CHAPTER XIII.
O, my Lord, beware of jealousy! Othello.
To explain the deep effect which the few broken passages of theconversation we have detailed made upon the unfortunate prisoner by whomthey were overheard, it is necessary to say something of his previousstate of mind, and of the origin of his acquaintance with Edith.
Henry Morton was one of those gifted characters, which possess a force oftalent unsuspected by the owner himself. He had inherited from his fatheran undaunted courage, and a firm and uncompromising detestation ofoppression, whether in politics or religion. But his enthusiasm wasunsullied by fanatic zeal, and unleavened by the sourness of thepuritanical spirit. From these his mind had been freed, partly by theactive exertions of his own excellent understanding, partly by frequentand long visits at Major Bellenden's, where he had an opportunity ofmeeting with many guests whose conversation taught him, that goodness andworth were not limited to those of any single form of religiousobservance.
The base parsimony of his uncle had thrown many obstacles in the way ofhis education; but he had so far improved the opportunities which offeredthemselves, that his instructors as well as his friends were surprised athis progress under such disadvantages. Still, however, the current of hissoul was frozen by a sense of dependence, of poverty, above all, of animperfect and limited education. These feelings impressed him with adiffidence and reserve which effectually concealed from all but veryintimate friends, the extent of talent and the firmness of character,which we have stated him to be possessed of. The circumstances of thetimes had added to this reserve an air of indecision and of indifference;for, being attached to neither of the factions which divided the kingdom,he passed for dull, insensible, and uninfluenced by the feeling ofreligion or of patriotism. No conclusion, however, could be more unjust;and the reasons of the neutrality which he had hitherto professed hadroot in very different and most praiseworthy motives. He had formed fewcongenial ties with those who were the objects of persecution, and wasdisgusted alike by their narrow-minded and selfish party-spirit, theirgloomy fanaticism, their abhorrent condemnation of all elegant studies orinnocent exercises, and the envenomed rancour of their political hatred.But his mind was still more revolted by the tyrannical and oppressiveconduct of the government, the misrule, license, and brutality of thesoldiery, the executions on the scaffold, the slaughters in the openfield, the free quarters and exactions imposed by military law, whichplaced the lives and fortunes of a free people on a level with Asiaticslaves. Condemning, therefore, each party as its excesses fell under hiseyes, disgusted with the sight of evils which he had no means ofalleviating, and hearing alternate complaints and exultations with whichhe could not sympathize, he would long ere this have left Scotland, hadit not been for his attachment to Edith Bellenden.
The earlier meetings of these young people had been at Charnwood, whenMajor Bellenden, who was as free from suspicion on such occasions asUncle Toby himself, had encouraged their keeping each other constantcompany, without entertaining any apprehension of the naturalconsequences. Love, as usual in such cases, borrowed the name offriendship, used her language, and claimed her privileges. When EdithBellenden was recalled to her mother's castle, it was astonishing by whatsingular and recurring accidents she often met young Morton in hersequestered walks, especially considering the distance of their places ofabode. Yet it somehow happened that she never expressed the surprisewhich the frequency of these rencontres ought naturally to have excited,and that their intercourse assumed gradually a more delicate character,and their meetings began to wear the air of appointments. Books,drawings, letters, were exchanged between them, and every triflingcommission, given or executed, gave rise to a new correspondence. Loveindeed was not yet mentioned between them by name, but each knew thesituation of their own bosom, and could not but guess at that of theother. Unable to desist from an intercourse which possessed such charmsfor both, yet trembling for its too probable consequences, it had beencontinued without specific explanation until now, when fate appeared tohave taken the conclusion into its own hands.
It followed, as a consequence of this state of things, as well as of thediffidence of Morton's disposition at this period, that his confidence inEdith's return of his affection had its occasional cold fits. Hersituations was in every respect so superior to his own, her worth soeminent, her accomplishments so many, her face so beautiful, and hermanners so bewitching, that he could not but entertain fears that somesuitor more favoured than himself by fortune, and more acceptable toEdith's family than he durst hope to be, might step in between him andthe object of his affections. Common rumour had raised up such a rival inLord Evandale, whom birth, fortune, connexions, and political principles,as well as his frequent visits at Tillietudlem, and his attendance uponLady Bellenden and her niece at all public places, naturally pointed outas a candidate for her favour. It frequently and inevitably happened,that engagements to which Lord Evandale was a party, interfered with themeeting of the lovers, and Henry could not but mark that Edith eitherstudiously avoided speaking of the young nobleman, or did so with obviousreserve and hesitation.
These symptoms, which, in fact, arose from the delicacy of her ownfeelings towards Morton himself, were misconstrued by his diffidenttemper, and the jealousy which they excited was fermented by theoccasional observations of Jenny Dennison. This true-bred serving-damselwas, in her own person, a complete country coquette, and when she had noopportunity of teasing her own lovers, used to take some occasionalopportunity to torment her young lady's. This arose from no ill-will toHenry Morton, who, both on her mistress's account and his own handsomeform and countenance, stood high in her esteem. But then Lord Evandalewas also handsome; he was liberal far beyond what Morton's means couldafford, and he was a lord, moreover, and, if Miss Edith Bellenden shouldaccept his hand, she would become a baron's lady, and, what was more,little Jenny Dennison, whom the awful housekeeper at Tillietudlem huffedabout at her pleasure, would be then Mrs Dennison, Lady Evandale's ownwoman, or perhaps her ladyship's lady-in-waiting. The impartiality ofJenny Dennison, therefore, did not, like that of Mrs Quickly, extend to awish that both the handsome suitors could wed her young lady; for it mustbe owned that the scale of her regard was depressed in favour of LordEvandale, and her wishes in his favour took many shapes extremelytormenting to Morton; being now expressed as a friendly caution, now asan article of intelligence, and anon as a merry jest, but always tendingto confirm the idea, that, sooner or later, his romantic intercourse withher young mistress must have a close, and that Edith Bellenden would, inspite of summer walks beneath the greenwood tree, exchange of verses, ofdrawings, and of books, end in becoming Lady Evandale.
These hints coincided so exactly with the very point of his ownsuspicions and fears, that Morton was not long of feeling that jealousywhich every one has felt who has truly loved, but to which those are mostliable whose love is crossed by the want of friends' consent, or someother envious impediment of fortune. Edith herself, unwittingly, and inthe generosity of her own frank nature, contributed to the error intowhich her lover was in danger of falling. Their conversation once chancedto turn upon some late excesses committed by the soldiery on an occasionwhen it was said (inaccurately however) that the party was commanded byLord Evandale. Edith, as true in friendship as in love, was somewhat hurtat the severe strictures which escaped from Morton on this occasion, andwhich, perhaps, were not the less strongly expressed on account of theirsupposed rivalry. She entered into Lord Evandale's defence with suchspirit as hurt Morton to the very soul, and afforded no small delight toJenny Dennison, the usual companion of their walks. Edith perceived hererror, and endeavoured to remedy it; but the impression was not so easilyerased, and it had no small effect in inducing her lover to form thatresolution of going abroad, which was disappointed in the manner we havealready mentioned.
The visit which he received from Edith during his confinement, the deepand devoted interest which she had express
ed in his fate, ought ofthemselves to have dispelled his suspicions; yet, ingenious in tormentinghimself, even this he thought might be imputed to anxious friendship, or,at most, to a temporary partiality, which would probably soon give way tocircumstances, the entreaties of her friends, the authority of LadyMargaret, and the assiduities of Lord Evandale.
"And to what do I owe it," he said, "that I cannot stand up like a man,and plead my interest in her ere I am thus cheated out of it?--to what,but to the all-pervading and accursed tyranny, which afflicts at once ourbodies, souls, estates, and affections! And is it to one of the pensionedcut-throats of this oppressive government that I must yield mypretensions to Edith Bellenden?--I will not, by Heaven!--It is a justpunishment on me for being dead to public wrongs, that they have visitedme with their injuries in a point where they can be least brooked orborne."
As these stormy resolutions boiled in his bosom, and while he ran overthe various kinds of insult and injury which he had sustained in his owncause and in that of his country, Bothwell entered the tower, followed bytwo dragoons, one of whom carried handcuffs.
"You must follow me, young man," said he, "but first we must put you intrim."
"In trim!" said Morton. "What do you mean?"
"Why, we must put on these rough bracelets. I durst not--nay, d--n it, Idurst do any thing--but I would not for three hours' plunder of a stormedtown bring a whig before my Colonel without his being ironed. Come, come,young man, don't look sulky about it."
He advanced to put on the irons; but, seizing the oaken-seat upon whichhe had rested, Morton threatened to dash out the brains of the first whoshould approach him.
"I could manage you in a moment, my youngster," said Bothwell, "but I hadrather you would strike sail quietly."
Here indeed he spoke the truth, not from either fear or reluctance toadopt force, but because he dreaded the consequences of a noisy scuffle,through which it might probably be discovered that he had, contrary toexpress orders, suffered his prisoner to pass the night without beingproperly secured.
"You had better be prudent," he continued, in a tone which he meant to beconciliatory, "and don't spoil your own sport. They say here in thecastle that Lady Margaret's niece is immediately to marry our youngCaptain, Lord Evandale. I saw them close together in the hall yonder, andI heard her ask him to intercede for your pardon. She looked so devilishhandsome and kind upon him, that on my soul--But what the devil's thematter with you?--You are as pale as a sheet--Will you have some brandy?"
"Miss Bellenden ask my life of Lord Evandale?" said the prisoner,faintly.
"Ay, ay; there's no friend like the women--their interest carries all incourt and camp.--Come, you are reasonable now--Ay, I thought you wouldcome round."
Here he employed himself in putting on the fetters, against which,Morton, thunderstruck by this intelligence, no longer offered the leastresistance.
"My life begged of him, and by her!--ay--ay--put on the irons--my limbsshall not refuse to bear what has entered into my very soul--My lifebegged by Edith, and begged of Evandale!"
"Ay, and he has power to grant it too," said Bothwell--"He can do morewith the Colonel than any man in the regiment."
And as he spoke, he and his party led their prisoner towards the hall. Inpassing behind the seat of Edith, the unfortunate prisoner heard enough,as he conceived, of the broken expressions which passed between Edith andLord Evandale, to confirm all that the soldier had told him. That momentmade a singular and instantaneous revolution in his character. The depthof despair to which his love and fortunes were reduced, the peril inwhich his life appeared to stand, the transference of Edith's affections,her intercession in his favour, which rendered her fickleness yet moregalling, seemed to destroy every feeling for which he had hitherto lived,but, at the same time, awakened those which had hitherto been smotheredby passions more gentle though more selfish. Desperate himself, hedetermined to support the rights of his country, insulted in his person.His character was for the moment as effectually changed as the appearanceof a villa, which, from being the abode of domestic quiet and happiness,is, by the sudden intrusion of an armed force, converted into aformidable post of defence.
We have already said that he cast upon Edith one glance in which reproachwas mingled with sorrow, as if to bid her farewell for ever; his nextmotion was to walk firmly to the table at which Colonel Grahame wasseated.
"By what right is it, sir," said he firmly, and without waiting till hewas questioned,--"By what right is it that these soldiers have dragged mefrom my family, and put fetters on the limbs of a free man?"
"By my commands," answered Claverhouse; "and I now lay my commands on youto be silent and hear my questions."
"I will not," replied Morton, in a determined tone, while his boldnessseemed to electrify all around him. "I will know whether I am in lawfulcustody, and before a civil magistrate, ere the charter of my countryshall be forfeited in my person."
"A pretty springald this, upon my honour!" said Claverhouse.
"Are you mad?" said Major Bellenden to his young friend. "For God's sake,Henry Morton," he continued, in a tone between rebuke and entreaty,"remember you are speaking to one of his majesty's officers high in theservice."
"It is for that very reason, sir," returned Henry, firmly, "that I desireto know what right he has to detain me without a legal warrant. Were he acivil officer of the law I should know my duty was submission."
"Your friend, here," said Claverhouse to the veteran, coolly, "is one ofthose scrupulous gentlemen, who, like the madman in the play, will nottie his cravat without the warrant of Mr Justice Overdo; but I will lethim see, before we part, that my shoulder-knot is as legal a badge ofauthority as the mace of the Justiciary. So, waving this discussion, youwill be pleased, young man, to tell me directly when you saw Balfour ofBurley."
"As I know no right you have to ask such a question," replied Morton, "Idecline replying to it."
"You confessed to my sergeant," said Claverhouse, "that you saw andentertained him, knowing him to be an intercommuned traitor; why are younot so frank with me?"
"Because," replied the prisoner, "I presume you are, from education,taught to understand the rights upon which you seem disposed to trample;and I am willing you should be aware there are yet Scotsmen who canassert the liberties of Scotland."
"And these supposed rights you would vindicate with your sword, Ipresume?" said Colonel Grahame.
"Were I armed as you are, and we were alone upon a hill-side, you shouldnot ask me the question twice."
"It is quite enough," answered Claverhouse, calmly; "your languagecorresponds with all I have heard of you;--but you are the son of asoldier, though a rebellious one, and you shall not die the death of adog; I will save you that indignity."
"Die in what manner I may," replied Morton, "I will die like the son of abrave man; and the ignominy you mention shall remain with those who shedinnocent blood."
"Make your peace, then, with Heaven, in five minutes' space.--Bothwell,lead him down to the court-yard, and draw up your party."
The appalling nature of this conversation, and of its result, struck thesilence of horror into all but the speakers. But now those who stoodround broke forth into clamour and expostulation. Old Lady Margaret, who,with all the prejudices of rank and party, had not laid aside thefeelings of her sex, was loud in her intercession.
"O, Colonel Grahame," she exclaimed, "spare his young blood! Leave him tothe law--do not repay my hospitality by shedding men's blood on thethreshold of my doors!"
"Colonel Grahame," said Major Bellenden, "you must answer this violence.Don't think, though I am old and feckless, that my friend's son shall bemurdered before my eyes with impunity. I can find friends that shall makeyou answer it."
"Be satisfied, Major Bellenden, I will answer it," replied Claverhouse,totally unmoved; "and you, madam, might spare me the pain the resistingthis passionate intercession for a traitor, when you consider the nobleblood your own house has lost by such as he is."
> "Colonel Grahame," answered the lady, her aged frame trembling withanxiety, "I leave vengeance to God, who calls it his own. The shedding ofthis young man's blood will not call back the lives that were dear to me;and how can it comfort me to think that there has maybe been anotherwidowed mother made childless, like mysell, by a deed done at my verydoor-stane!"
"This is stark madness," said Claverhouse; "I must do my duty to churchand state. Here are a thousand villains hard by in open rebellion, andyou ask me to pardon a young fanatic who is enough of himself to set awhole kingdom in a blaze! It cannot be--Remove him, Bothwell."
She who was most interested in this dreadful decision, had twice stroveto speak, but her voice had totally failed her; her mind refused tosuggest words, and her tongue to utter them. She now sprung up andattempted to rush forward, but her strength gave way, and she would havefallen flat upon the pavement had she not been caught by her attendant.
"Help!" cried Jenny,--"Help, for God's sake! my young lady is dying."
At this exclamation, Evandale, who, during the preceding part of thescene, had stood motionless, leaning upon his sword, now stepped forward,and said to his commanding-officer, "Colonel Grahame, before proceedingin this matter, will you speak a word with me in private?"
Claverhouse looked surprised, but instantly rose and withdrew with theyoung nobleman into a recess, where the following brief dialogue passedbetween them:
"I think I need not remind you, Colonel, that when our family interestwas of service to you last year in that affair in the privy-council, youconsidered yourself as laid under some obligation to us?"
"Certainly, my dear Evandale," answered Claverhouse, "I am not a man whoforgets such debts; you will delight me by showing how I can evince mygratitude."
"I will hold the debt cancelled," said Lord Evandale, "if you will sparethis young man's life."
"Evandale," replied Grahame, in great surprise, "you are mad--absolutelymad--what interest can you have in this young spawn of an oldroundhead?--His father was positively the most dangerous man in allScotland, cool, resolute, soliderly, and inflexible in his cursedprinciples. His son seems his very model; you cannot conceive themischief he may do. I know mankind, Evandale--were he an insignificant,fanatical, country booby, do you think I would have refused such atrifle as his life to Lady Margaret and this family? But this is a ladof fire, zeal, and education--and these knaves want but such a leader todirect their blind enthusiastic hardiness. I mention this, not asrefusing your request, but to make you fully aware of the possibleconsequences--I will never evade a promise, or refuse to return anobligation--if you ask his life, he shall have it."
"Keep him close prisoner," answered Evandale, "but do not be surprised ifI persist in requesting you will not put him to death. I have most urgentreasons for what I ask."
"Be it so then," replied Grahame;--"but, young man, should you wish inyour future life to rise to eminence in the service of your king andcountry, let it be your first task to subject to the public interest, andto the discharge of your duty, your private passions, affections, andfeelings. These are not times to sacrifice to the dotage of greybeards,or the tears of silly women, the measures of salutary severity which thedangers around compel us to adopt. And remember, that if I now yield thispoint, in compliance with your urgency, my present concession must exemptme from future solicitations of the same nature."
He then stepped forward to the table, and bent his eyes keenly on Morton,as if to observe what effect the pause of awful suspense between deathand life, which seemed to freeze the bystanders with horror, wouldproduce upon the prisoner himself. Morton maintained a degree offirmness, which nothing but a mind that had nothing left upon earth tolove or to hope, could have supported at such a crisis.
"You see him?" said Claverhouse, in a half whisper to Lord Evandale; "heis tottering on the verge between time and eternity, a situation moreappalling than the most hideous certainty; yet his is the only cheekunblenched, the only eye that is calm, the only heart that keeps itsusual time, the only nerves that are not quivering. Look at him well,Evandale--If that man shall ever come to head an army of rebels, you willhave much to answer for on account of this morning's work." He then saidaloud, "Young man, your life is for the present safe, through theintercession of your friends--Remove him, Bothwell, and let him beproperly guarded, and brought along with the other prisoners."
"If my life," said Morton, stung with the idea that he owed his respiteto the intercession of a favoured rival, "if my life be granted at LordEvandale's request"--
"Take the prisoner away, Bothwell," said Colonel Grahame, interruptinghim; "I have neither time to make nor to hear fine speeches."
Bothwell forced off Morton, saying, as he conducted him into thecourt-yard, "Have you three lives in your pocket, besides the one in yourbody, my lad, that you can afford to let your tongue run away with themat this rate? Come, come, I'll take care to keep you out of the Colonel'sway; for, egad, you will not be five minutes with him before the nexttree or the next ditch will be the word. So, come along to yourcompanions in bondage."
Thus speaking, the sergeant, who, in his rude manner, did not altogetherwant sympathy for a gallant young man, hurried Morton down to thecourtyard, where three other prisoners, (two men and a woman,) who hadbeen taken by Lord Evandale, remained under an escort of dragoons.
Meantime, Claverhouse took his leave of Lady Margaret. But it wasdifficult for the good lady to forgive his neglect of her intercession.
"I have thought till now," she said, "that the Tower of Tillietudlemmight have been a place of succour to those that are ready to perish,even if they werena sae deserving as they should have been--but I seeauld fruit has little savour--our suffering and our services have been ofan ancient date."
"They are never to be forgotten by me, let me assure your ladyship," saidClaverhouse. "Nothing but what seemed my sacred duty could make mehesitate to grant a favour requested by you and the Major. Come, my goodlady, let me hear you say you have forgiven me, and, as I returnto-night, I will bring a drove of two hundred whigs with me, and pardonfifty head of them for your sake."
"I shall be happy to hear of your success, Colonel," said MajorBellenden; "but take an old soldier's advice, and spare blood whenbattle's over,--and once more let me request to enter bail for youngMorton."
"We will settle that when I return," said Claverhouse. "Meanwhile, beassured his life shall be safe."
During this conversation, Evandale looked anxiously around for Edith; butthe precaution of Jenny Dennison had occasioned her mistress beingtransported to her own apartment.
Slowly and heavily he obeyed the impatient summons of Claverhouse, who,after taking a courteous leave of Lady Margaret and the Major, hadhastened to the court-yard. The prisoners with their guard were alreadyon their march, and the officers with their escort mounted and followed.All pressed forward to overtake the main body, as it was supposed theywould come in sight of the enemy in little more than two hours.