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, hergrand-daughter, partaking in a less degree her ladyship's enthusiasm forall who were sprung of the blood-royal, did not honour Sergeant Bothwellwith more attention than a single glance, which showed her a tallpowerful person, and a set of hardy weather-beaten features, to whichpride and dissipation had given an air where discontent mingled with thereckless gaiety of desperation. The other soldiers offered still less todetach her consideration; but from the prisoner, muffled and disguised ashe was, she found it impossible to withdraw her eyes. Yet she blamedherself for indulging a curiosity which seemed obviously to give pain tohim who was its object.
"I wish," she said to Jenny Dennison, who was the immediate attendant onher 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 whomwe might have cause to interest ourselves."
"I can sune learn wha he is," said the enterprising Jenny, "if thesodgers were anes settled and at leisure, for I ken ane o' them veryweel--the best-looking and the youngest o' them."
"I think you know all the idle young fellows about the country," answeredher mistress.
"Na, Miss Edith, I am no sae free o' my acquaintance as that," answeredthe fille-de-chambre. "To be sure, folk canna help kenning the folk byhead-mark that they see aye glowring and looking at them at kirk andmarket; 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 fiveHowisons 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 MissBellenden.
"Lord, Miss Edith, it's Tam Halliday, Trooper Tam, as they ca' him, thatwas wounded by the hill-folk at the conventicle at Outer-side Muir, andlay here while he was under cure. I can ask him ony thing, and Tam willno refuse to answer me, I'll be caution for him."
"Try, then," said Miss Edith, "if you can find an opportunity to ask himthe 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 aface of surprise and dismay as evinced a deep interest in the fate of theprisoner.
"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 faithfulfille-de-chambre, sensible of the pain which her news were about toinflict on her young mistress. "O dear, Miss Edith, it's young Milnwoodhimsell!"
"Young Milnwood!" exclaimed Edith, aghast in her turn; "it isimpossible--totally impossible!--His uncle attends the clergymanindulged by law, and has no connexion whatever with the refractorypeople; and he himself has never interfered in this unhappy dissension;he must be totally innocent, unless he has been standing up for someinvaded right."
"O, my dear Miss Edith," said her attendant, "these are not days to askwhat's right or what's wrang; if he were as innocent as the new-borninfant, they would find some way of making him guilty, if they liked; butTam Halliday says it will touch his life, for he has been resetting aneo' the Fife gentlemen that killed that auld carle of an Archbishop."
"His life!" exclaimed Edith, starting hastily up, and speaking with ahurried and tremulous accent,--"they cannot--they shall not--I will speakfor him--they shall not hurt him!"
"O, my dear young leddy, think on your grandmother; think on the dangerand the difficulty," added Jenny; "for he's kept under close confinementtill Claverhouse comes up in the morning, and if he doesna gie him fullsatisfaction, Tam Halliday says there will be brief wark wi' him--Kneeldown--mak ready--present--fire--just as they did wi' auld deaf JohnMacbriar, that never understood a single question they pat till him, andsae 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 willthrow myself at the feet of the sentinel, and entreat him, as he has asoul 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 chieldhardly kens whether he has ane or no, unless that he whiles swears byit--that will never do; but what maun be maun be, and I'll never desert atrue-love cause--And sae, if ye maun see young Milnwood, though I ken naegude it will do, but to make baith your hearts the sairer, I'll e'en takthe risk o't, and try to manage Tam Halliday; but ye maun let me hae myain gate and no speak ae word--he's keeping guard o'er Milnwood in theeaster round of the tower."
"Go, go, fetch me a plaid," said Edith. "Let me but see him, and I willfind some remedy for his danger--Haste ye, Jenny, as ever ye hope to havegood at my hands."
Jenny hastened, and soon returned with a plaid, in which Edith muffledherself so as completely to screen her face, and in part to disguise herperson. This was a mode of arranging the plaid very common among theladies of that century, and the earlier part of the succeeding one; somuch so, indeed, that the venerable sages of the Kirk, conceiving thatthe mode gave tempting facilities for intrigue, directed more than oneact 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 orveil. [Note: Concealment of an individual, while in public or promiscuoussociety, was then very common. In England, where no plaids were worn, theladies used vizard masks for the same purpose, and the gallants drew theskirts of their cloaks over the right shoulder, so as to cover part ofthe face. This is repeatedly alluded to in Pepys's Diary.] Her face andfigure thus concealed, Edith, holding by her attendant's arm, hastenedwith trembling steps to the place of Morton's confinement.
This was a small study or closet, in one of the turrets, opening upon agallery in which the sentinel was pacing to and fro; for SergeantBothwell, scrupulous in observing his word, and perhaps touched with somecompassion for the prisoner's youth and genteel demeanour, had waved theindignity of putting his guard into the same apartment with him.Halliday, therefore, with his carabine on his arm, walked up and down thegallery, occasionally solacing himself with a draught of ale, a hugeflagon of which stood upoon the table at one end of the apartment, and atother times humming the lively Scottish air,
"Between Saint Johnstone and Bonny Dundee, I'll gar ye be fain to followme."
Jenny Dennison cautioned her mistress once more to let her take her ownway.
"I can manage the trooper weel eneugh," she said, "for as rough as heis--I ken their nature weel; but ye maunna say a single word."
She accordingly opened the door of the gallery just as the sentinel hadturned his back from it, and taking up the tune which he hummed, she sungin a coquettish tone of rustic raillery,
"If I were to follow a poor sodger lad, My friends wad be angry, myminnie be mad; A laird, or a lord, they were fitter for me, Sae I'llnever be fain to follow thee."--
"A fair challenge, by Jove," cried the sentinel, turning round, "and fromtwo 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 mybed, To the sound of the drum to range fearless and free, I'll gar ye befain to follow me."--
"Come, my pretty lass, and kiss me for my song."
"I should not have thought of tha
t, Mr Halliday," answered Jenny, with alook and tone expressing just the necessary degree of contempt at theproposal, "and, I'se assure ye, ye'll hae but little o' my company unlessye show gentler havings--It wasna to hear that sort o'nonsense thatbrought me here wi' my friend, and ye should think shame o' yoursell, 'atshould ye."
"Umph! and what sort of nonsense did bring you here then, Mrs Dennison?"
"My kinswoman has some particular business with your prisoner, young MrHarry Morton, and I am come wi' her to speak till him."
"The devil you are!" answered the sentinel; "and pray, Mrs Dennison, howdo your kinswoman and you propose to get in? You are rather too plump towhisk through a keyhole, and opening the door is a thing not to be spokeof."
"It's no a thing to be spoken o', but a thing to be dune," replied thepersevering damsel.
"We'll see about that, my bonny Jenny;" and the soldier resumed hismarch, 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 toyou--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 disnacare for the blink o' a bonny lassie's ee--and what's waur, he wad thinkthere was something mair in't than a kinswoman o' mine. My certy!siller's no sae plenty wi' us, let alane gowd." Having addressed thisadvice aside to her mistress, she raised her voice, and said, "My cousinwinna 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 hereand keep me company till she come out again, and then we'll all be wellpleased you know."
"The fiend be in my feet then," said Jenny; "d'ye think my kinswoman andme 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 andperformance! Ye were aye willing to slight puir Cuddie; but an I hadasked him to oblige me in a thing, though it had been to cost hishanging, he wadna hae stude twice about it."
"D--n Cuddie!" retorted the dragoon, "he'll be hanged in good earnest, Ihope. I saw him today at Milnwood with his old puritanical b--of amother, and if I had thought I was to have had him cast in my dish, Iwould have brought him up at my horse's tail--we had law enough to bearus 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 canhit a mark brawly; he was third at the popinjay; and he's as true of hispromise as of ee and hand, though he disna mak sic a phrase about it assome acquaintance o' yours--But it's a' ane to me--Come, cousin, we'llawa'."
"Stay, Jenny; d--n me, if I hang fire more than another when I have saida thing," said the soldier, in a hesitating tone. "Where is thesergeant?"
"Drinking and driving ower," quoth Jenny, "wi' the Steward and JohnGudyill."
"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' theserving 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 arefast till the hour of relieving guard, and perhaps something later; andso, if you will promise to come alone the next time"--"Maybe I will, andmaybe I winna," said Jenny; "but if ye get the dollar, ye'll like thatjust as weel."
"I'll be d--n'd if I do," said Halliday, taking the money, howeve; "butit's always something for my risk; for, if Claverhouse hears what I havedone, he will build me a horse as high as the Tower of Tillietudlem. Butevery one in the regiment takes what they can come by; I am sure Bothwelland his blood-royal shows us a good example. And if I were trusting toyou, you little jilting devil, I should lose both pains and powder;whereas this fellow," looking at the piece, "will be good as far as hegoes. So, come, there is the door open for you; do not stay groaning andpraying 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 andher pretended kinswoman, locked it behind them, and hastily reassumed theindifferent measured step and time-killing whistle of a sentinel upon hisregular duty.
The door, which slowly opened, discovered Morton with both arms reclinedupon a table, and his head resting upon them in a posture of deepdejection. He raised his face as the door opened, and, perceiving thefemale figures which it admitted, started up in great surprise. Edith, asif modesty had quelled the courage which despair had bestowed, stoodabout a yard from the door without having either the power to speak or toadvance. All the plans of aid, relief, or comfort, which she had proposedto lay before her lover, seemed at once to have vanished from herrecollection, and left only a painful chaos of ideas, with which wasmingled a fear that she had degraded herself in the eyes of Morton by astep which might appear precipitate and unfeminine. She hung motionlessand almost powerless upon the arm of her attendant, who in vainendeavoured to reassure and inspire her with courage, by whispering, "Weare 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 pityto hae the poor lad Halliday punished for his civility."
Morton, in the meantime, was timidly advancing, suspecting the truth; forwhat other female in the house, excepting Edith herself, was likely totake an interest in his misfortunes? and yet afraid, owing to thedoubtful twilight and the muffled dress, of making some mistake whichmight be prejudicial to the object of his affections. Jenny, whose readywit and forward manners well qualified her for such an office, hastenedto 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 ofthanks and gratitude which would be hardly intelligible from the merebroken words, unless we could describe the tone, the gesture, theimpassioned and hurried indications of deep and tumultuous feeling, withwhich they were accompanied.
For two or three minutes, Edith stood as motionless as the statue of asaint which receives the adoration of a worshipper; and when sherecovered 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 ideasarranged themselves in consequence of a strong effort, "that perhaps mayexpose me to censure in your eyes--But I have long permitted you to usethe language of friendship--perhaps I might say more--too long to leaveyou when the world seems to have left you. How, or why, is thisimprisonment? what can be done? can my uncle, who thinks so highly ofyou--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 ofthe hand that had escaped from him, but which was now again abandoned tohis clasp, "be what it will, it is to me from this moment the mostwelcome incident of a weary life. To you, dearest Edith--forgive me, Ishould have said Miss Bellenden, but misfortune claims strangeprivileges--to you I have owed the few happy moments which have gilded agloomy existence; and if I am now to lay it down, the recollection ofthis honour will be my happiness in the last hour of suffering."
"But is it even thus, Mr Morton?" said Miss Bellenden. "Have you, whoused to mix so little in these unhappy feuds, become so suddenly anddeeply implicated, that nothing short of"--
She paused, unable to bring out the word which should have come next.
"Nothing short of my life, you would say?" replied Mort
on, in a calm, butmelancholy tone; "I believe that will be entirely in the bosoms of myjudges. My guards spoke of a possibility of exchanging the penalty forentry into foreign service. I thought I could have embraced thealternative; and yet, Miss Bellenden, since I have seen you once more, Ifeel that exile would be more galling than death."
"And is it then true," said Edith, "that you have been so desperatelyrash as to entertain communication with any of those cruel wretches whoassassinated the primate?"
"I knew not even that such a crime had been committed," replied Morton,"when I gave unhappily a night's lodging and concealment to one of thoserash and cruel men, the ancient friend and comrade of my father. But myignorance will avail me little; for who, Miss Bellenden, save you, willbelieve it? And, what is worse, I am at least uncertain whether, even ifI had known the crime, I could have brought my mind, under all thecircumstances, to refuse a temporary refuge to the fugitive."
"And by whom," said Edith, anxiously, "or under what authority, will theinvestigation of your conduct take place?"
"Under that of Colonel Grahame of Claverhouse, I am given to understand,"said Morton; "one of the military commission, to whom it has pleased ourking, our privy council, and our parliament, that used to be moretenacious of our liberties, to commit the sole charge of our goods and ofour lives."
"To Claverhouse?" said Edith, faintly; "merciful Heaven, you are lost ereyou are tried! He wrote to my grandmother that he was to be hereto-morrow morning, on his road to the head of the county, where somedesperate men, animated by the presence of two or three of the actors inthe primate's murder, are said to have assembled for the purpose ofmaking a stand against the government. His expressions made me shudder,even when I could not guess that--that--a friend"--
"Do not be too much alarmed on my account, my dearest Edith," said Henry,as he supported her in his arms; "Claverhouse, though stern andrelentless, is, by all accounts, brave, fair, and honourable. I am asoldier's son, and will plead my cause like a soldier. He will perhapslisten more favourably to a blunt and unvarnished defence than atruckling and time-serving judge might do. And, indeed, in a time whenjustice is, in all its branches, so completely corrupted, I would ratherlose my life by open military violence, than be conjured out of it by thehocus-pocus of some arbitrary lawyer, who lends the knowledge he has ofthe statutes made for our protection, to wrest them to our destruction."
"You are lost--you are lost, if you are to plead your cause withClaverhouse!" sighed Edith; "root and branchwork is the mildest of hisexpressions. The unhappy primate was his intimate friend and earlypatron. 'No excuse, no subterfuge,' said his letter, 'shall save eitherthose connected with the deed, or such as have given them countenance andshelter, from the ample and bitter penalty of the law, until I shall havetaken as many lives in vengeance of this atrocious murder, as the old manhad grey hairs upon his venerable head.' There is neither ruth nor favourto be found with him."
Jenny Dennison, who had hitherto remained silent, now ventured, in theextremity of distress which the lovers felt, but for which they wereunable to devise a remedy, to offer her own advice.
"Wi' your leddyship's pardon, Miss Edith, and young Mr Morton's, wemaunna waste time. Let Milnwood take my plaid and gown; I'll slip themaff in the dark corner, if he'll promise no to look about, and he maywalk past Tam Halliday, who is half blind with his ale, and I can tellhim a canny way to get out o' the Tower, and your leddyship will gangquietly to your ain room, and I'll row mysell in his grey cloak, and piton his hat, and play the prisoner till the coast's clear, and then I'llcry in Tam Halliday, and gar him let me out."
"Let you out?" said Morton; "they'll make your life answer it."
"Ne'er a bit," replied Jenny; "Tam daurna tell he let ony body in, forhis ain sake; and I'll gar him find some other gate to account for theescape."
"Will you, by G--?" said the sentinel, suddenly opening the door of theapartment; "if I am half blind, I am not deaf, and you should not plan anescape quite so loud, if you expect to go through with it. Come, come,Mrs Janet--march, troop--quick time--trot, d--n me!--And you, madamkinswoman,--I won't ask your real name, though you were going to play meso rascally a trick,--but I must make a clear garrison; so beat aretreat, unless you would have me turn out the guard."
"I hope," said Morton, very anxiously, "you will not mention thiscircumstance, my good friend, and trust to my honour to acknowledge yourcivility in keeping the secret. If you overheard our conversation, youmust have observed that we did not accept of, or enter into, the hastyproposal made by this good-natured girl."
"Oh, devilish good-natured, to be sure," said Halliday. "As for the rest,I guess how it is, and I scorn to bear malice, or tell tales, as much asanother; but no thanks to that little jilting devil, Jenny Dennison, whodeserves a tight skelping for trying to lead an honest lad into a scrape,just because he was so silly as to like her good-for-little chit face."
Jenny had no better means of justification than the last apology to whichher sex trust, and usually not in vain; she pressed her handkerchief toher face, sobbed with great vehemence, and either wept, or managed, asHalliday might have said, to go through the motions wonderfully well.
"And now," continued the soldier, somewhat mollified, "if you have anything to say, say it in two minutes, and let me see your backs turned;for if Bothwell take it into his drunken head to make the rounds half anhour too soon, it will be a black business to us all."
"Farewell, Edith," whispered Morton, assuming a firmness he was far frompossessing; "do not remain here--leave me to my fate--it cannot be beyondendurance since you are interested in it.--Good night, good night!--Donot remain here till you are discovered."
Thus saying, he resigned her to her attendant, by whom she was quietlyled and partly supported out of the apartment.
"Every one has his taste, to be sure," said Halliday; "but d--n me if Iwould have vexed so sweet a girl as that is, for all the whigs that everswore the Covenant."
When Edith had regained her apartment, she gave way to a burst of griefwhich alarmed Jenny Dennison, who hastened to administer such scraps ofconsolation as occurred to her.
"Dinna vex yoursell sae muckle, Miss Edith," said that faithfulattendant; "wha kens what may happen to help young Milnwood? He's a bravelad, and a bonny, and a gentleman of a good fortune, and they winnastring the like o' him up as they do the puir whig bodies that they catchin the muirs, like straps o' onions; maybe his uncle will bring him aff,or maybe your ain grand-uncle will speak a gude word for him--he's weelacquent wi' a' the red-coat gentlemen."
"You are right, Jenny! you are right," said Edith, recovering herselffrom the stupor into which she had sunk; "this is no time for despair,but for exertion. You must find some one to ride this very night to myuncle's with a letter."
"To Charnwood, madam? It's unco late, and it's sax miles an' a bittockdoun the water; I doubt if we can find man and horse the night, mairespecially as they hae mounted a sentinel before the gate. Puir Cuddie!he's gane, puir fallow, that wad hae dune aught in the warld I bade him,and ne'er asked a reason--an' I've had nae time to draw up wi' the newpleugh-lad yet; forby that, they say he's gaun to be married to MegMurdieson, illfaur'd cuttie as she is."
"You must find some one to go, Jenny; life and death depend upon it."
"I wad gang mysell, my leddy, for I could creep out at the window o' thepantry, and speel down by the auld yew-tree weel eneugh--I hae playedthat trick ere now. But the road's unco wild, and sae mony red-coatsabout, forby the whigs, that are no muckle better (the young lads o'them) if they meet a fraim body their lane in the muirs. I wadna standfor the walk--I can walk ten miles by moonlight weel eneugh."
"Is there no one you can think of, that, for money or favour, would serveme so far?" asked Edith, in great anxiety.
"I dinna ken," said Jenny, after a moment's consideration, "unless it beGuse Gibbie; and he'll maybe no ken the way, though it's no sae difficultto hit, if he keep the horse-road, and mind the turn at the Cappercleugh,and dinna drown
himsell in the Whomlekirn-pule, or fa' ower the scaur atthe Deil's Loaning, or miss ony o' the kittle steps at the Pass o'Walkwary, or be carried to the hills by the whigs, or be taen to thetolbooth by the red-coats."
"All ventures must be run," said Edith, cutting short the list of chancesagainst Goose Gibbie's safe arrival at the end of his pilgrimage; "allrisks must be run, unless you can find a better messenger.--Go, bid theboy get ready, and get him out of the Tower as secretly as you can. If hemeets any one, let him say he is carrying a letter to Major Bellenden ofCharnwood, but without mentioning any names."
"I understand, madam," said Jenny Dennison; "I warrant the callant willdo weel eneugh, and Tib the hen-wife will tak care o' the geese for aword o' my mouth; and I'll tell Gibbie your leddyship will mak his peacewi' Lady Margaret, and we'll gie him a dollar."
"Two, if he does his errand well," said Edith.
Jenny departed to rouse Goose Gibbie out of his slumbers, to which he wasusually consigned at sundown, or shortly after, he keeping the hours ofthe birds under his charge. During her absence, Edith took her writingmaterials, and prepared against her return the following letter,superscribed, For the hands of Major Bellenden of Charnwood, my muchhonoured uncle, These: "My dear Uncle--This will serve to inform you I amdesirous to know how your gout is, as we did not see you at thewappen-schaw, which made both my grandmother and myself very uneasy. Andif it will permit you to travel, we shall be happy to see you at our poorhouse to-morrow at the hour of breakfast, as Colonel Grahame ofClaverhouse is to pass this way on his march, and we would willingly haveyour assistance to receive and entertain a military man of suchdistinction, who, probably, will not be much delighted with the companyof women. Also, my dear uncle, I pray you to let Mrs Carefor't, yourhousekeeper, send me my double-trimmed paduasoy with the hanging sleeves,which she will find in the third drawer of the walnut press in the greenroom, which you are so kind as to call mine. Also, my dear uncle, I prayyou to send me the second volume of the Grand Cyrus, as I have only readas far as the imprisonment of Philidaspes upon the seven hundredth andthirty-third page; but, above all, I entreat you to come to us to-morrowbefore eight of the clock, which, as your pacing nag is so good, you maywell do without rising before your usual hour. So, praying to God topreserve your health, I rest your dutiful and loving niece,
"Edith Bellenden.
"Postscriptum. A party of soldiers have last night brought your friend,young Mr Henry Morton of Milnwood, hither as a prisoner. I conclude youwill be sorry for the young gentleman, and, therefore, let you know this,in case you may think of speaking to Colonel Grahame in his behalf. Ihave not mentioned his name to my grandmother, knowing her prejudiceagainst the family."
This epistle being duly sealed and delivered to Jenny, that faithfulconfidant hastened to put the same in the charge of Goose Gibbie, whomshe found in readiness to start from the castle. She then gave himvarious instructions touching the road, which she apprehended he waslikely to mistake, not having travelled it above five or six times, andpossessing only the same slender proportion of memory as of judgment.Lastly, she smuggled him out of the garrison through the pantry windowinto the branchy yew-tree which grew close beside it, and had thesatisfaction to see him reach the bottom in safety, and take the rightturn at the commencement of his journey. She then returned to persuadeher young mistress to go to bed, and to lull her to rest, if possible,with assurances of Gibbie's success in his embassy, only qualified by apassing regret that the trusty Cuddie, with whom the commission mighthave been more safely reposed, was no longer within reach of serving her.
More fortunate as a messenger than as a cavalier, it was Gibbie's goodhap rather than his good management, which, after he had gone astray notoftener than nine times, and given his garments a taste of the variationof each bog, brook, and slough, between Tillietudlem and Charnwood,placed him about daybreak before the gate of Major Bellenden's mansion,having completed a walk of ten miles (for the bittock, as usual, amountedto four) in little more than the same number of hours.