CHAPTER IV.
Through tops of the high trees she did descry A little smoke, whose vapour, thin and light, Reeking aloft, uprolled to the sky, Which cheerful sign did send unto her sight, That in the same did wonne some living wight.
SPENSER.
LUCY acted as her father's guide, for he was too much engrossed with hispolitical labours, or with society, to be perfectly acquainted with hisown extensive domains, and, moreover, was generally an inhabitant ofthe city of Edinburgh; and she, on the other hand, had, with her mother,resided the whole summer in Ravenswood, and, partly from taste, partlyfrom want of any other amusement, had, by her frequent rambles, learnedto know each lane, alley, dingle, or bushy dell,
And every bosky bourne from side to side.
We have said that the Lord Keeper was not indifferent to the beautiesof nature; and we add, in justice to him, that he felt them doubly whenpointed out by the beautiful, simple, and interesting girl who, hangingon his arm with filial kindness, now called him to admire the size ofsome ancient oak, and now the unexpected turn where the path, developingits maze from glen or dingle, suddenly reached an eminence commandingan extensive view of the plains beneath them, and then gradually glidedaway from the prospect to lose itself among rocks and thickets, andguide to scenes of deeper seclusion.
It was when pausing on one of those points of extensive and commandingview that Lucy told her father they were close by the cottage of herblind protegee; and on turning from the little hill, a path which ledaround it, worn by the daily steps of the infirm inmate, brought them insight of the hut, which, embosomed in a deep and obscure dell, seemedto have been so situated purposely to bear a correspondence with thedarkened state of its inhabitant.
The cottage was situated immediately under a tall rock, which insome measure beetled over it, as if threatening to drop some detachedfragment from its brow on the frail tenement beneath. The hut itself wasconstructed of turf and stones, and rudely roofed over with thatch, muchof which was in a dilapidated condition. The thin blue smoke rose fromit in a light column, and curled upward along the white face of theincumbent rock, giving the scene a tint of exquisite softness. In asmall and rude garden, surrounded by straggling elder-bushes, whichformed a sort of imperfect hedge, sat near to the beehives, by theproduce of which she lived, that "woman old" whom Lucy had brought herfather hither to visit.
Whatever there had been which was disastrous in her fortune, whateverthere was miserable in her dwelling, it was easy to judge by the firstglance that neither years, poverty, misfortune, nor infirmity had brokenthe spirit of this remarkable woman.
She occupied a turf seat, placed under a weeping birch of unusualmagnitude and age, as Judah is represented sitting under her palm-tree,with an air at once of majesty and of dejection. Her figure was tall,commanding, and but little bent by the infirmities of old age. Herdress, though that of a peasant, was uncommonly clean, forming in thatparticular a strong contrast to most of her rank, and was disposed withan attention to neatness, and even to taste, equally unusual. But it washer expression of countenance which chiefly struck the spectator, andinduced most persons to address her with a degree of deference andcivility very inconsistent with the miserable state of her dwelling, andwhich, nevertheless, she received with that easy composure which showedshe felt it to be her due. She had once been beautiful, but her beautyhad been of a bold and masculine cast, such as does not survive thebloom of youth; yet her features continued to express strong sense, deepreflection, and a character of sober pride, which, as we have alreadysaid of her dress, appeared to argue a conscious superiority to thoseof her own rank. It scarce seemed possible that a face, deprived of theadvantage of sight, could have expressed character so strongly; but hereyes, which were almost totally closed, did not, by the display of theirsightless orbs, mar the countenance to which they could add nothing. Sheseemed in a ruminating posture, soothed, perhaps, by the murmurs of thebusy tribe around her to abstraction, though not to slumber.
Lucy undid the latch of the little garden gate, and solicited the oldwoman's attention. "My father, Alice, is come to see you."
"He is welcome, Miss Ashton, and so are you," said the old woman,turning and inclining her head towards her visitors.
"This is a fine morning for your beehives, mother," said the LordKeeper, who, struck with the outward appearance of Alice, was somewhatcurious to know if her conversation would correspond with it.
"I believe so, my lord," she replied; "I feel the air breathe milderthan of late."
"You do not," resumed the statesman, "take charge of these beesyourself, mother? How do you manage them?"
"By delegates, as kings do their subjects," resumed Alice; "and I amfortunate in a prime minister. Here, Babie."
She whistled on a small silver call which ung around her neck, and whichat that time was sometimes used to summon domestics, and Babie, a girlof fifteen, made her appearance from the hut, not altogether so cleanlyarrayed as she would probably have been had Alice had the use of heryees, but with a greater air of neatness than was upon the whole to havebeen expected.
"Babie," said her mistress, "offer some bread and honey to the LordKeeper and Miss Ashton they will excuse your awkwardness if you usecleanliness and despatch."
Babie performed her mistress's command with the grace which wasnaturally to have been expected, moving to and fro with a lobster-likegesture, her feet and legs tending one way, while her head, turned ina different direction, was fixed in wonder upon the laird, who was morefrequently heard of than seen by his tenants and dependants. The breadand honey, however, deposited on a plantain leaf, was offered andaccepted in all due courtesy. The Lord Keeper, still retaining the placewhich he had occupied on the decayed trunk of a fallen tree, lookedas if he wished to prolong the interview, but was at a loss how tointroduce a suitable subject.
"You have been long a resident on this property?" he said, after apause.
"It is now nearly sixty years since I first knew Ravenswood," answeredthe old dame, whose conversation, though perfectly civil and respectful,seemed cautiously limited to the unavoidable and necessary task ofreplying to Sir William.
"You are not, I should judge by your accent, of this countryoriginally?" said the Lord Keeper, in continuation.
"No; I am by birth an Englishwoman." "Yet you seem attached to thiscountry as if it were your own."
"It is here," replied the blind woman, "that I have drank the cup of joyand of sorrow which Heaven destined for me. I was here the wife of anupright and affectionate husband for more than twenty years; I was herethe mother of six promising children; it was here that God deprived meof all these blessings; it was here they died, and yonder, by yon ruinedchapel, they lie all buried. I had no country but theirs while theylived; I have none but theirs now they are no more."
"But your house," said the Lord Keeper, looking at it, "is miserablyruinous?"
"Do, my dear father," said Lucy, eagerly, yet bashfully, catching at thehint, "give orders to make it better; that is, if you think it proper."
"It will last my time, my dear Miss Lucy," said the blind woman; "Iwould not have my lord give himself the least trouble about it."
"But," said Lucy, "you once had a much better house, and were rich, andnow in your old age to live in this hovel!"
"It is as good as I deserve, Miss Lucy; if my heart has not broke withwhat I have suffered, and seen others suffer, it must have been strongenough, adn the rest of this old frame has no right to call itselfweaker."
"You have probably witnessed many changes," said the Lord Keeper; "butyour experience must have taught you to expect them."
"It has taught me to endure them, my lord," was the reply.
"Yet you knew that they must needs arrive in the course of years?" saidthe statesman.
"Ay; as I knew that the stump, on or beside which you sit, once a talland lofty tree, must needs one day fall by decay, or by the axe; yetI hoped my eyes might not witness the downfall of the tre
e whichovershadowed my dwelling."
"Do not suppose," said the Lord Keeper, "that you will lose any interestwith me for looking back with regret to the days when another familypossessed my estates. You had reason, doubtless, to love them, and Irespect your gratitude. I will order some repairs in your cottage, and Ihope we shall live to be friends when we know each other better." "Thoseof my age," returned the dame, "make no new friends. I thank you foryour bounty, it is well intended undoubtedly; but I have all I want, andI cannot accept more at your lordship's hand."
"Well, then," continued the Lord Keeper, "at least allow me to say,that I look upon you as a woman of sense and education beyond yourappearance, and that I hope you will continue to reside on this propertyof mine rent-free for your life."
"I hope I shall," said the old dame, composedly; "I believe that wasmade an article in the sale of Ravenswood to your lordship, though sucha trifling circumstance may have escaped your recollection."
"I remember--I recollect," said his lordship, somewhat confused. "Iperceive you are too much attached to your old friends to accept anybenefit from their successor."
"Far from it, my lord; I am grateful for the benefits which I decline,and I wish I could pay you for offering them, better than what I am nowabout to say." The Lord Keeper looked at her in some surprise, but saidnot a word. "My lord," she continued, in an impressive and solemn tone,"take care what you do; you are on the brink of a precipice."
"Indeed?" said the Lord Keeper, his mind reverting to the politicalcircumstances of the country. "Has anything come to your knowledge--anyplot or conspiracy?"
"No, my lord; those who traffic in such commodities do not call to theircouncils the old, blind, and infirm. My warning is of another kind. Youhave driven matters hard with the house of Ravenswood. Believe a truetale: they are a fierce house, and there is danger in dealing with menwhen they become desperate."
"Tush," answered the Keeper; "what has been between us has been the workof the law, not my doing; and to the law they must look, if they wouldimpugn my proceedings."
"Ay, but they may think otherwise, and take the law into their own hand,when they fail of other means of redress."
"What mean you?" said the Lord Keeper. "Young Ravenswood would not haverecourse to personal violence?"
"God forbid I should say so! I know nothing of the youth but what ishonourable and open. Honourable and open, said I? I should have added,free, generous, noble. But he is still a Ravenswood, and may bide histime. Remember the fate of Sir George Lockhart."
The Lord Keeper started as she called to his recollection a tragedyso deep and so recent. The old woman proceeded: "Chiesley, who did thedeed, was a relative of Lord Ravenswood. In the hall of Ravenswood, inmy presence and in that of others, he avowed publicly his determinationto do the cruelty which he afterwards committed. I could not keepsilence, though to speak it ill became my station. 'You are devising adreadful crime,' I said, 'for which you must reckon before the judgmentseat.' Never shall I forget his look, as he replied, 'I must reckon thenfor many things, and will reckon for this also.' Therefore I may wellsay, beware of pressing a desperate man with the hand of authority.There is blood of Chiesley in the veins of Ravenswood, and one drop ofit were enough to fire him in the circumstances in which he is placed. Isay, beware of him."
The old dame had, either intentionally or by accident, harped arightthe fear of the Lord Keeper. The desperate and dark resource of privateassassination, so familiar to a Scottish baron in former times, had evenin the present age been too frequently resorted to under the pressure ofunusual temptation, or where the mind of the actor was prepared forsuch a crime. Sir William Ashton was aware of this; as also that youngRavenswood had received injuries sufficient to prompt him to that sortof revenge, which becomes a frequent though fearful consequence of thepartial administration of justice. He endeavoured to disguise fromAlice the nature of the apprehensions which he entertained; but soineffectually, that a person even of less penetration than nature hadendowed her with must necessarily have been aware that the subject laynear his bosom. His voice was changed in its accent as he replied toher, "That the Master of Ravenswood was a man of honour; and, were itotherwise, that the fate of Chiesley of Dalry was a sufficient warningto any one who should dare to assume the office of avenger of his ownimaginary wrongs." And having hastily uttered these expressions, he roseand left the place without waiting for a reply.