CHAPTER XXIII.
Yet could he not his closing eyes withdraw, Though less and less of Emily he saw; So, speechless for a little space he lay, Then grasp'd the hand he held, and sigh'd his soul away. Palamon and Acite.
The indisposition of Edith confined her to bed during the eventful day onwhich she had received such an unexpected shock from the suddenapparition of Morton. Next morning, however, she was reported to be somuch better that Lord Evandale resumed his purpose of leaving FairyKnowe. At a late hour in the forenoon Lady Emily entered the apartment ofEdith with a peculiar gravity of manner. Having received and paid thecompliments of the day, she observed it would be a sad one for her,though it would relieve Miss Bellenden of an encumbrance: "My brotherleaves us today, Miss Bellenden."
"Leaves us!" exclaimed Edith, in surprise; "for his own house, I trust?"
"I have reason to think he meditates a more distant journey," answeredLady Emily; "he has little to detain him in this country."
"Good Heaven!" exclaimed Edith, "why was I born to become the wreck ofall that is manly and noble! What can be done to stop him from runningheadlong on ruin? I will come down instantly.--Say that I implore he willnot depart until I speak with him."
"It will be in vain, Miss Bellenden; but I will execute your commission;"and she left the room as formally as she had entered it, and informed herbrother Miss Bellenden was so much recovered as to propose comingdownstairs ere he went away.
"I suppose," she added pettishly, "the prospect of being speedilyreleased from our company has wrought a cure on her shattered nerves."
"Sister," said Lord Evandale, "you are unjust, if not envious."
"Unjust I maybe, Evandale, but I should not have dreamt," glancing hereye at a mirror, "of being thought envious without better cause. But letus go to the old lady; she is making a feast in the other room whichmight have dined all your troop when you had one."
Lord Evandale accompanied her in silence to the parlour, for he knew itwas in vain to contend with her prepossessions and offended pride. Theyfound the table covered with refreshments, arranged under the carefulinspection of Lady Margaret.
"Ye could hardly weel be said to breakfast this morning, my LordEvandale, and ye maun e'en partake of a small collation before ye ride,such as this poor house, whose inmates are so much indebted to you, canprovide in their present circumstances. For my ain part, I like to seeyoung folk take some refection before they ride out upon their sports ortheir affairs, and I said as much to his most sacred Majesty when hebreakfasted at Tillietudlem in the year of grace sixteen hundred andfifty-one; and his most sacred Majesty was pleased to reply, drinking tomy health at the same time in a flagon of Rhenish wine, 'Lady Margaret,ye speak like a Highland oracle.' These were his Majesty's very words;so that your lordship may judge whether I have not good authority topress young folk to partake of their vivers."
It may be well supposed that much of the good lady's speech failed LordEvandale's ears, which were then employed in listening for the light stepof Edith. His absence of mind on this occasion, however natural, cost himvery dear. While Lady Margaret was playing the kind hostess,--a part shedelighted and excelled in,--she was interrupted by John Gudyill, who, inthe natural phrase for announcing an inferior to the mistress of afamily, said, "There was ane wanting to speak to her leddyship."
"Ane! what ane? Has he nae name? Ye speak as if I kept a shop, and was tocome at everybody's whistle."
"Yes, he has a name," answered John, "but your leddyship likes ill tohear't." What is it, you fool?"
"It's Calf-Gibbie, my leddy," said John, in a tone rather above the pitchof decorous respect, on which he occasionally trespassed, confiding inhis merit as an ancient servant of the family and a faithful follower oftheir humble fortunes,--"It's Calf-Gibbie, an your leddyship will hae't,that keeps Edie Henshaw's kye down yonder at the Brigg-end,--that's himthat was Guse-Gibbie at Tillietudlem, and gaed to the wappinshaw, andthat--"
"Hold your peace, John," said the old lady, rising in dignity; "you arevery insolent to think I wad speak wi' a person like that. Let him tellhis business to you or Mrs. Headrigg."
"He'll no hear o' that, my leddy; he says them that sent him bade him giethe thing to your leddyship's ain hand direct, or to Lord Evandale's, hewots na whilk. But, to say the truth, he's far frae fresh, and he's butan idiot an he were."
"Then turn him out," said Lady Margaret, "and tell him to come backto-morrow when he is sober. I suppose he comes to crave some benevolence,as an ancient follower o' the house."
"Like eneugh, my leddy, for he's a' in rags, poor creature."
Gudyill made another attempt to get at Gibbie's commission, which wasindeed of the last importance, being a few lines from Morton to LordEvandale, acquainting him with the danger in which he stood from thepractices of Olifant, and exhorting him either to instant flight, or elseto come to Glasgow and surrender himself, where he could assure him ofprotection. This billet, hastily written, he intrusted to Gibbie, whom hesaw feeding his herd beside the bridge, and backed with a couple ofdollars his desire that it might instantly be delivered into the hand towhich it was addressed.
But it was decreed that Goose-Gibbie's intermediation, whether as anemissary or as a man-at-arms, should be unfortunate to the family ofTillietudlem. He unluckily tarried so long at the ale-house to prove ifhis employer's coin was good that, when he appeared at Fairy Knowe, thelittle sense which nature had given him was effectually drowned in aleand brandy; and instead of asking for Lord Evandale, he demanded to speakwith Lady Margaret, whose name was more familiar to his ear. Beingrefused admittance to her presence, he staggered away with the letterundelivered, perversely faithful to Morton's instructions in the onlypoint in which it would have been well had he departed from them.A few minutes after he was gone, Edith entered the apartment. LordEvandale and she met with mutual embarrassment, which Lady Margaret, whoonly knew in general that their union had been postponed by hergranddaughter's indisposition, set down to the bashfulness of a bride andbridegroom, and, to place them at ease, began to talk to Lady Emily onindifferent topics. At this moment Edith, with a countenance as pale asdeath, muttered, rather than whispered, to Lord Evandale a request tospeak with him. He offered his arm, and supported her into the smallante-room, which, as we have noticed before, opened from the parlour. Heplaced her in a chair, and, taking one himself, awaited the opening ofthe conversation.
"I am distressed, my lord," were the first words she was able toarticulate, and those with difficulty; "I scarce know what I would say,nor how to speak it."
"If I have any share in occasioning your uneasiness," said Lord Evandale,mildly, "you will soon, Edith, be released from it."
"You are determined then, my lord," she replied, "to run this desperatecourse with desperate men, in spite of your own better reason, in spiteof your friends' entreaties, in spite of the almost inevitable ruin whichyawns before you?"
"Forgive me, Miss Bellenden; even your solicitude on my account must notdetain me when my honour calls. My horses stand ready saddled, myservants are prepared, the signal for rising will be given so soon as Ireach Kilsyth. If it is my fate that calls me, I will not shun meetingit. It will be something," he said, taking her hand, "to die deservingyour compassion, since I cannot gain your love."
"Oh, my lord, remain!" said Edith, in a tone which went to his heart;"time may explain the strange circumstance which has shocked me so much;my agitated nerves may recover their tranquillity. Oh, do not rush ondeath and ruin! remain to be our prop and stay, and hope everything fromtime!"
"It is too late, Edith," answered Lord Evandale; "and I were mostungenerous could I practise on the warmth and kindliness of your feelingstowards me. I know you cannot love me; nervous distress, so strong as toconjure up the appearance of the dead or absent, indicates a predilectiontoo powerful to give way to friendship and gratitude alone. But were itotherwise, the die is now cast."
As he
spoke thus, Cuddie burst into the room, terror and haste in hiscountenance. "Oh, my lord, hide yoursell! they hae beset the outlets o'the house," was his first exclamation.
"They? Who?" said Lord Evandale.
"A party of horse, headed by Basil Olifant," answered Cuddie.
"Oh, hide yourself, my lord!" echoed Edith, in an agony of terror.
"I will not, by Heaven!" answered Lord Evandale. "What right has thevillain to assail me or stop my passage? I will make my way, were hebacked by a regiment; tell Halliday and Hunter to get out the horses.--And now, farewell, Edith!" He clasped her in his arms, and kissed hertenderly; then, bursting from his sister, who, with Lady Margaret,endeavoured to detain him, rushed out and mounted his horse.
All was in confusion; the women shrieked and hurried in consternation tothe front windows of the house, from which they could see a small partyof horsemen, of whom two only seemed soldiers. They were on the openground before Cuddie's cottage, at the bottom of the descent from thehouse, and showed caution in approaching it, as if uncertain of thestrength within.
"He may escape, he may escape!" said Edith; "oh, would he but take theby-road!"
But Lord Evandale, determined to face a danger which his high spiritundervalued, commanded his servants to follow him, and rode composedlydown the avenue. Old Gudyill ran to arm himself, and Cuddie snatched downa gun which was kept for the protection of the house, and, although onfoot, followed Lord Evandale. It was in vain his wife, who had hurried upon the alarm, hung by his skirts, threatening him with death by the swordor halter for meddling with other folk's matters.
"Hand your peace, ye b----," said Cuddie; "and that's braid Scotch, or Iwotna what is. Is it ither folk's matters to see Lord Evandale murderedbefore my face?" and down the avenue he marched. But considering on theway that he composed the whole infantry, as John Gudyill had notappeared, he took his vantage ground behind the hedge, hammered hisflint, cocked his piece, and, taking a long aim at Laird Basil, as he wascalled, stood prompt for action.
As soon as Lord Evandale appeared, Olifant's party spread themselves alittle, as if preparing to enclose him. Their leader stood fast,supported by three men, two of whom were dragoons, the third in dress andappearance a countryman, all well armed. But the strong figure, sternfeatures, and resolved manner of the third attendant made him seem themost formidable of the party; and whoever had before seen him could haveno difficulty in recognising Balfour of Burley.
"Follow me," said Lord Evandale to his servants, "and if we are forciblyopposed, do as I do." He advanced at a hand gallop towards Olifant, andwas in the act of demanding why he had thus beset the road, when Olifantcalled out, "Shoot the traitor!" and the whole four fired their carabinesupon the unfortunate nobleman. He reeled in the, saddle, advanced hishand to the holster, and drew a pistol, but, unable to discharge it, fellfrom his horse mortally wounded. His servants had presented theircarabines. Hunter fired at random; but Halliday, who was an intrepidfellow, took aim at Inglis, and shot him dead on the spot. At the sameinstant a shot from behind the hedge still more effectually avenged LordEvandale, for the ball took place in the very midst of Basil Olifant'sforehead, and stretched him lifeless on the ground. His followers,astonished at the execution done in so short a time, seemed ratherdisposed to stand inactive, when Burley, whose blood was up with thecontest, exclaimed, "Down with the Midianites!" and attacked Hallidaysword in hand. At this instant the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard,and a party of horse, rapidly advancing on the road from Glasgow,appeared on the fatal field. They were foreign dragoons, led by the Dutchcommandant Wittenbold, accompanied by Morton and a civil magistrate.
A hasty call to surrender, in the name of God and King William, wasobeyed by all except Burley, who turned his horse and attempted toescape. Several soldiers pursued him by command of their officer, but,being well mounted, only the two headmost seemed likely to gain on him.He turned deliberately twice, and discharging first one of his pistols,and then the other, rid himself of the one pursuer by mortally woundinghim, and of the other by shooting his horse, and then continued hisflight to Bothwell Bridge, where, for his misfortune, he found the gatesshut and guarded. Turning from thence, he made for a place where theriver seemed passable, and plunged into the stream, the bullets from thepistols and carabines of his pursuers whizzing around him. Two balls tookeffect when he was past the middle of the stream, and he felt himselfdangerously wounded. He reined his horse round in the midst of the river,and returned towards the bank he had left, waving his hand, as if withthe purpose of intimating that he surrendered. The troopers ceased firingat him accordingly, and awaited his return, two of them riding a littleway into the river to seize and disarm him. But it presently appearedthat his purpose was revenge, not safety. As he approached the twosoldiers, he collected his remaining strength, and discharged a blow onthe head of one, which tumbled him from his horse. The other dragoon, astrong, muscular man, had in the mean while laid hands on him. Burley, inrequital, grasped his throat, as a dying tiger seizes his prey, and both,losing the saddle in the struggle, came headlong into the river, and wereswept down the stream. Their course might be traced by the blood whichbubbled up to the surface. They were twice seen to rise, the Dutchmanstriving to swim, and Burley clinging to him in a manner that showed hisdesire that both should perish. Their corpses were taken out about aquarter of a mile down the river. As Balfour's grasp could not have beenunclenched without cutting off his hands, both were thrown into a hastygrave, still marked by a rude stone and a ruder epitaph.
[Gentle reader, I did request of mine honest friend Peter Proudfoot, travelling merchant, known to many of this land for his faithful and just dealings, as well in muslins and cambrics as in small wares, to procure me on his next peregrinations to that vicinage, a copy of the Epitaphion alluded to. And, according to his report, which I see no ground to discredit, it runneth thus:--
Here lyes ane saint to prelates surly, Being John Balfour, sometime of Burley, Who stirred up to vengeance take, For Solemn League and Cov'nant's sake, Upon the Magus-Moor in Fife, Did tak James Sharpe the apostate's life; By Dutchman's hands was hacked and shot, Then drowned in Clyde near this saam spot.]
While the soul of this stern enthusiast flitted to its account, that ofthe brave and generous Lord Evandale was also released. Morton had flunghimself from his horse upon perceiving his situation, to render his dyingfriend all the aid in his power. He knew him, for he pressed his hand,and, being unable to speak, intimated by signs his wish to be conveyed tothe house. This was done with all the care possible, and he was soonsurrounded by his lamenting friends. But the clamorous grief of LadyEmily was far exceeded in intensity by the silent agony of Edith.
Unconscious even of the presence of Morton, she hung over the dying man;nor was she aware that Fate, who was removing one faithful lover, hadrestored another as if from the grave, until Lord Evandale, taking theirhands in his, pressed them both affectionately, united them together,raised his face as if to pray for a blessing on them, and sunk back andexpired in the next moment.