse nor men want suitable refreshment."

"We are well aware, madam," continued Bothwell, "that such has always
been the reception, within the walls of Tillietudlem, of those who served
the King."

"We have studied to discharge our duty faithfully and loyally on all
occasions, sir," answered Lady Margaret, pleased with the compliment,
"both to our monarchs and to their followers, particularly to their
faithful soldiers. It is not long ago, and it probably has not escaped
the recollection of his sacret majesty, now on the throne, since he
himself honoured my poor house with his presence and breakfasted in a
room in this castle, Mr Sergeant, which my waiting-gentlewoman shall show
you; we still call it the King's room."

Bothwell had by this time dismounted his party, and committed the horses
to the charge of one file, and the prisoner to that of another; so that
he himself was at liberty to continue the conversation which the lady had
so condescendingly opened.

"Since the King, my master, had the honour to experience your
hospitality, I cannot wonder that it is extended to those that serve him,
and whose principal merit is doing it with fidelity. And yet I have a
nearer relation to his majesty than this coarse red coat would seem to
indicate."

"Indeed, sir? Probably," said Lady Margaret, "you have belonged to his
household?"

"Not exactly, madam, to his household, but rather to his house; a
connexion through which I may claim kindred with most of the best
families in Scotland, not, I believe, exclusive of that of Tillietudlem."

"Sir?" said the old lady, drawing herself up with dignity at hearing what
she conceived an impertinent jest, "I do not understand you."

"It's but a foolish subject for one in my situation to talk of, madam,"
answered the trooper; "but you must have heard of the history and
misfortunes of my grandfather Francis Stewart, to whom James I., his
cousin-german, gave the title of Bothwell, as my comrades give me the
nickname. It was not in the long run more advantageous to him than it is
to me."

"Indeed?" said Lady Margaret, with much sympathy and surprise; "I have
indeed always understood that the grandson of the last Earl was in
necessitous circumstances, but I should never have expected to see him so
low in the service. With such connexions, what ill fortune could have
reduced you"--

"Nothing much out of the ordinary course, I believe, madam," said
Bothwell, interrupting and anticipating the question. "I have had my
moments of good luck like my neighbours--have drunk my bottle with
Rochester, thrown a merry main with Buckingham, and fought at Tangiers
side by side with Sheffield. But my luck never lasted; I could not make
useful friends out of my jolly companions--Perhaps I was not sufficiently
aware," he continued, with some bitterness, "how much the descendant of
the Scottish Stewarts was honoured by being admitted into the
convivialities of Wilmot and Villiers."

"But your Scottish friends, Mr Stewart, your relations here, so numerous
and so powerful?"

"Why, ay, my lady," replied the sergeant, "I believe some of them might
have made me their gamekeeper, for I am a tolerable shot--some of them
would have entertained me as their bravo, for I can use my sword
well--and here and there was one, who, when better company was not to
be had, would have made me his companion, since I can drink my three
bottles of wine.--But I don't know how it is--between service and
service among my kinsmen, I prefer that of my cousin Charles as the most
creditable of them all, although the pay is but poor, and the livery far
from splendid."

"It is a shame, it is a burning scandal!" said Lady Margaret. "Why do you
not apply to his most sacred majesty? he cannot but be surprised to hear
that a scion of his august family"--

"I beg your pardon, madam," interrupted the sergeant, "I am but a blunt
soldier, and I trust you will excuse me when I say, his most sacred
majesty is more busy in grafting scions of his own, than with nourishing
those which were planted by his grandfather's grandfather."

"Well, Mr Stewart," said Lady Margaret, "one thing you must promise
me--remain at Tillietudlem to-night; to-morrow I expect your
commanding-officer, the gallant Claverhouse, to whom king and country
are so much obliged for his exertions against those who would turn the
world upside down. I will speak to him on the subject of your speedy
promotion; and I am certain he feels too much, both what is due to the
blood which is in your veins, and to the request of a lady so highly
distinguished as myself by his most sacred majesty, not to make better
provision for you than you have yet received."

"I am much obliged to your ladyship, and I certainly will remain her with
my prisoner, since you request it, especially as it will be the earliest
way of presenting him to Colonel Grahame, and obtaining his ultimate
orders about the young spark."

"Who is your prisoner, pray you?" said Lady Margaret.

"A young fellow of rather the better class in this neighbourhood, who has
been so incautious as to give countenance to one of the murderers of the
primate, and to facilitate the dog's escape."

"O, fie upon him!" said Lady Margaret; "I am but too apt to forgive the
injuries I have received at the hands of these rogues, though some of
them, Mr Stewart, are of a kind not like to be forgotten; but those who
would abet the perpetrators of so cruel and deliberate a homicide on a
single man, an old man, and a man of the Archbishop's sacred
profession--O fie upon him! If you wish to make him secure, with little
trouble to your people, I will cause Harrison, or Gudyill, look for the
key of our pit, or principal dungeon. It has not been open since the
week after the victory of Kilsythe, when my poor Sir Arthur Bellenden
put twenty whigs into it; but it is not more than two stories beneath
ground, so it cannot be unwholesome, especially as I rather believe
there is somewhere an opening to the outer air."

"I beg your pardon, madam," answered the sergeant; "I daresay the dungeon
is a most admirable one; but I have promised to be civil to the lad, and
I will take care he is watched, so as to render escape impossible. I'll
set those to look after him shall keep him as fast as if his legs were in
the boots, or his fingers in the thumbikins."

"Well, Mr Stewart," rejoined the lady, "you best know your own duty. I
heartily wish you good evening, and commit you to the care of my steward,
Harrison. I would ask you to keep ourselves company, but a--a--a--"

"O, madam, it requires no apology; I am sensible the coarse red coat of
King Charles II. does and ought to annihilate the privileges of the red
blood of King James V."

"Not with me, I do assure you, Mr Stewart; you do me injustice if you
think so. I will speak to your officer to-morrow; and I trust you shall
soon find yourself in a rank where there shall be no anomalies to be
reconciled."

"I believe, madam," said Bothwell, "your goodness will find itself
deceived; but I am obliged to you for your intention, and, at all events,
I will have a merry night with Mr Harrison."

Lady Margaret took a ceremonious leave, with all the respect which she
owed to royal blood, even when flowing in the veins of a sergeant of the
Life-Guards; again assuring Mr Stewart, that whatever was in the Tower of
Tillietudlem was heartily at his service and that of his attendants.

Sergeant Bothwell did not fail to take the lady at her word, and readily
forgot the height from which his family had descended, in a joyous
carousal, during which Mr Harrison exerted himself to produce the best
wine in the cellar, and to excite his guest to be merry by that seducing
example, which, in matters of conviviality, goes farther than precept.
Old Gudyill associated himself with a party so much to his taste, pretty
much as Davy, in the Second Part of Henry the Fourth, mingles in the
revels of his master, Justice Shallow. He ran down to the cellar at the
risk of breaking his neck, to ransack some private catacomb, known, as he
boasted, only to himself, and which never either had, or should, during
his superintendence, renden forth a bottle of its contents to any one but
a real king's friend.

"When the Duke dined here," said the butler, seating himself at a
distance from the table, being somewhat overawed by Bothwell's genealogy,
but yet hitching his seat half a yard nearer at every clause of his
speech, "my leddy was importunate to have a bottle of that
Burgundy,"--(here he advanced his seat a little,)--"but I dinna ken how
it was, Mr Stewart, I misdoubted him. I jaloused him, sir, no to be the
friend to government he pretends: the family are not to lippen to. That
auld Duke James lost his heart before he lost his head; and the
Worcester man was but wersh parritch, neither gude to fry, boil, nor sup
cauld." (With this witty observation, he completed his first parallel,
and commenced a zigzag after the manner of an experienced engineer, in
order to continue his approaches to the table.) "Sae, sir, the faster my
leddy cried 'Burgundy to his Grace--the auld Burgundy--the choice
Burgundy--the Burgundy that came ower in the thirty-nine'--the mair did
I say to mysell, Deil a drap gangs down his hause unless I was mair
sensible o' his principles; sack and claret may serve him. Na, na,
gentlemen, as lang as I hae the trust o'butler in this house
o'Tillietudlem, I'll tak it upon me to see that nae disloyal or doubtfu'
person is the better o' our binns. But when I can find a true friend to
the king and his cause, and a moderate episcopacy; when I find a man, as
I say, that will stand by church and crown as I did mysell in my
master's life, and all through Montrose's time, I think there's naething
in the cellar ower gude to be spared on him."

By this time he had completed a lodgment in the body of the place, or, in
other words, advanced his seat close to the table.

"And now, Mr Francis Stewart of Bothwell, I have the honour to drink your
gude health, and a commission t'ye, and much luck may ye have in raking
this country clear o'whigs and roundheads, fanatics and Covenanters."

Bothwell, who, it may well be believed, had long ceased to be very
scrupulous in point of society, which he regulated more by his
convenience and station in life than his ancestry, readily answered the
butler's pledge, acknowledging, at the same time, the excellence of the
wine; and Mr Gudyill, thus adopted a regular member of the company,
continued to furnish them with the means of mirth until an early hour in
the next morning.





CHAPTER X.

               Did I but purpose to embark with thee
               On the smooth surface of a summer sea,
               And would forsake the skiff and make the shore
               When the winds whistle and the tempests roar?
                                                  Prior.

While Lady Margaret held, with the high-descended sergeant of dragoons,
the conference which we have detailed in the preceding pages, her
grand-daughter, partaking in a less degree her ladyship's enthusiasm for
all who were sprung of the blood-royal, did not honour Sergeant Bothwell
with more attention than a single glance, which showed her a tall
powerful person, and a set of hardy weather-beaten features, to which
pride and dissipation had given an air where discontent mingled with the
reckless gaiety of desperation. The other soldiers offered still less to
detach her consideration; but from the prisoner, muffled and disguised as
he was, she found it impossible to withdraw her eyes. Yet she blamed
herself for indulging a curiosity which seemed obviously to give pain to
him who was its object.

"I wish," she said to Jenny Dennison, who was the immediate attendant on
her person, "I wish we knew who that poor fellow is."

"I was just thinking sae mysell, Miss Edith," said the waiting woman,
"but it canna be Cuddie Headrigg, because he's taller and no sae stout."

"Yet," continued Miss Bellenden, "it may be some poor neigbour, for whom
we might have cause to interest ourselves."

"I can sune learn wha he is," said the enterprising Jenny, "if the
sodgers were anes settled and at leisure, for I ken ane o' them very
weel--the best-looking and the youngest o' them."

"I think you know all the idle young fellows about the country," answered
her mistress.

"Na, Miss Edith, I am no sae free o' my acquaintance as that," answered
the fille-de-chambre. "To be sure, folk canna help kenning the folk by
head-mark that they see aye glowring and looking at them at kirk and
market; but I ken few lads to speak to unless it be them o' the family,
and the three Steinsons, and Tam Rand, and the young miller, and the five
Howisons in Nethersheils, and lang Tam Gilry, and"--

"Pray cut short a list of exceptions which threatens to be a long one,
and tell me how you come to know this young soldier," said Miss
Bellenden.

"Lord, Miss Edith, it's Tam Halliday, Trooper Tam, as they ca' him, that
was wounded by the hill-folk at the conventicle at Outer-side Muir, and
lay here while he was under cure. I can ask him ony thing, and Tam will
no refuse to answer me, I'll be caution for him."

"Try, then," said Miss Edith, "if you can find an opportunity to ask him
the name of his prisoner, and come to my room and tell me what he says."

Jenny Dennison proceeded on her errand, but soon returned with such a
face of surprise and dismay as evinced a deep interest in the fate of the
prisoner.

"What is the matter?" said Edith, anxiously; "does it prove to be Cuddie,
after all, poor fellow?"

"Cuddie, Miss Edith? Na! na! it's nae Cuddie," blubbered out the faithful
fille-de-chambre, sensible of the pain which her news were about to
inflict on her young mistress. "O dear, Miss Edith, it's young Milnwood
himsell!"

"Young Milnwood!" exclaimed Edith, aghast in her turn; "it is
impossible--totally impossible!--His uncle attends the clergyman
indulged by law, and has no connexion whatever with the refractory
people; and he himself has never interfered in this unhappy dissension;
he must be totally innocent, unless he has been standing up for some
invaded right."

"O, my dear Miss Edith," said her attendant, "these are not days to ask
what's right or what's wrang; if he were as innocent as the new-born
infant, they would find some way of making him guilty, if they liked; but
Tam Halliday says it will touch his life, for he has been resetting ane
o' the Fife gentlemen that killed that auld carle of an Archbishop."

"His life!" exclaimed Edith, starting hastily up, and speaking with a
hurried and tremulous accent,--"they cannot--they shall not--I will speak
for him--they shall not hurt him!"

"O, my dear young leddy, think on your grandmother; think on the danger
and the difficulty," added Jenny; "for he's kept under close confinement
till Claverhouse comes up in the morning, and if he doesna gie him full
satisfaction, Tam Halliday says there will be brief wark wi' him--Kneel
down--mak ready--present--fire--just as they did wi' auld deaf John
Macbriar, that never understood a single question they pat till him, and
sae lost his life for lack o' hearing."

"Jenny," said the young lady, "if he should die, I will die with him;
there is no time to talk of danger or difficulty--I will put on a plaid,
and slip down with you to the place where they have kept him--I will
throw myself at the feet of the sentinel, and entreat him, as he has a
soul to be saved"--

"Eh, guide us!" interrupted the maid, "our young leddy at the feet o'
Trooper Tam, and speaking to him about his soul, when the puir chield
hardly kens whether he has ane or no, unless that he whiles swears by
it--that will never do; but what maun be maun be, and I'll never desert a
true-love cause--And sae, if ye maun see young Milnwood, though I ken nae
gude it will do, but to make baith your hearts the sairer, I'll e'en tak
the risk o't, and try to manage Tam Halliday; but ye maun let me hae my
ain gate and no speak ae word--he's keeping guard o'er Milnwood in the
easter round of the tower."

"Go, go, fetch me a plaid," said Edith. "Let me but see him, and I will
find some remedy for his danger--Haste ye, Jenny, as ever ye hope to have
good at my hands."

Jenny hastened, and soon returned with a plaid, in which Edith muffled
herself so as completely to screen her face, and in part to disguise her
person. This was a mode of arranging the plaid very common among the
ladies of that century, and the earlier part of the succeeding one; so
much so, indeed, that the venerable sages of the Kirk, conceiving that
the mode gave tempting facilities for intrigue, directed more than one
act of Assembly against this use of the mantle. But fashion, as usual,
proved too strong for authority, and while plaids continued to be worn,
women of all ranks occasionally employed them as a sort of muffler or
veil. [Note: Concealment of an individual, while in public or promiscuous
society, was then very common. In England, where no plaids were worn, the
ladies used vizard masks for the same purpose, and the gallants drew the
skirts of their cloaks over the right shoulder, so as to cover part of
the face. This is repeatedly alluded to in Pepys's Diary.] Her face and
figure thus concealed, Edith, holding by her attendant's arm, hastened
with trembling steps to the place of Morton's confinement.

This was a small study or closet, in one of the turrets, opening upon a
gallery in which the sentinel was pacing to and fro; for Sergeant
Bothwell, scrupulous in observing his word, and perhaps touched with some
compassion for the prisoner's youth and genteel demeanour, had waved the
indignity of putting his guard into the same apartment with him.
Halliday, therefore, with his carabine on his arm, walked up and down the
gallery, occasionally solacing himself with a draught of ale, a huge
flagon of which stood upoon the table at one end of the apartment, and at
other times humming the lively Scottish air,

"Between Saint Johnstone and Bonny Dundee, I'll gar ye be fain to follow
me."

Jenny Dennison cautioned her mistress once more to let her take her own
way.

"I can manage the trooper weel eneugh," she said, "for as rough as he
is--I ken their nature weel; but ye maunna say a single word."

She accordingly opened the door of the gallery just as the sentinel had
turned his back from it, and taking up the tune which he hummed, she sung
in a coquettish tone of rustic raillery,

"If I were to follow a poor sodger lad, My friends wad be angry, my
minnie be mad; A laird, or a lord, they were fitter for me, Sae I'll
never be fain to follow thee."--

"A fair challenge, by Jove," cried the sentinel, turning round, "and from
two at once; but it's not easy to bang the soldier with his bandoleers;"
then taking up the song where the damsel had stopt,

"To follow me ye weel may be glad, A share of my supper, a share of my
bed, To the sound of the drum to range fearless and free, I'll gar ye be
fain to follow me."--

"Come, my pretty lass, and kiss me for my song."

"I should not have thought of that, Mr Halliday," answered Jenny, with a
look and tone expressing just the necessary degree of contempt at the
proposal, "and, I'se assure ye, ye'll hae but little o' my company unless
ye show gentler havings--It wasna to hear that sort o'nonsense that
brought me here wi' my friend, and ye should think shame o' yoursell, 'at
should ye."

"Umph! and what sort of nonsense did bring you here then, Mrs Dennison?"

"My kinswoman has some particular business with your prisoner, young Mr
Harry Morton, and I am come wi' her to speak till him."

"The devil you are!" answered the sentinel; "and pray, Mrs Dennison, how
do your kinswoman and you propose to get in? You are rather too plump to
whisk through a keyhole, and opening the door is a thing not to be spoke
of."

"It's no a thing to be spoken o', but a thing to be dune," replied the
persevering damsel.

"We'll see about that, my bonny Jenny;" and the soldier resumed his
march, humming, as he walked to and fro along the gallery,

"Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet, Then ye'll see your bonny sell,
My joe Janet."

"So ye're no thinking to let us in, Mr Halliday? Weel, weel; gude e'en to
you--ye hae seen the last o' me, and o' this bonny die too," said Jenny,
holding between her finger and thumb a splendid silver dollar.

"Give him gold, give him gold," whispered the agitated young lady.

"Silver's e'en ower gude for the like o' him," replied Jenny, "that disna
care for the blink o' a bonny lassie's ee--and what's waur, he wad think
there was something mair in't than a kinswoman o' mine. My certy!
siller's no sae plenty wi' us, let alane gowd." Having addressed this
advice aside to her mistress, she raised her voice, and said, "My cousin
winna stay ony langer, Mr Halliday; sae, if ye please, gude e'en t'ye."

"Halt a bit, halt a bit," said the trooper; "rein up and parley, Jenny.
If I let your kinswoman in to speak to my prisoner, you must stay here
and keep me company till she come out again, and then we'll all be well
pleased you know."

"The fiend be in my feet then," said Jenny; "d'ye think my kinswoman and
me are gaun to lose our gude name wi' cracking clavers wi' the like o'
you or your prisoner either, without somebody by to see fair play? Hegh,
hegh, sirs, to see sic a difference between folk's promises and
performance! Ye were aye willing to slight puir Cuddie; but an I had
asked him to oblige me in a thing, though it had been to cost his
hanging, he wadna hae stude twice about it."

"D--n Cuddie!" retorted the dragoon, "he'll be hanged in good earnest, I
hope. I saw him today at Milnwood with his old puritanical b--of a
mother, and if I had thought I was to have had him cast in my dish, I
would have brought him up at my horse's tail--we had law enough to bear
us out."

"Very weel, very weel--See if Cuddie winna hae a lang shot at you ane o'
thae days, if ye gar him tak the muir wi' sae mony honest folk. He can
hit a mark brawly; he was third at the popinjay; and he's as true of his
promise as of ee and hand, though he disna mak sic a phrase about it as
some acquaintance o' yours--But it's a' ane to me--Come, cousin, we'll
awa'."

"Stay, Jenny; d--n me, if I hang fire more than another when I have said
a thing," said the soldier, in a hesitating tone. "Where is the
sergeant?"

"Drinking and driving ower," quoth Jenny, "wi' the Steward and John
Gudyill."

"So, so--he's safe enough--and where are my comrades?" asked Halliday.

"Birling the brown bowl wi' the fowler and the falconer, and some o' the
serving folk."

"Have they plenty of ale?"

"Sax gallons, as gude as e'er was masked," said the maid.

"Well, then, my pretty Jenny," said the relenting sentinel, "they are
fast till the hour of relieving guard, and perhaps something later; and
so, if you will promise to come alone the next time"--"Maybe I will, and
maybe I winna," said Jenny; "but if ye get the dollar, ye'll like that
just as weel."

"I'll be d--n'd if I do," said Halliday, taking the money, howeve; "but
it's always something for my risk; for, if Claverhouse hears what I have
done, he will build me a horse as high as the Tower of Tillietudlem. But
every one in the regiment takes what they can come by; I am sure Bothwell
and his blood-royal shows us a good example. And if I were trusting to
you, you little jilting devil, I should lose both pains and powder;
whereas this fellow," looking at the piece, "will be good as far as he
goes. So, come, there is the door open for you; do not stay groaning and
praying with the young whig now, but be ready, when I call at the door,
to start, as if they were sounding 'Horse and away.'"

So speaking, Halliday unlocked the door of the closet, admitted Jenny and
her pretended kinswoman, locked it behind them, and hastily reassumed the
indifferent measured step and time-killing whistle of a sentinel upon his
regular duty.

The door, which slowly opened, discovered Morton with both arms reclined
upon a table, and his head resting upon them in a posture of deep
dejection. He raised his face as the door opened, and, perceiving the
female figures which it admitted, started up in great surprise. Edith, as
if modesty had quelled the courage which despair had bestowed, stood
about a yard from the door without having either the power to speak or to
advance. All the plans of aid, relief, or comfort, which she had proposed
to lay before her lover, seemed at once to have vanished from her
recollection, and left only a painful chaos of ideas, with which was
mingled a fear that she had degraded herself in the eyes of Morton by a
step which might appear precipitate and unfeminine. She hung motionless
and almost powerless upon the arm of her attendant, who in vain
endeavoured to reassure and inspire her with courage, by whispering, "We
are in now, madam, and we maun mak the best o' our time; for, doubtless,
the corporal or the sergeant will gang the rounds, and it wad be a pity
to hae the poor lad Halliday punished for his civility."

Morton, in the meantime, was timidly advancing, suspecting the truth; for
what other female in the house, excepting Edith herself, was likely to
take an interest in his misfortunes? and yet afraid, owing to the
doubtful twilight and the muffled dress, of making some mistake which
might be prejudicial to the object of his affections. Jenny, whose ready
wit and forward manners well qualified her for such an office, hastened
to break the ice.

"Mr Morton, Miss Edith's very sorry for your present situation, and"--

It was needless to say more; he was at her side, almost at her feet,
pressing her unresisting hands, and loading her with a profusion of
thanks and gratitude which would be hardly intelligible from the mere
broken words, unless we could describe the tone, the gesture, the
impassioned and hurried indications of deep and tumultuous feeling, with
which they were accompanied.

For two or three minutes, Edith stood as motionless as the statue of a
saint which receives the adoration of a worshipper; and when she
recovered herself sufficiently to withdraw her hands from Henry's grasp,
she could at first only faintly articulate, "I have taken a strange step,
Mr Morton--a step," she continued with more coherence, as her ideas
arranged themselves in consequence of a strong effort, "that perhaps may
expose me to censure in your eyes--But I have long permitted you to use
the language of friendship--perhaps I might say more--too long to leave
you when the world seems to have left you. How, or why, is this
imprisonment? what can be done? can my uncle, who thinks so highly of
you--can your own kinsman, Milnwood, be of no use? are there no means?
and what is likely to be the event?"

"Be what it will," answered Henry, contriving to make himself master of
the hand that had escaped from him, but which was now again abandoned to
his clasp, "be what it will, it is to me from this moment the most
welcome incident of a weary life. To you, dearest Edith--forgive me, I
should have said Miss Bellenden, but misfortune claims strange
privileges--to you I have owed the few happy moments which have gilded a
gloomy existence; and if I am now to lay it down, the recollection of
this honour will be my happiness in the last hour of suffering."
                
 
 
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